#and outright hating on the brother not for the fic but for *literally* what the sister did to him in canon

[mx-paint]

it's really sad when the fanon exaggeration of the awkward emo boy is more aligned to canon than the fanon ignorance of actual events to make his homicidal sister sweet and polite instead of the murderous and familicide- like way that she actually is

[mmavverickk]

I “love” the betrayal fics where the entire camp suddenly believes that this new guy has actually accomplished all of Percy’s achievements and Percy lied to all of them, like camp didn’t literally witness half of those accomplishments and like Percy actually outright says “I did X.” Percy says almost nothing about what he does, Camp hears about most of his achievements from others

oh, we've all seen those fics. new guy shows up, he's actually Percy's half-brother. Annabeth suddenly only has eyes for him, everyone suddenly hates Percy because new guy does too, Poseidon may or may not disown Percy, and then Percy runs away and joins Chaos.

it's been copied and pasted thousands of times in hundreds of ways.

not a single one of those fics has Percy's departure from Camp happen realistically. it's not even impossible to grow resentment between Percy and the campers, which is what these writers seem to want. but the way they go about it? a cookie cutter asshole pied piper OC who steals the spotlight and turns Camp into a hostile mob of angry demigods? Unrealistic. 0/10 trope, literally 50% of why i will not read fanfictions with OCs.

have some realistic ways of turning Camp against Percy or vice versa:

- Percy could be captured. The area he was taken from is drenched in blood. no one could survive that, Percy's gotta be dead, so Camp doesn't look for him. after [x amount of time] of captivity and probably torture, Percy gives up hoping for a rescue. he discovers darker uses for his powers, frees himself, and doesn't go back to camp, because they abandoned him. opens the road for angst and emotion and tearful reunions etc.

- Camp is attacked. maybe it was a lazy beach day. no one is ready, only a few campers have their weapons. they're outnumbered and maybe surrounded and definitely out of options. Percy won't let anyone die. two ways to go about this one:

A) percy destroys the attackers single-handedly, using every tool in his arsenal, every fucked up thing he can think of to make sure his people survive. he controls poison and blood and drowns monsters and, i don't know, freezes them into ice cubes or boils their skin or stops their hearts. Camp is terrified of him now. he leaves. or B) the armed campers fight back, but percy isn't fighting. he's busy keeping the injured from dying. how? he's controlling their blood. he won't let it deviate from its normal path. Camp is terrified of him now. he leaves.

- [x god] sends Percy on a quest. but, surprise! it's not a quest! it's a trick, to lead Percy to his death! Percy survives, but can't go back or he'll be revealing he's still alive before he figures out why [x god] tried to have him killed and if there's anyone else behind it. fun conspiracy vibes.

- percy adopts a new pet, except this time it's a drakon. "Percy," Chiron says very patiently and not-at-all exasperated, "you can't keep a drakon as a pet. it will eat your friends and we don't have the space." Percy flips authority the bird and strikes out with his new pet to find somewhere they can settle. kinda cracky but written right it could be funny.

- Percy pisses Zeus off. not surprising. Zeus wants to kill Percy. not surprising. for his own good, Chiron sends Percy on a roadtrip/changes his name and sends him to mexico along with multiple witness protection agents/quest to keep Percy out of sight for a while to allow the king of olympus time to cool down, because we like when percy is alive and also the war poseidon would wage at his death would kill us all.

are all of them 100% realistic? no, but neither is Percy leaving Camp. Hera had to literally kidnap him and erase his memory to keep him away. the point is that they're different and plausible, and not the same exact trope repeated over and over again until i can tell you the plot of hundreds of betrayal works in one sentence.

[pentagonieslut]

hii!! this is my first time requesting something so sorry if its too vague, but i wanted to ask what do you think dkb's reactions would be to dry humping? appreciate your work and I'm glad to see a bb writing something on this app cause there's literally no dkb fics🥲

hi cutie ! i gotcha haha ! i put it in a headcanon type style too if that’s okay with you ! hope you like it ! <3

DKB REACTION : dry humping

E-CHAN:

you were at a basketball game, him hugging you from behind as you stood up for the final 10 minutes

it was packed so you were already pressed up against him

him slowly bricking up is a lie- he’s been bricked up since you were looking a little too good for his liking in public. he wanted you to look the way you looked now in private

you knew it too that he was bricked..so you took it into your own hands

first pretending to stand on your tip toes to see the players

then pretending to pick something up

finally- outright going for it

his hands grabbing your waist tightly as he hisses

he moves up and down against you, letting out the tiniest whine

“fuck if we weren’t going to an after party i’d rip your clothes off right now”

he can’t hide it so he has to change clothes into bigger ones

D1:

you guys were watching a movie

you were desperate to have some attention since he just revoked your punishment from testing him two weeks ago

deciding the movie was a good time to try to get some action, you moved

you turned around to koala bear hug him and play a ‘im tired’ card

he thought nothing of it and started stroking your back gently to lull you to sleep

moving your hips, he froze and glanced at you quickly thinking you were just joking

when you continued on he got what you were trying to do and let you continue

“babydoll if you wanted me to help you feel something, you should’ve asked”

he lifted his hips up as if to thrust into you causing you to whimper from his action

he just continues watching the movie and let’s you help yourself- his motto:

want it? work for it.

once you grinded harder down against him, continuing to make yourself get off

“did you finish princess? good girl, now let’s clean up this mess hm?”

TEO:

(his fucking arms,, i want him to choke me like he hates me with a burning passion)

you were doing the take me down dance that he created, preparing to do a dance video to it

both of you have the hots for each other but he doesn’t know how to ask you out since you’ve got the powerful aura that makes everyone bite their lips

you were wearing shorts since you’ve been practicing all day and just a sports bra

part of the choreography had you hovering above him- just a couple of inches above him

couldn’t stand the fact he was unintentionally be teased

your legs started hurting and you ended up sitting on top of him

which he was okay with

continuing to dance that part, you grinding on him as you only have a sly smile through the mirror

the loudest groan leaves his mouth

you both forget about the dance and he smashes his lips against yours as you continue grinding on him

once you stop and get off him as to not get in trouble, you wink at him and disappear for a ‘break’

HEECHAN:

with him i highly doubt you’ll even dry hump

like deadass

wooyoung’s little brother frfr

as soon as he started

he’d stop and just fuck you then and there

please when he danced to PTSD

FUCK

has the prettiest whines i bet

but tease him enough, he might just show you why he’s the head choreographer

GK:

this is unintentional but

you were all in the car

they wanted to take you to this luxe studio they rented since it reminded you of the one you have back home

you were sitting in his lap, the road being bumpy

you planted yourself as hard as you could against him

the bouncing didn’t help the fact that every twist and turn you were grinding on his throbbing cock

whispers into your ear

“please try to hold onto something that will give you stability and not make you move”

his face was red because he was with his members

they wont let him live it down

his moans were about to burst through his throat

only wished for it all to end

LUNE:

you were at the pool in the middle of the night

he had his eyes closed as he relaxed and listened to the music coming from the speaker

sneaking onto the daybed next to him

you grin and rather than hump him, you lick a stripe up his cock

simulating that you were sucking him off

you suck and he opens his eyes and moans

he’s pretty but that moan is prettier

lemme stop before my thoughts win

JUNSEO:

FUCK HES ADORABLE

I LOVE U BIG BEAR

anyways

y’all were sleeping

then it got hot

so you started moving whilst in his iron bear hug

he woke up because you were moving way too damn much

hearing your whines turned him on and he bricked up

“b-baby please? stop moving? let me sleep?”

he forced you awake and gave the cutest smile that had the scariest meaning behind it

sheepish apology

can’t recover so he dances away

YUKU:

he’s so soft my heart 🥺

he’d be sort of surprised that you even asked him

this boy just smiled and says sure

you take it slow

the tiniest sound made by someone else besides the two of you makes him freeze

he’ll help you or try to make you feel good

might even pull something out his ass that yuta aniki taught him

he laughs at your whines and smiles softly

encourages you to do it as many times you like

he might even get handsy and do something for you instead

HARRY JUNE:

“right now? for real?”

“hyungs are going to come in soon”

“try it”

sitting in his lap on the dance floor

under the guise of finding a comfortable position

he moans out loud once

then chokes and turns red

keeps his head down

notices his precum showing

gets shy

is shocked that he can’t combat nor tease anymore

all because he’s chokeheld by you

now he wants to just go to his room and screw you until you black out

[etirabys]

book review: she who became the sun

Woohoo, this stacked well with reading the "end of Ming, early Qing" stretch of The Search for Modern China. It's set in a similar time period, and Zhu, the "random peasant who turned out to have an amazing knack for leading a rebellion" protagonist, fits neatly into the historical period where many peasants or failed bureaucrats were discovering that this was their calling.

GOOD novel. Chewy. It's good. Had enough crazy brilliant protagonist energy to remind me of the Vorkosigan saga:

"That monk knows exactly what he wants. The night before the battle at Yao River, he asked me to make that gong for him. I made it, he used it, and he won,” Jiao said. “I’ve met his type before. They either go far or die early. And either way, they have a tendency to make collateral damage of normal people.” He raised his eyebrows at Yuchun. “Are you special, little brother? Because if you’re not, I’d watch out."

Will definitely be buying the sequel.

(At this point the review becomes spoilery.)

One of the most gorgeous blood feud I've ever seen! The players in the blood feud are:

- Ouyang, the sole survivor of the massacre of his Han family – begged for his life as a child, was spared but castrated, and has grown up into a fearsome Mongol general

- Chaghan, the high ranking Mongol military commander who did the massacreing

- Esen, Chaghan's son who conforms perfectly to Mongol masculine warrior ideals. Loves Ouyang as a best friend but fails to see, at all, how bitter Ouyang is with his life and how set he is on revenge.

- Wang, Chaghan's half-Han nephew whom he adopted as a son.

Each pair of the above either outright hates each other, OR is plotting the other's destruction despite great love, except Chaghan and Esen. It's fabulous! Ouyang is... oh, just read this short post about CS Lewis's definition of damnation. Ouyang is very damned.

Oh, Ouyang. Women are terrible! The politics.” He groaned. “Consider yourself lucky you’ll never have to suffer this kind of torment.” Esen never meant to hurt, and Ouyang had always taken care to pretend matter-of-fact acceptance about his exclusion from family life. Why should he blame Esen for not reading his mind to see the anger and pain there? But the truth was: he did blame Esen. Blamed him even more than he would a stranger, because it hurt more that someone so beloved should not see the truth of him. And he blamed and hated himself, for hiding that truth.

Ouyang's arc is a superbly executed tragedy. The climax, I think, physically winded me slightly.

And Wang –

This book is primarily about people-who-are-not-fully-men by the Mongol standards of manhood, and of the GNC characters, Wang was the one who struck me as queerest by nature/volition rather than circumstance. His gender is Accountant Who Loves The Arts, and his Manchu relatives HATE him for it. His gender noncompliance seems like "I'm doing this because I really want to and anything else is painful" rather than "I'm doing this because I was castrated" (Ouyang) or "I'm doing this because I was going to literally starve to death unless I latched on to the niche that was meant to be my dead brother's" (the protagonist).

Said GNC people sniff each other out quickly and feel Weird Magnetism. "Like calls to like" is an italicized refrain. In fact, Zhu's nonbinarydar is so advanced that she intuits Ouyang's emotional damage within minutes of meeting him, and feels a magnetic pull to him for the rest of the book. As a shipper, I'm a huge fan. (What I want: Ouyang/Zhu/Ma triad fic.) As a person who yearns for anyone to understand Ouyang, I'm a huge fan. But I'm an anti-fan of "these two people who are very different are of the Same Kind because they don't fit into mainstream culture". Such groupings are politically expedient but I feel allergic to seeing them painted as intrinsic similarities – to say, these two things are the same because they are not X, seems to ontologically center "X vs not X" when the political project should be to dissolve the salience of that division.

Through that strange quiver of connection to the Yuan’s eunuch general, she had seen beneath that carved-jade mask to his shame and self-hate and anger. He had a wound for a heart, and that made him a more dangerous opponent than anyone here realized.

I feel weird writing a paragraph about this, but the book is really explicit that these radically different GNC people are on the same wavelength and I'm like, NO, they're really not!... they could have grown into the weird intense soulmate enemy bond they immediately have in book 1, and that would have felt narratively rewarding to me – recognition through inquiry and (reluctant) empathy and reflection, not, Nonbinary Frog Pheromones

Finally: I loved Zhu's romance arc and childhood trauma and fucking everything. She's ten years old when her father is kicked to death by bandits for not offering them enough food (the whole region is some years into a famine), and by the time she's an adult this feels so faraway that... well, as an adult she sees a food seller at a market being extorted, and the scene goes like this:

“Hey, granny!” Well, less hope for some. Zhu, observing the unfolding human drama, felt a stirring of unease: the memory of something witnessed so long ago that it might as well have been in a past life.

Seriously, the kicked to death thing never comes up again, and the elision is vast and leaves a lot of room for echoes. Similarly – several minutes before being kicked to death, the desperate father, who devalues girl children in a culturally unexceptional way, offers ten year old Zhu as food for the bandits so they'll leave him and his son alone. (This whole scene is amazingly written, and does not get in the way of the inherent intensity and awfulness of this event.) Zhu does not process this onscreen At All. Once her entire family is dead she starts rolling on her journey to becoming a warlord like a polished marble. Said journey involves her taking her brother's place at a monastery and playing at being a not-girl so well that even the heavens won't notice that she's of the Grindable To Nothingness gender, all while having ZERO thoughts about the "eat my daughter and leave us alone" incident. Fucking fantastic.

Anyway, at the beginning of becoming a warlord, she meets Ma, a Girl Who Is Somehow Nice Despite The World Making This Very Hard:

in her face there was such a depth of raw and innocent emotion that Zhu’s eye was drawn as if to the scene of an accident

and

Zhu, watching Ma with an alien ache in her heart, saw the girl turn away at the critical moment [of someone she cares about being executed]. There was nobody to comfort her. She simply folded over onto herself in the middle of that empty bubble in the crowd, crying. Zhu felt a strong protective urge rise up in her at the sight. With alarm she realized it was a new desire, already rooted alongside that other desire that defined everything she was and did. It felt as dangerous as an arrowhead lodged in her body, as though at any moment it might work its way in deeper and cause some fatal injury.

and marries her. I love this, because I'm a huge sucker for "I am a very bad person and I love you and hope you will keep me in line" ships, and this is explicitly part of their deal!

However, after fights about less taboo atrocities, Ma comes back to Zhu after Zhu kills an eight year old Ma is attached to (for being a ?dalai lama? who is inconvenient to Zhu's goals), so it's a little unclear to me how much Ma is going to keep this function.

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Are there other Theon ships you like?

EDIT: I am sorry for this lateness anon. I thought I had posted this back in September (around the time I was getting survey related asks) shortly after it was sent but I just found it on the queue while searching for something else. Sorry. It was very sweet of you to ask so I feel abad about not realising I didn't post it any sooner.

I have weird feelings regarding ships in this fandom so most of the time with "ship" I just mean "I want to see them interact in emotionally intense situations of conflict, affection and resentment" but here are the ones I could think of in which some sort of romance/attraction/affection is part of my preferred dynamic.

Theon/Jeyne (already explained it here. Basically it's just that I am really into circumstantial affection, codependency and the themes of accountability for past misdeeds and irredeemability vs redemption. I like it at best when it's not outright shippy but ambiguous and open to interpretation. I always recommend Girl On Ice (and I won't stop now) but also I honestly feel that Little Brother, although the focus is truly on Asha and her anxiety over her entire situation in the end of ADWD, has probably my favourite post-adwd dynamic for them and it's even more ambiguous in a very tongue-in-cheek manner that I appreciate.)

Jon/Theon (Similar feelings about circumstantial affection but without the same themes. Like the idea of the two unwelcomed somewhat unwilling members of Winterfell being some of the last remainings of it. Also prefer it as something ambiguous and open to interpretation but with slightly more antagonistic feelings between the two. I like Jon but he'll be ultimately relieved to know Theon actually just killed the Miller's boys and that is not necessarily a good thing for me (although I understand and won't blame him for that possible reaction). I admit to being picky because I disagree with some popular takes about Theon having bullied Jon or them hating each other and I also am very strongly against Stark romanticism which often appears in fics focused on them.)

Theon/Barbrey (Everyone thinks I said this as a joke but I actually mean it. Their conversation during the Turncloak chapter made me cry like a child when I first read it and I haven't been the same person ever since. It completely rewired the way I perceive things. I like relationships that grow not out of love but hatred and feelings of mutual hurt originating from similar issues. I like the idea that she might at some point be the one to fully take the Stark goggles off him. Also prefer it as ambiguous rather than straight up romantic. This is one of my favourite fics ever and it sometimes makes me cry. Canon divergent ADWD where she takes him away from Ramsay and Roose (also "Arya" gets saved anyway, don't worry))

Theon/Kyra (Prefer it as horror from Kyra's side but mixed with the possible former feelings of teenage love they might have had. They seemed emotionally close and I can imagine she might have felt more for him than he ever did for her. That's interesting for me given what happens later on during ACOK and that she still tries to save him from the Dreadfort. I like the idea that when he kissed her on the other side of the river she could only feel fear and indignation)

Theon/Patrek (one of the more wholesome ones here and to be honest it only started really interesting me once Patrek was used as a leverage against his father and they literally tied a noose around his neck. I like it a lot more than I express. I like to think that the anger Patrek might have felt towards Theon at that point was somewhat mitigated or that it will be mitigated now that he has been on a similar position. Preferred daydreams involve small one-night reunions when Theon finally gets to go to the Islands and has to stop at Seaguard where Patrek is. Strange type of meetings between people who were very happy and close during a brief time that was violently and abruptly cut get to reminiscence about a past they feel conflicted about. I like to think their relationship would be re-contextualised given Patrek has been used against his father now).

Theon/Baelor (Absolutely no canon foundation which is weird given I am who I am but I have such a desire for a gap filler where the two get to interact during Theon's time in ACOK and Theon is able to see this somewhat well-adjusted version of himself that has even turned into a figure of influence and just feels completely irritated and hateful by the situation.)

Theon/Falia (Been ruminating on this for a long time now and she could embody aspects of the Kyra to his Theon and he the Euron to her Falia so yes enjoy it a lot. Although I've only seen it written once and it was in a post-ados ambiguously hopeful fic. Really liked it. It was very sweet. However on a long term not I'd really like her becoming a strange type of second chance for what he had with Kyra and him a second chance for what she had with Euron. Horny on main ironborn comes to take the castle of the feudal lord whose lands you live in and takes you, a lowborn woman who seems rather willing, to live there for a while and sleep in the bed of said feudal lord. Things change suddenly and you find yourself physically and sexually abused by someone you trusted.)

Sexual relationships I do not ship but read anyway because of interesting dynamics

Theon/Ramsay (It has to be fully non-consensual, full horror and as canon-compliant as possible. If I see Theon referring to him as "master" I am out. Also I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that erotically written stuff triggers me so it's difficult. Implicit rape/non-con mixed with the horrors of depersonalisation and contradicting feelings about whether he deserves any of what happened to him or not are very welcomed though!)

Theon/Cersei (Talked about it here. People take it as comedic and I see why and it makes me laugh but it only caught my attention once I started thinking more seriously about it and I weirdly enough I can somewhat enjoy it as long as the characterisation isn't purely hedonistic-cringe-fail-milf-hunter. Something I think could be interesting is if the marriage were to take place after Theon had spent a significative amount of time at the Dreadfort but hadn't gone through a drastic change in appearance and thus was not visibly weakened and hurt. Anyway, go read Broken Cage! The Cersei POV voice is perfect.)

Open but not fully into it

Theon/Tris (theoretically I think I'd like it and it fits into themes I enjoy. Both of them at some point pursue(d) Asha due to misreading who she really is and are questioned in regards to whether they truly fit to Ironborn culture (they do!) by the same woman who looks down on them a little. So yeah could be cool! but until now what I've perceived of it is basically "Theon gets a wholesome boyfriend who is kind of wholesome in canon too and isn't romanticised by fandom so he doesn't fell ooc!" and that's very nice and makes me happy for him but it's not very interesting to me.)

Theon/Jory (There was this really good fanfic back in 2017 Russian fanfic website and it has sadly been lost to humanity but it was good.)

Theon/Brienne (Irl friend proposed it as a joke but pre-ramsay he fits her type as snarky, fashionable, mockish young man and it could be interesting because he would be a tremendous asshole and would probably emotionally scar her. That's all I have to say.)

Theon/Meera (Quite surprised at how no one has developed anything complex based on his not very-pure-thoughts back in ACOK and their connection to Bran. Could be interesting.)

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

Mine is a World of Rooftops and Love Songs

----

Virgil is invited to a New Years' party and without an excuse not to go he can't turn it down. Who knew that all it takes to make friends is bad punctuality and sensory issues? Honestly, Virgil wished someone had told him sooner.

AKA: Virgil goes to a party, freaks out and ends up on a rooftop with his best friend's brother. Alls well that ends well, I guess?

----

| Ao3 |

Warnings:

-Referenced underage drinking.

-A lot of alcohol mentions.

-Referenced sexual content (literally one line)

-Referenced homophobia/transphobia (also just one or two lines)

I think that's it but if you notice anything else please let me know.

Pairings: Prinxiety, referenced Logicality, referenced Dukeceit.

Word Count: 4843

Notes:

Title taken from a quote by Roman Payne

I thought I should make a fic for new years :D

I honestly believe that with enough money and determination teenagers can do anything they set their minds to.

I'm gonna make another post about this in a bit because this became an au as I wrote it so. (Most of what I plan to post is in the end notes on ao3)

----

Virgil had been invited to a New Years party. 

Usually living right on the outskirts of their little town paired with being standoffish and sometimes outright rude got him out of being invited to get-togethers held by the other people his age. Usually they neglected to invite him to birthdays or conveniently forgot his invitation to homecoming parties or other, stupid, highschool events. Which was great for him, he was way too anxious and antisocial for a party where he’d be expected to drink alcohol and dance weirdly in front of actual real people to shitty music he didn’t even like.

But for some reason, in his senior year, he had been invited to a ‘New Year’s Gathering’. The invitation promised booze galore, fireworks, music, dancing, cocktails, party games, you name it. It seemed to be a huge party, too. He’d heard someone mention that both the seniors and juniors had all been invited and someone had somehow apparently gotten permission to hold the ‘gathering’ in the big old mansion house that had been vacant since the last residents moved out a few years ago on the border of the town and forest, surprisingly close to where Virgil lived.

According to hallway gossip, the party committee (he had no idea who that consisted of, but he assumed it was fellow students) and gotten free roam of the house and it’s grounds for two days, new years eve and the day after. It was already being talked about as the biggest school-wide event in two decades which didn’t make Virgil want to go any more than the glitter soaked invitation had. Which, to be clear, meant that he didn’t want to go one bit. 

But then again, his parents had left him home alone over the week of New Years, they had gone to visit some family a few states away to celebrate with them and Virgil had adamantly protested to stay home (He hated how his grandparents poked at him for being gay and his aunts conveniently forgot his was a boy and not a girl despite him reminding them every time he saw them), so they had eventually relented and let him stay by himself. That meant that he wouldn’t be doing anything over New Years, which meant he had no excuse not to go to this party.

And the whole school knew it, because of course they did. Gossip spread like a forest fire in their school, no-one had secrets, not for very long. Not attending without an excuse would be social suicide, especailly for a big event like this. Especially when he’d actually been invited for once. 

That’s how Virgil found himself standing outside of the house, wearing a leather jacket (it was the only thing he had that was smarter than his hoodies) ripped jeans and his big platform boots. He’d gone all out on makeup and he looked like something plucked straight from the 2000’s emo era, complimented by the sheer amount of piercings he was wearing. Usually he didn’t wear his snakebites and nose ring in school, the teachers tended to get upset over it. He also chose to wear one of his chokers and another necklace on top of that, as well as a pair of cuff bracelets. He knew he’d overdone the emo look just a little bit, but to be honest, he looked absolutely epic in his opinion and he needed every tiny ounce of confidnce he could get to get through this party. Not to mention, maybe the whole look would scare some people off too. 

After taking a few deep, steadying breaths to calm his racing heart, Virgil finally looked up at the house. He was a little late, granted, but he hadn’t quite expected this many bikes (and the occasional car) to be littering the driveway of the mansion house, The lights on the first floor were on, illuminating the grounds with flashing colours and light from nearly every window. Upstairs most of the curtains were drawn and Virgil could almost guarantee that at least one pair were already getting it on in one of the bedrooms- what? This was a mansion house full of seventeen and eighteen year olds with access to too much alcohol. What did you expect to happen? Heaven knows it was probably his- only- friend, Remus and his boyfriend Janus.

Which by extension meant he was likely alone in a sea of teenagers who all either chose to ignore him or hated him. Lovely, brilliant, thanks Remus. 

The tired looking girl sat in the front hallway of the mansion checked his invitation (because apparently, despite every youth of age being invited, people sneaking in was still a worry?) and offered to take his jacket. He gave her a look and she shrugged, waving him off. 

He followed the helpful but kind of unnecessary signs to the mansion’s banquet hall turned nightclub where the DJ- was that the cool non-binary person from his class?- was blasting music so loudly that the bass shook the floor. They were up front on a makeshift stage with mixers that they’d gotten from who knows where, wearing headphones and mixing vinyl records like this was the eighties. Virgil shrugged, he respected their committment to the aesthetic at least. 

There were bright lights, too, the flashing colours and pounding music were already making his head hurt, nevermind the crowd of sweaty teenagers dancing in the centre of the room, most of them talking to their friends or yelling to someone across the hall. A bunch more people lingered around the edges of the space. He could see a bar had been set up using foldable tables behind which two people were haphazardly throwing alcohol together into cocktails without following any real recipe. Virgil suspected that they tasted disgusting and decided to steer away from that table. Cocktails were nice enough, but only when he knew what was going into them so he knew he wouldn’t black out immediately after drinking one. Those things could be dangerous. 

There was another table set up with snacks, bags of crisps, chocolate bars, nut packets, some of those mixed fruit bags you could get from McDonalds instead of a Mcflurry or a cookie if you really hated yourself (Virgil had no idea how they’d gotten so many). On one side of the table he could see that they were giving out glow bands and a few of the weird hippie girls- who lived somewhere off in the forest and Virgil was half suspicious that they were actually fae in disguise but that’s irrelevant- were doing facepainting with glow in the dark facepaint if you paid a dollar. 

So much was going on at once, on the other side of the snack table there was a giant bowl of punch that you could scoop into a glass that Virgil was certain had already been spiked. Two brothers who’s parents owned the brewery and vineyards on the opposite side of town were selling homemade wine for five dollars a glass, which was a steal even if Virgil wasn’t interested. A lot of people seemed to be either giving out or selling things, which Virgil must have missed on the invite. Maybe that’s why so many people were invited, this wasn’t just a highschool party. A more accurate way to describe it was: imagine a highschool house party, a school faire, a nightclub and the regency aesthetic had a baby together and then that baby was raised by irresponsible teenagers with terrible fashion choices. That’s what this was.

Virgil flinched when someone bumped into him, turning on the intruder to his personal space only to find that they’d already disappeared into the crowd. 

He took another deep breath, folding his arms and stuffing his hands under his jacket where his fingers clung to the soft black turtleneck he wore underneath. Hunching over a little in an attempt to make himself smaller and thus hopefully make it easier to avoid people, he started to skulk around the side of the room, looking up at the crowd every now and again but trying to avoid eye contact. He had to find someone that he could ask where the closest exit was, it was so hard to see where he was going in this room with the crowds and lights and so much noise.

The closest table to him happened to be the facepainting, and thank goodness for that because at least the hippie girls seemed to be chill around everyone. He was sure they’d be able to point him to an exit. As he approached- slowly enough that he wouldn’t bump into anyone- one of the girls noticed him and stood up, waving him over. 

“Hey!” She said, her curly white hair bobbing with her head as she spoke, her silver framed glasses reflected the light in a rainbow of colours- how interesting- “Are you alright, sweetheart? You look a little frazzled.”

“Yeah- I-” Virgil forced out, trying to explain, he wasn’t even sure if she could hear him over the swelling noise of the party and besides, the words stopped coming out after a second, they wouldn’t go past his throat. His eyes darted around, looking at the encroaching crowd and then back at the girl in front of him. It was too much, everywhere, all at once-

“Hey, hey, look at me, ok?” She said to him, bringing his attention back to her, “May I have your hands?”

Not sure what she wanted, but somehow reassured by her tone, Virgil pulled his hands from their positions curled around his torso and held them out to her. She gripped them with just the right amount of pressure to keep him focused. 

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you to try and breath for a second, okay?” She asked, tilting her head a little, Virgil’s eyes followed the slight movement and he nodded, “Okay, in… out… in… and out, you got it! Now keep doing that for me, okay?”

All Virgil could do was nod, as she turned to the friend closest to her, “Hey, Indie, I’ll be right back, kay? Just gonna get this sweetheart somewhere quiet.”

Her friend nodded and gave a one handed thumbs up as she continued to paint some other kid’s face with her other hand. The girl turned back to him with a smile.

“Alrighty, I’m gonna bring you to the kitchen, ok? I was in there earlier and it’s super nice, I’m pretty sure they’re hoarding food there too, but don’t tell anyone,” She said with a wink as she leaned close and whispered the last part to him, she let go of one of his hands but kept hold of the other, “I’m going to keep hold of you so we don’t get separated, okay?”

“Mhm,” Virgil hummed in response and she smiled before beginning to lead him off.

The hallway outside of the banquet hall was just as grand as the rest of the mansion, but so much quieter compared to the main party room. There were still people out here. Smaller groups of friends who had left the room and sat down together in the hallways to chat or play stupid games where they could actually hear eachother talk. The girl lead him past these people and he followed her almost on autopilot after she let go of his hand.

“There is a door straight from the kitchen to the banquet hall,” The girl explained as she lead him along the hallway until eventually they arrived at a large old looking wooden door, “This is the long way round, but I thought it might be better than having to push through all those people.”

“Definitely,” Virgil huffed, his voice quiet, but now that he could breath in cooler air and he wasn’t being bombarded with noise on all sides he found his ability to form coherent sentences coming back to him. The girl pushed open the kitchen door, which creaked as it was opened and Virgil flinched, those hinges really need oiling. 

“Hey Buttercup!” She called into the open space, “I’ve got someone for you!”

“Sel?” Someone else called back, before a boy appeared from around the corner wearing round glasses and a cat hoodie. Virgil’s eyes widened slightly because he definitely recognised this guy, his dirty blond hair that seemed to bounce, endless freckles, bright blue eyes that always seemed to sparkle with happiness. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but he remembered his face quite well. 

He had been in the same class as Virgil in the sixth grade, right when Virgil had first figured out that he might be trans and started trying to change his appearence little by little. The bullying and rumours had really started off when he cut off most of his much longer hair. It was awful (he was eleven years old and didn’t know how to cut hair, give him some credit) and this guy had been the only one in the class to stand up for him and somehow get (almost) everyone to leave him the hell alone. Virgil had never actually talked to him, because he barely talked at all during those few years, but he had appreciated everything this other boy did. He didn’t even know if he would remember Virgil, it had been so long- almost six years- and Virgil’s look had changed a lot in that time.

“Oh! Hi!” He smiled at Virgil, “You’re… sorry I um- I know you changed your name-?”

“Virgil,” He answered with an awkward half smile, it was interesting to note that he was about a foot taller than this guy now, he used to be shorter.

“Right! That’s it, hi Virgil, welcome to the kitchen,” He grinned, “I’m Patton, I don’t know if you remember, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah- um- it has…” Virgil mumbled, rubbing his arm, “Sorry I-”

“It’s ok, I kinda sprung that on you, kiddo, don’t worry!” Patton smiled, “The kitchen’s currently being used as a secret safe space, so feel free to hang around as long as you like! We’re keeping it secret so we don’t get flooded with people coming in here for the hell of it, but we’ve had a few people show up to escape from all the noise,”

“Oh, neat,” Virgil nodded, glancing around.

“Alrighty! Well I better head back, I left Indie in charge of the face painting,” ‘Sel’ told them, her voice chipper. Patton made a face and she laughed, “Have fun boys!”

With that, she darted back out of the door and left them alone, Virgil coughed awkwardly. 

“Are- are you two- um?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow and hoping he got the point of his question across to Patton. He looked confused for a second before gasping.

“Oh no!” He laughed, “We aren’t dating, if that’s what you mean, last I heard she was in a poly relationship with a couple of her friends! We just go hiking in the forest together sometimes.”

“Right- I- sorry for assuming,” Virgil mumbled, fiddling with the silver zip on his jacket and looking down, goddamnit why did he even say anything, now he’d just made this whole thing way more awkward than it already was.

“It’s totally fine!” Patton reassured, still smiling, “Don’t worry, oh! Would you like a cupcake? We’ve got a few back here.”

“Um- sure?” Virgil said, narrowing his eyes a little in confusion, Patton just smiled wider and waved him over, around the corner of the kitchen where they had a couple plates of food on the counter. Behind said counter stood someone else Virgil recognised. One of the more popular kids in his grade and also Remus’ brother; Roman.

Although Virgil knew Roman by name and through the many stories Remus had told him, they had never actually interacted in person. Remus tried his best to spend every possible second out of his house, so whenever they hung out it was either at Virgil’s house or the forest or somewhere more public like the park or coffee shop. As a result, Virgil had never actually talked to Roman. 

“Hey!” Roman said with a grin, “You’re the emo kid from class C, right? Aren’t you dating my brother?”

If Virgil had been drinking something he would have done a genuine cartoon spit-take. Unfortunately he wasn’t drinking anything so instead he just ended up choking on his own breath. 

“No. absolutely not, one-hundred percent nope.” Virgil said, fake gagging once he had recovered, “He’s my friend yes, but he’s also a fucking bastard and I would not date him even it somehow paid for my top surgery.”

“Oh thank god,” Roman sighed in relief, “Him holding the fact that he got a boyfriend before I did over me was getting infuriating. Now I know he was lying.”

“I-” Virgil stopped, “Remus does have a boyfriend.”

“Wait what.”

“Yeah- he’s dating Janus, you know- the guy who’s always wearing that weird bowler hat?” Virgil said, raising an eyebrow. Roman spluttered.

“Goddamnit,” He mumbled, “I can’t believe that asshole actually got a date before I did.”

“Awwee how sad for you,” Virgil said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey! Don’t you make fun of me!” Roman pointed at him, “I bet you don’t have a date either!”

“Well- no- but-” Virgil shook his head, “I’m not whining about it, and I also don’t care. Not having a romantic partner isn’t the be-all-and-end-all, you know.”

“Now kiddos, let’s not be mean to eachother, ok?” Patton called.

“You can talk! Mr. I’m Dating Logan Favian And I’m Gonna Make Sure Everyone Knows It By Making Out With Him In The School Parking Lot,” Roman said, turning his accusing finger on Patton. Virgil couldn’t help but snicker as Patton went beet red and started spluttering.

“That was one time!” Patton yelped, “And only because some girl was hitting on him and wouldn’t take no as an answer!”

“Yass queen protect your mans,” Virgil said with an exaggerated gasp as he flapped his hands around. Roman burst out laughing and Patton just shook his head and turned away with a smile.

“It’s almost midnight,” Patton said, “Are you guys going to come back to the party for the countdown?” 

“Probably not,” Virgil said with a shrug, “I didn’t even want to be here in the first place, I definitely don’t want to go back into that room.”

“Yeah I uh- I think I’m gonna stay here too,” Roman shrugged, “I’m not sure I’d be up for standing in a mass of screaming people at the moment.”

“Fair enough,” Patton said, picking up one of the large platters that sat on the counter. On it were hundreds of cheese and pineapple sticks, one of which Roman swiped as Patton went past, “Just- try not to kill each other until I get back, kay?”

“I think I can manage that,” Virgil said, Roman nodded, “Maybe.”

“Huh!?” Roman yelped, “Maybe??”

“Depends how annoying you are,” Virgil said with a smile.

“I bet I could take you,” 

“Oh really? Wanna bet?”

“Hey!” Patton called, just as he was about to leave the door, “No. Fighting.”

“Fine,” Both of them said through gritted teeth. 

“Cupcake?” Roman asked, gesturing to one of the remaining platters. It only had two cupcakes left on it. Both of them were decorated with pastel pink and purple icing with rainbow sprinkles. What relevance did these even have to New Years? Oh well.

“Sure, why not?” Virgil said after a moment, taking one. Roman grinned and took the other.

“You wanna watch the fireworks?” Roman asked, Virgil turned on him with a glare.

“If I wanted to watch the fireworks I would’ve gone outside to watch them,” Virgil told him, “Fireworks are too loud and so are people,”

“I know somewhere we could go to watch them without anyone around, if you want to?” Roman suggested, leaning forward and wiggling his eyebrows at Virgil.

“Don’t be gross about it,” Virgil groaned, pushing Roman away, “I get enough of that from your brother. Where is this ‘somewhere’ you know?”

“It’s a surprise!” Roman called with a grin, “If you want to see, that is?”

Virgil sighed and shook his head. Well, he didn’t exactly have anything better to do, and watching the fireworks from somewhere peaceful might be nice… “Ok fine, lead the way,”

Roman grinned like a child who’d just been given candy and hurried out of the kitchen. Virgil followed closely behind, back past the banquet hall, around a corner back to the entrance hall, up the half carpeted marble stairs, up another flight of stairs, along a much narrower corridore that seemed to lead right to the back of the house, through a door that both Virgil and Roman had to duck under to get through and up another staircase, this one winding and steep and much less fancy than the main stairways and through another tiny little door at the top.

The room they emerged in was enormous. It must have been the size of the entire house, with no walls or partitions aside from the wall separating them from the staircase and another on the very opposite side of the building that Virgil could barely see. The room would have been pitch black if it werent for the massive dormer windows on each side of the pointed ceiling letting in rays of moonlight. They were in the roof of the house, the attic. 

“Are we watching from in here?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow as Roman lead them forward. As he stepped he stirred up dust. It was far too silent up here compared to the blasting music downstairs. Surely they should still be able to hear it? He didn’t want to think about that.

“It’s creepier up here at night,” Roman commented idly, climbing up on top of a large wooden crate that was placed conveniently right in front of one of the windows. 

“Oh really? I never would’ve expected that,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes as Roman floundered with the old latchs on the window. They looked old and like they’d rusted over with exposure and disuse, but eventually Roman managed to yank them open and push open one of the windows. 

And then he started to climb out of it onto the large sill.

“Oh no, no, absolutely not,” Virgil shook his head, holding up his hands, “I am not climbing up onto the roof of a three story mansion.”

Roman sighed and leaned back in through the window, bracing himself on the frame with one hand while he extended the other to Virgil.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, meeting Virgil’s eyes. Virgil narrowed his own eyes in suspicion.

“Are you trying to do a Disney bit right now? Seriously?” Virgil asked, glaring at him.  

Roman laughed, “Sorry! I simply saw the opportunity and had to, but seriously, I won’t let you fall, I promise,”

Virgil hesitated, just for a moment, before climbing up onto the box and reaching to take Roman’s hand in a feat of confidence that he didn’t know he had. Roman grinned the entire time he was helping Virgil climb out of the window and then kept grinning the entire time it took them to scramble up the roof to the wide decorative ridge next to one of the chimney stacks.

“Best view of the house,” Roman told him once they were both sat side by side on the ridge, letting their feet rest against the shingles of the roof. Virgil was comforted, a little, by the fact that the ridge was flat so he could sit comfortably and not worry about sliding off. Not to mention it was wide enough that if Virgil were to lay down backwards only his head and shoulders would fall over the other side. That meant he was pretty safe from falling backwards off the roof.

He still held onto Roman’s arm for good measure, though. No matter how embarrassing that was, he thought it would probably be more embarrassing to fall from the roof. 

Roman pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time whilst Virgil looked down at the gathering crowd on the sweeping front lawn. People were pouring from the house now and while he couldn’t pick out individual people from this height in the darkness, he was sure Patton and Sel were both down there somewhere, probably enjoying themselves. It was nice, he thought. Somehow he’d managed to make more friends today than he’d made over his whole six years of highschool. Funny that all he’d needed to do was come to a party half an hour before midnight and immediately shut down because of sensory overload to make friends. Maybe he should’ve tried it sooner. 

“Two minutes till midnight!” Roman cheered, though he kept his voice at a reasonable level for the lack of crowd up on the roof. Virgil offered a tentative smile and half hearted fist pump.

“Hurray!” Virgil said, voice pretty much flat, “Another year of torture awaits.”

“No need to be such a downer!” Roman smiled, before glancing at his phone and gasping, “One minute! Oh! Should we kiss?”

“What?” Virgil yelped, “No! I literally met you like twenty minutes ago- what the fuck dude?”

“Woah ok chill I didn’t mean like-” Roman huffed, looking away, “I wasn’t about to like- kiss kiss someone I just met.”

“Then what did you mean,” Virgil said, glaring at him.

“Just like- on the cheek or something! Isn’t it tradition?” Roman asked, face red. Virgil sighed.

“Fine,” He huffed, “Only once, on the cheek.”

“Yes!” Roman cheered, just as the crowd below started counting down from ten. Virgil saw a couple people break from the crowd to head towards where they must have set up the fireworks. 

“Five!” Roman yelled, joining in, before elbowing Virgil.

“Four,” They both said together, though one was much more enthusiastic than the other. 

“Three!” They cheered, in unison with the crowd.

“Two!”

“One!”

Right on cue, Virgil heard the bells in the nearby church begin to ring for midnight. He turned to Roman who leant forward and kissed his cheek, just like he had asked to. Though both of them turned away, bright red afterwards. 

The fireworks were lit and began to fly into the air and burst into bright balls of coloured light with bang after bang, they were beautiful, red, blue, green and gold- and surprisingly high quality for a highschooler’s party. Virgil found that he didn’t mind them so much when he was away from the crowd. Granted the noise was still horrible and he wished to all hell that he���d thought to bring his noise cancelling headphones, but being up here on the roof? Definitely better than being down there on the grass. 

The fireworks only lasted for two minutes in reality. For Virgil it felt like a lifetime. Maybe it was because of the noise and light, maybe it was because Roman’s arm has slipped around Virgil’s shoulders, maybe it was because he was still feeling warm and fuzzy from the kiss. 

Fireworks in the town were still going off further away, people in their gardens lighting off one after another. The courtyard of the mansion was slowly being covered with a thin veil of smoke and everyone was already going back inside to continue partying. Virgil sighed, content.

“Would you like to go back inside?” Roman asked, “It’s kinda cold out here, isn’t it?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Virgil said with a shrug, “It’s- actually really nice out here- thanks for getting me to come up.”

“You’re welcome!” Roman said, grinning at him from ear to ear once again. For some reason, Virgil felt that same fluttery feeling in his stomach again. Gross.

“Here’s to another year of being forced to exist in a capitalistic world that doesn’t value or care for us little people in the slightest?” Virgil said, offering Roman a fist bump.

“Hear hear,” Roman said, raising a fist to bump his, “But… something tells me that this year is going to be a good one.”

Roman turned to look back out over the town. He still had that dopey smile on his face and for some, terrible reason, Virgil found himself agreeing. Maybe this year really might not be so bad. 

As the melody of Auld Lang Syne began playing from downstairs, accompanied by the broken singing of two hundred teenagers who didn’t really know the words nor the meaning of the song, Roman and Virgil looked up at the stars. 

And then Roman laughed, laughed at nothing but the stars, free and open and bright as any sun and hey, there was that fluttery feeling again. And by no choice of his own he found himself laughing along with Roman. He didn’t feel judged, or fake or trapped. He was just happy, for once, really happy. 

Aw fuck. He had a crush on Roman, didn’t he.

Well… shit. 

What a way to start the new year, huh.

[snickerdoodlles]

"To be fair kidnapping Chay wasn't Vegas's fucking plan" anon, have you forgoten about the men he sent to kill Chay on the last episode? Maybe Gun gave the order but Vegas was the one that knew where Chay was...

Vegas who by the way was going to gleefuly execute Porsche to break Kinn, bff roadtrip be damned.

People truly are grasping at straws to justify their hate for Kim, and they can!! Whatever floats their boat! But all those characterizations are very ooc, and we all should stop pretending otherwhise.

(re this and this)

answering this one month late but exactly anon, exactlyyyyyyy. Vegas has a lot of extremely complicated feelings about his cousins which mostly express themselves in the form of "i need to overcome Kinn any way possible, up to and including killing my new friend and/or destroying him by killing his brother." Vegas could've easily kept quiet about knowing where Chay is--Gun was relying on Vegas to keep him updated on Porsche and look into him. Vegas was holding all those cards. but, as Vegas had warned Porsche, Vegas's only goal during the finale shitshow was to protect Pete, and Vegas played every card he had (including Chay) to make sure Pete made it out of that compound alive and safe from Gun's coup. we don't even know if he'd actually tucked Macau off somewhere safe first or not--obviously Vegas looks out for Macau throughout canon (and personally i do think he ensured Macau was safe before riding off into the gunfight), but he also could've just left Macau at home or school or whatever, because Gun wasn't going to rely on him for the gunfight and Kinn never dragged other people's brothers into his fights.

i'm veering off into headcanon territory instead of canon here so i'll shush, but my general point is that i hate hate hate Chay & Vegas fic that doesn't do the legwork of them working through their wildly messy canon relationship first, because the only person Chay has a worse relationship with would be Korn. and for good reason! Vegas is responsible some extremely crappy stuff Chay goes through! he outright tries to kill Chay's brother multiple times! Chay and Vegas don't have any relationship prior or afterwards where they might make up or better understand each other! Porsche might not hold shit against Vegas, but he's also the world's worst grudge holder and sympathizes with Vegas's shitty situation, whereas Chay doesn't have that context and is canonically much less forgiving than him ("lets just leave uncle to suffer the loansharks while we runaway from his problems hia, we're not responsible for his trouble hia" anyone?)

similarly, i have a lot of issues with fic that makes Chay hate on Kim (in general, but especially when he has just a golly swell relationship with Vegas out of nowhere) because the only thing Chay's ever upset with Kim over is Kim's mixed messages. he didn't give a shit about Kim secretly being mafia, because frankly they were not in a deep enough relationship yet for Kim to owe him that secret, and Chay's canonical response to that was literally "so you're mafia. now i know. but did u like me?" (king). fandom makes so many jokes about Chay living a wattpad dream life, yet thinks he'd be blind to the "you were my mission but then i caught feelings oh no" genre?? lol nah. i'm joking here, but Chay was only (understandably!) upset that Kim implied he didn't care about Chay and then sent a lot of mixed signals showing that he DID and Chay just wanted a straight answer. which...Kim does give later, in the form of protecting him in the finale and the emotional whopper of "why don't you stay" (i'm not getting too into my beef with fandom's treatment of that, but Kim reached out to Chay with music, aka their favorite form of communicating and shared passion!! not to mention that is a fucking whopper of emotions and explaining his feelings. HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING, he knew his message would reach Chay dammit)

like. whatever. people are going to have different characterizations of these guys than me, and there's a lot of different takes on their various relationships to explore, which is fine!! i have a LOT of apparently unpopular takes about how i characterize Chay's various relationships which i can keep to my spaces, but sometimes...idk man. i really wonder what show some people are watching, because some characterizations are so wildly different from the characters in the show i watched

[millenari]

Tugger for the headcanon meme?

☾ - sleep headcanon

There are a few ways I can interpret ‘the Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle/But I'll leap on your lap (…)’ + ‘I only like what I find for myself’:

Tugger likes to cuddle but he doesn’t like to be cuddled. Big spoon of the century.

(on a more serious note I do like the idea that he doesn’t like being held/weighed down while sleeping specifically because he doesn’t like feeling like he can’t get up if he so chooses, due to the ‘the cat’s sleeping on me I’m stuck here forever’ law. Especially if he was planning on leaving the person he’s sleeping with in the first place!)

Tugger likes to cuddle only if his cuddle-partner doesn’t want to. Thus you have Tugger spending his whole life fleeing the potential of a Munkuhug at the same time he’s bear hugging Mr. Misto ‘neat’ Offelees who hates having his fur rubbed every which way when Tugger grabs him.

Tugger likes to cuddle only if he initiates because he gets enough of random cats touching/grabbing at him on the daily, thank you very much.

★ - sad headcanon

Getting Tugger to admit he’s in a bad mood is difficult at best. There are few cats in the Junkyard/London who he’d sit down and have an actual conversation with due to ~celebrity worship~ and even fewer that he’d be willingly vulnerable with. And even then, it would probably take some prodding to get him to admit to it, and he’d probably only do so stiltedly. Tugger is very good at talking about his happy feelings. His bad/sad ones are harder for him to articulate.

☆ - happy headcanon

Tugger has a loudass purr. A LOUDass purr. His purr can drown out a person speaking at a normal volume. Sometimes (cough when talking to Munk cough ) he doesn’t want the cats around him to know exactly how happy he is, so he can keep it silent if he wants. Though you would be able to tell by touching his chest, which would be vibrating at a frequency undiscovered by man.

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Tugger is *very* difficult to get a rise out of, and even when one does, it would be even harder to get him to show it, and even harder on top of that to get him to express that anger in a manner more intense than an annoyed eyeroll and a mane-toss.

✿ - S‌ex headcanon

Oh geez where to start. Heavily bisexual. Tends towards women but has literally zero comprehension on how a person can *not* be attracted to their own se‌x. -> If I know I am attractive then shouldn’t I be aware of other men being attractive? -> If I’m capable of getting myself off then how would I not be capable of doing so with other men? -> And so on. Same art, different angle, to him.

What I’m saying here is that Tugger doesn’t get straight people.

■ -  Bedroom headcanon

Cat: den in the Junkyard. Made from a broken record player. Not water or wind proof, sleeps in Munk’s den when it’s particularly cold out. He and Munk have just silently decided to not talk about it.

Human: Clothes all over his damn room. Stupidly expensive sheets. One of those insanely large beds that can hold like five people.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Only person he's ever has romantic feelings about is Misto (bc I'm tuggoffelees trash). After coming to terms with his new feelings, Tugger tends to feel a little lost about how to express them since he’d never done romance before, which tends to result in either extremely stereotypical/cliché acts of affection that he lifts straight from media/friends/etc or super bizarre things that Misto doesn’t even know how to decode.

My hc that Tugger is additionally bad at being vulnerable means he never just tells Misto about how he feels outright, & I hc Misto as autistic, so Tugger’s weird behavior always throws Misto off when it abruptly starts. I don’t have a single au or fic bouncing around in my head where their get-together goes smoothly, lmao.

♥ - family headcanon

Munkie & Deuteronomy ❤. I also like Macavity being an exiled Deuteronomy brother; I have a couple ideas for human aus where Mac isn’t evil, just kind of an jerk, and he and Tugger are a particularly efficient duo at giving Munk stress-induced heartburn.

Although I also like the hcs I’ve seen floating around where he’s distantly related to Bill Bailey/'ensemble Tugger' &/or rapper Tugger. And he hates both of them ❤.

☮ - friendship headcanon

Misto is his best friend. Tugger has a particular shortage of *actual* friends due to being so popular; he and Bomba would probably deny being friends if anyone asked, but they do talk sometimes. There’s a quick spot in cats 98 where you can see Tugger and Jerrie fistbump, so I like the idea of them being troublemakers together, though Tugger gets sick of Jerrie fast. & Tugger and Alonzo knew each other since they were very small, but they don’t like each other much, so they’re kind of reluctantly close.

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Human: vinyl collection. Do not fucking *touch* his vinyl collection. Don’t breathe on it. Don’t look at it too hard. He has antiques in there. Limited edition shit.

Cat: collects shiny things, like jewelry and cool rocks.  He’s accompanied Jerrie and Teazer on a few of their heists in order to expand his collection. (look, they are professional cat-burglars and all, but sometimes windows are high up and they need a boost and Tugger is tall, alright?)

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

As much is Tugger is The Way He Is, he doesn’t care much for being touched or grabbed unless he initiates it.

▼ - childhood headcanon

By the time Tugger was born, Deuteronomy was already starting to get pretty old, so a teenaged Munkustrap took care of him most of the time. Baby Tugger’s favorite method of communicating his displeasure with any situation was screaming. Loudly. And at length.

As a kid he had a game called ‘Alonzo hit me’ where he would goad baby Alonzo into attacking him & then tell all the nearby adults (that were only partially paying attention to the playing kittens) that Alonzo just hit him out of nowhere. He would then watch like ^w^ as Alonzo got scolded. Alonzo still holds a grudge about this.

∇ - old age/aging headcanon

I do imagine Tugger starts to get more serious as he gets older; as of the period of the Ball I don't think he knows or cares much about fighting, but when he gets a little older he has Munk teach him how to hold his own and he helps patrol the Junkyard & such with Munk and Alonzo and all of them. He complains about it all the time, but everyone knows he willingly volunteered.

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Human Tugger can't cook for shit. He burns or undercooks everything because he gets distracted or bored while cooking; he knows some good recipes and has varied taste, he just doesn't have the attention span for it.

☼ - appearance headcanon

Munk and Deuteronomy both have black fingerless gloves in most productions, so i love the idea that if Tugger takes off his leather gloves, underneath are markings that match the shape of his gloves nearly exactly, black fingerless markings just like munk & deut have. you know, like those *guy removes sunglasses to reveal he's wearing another identical pair underneath* gifs.

ൠ - random headcanon

I don't hc grizz as his mom like some do; though I do imagine he has a rough relationship with his mother. He gets his yellow markings & spots from her, though The Mane™ comes straight from Papa Deut. :)

[catflowerqueen]

Security Cam Moon: Sun POV, part 1 of ?

I still have no promises as to if/when the entire fic will get written...

But.

I did write out Sun's POV of the moment he found out Moon was missing in the Security Cam Moon au.

It's below the cut, if you're curious.

(Mostly this is the lead-up to the actual moment--I do have the actual moment written as well, but it isn't typed up yet. I will try and get that out at some point tomorrow... or, technically, later today, I guess... but for now I really need to try and get some sleep.)

As always, this takes a lot of inspiration from @madcatdaderpydrawer-blog's Redemption au. As such, one of the things to keep in mind is that Sun and Moon had their own bodies from the start.

Sun POV, part 1 of?

After your most recent birthday party, you’d made a promise to yourself regarding your semi-estranged twin. And tonight, after the third time the stitches snapped and the head of the plushie lolled to the side, held onto its body by only a thin, frayed strip of fabric, you knew it was time to bring that promise to fruition. You could no longer fix the plushie by yourself; you needed to bring in the big guns.

It was time to talk to Moon.

 You took a moment to steel your courage and realized, to your secret delight, that it hadn’t actually taken you even the short amount of time it took to safely stow away the needle and thread in order to do so—and most of the fear you’d had to steel yourself against was in anticipation of how awkward the upcoming conversation and favor-begging would be rather than because of any lingering fear of seeing Moon again in the synthetic flesh. In fact, as you looked into the faded, lopsided face of the plushie with your brother’s visage still delicately held in your hands, you realized you held no fear at all anymore over seeing Moon’s image. Not that you’d ever had any fears of this plushie, even when things were at their very worst—it had always been one of your most favorite toys, and you’d owned it since practically the first time you’d been activated and let loose onto the theater stage. Much like Moon and his tragedy/comedy mask pillow, you couldn’t have a peaceful rest mode without it. But as for other things that bore Moon’s image…

Things were… better now. Obviously—or else you wouldn’t be so delighted by the lack of fear, or even considering talking to Moon again, let alone asking him for a favor. But you can’t deny that for quite some time now things had been… bad.

You know deep down—and have known since the whole Gregory thing—that none of what happened was Moon’s fault. Or at least… not the majority of it. Certainly not the parts that actually got the Daycare shut down for those terrible months. But knowing that didn’t erase how terrible it had all been. How long you’d felt like it was somehow your fault that Moon was behaving so terrifyingly. It didn’t erase how controlling he’d been, or the cruel things he said about you. How he hadn’t felt like your brother anymore.

How he’d outright told you that he hated you.

And knowing that the reality was that he literally wasn’t in his right mind at the time certainly did nothing in the aftermath, when even just glimpsing a cartoon or toy based on Moon out of the corner of your optics—your beloved plushie aside—and seeing that familiar and once-comforting shade of blue all but sent you into a panic attack.

But slowly—achingly, agonizingly slowly—you’d gotten better. The passage of time dulled those fears. As well as Moon being so understanding and accommodating. You know it probably hurt him to stay away from you—heck, it hurt you, too, to stay away from him, despite the terror—but he did it, for your sake. He stayed out of sight, he didn’t try to approach you, and he even changed his resting and charging times despite how inconvenient that made things for him given how his programmed duties often put his schedule at odds with yours in terms of when you needed to be active.

At least… you assumed he’d changed his charging and resting routines, since you never saw even a hint of him sneaking around the periphery of your room to get to his. Which is something he would have needed to do to get anywhere, seeing as your room was the only one with an actual connection to the rest of the Pizzaplex. …Though, now that you think of it, you really hoped Moon was getting enough rest, since in retrospect it was actually a little concerning that you literally hadn’t seen any sign of him sneaking around despite your having stayed up later than usual these past few nights trying to fix your toy.

Well… you guess that was just one more thing to ask Moon about, in addition to getting his help with the plushie. And, really, the important thing was that you now had the ability to even ponder those sorts of things and wonder what Moon had been up to now that you felt better. And now that you did feel better, you were actually really looking forward to reconciling with Moon. To getting to be brothers again. And… to hopefully be able to help him reconcile with the others, too—assuming he hadn’t already been working on that himself. You didn’t really know; he didn’t really get brought up much in conversation much whenever you met up with one of the Glamrocks, but considering everything—especially Moon’s part in their infection, unwilling or unintended as it might have been on his behalf—that could have just as easily been for their own benefit as it was for yours. Either way, you were really looking forward to things going back to normal again.

…Or at least as normal as things could be, considering naptime in the Daycare was still cancelled for the foreseeable future.

Those thoughts and hopes in mind, you glanced at the curtain concealing Moon’s room and consulted your internal clock. Altered charging schedule or no, it was still rather late in the evening, so Moon was probably still doing his security patrols and wouldn’t be in his room. Rather than wait up for him, you decided to just go into rest mode and set up an early alarm so you could catch him on his way in. Even if you didn’t get the chance for a prolonged conversation, you would at least be able set up a better time to talk and could inform him of your mental state and that he didn’t need to be so sneaky anymore—which would also go a long way in assuaging your worries over him not getting enough rest.

Unfortunately… things didn’t go to plan. Even though you woke up extra-early… Moon never showed. You waited until the very last minute before you had to greet the Daycare kids—even calling into the tunnel leading to Moon’s room a few times in case he’d just gotten in while you were still in the deepest part of your rest mode—but… nothing.

You weren’t too worried—not yet. You figured that maybe your brother had just encountered some sort of problem and gotten delayed making his report. Or maybe he’d just gotten in late enough that he’d thought you’d be awake already and decided to crash in the nap room—which was still inaccessible to the kids—rather than risk startling you. Which, well, you guess wouldn’t be too unreasonable of an assumption given that you had stayed up way later than usual the past few nights trying to fix your plushie. But you wouldn’t have been startled!

Anyways… point was, you just assumed you’d run into a timing issue last night and resolved that tonight you would try and catch your brother on his way out for patrol instead.

But… that didn’t work either. You watched the Daycare entrances like a hawk, but Moon was either so sneaky that he managed to get past you despite that, or he just never actually left the daycare at all today. Or maybe… maybe last night he never actually came in? Moon wasn’t really supposed to interact with guests anymore, but that wasn’t really a problem—his role as a security (the only security they had after Vanessa… left) meant he knew tons of secret nooks and crannies he could hide in to stay out of sight of guests. If that was the case, though, surely it meant he would have to come in tonight. You both had fairly long-lasting batteries, but not that long-lasting. He would have to charge eventually, and the only really viable chargers he could use were the ones in your rooms. Surely you wouldn’t have to wait too long… right?

[thehollowprince]

stiles/sterek fans will shit on scott and then turn around and give scott's entire personality to stiles. they "love" stiles for being sarcastic, aggressive, and pushy. but when writing/making headcanons suddenly he has scott's gentleness, understanding, and need to take care of people. but they "hate" scott for being a "shitty" person🙃 okay babes

Oh, you are preaching to the choir.

This is something a lot of us have brought up multiple times and yet it seems to fall on deaf ears by most of the fandom, mostly because they don't want to hear it.

There are fans that took literally everything from Scott and gave it to Stiles, from the smallest details to entire character traits. The only resemblance that the fandom versions of Scott and Stiles (or virtually any other character) have to their canon counterparts, and even that is an unusual occurrence. I mean, let's be honest, how many times have we read a fic where Stiles was described as "coltish" or "waifish" or something similar despite Dylan O'Brien being almost six feet tall with ridiculously broad shoulders and big hands?

Scott's compassion and determination to try and save everyone? That's Stiles now. His relationship with Derek? They took that and twisted it to make Sterek, even though Derek was always focused/fixated on Scott.

Don't believe me, watch their first scene together. [ X ]

Notice how Derek doesn't even glance at Stiles. His attention is solely focused on Scott, as it was for almost the entire season... and the next season, where he tried repeatedly to get Scott to join his pack. Not Stiles, Scott. But you go into the general Teen Wolf fandom and they'll tell you about this deep and immediate connection between Stiles and Derek.

I can count on one hand the number of scenes that Stiles and Derek shared where they weren't antagonizing or even outright hitting each other. And one of those is a dream sequence.

Meanwhile, Derek and Scott have had a consistent, developing relationship throughout the show.

Scott trying to find and rescue Derek. [ X ]

Derek saving Scott during the Rave. [ X ]

Derek saving Scott from Ennis. [ X ]

Derek telling the twins how to be in Scott's pack. [ X ]

Derek rushes to save Scott from Berserkers. [ X ]

Derek coming back to Beacon Hills... for Scott! [ X ]

I personally loved the fact that the BS line from the beginning "We're brothers now" became true in the end. That's an actual connection that was allowed to flourish and grow into character development.

There was this whole thing in the fandom about how Stiles cared so much about his father (to be fair, he did) that he brought him dinner at the Sheriff's Station and monitored his food. (I remember there being a big thing about curly fries vs salads.) That's something that never happened on the show, but meanwhile, Scott...

They'll take anything from Scott to give to Stiles, even the small and seemingly inconsequential things.

Like, the red hoodie for example. I saw so many posts and fics and metas about Stiles, the boy in the red hoodie, and yet we have this

This is from the first episode. Hell, this is from the first ten minutes of the first episode!

And then there's the damn baseball bat.

That bat was something Scott and then his mother used. Stiles didn't pick up a baseball bat until halfway through season three [The Overlooked], and even then, it wasn't his bat, it was Melissa's.

Don't believe me?

Fandom completely and entirely swapped Scott's and Stiles' personalities and then used what they did as an excuse to hate Scott and prop up Stiles. They did it so much and to such an extent, that I'm convinced they secretly hate Stiles, otherwise they wouldn't be trying so hard to make him like Scott.

Makes absolutely zero sense.

[the-devils-girl94]

Distracting Thoughts

Prompt: Stranded On A Boat

Characters: Beelzebub x Fem!MC

Content Warnings: Masturbation, MC has thalassophobia(a fear of the ocean and other large bodies of water), MC fantasizing about Beel, lots of smutty good times with Beel

(I like how there is a word for how I feel about large bodies of water. Did not expect it to be this long ass word though.)

Another fic for @voltage-vixen ‘s Summer of Smut challenge! Enjoy!

“How on Earth did I end up in this mess?”

A heavy sigh left your lips and you buried your face into your hands.

Right now, you were stuck in the middle of the sea on a boat that Lord Diavolo had outright purchased. Not everything was going so bad, but you wouldn’t be feeling so slighted if everything was going good either.

Oh no, no. It was simply terrible.

For one thing, while you weren’t in immediate danger, being stuck in the middle of the freaking ocean was downright terrifying! All you could think of was scary scenarios of you drowning in this never-ending sea. Like the boat could sink and you could drown, you could fall over the edge and drown, or you could fall over the edge and a nearby shark could see you as a tasty snack and that could be your end. Your mind just kept coming up with the most exaggerated and impossible one-in-a-million chance scenarios that really did no good for you.

You hated being anywhere near large bodies of water, but there was one thing that kept some of the thoughts at bay. And that was you weren’t entirely alone.

You sat on the back deck of the boat Diavolo had purchased, far away from either edge that you didn’t want to be near, and before you was the ever-so lively Demon Brothers of the House of Lamentation. In short, your lively roommates who just make everything so much better...sometimes. Lord Diavolo and Barbatos was there as well but they mostly kept to themselves with Diavolo mostly sunbathing.

Your mind felt more at ease with the guys around since you knew if any of the scenarios did happen, they would not hesitate to immediately step in to save you. Though you still hope it would never have to come to that in the first place. You felt most safe around Beelzebub, the sixth born. 

Your eyes caught him in the pool that was several feet away from you. He was joined by his twin and locked in a fierce game with the second and third born. Well, you say fierce but its clear that Beelzebub is the victor. Mammon and Leviathan were no match against Beel’s pure strength. And had Belphegor been with anyone else besides his twin, he definitely would not have stood a chance against a team up of his older brothers.

You weren’t too interested in their game play, however. Your eyes were trained on Beel. Even before this boat fiasco, your eyes have never strayed far away from the gluttonous demon. For a long time, you didn’t know if it was a crush or if you’re just naturally drawn to his sweet nature.

“Or maybe that chiseled body of his.”

The tips of your ears grew hot as the thought crept in, replacing your previous anxiety-ridden thoughts. Your mind soon became riddled with images of Beelzebub’s torso. Mostly of his glorious pecs and washboard abs because this demon was built like a freaking Greek God. God knew exactly what he was doing when he made him, but him being a demon made his appeal so much greater! It was, in every sense of the word, sinful.

You were brought back to reality when you heard a large splash and some yelling. You looked up in time to see Levi and Mammon getting flung out of the pool by Beel, all while Belphie napped out on a floating donut. The whole thing brought you to tears as you laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Mammon had caught you laughing and scolded you.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Don’t laugh, it ain’t funny!,” he yelled, but you continued to chuckle. You felt a little bad, but it was so unexpected as Beel had grabbed them by their feet and literally threw them out.

“(Y/N) witnessed our defeat...how uber lame,” muttered Leviathan as he rubbed his now aching back.

Wiping away your tears, you let out an amused sigh and went off on your own to explore the boat. You were unaware of Beel calling after you as you walked away.

________________________________________________________________

You thought it would be a good idea to explore the boat since Lord Diavolo had bought it and anything he buys is always luxurious. And it was but...

As you wandered the halls, you suddenly understood what sailors meant by sea legs. Although the boat was mostly steady, there would be an occasional gentle rocking of the boat. And had it been anyone else, it would have been fine but no! It completely unsettled you and your thoughts once again became filled with disturbing scenarios of that all ended in you meeting your end in some extreme way or another.

“Oh why did I think it was okay to go off on my own?,” you thought.

Feeling sick to your stomach, you thought it best to just retire to your room and calm your incessant thoughts. You flopped onto your bed and buried your face into your pillow. You hope this day would end so you could finally get off this nightmare. You tried to refocus your mind on something else, because even with you running through every possibility of drowning in every way possible, you were aware that you were in safe hands. None of the brothers would ever let you meet such an end in this never-ending sea full of wonders and mysteries.

You thought back to earlier and found yourself thinking of Beel once more.

The images from earlier made you kick your legs as your face became hot and flushed. You groaned into your pillow with frustration.

“Fuuuuckkkk!,” you screamed internally, feeling slightly ashamed for thinking about Beelzebub in such a manner. But thinking of him did make the other thoughts fade away to the background. Plus you may have a crush on him, so..was it totally wrong to fantasize about him showing up to your room, body dripping with water and looking at you with lust filled eyes?

....Okay, hold up, that actually is kinda hot.

It was the most prevalent image in your head. It made you wonder if you would have the chance to actually have Beel in your room and let him take you. Or maybe have the courage to be that daring?

You felt a tingling sensation between your legs and rolled on your back, blushing. You dwelled on the thought a little more to the point that it became a fantasy. And you imagined Beelzebub crawling towards you on your bed until his face was a couple inches away from yours. His rough hands were on your thighs, lifting them up so your clothed sex could feel the hardness of his bulge clothed from the thin material of his swim shorts.

The heat within your core began to grow and before you knew it, you were already trying to calm the growing heat with your hand. You were craving for the imaginary touch that only existed in your mind. Rubbing against your clit, the fantasy progressed into Beel removing your clothes and pushing his shorts down to free his hardened member. You imagined him stroking his cock against your sensitive slit that was getting wetter and wetter in reality.

Your breathing became heavy and you brought up a free hand to go under your shirt and bra to twist at your nipples. The fantasy continued as you imagined Beel dipping his fingers inside of you, stretching out your pussy to prepare you for him.

Moans started to escape from your lips as your hands worked on your body to bring you the stimulation and release you desperately searched for. You weren’t aware of it but you were also moaning Beel’s name. Apparently you were being a bit loud, because you failed to hear the knocking at your door and the sound of it opening until...

“(Y/N).”

You snapped out of your fantasy-filled haze when you heard your name. Suffice to say, you were extremely embarrassed to find a blushing Beelzebub in your room, half-eaten snacks in his hands. You quickly covered yourself up with a shout, but it was much too late. You were sure that he had saw everything. He probably even heard you too.

“Waah! I’m so fucking embarrassed! Oh my God,” you cringed, trying so hard to fold in on yourself so you could disappear. 

“Ah, (Y/N)! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in like that,” he apologized profusely. He saw your covers move a bit but no sign of you poking your head out. You whined as you stammered out, “It’s fine! I should have locked my door. I didn’t mean for you to see me...like that...so.”

Ahhh, if anything was more worse than drowning in an ocean where your body likely won’t be found, it was definitely having your crush walk in on you masturbating to him. Ok, maybe not that much worse but still! Tears began to well up in your eyes and you fully expected for Beelzebub to walk out as this situation must have been a bit awkward. But instead you felt your bed dip in a bit as another weight was added. A hand was placed on your back and started rubbing in circles. Your lip trembled as your tears fell, because WHY WAS HE SO FREAKING SWEET!? 

Yeah, you were definitely crushing on him. This is why he was the only one on the crush list.

Beelzebub could feel you trembling and his face was still red from walking in on you. Though if he had to admit it, seeing you like that really turned him on. And to hear you moan his name so wantonly was like music to his ears. But he still felt bad because it was your private time that he interrupted. All because he wanted to hang out with you since he wanted to do so earlier, but you didn’t hear him calling after you.

But now there was a massive elephant in the room and neither of you knew how to bring it up without it becoming more awkward. Or your in case more embarrassed.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes, Beel?”

“I’m still sorry for earlier. I wanted to hangout, but do...do you want me help you a bit?”

You shot up like a rocket and turned wide-eyed to face a startled Beelzebub, who was feeling a bit pervy for asking you that question. But to you, he didn’t need to feel like that because this was the moment you were thinking of earlier! You started to laugh at the irony, causing Beel to become confused which you noticed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you, Beel!,” you chuckled out. “It was just that earlier I was thinking of what would I do if I had you in my room all to myself.”

At that, the gentle giant smiled at you, understanding why you were laughing. He crawled towards you, his face a few inches from yours. You were smiling but your face grew warm.

“So is it a ‘yes’?,” he asked, though his lips were drawing in close to yours.

“Y-yes-mmph,” his lips had closed in on yours and you felt his hands come up to your shoulders. Sliding off the covers from your body, Beel gently laid you back on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him as he coaxed your mouth open with a bit of prodding from his tongue. You could taste the sweetness of the snacks he had earlier as your tongues became entangled. You gasped when he pulled away.

Beelzebub set his focus on leaving kisses on your neck, starting a trail. He got to your breasts and cupped them in his hands, firmly squeezing them. A squeal escaped from your lips when you felt his wet tongue teasing your nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, pulling before letting it go with a pop.

"Ahhaaa, Beel! Please," you pleaded as he devoured your chest. You couldn't take it with him pulling, twisting, and sucking on your sensitive nubs. Your hands had moved to his forearms and you held a firm grip on them as Beel sucked away.

With a final tug, he left your poor nipples alone, going back to his task of leaving butterfly kisses on your body. Your body trembled with ecstasy but soon jolted from a shock when you felt a wet appendage lapping at your swollen clit.

Once Beel had finished leaving you kisses, he came across your pussy, still wet and glistening from when you were masturbating to him. His eyes darkened as his mind drifted back to that scene of you pleasuring yourself, seeing your delectable juices dripping your core.

He just knew that he had to taste you. To devour such a pretty, pink platter that was meant for him to sample. As soon as his tongue made contact with your clit, he felt you jump but he continued to lap at it, enjoying the taste and fragrance you gave off. You squirmed and your pants started to fill the room. Your toes curled and your feet had a hard time not slipping off your sheets as you encouraged Beel to keep going.

His tongue parted your puffy, pussy lips and he noticed your legs trembling. So he hooked his hands underneath your knees, spreading them further to her better access. He let your legs rest on his shoulders, all the while keeping his mouth on you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted over and over as your back arched, wanting to rub your sex over his tongue. You could feel yourself coming undone and on the verge of cumming. Beel's member twitched against the thin fabric of his swim shorts as he could tell your release was imminent, but...

Reluctantly, he pulled away from your pussy. He really wanted you to release all your tasty juices over his cock. He wiped away the mix of his saliva and your own cream from his chin.

You groaned but it turned into a squeak when Beel crawled back on top of you. Your legs were still over his shoulders and so you felt your body being folded in half but it wasn't too uncomfortable. But it aroused you more as you could feel his bulge heavy against your sex. You wanted it inside, for it to stretch your walls as you take every inch Beel gave you. For you to cream all over it so you could lick it off him and he could do it all over again.

Beelzebub's lips pressed against yours and you wasted no time parting your lips so his tongue could share the taste of your pussy. You could feel Beel's hands fumbling to pull down his shorts to let his cock finally breath. His lips never left yours, even as he guided his cock to your hole. You had braced yourself but was pleasantly surprised when he sanked into you with ease, but it still raised a moan out of you as your wall stretched to accommodate him.

Beel broke the kiss to let out a hissing sound as your pussy took him in so smoothly. He could feel you clenching around him, wanting to greedily take in more. But he was fully seated inside you, his balls pressed firmly against the plumpness of your ass.

"Shit...(Y/N), you feel so fucking amazing," he said as he recaptured your lips with his and rocked his hips to get a little friction going. He pulled back until only half of his dick was inside and slammed back into you. He repeated the action a few more times, drawing out moans that ended up getting swallowed up by him.

You pulled away from the kiss to cry out freely as he set a hard, quick pace as his hips connected with yours repeatedly. The slapping sound of your skin colliding overcome the sounds of your moans and cries. Beel couldn't help but groan at the way your pussy tightened around him with every thrust. Your body trembled against his as the heat became overwhelming. Your hands scrambled to grip at something, changing from scratching at Beelzebub's back or balling up your sheets into your fist, as you feared that the pleasure was going to take you away.

The seams were tearing and Beel could feel you were close as your pussy convulsed around him. So he sat up, holding your legs up, and pounded away at you. Your moans turned to screams and chants of Beel's name as his cock wrecked you.

"Beeeeel! I'm cumming, cumming!," you screamed, but it didn't deter him even as your released overflowed on his cock. The consistent clenching of your pussy finally drove him over the edge and his seed coated the inside of your walls, a deep growl erupted from him as he pressed his cock deep inside you.

With the both of you spent for the moment, Beel slipped out of you and collapsed beside you. However, he wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer. You sighed contently, feeling very much satiated as well as Beelzebub.

You felt lips pressing against your forehead and giggled before giving Beel a chaste kiss on the lip.

"That was amazing," you smiled. You saw his cheeks redden and the hug tightens.

"I-I would like to do that again...maybe sometime," spoke the blushing giant as he looked into your eyes.

The tips of your ears turning red as you agreed.

You figured this boat nightmare wasn't too bad as you snuggled up to Beel's chest, wondering if you had the courage to say you like him.

You saved the thought for another day to ponder later.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nine

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: reading canon eris discourse literally makes me dizzy but in this fic he's pretty chill

***

“Any plans for Thanksgiving?” Emerie asks as they stroll between the shelves of the library.

Nesta runs her finger down the spine of a textbook on corporate law. “Not really,” she murmurs distantly.

She’s been doing her best not to think of the upcoming holidays, in fact. Cassian is going to Velaris for Thanksgiving, and of course Feyre invited Nesta as well, but…

She’s always ignored her sister’s holiday invites, but this year is different. Cassian, a recent constant in her life, will be gone, enjoying himself for the first time in months without her presence. And Nesta will be at the cabin alone, because of course she can’t celebrate Thanksgiving with Feyre’s found family. Being friends with Cassian hasn’t changed that.

“Well,” Emerie is saying, “a bunch of us can’t go home for the holidays for one reason or another, so we’re hosting a small Friendsgiving at my apartment. You’re invited.”

Nesta glances at her, surprised. “Who’s going to be there?”

“The same guys from drinks night: Eris, Justinian, Isaac. Maybe a plus one or two if we’re lucky.” She elbows Nesta. “Maybe a girl for me to take home.”

“I thought the party was at your home already?”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, are you coming?”

Nesta purses her lips. “But you said it was a Friendsgiving. Those guys aren’t my friends.”

Emerie looks at her like she's insane. “Uh, why not?”

“Because,” Nesta states, “we’ve only had one real interaction all semester.”

Emerie scoffs. “You talk to them all the time in class, Nesta.”

“Yes. Out of necessity.”

Emerie raises a high brow. “That’s how you view spending time with us? A ‘necessity’?”

She’s upset, and Nesta doesn’t know what she said wrong. “That’s not what I meant,” she tries to say.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just…” Nesta shrugs. “I thought it took more to make friends than a single night out.” Those are the rules, right?

Emerie narrows her dark eyes at her. “I’m sorry we’re not up to standard, then. But for your information, those guys liked you. I’m sure they considered you a friend.” She turns to leave, but Nesta is so stunned she can’t even try to stop her. The click of Emerie’s heels resonate long after she’s gone.

“Hey,” Cassian comes up to her later that day. “About Thanksgiving—”

Nesta drops her dinner plate onto the island with a clatter. “What is it with everybody and Thanksgiving?” Her voice is unnecessarily loud.

Cassian blinks. “Well, it’s only a few days away—”

“I know,” she says. “I’m fine staying home alone. We never celebrated Thanksgiving growing up, you know? It’s really not a big deal.”

“Will you let me finish, Nesta?”

Nesta presses her lips together.

Cassian takes a breath. “I think you should— I would really love it if you came to Velaris with me this weekend.”

There’s a silence as he waits for her to answer.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says after a moment.

Before he can press the subject, she blurts, “I already have plans.”

“You do?” Nesta can’t tell if he sounds disappointed or surprised.

She straightens her back, lying through her teeth, “Yes. Some friends from school are getting together for a Friendsgiving, and I’m going.” She almost bites her tongue on the word friends. She doesn’t even know what that means anymore.

“That’s amazing,” Cassian says, though he still looks a little taken aback. “I’m glad.” He looks down at the marble counter then, trying to smile. “Sucks for me, though.”

Nesta huffs a laugh. “Please, like you won’t be having fun with your friends whether I’m there or not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but why go for half the fun when I could go for double?”

“That’s not how math works,” she snipes.

Cassian grabs a fork so he can sit down across from Nesta. “Don’t you ever bring up correct math in this house again.” He points his silverware at her threateningly.

From there, they can devolve into their usual dinner habit of bantering that leads to more serious conversation. Cassian has recently been on a French movie binge, Nesta learns, and even though she despises the French, she listens closely to his analysis of each film and offers her own thoughts back. She even promises to rewatch one or two of his favorites at a later time. The giddiness he gives in return makes her almost wish she had accepted his invitation earlier, if only so she could keep making him happy.

God. What is he doing to her?

Later that night, Nesta pulls out her phone and opens up her messages with Emerie. She doesn’t want to have rejected Cassian just to end up staying home alone all weekend. She types out five different messages and erases them before settling on an apathetic, Is the invite for Thursday still on?

Emerie takes her time to reply, likely to punish Nesta. After some minutes, she finally texts, Yes.

It’s all she can expect from Emerie, and it’s all she needs to see.

Nesta: I’ll be there.

***

“Cassian!” Feyre swings open the door with an overjoyed smile, ready to greet him.

He laughs and steps in for a hug, going so far as to lift her feet off the floor. Because damn him, even with his conflicted feelings towards Feyre lately, he’s missed her. He’s missed all of his friends, even though he’s found something precious while he was away from them.

He’s ushered into the penthouse, which Feyre and Rhys insist on calling an “apartment”, as if that softens the blow of their extravagant wealth. Cassian and everybody else goes along with it, however, because the rich have committed worse crimes. At least that’s what Nesta says.

“Rhys is out getting last minute beer from the gas station,” Feyre says as she takes his overnight bag. “And you’re the first to arrive, which means I have you all to myself.” She whirls on him with a predatory gleam in her eye. “Tell me everything about the last two months with you and Nesta, ASAP.”

Cassian’s heart starts racing at the unexpected interrogation, but he laughs it off and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just roommates.”

“Well, I know that.” Feyre rolls her eyes. “But what is it like? How is it going? Is she okay? Are you okay?”

Before he can answer a single question, Feyre goes on. “I haven’t heard from either of you in eons, it feels like. Is Nesta still picky about her foods touching? Does she get upset when you play music too loud? Does she—”

“Jesus, Feyre,” Cassian interrupts loudly. “Not everything in my life is about your sister. Give it a rest.” He takes his duffel bag back from her.

“I’m just curious!” she says indignantly, but Cassian is already heading up the winding stairs to his guest room, going as fast as he can without outright running.

“I need to get washed up!” he announces before Feyre can make him stop and come back for more questioning.

In the safety of his bedroom, he releases a breath.

If Cassian thought keeping Nesta’s health issues from Feyre was difficult, he couldn’t have predicted how painful it would be to hide his feelings for Nesta. Still, he doesn’t dare expose what he can’t yet define, especially not to his nosy-ass friends. Some things just aren’t matters for gossip.

***

Nesta hesitantly enters Emerie’s small studio apartment to a party in full swing; “full swing” being Justinian and Isaac playing video games on the couch while Emerie is in the kitchen area attempting to make drinks. Nesta stops near the kitchenette and crosses her arms, surveying the scene. “Something about this doesn’t look right,” she says aloud. Emerie doing the hard work while the men play? Antithetical to her very nature.

“I know,” is all Emerie says without looking up from whatever hellish concoction she’s whipping up. “But I’m the host, so this is my role.”

“Hey, Nesta,” the guys speak up together, not taking their eyes off the TV. Isaac is the first to break his concentration from the game, glancing at Nesta and doing a double take. “Woah, you look good today.” Is he blushing?

Emerie finally looks up at that, eyeing Nesta’s modest black dress. “A little funeral-chic, but still hot as ever, babe.” Right after, she makes a face at the term babe. “Nope, I tried it and I hate it.”

Nesta hates it just as much, but goes over to help Emerie with what she now realizes are oddly colored Jello shots. She picks up a little plastic cup with dark jelly in it and wiggles it around. “What color is this supposed to be?”

“Brown.” Emerie blows a piece of escaped hair out of her face. “They were supposed to be Thanksgiving themed.”

Nesta surveys the shots arranged in various fall colors. Definitely an interesting choice for a twenty-four year old law student, but what did Nesta know about parties?

“Where’s Eris?” she asks casually as she helps arrange more cups. Her argument with Emerie is far from forgotten, but the two women are too alike for their own good. They’ll ignore the lingering tension until it dissipates, and that will be the end of that.

Before Emerie can answer Nesta’s question, a loud bang comes from the entryway as the already open door hits the wall. Eris Vanserra sweeps inside in his designer coat and sophisticated boots, followed by a new, striking face. “It’s fucking freezing,” he announces, just as the new guy quietly shuts the door behind them.

“You’re late,” Emerie says in her usual flat tone.

“I had to pick up my twerp brother.” Eris tilts his head toward the redhead behind him.

“I didn’t ask to come,” the new guy, Eris’s brother, chimes in.

Nesta is perked up now, angling to get a better look at him. Same hair color, same eyes, different skin tone from Eris. He looks like the relaxed, unpretentious version of his brother. Someone pauses the video game.

“I’m Lucien,” he awkwardly raises a hand.

Justinian looks at everybody else. “I’m confused— does this mean we can finally replace Eris’s punk ass?”

The thought of an unexpected guest first makes Nesta clench up, especially when she’s seated right next to the damn guy at the dining table. New people means everything about the regular social routine will be changed up, and she isn’t at all prepared for it.

It takes maybe fifteen minutes for her to realize that Lucien is nothing to worry about— much quicker than she’s ever warmed up to a stranger before.

He has the affected quiet confidence of someone who would rather be anywhere else but here. No one knows that mask better than Nesta.

Against all odds, she’s the first to initiate a conversation.

“Why are you here?” she says bluntly.

No hello, no how are you. Fuck, this is why she doesn’t talk to people.

Lucien looks surprised at the sudden acknowledgment, but answers, “My plans got cancelled at the last minute.” His mouth tightens as he looks toward his brother. “So Eris dragged me here instead.”

“You don’t like your brother?”

Lucien narrows his eyes at her, defensive. “Is this an interrogation or something?”

Embarrassment heats Nesta’s face, but she hides it under her usual cold stare. “Never mind.”

She turns back to her food, refocusing on an anecdote Isaac is giving about a girl he met the other week. A moment later, Lucien says lowly, “I can’t stand my brother.”

She laughs a little too loudly at that, and everyone looks at her.

Isaac grins. “See, Nesta thinks it’s a funny story.”

Nesta frowns. “No, I don’t. You told it last week and no one laughed.”

His face falls. Eris laughs out loud at him, and Emerie tosses wadded up napkins at both men. “You’re both deeply uninteresting. Let’s talk about me.”

She launches into a heated discussion about how she plans to defeat “that bitch Brian” for the internship at Velaris’s biggest law firm next summer, with Eris interjecting that she wouldn’t survive a day in the big city. Nesta turns back to Lucien. “I understand how you feel.”

“You hate Eris too?”

“No, but I have sisters.” Eris is nice, if a pretentious asshole at times, but she empathizes with Lucien either way.

He raises a brow. “And you’re here for Thanksgiving instead of with them?”

For the first time all night, Nesta remembers that Cassian is having fun in a spacious penthouse with Feyre and Elain and the others, likely eating much nicer food than store-bought turkey and Jello shots, and she almost deflates. Almost. Because as much as she enjoys this— spending time with people that belong to her, not Feyre or anybody else— there’s a hollow space in the room that Cassian usually fills. She doesn’t know how she can miss someone and be this thoroughly content at the same time, but she tries not to ponder on her feelings.

She shrugs at Lucien’s question. “We’re all here instead of with our families.”

What would have been a thirty-minute meal on Nesta’s own stretches into a long night of full bellies and fuller conversation. Justinian demands a toast in honor of Friendsgiving, and Emerie tells him not to pull that cringy shit, but everyone ends up raising their small Jello shots to clink against each other.

Thanksgiving might be Nesta’s favorite holiday.

***

Cassian doesn’t know what this feeling is: the itching, nervy sense of impatience that plagues him the longer dinner drags on. All he knows is that tonight Mor’s laughter is just a little too loud, and Amren’s quips are just a little too sharp, and Rhys’s stories aren’t very interesting for once.

Nothing about his friends have changed, but somehow, Cassian feels different. Empty. He can’t stop thinking about what Nesta is doing right now.

He checks his phone under the table for the sixth time in three minutes, for what, he doesn’t know. Maybe she’s in trouble and needs his help. Maybe she’s having a bad night and wants to talk to him. Maybe she’s just bored and thinking about him.

None of this is true, evidently, because his phone remains dead silent.

“Cassian.” It’s Elain’s gentle voice that draws him out of his head. “What’s it like having a roommate for once? I know you and Nesta love being alone.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin. “Alone? No we don’t. Why would we love being alone together?”

Elain looks at him like he’s grown a new head. “I didn’t mean alone together. It’s just that you’ve always spent your time boarded up in that mountain cabin on your own, and before Nesta moved in, she wouldn’t leave her apartment even to see me.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Feyre butts in. She whirls to Cassian with her hands under her chin. “All this time I was wondering what you and Nesta living together would be like, and I didn’t even consider you guys avoiding each other.”

Cassian scoffs a laugh but doesn’t know how to respond. He just wants Feyre and Elain to stop poking at this raw, fresh thing in his life before his nerves get worse, so he turns to Amren and brings up the thing he knows will shut everyone down: work. “How much longer is Rhys gonna have you playing double agent at Adriatic?” She’s been acting as brand ambassador to the West Coast-based conglomerate for the past five months, playing nice while gathering information on Night Court Inc.’s biggest competitor.

Groans resound around the table, but Amren’s eyes brighten frightfully. “If he keeps me there any longer, I might end up staying for good.”

Rhysand smiles thinly. “Amren has a crush on their new CFO. If she keeps going on about Varian’s pretty face I might pull her out of Adriatic by the end of the year.”

Just as Cassian is about to convince himself to care, his phone vibrates in his hand. Everything tunes out as he sees Nesta’s name on the screen, attached to a new text. He clicks into it.

A picture of Nesta and her friends around a dinner table pops up, smiling and laughing. His heart catches in his throat at the image.

“What did we say about phones during dinner, Cassian?” Rhysand interrupts just then.

Cassian stands up quickly, stammering, “Uh, I just need to answer this call— it’s important.” Azriel is staring up at him like he’s lost his mind, but Cassian doesn’t notice or care as he rushes out of the room with his phone in a death grip, overcome.

Alone in a hallway bathroom, he lets himself look at the picture again, hungrily absorbing every detail he couldn’t catch the first time around: her face is flushed and her hair is down, wilder than usual. Her smile is so rarely genuine that it kills him a little just to see it; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or pained that she’s having such a good time, that she isn’t missing him like he’s missing her. A sharp-faced girl that Cassian assumes is Emerie is holding the camera, likely having stolen Nesta’s phone to demand a picture, and the two women are surrounded by guys he doesn’t recognize. Except—

The face beside Nesta’s catches Cassian’s attention, and he clicks to zoom in. “Is that Lucien Vanserra?” he mutters.

Elain’s ex gets to hang out with Nesta while he doesn’t? This is fucked.

He doesn’t have a reason for his actions as he shoves his phone into his pocket and exits the bathroom. He just knows he needs to get out of here, away from this place that’s so far from Nesta’s heart.

His keys and coat hang near the front door, and he can hear Feyre’s voice from the dining room. “Cassian? Where are you—”

The door slams behind him before she can finish.

***

Being the only one who refused to get drunk off Jello shots, Eris offers to drive Nesta home for the night.

While Lucien is passed out in the backseat without a care in the world, Nesta is so awake she can feel her nerves buzzing. She knows as soon as she leaves this car, the bittersweet loneliness that comes after a party will set in, but for now…

What a night. She sighs and lets her head fall back against the seat, a small smile gracing her lips.

“Damn,” Eris lets out a low whistle as he pulls up to the mountain cabin. “This is your place?”

She lifts her head, realizing she’s home. “Ah. It’s only a temporary living situation,” she explains. “It’s my— friend’s place.”

“Friend or sugar daddy?” Eris smirks.

Nesta scowls, grabbing her stuff and pushing open the door to leave. It’s not Eris’s fault she’s unable to take a joke about Cassian, but that doesn’t change the sensitivity of the topic.

“Hey, wait—” he calls after her.

She pauses to look back at him. He hesitates, then says, “Good night.”

“Take care of your brother,” she directs. Stepping out of his fancy car, she shuts the door and raises a hand in goodbye, watching him pull away from the cabin.

Alone in the driveway, Nesta stands under the moonlight for a long moment, letting the chill seep into her bones. She’s dawdling.

She pauses again at the front door, her hand on the doorknob. The dreaded loneliness is already coming over her, crawling over her skin and making a home in the cage of her ribs.

A whole weekend without Cassian.

Maybe she should have asked Emerie if she could stay over for the night, but a part of her knows it would have been futile. Emerie can’t replace Cassian’s constant presence, no matter how much Nesta likes her.

It’s only three days. She steels herself and unlocks the door, prepared to be greeted by darkness and hollow silence.

The first thing she notices when she steps inside is the sound of crackling, followed by a warm glow from the living area. The lights are all off, but the fireplace is ablaze.

Nesta’s brows furrow, confused, but then she sees on the couch— “Cassian?”

***

a/n: i know justinian and isaac are names for side characters that sjm has used before but in this case they're completely different ocs.

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja

[rocorambles]

Kinktober Day 9: Brat Taming

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationships, NSFW, Non-Con, Whipping, Degradation, Mafia AU

Author’s Note: This could be considered as being part of the same AU as my Mafia Oikawa fic, but can also be read alone! Link to the Yandere Mafia Oikawa fic here. 

It’s amazing how much Oikawa let you get away with. Matsukawa can’t even remember a time where you showed even a hint of fear despite being surrounded by men who could kill you in a matter of seconds, who could torture you until you wished you were dead. You’ve always just been attached to Oikawa at the hip, hanging off his arms at events, sitting in his lap during meetings. And he doesn’t think Oikawa is really capable of love, but whatever you two had was as close to the sickening L word as possible when you’re part of the mafia. 

Matsukawa had seen you as merely eye candy in the beginning when Oikawa had one day introduced you to everyone and he had brushed you off as just another plaything for the boss to toy around with until it broke. But then months passed and then years and you were still around, brazen in your attitude, sharp with your words, mocking with your actions. Overall, just a brat. And yet it seemed that no matter what you did or what you said, no matter the chaos you caused internally, no matter the outright disrespect you showed to Oikawa, the brunette just waved it off, laughing the overall tension away. Sure, you were “punished” from time to time, but when your punishments just ended with your pleasured screams and you proudly displaying your new love marks to everyone the next day, it was hard to take them seriously. 

He wondered if Oikawa was becoming soft, weak, but he didn’t question the man. He’d stood by his side far too long to turn his back on him now and he thanks whoever’s listening that he decided to stay loyal when he accidentally walks in on the two of you while he’s on his way to deliver a message to Oikawa. And if he thought you were attractive before, the sight of your wanton face full of lust as Oikawa penetrates you over and over again is seared into his brain now. He knows he should immediately turn and leave, come back later, but he’s rooted to the spot and he can feel his cock twitch as he fully takes in your lewd moans and before he realizes it, his hand is palming his bulge and that’s the exact moment you decide to turn your head and he freezes as the two of you make eye contact through the gap of the ajar door. 

Reality and common sense finally come crashing down on him as he swiftly escapes and in the privacy of his room he roughly shoves his pants and boxers down, hurriedly rubbing himself off to the mental picture of your naked body lewdly arching as if it were begging for more, putting itself on display for its owner and as thick spurts spill all over his hand, he wonders what it would be like to be the one who owned you. 

It’s just a thought he had in a moment of passion, he reasons to himself. There’s no way he’d take you right from under Oikawa’s nose. And so he ignores you. Or at least he tries to. But maybe you’ve been hanging around Oikawa for far too long, maybe that’s how you’ve become so relentless and unknowing of when to stop with your brattiness and teasing. And Matsukawa grits his teeth as you purposefully seek his gaze, languidly and sensually licking and sucking anything your mouth can get a hold of while you stare at him, subtly touching yourself and moaning like a whore whenever he’s nearby. But the breaking point is when he’s seated across from Oikawa and you at dinner one day and he stiffens in shock when he feels something grinding against his groin. He subtly looks under the tablecloth and something begins to burn hot and heavy inside of him when he sees your silky stocking clad feet playing with him, fondling his rapidly hardening cock, and suddenly it’s your turn to stiffen in shock when he menacingly smiles at you. Excitement builds inside of him at the fear in your eyes as you immediately retract your legs and sink deeper into Oikawa’s hold on you.

Interesting. Looks like you could be tamed after all. 

Matsukawa plays the long game and he waits and waits until finally one night, after a successful raid that he’s led, a drunk and high Oikawa slaps him hard on the back in congratulations, asking him what he wants as a reward. And he takes a deep breath before determinedly asking for a taste of you. 

The room freezes and for a second his life flashes before his eyes, but when Oikawa merely shrugs his shoulders and tells him that you’ll be waiting in his bed tonight (after all, you’re a small price to pay for a life-long friend, someone he considers a brother), he pins you down with a triumphant grin that twists into something more feral at the panic racing through your eyes.

He thinks it’s adorable that even when you’re cornered and trapped, you try to put up a strong front, throwing coy words at him as you seductively posture yourself on his bed and only the slight tremor in your voice gives any indication of the true fear coursing through you. 

“Aww did you get tired of just imagining me? How many times did you jack off to the memory of Oikawa fucking me while you stood there watching like a creep? Come on. Let’s get this over with. I bet you’ll cum just from sticking your tip in me.”

Clearly you’ve let the heady power of being Oikawa’s favorite toy get to you, trick you into thinking you’re untouchable. Oh how wrong you are and Matsukawa enjoys the thrill he feels as realization slowly but surely sinks into you when he roughly flips you onto your stomach and removes his belt and all that fills the room are your agonized screams mixed with the slicing of air as leather whips down on you leaving bright red welts in their wake. He doesn’t stop until your lungs and hoarse throat won’t even allow you the luxury of voicing your pain and when you’re finally silent he slides a hand under your chin and forces you to look up at him.

Hmm. Looks like you have a bit more training to go through to tame the fire he still sees flaring within you, but you’re getting there. And he smiles as you remain silent despite the hate radiating in your eyes as he purposefully digs his blunt nails into the painful lash marks on your soft skin. 

So maybe he’s gone a bit overboard, but really you only have yourself to blame. Matsukawa has always been thorough and you just have so many rebellious quirks he needs to force back into shape. Luckily for you, he’s a patient man who never leaves a project unfinished and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how resistant you are. There’s just something about you that makes him want to break you to pieces and rebuild you into the perfect toy and that’s just solidified by the smoldering embers he still sees in you as you weakly sneer and spit at him even with his cum smeared all across your face, even with both your lower holes gaping and used, a mix of blood and semen pooling underneath your limp body.  

And spurred on by his desire to fully dominate you, his fingers are racing across his phone as he makes a few calls and switches around some bodies. Matsukawa is known for his more...sadistic tendencies...and mixed with his connections to various underground body cleaning companies, it’s not hard to convince a furious Oikawa that there had been a terrible accident when he lost control of himself around you and the mangled bloodied corpse on the bed looks enough like you to make the lie believable. Sure, he’ll need to make it up to Oikawa with an irritating amount of favors and ass kissing, but it seems like a small price to pay when he gets to go back home to you, his little pet project. 

And when things finally blow over and the dynamics of the gang are back to normal as Oikawa finds a new pretty plaything to mess around with, the higher ups crassly joke about your poor fate. It’s Hanamaki who first brings it up one night while Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and him are doing lines of coke. 

“Damn, Mattsun. I know your dick is big, but I didn’t think it was big enough to literally kill someone.” 

The light brown haired man snorts at his own joke, too high out of his mind to care about the way Oikawa slightly pouts at his words and Matsukawa watches in amusement as Iwaizumi growls at them to be a little more respectful of the dead. 

Obviously, it’s an exaggeration to say his dick could kill you, but he wonders how the three men would react if they could see how his cock could make you brain dead now, how just having his cock stuffed inside you is enough to have you lie there like a warm fuck doll for him to use whenever and however he wants. A small part of him wants to show Oikawa how well behaved you are now, how obedient and submissive you’ve become, how docile you can be when trained, how even the biggest brats like you can be fully tamed. But his more possessive side wins out as he snorts another white dusty line and he stays quiet as a coil of lust begins to pool in his stomach at the image of your kneeling naked form waiting patiently for him at home.    

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapter 1 (of 5) (Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Chs. 4 & 5)

“Crowley! Wake up, you son of a bitch, wake up!”

Crowley opens his eyes to Dean shaking him hard by the shoulders. Which is strange: the last thing Crowley remembers, he was dying, alone and forgotten in a parallel universe.

He isn’t there anymore. Instead, Dean is kneeling over him in a dome of golden light beyond which everything is dark, and for a brief, absurd moment he’ll chastise himself for later, Crowley thinks he’s somehow ended up in Heaven.

Then he glances past Dean and sees Sam with an exhausted-looking Castiel slumped against him; next to them is a younger man Crowley doesn’t recognize, but his eyes are molten gold, the same color as the dome surrounding them all. The amount of raw power emanating from the golden-eyed man makes every one of Crowley’s hairs stand on end, and not in a good way.

No, definitely not his idea of Heaven.

Crowley snaps his gaze back to Dean. “What—” he begins, but Dean cuts him off, hauling him to his feet.

“No time for questions!” Dean yells, and it’s only then that Crowley registers the roar coming from beyond the dome: it’s as though they’re standing in the eye of a hurricane as all around them things blow apart. “Come on, we gotta go!”

And then they’re all running, the dome of light moving with them like a shield as wispy black wraiths crash and burn against its perimeter and somewhere unseen, a hideous voice howls in rage.

*****

Once they’re safely back in the Bunker war room, Dean takes hold of Castiel and, along with the golden-eyed man—whose irises have faded to a soft, concerned blue—ushers him off in the direction of the infirmary, promising gruffly as he goes that he and Crowley will talk later.

Patience, however, is a virtue, and Crowley isn’t feeling particularly virtuous—especially not after seeing how tenderly Dean and Castiel looked at each other as Dean wrapped an arm around the angel’s waist and led him from the room. The sight had left a bitter taste in Crowley’s mouth, one he does his best to ignore. There will be time for that later; right now, he needs answers, and he’s not waiting on Dean in order to get them.

He crosses his arms and fixes Sam with an expectant glare. “All right, Moose,” he says, "out with it: what in God’s name is going on?”

Sam snorts, looking tired. “Um, yeah, about that...” He gestures towards the map table, then heads over to the liquor cabinet. “You...might wanna sit down.”

Crowley arches a brow, but he does as Sam suggests. Sam joins him a moment later and, after pouring them each a drink, spends the better part of the next hour telling Crowley all that’s transpired in the three years—three years—Crowley’s been dead.

Which is, it turns out, rather a lot.

Lucifer’s spawn survived his birth and is none other than the golden-eyed man Crowley saw when he woke up; his name is Jack, and for all intents and purposes, he considers Castiel to be his father.

An alternate version of Michael got a hold of Dean for a while, until Jack killed Michael at the cost of his soul, then, in a soulless rage, killed Mary.

God killed Jack. All Hell broke loose. Rowena, who’d apparently survived Lucifer’s last attempt to kill her, died to fix it and was now Queen of Hell.

Billie brought Jack back to kill God. Dean tried to kill Billie, so Billie tried to kill him. Castiel managed to take Billie out by admitting his love for Dean, at which point the Empty took Castiel—

Of course, thinks Crowley, the bitter taste in his mouth returning with a vengeance. Of. Bloody. Course...

The brothers had stormed the Empty not for him, but for Castiel. Good, noble, righteous Castiel, the wayward Angel of Thursday who’s been hopelessly in love with Dean for longer than Crowley has known him...and whom, it seems, Dean has finally admitted to loving back. Sam and Dean had saved Castiel because they loved him, because Dean loved him, but Crowley...They’d probably only rescued him because they’d figured they owed him for saving their denim-clad arses that day at the lake.

Now, as Crowley half-listens to Sam talk about defeating God, he glowers down at the map table and wishes they hadn’t bothered bringing him back at all, because it’s one thing to die unloved; it’s another to have to live that way. Crowley’s done both, and he knows which he prefers. At least in the Empty, he’d been at peace.

“Crowley? Hey, you okay?”

He looks up to see Sam regarding him from under a furrowed brow. Bollocks...

“Naturally,” Crowley says, leaning back in his chair with a dismissive smile. “That’s quite a tale, Moose. It sounds like you and Squirrel have outdone yourselves these past few years, even managed to pull one over on God; bravo. I’m sure Lucifer’s spawn will make a spectacular replacement: he is, after all, three.”

Sam’s eyes harden. “Jack’s nothing like Lucifer; he’s good, and he’s got us to help him, and Amara—”

“Oh, Amara! Now there’s a recipe for success if I’ve ever heard one: God’s evil sister and her Satanic great-nephew with billions of raw souls at their disposal. How could that possibly go wrong?” Crowley scoffs, shaking his head. “Honestly, there’s just no learning with you lot, is there? You just keep humming the same damn tune, then acting surprised when the notes turn sour, and it never even occurs to you to pick. A new. Bloody. Song.”

The frown on Sam’s face intensifies. “This is different. Jack, Amara, they’re on our side, and now that Rowena’s in charge of Hell—”

Crowley snorts. “Right. Care to wager on how long that lasts?” Then, at the look of sudden wariness on Sam’s face, he rolls his eyes. “Calm down, Moose; that wasn’t me plotting a coup. I have no plans to try and take back the crown.”

“You don’t?”

“Why on earth would I?” Crowley takes a sip of brandy, grimacing slightly at the flavor—for all the changes the past few years have wrought, the Winchesters’ abominable taste in liquor remains tragically consistent. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I hated Hell as much as the blasted place hated me. If Mother thinks she can do better, she can have it.”

They sit without speaking for a moment; then Sam clears his throat. “You know,” he says quietly, “Rowena regrets how things ended between the two of you.”

Crowley stiffens, a stab of anger piercing his gut. “No, she doesn’t.”

“She does,” Sam insists, and how anyone can look so stupidly earnest is beyond Crowley’s ability to comprehend. “She told us so.”

Crowley scoffs. “And you believed her?” he demands, left hand closing into a fist at his side. “You know, for the longest time, I thought you were the smart one.”

Sam sighs. “Crowley...Look, I’m not saying Rowena’s perfect—”

“She’s quite literally the Queen of Hell, Moose.” Crowley manages to keep his voice level, but his fingernails are digging into his palm. “I’d say that’s about as far from perfect as anyone can get.”

“—but I think you two should talk.”

Crowley’s hand starts to bleed.

“I mean it,” continues Sam, when Crowley says nothing. “When I was a kid, my dad...he wasn’t there the way he should’ve been, and we fought a lot, and there were times I felt like I hated him, but when he died...”

A multitude of emotions flicker across Sam’s face in rapid succession, too fast for Crowley to name them all, but the final one, the one Sam looks back at him with, is regret. “When he died,” Sam continues, “I didn’t care about any of that. And maybe I should have. I know I should have. Believe me, I tried. But I just...kept coming back to the fact that what I was feeling, the good and the bad, I’d never get to actually say it to him, and if he was somehow sorry for the bad, that was something I’d never get to hear.”

Crowley’s anger flares white hot; his hidden palm is slick with blood. “If you have a point,” he growls, “I’d encourage you to come out with it.”

“My point,” says Sam, curtly, “is that you actually have a chance at some closure, and I think you should take it. For your own sake.”

Crowley clenches his jaw, looks away. “For my own sake,” he echoes, softly. As if his and Sam’s pain is the same. As if Rowena is capable of causing anything but. “Tell me, Moose: since when do you or your imbecile of a brother actually give a damn about my own sake?”

He raises his gaze to stare coldly at Sam who, for the first time since they sat down, seems at a genuine loss for words. Crowley snaps his glass down on the table and stands. “Thought as much.”

He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and turns to go—where, exactly, he has no idea—only to nearly crash headlong into Dean, and suddenly, Crowley’s anger turns to outright fury, because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that Crowley had gone up against Hell and his mother and even his own better judgment for Dean more times than he could count.

It didn’t matter that the two of them had shared a bed when Dean was a demon, doing extraordinary things to triplets that Crowley would have kicked out in a heartbeat if he’d thought he could get away with it.

It didn’t matter that Crowley had sacrificed his life to save Dean and Sam and the whole bloody world.

None of it mattered, because for all the times Crowley had chosen Dean, Dean had never once chosen him. Then again, Crowley thinks, maybe it’s his own fault for expecting any different, his due comeuppance for stupidly believing he deserved to be loved. It doesn’t matter; he knows better now.

“Hello, Dean,” he snarls. “Come to look in on me now that you’ve seen to your angel? Well you needn’t have bothered; I was just leaving.”

Dean frowns, crossing his arms. “The hell do you mean, you’re leaving?”

“I mean get out of my way.”

“No.”

“And why not?” Crowley demands, voice rising. “Am I your prisoner? I’ve already told your oaf of a brother that I’ve no interest in causing any sort of trouble in Hell, so if that’s what this is about, then you can just—”

“Damn it, Crowley,” snaps Dean, “no, that’s not what this is about; it’s about where are you even gonna go. You got a place somewhere we don’t know about?”

“I’ll find one.”

“Or,” Dean counters, “you could cut the crap and just stay here.”

That catches Crowley off guard, but only for a moment; he gives Dean a hard look, determined not to let the surprise show on his face. “And why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because you know it’s the smart thing to do,” says Dean, face impassive, “and last I checked, you were an asshole, not an idiot.”

And it’s not that Crowley doesn't know full well that running off half-cocked into a world whose dynamics have fundamentally changed is naive at best and suicidal at worst—that isn’t what makes him nearly scream in rage, because he knows it’s patently true. No, the infuriating thing, the truly mortifying thing, is that Dean knows him well enough to know that he knows it, and that if Crowley does leave, he’s only going to prove Dean right.

The thought is more than Crowley can bear; still, if he doesn’t get out of this room right now, he’s going to start shouting—at Dean, at himself, at everything. There are other, less crowded places in this godforsaken Bunker, and it’s past time he went and found one. He’s not going to give Dean the satisfaction of watching him break.

Crowley pulls his fury tight and close, stepping forward into Dean’s space and glaring up at him with every bit of defiance he can muster. “Funny,” he sneers, “because last I checked, you were both.”

And he vanishes before Dean can respond.

*****

Crowley finds an unoccupied room at the far end of the hall and decides to claim it as his own for the time being. He bolts the door and turns to collapse onto the bed...only to freeze dead in his tracks.

His mother is standing in the corner. As Crowley gapes, Rowena takes a step forward, face pale and incredulous. “Fergus?” she whispers. “Gods, is it really you?”

Her voice snaps Crowley out of his shock, and he narrows his eyes. “Mother,” he growls, the word like poison in his mouth. “What do you want?”

“Sam told me they were going to try and get you back,” Rowena says softly, eyes roving over Crowley’s face as though seeing him for the first time, “and I wanted...I needed to see if they’d done it, if you were all right.”

Crowley glares, making a mental note to have a word with Sam about this particular indiscretion. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now get out.”

Rowena recoils, and if Crowley didn’t know any better, he’d swear his words actually hurt her. “You’re angry,” she says. “You’re angry, and you’ve every right to be, but if you’d just let me explain—”

“Explain what?” Crowley snaps. He clenches both hands into fists, ignoring the burn in his left palm. “What could you possibly have to say to me that I’d want to hear? You hate me, remember?”

“I love you—”

Crowley barks out a laugh. “Really? Have you forgotten the last time we saw each other? You left on a bus after you sent my son to his death, all because you wanted to watch me ‘suffer the loss of a child’, of my child!” He stumbles towards her, half-blind with rage. “Tell me, Mother: did losing me bring you any suffering, or were you just sad you weren’t there to collect three pigs in exchange?”

Rowena looks as though she’s been slapped. “Of course I suffered! Do you have any idea what I went through trying to get you back? I faced Death herself; I begged her to return you to me, but she wouldn’t do it! Ask Sam, ask Dean!”

“They’ve already told me,” Crowley grinds out. “It doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?” Rowena is crying now, tears rolling freely down her face. “Of course it matters! I did it because I missed you, because I love you!”

“You’ve never loved me a day in your life.”

“That isn’t true! I did love you; I do!” Rowena takes another step forward and reaches out a hand. “If you could just find it in your heart to forgive me—”

“Forgive you?” Crowley snarls, and it’s all he can do not to spit in her face. “You don’t get to ask for my forgiveness, not after any one thing you’ve put me through, not after everything! What was it you said to me that day at the bus station, your parting words? ‘Who better than me to crush your shriveled heart’? At least I had a heart, once; you never did.”

“Fergus—”

And Crowley explodes. “GET OUT!” he screams, seizing the lamp off the bedside table and hurling it at his mother with all his might...only to watch as it flies right through her and crashes into the wall.

And then Rowena’s gone, just like she always is, and Crowley’s alone, just like he always is. He stands in the middle of the room and stares hollowly into empty space. “Astral projection,” he says, quietly; it always had been one of his mother’s favorite tricks. “Of course.”

He spends the rest of the night warding the room as many ways as he knows how, determined not to let his mother or anyone else get the drop on him again.

[seancekitsch]

Powerplay: a Marko x Reader fic

part 3 of 3, previous part here

Warnings: harassment, vamp typical shit, cursing, death/killing, smut mentions, reference to the book

Marko was a good boyfriend, it turned out, except for when he wasn’t. You liked the sweet little kisses, the teasing way he snaps his jaw at you when you catch him staring, the way he holds you while you’re falling asleep even though he doesn’t have to.You like that he listens, more than your friends do. You rang another friend the other day, and were left waiting with the endless ringing again. You want to be upset, but they weren't as close as you were hoping they’d be. Your close friends were back in New York, three thousand miles and a year of working behind you. And they were Marko and his brothers now.

You love the way he keeps you safe, your protector being probably the deadliest thing you could encounter. You love the way he laughs, always joking and jovial. You always thought his smile hid a joke like some mystery, but now you're in on it too, and it's the funniest thing. There is no secret  joke, just Marko seeing the world with eyes full of humor. He sees the little things, and now he shows them to you. You love the way you can speak without speaking. Silence followed by heavy laughter, kisses, and understanding.

You even love that week you were on your period and every night he ate you out until you screamed yourself hoarse.

“Marko,” you’d say, “lets ride.”

And he would obey, letting you hop on the back of his bike, always after work, always too fast. You'd like to imagine him crashing as the wind whips your hair, stings your face. What that would be like, huh. It's what you assume he feels like when he flies, free and wild in the night. He caters to your every whim, makes you feel the happiest,  as long as the sun has set.

He was less a good boyfriend when he was hungry, brooding and refusing to get close to you. He would be irritable, pick fights, silent treatment. He would purposely leave you in silence, but he wouldn't ask for a taste, despite your offering. He respected you enough not to try that. Other times, he would make sure that you could hear every thought in his head. His thoughts sounded like shouts, always telling you to get the fuck away, always reminding you how vulnerable you were, how easy to kill you’d be. It's almost maddening. You never knew which nights he would be the silent ones, or which ones would be the loud ones.  

“Marko,” you’d say, “This is just temporary.”

You don't even have to think the words for him to know what you mean. Or those moments during the day when it's highlighted just how different he was, would always be. He would always be twenty and handsome and having fun, with a guaranteed group of friends. With a family he belonged with. You would always age, you would have to find something else to do eventually, and you would probably have to leave Santa Carla, because he wouldn't. You could always bore him, with Marko one day realizing you can't keep up anymore. You would always be weaker, and no matter how often Marko puts you first, he always holds the power. You’re only the decision maker because he lets you be. He could always take that power back. Find someone new when you get old and he stays the same age. He will always be this way, and you will always change.

It's those nights you think of pulling away from him, and you hope he never hears those thoughts. You love him, but he’ll always say it's not temporary. It's not true.

You love Marko today.

The jingling of the bell snaps you from your thoughts, head rising only to be face to face with one of the surf nazis. Huh, guess the boys didn’t clear all of them out. This one was tall, a skinhead with an upturned pug-like nose, wearing a lot of denim with eyes alight with mayhem in his agenda. Oh, please don’t fucking break anything.

“Hey Baby,” he sneers. God, his voice was even worse than his looks and his smell.

“Not your baby,” you deadpan, wishing desperately for him and his friends to leave without stealing or breaking anything forcing a sickeningly sweet customer service tone, “But what can I help with?”

Maybe good customer service will get them in-and-out quicker.

“That hot little body of yours could help me out,” his tone is outright mocking. God, is this how dudes like these think they can pull? You can’t even hide your grimace as you flinch at the words. If there was anyone else, just one other person working tonight, this wouldn’t be happening. You know this. Working nights alone practically invited this brand of harassment.

fuckfuckfuck. It’s way too early for Marko to be sniffing around, and if you can get them to leave the next four hours of your shift will be miserable. The man laughs, and it makes your blood run cold. He leans over the counter, past the little curtain of incense haze; breaching your only barrier of safety.

“I bet it could. Couldn’t it, baby?”

His large arms press against the glass of the counter and your eyes immediately flicker from them to the back room, where your knife is. He straightens up.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You frown, meeting his eyes now.

“Do you plan on buying anything we sell?” The Bauhaus record you have playing over the speaker skips, and you almost jump. It's just enough to break the tension, the rising bile in your throat clearing.

“I come in here for you, girlie,” and he affirms what you already know. Now that half of the surf nazis were gone, they were struggling to maintain their turf on the boardwalk. So harassment and torture at their hands were on the rise. Many people over the past few weeks had been dodging them in the stores around here, and now apparently they had caught wise to that. Done with it, you take a step back, leaning yourself against the back shelf to retreat further into the curtain of nag champa.

“You can fuck off,” you offer, gaining confidence as you realize the bong behind your head was more than affordable, and if you broke it over his head, you could cover it.

He opens his mouth to respond, but-

The bell on the door jingles again. A familiar smile fades into a scowl. Marko looks like one of those greek heroes tonight, maybe if only because his presence saves you from the gross comments (or anything worse) of the shaved head across the counter. He immediately distracts the surfer from you.

“Why don’t you get outta here, buddy? Me and the lady were just discussing me trying her out later,” the man spits, and you almost gag at the mental image of that.

Marko laughs, that high pitched full body laugh you love so much.

“That’s funny, buddy,” He throws the man’s nickname back at him, “Cause that’s my old lady right there.”

You loved and hated when he called you that. Technically, you are a year older than the year he turned. The first time you all realized that, Paul gave himself a stomach ache laughing over the ‘older woman’ Marko brought home. Tonight though, the nickname brings the biggest smile to your lips.

“Damn right I am,” you chime in, “and you couldn’t take the hint.”

Marko seals the deal by striding over to where you are and pulling you into a kiss over the counter. It doesn't take much more for the surf nazi to leave, the jingling of the door opening announcing his departure.

“I’m gonna make sure we kill the rest of them before the week is out.”

He waits the three hours it takes for you to be able to lock up behind the counter with you, loosely holding your hips and following you around, only moving away from you to pick out new records when one ends. 

Come over tonight, Marko thinks, and you know it isn't a suggestion. You kiss him hard on the mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to press against you. His arms automatically find themselves around your waist, squeezing you as he eagerly returns the kiss. This wouldn’t be your first time at their dilapidated hotel, with sprawling caves and chandeliers and beautiful spray painted murals on the walls. The first time you were there, he brought you there while the others were hunting. He fucked you on any surface not covered with knick knacks they'd collected or takeout containers, leaving you to sheepishly blush while he proudly talked to the others when they returned, deep red hickies and a bite mark on your collarbone you couldn't hide. The next time, the boys and Star and Laddie welcomed you in with booze and a feast and a fun night where you had to crawl out of the cave at dawn looking like a mess. Either way, he waits for you to agree before he leads you to his motorcycle.

“Star, Why don't you just become one of us already?” Paul whined, holding his half eaten eggroll like a cigar, “You're already living with us, Mama. We just want to be friends forever.”

She scrunches her nose, smoothing the long hair of Laddie’s head in her lap. The boy was tired, their unofficial little brother or not, he was still an eight year old.

“Or maybe,” David starts, dropping down from the rim of the check in counter of the hotel, “Star can just have some fun with them and we don’t even have to do what Max wants.”

The boys all laugh, Dwayne’s shoulders turning inward, while Paul smacks Marko in the chest behind you. Whoever Max was, he was someone that could give the boys orders; something you didnt think possible besides their own little group hierarchy. You'd figured out pretty quickly that David was the leader, Marko was his right hand, Dwayne was the left hand; with Marko enforcing, playful and impulsive, and Dwayne being the level head, logical and the one who often kept the boys from fighting and made them all remember why they loved each other so much. Paul was the baby. Both literally and figuratively. He was the messiest, the most likely to slip up;. He was also the one turned last. So when Star decides to be one of them, she’ll be the new baby. Then Laddie.

“No,” Star affirms, “No, I can’t do that to Michael.”

“Michael,” David tests the name on his lips, tongue darting out to lick them after he says it. The curly haired brunette on the boardwalk had a name. Then his eyes flick to you. There's a sharpness to them that feels so different from Marko’s. David is trying to stare through you, not to look inside of your head, to look past it, to see any weakness. A challenge.

“Who’s Max?” you speak up from your spot on Marko’s lap. You can feel him tense under you, but David smiles.

“You don't know about Max? Marko, you didn’t tell her about Max?”

Marko’s hand wraps around your wrist as David continues.

“Max knows all about you, y/n. There’s a reason you're here.”

Here as in, still alive in a vampire den, or here tonight specifically?

Mind thing? You think, and Marko leans his head down against your shoulder as he nods.

“So he knows Marko and I are X-men? Is he Professor X?”

You hear Dwayne and Paul chuckle from the other side of the circle, and Dwayne mutters, “Yeah something like that,” as he swats his hand at Paul’s mesh-covered chest.

“He sired us,” David clarifies.

“You feel it right?” changing the subject, “You feel like you need to be near Marko?”

Marko squeezes your wrist in encouragement, and you nod.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“That's not what I mean.”

You know what he means. It's the way you feel Marko before you see him, the way you can never sneak up on him.

You nod again.

“That’s what Max wanted to know. Marko, do you wanna tell her, or should I?”

What does he mean? You think and the man below you perks up.

Come with me. His palms grip your hips and gently push you to stand, and he follows suit before taking the lead.

He leads you towards the mouth of the cave, where you enter and away from any listening ears.

“So you know how David is dating Star?” he asks, voice low and close to you in the shadows.

“If that’s what they’re doing,” you joke, and he laughs along with you.

“Well, he thought they had what we have, and that's why she’s with us.” He reaches for your hands to hold them, dropping any playfulness from before.

“I’m supposed to turn you, Max thinks. He’s a lot older than us, and he says some vampires have mates or something similar to that. Others they have some deep mental connection with. The guys… we can hear each other sometimes if we try hard, because we’re a pack. I don't have to try with you and that's why Max thinks it's different.”

Turn you? Like, capital T- Turn you? Into one of them? If he turned you, you’d never see the sun again; never feel its warmth. You’d have to drink blood, and human blood at that. You’d become a killer, and you’d have to keep killing. While you aren’t innocent, killing kind of seems like it would be a stretch for you. Some of their victims had to be innocent, but would your hunger corrupt your morals one day?

It's like he can see the wheels turning in your head, ability to hear your thoughts or not.

“Y/n, you don't have to. Fuck, this was dumb to bring up. David thought you were ready, but if you don't want to I won't make you…” He trails off, visibly a little more deflated.

But if you did, you would be on the same level as Marko. All of the insecurities you have about your relationship would just… stop existing. Your relationship’s expiration date would disappear, your fears about having to leave him or him leaving you would disappear. You'd have people and a place to belong and lover and guaranteed group of friends to be a new family.

“How does it work, Marko?” your voice surprises him, and in honesty, he brought you to the mouth of the cave to give you an out. If you wanted to leave here, leave him specifically, he was going to let you.

“You gotta drink, uh, vampire blood.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

You shrug.

“Are you sure? There's no take backs for this,” Marko’s voice is stern, unlike you ever heard it before.

Deadly sure, Marko.

He smiles, slowly like the moon rising in the night before it crescendos into the wide toothy grin you're so used to seeing.

Marko leads you back into the den of the cave where the others are hanging out.

Dwayne is the first to approach the two of you.

“Everything okay?”

You nod thankfully, offering him a smile.

Paul swoops in next.

“You better be tellin’ me you're joining the fam, chica!”

He tries to drape his arm around your shoulder, but Marko pushes him away playfully, both of the boys smiling.

“Let’s get this girl a drink!” Marko shouts, and the guys start up hollering and laughing.

Marko leads you back to where you had originally been sitting, his designated folding chair. He gestures to you to sit down, while he looks to David for something. Over his shoulder, you can see Star frowning as she watches on.

“Glad you got to talk it out,” David remarks as he hands a bottle of wine to Marko. Maybe you’ll be able to get used to his mannerisms in half a century. Marko hands off the bottle of wine to you, and your hands dip with the weight of it.

The wine bottle is bejeweled, another do it yourself project that the guys seem to love so much. It's heavy in your hands, dark and unseeing down the neck of it, but full. Marko crouches down between your legs, palms flat against your thighs as everyone waits with bated breath. You uncork the bottle, noticing the dark red staining on the cork, and knowing exactly what’s in it now. Two shaky hands bring the bottle to your lips, tilting your head back as you let the contents flow into your mouth, filling it. The ‘wine’ is thick, warm and salty but feels like it's already intoxicating you from just being in your mouth.

“That’s all Marko’s blood, you know,” David remarks, and you swallow deeply. All Marko. He drained his blood for you, weakened himself for you. Your eyes flicker to him, and he smiles up at you from his spot between your legs.

You smile back at him, widely, teeth stained with blood.

[child-of-hurin]

Your Nimloth gives me motherly vibes…watch him grow omg…🥺 She is very old, and they are all her children in a way, even those who intend to cut her down, and like a mother she can’t find it in herself to hate them. She must be crying on the inside that night, grieving for how they have changed and fearing for their fate without her. Then out of darkness comes one who is still willing to die for her. Your little fool, she thinks, but with a flicker of hope…😭

Oh sorry I should think more about Nimloth —> Sauron because that would be outright hatred maybe like the memory of the ancient defilement Morgoth made on Middle-earth is still instilled in her spirit from her former incarnations leading back to Yavanna. She sees her enemy since the dawn of time corrupting her children. If she could she would like to grow twigs through the Maia’s fair form.

First of all: I'm EXTREMELY weak for trees full of primeval versions of emotions like love and hate (HELLO TOLKIEN) so I fully believe in Nimloth's potential to become a Huorn if only she had been given enough time... (Treebeard voice) the Akallabêth was too hasty she couldn't keep up...

Honestly ok listen... From here on it's literally just me using your message as an excuse to ramble about the Nimloth tree in my Akallabêth headcanons so feel free to ignore... It's just, this ask tickled me a little because it's something I think a LOT about but I don't think I have ever posted about so that means we are just

I love thinking about the last three generations of the Númenorean royal family: Gimilzôr and Inzilbêth, Gimilkhâd and Inziladûn, and Míriel and Pharazôn. I'm particularly invested in Míriel and it's tough, because I obsess over her relationship with her father but, try as I may, I simply cannot seem to unfridge her mother. I can never imagine a mother for Míriel and believe me I have tried!!

Instead, I draw and write and think a LOT about post-Inziladûn's-death Míriel looking for comfort in the tree... Going to it, identifying with it, looking to it for protection - the tree as a replacement for mother/family? The tree that grew in the palace where she was once safe and that now is a prison to both? They are both planted there and can't escape :/ But the tree endured all this time...

I have also used Nimloth to explore some of Gimilkhâd's mother issues (as I perceive them), so in that fic she was intimidating and offputing...

Maybe it's because the tree is definitely feminine and so ancient. The mythical royal mother to Elros's (or Earendil's?) ancestral royal father-ness? I guess I'm talking about it in a way that is way more symbolic than what you intended, but wow yes, the Nimloth tree as a surrogate mother... Love it :') And then, ofc, Pharazôn DESTROYS her :'D It's lovely though how Isildur then can't save Númenor/Nimloth, but he can carry on her legacy and plant her again (Gondor), but this time... they're more like siblings, no? Isildur, his brother Anárion, his sister Míriel the White Tree