#and now I’ve almost done it for the hermits

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful digits.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecs and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you crash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

[imrllytootiredforthis]

A Night at the Bar

Pairing: felix x reader

Pt.2 Here

Summary: A regular night out with your friends turns into something more when you meet a new kid going to your school

Warnings: fem reader, dom reader, sub felix, college!au (everyone’s 18+), dry humping (he grinds against her leg, whatever that’s called), nipple play, mommy kink, pet names, oral (f receiving), probably more that I forgot

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: So I’ve been asked a few times of I have a taglist and I was wondering if you guys wanted me to make one? Just lmk. Anyway, as always ignore my bad grammar and possible spelling mistakes lol

18+ Minors DNI

It had been an uneventful night.

All you had really wanted to do was stay home, cuddle up in some blankets and watch a movie, maybe even make some microwave popcorn. 

But, the people you decidedly called friends refused to let you spend yet another Saturday night being a quote unquote ‘hermit’, holed up in your apartment like always.

“Besides, school is starting soon! Don’t you wanna get out before you’re going to have a truckload of schoolwork to worry about?” Samantha claimed while rummaging through your closet, settling on an outfit and throwing it in your direction. “Put this on.”

So they dragged you to the new bar that opened down the street. 

Music made its way outside from within, low bass pounding in your head before you even entered the place. You rubbed at your temples, grimacing at the way the headache building in the forefront of your brain throbbed in protest.

It started out fine, as it always did.

Gossiping about your classmates and teachers and updating the others on whatever happened in your life lately.

But then it got boring. And when it got boring, desperate measures were pulled out.

Your friends pestered you about turning away the guys approached you, offering you free drinks. They scrutinized you for sending away a ‘hot’ one, telling you that you needed to take charge and finally get a permanent man as opposed to your regular hook-ups.

And so they took up the challenge upon themselves.

Firstly: What was your type? 

“What about him?”

“Really? He’s pretty cute.”

Secondly: Judging you base on the fact that you didn’t like any of the guys they suggested 

“Him?”

“Why not?”

“Yeah, he’s fit. You must be blind if you don’t want him.”

“Like, look at those muscles, that hair!”

Thirdly: Getting mad and giving up on the game

“Well what is your type then?”

“Come on! Why are you like this? We’re just trying to have some fun! Don’t take it so personal!”

When they were done bothering you about boys like excited schoolgirls, they switched up topics and moved on to begging you to dance with them.

As the bright lights flashed leaving coloured imprints in your vision, you bluntly told them no.

The idea of dancing right now felt gross and judging by the way the sweaty bodies of the crowd moved, with gyrating hips and wandering hands. ‘Whispering’ that was almost yelling and guys on the side with drinks watching like they were searching for their next prey.

Nope. Absolutely not. You wanted no part of that and no amount of begging could make you. Refusing, you ordered another drink as they boo’d at you, fake heckling as they left. 

And finally, you were alone. Well as alone as you could be in a crowded bar that was a prime way for everyone there to catch the flu, which was actually going around right now.

In fact, you shouldn’t have even left your house today. You should’ve stayed home with your blankets and popcorn and proceeded to binge watch your favourite show for the 50th time.

You wished with every ounce of your being that you could go back in time and tell yourself to never go out tonight.

You should’ve turned down your friends and stayed in the warmth and comfor-

The next thought disappeared. 

It wasn’t an electric spark like movies describe attraction but it was...something. Something that caught your attention. Made you freeze in place, eyes caught, unable to look away even if you wanted to-and you didn’t want to.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to come out here after all...

Brown-his eyes were brown. 

And his blond hair was mussed as if someone had purposely shaken it up. His face was youthful-around the same age as you with adorable freckles dusting across his rosy pink cheeks and makeup probably better than your own. 

Something akin to a shy smile played across lips. He licked them and looked away for a split second then back at you as if he was checking to see that it was really him you were looking at.

You smiled, he was cute. 

Your friends were wondering what exactly your type was.

This. 

This was your type.

The cute ones that looked softer, sweeter. Nervous with almost hint of uncertainty. Body language alone that conveyed they were gentle. A touch feminine in a way if that was an appropriate thing to say.

He lifted his hand and gave a little wave, awkward with a smile to match but endearing. 

Adorable. 

Yes. This one, whoever he was, was your type.

Should you gesture for him to come over? Or should you walk over?

Someone said something and his gaze left yours.

You huffed, taking another sip of your drink. Too late for that now, you thought bitterly.

But still, you couldn’t stop staring.

He was with his friends, on the opposite side of the room. Loud and practically screaming in their corner of the bar, laughing and slapping each other on the back. 

You could recognize a few of them. 

Chan you have a few classes with and had worked together for several group projects. The two of you exchange conversations now and then in class and you could confidently say that you were friends.

And you could pick out Seungmin and Hyunjin from past interactions or travelling word. The rest of them you could recognize from passing in the halls or seeing around in general but you couldn’t quite place names on.

But you’d never seen that one before.

Maybe he went to another college or didn’t go to one at all. Maybe he was one of their family members and was visiting.

Enough speculation, you were gonna find out.

You downed the rest of the cup and crossed the bar, shoes clicking with every step.

“Channie!”

Eyes turned to you at the use of his name and Chan laughed with a smile, opening his arms for a hug. “Y/N!”

You obliged, letting him pull you into his arms whilst trying to ignore the scent of alcohol coming in waves off of him. He hung off of you, drunkenly slurring to the others, “Guys! This is Y/N! Y/N, meet the guys!”

You jumped slightly, wincing as he yelled it in your ear. “No need to yell. I’m right here.”

Chan slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in a comical way. “Sorry.” He whispered loudly.

“Sorry about him. He’s kinda drunk.” One of them offered.

“Thanks, I couldn’t tell.”

Someone snorted at the smirk you made and you turned to see the whole reason you’d approached in the first place. 

He blushed, silver ear piercings glimmering in the dim lighting. 

“Sorry, I’m not familiar with all your names.” All while you spoke the words your eyes never left him. Those ridiculously cute freckles hypnotizing you.

Chan broke the trance with his slurred speech, stumbling slightly and almost putting you straight on your ass with his weight. “That’s Han,” 

He only gestured in the general direction so your only clue as to who he was pointing to was the way the man you assumed was Han waved with a bright smile. 

“That’s...Hyunjin,” 

You smiled with a nodded head in greeting toward him. “That’s Changbin, um Jeongin and a-” Chan gestured wildly with his hand, eyes barely staying open, “...Seungmin!” 

Each waved at their name, making your life much easier as you struggled to support your friend’s weight.

Suddenly Chan got up and stumbled over to one of them. “That’s Lee Know.”

The poor boy’s eyes widened as his Chan stumbled, foot catching on nothing but thin air as he tripped over his own feet, falling straight into him, both of the boys falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

You nearly laughed at the pissed expression on Lee Know’s face. They were both covered in the drink he had been holding when his hyung knocked him over.

They were all rushing around you to pick up Chan, unpinning the other boy from under him while the others went to the bar to ask for napkins to try and clean the mess up.

The chaos ensued and you tried your best to help but in the end you ended up just standing there, watching on the sidelines as the others handled in cleaning everything.

“I’m Felix.”

You hadn’t realized he was that close until he’d spoken, close enough that you could feel his warm breath against your neck and smell of mint and beer in his breath.

At your flinch, he chuckled awkwardly, laugh deep just like his voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you...It’s just that Chan-um,” his stutter increased when you turned to look at him. The weight of your steely gaze settled on him once more sending chills down his spine. “I uh, -sorry what’s your name?”

You laughed, a beautiful sound. 

He wanted to make you do it again.

Felix hadn’t wanted to go to the bar that night either.

The others had said they were gonna show him around tonight, just give him the basic run-down of where everything was but then Han had pointed out that this place had just opened.

The next thing he knew, they were in the bar, drinking and laughing.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like partying or going out like the rest of his friends, he just didn’t want to go out specifically tonight.

The area was new and he’d much rather explore the rest of the city than be here in a loud sticky bar. Sure he’d visited a few times and could recognize a few streets but now he was moving here to pursue his dancing career. He needed to at least know how to get to school on his own before it started.

“I’m Y/N, as Chan said.” God, he wanted to cry. Here he was, talking to you, someone beautiful and most likely out of his league. Acting like a blushing schoolboy with his first crush.

“O-oh yeah, what Chan said. I’ve had a few drinks tonight-I’m really sor-”

“-no need to keep apologizing Love, it’s okay.” you purred, smirking at the way he blushed, eyes averting as he subconsciously licked his lips.

“I was wondering if you could uh, drive Chan and I home? I’m bunking with him right now and well both of us have had a few drinks...”

You pursed your lips. “Why doesn’t one of the others take you then?”

Felix’s eyes widened as he scrambled for an answer. “Well-...they are going to their own place for the night.”

It was a lame excuse and he knew it. You knew it. Anyone who heard it would know it. But nonetheless, you were going to do it as long as you got to stay with the pretty boy a little bit longer.

“Okay.” You looked over the swaying bodies to see Chan being supported by Han and Seungmin with his arms swung around their shoulders. 

“I think that we should leave soon before the poor boys are left permanently deaf.” You pointed out, Felix’s attention turning towards the way his roommate was screaming into the two boy’s ears. 

“I agree.” 

It wasn’t easy attempting to get the older boy’s nearly limp sluggish body into your car.

The entire time he screamed about random topics such as what he ate for lunch yesterday and raving about how much he loved Seungmin, who told him to shut up as he clipped on the seatbelt. 

Felix started to get into the passenger before you stopped him, throwing a paper bag at him. “Nope, you’re in the back making sure Channie here doesn’t make a mess in my car.”

Reluctantly, he got into the back. A sad expression, reminding you of a kicked puppy plastered across his face.

The car ride was loud, with Chan shouting unintelligible nonsense and Felix apologizing to you over and over with you telling him to shut up and stop apologizing.

Three stops for Chan to barf on the side of the street and what could’ve been a ten minute drive that resulted in an almost half an hour drive because Felix barely knew his way there, later you finally arrived at their house.

Together, you and Felix lugged him to his room. His body weighing on your like a bundle of bricks.

As soon as he saw his bed your friend flopped backwards onto it with the coordination and gracefulness of a baby deer walking for the first time.

“Should we do anything else? Dress him or something?” You wondered aloud as he promptly fell asleep, not so quiet snores leaving him.

“Nah, he should be fine.” He led you out of Chan’s room and into the kitchen which was opened to connect with the living room. 

He rummaged around, gesturing for you to sit on the barstool which you graciously obliged. “You hungry for anything?”

“I’m good, baby. I should probably actually get going.” You pulled out your phone, sending a quick text to your friends who bombarded you with messages and voicemails wondering where you were. Too wrapped up in that to see the way he froze at the name.

He didn’t want to admit how the names you called him affected him. 

Didn’t want to admit the fantasies that ran through his head when he heard you say them, rolling smoothly off your tongue.

Baby, Love, you called him those and they all made him so, so needy. Needy for you. For you to whisper them to him as he sat on his knees between your legs, gripping his hair between your fingers, controlling his movements the way you wanted to.

The thought was enough to get him hardening. He internally cursed himself, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

You looked up to only see him frowning, “No! Don’t go.” You slid your phone into your bag, jaw clenching. 

Had it been any other situation you would’ve said yes. Any other random guy’s house you would’ve probably already been on top of him, finding all of those places that would make him cry out in pleasure.

But he was drunk. And you were still level-headed enough to know that it would be wrong for you to do anything with him in that state.

“I think I should, both of you guys are good now.” You got up from the seat, slipping your bag over your shoulder, giving him a friendly smile to mask the want that you were sure was apparent in your expression.

He crossed the kitchen, leaving the leftovers he’d pulled out of the fridge, getting close. “Please don’t go.” The small whine in his words left you wanting to shove him against the kitchen counter and wreck him here and now.

He was drunk. That was that and you weren’t going to do anything but you were still curious. “Why should I stay?”

His mouth opened then closed. Eyes falling down to your lips, trailing farther down to what would be considered indecent before snapping back to your face.

“What would you say if I asked you to kiss me?” He asked so innocently with a big pout, bottom lip jutted out.

His eyes told an entirely different story as his face, lust blown pupils wide enough to swallow the entire iris of his pretty brown eyes.

You moved closer to him. Close enough to count the individual freckles on his face. “I’d say you were drunk.”

His frown deepened and he moved backwards, grabbing your arms to pull you with him until the couch hit the back of his knees and slowly, without breaking eye contact he laid back…

With that, he looked down to the wrist he was holding before lifting your hand up to those pretty pouted lips, slipping your middle and pointer finger into his warm wet mouth. 

His head cocked to the side as he wrapped his legs around your hips making you stumble right up against him and his very obvious hard-on.

Holy fuck.

A hot liquid tension filled the room and you tried to restrain yourself from jumping him then and there. “You’re drunk Felix.”

But god, the way your fingers felt in his mouth, wet tongue laving around them before lapping; a lewd sucking sound that had you clenching around nothing, almost taking over your rationality as he took your digits farther down as if he was trying to deepthroat them.

Unlatching from you he looked up, eyes serious albeit still wide with want. “I’m not drunk. I swear.”

“How many drinks did you have tonight?”

“Two.” He thrusted against you and you bite your lip to keep the moan at bay.

“Are you sure?”

He sat up, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Yes.” A stray whimper left him, the noise shooting arousal straight between your legs. “I sobered up in the car. I promise.”

Your bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the floor as his thrusts continued. Heavy pants and whines leaving him in earnest at the friction his tight pants provided as he ground against you.

It was getting increasingly harder to not shove him back onto the couch but you needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you a hundred percent positive Lix? Don’t lie to me just because you want me to fuck you, Love.”

You could feel him shiver at your words, ignoring all but the last one. His plush lips moving against your throat, biting and licking your heated skin causing a traitorous moan to leave you with a gasp.

“Felix.” Your fingers laced into his hair, pulling him back to look at you.

He let out a helpless cry. From being pulled away from you, from the delicious feeling of you pulling his hair, from the way your other hand held his hips down preventing him from moving.

“Are you absolutely sure? We can do this another time if you are but don’t lie to me just because you wanna get your dick wet right now.”

You didn’t tell him that was a lie. That you most likely wouldn’t seek him out again but you needed to be sure if you were going to do anything with him tonight.

His hips desperately tried to move in vain at the grip you had on him, hard enough to leave bruises on his pale flesh. “I promise! ‘M sober!”

You leaned ever so closer, the tips of your noses touching. The feel of his warm breath against your lips. If you moved ever so slightly...your lips would touch his. “Then what do you want me to do baby?”

A glassy sheen covered his eyes as he whined. 

“Please.”

And just like that you could hear the sound of your willpower snapping clean in two.

Tilting your head to slot your lips against his. He whimpered out, your fingers growing ever so tighter in his hair as the other switched from holding his hips in place to setting them at a pace to grind hard and quick against you.

His mouth opened wider, allowing more access for your tongue to slip inside. Your moans rang out in sync, breathless and wanting as his heels dug into your back trying to pull you impossibly closer into him. 

Arms move around your neck, clinging so helplessly, so wanting, as if he thought that if he let go of you now you’d disappear out of thin air and leave him here all alone. 

You kissed him raw and hard until you had no choice but to pull away from lack of air, leaving his lips with a bite to his bottom one while dragging him by his hair away.

There’s spit glistening all over his lips and a blush coats his face and neck, already looking so fucked out. “Love,” an involuntary shiver ran through him, almost violent through his vulnerable state. “Lift your arms for me.”

He obeys with no question, unlatching from around your neck to raise them above his head, letting you lift the hem of his shirt over and throw it somewhere forgotten on the floor.

“Lay back kitten.”

The name is received with a mewl, almost exactly as like a cats and he nods quickly, you feel his heart race under your touch, breath heaving faster. His legs loosen but don’t let go as he falls back onto the couch.

And fuck, you wish you could take a picture. 

Make a painting out of it. The beauty of it rivalling the finest of the renaissance. You’d hang it up where only you could see it, remembering each time you looked at it the way he looks here and now forever. Look back at it and see how utterly gorgeous he was.

Yes, this was exactly your type.

Felix bit his kiss-bruised lips, blond hair highlighted against the black fabric of the coach. You let out a soft groan to see that the freckles continued down his chest, littering all over his chest and shoulders.

“Shit, kitten. ‘M gonna ruin you.” 

The words were meant to be smooth but they came out nearly a moan as you leaned over him to trace your nails along the spots and his pretty pink nipples, watching with a smirk of satisfaction as he squirmed under you, loose whimpers and restrained moans coming from him as you rubbed the buds, quickly turning into hard peaks from your ministrations.

“So sensitive aren’t you? ‘S anyone else ever played with your nipples before baby?”

He gave you no reply. Too caught up in the moment, too lost in the new sensations you were gifting him. Too dumbed down to the pleasure to control the words falling from his lips. “Please Momm-.” 

Just barely catching himself, he tensed, eyes flashing to look up at you, hoping you didn’t notice the words or the reaction to them he had.

He’d never meant to call someone that in bed before. Much less you, beautiful and somehow willing to give him a chance.

Sure, he’d felt like saying it tons of times before. With his past girlfriend he’d accidentally called her it while he’d been thrusting into her in missionary. She was submissive just like him and had just called him daddy. They’d both already known about their similarities and had just rolled with whatever happened in the moment but apparently this was too far for her and she’d broken up with him because of it.

What would you think? Call him a freak and leave? Leave him now, all needy and horny. Spread out on the couch like this?

The thought was enough for his thighs to tighten around you, pushing you to put your entire weight onto him. He didn’t want you to leave, couldn’t even stand the thought.

You stopped. Stopped your thrusts. Stopped the way your fingers danced along his chest in a way that made his head spin in the best possible way. Stopped it all and a voice deep inside his brain screamed in protest, his head burying into your neck, hoping to anything that you wouldn’t leave him. 

“I asked you a question, Felix.”

His head was hazy. He couldn’t remember what you’d said, didn’t even think he’d heard the question in the first place. 

Luckily, you spared the poor boy, pulling him back to look at you. 

Shit, here it comes. You’re gonna call him disgusting and gross which he could handle if you wouldn’t look at him with those disgusted eyes that made him want to cry and not in a good way.

But you don’t say those words?

Instead what comes out of those perfect lips is, “Do you want Mommy to make you feel good baby?”

Was he dreaming? He felt like in he was in a dream. 

That same voice from before shrieked in happiness.

“Yes! Please Mommy! Need you, ah!” His fingers gripped onto your hair as your lips latched around one of his hardened buds, nipping slightly before sucking. “Ha! God! Please, fe-feel so good, don’t-don’t stop, please Mommy!” He sobbed.

His words had heat zinging straight to your core and you began grinding against him harder and harder, trying satiate that ache settling between your legs.

He watched in a lust-filled fascination, trying to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his skull, trying to keep his tongue from hanging out of his mouth as strands of drool dripped down his chin. But he couldn’t keep back the breathy incoherent pleas, mixtures of faster and slower and close and mommy that had you clenching around nothing.

You could tell he was close, very close. Not only from the way he chanted it, repeating the words over and over like they were the only things left in that pretty head of his. But also by the way his breathing grew erratic, his pulse hammering and fluttering in his chest against your lips.

And then...and then it...stopped?

He whimpered at the sudden loss of stimulation, eyes flying open to stare at you, glittering with unshed tears and confusion. They searched yours, as if he could figure out why you stopped in the depth of them. And he could. The teasing light in them. An inward smirk as he cried out and rutted up against you, trying to chase the high that was quickly dissipating.

Your finger still traced over his pecs, soothing and tantalizing all the same. “W-why’d you stop?” He whined in frustration at your lack of movement.

Red splotches that you know will turn to purple bruises covered the expanse of his chest. Such a pretty visual just for you to see. 

Just for you, no one else. Your little toy to play with and ruin, to use for your pleasure and he’ll love it all the same.

Sweat and saliva covered him-both yours and his. It was gross and lewd and fucking hot. 

“Jus’ wanna play with you for a bit, baby? Don’t you wanna let Mommy feel good too, Lixie?”

He nodded with vigor, chest still heaving and hips still subtly trying to press up against you which you let slide from the way that sparks of pleasure shot up your spine. 

“Yes Mommy, Lixie wants to make you feel good too...” His voice was higher now and he paused as if trying to decide whether if he should continue or not. “Could I...um...”

You tilted his chin up and nodded for him to continue. “Could I eat you out...?” He was so quiet you nearly missed the question but decided to spare him from repeating himself as you bit your lip to feign thinking.

“Aww, does baby wanna taste Mommy?” Despite the teasing lilt, he nodded, earrings jingling with the movement. 

You smiled and let your hand ghost down his neck, feeling his throat bob under your hand. Milky skin soft and smooth, practically begging to be marked up by you.

Finally after what felt like forever of teasing touches and small kisses, working him up only to back away once his moans got loud.

You repeated it several times before pulling away completely. Felix whined in protest, making desperate grabby hands at you as your hands untwined his legs from around your waist.

“Be a good boy for me and get on your knees baby.”

His whines quieted down at that. And he slid off the couch, falling to his knees on the hardwood floor eagerly wide-eyed. 

His hands folding behind his back, looking up at you with a pleading look, completing the perfect picture of obedience. 

‘Just when I thought he couldn’t get any prettier,’ you mused, letting yourself sink back into the couch, spreading your legs to make room for the boy.

It was so hard to restrain yourself from ravaging him then and there, edging him until he cried from the pleasure, begging you to stop and let him cum and still ignoring him. 

Going on and on until you decided that he had enough.

You beckoned him toward you and with no hesitation he was scooting closer and pressing his face sweetly against your lower stomach, looking up at you in a silent ask of permission.

He shudders against between your legs as your hand reaches down to play with his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. Eyes shut in bliss he begins to nose against you. "Please."

It’s a whine-a plea, a beg to let him give you pleasure.

“Yes,”

The warm, comforting smile he gives as he stares up at you makes your heart skip a beat.

 Tantalizingly slow, he tugs at the waistband of your pants, lifting yourself up so the fabric falls to pool around your ankles. And with an ungraceful pull, they’re landing somewhere across the room to find later on.

A shudder runs down your spine as you feel his hot breath lightly ghosting across you. And with open-mouthed kisses and nudges he slowly parts your legs, coaxing you to vocalize how good it feels.

He looks unsure. 

And he is. He hasn’t done this in awhile, doesn’t really remember what to do. His eyes flash up in quick glances to to see your face, trying to decipher if you enjoy what he’s doing or not.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he teases you, nipping and mouthing everywhere but where you need him most. But you can’t tell if it’s from inexperience.

Then your eyes catch him and you can tell by the way he periodically glances up at you between licks, stopping when you seem to be enjoying it that it’s a kind of payback from your teasing earlier.

“Lix.” You warn, a subtle edge in your voice telling him to hurry up.

He stops with a whine, unable to do anything but melt against the comfort of your plush thighs. He wishes that he could stay like this forever you, devouring you and hearing the way you praise him and-

“Lix.” You warn again, voice hardening as your hips start to push towards him in slow restrained grinds.

He pauses to look up at you with hearts in his eyes before his attention moves back down, watching, heart pounding and cock throbbing as evidence of your arousal drips down your skin and onto the fabric of the couch; practically salivating.

Growing too impatient with him, you grip his hair and shove his face into your pussy, throwing your head back with a moan as his tongue begins to eagerly lap at you.

He whines into you, the vibrations provoking a drawn-out groan that has something bubbling up deep inside you.

“Mm, such a good little slut for me kitten.” Breath hitching as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently. “Yes~”

His ever-willing need to please you, he shifts closer and pulls one leg over his shoulder allowing him to more access of you. At this you can do nothing but bite your lip and find purchase in his silky smooth hair, digging your fingers-almost painfully-into his scalp.

It doesn’t faze him, if anything it makes him go harder as he continues to lick you, alternating between deep thrusts of his warm muscle into you and harsh tonguing around the bundle of nerves.

“Oh, yes baby. You’re doing so good, ha, making me feel s-so good kitten,” He whimpers at the praise, the vibrations pulling a deep groan that has him palming himself over his pants.

You’d greatly underestimated the skills of the boy. A tongue on him like no other that had you gasping for air.

With your fingers already intertwined in his hair it’s easy to pull him away from you. He whines and tries in vain to bury his face into your pussy again but it’s your steely grip that prevents him as his long tongue sticks out, far as it can go.

He pouts with a long whine, “Mommy...”

You’re breathless at the view, him between your legs, your leg hitched over his shoulder, bottom lip jutted out, his face covered in your juices as he shamelessly bucks into his hand.

It’s positively erotic.

You don’t say a thing, drinking him in. Before you finally challenge, “If you can make me come before you do,” gesturing toward his little problem, “then I’ll let you come. If you don’t...” you shrug, letting the challenge hang in the air, waiting with a bated breath to see his reaction.

Nodding once, quick and determined he dives back in with a new fervor, lapping and licking all around you. Whining and whimpering, gasping breaths and making noises out of some kind of cheap submissive boy porn, desperate in his mission to please you.

And it isn’t long until you’re gasping as well. Sucking gulps of air into your breathless lungs, lightheaded as waves of pleasure pulse through your veins and flood throughout your body.

Praises and degrading terms fall from your lips, calling him a good boy, your little toy, your precious baby, your slut, your Lixie. Marvelling at how he’s so willing to please, acting like a whore as he gets hard from just tasting you.

Telling him how good he’s making you feel, mindless blabber that he eats up, moaning into you and rutting harder against his hand, hanging onto your every word.

He’s close, he knows it and he knows that you are too. The way your legs tense around him and your words raise higher in pitch. Telling him not to stop, that you’re close, that he’s your good little kitten

And that’s all he wants to be.

In this vey moment all he wants to be is a perfect little brainless toy for you, pleasing you, craving your touch and aching for your hands on his body.

One last suck to your clit and you come with a cry, fisting his hair tightly. That mixed with the way your thighs tremble and clench around his head, holding him in place. He nearly comes too, mewling causing shockwaves of overstimulation to run through you.

It takes a few minutes for you to come down, finally releasing his head and petting his hair. 

Only to realize the way he humps up against your leg. Tongue hanging out, thrusting like a bitch in heat as he moves faster and faster, chasing his high.

But he doesn’t expect you to meet his thrusts, pushing your foot to meet him, he lets out a loud gasp, palming at your legs for more. “Look at you, baby,” you coo, hand slithering down to press against his lips.

He opens, inviting your digits in with little prompting, resuming in his efforts. “Such a pretty little kitten for me...” your other legs slips off his shoulder, planting it more suitably against the ground. “Getting off on my leg like a little kitty in heat aren’t you?”

Frustrated tears slip down the angles of his face, farther ruining his already smudged makeup as a gargled moan slips out around your fingers.

The thought of the blushing cute boy you met eyes with a the bar, contrasting to the one you see now. On his knees below you, humping your leg at an earnest pace as those pretty brown eyes you intensely stared at earlier slip back and finally shut. In fact, his entire head slips back. Blunt nails dig into the soft skin of your leg and high pitched whines vibrate in his throat.

He can hardly think and hardly wants to. 

Felix wants nothing more than to be reduced only to the mind-numbing ache pulsing heavy between his legs. Nothing but pleasure and sensation, overwhelming and all-consuming. 

The feel of you comforting him through, fingers pressing firm on his tongue while the other rubs over his throat and jaw. He’s finally free to. To lose himself in it all knowing that you’ll be just as happy to watch him falling apart because you know it’s happening because of you.

“Come whenever you need to kitten. Mommy’s gonna take care of you. S’okay.” And he lets go with whimper, clinging to your leg like a lifeline, comforted knowing that you’re there the whole way through. 

Nothing compares to this feeling; floating as waves of ecstasy wash over him unyielding and harsh, making his toes curl and stealing the breath from his lungs like he was winded.

The sight is gorgeous. Thrusts not stopping even in his peak, unconscious as he whines from self-inflicted overstimulation. 

You watch, breath hitched as his pants darken with his release.

Gradually, he comes back, grimacing at the uncomfortable sensation. It’s cute, the way he pouts.

His eyes are still dazed as you gesture for him to come sit with you and on wobbly legs he does. Laying on top of you with his chin propped up on your chest to look at you.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

You pet his hair, pushing the sweaty strands back and wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks. “No need to thank me, Lixie. If anything I should be thanking you.”

He looks at you, smiling wide with metaphorical heart-eyes and you could feel the blush rising on your skin. 

“Wanna take a shower? I dunno about you but I think I really need one right about now.” Your strokes stop to cup his warm cheek, thumb swiping under his eye.

“Yeah, just gimme a moment to remember how to walk.” Both of you lightly chuckle, his voice back to its deep cadence. 

**

After you lay in his bed, hair wet and wrapped in a towel, his fluffy from you blow-drying it.

His light snores fill the room, having fallen asleep as soon as his body hit the bed. You couldn’t blame him after such strenuous activities.

Now he lays, tucked against your chest. His body is curled up as if he wanted to feel as small as possible with your arms wrapped around him and body cradling his. 

For the first time in a long time you felt...happy?

Normally after sex you there was little to no words, much less cuddling exchanged afterward. You’d offered in the beginning but after being rejected several times, left alone with them scurrying out of your apartment immediately after, you’d stopped asking. You didn’t kick them out but just didn’t ask, always allowing them to have the option of whatever this was but no one had ever taken you up on it.

But you decided it was nice. It was a strange experience that left you feeling fuzzy and warm inside. You could get use too-

Cold ice replaced the new fondness you felt.

This feeling, the feeling you’d felt budding the entire night-you’d never think you’d feel it again-much less for a one-night stand. 

It was a big and overwhelming feeling as you looked to the sleeping man in your arms, looking like a sweet angel even in his slumber.

You felt a sudden urge to lean down and kiss him on the forehead, tuck back the loose strands of hair that fell across his face, trace your fingers over the complexion of freckles on his-

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Suddenly the room felt unbearably hot, smothering you until you could barely breath properly.

You needed to get out of here. Now.

**

Felix woke up the next morning with a yawn, stretching like a cat and reaching over to...?

He flipped over and...you were gone? The bed was cold. You’d been gone for a while. Maybe, you’d just gone to the bathroom or-

Felix threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, quickly throwing on some clothes before walking out of his room.

Maybe you’d be in the kitchen, making breakfast or drinking coffee. You’d greet him with a soft smile and a ‘Good morning sunshine!’

His fantasy was short-lived as all he found was Chan in the kitchen, sitting with a glass of water and a piece of toast on the barstool-the same one that you’d sat on last night.

Chan looked up as he entered the room. “Morning.” He nodded, lacking the nice way your voice rolled when you spoke, making shivers run down his spine.

“Morning.” Felix couldn’t coat the disappointment in his reply.

Luckily, Chan sensed nothing out of the ordinary as he continued eating, taking another bite before swallowing. “By the way, don’t care if you bring someone home but keep it down next time will you? You woke me and probably the entire apartment complex up.”

He froze and turned to look at the older man, blush coating his face, “O-oh, you uh, heard that huh?”

He snorted. “You could say that. I heard a lot of things I didn’t want nor need to hear last night.”

“Stoooop!” Felix covered his pink cheeks with his hands. 

He was never going to be able to ever live this down. 

Chan shrugged with a smirk before as if trying to be casual, clearing his throat. “So, (Y/N) huh?”

His ears perked at her name. “Yeah...by the way, did you see her leaving this morning? She just left without waking me up or anything...”

Taking another bite, he shook his head wordlessly. “Nope. Besides, she doesn’t really date much. Isn’t really the type to wake the other party up when she leaves more like leave the bed cold-or so I’ve heard.”

At the way Felix’s face dropped at the accuracy of his situation Chan stuttered, trying to backtrack. “Uh, I-i mean-you never know! I can...give you her number, send her a quick text to check up y’know.”

“Ah, no that’s okay.”

Chan nodded awkwardly. “Do you want me to show you around today? School starts soon and you should really learn your way around.”

Distracted in the way he mechanically got water from the tap, Felix replied without even looking up at his hyung. “Yeah, yeah. Sure, we can do that. Not like I have anything better to do.”

A/N: Sorry about my little obsession w/ Felix’s freckles but like, how could you not? I left this open for a pt.2 so lmk if you wanna see that, my requests are open and the rules are here

[dmwrites]

It was said that the Decked Out dungeon was alive.

The hermits, gathered in the halls and cubbyholes of Decked Out, talked about this factually. The dungeon was laced tradition and superstition.

The hermits said it ate people, that it craved blood. Some hermits had lucky cards or items, others touched parts of the dungeon before going in. They all joked about the dungeon having a crush on Etho.

Hypno thought this was all bullshit.

And while he wasn’t one to diss other people’s superstitions (at least not in a hurtful way), the way some of the hermits talked about the dungeon was… weird.

Hypno could only shake his head and stay quiet. “It’s chance! Chance and RNG and skill! The dungeon is a machine, not some beast in need of hermit butts to keep it satisfied!” He wanted to say. But he didn’t say anything, just stuck to the sidelines, quiet and thinking about his own runs, what he could explore next.

Regardless of differences, the hermits could all agree on one thing: decked out was addictive. Hypno had spent more hours then he cared to admit in the dungeon, just so he could be near the place, hear strategies. And he liked to play, had a bit of a knack for the dungeon itself. Phases one through three had been tons of fun, tons of exploration and death and success. But Phase four…

“Damn it!”

Hypno wondered if there was a death speedrun record yet for Decked Out, and if he’d just done it. Killed by Skill Issue almost as soon as he’d cleared the first room. The whole week had been like this, he hadn’t succeeded once.

“Too bad, man.” Hypno could hear Cub saying from beyond the door when he respawned.

“Appreciate it, man. Ugh!” Hypno hit the button to open the door and went to sit on the floor next to where Cub was leaning against a wall. “I’ve had such bad luck this week!”

“That sucks. Maybe the dungeon is just mad at you.” Cub suggested, looking down at Hypno.

Hypno put his hands to his face. “Cub, what?”

“Well, you know, I mean, of everyone here, I think you and I have penetrated the dungeon the deepest.”

“Don’t say it like that, please.”

“It’s the truth, though.” Cub continued. “You play that dungeon rough, and maybe it’s tired of you. Wants the annoying bug named Hypno to get out as fast as possible. And how to you get rid of something that’s annoying you? You smack it.”

“The dungeon isn’t alive, Cub.” Hypno said, looking up at him. “You do know that, right? It’s just a game.”

“I dunno, man…” Cub looked down at him. “I pay my respects to the dungeon… maybe you should consider it too.”

It dawned on Hypno, in that moment, just how much the sculk had spread across Cub’s skin, curling into his eyes and staining his skin an inky blue. Hypno shivered, and wondered just how Cub was “paying respects” to the dungeon.

——

Hypno went again as soon as the dungeon was ready. He and Cub hadn’t said another word since their brief conversation, and Hypno could feel Cub’s eyes on his back, watching him in silence. Those glittery, dark eyes. The door closed in between them, and Hypno tried to shake off the kind of damp, uncomfortable feeling on his skin.

“Right, hard mode, let’s do this.” Hypno murmured, pressing the correct button from the list and placing his shulker box. A minecart appeared, and down into the dungeon he went.

The problem was, with the minecart ride, was that it was far too long, with too much silence for thoughts to creep in. Of all people, Hypno hasn’t expected Cub to be one of the hermits treating the dungeon like a living thing. But then again, Hypno reasoned, was Cub really all Cub right now? But regardless of who was in charge of Cub’s form right now, Cub ran the dungeon great most of the time.

But he’s just good at the game, a little voice inside Hypno argued.

But so are you… another voice argued back.

The minecart ride ended, and Hypno was facing the doors of the dungeon. He took a deep, centering breath, tightened his bandanna. The dungeon isn’t mad at you, the dungeon doesn’t have feelings, it’s a building, Hypno assured himself.

He grabbed the compass- a simple level one- and snuck his way thought the icy rooms and halls. He had an ear out for ravengers, but something was different. It smelled different. Rather then the kind of cold that blocked out everything, the air smelled stale, but slightly metallic. Hypno smelled his shirt- it wasn’t him, although he was sweating like crazy. A ravenger suddenly roared, barreling around the corner, even though Hypno was out of sight. Hypno ran, jumping over the river of souls and into the crypt. He had half a mind where this compass location may be, and pounded down the stairs. He wasn’t sure what it was, Cub or just a feeling, but he didn’t want to be here too long.

He found the compass location and threw it in, getting his own bandana artifact. The second he picked it up, the dungeon groaned, metal against metal, ice against ice. He could hear ravengers bellowing, running towards him. Hypno looked around, but there was nothing that suggested this was all some kind of prank.

“What is happening?” Hypno asked himself. He tightened his bandana, took a deep breath, and ran back up the stairs, only interested in leaving this place.

The coffins around him were rattling, someone was pounding against the stone. He could hear vex screeching, even though he was nowhere near max clank yet. He kept running, sure of his way.

Ravengers lunged at him.The walls were contracting, shuddering violently as the dungeon screamed in his ears-

He fell onto the pressure plates that marked the exit, scrambled to the short chute that would send him to the end of the dungeon, and maybe he could get out and touch some grass or something. He jumped down into the hole, taking deep, gasping breaths as he fell. And he kept falling. Before he could really process that this was a far longer drop then any other time he’d finished the dungeon, he hit a puddle of water with a splash.

“Yeah, dungeon isn’t happy with you, man.”

Cubfan stood before him, like he’d been there the whole time. The room Hypno had landed in was caked in sculk, all shimmering and almost bulging outwards towards him.

“Where are we, Cub?” Hypno asked hesitantly, trying to steady his breathing, slowly moving to stand on solid ground. Every instinct the dungeon, and life in general had taught him was that something was very, very wrong.

“The Burning Dark, of course. You’re a smart guy, I bet you knew that already. The dungeon thinks you’re smart. Hates that you’re smart. Hates that you don’t fear it like you should.” Cub paused, and in that silence was the heartbeat of the dungeon. “Are you scared now, Hypno?”

In a place so void of information, with only sculk and the creeping realization that Cub was not here to save him, Hypno’s mind raced, but came to no conclusion.

“No.” He lied.

“The dungeon is hungry, Hypno. You die a lot, but you haven’t died for the dungeon yet.”

A sword was in Cub’s hand, and suddenly it wasn’t Cub and a creepy room, but a ravenger named “nothing, they survived decked out!”. But there was no button and door here, no pretend savior. Hypno was going to die, sacrificed to the dungeon by this person who wasn’t all Cub. Hypno straightened his bandana. Well, if this was going to be how this went down, he wouldn’t let the dungeon have the satisfaction of his fear.

“Do you know how sculk works, Hypno?” Cub was advancing, in slow, meaningful steps.

“No.” Hypno looked him down, didn’t move.

“The more you kill, the more it spreads.” The room was covered in the stuff. How many hermits had come here to die, be sacrificed to keep the dungeon happy?

“We could just leave, my guy. Touch some grass, talk to other hermits. You don’t have to do this.” Hypno said, but he knew his words only absorbed into the sculk. Cub was in front of him now, sword between them.

“Run. Maybe you can escape again.” Cub rasped.

“No.” Hypno replied. He didn’t move. Not even when the blade pierced his heart. He fell in place, sinking to the floor that would take his sacrifice. He could feel Cub kneel beside him, take the bandana off his head.

“You’re so annoying, Hypno. Can’t even die like everyone else.” It wasn’t Cub speaking.

——

Hypno woke up in the Decked Out bed. He gathered his stuff, his deck, and flew away as fast as he could. It wasn’t until the citadel was out of sight that he realized that his bandana hadn’t respawned with him. He shivered, not knowing what that really meant.

[anthurak]

One thing that always feels so funny for me when it comes to the Rosebird Parents Theory isn’t when people simply disagree with the theory, but rather people apparently seeing the prospect of a ‘Raven is Ruby’s real father’ reveal to be this totally unthinkable thing and how could anyone ever think this could happen?!

Because once you get past the whole ‘two ladies making a baby’ hurtle, Raven being Ruby’s dad really fits into so many well-known fantasy/sci-fi tropes. Many of which RWBY notably has not done yet, or have already been tied to Raven herself.

I mean, the mysterious villainous and/or anti-heroic loner with ties to the family pulling an ‘I am your Father’ reveal on the protagonist? That’s a fucking CLASSIC. Hell, let’s consider a few things about Raven:

Big, intimidating helmet.

Clear Samurai inspiration.

Wields a katana-like sword that technically has an energy blade (dust=energy) which is generally RED-colored.

Possesses mysterious and terrible over-worldly powers.

Has a mysterious past tied to our protagonist’(s) family.

Was probably in love with our protagonist’s (apparently) dead mother.

Yeah I’d say Raven makes for a pretty good Darth Vader-expy.*

Beyond that specific case, we’ve already seen the story connect Raven to a BUNCH of ‘mysterious and angsty deadbeat dad who left their kid for unclear reasons’ tropes when it comes to Yang. Why not have those apply to Ruby as well? People have been clamoring for years about wanting to see Summer’s narrative dynamic with Yang explored as much as the one she has with Ruby, so why not have the reverse be true with Raven and Ruby as well?

After all, it seems that the story has now given Ruby a reason to seek Raven for answers just as Yang once did.

And as I’ve noted in previous Rosebird Parents posts, No I don’t believe Raven also being Ruby’s deadbeat dad would be somehow ‘redundant’. Particularly because the context is completely different: Yang has known that Raven is her birth-mother for most of her life, whereas Ruby would only just now be finding out that Raven is her birth-father. Far from being redundant, this would allow the story to explore two very different responses of kids to an absent parent: One who has had to live with the knowledge of that absent parent for years, and one who hasn’t and has to deal with this NEW information suddenly getting dropped on her.

Plus, as I alluded to earlier, it’s rather notable that RWBY hasn’t done some big ‘dramatic parent reveal’, given how much of a staple it is to the genre. And given how reimagining, twisting and flipping classic and well-worn fairytale/folklore/fantasy tropes (often via playing with gender-roles) is basically RWBY’s bread and butter at this point, I’d say giving the series heroine an ‘I am your father’ reveal from a woman would fit PERFECTLY in this series.

And if you’re going to ask ‘but how do two ladies make baby?!?’,

Raven can be intersex. Boom. Done.

Alternatively, magic.

As an aside, yes Summer being trans is a perfectly viable alternative. I just think logistically speaking, Raven being intersex and being Ruby’s ‘father’ makes a dramatic reveal a bit more streamlined. Also, the idea of Raven managing to be BOTH a deadbeat mom AND a deadbeat dad is just too funny XD

*Of course, this comparison gets even more fun when we consider Summer having her own Vader-parallels, ie; Summer almost certainly being taken by Salem and given what we can probably assume to be a Vader-esque makeover via grimm-hybridization in setup for a big reveal. So when we combine this with Raven, I think we can view what happened on their last mission as ‘What if Padme/Obi-wan got turned into Vader INSTEAD of Anakin?’ Like Raven in the present is basically Anakin doing Obi-wan’s traumatized hermit shtick, except all angry and edgy because it’s still Anakin.

[aquaquadrant]

What would the au where tango never got experimented on and as a result never left hels look like

you said that tango would have found his way to timmy eventually and that’s really interesting if they would have been friends I wonder how close they would be

the bond like the one Jimmy and tango have was only possible because tango had spent at least a year in hermit craft learning to open up and jimmy was raised not in hels

even if tango wouldn’t have the experiment trauma he still would have trauma and Timmy well I’m pretty sure he would’ve been open to it

Can you share your headcanons on the hypothetical situation please

(i know i’ve been sitting on this ask for ages but i had to turn the idea over in my mind a few times, like really let it get in there, let it simmer, rearrange the furniture. so uh, here ya go!)

~*~

“timmy,” tango calls urgently, ducking into the netherrack cave.

“yeah?” timmy pokes his head up from their nest. there are a few stray sticks caught in his hair- he must’ve taken a nap like tango suggested, thank god.

“sminor said there were blackcoats at the market yesterday, asking about hybrids.” tango talks quickly, his tone low and impersonal. he crosses over to the double chest they’ve set up, starting to rummage through it. “we gotta go, pack your stuff.”

timmy makes a noise of dismay, sitting upright. “is sean gonna be okay?” he asks tentatively, wringing his hands together.

tango scoffs. “c’mon, you know him. long as he stays outta water, he’ll be fine.” okay, that’s everything he can carry. he pops his ender chest down and starts reorganizing, trying to fit as many resources as he can. “now we, on the other hand, happen to be a bit more visibly obvious hybrids, so like i said, we gotta go.” satisfied with his ender chest, tango mines it back up before turning to face timmy. “now c’mon, scooch, i gotta burn it.”

timmy glances down at the nest, his face falling. “but i just got it how i like it…”

“well sorry, but it’s gotta go!” tango huffs, totally unapologetic, tugging at timmy’s arm. he manages not to scratch him. “now hurry up, get packing-”

“can’t we just hole up here for a few days, til they clear out the area?” timmy asks desperately.

“timmy-”

“you hid this place really well, they’re not gonna find it.”

tango doesn’t let the compliment sway him. he knows he’s hidden their base really well; countless hours were spent mining a virtual labyrinth of tunnels through the mountain, painstakingly shaped to appear as if they generated naturally. the way up to the cave is subtly marked by ever-so-slightly misplaced blocks of netherrack, completely imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know they’re there.

but if the rumors about the blackcoats are true, that won’t be enough.

“we can’t take that chance,” tango says sharply. he jerks his thumb back at the chest. “last warning. get packed or i’m burning it all.”

sighing, timmy finally relents, climbing over the edge of the nest and shuffling over towards the chest. his head is bowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. pouting, like a little kid. fucking typical.

leaning over the rim of the nest, tango dips his clawed fingers into the brush. he closes his eyes; fire flows from his fingertips, easy as breathing. the stick-and-leaf structure catches light almost instantly. fire crackles and pops in the still air.

timmy has turned his face away as he digs through the chest, shoulders hunching by his ears and wings tucked closed to his body. tango refuses to let himself feel bad for it. it had to be done.

“how’s your hunger?” he murmurs, stepping away from the burning nest.

“hm?” timmy doesn’t look over at him, preoccupied as he sorts his inventory.

tango sighs. “timmy. your hunger.”

“oh, uh- fine?”

“did you even check your comm?”

“i’m pretty sure it’s fine-”

“lemme see.”

“tangooo,” timmy whines, in that plaintive way of his, willing tango to drop the subject.

but tango remains firm, holding out a hand expectantly. after a moment, timmy wilts under the pressure, as expected. he meekly hands tango his communicator, glancing away.

tango quickly scans timmy’s stats. full health. thirty-eight levels (it’s been a while since his last death, tango notes with no small amount of pride). two armor points, cause of the iron boots tango made him last week. and his hunger bar-

“two haunches?” tango hisses. he can almost feel his blood start to boil. “damn it, timmy, how many times do i gotta tell you? you keep it at four at the absolute lowest, in case you have to run or fly. i told you, you don’t have to ration food, if we’re low i’ll go get more.”

timmy gives him a pleading look. “tango-”

“no- no, stop it with the puppy dog eyes! i already- i told you!” tango shoves the communicator back at timmy, none too gently. “do you want the creepy scientists to catch you? huh? want them to experiment on you? you want them to do a- a live dissection- a vivisection on you?”

“hang on,” timmy protests, a nervous tremor in his voice, “we don’t- we don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen if they find us-”

“what do you think happens?” tango snaps, tasting flames on his tongue. he knows his blaze rods must be spitting fire at this point, but he can’t bring himself to care. “everywhere they go, hybrids disappear. what, you- do you think they’re all just enjoying some super secret hybrid party, joining hands and singing kumbaya? don’t be stupid.”

for a moment there’s silence, nothing but the steady crackling of the burning nest behind them. timmy just looks at him, those big sad eyes shining with tears, and tango’s anger extinguishes.

as easy as it is to lash out at timmy, as good as it feels to get that release, tango always regrets it pretty quickly afterwards.

“hey…” tango exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “okay, okay, sorry. you’re not stupid.” he steps closer, carefully taking timmy’s face in his hands. “and- and i don’t wanna leave either. but it’s the only way to keep you safe. i mean- i promised i would, didn’t i?”

“yeah, i know.” timmy sniffles, avoiding tango’s gaze. “there’s… another town fifteen hundred blocks north?”

“no,” tango says, taking care not to let his voice harden. he picks a stick out of timmy’s hair before stepping away. “no towns for a while. we need to lay low til they clear the area. we’ll find a nice mountain in a forest somewhere, okay? maybe- maybe we can even have a little skylight.”

“yeah?” timmy asks, his voice going up hopefully.

“yeah.” tango pulls a cooked salmon out of his inventory, handing it to timmy. “here, eat.”

in hindsight, tango should’ve known they wouldn’t be safe for very long, living near a coastal town. oceans are few and far between in hels, so they get a lot of traffic. but god, it’s so nice to have actual meat for a change. he loathes the thought of going back to rotten flesh and spider eyes.

timmy takes the fish without complaint and starts nibbling on it. satisfied, tango turns to their double chest and breaks it, letting all the excess items and blocks spill onto the floor. a single well-aimed fireball sets the whole pile ablaze, leaving nothing but smoldering netherrack.

lastly, tango mines their respawn anchor. now that their spawn point is untethered, he feels the anxiety start to kick in with renewed force. a death now would strand them at the world spawn, and that would be all kinds of bad. he takes a final look around the cave; there’s no sign they were ever even here.

“alright, let’s get moving,” he says, putting his pickaxe away and heading for the exit tunnel.

timmy follows him out of the cave. they travel in silence for a few minutes, tango keeping an ear out for mobs since the only light they have is the faint flow of his blaze rods. lighting the area up would give them away, so they’ve had to get used to seeing in the dark.

“someday,” tango says quietly, “we’ll go far enough that we won’t have to worry about those guys ever again. and- and we’ll be able to make a little happy house together, nest and all.”

timmy hums, his arm brushing against tango’s in the dark, wing spread around his shoulders. “yeah, a proper home. i like it. we can- uh, d’you think we’ll make like, a farm or somethin’? a little cozy cottage, like a- a homestead, or…”

“a ranch?” tango suggests, feeling a grin pull at his mouth. like they’d ever find enough passive mobs for that. but for some reason, the idea appeals to him.

timmy huffs a laugh, something tango hasn’t heard for a while. “yeah, sure, we’ll be ranchers.”

“ranchers,” tango agrees. his inner fire has dimmed to a gentle warmth, now; some soft, weak thing he doesn’t have a name for. “team rancher.”

~*~

[gaybananabread]

Can I buyyyyyyy some cherries and bananas for Lee!satan and Ler!lucifer

Fruit(s): Cherries, Bananas

WHOOOOOO DAMN I haven’t played this in two years @~@. I tried my best to keep these boys in character and flesh the idea out. Hopefully this doesn’t suck(/hj). May or may not have restarted my interest in this fandom… As always, thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Satan

Ler: Lucifer

Summary: Satan becomes engrossed in a new novel, locking himself in his room all day. He forgets about everything else as time flies, accidentally ignoring his duties and MC. Lucifer gives him a reminder he won’t soon forget.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

Satan curled up on his bed, the soft pattering of rain on his bay window making the perfect white noise. He had been gifted a new mystery/drama novel by his favorite human and was intent on binge-reading it to the end. Abandoning his worries and silencing his D.D.D., the avatar of Wrath cracked the spine and began to read his new novel.

-

Lucifer stormed through the halls of the House of Lamentation, heading for the fourth oldest brother’s room. The knowledge-obsessed recluse hadn’t shown his face in over 24 hours. MC was worried, and the blonde demon’s list of assignments was left untouched. 

As the oldest, he took it upon himself to punish his brothers for their various misdeeds. Despite this, he had a soft spot for every one of them in his heart, no matter how small. Mammon was a cheeky, greedy little shit most of the time, but he still loved him as his brother. Nevertheless, Satan’s hermiting couldn’t be left unchecked.

Reaching the sturdy oak barrier, Lucifer knocked rather politely. He was too civilized to bang right away, though he definitely felt like it. “Satan! Open this door, now!” He could still yell, though.

The bibliophile jolted, almost dropping his beloved book as the yell shook him. He scoffed, bookmarked his page and moved to open the door. “What is it, Lucifer? I’m doing something.”

That got a huff out of the prideful demon, his eye twitching. “It’s not your list of tasks for today, is it? Or perhaps spending time with the human? You can’t be in there just reading and think you can speak to me that way.” Internally, he facepalmed. He really had lost track of time, hadn’t he? No way he was admitting that to Lucifer, though. “What makes you think you can talk to me like I’m a child? I’ll get them done, and I’ve got plans to hang out with MC later.”

That made the older man’s blood boil. Normally he’d smack the other demon around a bit and call it a day, but that time was different. He had promised his human that he would refrain from harming his brothers, especially satan. They hate seeing the two fight. Violence is off the table, but something else they had shown him came to mind. Bingo…

The smirk on Lucifer’s face sent an odd feeling to his stomach. One he could’ve sworn he’d felt before, but couldn’t quite remember when. “Satan, I’m giving you five seconds to run. If I were you, I’d use them~” He raised one hand, teasingly wiggling his fingers. Oh... Oh.

Satan did what any rational demon would in that scenario; he ran for his life. Luci rarely got into teasing moods, but when he did, they were killer. Every brother in the House knew to fear a playful Lucifer. 

The eldest brother chuckled, watching the cat-lover flee. He loved moments like these, though he’d never admit it. He slowly counted to five listening to every shoe squeak and opening door as his brother ran. Finally, when the time was up, he pursued his victim for the evening.

Lucifer followed his mental map, retracing the noises he’d heard. A shoe squeak for a turn, a door slam for a room change. He reached the end of the trail, watching a bag swing on the closet door. There we are…

Taking long, slow strides, he walked over to the closet. The demon made sure every step was loud and slapped against the ground for his hidden brother to hear. Was it mean? Absolutely. Did he care? Not one bit.

Satan kept a hand pressed over his mouth, not daring to make a sound. He knew that Lucifer was just drawing it out. Before their human showed up, the brothers never would’ve considered such a playful option. But now? It was their favorite alternative, often on both the giving and receiving side. Lucifer was still the most revered in the family, even in such a silly sense.

Chuckling to himself, Lucifer flung the closet door open, grabbing his brother’s arm and pinning him to the couch before he could even think about running. Satan kicked and squirmed, his tucked cardigan quickly getting bunched as he tried to escape. “L-Lucifer! Let me go right now!” 

A gleam shone in his older brother’s eyes, one that sent a shiver down his spine. He only got that look when he was about to do something evil, usually to Mammon… If only the greedy avatar were there to distract him. 

Lucifer leaned in, speaking directly into his brother’s ear. “I want you to know, Satan, that I will be tickling you mercilessly.” His tone was as smug as it was level. The simple gesture made his stomach do anticipatory flips. “And I will be enjoying myself~”

Before he could even breathe another protest, Luci dug into his upper rib cage, scribbling and drilling his fingers between each bone. Satan fell in a giggle fit, his cheeks quickly pinkening. “L-Luhucifeheher! Nohoho! Gehet off mehehehe!” 

“Aww, how unfortunate for you, brother. I won’t be doing that anytime soon.” He cooed, climbing up and down Satan’s rib cage with his wiggly fingers. He had the other demon strongly pinned, giving him very little wiggle room. Still, he tried his best to get away. “Gohoho awahay! I-Ihihi’ll stohop reading fohor todahahay!” 

Lucifer believed him, though he didn’t care. His sadism kept him going, but more than that, he liked seeing his logical brother laugh. “Go away? What have I said about you speaking to me like that?” He moved his wiggling fingers to Satan’s neck, basking in the high-pitched squeal he caused. “N-NYAHAHAO! LUHUCIFER, PLEHEHEASE!” That had to be one of his favorite spots, though the true winner was up next.

Satan hated begging anyone for anything, especially Lucifer. His neck was stupidly ticklish, though, and he’d much rather beg under Luci than laugh and squeal like a child. The prideful demon had no intentions of stopping, instead moving to Satan’s “jackpot spot” as his brothers called it. He moved two fingers underneath the boy’s chin, attacking the area with his short nails.

Satan was not proud of his reaction.

A mash-up of a squeal, snort and scream ripped from his throat, his whole body jolting at the feeling. The blush had pretty much taken over his face, tinting his neck and ears a vibrant crimson. “L-LUHAHAHA! I- IHI- NAHAHAHO!” Amidst the crazed laughter, unintelligible nonsense reached the other demon’s ears. He couldn’t understand that if he tried.

“Wow, Satan; I never knew a demon could get so flushed. You’re as red as Diavolo’s coat.” Lucifer had no problems  being an asshole to his brother; he had promised he wouldn’t hurt the other demon, but he never said he wouldn’t drive him mad. The teasing was just one more way to make sure his punishment stuck.

Satan was lost in his laughter. His nerves felt as if they were on fire with the ticklish sensation, his typically logical and quick mind a squishy, bubbly soup. There was no way he could do anything but laugh and hope Lucifer had a heart. “PLEAHAHA- PLEHEASE! MEHEHERCY!” 

While he was greatly enjoying himself, he could tell his cat-loving brother was at his wits end. With a sigh, he retracted his fingers from beneath Satan’s chin, granting the man his mercy. “You’re lucky I’m feeling benevolent today, brother. Next time, I won’t stop my fun so quickly.” 

With that, he released Satan’s arms and dusted off his coat as he stood. He had no shame for reducing his brother to a dazed, giggly puddle. Lucifer left the room, leaving his brother to recover by himself. He had a human to inform.

Satan curled up on the couch, rubbing his neck and hugging himself. Such an asshole… He refused to acknowledge the buzzing in his stomach, instead focusing on a revenge scheme. Taking a deep breath, the Avatar of Wrath stood, following the distant sound of his older brother’s footsteps. After he ranted to MC about how amazing the novel he received was, he had the perfect idea for his revenge. It was only a matter of time…

[earthtoharlow]

Teach Me: Teen Spirit

SERIES MASTERLIST

Part 2 of Teen Idle

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since Jayla has spent more than a few minutes at her house. She’d been staying in the guest room at her Uncle Urban’s house, Nova was at cheer practice so she was there alone. 

To be honest she was embarrassed. She couldn’t believe that she said that. She had apologized to her dad earlier in the week but she was sure Ariel would never forgive her. 

As she was laying on the bed, doing homework she heard a knock on the door. The door opens and her uncle Urban, pops his head in.

“Whatcha doing my favorite delinquent?” Urban said with a smirk.

Jayla tried to hide her smile at the joke. “HA HA HA, very funny.” She replies sarcastically as Urban walks in and sits beside her on the bed. 

“As much as I love having you here, when are you going home?” Urban asked his god daughter.

Jayla sighed and pouted “I’ve been disowned, I’m sure.”

Urban shook his head at her. “Stop, you haven’t been disowned. Your mother and father love you to death, they were just worried about you that night as any parent would.”

She nodded knowing he was right, there were a lot of things she should’ve done differently that night. 

“You know you really broke Ariel’s heart that night right?” 

She nodded her head again, afraid to speak. “You’re saying yes but I really don’t think you understand.”

Jayla looked at her uncle confused. She knows what she said was horrible and wrong.

“Ariel really doesn’t get enough credit for everything she’s done for not only you but your father.” Urban continued. “You were young when she came into the picture so you don’t have many memories of how your dad was before she was around.”

She listened intently to what Urban was saying. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad was heavily depressed after your birth mother passed. He was one of music's rising hip hop stars before he decided to leave it all behind. He essentially became a hermit. Jack decided to put all his attention into being the best father he could be, but he wasn’t happy.”

Jayla started feeling emotional hearing that she had no idea. She remembers her dad always smiling and her childhood was full of good memories.

“But when Ariel came into the picture, it was like Jack was seeing the world in color for the first time.It was like she brought him back to life. Not only did she brighten up his world but she brightened up yours too..It was almost like she was too good to be true. You didn’t know it at the time, your father didn’t even know it but you really needed a womanly figure in your life.”

She could agree to that, one of her very first memories of Ariel was opening up to her then first grade teacher about her losing her mother. A tragic experience that they both shared.

“She joined this little family with an open heart and never thought twice about it. So saying that she’s not your real mom is not only inaccurate but wrong.”

Jayla immediately started crying, hands pressed against her face. She could feel her Uncle pull her into his chest for a hug. She began to speak through her sobs. “Urb, she’s never going to forgive me! I don’t know how to fix this, she probably hates me!” 

“Hey hey, stop that!” Urban said, trying to calm her down. “I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense. Yes, she might be upset but she’s never stopped loving you and never will.” 

She sniffled and wiped the tears that were still falling down her cheeks. “What do I do now, how do I even begin fixing this?”

“You’re going to wipe your tears, then put on your big girl pants and apologize.”

***

Jayla ran into the house and went straight to the kitchen where her mom usually was after work. Frowning when she wasn’t there, she quickly ran out the kitchen and into the living room, stopping in her tracks when she saw her dad sitting on the couch. 

“Hey, daddy.” She said as he glanced up at her.

He patted the seat next to him, his frames falling down his nose as he continued flipping through the photo album in his lap. As Jayla sat next to him she smiled seeing her dad and uncle as teens and young adults. There was even a full page dedicated to her birth mom. 

Jayla motioned her dad to stop flipping when she saw a photo she’d never seen before of herself and Ariel. It looked like they were in Aspen. What made her smile was the happy expression on their faces. She missed Ariel. She missed her mom.

“That’s one of my favorite photos of you two together,” Jack said when he noticed his daughter looking at the picture. 

Jayla continued to look at the photos from that trip. “Why’s that?”

“Urban took that photo seconds after you had just called her mom for the first time.” 

Jayla gasped at the admission. That explains how happy the two of them looked in the frame.

“Your mom and I had been together for almost a year when we decided to take this trip during winter break. For months you had been going back and forth on what to call her. We never pressured nor rushed, wanting you to make that decision yourself.”

Jayla nodded as Jack continued.

“You had just gone down this huge slope by yourself, the whole weekend you had been practicing with either me or your mom going down with us holding your hands. I can still hear the excitement in your voice as you squealed “I’m doing it mommy, look!” It took her a couple seconds to even realize what you had said, until you reached the bottom and said it again. I don’t think I’d have ever seen her that happy at that moment.”

Jayla had a lot of apologizing to do. She broke her mothers heart that day, saying something that wasn’t true out of anger. 

“Dad, can you drop me off at the school?”

***

Ariel sighed as she made her way back to her classroom. It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Every time she had a moment to herself the only thing that replayed in her head was Jayla’s words. 

“but you aren’t even my real mom.”

While she knew that Jayla said those words out of anger, it still didn’t make it hurt less. She had never heard Jayla speak in that manner before. It scared her. She couldn’t help but overthink, what if Jayla actually meant what she said? Technically, she wasn’t wrong.

As she got closer to the classroom she noticed the door was left open. She definitely remembered closing it, when she walked inside the first thing she noticed was a head of curly hair sitting in the reading corner, face pressed into a book. She immediately knew who it was. 

“You know, I remember these pillows being a lot more comfortable when I was younger.” They spoke first. Ariel said nothing as she walked over and leaned against the front of her desk, hands crossed in front of her. 

She continued when Ariel stayed silent just watching. “It’s really trippy being in the classroom again, I don’t think I’ve been in here since I left elementary.” Ariel continued to watch her ramble, she was truly her fathers child. 

As she began to speak again, Ariel finally stopped her. “Jayla, what are you doing here?”

Jayla immediately pouted. “I came here to say I miss you…and apologize.”

“Hm.”

Jayla bit her lip nervously. “Mom, please just hear me out.”

Ariel laughed a little under her breath. “Oh? So now I’m your mom?”

Jayla frowned and nodded. She deserved that. “That’s the thing, you’ve always been my mom. Even before it was legally changed.”

She kept going. That was one thing she loved about her. She always lets her get her thoughts out uninterrupted. 

“You’ve brought so much love and happiness into dad and I’s life. There was never a time where I was unsure about you being in my life. You never felt like a replacement mom either. I loved you the first day I saw you. I looked up to you, you’re just as cool now as when we first met, if not more.”

Jayla was starting to get emotional and so was Ariel as she continued to speak. “Through the years you've done so much for me. So much so that I can't imagine what my life would be like if you wouldn't have walked into it.”

She started fumbling with her necklace again nervously. “I’m saying all this to say that I’m sorry. So so sorry, mom. I’ll forever regret what I said that night. This isn’t going to fix everything but I’ll do whatever I can to make this right by you.”

It was quiet for what almost felt like hours, even though it was only a few seconds.

“Well, you can start by getting your things from Urban’s house and coming home. Oh and giving your mother a hug.” Ariel said with a smile which grew wider as Jayla leaped up from her spot on the floor and gave her a huge hug. 

Ariel could feel her blouse getting wet from Jayla’s tears. She shushed her, giving her a kiss on the head. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought you hated me.”

“Hey, look at me.”

Ariel waited for Jayla to get herself together and look at her before speaking again. 

“I could never hate you. NEVER. Do you understand me? You’re my first daughter, you made me a mother. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t come from my stomach. I see so much of myself in you. You couldn’t be more mine.” Ariel told her sincerely. 

Jayla nodded before pulling away.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you too, Jay"

***

AN: HIIIIIII I JUST HIT 1K THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR LOVING AND READING MY WORK!!

Hope you all enjoyed this let me know your throughts :)

Tag List:

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @jaydaaasworld @xxkoolkatxx @khiyah @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @w1ldthoughts @judebellinghamswife

[morrch]

okay, I want to draw a ofmd based tarot deck 😳

for now, i’m only thinking about major arcana with the main plot line. the fool’s journey where stede is the fool (respectfully)

but it would be so fun to draw all 72 cards!! with all the subplots and characters

i’ve done some rough sketches for the start, i’ll continue after season two is out. idk yet if I should wait even for season three with this project (if it’ll happen lol) maybe i’ll just redraw some cards later… who knows! I think I need to draw my ideas while they’re fresh anyway lol

so about what’s going on with the cards now

THE FOOL start of stede’s journey where he’s still hopeful and a bit naive. sign of the new beginnings

THE EMPRESS represents femininity, motherhood and creation. I think mary with her art is perfect for this card

THE EMPEROR father figure, authority and structure

THE LOVERS scene from the picnic where luscious first noticed the spark. I also like how the original card has a snake as a sign of temptation and in this scene, they also eat a snake (I wasn't planning on it when started to draw I think it’s destiny)

THE HERMIT so here is the s2 izzy where I assume he’ll get so of redemption arc and will face himself on top of everything else. also, he is almost always surrounded but the candles and has a clear attraction to the flames, I wonder how it’ll affect the symbolism. anyway this card is still a speculation, this is only my gut feeling

DEATH originally this card is not necessarily dark, it is mostly about the ending of a cycle. but in this case, I thought that this particular scene defined ed’s relationship with death and the act of killing. also, it’s kinda about ending a cycle of abuse (not sure about this one)

THE DEVIL I think it’s mostly about how ed sees himself and I wanted to draw the figurines lol (idk i’m too heartbroken about my emo baby girl I can't explain my feelings aaaaaa)

THE TOWER this is where it all started for me haha. this is the card that represents the destruction of beliefs and foundations and I think the lighthouse painting is PERFECT for it. how it all shattered and stuff (screaming)

THE MOON love this one is about anxiety and betrayal and not important about seeing the danger in the wrong things. and I like that on the original card there is a wolf and a domesticated dog and they are such a good parallel to ed and steed 😖 and izzy is the crayfish sorry not sorry (more like cryfish amIright??)

[songbirdsanctuary]

Healing(A HC vent fic) part 3

This is a vent fic about something that happened to me a long while ago and my process of healing, I'm projecting this into some of my favorite Hermits.

Part 1: 🦜 Last part(2): 🐑

It's been a while since I've posted another part to it. I posted part 2 on Apr 21st.

Warnings: Mpreg, slight panic attack

Word count: 2,211

Mumbo walked over to the Boatem hole, his broken moth wing twitching slightly in the wind. Impulse, Scar, Pearl, and Grian greeted him warmly, their usual banter flowing, but Mumbo barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere—still tangled in a mess of shame, confusion, and exhaustion.

"You've been gone for weeks," Impulse said, nudging him lightly. The light touch made Mumbo stiffen. "We were starting to wonder if you'd flown off for good."

Mumbo forced a smile. "I’ve Just been... busy," he replied, the lie slipping out with practiced ease. He'd repeated it so often, it almost felt like the truth. But as soon as the words left his lips, Pearl's eyes narrowed, fixating on his broken wing.

"What happened to your wing?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent. She would be the first to notice, she was the only other moth hybrid on the server.

Mumbo’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisting into knots. "Oh, just snagged it on a tree," he lied again, trying to make his tone sound casual.

Pearl didn’t look convinced, her gaze lingering a little too long, but she simply nodded. "You should really see Docm or Stress about that," she advised, concern lacing her words.

"I will," Mumbo promised, though the last thing he wanted was another person probing his already shattered sense of self. He’d done everything he could to avoid dealing with it—the wing, the pain, the memories—but it was catching up with him. Fast.

‘‘

Two months passed, and Mumbo had kept his distance from everyone. He still hadn't sought any help for his wing, but a new problem had come up. He'd been feeling ill for days now—nausea that wouldn’t fade, exhaustion that clung to him like a heavy cloak. There were moments of dizziness, strange food cravings, he’d eaten a pickle with dry cereal and honey that morning, and he’d even been more emotional lately, though he couldn’t bear to admit it to anyone.

With a heavy sigh, he finally messaged Docm for a quick check-up.

<MumboJumbo> Hey Doc, could I stop by for a check up? If you have time

<Docm77> Sure come by in about 2 hours.

A couple of hours later, he arrived at Docm's base, his nerves frayed. Docm was methodical as always, no-nonsense but reassuring.

"So, what do you need me to check?" Docm asked, turning his attention to Mumbo.

Mumbo hesitated for a moment before speaking. He wasn’t ready for this. "Two things," he said quietly. "First... my wing. I think it’s broken."

Docm nodded and began inspecting the damaged wing, his brow furrowing as he examined it. After a few tense minutes, he looked up and gave Mumbo the news he’d been dreading.

"It’s permanently broken. I’m sorry." Docm said softly.

Mumbo felt a lump rise in his throat. He blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. He wouldn’t cry—not here, not in front of Docm. Not where he was vulnerable. He swallowed hard and nodded, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

"And the second thing?" Docm prompted, sensing the shift in Mumbo’s mood.

"I’ve been feeling... off," Mumbo began slowly, describing the symptoms—nausea, fatigue, food aversions. As he spoke, Docm’s expression grew more serious, and he started running a few tests. Mumbo’s anxiety spiked, his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, Docm returned with the results, a surprised look on his face. "Mumbo... you’re pregnant."

The words hit Mumbo like a physical blow, and for a moment, the world tilted on its axis. His blood ran cold, and his body trembled with shock. "No," he whispered, his breath catching in his throat. "No, I can’t be..."

Panic welled up inside him, and before he could stop it, tears started to fall. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to carry the child of whoever had done this to him. It was too much—too painful, too cruel. He’d been doing everything he could to forget, to bury it, but this... this was something he couldn’t ignore.

Docm’s face softened as he realized what was happening. He reached out, trying to comfort Mumbo. "We can terminate it," he said gently. "But... we’d need to inform the other parent."

Mumbo’s breath hitched. "I-I don’t know… who the other parent is," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Docm’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, you don’t know?"

Mumbo squeezed his eyes shut, the words stuck in his throat. Finally, in a broken voice, he confessed, "I-I was ra-aped."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Docm���s shock was palpable, his usual calm demeanor faltering. "Mumbo... Oh, void… I’m so sorry."

Docm gently placed a hand on Mumbo’s shoulder, his voice filled with quiet understanding. "You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure it out together."

But Mumbo could barely hear him over the storm of emotions raging inside. The fear, the shame, the anger—it all came crashing down at once, and for the first time in months, Mumbo let himself cry.

Docm sat across from Mumbo, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and confusion. The weight of what Mumbo had just revealed hung in the air between them, thick and heavy. He leaned forward slightly, speaking softly. “Have you told anyone else about this? About what happened?”

Docm looked like he wanted to hug Mumbo, but he wasn’t one for physical contact, and Docm seemed unsure if touching Mumbo would make him feel better or worse.

Mumbo swallowed hard, his fingers twisting together in his lap. “Only Scar and Grian,” he admitted, his voice shaky but steady enough. “They… they were there for me when it happened. But no one else knows… Please don’t tell anyone..”

Docm nodded slowly, processing the information. ”I won’t..” His face remained calm, but Mumbo could tell he was trying to be careful with his words. “And now that you know you’re pregnant… do you know what you want to do? Do you want to go through with it, or…”

Mumbo’s stomach twisted painfully at the question. He hated what had been done to him—hated the idea of carrying the child of someone he didn’t even know, someone who had violated him in the worst possible way. The thought of it had kept him up for nights on end, his mind swirling with horror and disgust. And yet, the idea of getting rid of it—the life inside him, however it had come to be—made him feel even worse. It turned his stomach in a way he couldn’t explain.

He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No… I want to keep it.”

Docm’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, but he didn’t argue or push. He simply nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Alright. If that’s what you want, we’ll make sure you and the baby are safe.” He paused for a moment, as if weighing his next words. “But Mumbo… you know we’ll have to tell the others eventually. The server’s going to find out that you’re pregnant.”

Mumbo’s heart raced at the thought. His community—his friends—would know. They’d see him differently, maybe pity him, maybe be disgusted by the circumstances. He could already imagine the looks of confusion and judgment. But what scared him most was the idea that they might hate the child. That they might see the baby as something dark and unwanted.

“I know,” Mumbo said softly, his voice wavering. “But I’m not ready to tell them the whole truth yet. I don’t want them to know… not until after the baby’s born.”

Docm tilted his head, concern etching his features. “Are you sure? It’s going to be hard to keep something like this from them, especially as the pregnancy progresses.”

Mumbo looked down, his hands resting protectively over his stomach. “I don’t want them to hate the child before they’re even born,” he whispered. “The baby isn’t responsible for what happened to me. They didn’t choose this.”

Docm’s expression softened, and he leaned back, giving Mumbo space. “I understand. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? And when you’re ready to tell the server, we’ll do it together.”

Mumbo nodded, feeling a strange mix of fear and relief. There was still so much ahead, so many uncertainties, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel completely alone. Docm knew, and soon, the others would too. But for now, he would focus on what mattered most—protecting the life growing inside him.

..

Mumbo stood at spawn, his heart racing as he looked around. Xisuma sat calmly on a bench nearby, while Docm paced around, his hands occasionally flicking toward his datapad. Every now and then, Docm glanced at Mumbo, concern flickering in his eyes.

"You really should sit down, Mumbo," Docm advised for what felt like the hundredth time.

But Mumbo shook his head, his stomach too twisted with stress to even consider resting. "I can’t," he muttered, his hands trembling slightly.

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind. Since finding out he was pregnant, Mumbo had spent nearly every waking moment trying to process what was happening. But no matter how hard he tried, it still didn’t feel real. His mind was a mess, his emotions a constant swirl of confusion, fear, and… something he couldn’t quite identify.

He wasn’t ready to come to terms with it, but he also knew he couldn’t put this off any longer. The server deserved to know. They would notice soon enough anyway. And even though the thought of telling everyone terrified him, he had to do it.

Docm finally stopped pacing and stood beside him, giving a reassuring nod. "They’ll be here soon. You’ll be alright."

Mumbo didn’t respond. He just kept watching the empty spawn area, waiting for the others to arrive. Soon enough, they began to trickle in. First Scar, then Grian, Pearl, Impulse, and eventually the rest of the server members. They gathered, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the weight pressing down on Mumbo’s chest.

Docm made his way toward the group, and Xisuma rose from the bench, moving to stand next to Mumbo. The masked leader of the server gave Mumbo an encouraging nod before addressing the crowd.

"Thank you all for coming," Xisuma began, his voice calm but commanding as always. "Mumbo asked for this meeting, and he has something he wants to share with everyone."

Mumbo felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had rehearsed this in his mind a dozen times, but now that he was standing in front of everyone, the words felt stuck in his throat. For a moment, he considered turning back—just running away and hiding. But then he saw Scar and Grian in the crowd, both of them looking at him with quiet support, though their faces held a flicker of worry.

Taking a deep breath, Mumbo forced himself to speak. "I… I’m pregnant."

There was a stunned silence that fell over the group. Eyes widened in surprise, a few people exchanged glances, and there were even a few gasps. Mumbo could feel the tension building in his chest, his mind racing with worries that they’d think he was strange, that they’d judge him, or worse, that they’d pity him.

But instead, the reactions surprised him. Slowly, a few smiles began to appear. Some were shocked, but others—like Impulse and Pearl—looked genuinely excited.

"Wow, Mumbo! That’s… amazing!" Impulse blurted out, a grin spreading across his face. "Congratulations, mate!"

"Yeah! This is so exciting!" Pearl added, her eyes lighting up.

Would they still be this excited if he told them.

Mumbo managed a weak smile, though the anxiety still gnawed at him. He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction, but it didn’t soothe his nerves entirely. And then, the inevitable question came.

Xisuma, who seemed suprised as well, still standing by his side, glanced at him before turning to the group. "Mumbo," he asked gently, "who’s the other parent?"

A ripple of unease passed through Mumbo, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Scar and Grian tense slightly. Their worried expressions were subtle, but Mumbo knew they were just as nervous as he was.

"I’m not going to say… not yet," Mumbo replied, his voice shaky but resolute. "It’s not the right time."

There was a brief moment of tension in the air, but to Mumbo’s relief, no one questioned him further. No protests, no demands for answers. Everyone seemed to respect his decision, at least for now.

"That’s fine, Mumbo," Xisuma said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "Whenever you’re ready."

Mumbo felt a small wave of relief wash over him, though his heart was still racing. He had done it. He had told them. And they hadn’t reacted the way he’d feared. But there was still so much ahead—so much uncertainty about what was going to happen next. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it all, but for now, at least, the worst part was over.

As the crowd began to disperse, with many congratulating him or offering support, Mumbo allowed himself a small moment of peace. For the first time in weeks, he felt a flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.

[alchemie-tarot]

A Message For You~ An 11-11 Pick-A-Card Reading

Note: Hi there! This is my first ever pick-a-card reading. I’ve been around the tarot community here for a while now, participating in games and marvelling at the beauty and power all the lovely and talented readers exude. I’ve learned and gained so much, and now I want to put them into practice.

Feel free to choose one or more piles from this bunch. Some details may not resonate with you as this is a general reading. Nothing is set in stone, so please don’t take it too seriously.

Most importantly, enjoy! ✨

Pile 1 (6 of Pentacles, Obsidian)

Cards: The Hermit, Ace of Swords

You have taken a step back to reevaluate a situation. It felt like a breakthrough at first. While it was exciting and you felt like things were starting to finally pick up, it left you with an erratic mind rather than the peace it seemed to promise you.

You may have been swayed by the words of a crowd and have given it little thought in relation to your personal wants or goals in the first place. Because of that, certain blockages may have been brought to your attention. You may have started having unwelcome thoughts about yourself, or started talking to yourself rather sharply.

Please don’t keep these thoughts to yourself. I see that there are compassionate energies around you who want to help, and are ready to help. “Don’t be afraid to ask, friend.” I also see that you will feel some gratification along the way. Someone could be receiving a gift, something material or related to income. Just keep in mind that the scales are balanced whenever you’re in a give-and-take dynamic.

Pile 2 (Ace of Pentacles, Amethyst)

Cards: 8 of Wands, 7 of Swords

There is a surge of energy here. I see that you’re highly motivated by something that could be work-related or something highly motivating to you. The fact that you’re focused and don’t want to waste opportunities is great; however, it’s tittering towards recklessness.

You see the two cards at the bottom, how the Wands and Swords point downwards towards each other in what could look like a collision? This motivation of yours that I mentioned seemed to be fuelled by the desire to escape something. You’re tired of letting things stand in the way of your goals. But, in the process of strategising, you end up avoiding responsibilities that could even be out of character for you.

You need to ground yourself first, friend. You chose the Ace of Pentacles, a surefire sign that prosperity is on its way to you. But, it will come gradually. It needs a strong foundation, and some patience from you. Be assured that you’ll even think it’s too good to be true when you get there (but it’s not, it’s really yours!) Take it easy for the meantime and try to calm your mind in times of pressure.

Pile 3 (2 of Pentacles, Rose Quartz)

Cards: 9 of Wands, 2 of Swords

First of all, right after I laid down the cards and saw the images, I felt like giving you a hug. You’ve been surrounded by adversity for so long, yet look at you: standing your ground even at the brink of exhaustion. You often feel like you’re in the dark, often asked to make choices you can’t be sure of because it all feels like a big stalemate.

I’m here to tell you that you’re almost there. You may be in denial of your strength, but it’s clear from the cards that some things are hidden from you, like you’re not meant to know about them yet. You’ve always been strong, friend. Right now you seem to be in a period of reflection, trying to heal yourself, and having some difficulty accessing your emotions from having to be rational all the time.

There are two 2s here, which is all about balance. Please take care not to stretch yourself too thin. The message here is not about setting aside the mind nor the heart, but about holding one and the other in each of your hands. Easier said than done, yes, but I assure you that it is possible. Be gentle with both of these aspects of yourself, for together they have the best interest in letting you carry on with life, as usual, despite the chaos.

Pile 4 (The Tower Rx, Citrine)

Cards: Page of Pentacles Rx, 7 of Pentacles

As seen with the Pentacles card on the bottom left, you found yourself in a position that seemed quite upside down from the favourable one you envisioned to be in. You have it all: the potential, the skills, and the outlook– only to be set back by the roadblocks of distraction and perfectionism. You may have viewed this situation with quite an unrealistic lens then. I’m getting instant gratification vibes.

But now, you have come to understand that achieving the things that are worthwhile entail long-term time and effort. Yes, you’ve always known the concept, but to actually experience it is different. A lot of times it can feel like watching paint dry. I see you taking breaks to admire your progress. It seems to be a hands-on kind of investment. 

You also seem quite fixated on the destination. It’s great to stay committed, friend, but take care not to get too attached to the results. Your message seems to be a lot about the process and learning to roll with it, even if you may not like the changes happening, especially if they are unexpected. 

Make the necessary adjustments and be careful not to make the same mistakes from the past. Take care of your health and don't ignore signals from your body. You’re creative, with lots of potential, but don’t shake things up just yet. This abundance is likely to come to you when you’re taking it slow and steady. You’ve already dodged the worst, don’t worry.

Pile 5 (The Devil, Sodalite)

Cards: The Lovers, Page of Wands

Oof! Yeah, okay. The energy of two Major Arcanas that are counterparts, plus a Wands card, just really made me react that way. 

It’s plain to see that this is about a kindred-spirits, soulmate level relationship (it can either be romantic or platonic). The kind that is so defined by how you’ve chosen to expose yourself and be continuously open, honest, and vulnerable within it. It means so much to you; it feels overpowering from here, actually. If it’s not a relationship with another person, it could be something you consider a passion that is very close to your heart.

It’s like you’ve literally given anything and everything in this. Drop-everything, at-their-beck-and-call energy. Taking the lead. Not gonna lie, you’ve gotten quite creative about it, but my friend, it looks like you’re getting carried away. You see, the Page is looking away from The Lovers. Yes, the Page is a whirlwind but can neglect to plant his feet on the ground. Are you both on the same level?

The presence of sodalite tells me your intuition has already been trying to bring this up to your attention. Following your heart should not feel like you have no control. Even passion needs space for logic. Think of yourself, my beautiful being, and trust me that there is more outside this addictive feeling you often wish would never end. Getting more information about it, clearing things up, seeing eye-to-eye, heart-to-heart, will set you free from these subconscious chains.

===

That is all I have for this magical 11-11 day! I hope this delivered some form of help, warmth, comfort to those who have felt called to it. Feel free to let me know how you found it, if it resonated or not, etc. Details and feedback help us improve, after all.

Have a splendid week ahead of you! ✨✨✨

[carakook]

Umm… *clears throat* hey cuties! 😅

Long time no see, huh? First I wanna apologize for such a long hiatus. I know last time I posted I said the new chapter of Bloom was almost done. But I had some life stuff happen and was very overwhelmed. For the last few months I’ve been in sort of a depressive episode, normally they don’t last that long, but this time it did and it caused me to become behind in work, on top of a lot of other stuff with family and myself in general. I won’t go into detail but I have some mental health issues and I am unmedicated so when this happens it’s a bit difficult to cope.

I’m ok! Don’t worry. I just could barely function for a bit other than working and doing the bare minimum. I’m really sorry for being gone for so long.

But… I am back! And before anyone asks, YES BLOOM IS STILL ALIVE! I am going to absolutely be updating Bloom. And I will continue to, along with other one shots/stories at some point. But before I get ahead of myself, I am going to focus on getting the newest chapter of Bloom out.

Please be patient with me. I’m not going to give an exact time of when Bloom will be updated, but it will be soon. I still need to finish up the chapter, and I am hoping to this week. But we will see how things go.

I’m doing a bit better now. This might be really corny, but I found a group of online friends to talk about kpop with and be delusional with in the midst of all of this. I never expected to become such good friends with these girls but seriously, they have helped me through the last few months. Without them I think I would have been so much worse. 🥲 so thank you to them for keeping a smile on my face and making me laugh when I normally wouldn’t have been able to. They also listen to me babble and be dramatic when I’m feeling overwhelmed. And as you all know, I’m sort of a hermit, so it has been really refreshing to have people to talk to and call friends.

Anyways, I’m sorry again for being gone for so long. I just was unable to really focus on anything other than work, but I’m happy to say I’ve got my head on a bit straighter which means I’ll be able to focus more on doing things that I love like writing about Jungkook. 🥰

I’m not sure if Bloom will be posted this week, but I will try to post a little something for you guys. Maybe a sneak peek. I will let yall know when I’m closer to it being done.

How have you all been? I’ve missed interacting with you. Sorry I haven’t been around. I hope everyone is doing ok. How did you like Namjoons new album?! NUTS WAS INSANE!!! Also, it’s Festa month and JIN IS HOME IN LITERALLY ALMOST A WEEK. IM SO EXCITED. AHHHH! AND A NEW JUNGKOOK SONG ON FRIDAY?! AHHHHHH! TOO MUCH!

Love you guys. Thanks for waiting for me. You have a piece of my heart. 💜 😭

[turnthefrigginfr0gsgay]

Mumscarian week day 1 - Home Is Wherever I'm With You

Prompt: Nature & New Beginnings

I – Season 6, Grian and Mumbo:

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?” Mumbo asked, turning his head to look over at where Grian sat beside him.

Grian hummed, glancing over at Mumbo briefly, then returning his attention to the extraordinary view before them, not catching the way Mumbo quickly looked away from him. “It is, isn’t it?”

The two Hermits rest peacefully in the grass on the island that Mumbo had claimed for his base before the season started. They watched in contentment as the sun dipped below the horizon, ever so slowly.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Mumbo whispers faintly, as if his words were not intended for Grian’s ears. Grian peeked back over at the taller Hermit, surprised to find that he was already watching him with a small smile, so soft it almost hurt.

Hit with a burst of some unnamed emotion, Grian pushed himself up abruptly, startling Mumbo.

“Well!” He chuckled awkwardly, ignoring the look of confusion and what seemed to be a twinge of hurt that the ravenette gave him. “This has been great, Mumbo, but I best be going now.”

“Gri-“ Came the expected attempt at an interruption, though Grian merely brushed it off.

“I’ve got things to do, Mumbo, a starter base to build, projects to start, and pranks to plan! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Grian I- “

But Mumbo didn’t get a chance to say anything before Grian had pushed off from the ground and was flying toward the location of the start of his underwater base.

Mumbo sighed, slumping back against the grass.

Dammit.

II – Season 6, Grian and Scar:

“Y’know, I can’t think of many times we’ve interacted this season. Can you?” Grian frowned, tilting his head in contemplation.

“Not really, maybe one or two. Like that time I grabbed your stuff after you had just drowned.” He grinned, turning to look over at the taller man who gave him a light-hearted glare. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is how absolutely wonderful mine, Ren and Impulse’s commune looks!”

Scar hummed, looking out over the fields of flowers and trees, all the way over to the three men’s van’s in the distance.

“I have to admit, it does look ahmayzing! Very aesthetically pleasing.” Grian grinned.

“Why thank you!”

“Nothing that you built or terraformed, though.”

“Wha-“ Scar started snickering. “Scar! You do know that I terraformed and built most of it, right?!”

“I know, I know! It was a joke, G-man, I absolutely love what you’ve done with the place.’

“You better.”

The two relax back against the hill they were resting on, both enamoured by the exquisite view that was presented before them. For a brief moment, the air was still, and it seemed as if the wind no longer carried any sound. Breaking the serene silence, Scar spoke up again.

“This view truly is breathtaking, though.” He turned to look at Grian, surprised to find the avian was already watching him. Tilting his head with a soft smile, he continued. “Isn’t it, Grian?”

Grian smirked at him mischievously, when he spoke, his voice was practically a purr. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Scar blinked at him, caught off guard, and felt his face flush with embarrassment. Grian snickered, watching as Scar glanced back at the view then over at Grian. “I… don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that. Thank you?”

Grian burst into laughter, turning away, and covering his mouth to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks. He hadn’t anticipated this reaction from the man who was constantly flirting with others. “You gave me that opening! Did you seriously expect me not to take it?!”

When Grian wasn’t looking, Scar smiled again. His expression was achingly soft as he watched Grian, doubled over in joy.

Void, he was in love with this man.

III – Season 7, Grian and Mumbo:

Grian stared blankly at the sunrise from where he sat in one of the countless towering jungle trees, a little unsure of what to do with himself.

“You okay up there, Gri?” A familiar voice called out from the ground far below him. He startled, leaning forward slightly to peek down at whoever was standing on the ground.

“Oh, hey Mumbo.” The Hermit tilted his head and scrunched up his nose – something that grian could barely see from this distance, staring up at his friend.

“Grian, saying ‘hello’ most definitely does not answer my question.”

“What’s your point?” Grian tilted his head with a small grin.

“Okay, I’m coming up, you weirdo.”

Grian sat back against the tree, relaxing again as he listened to the vaguely amusing sounds of his friend struggling to climb the tall tree. He was not at all planning on offering any sort of help to Mumbo despite having wings and being plenty strong enough to carry the other.

Mumbo was panting, his limbs shaking from exertion by the time he finally pulled himself up to the branch that Grian was resting on. Grian smirked into the fading light.

“So, did you enjoy your climb?” Mumbo slowly turned his head to stare at Grian, breath still heaving, seemingly trying to find something to say.

“You are insufferable.” He decided, turning back to watch the setting sun. Grian burst into laughter.

“If I’m so insufferable, then why do you put up with me?” He cried, amusement lacing both his tone and expression.

“Maybe because you’re cute.” Mumbo grumbled before slapping a hand over his mouth when he realised what he said.

Grian stared at him, jaw dropped in shock as he processed what he had just been told. “Did- did you just-“

Mumbo buried his burning red face in his hands, unsuccessfully trying to hide the blush that was now creeping down his neck and up his cheeks. Grian turned back to the view, leaving the two to sit in a shocked and flustered silence.

After almost twenty minutes of somehow comfortable silence, Mumbo finally pulled his hands away from his mouth, having dragged them down his face after about ten minutes. Grian watched him through his peripheral vision, waiting patiently (which was a strange thing for him to do) for him to say something.

“Uh…” Mumbo chuckled nervously. “As pretty as this view is, and as much as I love y—I mean—love hanging out with you, I should really be going now. Sorry, buddy.”

Grian cringed minusculely, but nodded in understanding nonetheless, watching in silence as Mumbo slowly but carefully clambered backdown the tree. As soon as the taller was on the ground and walking away, Grian dropped his head into his hands with an annoyed groan. Thankfully, no one was there to see as tears welled up in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.

I always mess everything up.

IV – Season 7, Grian and Scar:

A crash pulled Grian away from where he was trading with the villagers in his mansion.

‘What was that?’ He wondered, drifting toward the front of the build where the sound had originated.

There was a strangely rustling sound coming from just outside the front door of the mansion, almost as if some sort of small animal was stuck in one of the bushes and trying to get out.

Frowning, Grian pushed the door open, looking at all the bushes around the top of the staircase. One of the bushes rustled with movement, though it was only one out of the many and there was no breeze that could be the cause of the bushes moving.

Grian stared at it in pure confusion. It didn’t seem to be any sort of hostile mob, it was too big to be most animals and he couldn’t think of any that it could possibly be, anyway.

He took one step forward, ready to confront whatever animal may or may not have been sitting in the bush, when Scar stumbled out of it, a broken elytra strapped to his back, and leaves and sticks tangled all through his hair. Startled, Grian stepped away.

“Grian!” He pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly and almost falling over before stabilising himself. “My friend! Terribly sorry about the intrusion, I was heading back to the shopping district, you see, and-“

“Scar,” Grian cut him off. “You don’t have to explain yourself, I kinda figured that you crashed given that your elytra is very clearly broken-“ he gestured to the ragged fabric, barely held together by a rusted metal frame. “-and you were crawling around in my bushes. Also your suit is ripped, and that doesn’t seem like something you’d allow yourself to walk around in, Mr Mayor. I thought you were supposed to look respectable.”

His tone turned dramatic as he pretended to be offended by Scar’s ruffled appearance, the taller man smirking mirthfully in response.

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, dear citizen.” He placed his hand on his chest just as dramatically as Grian had been. “I’ll certainly do my best to be more presentable the next time we meet.”

The two men took a moment to giggle at each other’s shenanigans before calming down again.

“You wanna come inside, Scar? Maybe get cleaned up a bit? The mansions not all too liveable right now but theres both a bedroom and bathroom and bathroom in there somewhere.” Scar gave him a small yet grateful smile that sent the avian’s heart soaring.

“I’d like that, thank you Grian."

Grian smiled back at him, hands shaking in such a minuscule way that he hoped it wasn’t noticeable to Scar. He hung around the taller man all the time, why was he suddenly so nervous about it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he found him attractive or anything-

Oh, crap.

V – Season 8, Grian and Pearl:

Grian sighed contentedly as he walked up the mountain near where he and the rest of the Boatem Crew would be building their bases this season. The sun was setting on the horizon and Grian sat on the highest point of the mountain, smiling softly as he admired the view and the beautiful colours of the setting sun.

The breeze that swept past him was strangely calming, ruffling his feathers, and brushing through his hair. His surroundings were quiet enough that it was easy to hear the footsteps coming up behind him.

His first thought was that it would be either Mumbo or Scar, but there was no reason for either of them to be visiting Grian up on this mountain. Besides, no one had even been in sight when Grian had flown up to the top of the mountain, nor had anyone been on the mountain and there was no way they could get up here so fast when neither had an elytra yet. Impulse also didn’t have his elytra yet this season, and there was only other member of Boatem with natural wings-

“Hey, Pearl. Didn’t expect to see you up here!”

Pearl hummed as she sat on the rocky ground just next to him, legs dangling over the edge of the precipice.

“Honestly, I’m just kinda wondering why you’re not over there with those two.” She gestured to where Mumbo and Scar were laying in the grass far below on the ground, watching the stars as they faded into view. Grian gave her a bemused look. “What? C’mon G, I’ve only been here one day, surely I’m allowed to tease you about your non-existent love life just a little!” The avian squawked in offence to his love life being called non-existent (not that Mumbo and Scar even had anything to do with his love life, why would they?), but Pearl ignored him. “It’s extremely obvious that you like them, why don’t you just tell them?”

“Because I don’t like them! Not like that! Pearl, they’re my friends. Nothing more, nothing less.” Grian sighed, exasperated.

Pearl stared at him; expression completely blank. She clearly didn’t believe him.

“Grian, you’re one of my oldest friends.” The man in question frowned, glancing over at her, slightly worried about where she was going with this. “I’ve known you for almost a decade now. I know how to tell when you’re in love with someone. There is a certain way that you act. You acted that way with Taurtis back on EVO, and you’re acting that same way now with Mumbo and Scar.”

Grian huffed. “Oh, yeah? And how did I act?”

“Well, if you really wanna know.” Grian straightened, vaguely panicked. He hadn’t expected her to actually have a response to that! “You get flustered much more easily, especially around them, you subconsciously try to avoid them as a way to avoid your feelings, you get really anxious about anything to do with them, you through yourself into your work more. Would you like me to go one?”

“NO! Uh, I, uh.” Grian cleared his throat ignoring the smug look that Pearl shot him. “I- I mean ‘no’.”

Pearl hummed again, leaning back against her hands, and letting her moth wings stretch out behind her, leaving Grian to his thoughts, and-

Oh, void.

“Welp,” Pearl stood. “I best be going now, stuff to do, things to gather, sleep to avoid, y’know how it is. See ya later, Grian.” Grian hummed in acknowledgment and Pearl flew off, back to what seemed to be the start of an upside-down boat.

Grian sighed, turning his attention from the beautiful starry night sky to the two just as beautiful men still laying in the grass. Pearl’s words bounced around in his head like a pinball machine as he silently watched the two interact.

“It’s extremely obvious that you like them, why don’t you just tell them?”

“You acted that way with Taurtis back on EVO, and you’re acting that same way now with Mumbo and Scar.”

Grian hunched over himself, rubbing his temples when his head started to pang.

Crap.

VI - Season 8, Grian, Mumbo and Scar

The moon is big.

That is all Grian allows himself to think about as he stares up at the moon through the gap in the ceiling of his observatory.

The moon is big. Too big to be able to see any other part of the night sky.

It bothered Grian, the fact that he couldn’t see the stars. He had always, for as long as he could remember, loved watching them as they twinkled in the sky. But now he couldn’t, and it bothered him.

“G-man?” A familiar melodious voice called out. Grian ignored him, content to just stare at the overwhelming brightness of the moon above him. “Gri? Are you up here?”

“Grian?” An equally familiar voice asked gently. This one much closer, and much quieter than the other. Footsteps approached where he lay in the middle of the observatory, stopping just out of his line of sight. “Grian?” They crouched down, a handsome moustached face came into view, easily diverting his attention away from the moon. “Are you okay? Why are you just lying in the middle of your observatory?”

Grian blinked up at him lazily, watching as Scar appeared behind the taller man. “Moon big.” He shrugged as best he could lying on the ground. Mumbo and Scar both gave him concerned looks. Grian ignored them and turned back to stare at the moon with a scowl. Mumbo shifted to sit properly on the quartz ground, and Scar moved around to sit on Grian’s other side. They both followed his annoyed gaze up to the moon above them

“Are you upset because of the moon? Or something else related to it?” Scar asked gently, looking back down at him.

Grian shrugged again, offering a simple. “I can’t see the stars.”

Mumbo gave him a sympathetic look, reaching over to run his fingers gently through Grian’s hair. “You’ve probably not gotten much sleep either.” Grian hummed, closing his eyes, relaxing easily as he leaned into the soft touch.

There was a short moment of silence in which Grian allowed himself to drift off just a little, now only semi-conscious to the world around him. As he drifted, he half payed attention to Mumbo and Scar’s hushed conversation.

“He clearly hasn’t slept in a while, I know you want to tell him – I do too! – but we should let him rest first.”

There was a sigh.

“I know, I know. I guess it’s just because the longer I wait, the more anxious about it I get. But at the same time, I’m not exactly sure I’m completely ready to tell him and am now just procrastinating it.”

In his sleep deprived state, Grian couldn’t decipher what exactly they were talking about. Did they want to tell him something? If so what? And why were they so anxious about it? He didn’t get to even voice his questions, let alone get any answers to them, before the fog at the edges of his consciousness took over and he completely fell asleep.

☆☆☆

When Grian awoke, it was to the smell of freshly baked biscuits, the sound of a soft humming tune, and a hand carding through his hair.

He chirped happily, leaning further into the soft touch of someone’s hand in his hair, much the same way he had done before falling asleep. The only response he was given was that of a small chuckle. He blinked a couple of times to allow his eyes to adjust to the bright light of the sun before opening them completely and taking in his surroundings.

He was laying on an extremely comfortable bed in someone’s—probably Scar’s if the size of the room and the fact that there even was a bed was anything to go on—base, wrapped up in soft, warm blankets. Mumbo was sitting on a chair that he had clearly pulled over to be next to Grian. He was the one stroking Grian’s hair, long nimble fingers carefully running through the tangled golden strands.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Mumbo greeted upon noticing him awake and looking around. “Are you more awake now that you’ve had some time to rest?”

Grian thought for a moment, assessing how exactly he felt before responding. “I think so? I don’t really know, I feel like everything with the moon is just messing with my head. I feel fine, but at the same time I feel like crap and I’m not exactly sure why.”

Mumbo nodded in understanding just as Scar appeared in the doorway, a plate of biscuits in hand. He looked a little concerned, but he quickly lit up when he saw that Grian was awake, very similarly to how Mumbo had not a few moments earlier.

“Grian! It’s good to see you’re awake! I made cookies if you want some?” He stepped fully into the room, walking over to where the other two men sat–Grian having pushed himself up when Scar appeared–and presenting the plate of biscuits as a sort of offering. They certainly did look delicious, Scar had made them after all. There was an assortment of different biscuits on the plate, though the two that caught Grian’s attention were the chocolate ones–which, as an avian, he made a mental note to avoid–and the shortbread–one of his favourites.

“Can I have one as well-?” Grian snickered at the pleading look on Mumbo’s face glancing over at Scar to find the other just watching Mumbo, his face completely expressionless. Grian snickered again.

“I don’t know, can you?” Mumbo’s hopeful expression turned to one of internal pain.

“Please stop with the dad jokes, you’re not even a father. Can I have a biscuit or not?”

“I dunno, what do you think, Grian?” Grian grinned at the two when they turned to look at him.

“Stay away from the shortbread and you won’t get bitten. Other than that I don’t care.” Scar and Mumbo both let out startled laughs, Grian’s grin just widened with mirth.

When Grian thought about it, the moment seemed strangely domestic. It was just the three of them, sitting in Scar’s bedroom, sharing the plate of biscuits between them. Grian took a moment to just revel in the peacefulness of it all. The sun peeking in through a gap in the curtains, filling the room with warmth. The bed was comfortable, maybe even one of the most comfortable things Grian had ever laid on, the blankets were soft and there was plenty of space, enough for all three of them to sit comfortably. He almost didn’t want this moment to end.

“Hey, Grian?” Mumbo’s voice brought Grian out of the mess of his thoughts and back into the present, the nervous tone causing him to frown in concern. “Can we talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?” Mumbo’s eyes widened in the realisation of how his words may have sounded.

“Oh! Yeah, everything’s fine! We just have something that we want to tell you. It’s nothing bad, we promise.” Scar nodded in agreement, looking just as, if not more nervous than Mumbo. Grian relaxed slightly, still somewhat concerned, though soothed by the confirmation that nothing was wrong.

“Okay, go ahead.” Mumbo nodded and glanced back at Scar for reassurance, receiving a shaky smile in return. He took a deep breath and turned back to Grian who raised an eyebrow at them. “What’s this about?”

“So,” Scar started uncertainly. “You know how Mumbo and I have been dating since early season seven?”

Grian nodded, a wave of some unpleasant emotion rippling through him at the simple question. Scar bobbed his head slightly in a small nod of understanding before continuing.

“And you know that you’re one of our closest friends and that we would do anything for you?” Grian nodded again, tilting his head as he tried to decipher where Scar was going with this (ignoring that unpleasant emotion that coursed through his veins, growing with each passing second). “Yeah? Where are you going with this exactly?”

“Well- we were, um. We-“ Mumbo placed a comforting hand against Scar’s arm and Grian watched them with growing concern.

“You- you guys do know that you don’t have to tell me this right? Whatever this is.”

“We know.” Mumbo guaranteed, holding up his free hand in a placating gesture. “And we want to tell you. It’s just a little nerve-wracking.”

“Okay…”

“Anyway, what we want to ask is if you maybe, possibly wanted to join our relationship?” Mumbo’s voice trailed off into silence as he spoke, anxiety getting the best of him. Grian froze. He didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

Not that he was complaining though.

“You- you really want me to join your relationship?“ He stared at them in surprise, cheeks burning. The two of them were clearly flustered, maybe even a little ashamed, neither one was looking at him. And that just wouldn’t do. “Hey,” his voice was gentle, almost as if he were talking down a scared animal. “Guys, I’m not mad at you. Honestly even if I didn’t like you back, I don’t think it would be possible for me to be mad at you. Not for something like this.”

Mumbo didn’t seem to properly register his words beyond the confirmation that he wasn’t going to start yelling at them. Scar, on the other hand.

“Did you just say that you like us back?”

Mumbo also looked up, shocked. Grian blinked. He hadn’t realised that he had said that.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He offered a soft small, receiving stunned stares in response. “And I would love to join your relationship.”

Scar snapped out of his reverie sooner than Mumbo. The elf surged forward, wrapping Grian up in a tight, yet comforting and warm embrace. “Oh, thank Void! I was terrified that you were gonna say ‘no’ and that our friendship was gonna be ruined forever! I am so glad that you didn’t say no!”

Grian laughed, the unpleasant emotion that had been swirling in his chest was gone now, replaced by giddiness and euphoria. He wrapped his arms around Scar in return, humming happily when he felt another pair of arms around them, a second body pressed against his side. He brought his wings around to cover the three of them like a blanket.

And that was–for the most part–how they stayed for the next couple of hours. They moved into a more comfortable position of course, even putting on a movie to watch together. A Disney movie, at Scar’s insistence. But they stayed together, always by each other’s sides.

Even at the end of the world, they stayed, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

You stay with them, right by their side, forever and always.

Because they are your home.

[kittyball23]

The Trade (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Branch thinks things through, and comes up with his own plan to rescue Floyd

__________________________________________

A walk was supposed to clear his mind.

He used to do it all the time when he lived alone, and sometimes still did. Brooding for a bit usually helped him refocus, helped to calm him down.

This time around, however, it was incredibly difficult.

Things in his head seemed to be moving at a hundred or so miles per hour, wracking his brain with everything that had made him who he was today, much of it having to do with the four Trolls who had returned in his life. Trolls who, like it or not, were his siblings.

He didn’t know how to feel about them anymore. And the confusion was making him want to scream. Were they a family? Biologically, yes. But were they really a family? Because, behavior-wise, he suspected that answer was no.

The best thing to do, the way he saw it, was to just go back home as he'd desired. Home, where he could slip into his bunker, know that he was safe, and forget that anything had ever happened. He had been just fine without them for over twenty years.

But... was he really?

He really, really despised those weaker moments growing up where he did long for his brothers again. Wondered what they were up to. Wondered if they were wondering what he was up to. Wondered if they really were happier, or if they were in the same state that he had been. Wondered if he'd ever see John Dory, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd ever again.

Floyd.

If there had been any Troll that he would have perhaps considered wanting to see again, it was him. Why did he have to be the one captured? Somehow, though, he didn't think he would've been okay with any of the others having been captured.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. How tempting it was to just walk away and not have to experience the inner turmoil that was urging him to somehow work it out. The Branch from only a couple years back would have, and quite easily at that.

But the Branch from now was not like that.

He was a better Troll. One who would take action and strive to do the right thing rather than hermit himself away.

One who was not going to let his brothers, nor his girlfriend Poppy, down.

__________________________________________

Branch did not try and hide himself. Not like he and the others had tried to do last time. He simply walked right in. And sure enough, he was spotted right away. The two large, looming shadows of the Bergen siblings stomped over, sneers on their faces.

“Well, well…” Veneer said. “Back for more, are ya?”

“Seems you didn’t quite learn your lesson the first time,” Velvet said, her hands on her hips and a smirk tugging the corner of her lip.

“I’m not here to try and fight,” Branch said plainly.

“Good, we’re not either,” Velvet said. “It’s exhausting, don’tcha think? Especially for folks your size.”

Branch did not agree nor disagree to the statement. He simply pressed forth with what he intended to say. “I’ve come here to ask that you release my brother, Floyd.”

Velvet looked down at Branch, her eyes narrowing. Then she laughed. “Oh, sure. Fighting fire with fire didn’t work, shorty, and neither is begging.”

Branch expected this. He put up no fight. He simply nodded. “Right. So we’re done here then, huh?”

Velvet nodded. “Yep.”

Branch shrugged. “Okay then. Fine.”

Velvet and Veneer both turned their back on the Troll, walking off.

But little had they known that Branch was in fact not done yet.

The teal Troll cleared his throat, and then began to sing.

“Ohhh, Ooooo…

When the visions around you

Bring tears to your eyes

And all that surrounds you

Are secrets and lies…”

Branch saw the two Bergens immediately slow down. He almost felt like grinning. They were listening. That’s just what he wanted. He continued.

“I'll be your strength

I'll give you hope

Keeping your faith when it's gone…

The one you should call

Was standing here all along…”

Velvet and Veneer had come to a full stop. Their bodies were tilted ever so slightly in Branch’s general direction as the Troll continued to sing.

“And I will take you in my arms

And hold you right where you belong

'Til the day my life is through

This I promise you

This I promise you…”

As Branch held on to the last note, the Bergen siblings' full attention had gone to him. They faced him, a look of astonishment clear on their faces. Clearly, they hadn’t expected Branch to break out singing at random. Nor did they expect him to sound that… good.

Velvet looked at Veneer. Veneer looked at Velvet.

Branch glanced at the two of them.

“Once again, I’ve come here to ask that you release my brother, Floyd.”

The Bergen twins grew a malicious smile on each of their faces. “Well,” Veneer said.

“Perhaps we can work out a compromise,” Velvet said, finishing the thought.

__________________________________________

In the meantime, Poppy had made her way back to the brothers, having explained with much distress of what had occurred when she’d spoken to Branch.

“I tried,” she said, nearly on the verge of tears. “I really did try. And I know he can change his mind. But it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen right now…”

The brothers hung their heads. They figured Branch would not be easily convinced to come back, but they could not be mad about it. It was understood why.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait,” Spruce said, a bit defeated.

John Dory gave a shrug of agreement, unable to think of anything else, and hoping that the wait for their brother to come back around wouldn’t be too long.

“Or maybe you don’t have to,” Clay said, suddenly perking up and pointing behind them. “Look!”

The Trolls turned to look in the direction he was pointing and, sure enough, running towards them was the figure of a Troll.

Poppy gasped. “Branch!” She began to run towards him, trying to meet him halfway, when she started to slow her pace after getting a better look. Wait a second. This Troll was not her boyfriend. This nearly-out-of-breath Troll who was sprinting towards them did share some slight similarities to him, though instead of a crop of rich blue hair on his head, it was a vibrant magenta, styled to where part of the bangs obscured his left eye. A single black earring was embedded into his right ear. She reared back in surprise, recognizing him. “Floyd?”

Floyd panted, trying to catch his breath. “Yes, yes, it’s me.” He gave a small wave when the other brothers instantly flanked Poppy’s sides, also as surprised to see Floyd before them now.

“Yo bro, it’s good to see you’re okay!” John Dory exclaimed. “You are okay, right?”

Floyd quickly checked himself, ensuring that he was uninjured. “Um, yeah, I think so.” Though he said it, the Trolls could still see that something still wasn’t quite right. He looked very shaken… and extremely worried.

“Dude, how did you escape?” Spruce asked.

“Yeah, those Bergens were something fierce and nasty!” Clay added.

Floyd said nothing at first, looking as though he was recalling something painful. He averted his gaze and looked down at the ground, looking almost ashamed. Poppy felt worry start to prick at her now. Something's not right here... but I need to find out WHAT. She moved closer to Floyd, putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the unexpected touch, but welcomed it. He really needed the comfort right now.

“Floyd,” Poppy said gently, her voice lowered. “Can you tell us what happened? Please?”

The magenta Troll was silent, but he nodded his head, able to find the voice to finally explain. “It was Branch.”

Poppy stiffened at the mention of her boyfriend. But she needed to hear this. “Branch?” she asked.

Floyd nodded. “He came, not too long ago. He asked them to let me go and when they didn’t… h-he sang.” He stopped, recalling the moment. He shook his head. “I never got a chance to hear Branch really sing when we were kids. But now, it… it sounds like… like…”

“Like an angel’s,” Poppy finished, familiar with how beautiful his voice could sound.

“Exactly,” Floyd agreed. “And they seemed to think so, too. So now I’m out here, and he’s…” The Troll trailed off, unable to bear finishing his sentence.

Poppy went rigid, her eyes wide. “They took him.”

Floyd nodded, looking terribly guilty. “He didn’t have to do it. I wasn’t worth it. I left him!” he cried, wishing more than ever that he could change what happened in the past.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, taking in this new information with grim understanding. Then John Dory spoke up.

“Yeah, well, you know what? We left him, too.” He gestured to himself, Spruce and Clay. “And you know what else? You were worth it. Because you’re his brother. And Branch is our brother. And those days of walking-out-on-each-other are over. You know why?”

Spruce did, seeing where JD was going with this, and he piped up. “Because we’re a family.”

“And families are there for each other!” Clay added. 

Moved by their determined words, Poppy was able to pull herself out of the initial state of shock and regain her composure. “You're right," she said. "So if we're gonna make this work, we all have to band together so we can save Branch!" She thrust her hand out. "Who's with me?"

The hands of John Dory, Spruce, and Clay shot out to join hers. Floyd, still feeling bad for what had occurred, hesitated a second. He didn't know what she or his brothers had in mind, but what he did know was that he wasn't going to let his baby brother down. Not again. So he, too, placed his hand on time of theirs and threw it up in the air when they all did.

“IT’S BRO-TIME!” came the collective shout.

John Dory quickly huddled them together, all the Trolls’ heads nearly touching each other as the group formed a tight circle.

“All right, we need a new game plan,” the BroZone leader said, more determined than ever. “And I think I got just the one. It’s going to take all of us, though, so listen in…”

So Poppy, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd did listen in, adding their own input when sought necessary and tweaking what was needed to be tweaked. Soon enough, their plan did indeed start to come together, and soon enough they set themselves into executing the ambitious task.

Dangerous? Maybe. Worth it? One-hundred percent.

__________________________________________ A/N: What if, in the climax, Branch offered to trade places with Floyd? :0 Just a little idea I had :3

Song Branch sings is "This I Promise You" by NSYNC ;)

[spookyshipperfics]

Fascinating (Part 2)

This was posted a while ago, but better late than never for a Tumblr drop.

Find it: a03 / Fandom: The X-Files / Rating: T

Tagging: @today-in-fic

Part of the Do You Like Scary Movies? series

What is it About? Scully and Mulder continue their hike in the woods after the new development in their relationship. If only Skinner wasn't around to witness it.

Read it: Chocolate and peanut butter swirled delightfully in Mulder’s mouth. He was on his third protein bar; Scully was halfway through her second. Skinner’s count was unknown. Mulder couldn’t be bothered with the assistant director, who remembered to pack a toothbrush but not two tents. He wrestled with conflicting actions: a swift punch to the face or dropping to his knees in gratitude. After all, Skinner’s oversight led to Mulder feeling Scully up just this morning. When she’d admitted to liking it, the message felt like it had been hand-delivered by cherubs on a ribbon-wrapped scroll.

“Mulder,” Scully groaned, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. “How close did you say we were to your supposed hermit cabin?”

Right. The cabin. The witch.

He cleared his head, reminding himself that Scully’s boobs weren’t the reason they were currently standing in the middle of a forest. Delving into his backpack, he traded the empty protein bar wrapper for the map. “It’s allegedly in this area… somewhere.”

The piercing hot glare she hurdled his way made him giddy. The heat shot to his core, his cock taking notice.

“Need I not remind you, Scully, that you called my theory fascinating earlier.”

“A mystery in itself,” Skinner grumbled somewhere off to Mulder’s left.

“I don’t want to spend another night in these woods,” Scully pleaded. “Not without more evidence. We are on a literal witch hunt, Mulder. It’s Saturday.”

His stomach dropped. Scully was right. This wasn’t a case; this was purely extracurricular. A mindless nosedive into the supernatural just because he was curious. Sasquatch hunting. Jumping onto ghost ships. Add it to the list of poorly planned activities he continuously threw himself into. No wonder Scully and Skinner had followed him out here with matching expressions of uncertainty.

Reckless was his middle name.

The memory of Scully’s soft skin beneath his palm made him realize he was reckless with everybody—everything—but her. Six long years together, and it took Skinner’s hiking incompetence to push them together. Now, he felt more teenager than man. Excited. Anxious. Overflowing with hormones. He’d do anything to touch her again like that.

Cut off his arm. No problem.

Close down the X-Files. Of course.

Leave the forest because it’s what Scully wants. Sure thing.

“Okay,” Mulder relented. “How about this? Since we are already out here, one final search, just around this bend, and then we head back. Scout’s honor.”

Scully revealed her satisfaction with a small smile.

“Before we do that,” Skinner said, forehead dotted with sweat. “I’m going to take a quick bathroom break. I’ve gone through almost my entire canteen already.”

With Skinner disappearing into the trees, Mulder turned to Scully. “Come here.” She took a step closer with the expected skeptical expression. “You have something on your mouth.

“Mulder,” she huffed, and he wasn’t sure what was more dramatic: the way she threw her hands up or her eye roll.

“What?” he asked. “What could I have possibly done to elicit that type of response?”

“It’s just…” The exaggerated gestures were gone. She picked at an invisible cuticle instead. “Sometimes you can be so—”

“Polite?” he interrupted. “Considerate. Respectful. If I didn’t tell you—”

“I was going to say bashful.”

“Bashful? Really?” His voice cracked with surprise. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say.

“It’s just after this morning, I thought we had made… um… progress. I didn’t expect you to revert to cheesy pick-up lines. If you wanted to kiss me, you could just do it.”

Surely, his jaw must be on the ground. He felt like he’d been hit with a teeth-rattling, head-rocking punch. The crunching of leaves signaled Skinner’s return. Mulder’s hand jutted out, wiping the smudge of chocolate from the corner of Scully’s lip. A leftover from their protein bars.

“Like I said, you had something on your mouth.” To prove it to her, he held up his thumb before quickly sucking off the offending chocolate. Scully stared at him, her blue eyes widening.

“Sorry, it took me so long. I got a bit turned around,” Skinner announced. Mulder and Scully were still staring at each other. They must have looked like a pair of idiots because Skinner cleared his throat. “Um… are you two okay?”

“Fine,” they both uttered a little too quickly.

“Actually,” Mulder began, tearing his gaze from Scully’s. “Let’s spread out for the search. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Scully and Skinner nodded as he plopped his backpack on the ground, digging through it.

“Here,” Mulder said, tossing them each a walkie-talkie. “These should be charged. We meet back here in ten minutes. No later.”

“Besides the cabin, is there anything in particular we should be looking for?” Skinner asked.

“A cauldron and a broomstick,” Scully jeered before stalking off.

It didn’t take Mulder long to find her. Scully’s hair was poor camouflage against the sparse greenery. She whipped around as a branch snapped beneath his weight. FBI training ensured her ears were sharp and her movements were quick.

“Mulder?” she questioned, eyes dropping to the watch around her wrist, likely wondering if she miscalculated the time, although they both knew she wouldn’t be the one to do that—not without a good reason.

He used the opportunity to close the distance, to urge her backward until her back gently connected with a tree. When she peered up, he leaned forward. He didn’t think, just felt. Scully’s statement flashed in his head.

If you wanted to kiss me, you could just do it.

So he did. He kissed her slow and thorough. His hand cupped her jaw and tilted her chin, bringing her closer. When he went to pull away, to check in, to see if he’d made the worst mistake of his life, Scully rushed forward. Her lips found his again, this time parted and hungry. He accepted her tongue. Sucked her lower lip. Did all the dirty things he’d fantasized about for so long.

Part of him had expected it to be different. Visions of kissing Scully often started with fancy bottles of red wine and candle-lit dinners. But he realized now that wasn’t her; those were expectations of other women he didn’t want. Didn’t need. He was ravishing Scully against a tree in a haunted forest, not just because he desired to but because she asked him to.

Her hands were in his hair. Pulling. Tugging. Beckoning him closer. His desperate want of her wasn’t new, but it had reached a new level. It was more manageable when Scully’s tongue wasn’t lost in his mouth. When he hadn’t known what her whimpers of arousal sounded like or how she tasted. God, she was a good kisser. So fucking good.

“Mulder. Come in.” Skinner’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie clipped to his side. “I’m back at the rendezvous. Over.”

They both jumped. Tongues slipping from each other’s mouths. Hands falling from each other’s bodies. Suddenly, Mulder was right back to his predicament this morning in the tent. Hard as a rock and crafting a hit list with Skinner’s name at the tippy top.

He fumbled with his walkie-talkie. “Be there in five,” he huffed, releasing the button before grumbling, “Skinner is the true evil in these woods, Scully.”

She smiled, her lips still swollen and wet from his kisses. Her cheeks were flush, her hair messy. The idea that he’d done that to her sent a jolt of arousal through his core that wasn’t helping matters. “We should head back,” he said. If he was lucky, his erection would dissipate on the walk.

“Hmm. That’s a shame,” she commented, reaching for his hand and entwining their fingers as they walked back to Skinner.

“What took you two so long?” Skinner asked with an aura of annoyance when they emerged from a tangle of trees a few minutes later—hands now unclasped. “What happened to ‘Meet back here in ten minutes. No later?’”

So, Skinner wasn’t just a cockblock. He was nosey, too. Mulder shrugged. “I guess my watch is slow. I ran into Scully on the walk back.”

Skinner’s eyes narrowed. However, if he wasn’t satisfied by the excuse, he didn’t say it. “I didn’t find anything. Certainly, no cabin. You?”

“That’s a negative on our end,” Mulder confirmed.

“Let me guess,” Skinner began. “This is the part where you argue you need more time. That the truth is out here; we just have to keep searching.”

“Actually, I’m ready to get back. I have more pressing things to attend to in Alexandria.” Mulder struggled to keep his gaze on Skinner, to not side-eye a freshly kissed Scully beside him.

“You’re full of surprises, Mulder,” Skinner commented. “I thought for sure we’d be out here another night on a witch hunt.”

“I guessed the same thing, sir,” Scully offered. “However, it seems I was able to talk some sense into Agent Mulder on the walk here.”

Now, both he and Skinner were staring at Scully, but Mulder knew only he could see the glimmer of mischief in Scully’s eyes.

“I argued this witch likely serves a greater purpose for the locals. One of warning,” she continued. “The woods can be a dangerous place. Crafting a tale like this is intended to keep people away. It’s practically ripped straight from a fairy tale.”

“Makes sense,” Skinner agreed.

Scully nodded. “That’s what Agent Mulder said, too. He was quite generous with his receptiveness, actually.” The tiniest upturn of her lips deceived her otherwise perfect poker face. She was flipping the tables, trying to get him back. God, he loved her. “What did you call my theory again, Mulder? Fascinating?”

“Beautiful,” he corrected, delighting as a blush spread across her cheeks.

“You two really are weirdos, you know that?” Skinner muttered before setting off down the trail.

Mulder had a big grin plastered acorss his face. He couldn’t disagree with the sentiment.

Come show some love on a03 here.

[captainschaos]

dreaded grin, cold light

wrote this fic for @k-asternix for the @mcyt-halloween gift exchange!! it was a little out of my comfort zone since I really only watch mumbo/scar/grian through life series, but I decided to go for it anyway and had a blast :] a little platonic soulmate action with some spooks on the side, hope you enjoy!

(also worth noting, this will likely be part 1 of 2 for your gift!! unofficially since I don't think it will be done by tomorrow, but I do have a second piece in the works and can tag you when I post that too ^_^)

word count: 3851 This will likely be posted to ao3 too! I'm new over there tho so wanna make sure I get all the parts right before I put it up, will edit to link that here when I do ---/---/---

The atmosphere of the Deep Frost Citadel has always made Mumbo feel at least a little on edge. Sure, he often felt such glee here too, laughing with the other hermits outside the dungeon door, smiling and barely containing their excitement as they all wait for their turn to run the game, but there’s also… an unease. It is not hidden that the Citadel is a hostile place, with its spines and glaring eyes abounding in the crevices of its stonework walls, but it’s deeper. Maybe it’s just the chill that always makes it a bit uncomfortable to sit in one place for too long inside it. Maybe it’s the groans that come from deep in the place’s belly where the dungeon churns with hunger. But no matter how much he loves Decked Out, and how often he will always return to this place with joy, Mumbo just can’t seem to shake the underlying twist at the pinprick in the center of his belly that something is not quite right here. 

But still, it’s a place he loves, and he loves being with his friends here. So right now, he sits with Grian in their shared room, listening as Grian goes through his deck. 

“I mean, I’ve just about got all the commons covered, so I get to get into the fun stuff now, y’know?”

“Mhm,” Mumbo hums in response, smiling down at his own small deck he’s shuffling through while he listens to Grian. 

“I’m just not sure…” Grian sighs, though Mumbo can hear that it’s a playful kind of half-feigned irritation. “It’s nice to be able to choose, but now I have to make decisions, which-”

Grian’s words are cut off, and Mumbo glances up quickly as he hears the feathers of his wings rustle slightly. The harpy’s wings and shoulders are tensed for only a fraction of a moment as Mumbo looks at him, but he quickly shakes it out and picks up another of his cards. 

“Are, uh- you alright, Grian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shoots Mumbo a reassuring grin. “Scar just tripped over a berry bush I think. He’s running the dungeon right now.” 

“Oh, uhm… Right.” 

Of course. Ever since Double Life, Scar and Grian have had a soullink which lets them feel the other’s pain. There had been signs they were soulmates for a while before that, but it was that iteration of the great death games that had cemented it in a way that was unignorable. Mumbo sometimes wishes he had been there, wonders who he might have been matched with, but it is what it is. He and Grian are soulmates too, even if they don’t share this. 

Less than a minute passes before Grian hisses with a shallow gasp of pain again, and this time Mumbo catches the momentary glow of the pale, spiked halo that signs the action of his soullink. It’s silvery, like the vex magics that line Scar’s smile, but with a bronze undertone that complements Grian’s dusty-brown hair and feathering. It almost looks thorned. Certainly painful. 

Even before Mumbo can say anything, Grian laughs about it. “Scar’s just fallen off something, the idiot. He’s not going to be able to take a hit from a ravager, I can tell you that much.” 

“Sounds like Scar,” Mumbo says with a half a chuckle in response. But it’s hard to cover up the unease he’s feeling. 

It’s always hard to watch though. Seeing Grian in pain, when there’s nothing to do about it… it makes Mumbo’s stomach twist. But there’s an element of love in it, and Grian always says it’s fine, not to worry, and always laughs and shakes his head affectionately after he winces. So as Scar continues his run through the depths of the dungeon, Mumbo watches and listens, biting his tongue, as Grian narrates each unfortunate twist of the vex’s journey. When Grian grabs his arm and announces Scar must have healed up, because that couldn’t have been anything but a ravager bite, Mumbo’s insides twist in knots. The Citadel feels colder than ever around him when Grian shakes out another berry prick, but there’s an affectionate smile that Mumbo just can’t quite understand. There’s an unsettling feeling of watching through a window that shouldn’t be there while Grian narrates with uncanny specificity as Scar trips and fights through the dungeon, a journey that should be known only to the stomach of Decked Out, but has wormed its way through the soullink to Grian and now squirms in Mumbo’s gut. He feels off. So when there’s a shudder, and Grian clutches his chest and his wings spread in automatic response, Mumbo can’t help but jump to his feet and go to his friend. 

“Grian!” 

“I’m fine!” As Mumbo reaches out for his soulmate, Grian’s hand comes up to block him through a flat-palmed gesture, and he shakes out his feathers. “You don’t need to worry, Mumbo, I’ve told you this! It’s all–”

“Well THAT was a nightmare!” Scar says with an enormous smile as saunters up to Grian and Mumbo’s cubby. “All the ravagers in all the wrong places, just awful. I do not recommend trying to get an artifact through there right now.”

“Seemed it, buddy!” Grian says jauntily. He looks at Mumbo with one last look, clearly trying to calm him, but it somehow just makes him feel more queasy when Grian goes back to talking to Scar like it’s all fine. “It was Willy who did you in at the end there, wasn’t it?”

Mumbo knows what just happened though. Scar barely had to feel the dying, the world snatching him up as soon as his soul cried out and shuffling him comfortably back to the bed to respawn. That’s part of how they all set up their respawns, it’s all designed to mitigate the pain. But Grian… 

What did he feel?

Mumbo can’t help but feel sick at the thought of it. 

But deeper down, in a more selfish part of him, he wonders if it’s the fact that he’s the only one who has no way to know that makes him feel sick to the stomach. 

Maybe it’s just the Citadel getting to him. 

Yeah. That must be it. 

---/---/---

Scar hums to himself as he shuffles through a shulker box, pulling out a bundle of pumpkins to set out between himself and Grian. 

“There we go! Where would you like them, buddy-ol-pal?”

“Pretty much everywhere!” the harpy announces giddily. He’s already got rolls of black and orange and green wool streamers wrapped around his arms as he looks up at the entrance of his base with both hands proudly on his hips. The Halloween colors are blooming all around Grian’s base, and with Scar and Mumbo’s help, they’re just coming to pop more and more. 

“You got it!” Scar hefts up a pumpkin under each arm, tutting as the enchantment on his leg braces fizzes under the weight. Not his fault he’s so strong! He taps his foot to realign the runes, and then whistles as he picks a nice spot by the door for these two lovely golden gourds. 

“Hm… do you think that should go a bit higher, Scar?” Grian asks. 

“What should?” Scar responds as he straightens up and brushes the pumpkin-dirt off his hands. He looks over to Grian, then follows the line of where he’s pointing. The harpy’s gesture leads up to where Mumbo stands up in the ring surrounding Grian’s nether portal. A bit precarious, but his elytra is folded snugly against his back, ready to catch him should he fall, and he keeps at least one lanky arm clasped to the stone ring around him at all times. More specifically, Grian is pointing to the enormous fake bat the mustached changeling is holding up, showing where he plans to hang it from the top of the portal. “Oh. Hm hm… probably just a bit! Don’t want it to hit your head if you come rocketing out of there with a piglin on your tail, you know.” 

“Good point. Alright–” 

And with that, Grian locks eyes with Mumbo across the distance, and there’s a glow. Soft and warm, almost violent in hue with the depth of the shade, a red light seems to pool in Grian’s mouth as he looks up at Mumbo, lips parted slightly. The changeling in turn looks back, and even from this far away Scar can see the glow that shows the message has been received, and sure enough he shifts a bit so that he can raise the decoration higher before securing it with string. Scar turns to see Grian blink a few times, and then he gets back to his own work throwing streamers over everything in reach, smiling softly to himself. 

Scar knows, there’s no need to be jealous. Grian and Mumbo have their soulmate bond, and Scar has his own with the harpy, but… he still wonders. He can’t help it, shoving words in different spots to create every configuration of what might pass between them that he can’t hear, through their sharing of thoughts. It is nice that at least there’s the glowing sign when it happens, so he’s not completely left out of the loop, but there’s still… there’s just still some unshakeable feeling about it. Something uneasy. Something that makes the ground feel unstable under Scar, like he doesn’t quite know where to step without falling. It’s silly, he knows. But knowing what he doesn’t know doesn’t seem to help much. 

But nevermind all that! He has pumpkins to throw around after all, and he delights in putting them in as many ledges and nooks as he can reach without Grian being able to. Realistically, the harpy has the wings to reach any of it, but that doesn’t stop Scar from laughing as he has to hop to readjust one of the jack-o-lanterns Scar’s placed a bit askew. But like punctuation throughout this, there are the moments where Grian looks over Scar’s shoulder, and there’s a momentary rush of adrenaline as he wonders if there’s a creeper behind him, and then he sees the glow in Grian’s mouth. 

It casts shadows that seem to accentuate every sharp edge to the harpy’s teeth. 

“Mumbo’s just about done,” Grian says after one of these moments. “You think we’ve done our work here?”

“Oh, for sure!” Scar announces, putting his hands on his hips as he looks over their handiwork. “Looking mighty spooky here, friend. A nice spread of tricks and treats.”

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here and maybe grab a bite to eat then, huh? All this work has certainly got my appetite up.” 

Scar keeps smiling, but as Grian talks, he can’t seem to look anywhere but at his teeth. There’s a pinch in his stomach. 

“Sounds good.”

---/---/---

Mumbo sits alone in his vault, at a desk he tends to keep reserved for redstone planning. There are sketches laid out in front of him, pages and pages of blueprints that are more like redprints with the lines of redstone scrawled across them, but none of them are right. His head is in his hands, his changeling claws just barely pressing into his scalp as more of a grounding pressure than anything, but there is something bothering him. 

And the maddening thing is, he doesn’t know what. 

It’s an aching, something that he keeps thinking is hunger, but he’s been eating. Golden carrots at first, he always keeps a bundle of them at his desk for this purpose, but they didn’t help. He snapped his teeth through piece after piece of the clicking-crunching things, the sound of them breaking rattling like brittle bones, but they seemed to glide right past the sensation rolling in his gut. After biting through a handful of them, he thought maybe he was just having a different craving, so he went to find some steak, but that did little besides give a new ripping instead of the crunching. He even tried golden apples as his desperation grew, but he almost felt he was being taunted. He was hungry, and yet eating did nothing to help him. 

And the churning in his stomach is only growing. 

---

Scar sits in one of his many workshops hidden throughout the back areas of Scarland, looking over the plans for the latest and greatest ride to come. Or at least, he’s trying to. At the moment he’s holding his head in his hands, palms pressing into his forehead, the heels of his hands smothering his eyes as he tries to rub away the weight that seems to have settled on his eyelashes. He can hardly even look at his plans, much less process them, as his vexish wings flicker behind him in a visual representation of his struggle to just keep himself upright, as something tugs at him. 

But he has no idea what. 

He’s trying to keep on his smile, despite the fact that there’s no one in the room, just to keep himself sane. It’s solidly into the evening hours on the server, sure, but he’s had plenty of rest. And yet there’s an aching when he peels his eyes open, and it feels like folds of weight have been hung over him to pull him, smother him, to the earth. Every bone in his body feels like a support beam about to snap, and he would swear his spine creaks as he tries to straighten up. It seems like fatigue, but he knows he should be fine. He makes sure he rests, he knows he should be fine, and besides, he even tried sleeping. He laid down in one of the spots he has set up in case of occasions like this, closed his eyes, and… nothing. The silence was maddening. There was nothing to disturb him, and yet, no sleep came. So now he sits here, listening to nothing, looking at nothing, and yet he remains. He feels chained to the ground itself, every movement is a dragging, and yet his mind remains, stagnant and stale in this state. 

And the weight around his neck is only growing. 

---

Mumbo is trying to focus. He is desperately trying to focus. But it feels like something is trying to rip him in two, the way this strange, poltergeist of a hunger is clawing at him. 

Still, nothing is working. Mumbo’s tried potions now, splashing them and drinking, hoping for something to put even just a dent in the hunger tearing at his insides. It did nothing for the aching in his gut, the tightness in the back of his throat, like a hand clenched around his neck. He leans now against the door of his vault, trying to use the coolness of the metal to drag his mind away from it, but there’s no thinking about anything but the hunger. It’s grating at his mind. Panic is starting to form a new core to the grinding in the pit of his stomach. A fear, a wondering- what if this never leaves? What if there’s no answer, what if this is it? He has no idea what’s caused it, so what if there’s no way to end it? There’s a hopelessness beginning to emerge, like an animal crawling out of a cave. He doesn’t want it to be there. But even worse, he’s scared there’s no defeating it. 

His gut drops if he thinks too much about it. 

---

Scar wants to focus. He really, truly wants to focus. But it’s just impossible, it’s impossible! He’s absolutely positive now that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Nothing has worked. Scar’s flipped on every beacon in the area now, hoping their powers might do something to rejuvenate him, but it did nothing. It had no effect on the horrid grip around his temples, the feeling dragging him toward the floor. His limbs feel like lead, and he now sits in his wheelchair, just trying to ignore the feeling of weight and dulled senses pulling at him. A kind of claustrophobic desperation is welling up at the center of it all. The dread of not knowing how this will end, the panic of having no idea what’s happening to him, the cause of this weariness. He should know how to fix this. He should be able to fix this. But still…

His chest tightens if he thinks too much about it.

---

There has to be a solution. There has to be. 

The changeling just wants to fix this. He just wants to know what’s wrong with him. He just wants to know what this is, haunting the space just under his ribcage. 

It’s consuming him. He hardly even realizes when the hunt carries him out into the night. 

---

There has to be a solution. There has to be. 

The vex just wants to end this. He wants to know what’s happening to him. He just wants to know what this is, consuming the space just behind his eyes. 

It’s haunting him. He hardly even realizes when the need takes him out into the night. 

---

Two figures tumble into opposite sides of an alleyway. Teeth bared, stomachs snarling and snatching, skulls lolling toward the ground, they lock eyes with one another. And in their horrid torments, enveloped in the cold night, something snaps in place. 

---/---/---

Grian happily carries a shulker box full of building materials as he walks down the path toward the shopping district. He knows he could fly, it’d be much faster, but it’s such a nice day! He wanted to enjoy it. 

“G!” a voice calls, and he stops and spins to try and find it. There are no buildings around this part of the path, but he quickly spots two figures not too far off the road, waving to him. He jogs over, and finds Mumbo and Scar laying on a blanket in the grass, side by side in the laziest of friendly ways. 

“Hello, you two! Enjoying the beautiful day, are we?”

“Certainly better than last night was,” Mumbo says with a lighthearted but slightly concerning chuckle. Scar pipes up to help clarify, or at least attempt to, before Grian can say anything concerned though. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s all fixed up now! And it did us more good than bad, didn’t it?” 

Mumbo laughs again, this time with a bit more vigor. “Very, very true.” 

“Wait- what happened? Everything’s alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah! Here, we can show you,” Scar pipes up again. “Watch this.” 

With that he rolls over a bit to look at Mumbo, who just smiles and keeps still. After a moment of Scar’s concentration, there’s a glow, and Grian looks down to Scar’s hand where the light seems to be cupped in his palm. Matching, Mumbo’s own palms seem to mirror the glow, and Grian would recognize that silverish light anywhere, though this particular iteration seems to have a very slight green undertone, copperish and almost mimicking sunbeams underwater. 

“Soulmates?!” 

“Soulmates!” Mumbo and Scar affirm, in sync, causing a ripple of giggling. 

“Not sure exactly how recently it, y’know, popped up, but yep! And I can use it to tell you that… Mumbo needs to talk to you.”

Grian finally moves to sit, making a spot for himself between his two soulmate’s legs, but leaving the near-touch they have between their shoulders so they can all sit as together as possible. “So the link’s something need related?”

“Yeah, well,” Mumbo begins, somehow managing to twiddle his fingers even with his hands making a pillow under his head, “I think it might have been at least partially shaped by… what we were missing, from our soullinks with you. Not that you aren’t amazing!” Grian nods understandably, waiting for the explanation to finish. “It’s just- Scar and I were both seeing how you connected with the other, and it- it made something to be left out of, I guess? Or maybe just made it easier to notice what we were missing, I’m not sure it just-” 

“We were missing the link to each other,” Scar finishes for Mumbo. A glow fades from his palm again, not as strong as when he was focusing on it, but a sign Mumbo may have been in need of a bit of silver-tongued rescuing. “I had the pain, he had the thoughts, and so we bridged the gap.” 

“Thinking about each other’s pain,” Mumbo says with a grateful smile given to Scar. “That’s the way I’ve been thinking about it, at least.” 

“So… how did you figure this out, exactly?” Grian asks. 

“Oh, ah- well, Scar hadn’t eaten in far too long, and I thought I was getting ripped apart from the inside out!” Mumbo laughs, rolling so his elbow can jab into Scar’s shoulder. 

“Hey! At least I take all the cat-naps a man could need, one of us needed some shut-eye so bad it was driving me up the wall!” 

And at this, Grian laughs. He was asleep plenty early last night, and must have stayed asleep through any inkling of this event. But of course, these two managed to get supernaturally attuned in precisely the right way to bully each other about taking care of themselves. As much focus as Mumbo had on him, he knows Scar and Mumbo have their very own, very unique friendship. And he has no need to be jealous- he knows they love him in equally wonderful ways. 

“Oh, you wonderful idiots! How’d you get that mess sorted out then?” 

“I practically tackled Mumbo into bed of course!” Scar says with his hands thrown in the air. 

“But not before I shoved about a stack of steak into your mouth!” Mumbo shoots back through giggles. 

All three of them are laughing, and Grian pats a hand on each of his soulmates’ nearest knee. “Well, glad you seem in much better spirits now. Can I see the soullink work again?”

“Sure! Here, I’ll give it a go this time.” Mumbo turns to Scar and scrunches up his face comedically as their palms glow once more, and the two barely hold back giggles as their foreheads nearly press together. “Hmm, I think Scar’s hungry. For… Grian brainsss…!” he announces with a punctuating wiggle of his fingers for extra spooky effect. 

“What! No no no, that’s your thing, Mr. I-Am-What-I-Eat!” 

The group collapses into a fit of giggles, and Grian falls onto his chest between his soulmates, wrapping an arm around each in a wonderfully clumsy hug. Scar throws an arm up over Grian’s head to reach around to Mumbo, and the changeling in turn reaches across Grian to playfully swat at Scar’s other hand as he gestures wildly. They remain like that for a while, safe and comfortable in each other’s presence, smiling and talking all too loudly for reasonable interaction. But affection has no need to be reasonable, in the face of unreasonable obstacles, even if those obstacles have been thoroughly overcome. It’s the absurdity that will keep them running strong. It’s the laughter after the dark that will always bring them back to each other. 

[ween-kitchens]

@whimsy-biome HFMDH YAY dredge has to be one of my favourite games ever it’s so <333

anyway i’m kind of obsessed with the timeline of this KHFKDHJ mostly because i’ve managed to squish two of my favourite things together: dredge and empires s1 LNFLDN

this does have like. hints? of dredge spoilers, just in case you don’t wanna spoil anything at all. nothing is a 1:1 ratio though, I mostly took half the dredge plot and warped it a little HLFDN (under the cut ooo)

everything basically starts at the rapture in what used to be mazelea. joel has just watched his whole life’s work crumble to the ground, and now his wife and best friend have both vanished, and the oceans are almost gone completely. he’s.. a little desperate, in all honesty, and is willing to do anything to get his old life back.

so, he makes the trek to crystal cliffs and manages to find gem before she leaves for somewhere better than the hellscape that their kingdoms have become. joel begs for her to help him, to do anything that might bring back jimmy and lizzie, and she reluctantly agrees to make him a spell that would bring them back.

gem comes to him, frantic, with the spell written in an old grimoire of hers, and tells him that joel can bring jimmy and lizzie back with it. she tells him though, that to bring two deities back into the world would have an enormous cost. something like the rapture, but amplified by thousands. the world would become uninhabitable.

they both agree that there is no way the spell could ever be used, and they cast it out to sea in the hopes that it’d be lost forever

and it was! for a time

the thing about minecraft worlds is that, once the landscape has changed enough and all old builds are reduced to ruin, they get reused. after all, it’s a lot more efficient to reuse worlds than to create a new one every single time someone wants, when there are thousands of worlds that haven’t been touched in centuries!

not to mention, whilst players’ memories and bodies may change from world to world, their code stays exactly the same. now generally this is fine, but when your code has been corrupted by something—let’s say a rapture—the word does not take kindly to that. I mean, why did you think s8 ended so forcefully? gem and pearl, of course.

after the hermits realised what their code had done to the world, they removed the aspect of the rapture from their codes. unfortunately, this also removed some of their memories from after the rapture. which also includes gem’s memories of the spell and the book. i’m sure this will have zero negative consequences at all!

so, whether it be coincidence or incredible misfortune, the world for season ten of hermitcraft just so happens to be the same world that season one of empires smp inhabited. which means the book is still there

and the book would very much like to be used.