#and this only goes for one particular idea but

[kayawolfhorse]

Stars Below

My piece for @pearlescentzine! I always enjoy writing silly Boatem shenanigans, and for this escapade in particular, I teamed up with the lovely artist @maggymations to bring the latest Boatem meeting to life. Check out Maggy’s illustration here, and the rest of the wonderful zine here!

— ☾ —

A sea of faux-stars twinkles gently above Pearl, and the lanterns at her back cast a golden glow against the half-filled sketchpad balanced on her knee. She taps her pencil against the page’s edge. The sound flows uninterrupted through the night, stopped only by the faint rattling of the chains Grian’s fiddling with further down the alley.

The rattling stops. “Is this sign too high?”

Pearl leans back against the curb and tilts her head. Across the street, the cyan plate of a sign-to-be creaks slightly from where it hangs above an empty shop front. She shrugs. “Looks good from this angle. You could move it down one.”

Grian makes a vague noise of acknowledgment and goes back to his rearranging. “I’m not sure what this one’s going to sell yet, honestly. The space just looked empty without it.”

“It fills out the row nicely,” Pearl agrees. “What color are you doing the roof in?”

They’re swapping ideas for a window display when an elytra snapping shut for a landing joins them: “I thought I heard voices over here.”

“Heya, Impulse!” Pearl greets. “Rather late for you to be awake, isn’t it?”

“Ah, well, I was having trouble sleeping,” Impulse says. His robe, the same bright yellow as his daytime overcoat, is rumpled beneath the straps of his elytra, and his left shoe’s laces are steadily unraveling. “What are you guys doing up?”

“Late-night buddies, you know how it is.” Grian waves the trapdoor in his hand.

“We tend to find each other if neither of us are asleep,” Pearl says. Teasing, she adds, “the rest of your lot’s snoring can be heard from a thousand blocks away.”

“I don’t snore!” Impulse protests. “Mumbo definitely does, though.”

“Oh, he does,” Grian says. “Has for as long as I’ve known him.”

“I guess it’s just not something you notice when you’re mega-bases apart.” Impulse shrugs. “How long have you two been working?”

“A couple hours?” Pearl mentally runs the numbers. “A few, maybe?”

“Something like that.” Grian silently counts on his fingers and gives up when he reaches his pinkie.

Impulse tuts. “As the official Head of Happiness—”

“I’m pretty sure we blew you up for that one,” Grian comments.

“You definitely did,” Pearl says.

“—I can’t let two Boatem members work the entire night away,” Impulse finishes. “Think about how you’ll feel in the morning!”

“Mornings are when I sleep best,” Grian says, and Pearl nods in solidarity.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t suggesting going to bed just yet.” Impulse motions towards the cave’s entrance. “I was actually going to invite you on a walk?”

Pearl hums. “A walk could be a refreshing change of pace.” She turns to squint at Grian.

“I wasn’t going to argue!” he defends. At Pearl’s raised eyebrow, he admits, “Well, maybe just a little.”

After Pearl has set aside her sketchpad and—much to Pearl’s dismay—Grian’s shoved his building materials into a random barrel, they join Impulse beyond the mouth of the Midnight Alley. The cave’s ceiling gives way to the real night sky and a crisp breeze tousles Pearl’s hair. Summer’s insects have bowed to autumn’s stillness; somewhere in the distance, a lone owl calls out.

Pearl tries to focus on the world immediately around her as they slowly circle Boatem. Something tips her gaze upwards anyways—call it morbid fascination. The moon is a milky, cratered expanse far too close for comfort. Its silver edge brushes the horizon behind her lighthouse palace, a feat that would’ve happened hours later had the moon been its normal size. It’s discomforting. Pearl can’t look away.

Impulse breaks the hush that’s settled over them: “I was going to fly over to Tango’s, but I didn’t really want to make the trip. This is much nicer.”

“It’s a decent night for it.” Pearl’s next step bounces twice as high and takes twice as long to connect with the ground again. She frowns at her feet. Her wings twitch. “D’you often go to Tango if you can’t sleep?”

“A couple times, maybe, but you know me, sometimes I’m in bed before the sun is fully set!”

“Old man.” Grian playfully bumps Impulse’s arm, which does little to jostle his path of travel.

“Laugh all you want, but you see this face?” Impulse gestures. “Fresh as a daisy!”

“Looking a little weary around the edges there, mate,” Pearl says, “but you’re usually as lovely as the springtime, I agree.”

They’ve stopped beside the G-train tracks, next to the empty, most recently built car. Pearl idly paces a few steps across the wooden ties.

“Aw, well, thank you,” Impulse says, and sighs. “Tonight my worries got a little ahead of me, with the moon and all. I mean, when has something like this ever happened before? What do we even do?”

“We’ll think of something, I’m sure,” Grian says sincerely. “If there’s anyone that could, it’d be this group.”

Pearl pauses in her pacing. “The Hermits are some of the smartest, craziest people I know. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re right,” Impulse says. “I believe in us! It’d just be nice to be able to do something about it in the meantime.”

“Blow up the moon?” Grian suggests.

“Have a sleepover?” Pearl proposes.

“More void sacrifices?” Impulse offers.

“Have a sleepover above the void,” Pearl says. Grian and Impulse turn to look at her in near-unison. “In hammocks. Right at the bottom of the world.”

“Does anyone even have any hammocks laying around?” Grian wonders.

“Oh, I have a few,” Impulse absently comments. Paling slightly, he quickly adds, “You’re not really planning on doing this, right?”

“It would make for a good next Boatem meeting,” Grian says.

“We could have everyone in their jammies and decorate the Boatem hole!” Pearl says.

“This is a terrible idea,” Impulse says, but even he can’t fully shake the allure from the edges of his smile.

“Oh, it is.” Grian claps once. “It’s settled! I’ll arrange the meeting. Impulse, you get beds taken care of. Pearl, you’re on decorating duty. How’s tomorrow evening sound?”

Pearl grins. “Sounds like our best plan yet.”

— ☾ —

The night has long darkened by the time they’re assembled around the void. From a broken farm to escaped cats to a suddenly lost hat that Scar insisted is essential to the sleepover, the delays piled higher and higher; finally, they’ve made it.

“Are we sure about this? Like, how do we know sleeping over the void will actually do anything?” Mumbo shifts his weight nervously between the bits of bedrock he’s standing on.

“We don’t!” Grian says gleefully. “But the moon’s obviously not going to just stop growing, so we might as well find someplace safe from it, yeah?” He spreads his arms. “Where safer than the furthest we can get from it?”

The bedrock layer isn’t looking half-bad for such a last-minute job, in Pearl’s humble opinion. Strung with lights, the little cavern is as inviting as it could be with a pit to an unnerving nothingness at its center. The uneven floor around said pit could’ve used a patch job, Pearl supposes, but for authenticity’s sake, she’d left it alone, save for a few pops of colorful carpet.

“Okay, yeah, I see your point,” Mumbo concedes. “But did you have to set up the most rickety-looking hammocks you could find?”

“They’ve been in my closet for a while, okay?” Impulse tentatively reaches over and gives the closest fencepost a pat. The posts had been left over from the llama incident; each one connects the corners of two hammocks. With only enough space for four in the hole itself, the fifth hammock hangs next to the void, over the bedrock. They are a little rough for wear.

“They do add a sense of danger most sleepovers are lacking,” Pearl says.

“I, for one, think this is a fantastic idea.” Scar strikes a pose that emphasizes the cat pattern adorning his bottoms. “I’ve been meaning to show off my patented Jellie PJs!”

“Says the person with the one hammock not dangling precariously over the void,” Mumbo says. “Scar, you’re just plain crazy.”

“I’m Pearlescent Moon! I’m more protected than the rest of you already; you all need the extra step more than I do,” Pearl says. “And besides, I got first dibs on bed choice and I’m not wasting it.”

“Arguably, this is the safest of our meetings,” Impulse says. “No end crystals, no live animals, no strange minecart contraptions. There’s only a slight risk of death!”

“Exactly! Thank you, Impulse,” Grian says. “If there are no further objections, let’s crack on with it, shall we?”

After everyone empties their pockets into the ender chest placed conveniently nearby, Pearl crouches next to the hole as the others attempt to climb into their beds with varying levels of success.

Impulse’s is the closest to Pearl’s own, and he pulls it towards himself to quickly clamber into. They all hold their breath as the hammock swings, ropes creaking against their posts; Impulse’s relieved exhale is the loudest of the bunch when his momentum comes to a halt.

Mumbo, for as tall as he is, stretches across the space between bedrock and hammock in one long, tentative line. He gingerly shifts his weight onto his extended foot but moves too slowly—had it not been for Grian’s shove that pitches Mumbo headfirst into the hammock in a crumpled heap, he wouldn’t have made it at all.

“How are you even folded like that?” Pearl marvels. In Mumbo’s scramble to right himself, his left foot has ended up above his head, and his right arm is pinned awkwardly beneath him.

“Dude, you look like a crushed soda can,” Scar says. “One that got caught under, like, a dozen ravagers that were all really mad at you.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Mumbo grumps.

“As a matter of fact, I will!”

Pearl blinks, and Scar’s tripping void-bound—he manages to save himself on a fencepost as Grian lunges for a fistful of the back of Scar’s shirt. Just as Grian’s about to pull him up, Scar’s hat starts to dip and he makes a grab for its brim, leaving Grian with the near-entirety of Scar’s weight, which he frantically flaps his wings to leverage against. Impulse clasps one of Scar’s shoulders while Pearl grabs Impulse’s hammock to steady him, and Mumbo detangles himself just in time to assist in pushing Scar the rest of the way.

Half-hunched and breathless, Scar turns to Pearl. “Say, Pearl, you wouldn’t be interested in swapping arrangements, would you? This here is a fine hammock if I do say so myself—it’d be wasted on little old me, who can’t even get into the thing!”

“C’mon mate, that’s quitter talk!” Pearl says cheerfully. “You can do it; you’ve already gone halfway!”

“Try aiming for the hammock instead of the void, this time,” Impulse says, shocking a laugh out of Grian at Scar’s side.

“Betrayed,” Scar mutters as he reaches for the post, “betrayed by them all, I tell you.” With far more success than the last attempt, Scar lands in the center of the canvas with a muffled oof.

With a flutter of his wings, Grian hovers slightly above the hole and drops into his bed. “Now, that’s just unfair,” Mumbo comments, to which Grian sticks out a mocking tongue.

“Well!” Pearl says. “Now that we’ve all made it in nice and secure, anyone up for a game?”

Most of what she had planned by way of activities had operated under the assumption that the sleepover would be starting earlier in the evening. So close to the end of it, after the sun has set and everyone’s sure to have eaten dinner already, Pearl only has one real trick to pull from her sleeve:

“Oh, I love cards!” From seemingly out of nowhere, Scar produces his own deck, bound together with a thick green ribbon.

“Did you just… have those on you?” Mumbo asks incredulously.

Scar slides the ribbon down to reveal the top card’s back; in the center of its maroon base is a pair of lovingly illustrated grey cat ears that could belong to no one but Jellie herself, and the edges of the card are outlined in shining gold.

Pearl splays her hands in mock-offense. “Oi, you can’t go outdoing me!” Her own plain pack hardly holds a candle against Jellie’s lovely likeness.

“No, no,” Scar assures, “no outdoing here! The more the merrier!”

“I can’t believe you have themed cards of your cat.” After a moment, Grian seems to reconsider this, and follows it up with: “Actually, no, I can.”

They decide to deal in both decks, and it goes about as well as expected.

What’s actually being played is at no point clear. Mumbo keeps trying to explain blackjack while Grian’s geared for poker. Impulse appears to be operating under a set of rules that could only have been conceived by Zedaph, and after Pearl’s head starts to spin trying to follow along, she goes to sit next to Scar for a game of Go Fish.

The extra cards are precariously piled on top of Mumbo and Impulse’s shared fencepost. They last an admirably long time before a stray elbow knocks them into the void. Scar assuages them all that he has several more packs of the Jellie cards back in his base.

By the time even Grian’s stifling yawns, Pearl reckons it’s about time to close out the night. Mumbo gathers the remaining cards and passes them to Pearl; she tucks them into the ender chest on her way to extinguishing most of the lanterns. Two of them, as they unanimously agree, remain lit.

The murmured goodnights settle over Pearl as she sinks into her bedding. She’d brought her second-favorite blanket down for the sleepover, a green throw she’d amateurishly knitted herself towards the beginning of the season, and its weight is comforting upon her scrunched shoulders.

“Anyone still awake?” Impulse whispers, a touch above inaudible.

“Problems sleeping again?” Pearl whispers back. The other three’s only responses are the hushed sighs of their sleep-slow breathing.

“Not as bad tonight, I don’t think.” Impulse’s hammock creaks with his shifting and Pearl turns to look at him, but his face, softened by darkness, is tilted upwards. “It just feels weird, you know? The void, I mean. I don’t know if I’ve ever spent this much time right next to it before.”

Pearl does know. She can feel it even without being suspended directly over its onyx expanse, now that the festivities have quieted: a chill that cuts straight through Pearl’s blanket without really being cold.

“It’s a weird one.” Pearl pulls her knees to her chest as best as she can. “Who knows, maybe Grian’s right. It could save us from the moon.”

“It could.” Impulse is quiet for long enough that Pearl assumes he’s fallen asleep. Sincerity weaves between every word when he eventually says, “Thanks for setting this up, Pearl. It’s been fun—there’s no one else I’d rather hang precariously over the void with than this group.”

“Those are high honors there, mate,” Pearl says, and she can’t help her smile. “I agree. You all could keep anything interesting.”

“Never a dull moment!” Softer, Impulse says, “Goodnight, Pearl.”

“Goodnight, Impulse.”

The humming eeriness beneath Pearl finds a competitor in the warmth that spreads over her entirely. Pearl holds on to it as her consciousness fades.

— ☾ —

When Pearl wakes, the light level is about the same as it was previously; she’s left to assume it’s morning based on her own biological clock. She rubs the final few wisps of sleep from her eyes. She’s sure she dreamt but can’t quite recall of what; all that remains is the faintest impression of spilled ink.

Grian’s scratchy voice is close enough to confirmation of morning’s arrival. “Where’s Mumbo?”

The crick in Pearl’s neck announces itself with an ache that throbs down her back as she quickly rises. Indeed: bracketed by Impulse’s widened eyes and Scar’s still-comatose state, Mumbo’s hammock flutters slightly from where it’s secured to a single post, and Mumbo himself is nowhere to be seen.

“Oh gosh, he’s probably on his way back from spawn right now.” Pearl presses a fist to her lips against the giggles that threaten to spill from them.

Grian has no such reservations. His laughter echoes as he pulls himself onto the bedrock. “I can’t believe no one heard him.”

“There couldn’t have been much to hear, right?” Impulse rolls his shoulders with a crackling pop. “Ender chest, please.”

“Going to try to fly straight out?” Pearl slides the chest within reach. “Gutsy.”

“Grian got in on wings; might as well try getting out with them.” Impulse shrugs on his elytra.

“I believe in you.” Crouching next to Scar’s hammock with a firm hold on its edge, Grian says, louder, “Scar! Up and at ‘em, we’ve got to go save Mumbo.”

Pearl folds her blanket as Impulse readies his rockets and Grian helps Scar onto the bedrock. With a final determined exhale, Impulse leaps; in a shower of sparks, he shoots towards the faint sliver of sky. Pearl cheers after him.

Further clean-up, Pearl decides as she watches Grian and Scar ascend together, can wait. Tucking her blanket away, Pearl gives her wings a shake and a stretch. They’re a little rumpled from a night spent pressed against the hammock’s side, but they’ll do well enough.

Before she goes, Pearl spares the void a final glance. Its strange static dances across her skin. The stars below seem to wink.

Of two things, she is certain: the void is a strange place to spend so much time near, and the company she shared made every second of the ordeal worth it. Her thoughts turn to the night sky eclipsed in white and the strangeness of its cast light. She ponders the inevitable end of the world and what lies beneath it.

Laughter echoes in her ears and tickles the back of her throat. Pearl reaches towards the growing light above her as she soars to meet her friends.

[coldranger]

Had to take some time to collect my thoughts but generally, as previously mentioned, people tend to do their own things!

For some general rules of thumb of my own post-game/head canons, post constructs still within the "construct" are dependent on a hypothetical playthrough you could get in-game, memories of all routes and every possible ending to that route are given to the voices overtime, and regarding the vessels I just don't see Shifty willingly letting the vessels separate from her in most scenarios.

I'll mostly be talking about which post construct is usually seen on my blog and some smaller ideas I have

Main Group (seen in most doodles)

These birds come from a Moment of Clarity straight into Oblivion. Quiet goes into his eternal nothingness. With the voices tangled up in him and Shifty they manage to detangle themselves and into "the woods". There are no lasting physical scars on the voices from MoC (they do look different in MoC I just haven't gotten around to designing them). I don't really have any specifics regarding the voided vessels aside from the fact that they're all ch.2's specifically, since a ch.3 would imply those voices look visually different (my ch.3's for them but yk, time to actually conceptualized that where???)

"The woods" did start out as TLQ strands, but with 11 voices of a god walking around whatever leftover influence the Princess has reverted back to its usual look. The voices generally live in the normal woods area, but there is a part that looks like MoC's barely put together forest. As for Heart Princess she is more or less stuck within Shifty, but I could see the voices eventually attempting a rescue mission after a very long debate amongst themselves.

A Quiet Wasteland

You know Mod Owl's Burning Glass AU? Yeah, it's kind of like that. It's an Empty Cup into Oblivion. Much like the main group all of the voices awaken to a whole lot of nothing, but due to Empty Cup TLQ is aware of itself and more importantly- of it's potential powers. Things quickly go south as a power vacuum arises and many voices are either vying for control of TLQ or are simply trying to keep themselves safe from those who do. Hero is the only "normal" looking voice left. The woods have been divided into various territories with battleground areas being absolutely devastated and barren. Hero lives in on the outskirts of these areas with a rundown cabin.

This is a very old concept which I've been hesitant to share with how, uh, slowly I've gotten around to designing everyone. To boil it down it's basically my excuse to have kaiju level fights with the voices and have some more fun in their designs. The Princess does happen to show up here though! She's very late game however and ties into the narrative climax.

Extras

There are just smaller ideas I want to have fun with, like everyone's their respective ch.3 and don't remember any other routes or "The Gang's All Here" without any MoC or Razor. These aren't tied to any one ending in particular just fun little thought experiments. They could just likely be variations of NAUD.

As for the endings where you leave with Shifty or Heart Princess are some looser territory by nature of me not being sure what to do. Leaving with Shifty has me trying to figure out what two gods will do with their smaller parts, an ending where Quiet was mean to the voices and that reflects in their godhood would be neat to explore.

Leaving with Heart Princess is a lot more open ended, so there's a lot of angles you could take it from. I think one interpretation I'd explore is that Quiet and Heart do manage to escape the construct but without these key components to their being both god's forms destabilize and break the construct. So Quiet and Heart get to have a nice time frolicking in the new world while voices and vessels alike flounder about without any structure.

As a fun little hc of mine, confined to the construct the voices can only see how Quiet sees the world, mostly black and white, but if they manage to leave they can suddenly see in color. Aside from being suddenly flashbanged by the remaining color spectrum the voices also look different and have patterns. Do not expect a color guide anytime soon sdjhgfshjdgfs

I'm not sure/to what extent this would be given to the Princesses but I think I'd just piggyback off of someone else's ideas bc I would NOT know where to start in regards to colors for them

Hey slay the princess fandom!

Is there a common way to see the post Construct worlds and how the voices and/or vessels live? I've seen a few already and also have my own idea which I WILL talk about.. soon..... I just have to "professionally" write down the whole idea

I've seen: the woods, big house, a shit ton of cabins in the woods to choose from, and a couple variations of these, also JUST A VOID

Sooooo is there like a common agreement or intuitive way to see it or everyone's just going with their own flow? ALSO!!! Are they... alone? In the world? Is it a normal human world? A fantasy like one where creatures like them are normal?(not taking into account the human designs)

Also how do yall do it with memories of the game events? Do certain voices only remember certain routes? Do they all remember everything? Do they only remember the 5 routes one playthrough consist of?

And if vessels are involved, does Shifty let them go and just accepts she's not "whole" or decides to grant them more of a personhood than being a perspective? Was it her choice to begin with?

I already have my own ideas for all of these but I want to know if there's a silent agreement I'm missing. My inner Skeptic is acting up, I overanalyse everything and kinda lose myself....... help. It's the undertale multiverse structure all over again, it's the adhd again

[garden-of-rambles]

OdyPen fanfiction rec Masterlist, Part 1

I'll do more of these in the future, but I wanted to make a list of some personal favorite Odypen fanfics. It's entirely possible you've read some (or all) of these, but more than anything I just wanted to show appreciation to some fics I love. You'll find both chapter and one shot recs here, and I'll be trying to spotlight some new stuff as well. I've mentioned some of these on this blog before, but all of these stories deserve as much praise as they can get.

I'll start with one-shots, then chapter fics, with mention of which are completed or still ongoing stories. They'll have varying ratings, up to E, so keep that in mind. If any of these interest you, please go check them out, and leave comments!

Oh, and I'll only be recommending one specific fic from each author (otherwise many of them would be featured more than once) but I will bring up if they have other fics to check out.

Links and summaries for all the stories, as well as mentions of specific things in them I really loved, will be found below the cut.

One-shots:

(Note: some of these are part of a series with other one-shots, and I'll mention it if they are)

half of me is you by i_waited_two_weeks_for_this_shit

Summary:

She twists the string tied around her finger. It’s a bright, glorious red. The colour of the blood that flows in her veins, the strong texture of the wool she spins into thread in her weaving, and she chooses to believe that it means he is alive. It falls over the edge of the bed, twisting its way across the floor and out the window ledge. If she squints, she can see it fall over and onto the island, making its way across the beaches and shores. It falls into the water and disappears, and this is the way it has been for thirteen years. - For twenty years, Penelope sits in her grief, the only thing to comfort her the string around her finger, and the memory of her husband.

What I really love: the writing is great, but in particular the unique take on the 'thread of fate' idea, and how it is incorporated into Penelope's weaving is super interesting and the whole thing makes me very emotional.

Smartest Girl in the Game by Anchestor

Summary:

As kings and princes flock to Sparta, vying for Helen, it's clear that Penelope and Clytemnestra will serve as consolation prizes. As the other men strut around like peacocks, one suitor catches Penelope's eye: the little king of barren Ithaca. Now she needs make sure to catch his eye in turn. Or, how to woo a cutie when propriety demands you can't, like, talk to each other

What I really love: If you want young odypen flirting with each other by playing games and using secret messages and matching each other's freak in a way that leaves everyone else confused? This one-shot is for you.

To Live, to Lose, and to Live Anyway by holyflyingswisscheese

Summary: This is part of a series called 'The King of Ithaca is Home' but this part is still its own stand alone one-shot.

“I wish you did not have to see this,” Odysseus says. “The man I have become…” “Is still the man I married,” Penelope finishes. “Whom I love with all my heart and vowed to never leave. He is still you.” The king of Ithaca returned last night. His first week home, told through the voice of the woman who loves him most.

What I really love: The heavy focus on recovery in this one! It can be a heavy and painful read at times, but also very lovely and comforting. The other parts of the series are worth checking out too!

Chapter Fics:

again, even though we know love's landscape by formerstingray

Summary: Completed.

Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others end: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again among the flowers, and look up into the sky. - Rainer Maria Rilke. / Odysseus and Penelope meet and fall in love. He goes to war. And, twenty years later, it happens all over again.

What I really love: Is it bad if I just say everything? This series covers both their meeting and wedding, as well as their years apart, and all of it is lovely and devastating as needed. You can read almost any part of the series in any order you want to, but it also reads well in sequence. Really great interactions between the two characters in this one.

My Love I Kept You Well by thehouseofblack

Summary: Completed.

Aphrodite had foreseen Paris' triumph – her triumph, in truth. The moment his eyes would fall upon Helen of Sparta, he would understand: this was the reward for his devotion, this was the woman the gods themselves had deemed worthy of a prince so favoured. She had not foreseen his rejection. Had not expected him to turn away from the prize she had laid before him, to spurn the very woman he had once coveted with all his heart. Nor had she anticipated that his desire would stray – not to another queen, most certainly not to Helen’s own cousin. Penelope of Sparta. (Or, after coming across a portrait of Penelope during his time in Sparta, Paris of Troy switches his kidnapping victim from Helen to Penelope. This proves far more detrimental than anyone could have imagined - a spark burning so bright that even the Gods on Olympus are caught in its flames.)

What I really love: I was soooo torn on if I wanted to recommend this or one of their other fics, as there is a lot of great stuff to choose from! But MLIKYW is one of my favorites, and while it can be a rough read it does so many interesting things with Penelope and Odysseus as characters and is incredibly well written. Plus, while I'm no historian, reading fics from this author always comes across as more "authentic" in terms of representing the time period than most other fics, which is another feature I really like. This was also one of the earliest fics I read to completion in the fandom, and it will always hold a very special place in my heart because of that.

(oh, and if you're a multishipper for this fandom, there's tons of fics by this same author in that vein -- lots of OdyDioPen and the like. It's not my thing, but it's all excellently written!)

Baselia by DAYAGOLD

Summary: Completed.

Penelope's life in Sparta since after she meets an odd boy in an olive grove. Leads through them falling in love and getting married.

What I really love: all the young odypen cuteness you could want. Seriously, that's what brings me back to it again and again, when I have reached my angst overload and just need to drown in them being sweet with each other. It started as a series of drabbles, but the chapters get longer as it goes.

and all the years we should have had by jamais_vuO

Summary: Currently updating. The ship came to their shores in the third year after the war ended. One ship, just one, and Penelope stood on the clifftop near her husband’s palace and looked down upon the harbor below, and clenched her fist in her himation until it was wrapped around her so tight that it was imprinting its weave pattern onto her skin. Just one ship, and the men she could see disembarking were too few to be fifty, and none turned to hare instantly up the hill towards her. Penelope turned away to head into the palace, to wait for the bad news to find her. (odysseus chooses to sacrifice himself, and penelope chooses not to let him go)

What I really love: The way Penelope is written, and how it doesn't villainize Eurylochus! I'm a sucker for the premise of Odypen successfully pulling off an Orpheus and Eurydice thing, and I like the idea of Penelope being the one venturing into the Underworld to get her husband back.

Threads Undone by Tamorasky

Summary: Currently updating

It was not as the Fates intended. There was to be a marriage bed, a son, and twenty years of waiting. But King Icarius denies Odysseus his daughter’s hand, and the thread begins to fray. Penelope of Sparta—clever, quiet, and promised to no man—is swept from her home on a tide of stolen love and war. Now a stranger in Troy, Penelope is caught between warring gods, mortal ambition, and a war never meant to be hers. As alliances crumble and empires burn, one woman’s defiance may alter the course of fate itself.

What I really love: There have been a few "Odysseus saves Penelope from Troy" AUs and a lot of them are great in their own way, but this one is definitely going about it in a unique manner. It's not super far into the story yet, but already the interactions between the characters have been very interesting, and I'm looking forward to more!

the trillium by lostintranslation

Summary: Currently updating

One soul, one mind, two bodies. The story of Penelope and Odysseus.

What I really love: that first chapter is basically entirely vignettes of young Odypen being cute, and I know it will only make the following chapters more painful haha! Only one chapter is out so far, but I really enjoyed it. I almost recommended some of this author's one-shots instead (and I do encourage checking those out) but I really liked this first part of the story and wanted to recommend it!

Bury the Sea by paigian

Summary: Currently updating, will finish soon, also part of a larger series called 'Tell Me About a Complicated Man' that includes one-shots that are also must-reads.

The wind comes early, salt-laced and restless, tugging at the sails before the sun has fully risen. The sea is silver in the half-light, gleaming like a blade. A dozen black ships line the shore, each a beast of burden groaning under the weight of war—of spears and shields, of men too young and men already weary, six hundred in all. Horses stamp and snort. Armour glints faintly. The world smells of brine and bronze and things left unsaid. And there is the horizon, wide and unblinking, where the gods keep their secrets. Already, Ares drums his fingers against his shield. Athena watches from behind a veil of cloud, sharp-eyed and silent. Apollo cords his bow in the east. Even the Fates lean in, breathless. The heavens tilt toward bloodshed. But the dawn stretches her fingers across the sky, rosy and pale, as though the morning itself hesitates—softening what must be done. Odysseus steps forward. His cloak hangs from his shoulders, sword glinting beneath it at his hip. He looks impossibly far away already, though he hasn’t left yet. But his eyes—his eyes are on her.

A dual-timeline look at Odysseus and Penelope—memory and absence side by side.

What I really love: I have to try to keep this section small, because otherwise I would gush forever, but the works in this 'Tell Me About a Complicated Man' series are genuinely not just some of my favorite fics in this fandom, but some of my favorite fics period. If you like Odypen and haven't started reading this yet, I cannot tell you enough how much you are missing out. The characterization and prose are all top-notch, and I have literally read all of the fics in this series an embarrassing number of times. Please go read and comment on this fic you guys <3

Okay, that is it for this first fanfiction rec masterpost! There are a lot of other great ones out there that I didn't mention yet so as to save them for other posts in the future. I'm also always on the lookout for new stuff, or stories I haven't encountered before.

I hope this shines a spotlight on some fanfics that truly deserve all the attention in the world. <3 Thanks for reading, and please do check out these stories and leave comments!

[8100d1u57]

Beginning to think that Kodaka was earnestly trying to realistically explore incestuous dynamics in Danganronpa without romanticizing or fetishizing it, but just failed to stick the landing. Kako and Ima are probably one of the best depictions of emotional incest that I've seen in a piece of media. It's genuinely insane to me to think that the man who wrote the monokubs incest subplot and ultra despair girls actually wrote this (I actually like ultra despair girls but I fully agree that it's very problematic in execution).

Kako and Ima both lost their parents due to a car crash, and with no family to take them in, are forced to survive all on their own. Ima is essentially forced into child prostitution to survive, doing anything and everything to keep his twin sister safe and happy despite their horrific circumstances. Due to his constant sexual abuse, his feelings for Kako become warped and toxic, becoming overprotective and overbearing. As long as she's safe, everything he goes through is worth it to him. This puts her on a high pedestal as they have no friends. She's the only light in his dark life.

However, they both know this co-dependency is toxic. While Kako cares deeply for Ima as well, she always pulls away or tells him that he's embarrassing her. She's trying desperately to get Ima to see her as an equal, as a sibling, because not only is he smothering her, he's smothering himself in the process. There's even a route where she absolutely snaps at Ima for his emotionally abusive treatment of her, rebelling against him completely and Ima's instance to not change things between them nearly tears them apart.

Ima hates that Kako is growing up, but in his final bond event, he talks about how it's probably good that she's rebelling and trying to stand on her own, even if it hurts him. Now that he actually has friends and a community to protect not only Kako, but him as well, he's actually able to start healing their relationship and slowly but surely chipping away at the pedestal he's put her on.

Sure sometimes Ima's for lack of a better term, "siscon" tendencies are played for laughs and Kakos persuasion bit was kind of uncomfortable even if I understood where Takumi was coming from, but at its core it's actually so well written. And to top it all off, when fans asked if Kako and Ima were romantically involved, this was the response.

I actually feel so bad because Kodaka's "incest fetish" has been a joke in the fandom for a while because of how it shows up in his games. Like I still feel like I was right for shitting on him for his handling of Korekiyo, especially with how painfully triggering chapter 3 is for me, but I forgive him now for mishandling him. Especially because if you read between the lines of Korekiyo's bonding events, his story is actually pretty heartbreaking and realistic. The definition of a good idea with horrible execution. I haven't read the light novels so I can't comment on Mukuro/Junko.

It's genuinely difficult to find the line where representation becomes fetishization sometimes. That's part of the reason I read works that do fetishize taboo themes. There's so few works that does it right, that all I can do to find that line is to analyze fetish works to figure out what was handled well and what is not. My hope is that my studies will help myself and others be able to create transgressive works that actually represent the horrors and realities of sexual abuse in particular. I think that Kako and Ima are probably the biggest show of how Kodaka has learned and grown from his past mistakes to become a better writer. I kinda hope this just isn't a one time fluke because if this man can keep banging out excellent incest victim rep from now on, I would be the happiest girl in the world. We desperately need stories that'll undo the damage of decades of incest porn brainrot that has made people see it less as actual abuse and instead a gross kink.

[zephyalle]

Gravity Fall fanfic idea : Merman Stan

The pines family have a particular recessif gene that come from both of their family branch. In another universe, this gene stay recessif in the two Pines twin. In this ones, Stanley Pines is the unaware lucky participant in the genetic lottery ticket.

The sea has always call to him, sing to him, tempting him to stay longer, to go farther, to swim deeper. He resisted its call for two very important reasons. His mother and for his twin. (He wish he could say it is for his father as well, but he’s pretty sure his father would be happier if he never came back from). And those two reasons hold him on the land for seventeen years.

But nothing last forever (love is conditionnal, didn’t his father teach him anything) and his family doesn’t want him, doesn’t need him (it’s his fault, he broke everything and he can’t come back, not until he make millions and he only have fifty dollars).

Stanley has a bag of clothe and his car and nowhere to stay (not anymore). And the sea his calling him, its siren song promising comfort and security (almost everything he’s desire right now). So he drive there. To the beach were him and Six- Ford, where him and Ford (It’s Ford and him says a voice in its head) spend half of their youth fixing the old Stan’O’War. 

It will never navigate Ford said. Ford is smart, smarter than him, so he’s probably right. Not that it matter anymore.  It was meant to sail with the both of them, to take them away from this town, from this life (to answer the calling of the sea).

But it’s also not right to let all their hard work be for nothing and its not right that the last resting place of the Stan’O’War is the land where it had been abandoned. So in the middle of the night, Stanley get to work. He would sail her as far as could and then (probably) swim back to the shore and then….. he would figure it out (he doesn’t have a choice).

She goes farther than expected, so much farther than expected, before sinking. He jump down, swimming against the flow. And he might have miscalcultated his endurance or his fatigue. In another universe, the flow carry him to the beach,. In this one, the sea doesn’t let him go and his merflok gene awaken. (half seal, half human (not a selkie)).

And Stanley….Stanley doesn’t have much on the land. Stanley always wanted to explore the sea. It is vast and mysterious and surely hidden it’s fair share of treasure.He could swim around for a bit, uncover some gold before coming back. Then he would have enough money to repay his dad and Stanford and even have his fair share of story that would on hundred per cent interest his twin (he would forgive him then, right?).

(Time have no meaning in the seas and it is so easy to get lost in it. So easy to leave for a year or two)

Stanford thought that his brother would come back after a week of two. Stanley would crawl back, say sorry and Stanford would (eventually) forgive him. Then, he found Lee’s car at the beach. Doesn’t think much of it and since he is not ready to see him yet, he leave the beach alone for a while. A week pass, no new from Stanley and his car is still at the beach (while the ship isn’t, and there is a lump in his throat that he ignore. Stanley isn’t stupid. He wouldn’t. Not when the Stan’O’War was so visibly a wreck). He take the car home, expecting to see his brother any day now, pissed off that he stole his car.

But he never does. And there a new wreck at the bottom of the sea far from the shore.

His brother is dead. (There is no body found). And he refuse to think it was a suicide. Stanley would never do that to him. (But Stanley didn’t have a lot of reason to not do it, didn’t he. After all, Stanford had turn his back on him, on their dream and with no diploma, what future did Stanley had? They both new that ship wasn’t ready to sail.) When he finally accep that it was a suicide, he broke from both his grief and his culpability.

(Caryn Pines never forgive his husband for the death of her free spirit and Filbrick bury is own suffocating culpability, refusing to recognize his roal in his son death).

Meanwhile Stanley is having the time of his life under the ocean. He even visited the Atlantis! He have finally enough treasure and story for his family to come back (It’s been what? Half a year at most he estimate). Now Stanford would forgive him for sure. He just had to find at wich university he’s at. He take some research, but he manage.

And Stanley want to surprise him, so he breack into his dorm and hide in his room (Ford would be happy to see him, he hope, and like this he won’t be able to shut the door on him).

Stanford never quite recover from his twin’s death. And yeah, maybe it should worry him that sometime, in times of very hight stress and little sleep, he hallucinate Stanley. But it’s also the only time when he see his brother anymore and as long as he doesn’t talk to it, it is fine. Having hallucination isn’t an indication of poor mental health, it’s when you start talking to it that you should worry.

So when Stanford see his brother (dead because of him) on his bed (like when they were young). He ignore him.

Stanley think it’s because he is still mad about his project. And he is so nervous. So he start with saying he is so sorry about his project that it was an accident, that he didn’t mean to and that he found a way to made up for it and Stanford will be so happy if he could listen just for a few minutes.

Hearing hallucination Stanley talk about his suicide like this break his heart. And Stanford cannot hold back his snapping question that haunt his nightmare

Stanford: Why did you did it? (why did he killed himself? Was it really because of him?)

Stanley  (still mad about his project I see) : It was accident, he really didn’t mean to (break the project)

Stanford: Why didn’t you come back home? Why did you take the Stan’O’War (to die)? You knew it wasn’t safe!

Stanley: You didn’t want me anymore. An the sea was calling to me (litteraly) for such a long time that it seemed like a good idea to take our ship for her first and last trip back then. Sinking our childhood dream metaphorically and literaly had a dramatic flair that a kinda like.

Ford cannot hold his tear and Stan try to comfort him. This doesn’t persuade that his twin is actually alive, only that he really need to sleep if his hallucination are becoming so realistic.

Now there is there possible embranchment :

1 – Ford realise that Stan is in fact alive the very next morning and scream at him, crying . Eventually demand that Stan stay with him. (realistic)

2 – Ford stay convince that Stan is a ghost/hallucination and that he really lost it (as long as Stanley is back in any way or form, he can live with that). Since nobody really react to his presence and Fidd doesn’t seem to notice an extra person (the end session examen are just around the corner and fidd is never around when both Stanley and him are in the same room) (a little crack)

3- Ford stay convince that Stan is a ghost/hallucination and actually manage to convine Stan as well since Stan didn’t interact with a lot of land people since his disappearance. Take a long time to unravel that messy nod of misunderstanding. (crack)

End

Administration : I’m sorry, but your brother isn’t a student at this university and ,therefore, cannot stay in your dorm nor attend to your class with you.

Ford : But sir, this is my emotional support twin!

[good--merits-accumulated]

i really need to like. make a list of all the anderperry fic ideas i want to write and know i never will and put it somewhere. maybe here

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Smiler’s Otherland -- Domains!

Hi everyone, I’m back on my Smiler’s Otherland bullshit! :D After making my initial “here’s my first ideas on the concept” post back in May 2023, I’ve been trying to get my thoughts organized regarding what Smiler’s Otherland should look like, more details about their weapons, how many outfits they need, etc. And now I’m going to share some of those thoughts with all of you! Because it’s my tumblr and you’re my captive audience. :p

So -- let’s start with the domains! Because you can’t have an Otherland without actual, you know, lands in it. So far, I’ve come up with four domains for Smiler:

Smile Street: The “hub” domain, or at least the domain any visitors would be likely to land in first, much like Alice’s Vale of Tears or Victor’s Living Dead Forest. This domain is arguably the "coziest," and allows Smiler to put their best smiling face forward. :D

-->As indicated by the name, it’s a long winding street lined with brightly-painted houses in all colors of the rainbow -- in fact, here, the shot of Towers Street from this The Smiler ad gives you a good idea of what I’m picturing:

Only, instead of just those spiraling yellow clouds in the sky, there's also a big yellow sun featuring a Smiler-logo face on it, as per this screenshot from this video on The Smiler mobile game: (WARNING -- the linked video does have flashing lights/strobe-like images starting about midway through!)

...maybe a little less overtly creepy, as this is supposed to be the friendliest domain, but you get what I mean.

-->And who lives in those cheery little houses? Why, the Advocates, of course! Who are based on these guys from The Smiler mobile game (screenshot from the same video linked above):

You know, just a little higher resolution. XD They're naturally very friendly, greeting visitors enthusiastically, and spend most of their time wandering around, trimming trees and hedges into spirals, having little get-togethers in each other's yards where they tell jokes and laugh a lot, playing various games with each other, painting big grinning faces on portable easels -- that sort of thing.

-->At the end of the street is -- well, the town SPIRAL rather than square, as the road just spirals in on itself until it stops at a big fountain full of glowy yellow liquid at the center. Around the outer curve of the spiral is a little cafe (which serves a variety of drinks and treats, though many of the drinks glow at least slightly, and the treats tend to have spiral decorations), a playground (with all the equipment painted with yellow and black stripes with occasional touches of purple and white), a general shop selling a variety of goods (which, yes, would basically be the shop from the Smiler Shop TV video, manned by Matt and Carol -- Smiler can put their parents into their Otherland, as a treat), and a train station consisting of a bright yellow covered platform with spiraling columns holding the roof up, a Smiler coaster car (like that seen above) for the "train," and tracks that start out flat but quickly spiral off into wild loops and twists (because, of course, the coaster itself has to serve as transport to the other two "nice" domains). Just a nice place to hang out, chat, and watch the spiral clouds swirl overhead. XD

X-Sector: Named after the section of Alton Towers that The Smiler coaster is actually in, this is the domain dedicated to Smiler’s interest in technology and chemistry (with the actual look of the tech ranging from more steampunky to more cyberpunky depending on the time period of the AU it features in).

-->The domain consists mostly of a big old lab, surrounded by a yard featuring grass made out of green wire, flowers made out of twisty bits of metal with stained glass leaves and petals, and simple conical trees (like the kind you might see in an old Playstation or XBox game before graphics really started taking off -- that Smiler Game screenshot above is roughly the right aesthetic). The sky here would be filled with swirling, spiraling yellow and black clouds, lit with the occasional flash of lightning. It's all very dramatic.

-->The lab itself is divided into two wings, separated by a main hall with lots of optical illusions a la the actual The Smiler station (with various changing patterns on the walls -- be warned, that linked video has a fair amount of flashing lights in it!). The left wing would be devoted to engineering and be filled with things like whirring little hypno-wheel gadgets, boxes with flashing lights, various skittering tiny robots, and other things of that nature. The right wing would be devoted to chemistry and have various workstations covered with bubbling flasks of liquid and hissing tanks filled with volatile gases -- though I'm really tempted to throw in a little bit of Willy Wonka flavor and have a big old waterfall of Joy Serum somewhere in here too. XD I mean, it feels like something Smiler would have -- maybe it flows into a giant pipe to provide the liquid for the fountain in Smile Street? Or perhaps it just serves as the "drinking water" for everyone there...

-->As for residents -- well, I suppose in addition to Advocates in lab coats tending all the various experiments, it would make sense to have Dr. Gladwell from the Smiler Takeover "Fear Test" show at the very least. After all, he is the Ministry's Chief Neurological Cortex Reprogrammer! :p The only thing complicating that is that I wanted to name Smiler's outfit for this area after him...but I suppose I could name it after his role in the Ministry instead... Anyway, the most notable resident here would naturally be the Marmaliser itself -- a big robot wandering around on its five limbs, looking for unhappy people to make happy and coming by the lab to have its Inoculator syringes and Giggler gas tanks refilled and its Tickler brushes, Flasher bulbs, and Hypnotiser wheels looked at and realigned as necessary.

Musical Mayhem: Hey, Victor wasn’t using the name :p This domain is all about Smiler's love of music and festivals and things of that nature, and -- as you might expect -- is strongly based around that whole The Smiler Takeover that Alton Towers did for the ride's 10th anniversary.

-->The domain itself is a giant fairground set in a field of glittery green grass under more of those yellow spiraling clouds, with a couple of black-and-white-cobbled looping paths winding through it. There are various carnival games scattered about (like the "Beat the Buzzer" game where you have to get a wire loop around a metal simplified Smiler logo without touching it, otherwise it'll buzz and you'll have to start again; hook-a-smiling-duck; bag tosses with grinning Smiler-logoed bags; one of those water gun games where you shoot Joy Serum at a target to make something rise up; etc), along with food stalls, comfy sitting areas, and carts where people can get balloons and little sparklers and trumpets to blow. As you might imagine, it's chaotic, but in a good way!

-->The dominant feature of the fairground, though, is a huge stage at the far end -- a bigger version of the Takeover's Celebration Stage, with all the smiley-face decorations but yellow curtains instead of red. There's a few rows of seats in front of the stage for people who want to sit down and watch, and designated "dancing spots" for those who want to dance and sing along. The dancing spots are generally more populated than the seats, as you might expect. XD

-->Again, the domain is mostly populated by Advocates from Smile Street, just enjoying the carnival -- but you can't have a Celebration Stage without Felix E. Lated as the star performer! :D (Again, Smiler can have their uncle in their Otherland, as a treat.) When he's not up on stage singing, he's wandering the fairground, encouraging everyone to let loose and have fun. Possibly Grin-Grin the clown (from the above-linked "Fear Test") also makes an appearance from time to time, creating balloon animals and telling ridiculous stories -- oh, and we probably should also have the contortionist and the magician from the "Meet The Ministry" stage show up too! All the performers for the Advocates to enjoy!

Sanctuary: Unfortunately for Smiler, as stated in the original post, we can’t neglect the spookier, scarier parts of the coaster’s theming -- and that means having a domain where everything is creepy and horrible, to represent their fears about going too far and actually harming people. And thus we have Sanctuary, inspired by all the Kelman-related materials, such as the Smile Always series and the Sanctuary scare mazes (a few clips of which can be seen in this informative video -- again, watch out for some flashing lights)! Hooray! :D

-->The area is a large, underground asylum, accessed by a pair of rusty metal swinging doors spray-painted with "THE TRUTH" in bright yellow (taken from one of the AR spots you could access with The Smiler Mobile Game back in the day -- there's a set hidden away in each of the other three domains) -- once inside, you're confronted with an absolute maze of concrete corridors, all painted a faded white. The place is not in good repair, with plenty of patches of exposed rebar and wiring on the walls and cracks in both the ceiling and the floor. The whole place is poorly lit, with buzzing yellow lights dangling from the ceiling and occasionally sparking or going out entirely. The only concession to color is in the various posters that have been hung up -- images of spirals with DO NOT RESIST written under them, photos of decaying animal corpses captioned with LIFE IS BAD, and various images of people with their mouths distorted into extremely creepy smiles. It's just a very unpleasant place to be!

-->There are two groups of people that live in this horrible location -- the first being the Corrected. These are the asylum's patients, dressed in tattered and dirty white t-shirts, pants, and dresses, who roam the halls and live in the various cells dotting the hallways. Most of them either have Glasgow smiles or various bits of machinery forcing their mouths into grins, and many also have at least a partially-shaved head and nasty scars on their scalps indicating brain surgery. However, the Corrected are all completely non-violent, either just wandering around doing their thing (vaguely giggling to themselves, drawing on the walls with whatever they can find, standing in small groups and laughing together) or hiding away from anyone they think is a threat.

-->No, the actual enemies of this area are the Staff -- the nurses and orderlies who run the place. The nurses are dressed in stained white uniform dresses, sporting dark circles around their eyes, vicious grins accented by dark lipstick, and long claw-like nails ready to take a swipe out of misbehaving patients; and the orderlies are dressed in similarly-stained yellowed scrubs, with the same dark circles around their eyes and vicious grins. The nurses carry syringes to stab unsuspecting victims, subjecting them to a variety of bizarre hallucinations; the orderlies carry shock batons guaranteed to bring patients to their knees. Their favorite activities are to stalk unwitting Corrected, then take them down while laughing hysterically. Not nice people at all!

-->And the person in charge of the whole shebang? Why, that would be Dr. Minister, a Kelman-like old man with a neat white suit sporting the Sanctuary logo, glinting glasses, and a smile that -- well, it's obvious the man's HEARD of smiling, but you're not sure he's ever seen it in action. He's insistent that everything he does for the Corrected is for their own good, and his ultimate goal is to turn Smiler into his apprentice/successor -- and Victor and Alice into Corrected. Smiler, as you might imagine, loathes this guy, and is absolutely terrified of ending up like him. :(

And that's everything I've got for now! It does make me slightly annoyed that I only have four domains for Smiler when Victor has five and Alice -- well, as per A:MR, the minimum is eight (presuming you don't count the Vale of Doom as separate from the Vale of Tears). But I do think that these four cover pretty much everything important when it comes to the coaster, it's themes, and all the events and attractions related to it. Next up, we have the weapons -- which, believe me, was a much easier post to make...

[magnusmodig]

yeah i'm one spoon away from setting the ends of my hair on fire if i'm kindling for a little while at least i'll feel of use... promise me that you'll start where i end and i promise to give you everything that i am and it goes on, and on, and on... we'll go on and on and on in the end all i hope for is to be a bit of warmth for you when there's not a lot of warmth left to go around.

[teaboot]

One time my mom took me to a hibachi grill with a bunch of her friends and if you've never been to a hibachi grill basically the draw is that theres a bunch of interactive performance stuff done by the cook who cooks for you at your table, and one of the tricks they did at this one was take a squeeze bottle full of liquor and shoot it into your mouth across the table (with permission)

And now at our table my mom explained this because it was my first time going, and she wanted to make sure to warn me it was liquor because she knows I don't drink- she just said "if he offers to shoot at your mouth, say no because it's alcohol".

And so the chef does his thing and it's all very impressive, but the time does come where he pulls out this squeeze bottle of booze and asks me if I wanna try

I of course say no, because I really don't do alcohol, so he moves on to someone else

And I watch, and slowly come to understand that this is some sort of game, because once someone is drinking from the continuous flow the chef starts counting "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

I realize that we're trying to see who can keep drinking the liquor from three feet away without choking or spilling, and its a bummer cause i kinda wanna try and I CAN'T

But he goes around the table with everyone there, and I think my mom makes it to three, one friend makes it to five, I think my brother got to three as well, and he comes back to me

And I'm REALLY bummed out now but I will not drink alcohol, so I sort of sadly repeat that I can't when he pulls out a SECOND BOTTLE and grins and goes "juice?"

And Im like FUCK YEAH LET'S GO and I'm a bit worried he's gonna spray it into my eye or something but he doesn't, it hits me right at the back of the throat, and I start drinking while the whole fucking table counts "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And like

It just sorta

Kept going?

And Im looking at the chef and he starts freaking out by the time we get to six, and at around seven I kinda start looking around and my auntie is staring back in shock, my brother is laughing his ass off and my mom has her face in her hands

And then at like nine or ten it gets like. Super tense and quiet, and only the chef is still counting

And I guess it got too much for even him cause we're at eleven and I don't believe in quitting early and it is almost painful how awkward it's getting

So he cuts me off at twelve and raises his hands in the air and everyone else cheers and claps like a dumb movie

and I just sit back in my seat to look back at my mother staring at me surrounded by everyone she knows, bright fucking red in the face and choking with honest to god tears in her eyes and she puts her face back in her palms and starts chanting "I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know"

So I give her the biggest, proudest grin and tell her, "I won."

So now every time something suggestive happens in a movie, or in conversation, or something shocking happens around us and she goes to jokingly cover my ears, I just ask her, "Remember when I won?" And she goes face-down and groans, because I know EXACTLY how she thinks I trained to develop that particular skill and she HATES knowing that about me

The truth is though, I'm a whole ass 28 year old virgin. I've never so much as kissed anyone in my life. I had no idea I could do that trick until that exact moment

But she doesn't know that, and I'm never gonna tell her

[orphiicheartd]

Taking a break from the tw.st but I FUCKEN LOVE THE MASQUERADE SO FAR AAAAAA

[monsterblogging]

"I know JK Rowing is a terrible person but her books are so good-"

You sure about that?

I mean, just for a start, have you taken a good look at her fantasy creatures lately? A whole bunch of them are straight-up based on malicious and dehumanizing stereotypes about actual people.

Remember the werewolves? And being a werewolf was made into a kind of metaphor for having AIDS?

And you know how AIDS was first associated with gay men? And how conservatives back in the day were claiming gay men were preying on children in order to convert them to gayness?

Remember how Fenrir Greyback preyed on children in particular? Yeah, she put that subtext in there. She was an adult in the 90's. She knew damn well what she was doing.

Remember the house elves? Remember how most of them loved to serve and needed to have a home and a master or else they just wouldn't know what to do with themselves?

Did you know that's literally what slavers in the American South said about the Black people they kept enslaved? Go look up the happy slave myth.

Do I even need to get into the goblins and the antisemitic tropes they're based on? No, folkloric goblins were not gold-hoarding bankers waiting for their chance to stab humanity in the back.

"But the characters are so good!"

Are you kidding me?

Most of her characters are pretty one-dimensional, including Harry. Her idea of making a morally complicated character is giving a tragic past to a bully. Numerous characters are little more than stereotypes. (Looking at Fleur right now.) Literally anybody, including you, can easily make dozens of characters just as good, if not better. (It doesn't exactly take a lot of character designing skill to go, "hey, actually, having a sad backstory doesn't make it okay to bully children" or "hey, maybe I should not base a character on the first stereotype that pops into my head.")

"But the rest of the worldbuilding!"

Sorry, but her worldbuilding is just as basic as her characters. Magical castles and secret passages are stock tropes. Magical people who keep their true nature secret from humanity is the premise of pretty much every White Wolf TTRPG. Most of her fantasy creatures are just common European fairy tale and folklore creatures with shitty stereotypes projected onto them.

I'm not saying "basic worldbuilding bad." I'm saying, you could do just as good, if not better, with minimal effort.

Also there's her magical bioessentialism, where only Harry's abusive blood relatives could provide him with supernatural protection from Voldemort. Rowling thus effectively declared that non-biological family isn't quite real family, and that abusive biofamily can give you some essential thing that a loving, supportive family that isn't related to you just can't.

The Hogwarts houses are one of the most insidious elements of her worldbuilding. The idea of being sorted gives you a little dopamine hit because wow now you have a li'l niche where you belong!

But the actual function of the houses and sorting system and the House Cup is teaching children to see each other as rivals, and ensure that the most toxic views of the upper class get passed on to every new batch of kids sorted into Slytherin.

Hogwarts effectively prepares children for a dystopia where magic serves to distract its citizens from how nightmarishly awful it is. Economic inequality is so bad that people like Arthur and Molly Weasley can barely afford to put their kids through school, casual sadism is just an accepted norm in everyday society, and non-humans are second class citizens. Rowling sorta acts like she thinks this is a bad thing with certain lines she gave to Dumbledore, but in the end, her special boy protagonist becomes an auror; IE, a defender of the status quo. So.

If you've never seen it, Lily Simpson's video goes into even more detail on how the worldbuilding of Harry Potter is actually incredibly fucked up, and how it betrays small-minded attitudes on Rowling's part. There's no separating the art from this artist, because Rowling's rotten values pour out of nearly every page.

Yes, there are many things in Harry Potter that evoke feelings and inspire people, but there's absolutely nothing in it that this series has a monopoly on. You can find those same experiences in much, much better media.

[honeypiehotchner]

Juno (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- one shot

Hello again! This goes from zero to 100 in two seconds flat don't @ me!! Sabrina's new album came out and reawakened something in me (everyone say thank you Sabrina) (also this is not beta'd I wrote this in a short n' sweet haze)

Summary: Aaron is working from home but what paperwork he needs to do is the absolute last thing on your mind.

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! this is so filthy! in no particular order: multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, brat tendencies, stoplight system, unprotected sex, breeding kink (briefly), face fucking, overstimulation

WC: like 3,400 I lost my damn mind clearly

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you. Blame it on period hormones (probably) or the fact that Aaron looks absolutely delicious right now in his tight black t-shirt (most likely), but you’re going to go insane if either of you have clothes on for another five minutes. 

The problem is, Aaron is trying to focus. It’s one of his days where he works from home, an idea you gave him when you realized how easy it would be for him to do the same paperwork just from the comfort of your living room. It was a brilliant idea at first. You got to see him more, and were able to do your own thing around the house while he did his work. You got to have lunch together, and offer a genuine mental break in between his mountain of paperwork. 

Now, though, you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck about whatever needs to be signed, who needs to clear what, and what phone calls he still needs to make. 

“Honey,” you call sweetly from the kitchen. You watch him from over the island, your thoughts going all sorts of ways -- namely, deep into the gutter. “Want to break for lunch?”

You see Aaron shake his head, still typing furiously on his laptop. “It’s not even noon yet.”

“Brunch?” you try again, walking out of the kitchen. You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest in the way you know he loves because of the view it gives him of your cleavage. And you’re wearing a v-neck shirt today for that exact reason, too.

Aaron still doesn’t look up. “I’m sorry honey, maybe in an hour?”

You let out a huff that you know he hears because he finally looks up, eyebrows raised just so. It’s a look that you love. Curious, veering toward that playful annoyance that you can’t seem to go a few hours without his undivided attention. 

Which, you can, by the way. You’re more than capable. It’s just that right now, it’s a crime that his eyes have been looking at paperwork when they should be looking at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and there’s some hesitation in his voice. You know he’s assuming the worst. That you’re not okay mentally, and that’s why you need him to take his lunch break now or maybe for the rest of the day. He’s done it before on your darker days.

But you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine. You’d just be even better if he put the damn laptop away and put his fingers to use somewhere else.

Which is exactly why you come to a stop in front of him and reach forward, tilting his screen down and down until it closes. He lets you.

He lets you take his laptop and put it on the table beside the couch. He watches you, his fiery brown eyes taking in every second. He lets you straddle his hips, your arms circling his neck.

“I see now,” he smirks, his hands finding their rightful place on your waist and squeezing lovingly. “By ‘lunch break’ you mean…”

“Put a baby in me,” you blurt, rocking your hips against his.

He stills, his hands making you stop your movements, too. His eyes are darker now in a way you haven’t seen in a while. “What?”

“Please,” you say, leaning your forehead down onto his, trying to move your hips again. “Need you.”

“Honey, we can’t have--”

“Yes I know the semantics, Aaron,” you mutter, now annoyed and lifting your head to glare at him. He has a vasectomy, you get that. “I mean fuck me like you’re putting a baby in me.”

His hands squeeze again. “I see.”

You frown. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” he smirks, one hand leaving your waist to stroke your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re horny.”

You roll your eyes, peeling yourself off his lap. He lets you go, albeit with a curious look. You turn and head for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after you, still with that damn smirk lacing his words.

“To get myself off,” you reply in a deadpan. “Since someone--”

You don’t have a chance to finish your sentence before Aaron is right behind you, hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him. That look full of fire is back again, stern this time.

“Did I say you could do that?” he says in a low tone.

“Did I ask?” you retort, backing out of his grasp and darting into the bedroom. 

Now there’s a smirk on your lips. It’s quickly approaching shit-eating grin territory, which you know will only egg Aaron on further. This little game of cat and mouse happens to be your favorite, and he knows it.

You’re barely two steps into the bedroom when Aaron is attached to your back yet again, this time wrapping his arms around your waist, locking you in.

“Color?” he whispers, his lips right at your ear, sending shivers straight down your spine.

You groan. “Green. Neon green. So green, I need you to--”

He spins you again, this time backing you into the wall and attacking your lips. Finally, you think, though you know you’re in for it now. The thought has a grin crawling up your lips, and you’re unable to stop it.

“What’s so funny, hm?” he scolds, moving his lips to your neck instead, to the exact spot he knows makes you weak in the knees. Like clockwork, he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you upright, your knees buckling when he bites down just so.

“Nothing,” you manage through a moan, tipping your head back onto the wall. “Shit.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling against your skin. “Can’t let me focus on work because you need me to fuck you.”

“In my defense,” you try, your hands scrambling for his shoulders, for something to ground you. “You didn’t fuck me this morning.”

“I fucked you last night,” he reminds you, as if you needed the reminder. It’s the reason you slept so soundly. “Was that not enough?”

You can’t help it; you laugh. 

He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. The same question as before on his lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were joking,” you say. 

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Guilty,” you grin, grabbing his face and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You make out against the wall for too long like two teenagers behind the bleachers at school. You hook one leg around his hips, pulling him in and grinding against his obvious erection. It’s enough to have him groaning into your mouth, pressing you against the wall with renowned vigor. 

You can feel how wet you’re becoming and fuck, neither of you have even taken a single article of clothing off yet.

Aaron notices, one hand traveling south without you paying attention, too busy relishing the way he licks into your mouth, stealing your every breath. The kissing becomes increasingly sloppy when he works his hand into your leggings, under the waistband of your underwear, and into you.

“Oh my god,” your back arches against the wall, pushing his fingers deeper. He doesn’t bother with one, starting right away with two, curling them when you grind harder.

“You’re soaking my hand,” he practically growls into the next kiss, adding a third finger after only a few thrusts. Your body accepts it willingly, always ready for him. “Jesus.”

“More,” you gasp, pushing him deeper. “Aaron, more, I’m serious--” Your words break off as he scissors his fingers, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“I can feel you already,” he smirks against your cheek, pressing a kiss there, an action so sweet and gentle compared to what the rest of him is doing. “Come on, honey. You’re cumming as many times as you want.”

That makes you inch closer to the edge at a frightening speed. He says you can cum as many times as you want, but what he means is he’s going to force as many orgasms out of you as he can. Until you tell him to stop or he decides you need a break. 

The thought of being an overstimulated mess in his embrace later has you climaxing against his fingers, your head falling onto his shoulder as his movements never cease, milking every last wave out of you. 

You lift your head in search of his lips again, which he willingly gives to you, his fingers slowing to soothing strokes as you whimper into his mouth. You’ve only had one orgasm and you already feel ruined. He can tell the way you tremble against him, so he checks in once more.

“Green?” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

You nod. “Green. You?”

He smirks. “Absolutely.”

He picks you up into his arms, inelegantly tossing you onto the bed behind you. You giggle as you bounce on the mattress, tugging your shirt over your head as he does the same to his. His hands move for his belt and you practically jump to the end of the bed, swatting his hands away.

“Since when is that your job?” you frown up at him, unbuckling his belt without looking.

He laughs, petting your head gently. “So sorry, you’re right.”

“What was that?” you tease. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” you smirk, pulling his belt out of the loops and tossing it somewhere. You don’t wait for him to reply before you unbutton his jeans, yanking them down with his boxers.

There’s just something about his dick. You hate that you love it, or maybe you don’t hate it at all. All you know is you need it in your mouth right now.

So, you do that, without any warning. Aaron thrusts forward into your mouth on pure instinct, not expecting you to wrap your lips around him so soon. You slide down the edge of the bed onto your knees, pulling him back to you by his thighs. 

You take your time, pushing his jeans and boxers down further. When you pull back for air, he steps out of them and kicks them elsewhere, returning to you quickly, knowing better than to keep you waiting. 

You swallow him down again, moaning around him in the way you know he loves. It takes all of two seconds before he gently holds the back of your head, asking silently for permission that you were already about to grant. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes as you squeeze his thigh twice. Go ahead.

The thing about Aaron fucking your face is that it took a while for him to do it as hard as you really wanted. He’s always so gentle, a quality that drew you to him initially. You love how gentle he can be. But you love it equally as much when he is rougher with you.

Like now, when he has you pinned against the bed, one hand on the back of your head as he fucks into your throat. It’s blissful, quite frankly, the way he feels, and you thank the universe every time for your lack of a gag reflex. 

He holds you there with a deep groan, and you feel him twitch in your throat once before he pulls you off entirely. You frown up at him, once again not getting what you wanted, but he doesn’t have any time for that.

He picks you up by your armpits, hauling you back onto the bed. Your leggings and underwear are gone in a single second, along with your bra. He’s crawling up your body and crowding your space before you have a second to protest that he wasn’t down your throat for near as long as you wanted him to be. 

All frustrations leave your mind the second he pushes inside of you, immediately sliding home, his hips flush against yours. 

It’s a feeling you’ve grown to love, the way he hits you so deep. Another thing it took him a while to be comfortable doing.

He’s not average sized by any means, and you’re the first to admit it made you salivate the first time you saw. The first time he fed himself into you and worried that he was hurting you, meanwhile you were clawing his back because you wanted more. It hurt for a moment, only an uncomfortable pressure because he was bigger than your vibrator, but as soon as you were used to the size of him, you wanted all of him.

He stays there, deep in you without moving for a moment, grinding against you. His lips attack yours again before he pauses to lean his forehead on yours, trying to catch his breath.

“You drive me crazy,” he says on a shaky exhale.

You wrap your legs around him, thrusting your hips up to take him a little more. His hips stutter, pushing in the way you wanted him to, the way you know you can make him do involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he bites out, turning his attention to your neck again.

You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging. “Exactly. So why aren’t you moving?”

He nips at your neck. “Because if I move, I will cum right away.”

“Who said I only want you to cum inside me once?”

He groans again, fingers digging into your hips as you circle them, though he doesn’t try to stop you. “Greedy” is all he says, but he finally moves.

The thrusts are slow at first, Aaron clearly trying to pace himself. You can’t say you’re doing the same, already chasing your second high as he slams his hips into yours. Your hand reaches down to rub your clit, but is promptly smacked away by Aaron’s hand as he glares at you.

“Since when is that your job?” he echoes you from earlier, only this time, there’s more heat to it. He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head to stop any other temptation. “Not this time.”

His thrusts pick up speed and depth, his body moving against yours in the exact way that makes you fall apart. It’s not often that he doesn’t let you cum from added clit stimulation -- not that you can’t without it; it just makes the high feel that much better -- but sometimes he does. It’s an ego trip for him as much as it is for you.

It also adds an unpredictable nature to it, which is why your second orgasm takes you by such surprise. You seize against him, your hands doing all sorts of squirming to try to break free of his grasp, but he doesn’t let you, and he doesn’t let up. You don’t realize why until you feel the warmth spreading into you as he reaches his own peak. 

You’ve clearly worked him up as much as you worked yourself up because his thrusts barely slow down, and he doesn’t soften inside of you. 

Instead, he pulls out only to flip you on your side, sliding in behind you and pulling your leg up and back over his hips. The action causes some of his cum to spill out of you, but you don’t have any time to focus on that before he fucks back into you. 

You’ve ceased to have any coherent thoughts as Aaron whispers dirty nothings into your ear, one arm wrapped around your body to keep you pinned against him. The pleasure doesn’t stop and at one point, you question if your second orgasm stopped at all or if it has continued this entire time.

Aaron reaches underneath the pillow where he knows he’ll find one of your vibrators because he heard you using it this morning. No, he didn’t fuck you this morning, but you fucked yourself, and truly, at 8am, he should’ve known you’d end up like this by eleven. 

Your mind doesn’t register what the sound means until the vibrator is pressed against your clit. Your body jerks, scrambling for some grounding, your hands finding it in wrapping them around his arm. 

He switches hands on the vibrator, so one hand is free to wrap around your throat. Your eyes roll back as soon as you feel the gentle pressure, your body practically going limp against him. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs directly into your ear, his thrusts slowing to deep strokes. “You’ve got a couple more in you.”

“A couple?” is all you manage to say, your hand squeezing his wrist so he knows to squeeze your throat a little more.

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. “Is it too much?” His question is laced with just the right amount of pity that makes you shake your head against him. “I thought so,” he replies, switching the vibrator to a higher setting.

It sends you into your third orgasm instantly, squirming violently against him as he pushes into you deeper. He knows how much you love that, and loves how much you squeeze around him as he slides inside, fighting against your muscles that threaten to force him out. You’ve done it before, a mesmerized look on his face and yours when you both realized what happened. Since then, you told him you liked it more when he fought to stay inside. 

He takes the vibrator away as you calm down, his hips also pausing, keeping himself deep inside you. The pressure is soothing, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. His palm falls away from your throat, instead propping underneath your cheek.

It takes a few seconds before you feel yourself spasming around him. He chuckles against your back, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Still?”

You nod dumbly, rocking your hips again. “Yeah. I don’t know, I just-- Need more.”

“I’ve got you,” he soothes, pulling out again to roll you onto your stomach instead, one of your favorite positions.

You’re floating as you settle into the pillows, letting Aaron manhandle you wherever you need to be. You groan in your happy, blissed out state as he slides home again, draping himself over your back.

He is gentler now, knowing that’s exactly what you need at this point. The last orgasm he pulls from you is just as gentle, and he pushes deeper into you, letting you ride it out. 

He pulls your hips up and thrusts once, twice before he’s spilling into you. You didn’t realize he was that close again. The warmth is soothing this time as it spreads through you. 

Aaron leaves you only to settle behind you, spooning you once again. Your hand reaches behind you to find him, and he catches your wrist. 

“You need to rest,” he chides softly.

“I know,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck as he slides in again, still half-hard, but it’s enough. You settle down as soon as the weight of him is tucked inside you again. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you sleepily nod, pushing back into him so he holds you tighter. “Do you have to go back to work?”

He chuckles against you, sighing. “No, I’m done for the day, I think,” he says. “I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

That makes you laugh. “We need a better excuse.”

“Or I need to go back to working in the office.”

You roll your eyes. “Like that’ll make a difference.”

He shakes his head, his mind remembering the same memories that you are. The many lunch hours when you went to eat with him, and ended up with your back pressed into the couch, his tie stuffed in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Go to sleep,” he says, pulling you impossibly closer. “I’ll make us lunch when we wake up.”

“Perfect,” you smile, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he says, pressing little kisses to your neck and cheeks, wherever he can reach. “Now sleep.”

You’re already halfway there. The combination of him nestled inside of you and the post-orgasm exhaustion is enough to lull you into a restful sleep.

[elliesanqel]

pause, catching ellie drawing you naked !

oops! ⋆˙⟡

warnings; perv!ellie, mentions of nudity, language, suggestiveness, men and minors dni.

a/n; i saw this req and i was like nah i HAVE to write this ASAP. i loved the idea sm and loved writing it. thank you for requesting! ➝ masterlist

~

ellie has a thing for you. you even knew before she herself knew. she was always awkward around you and she did that thing all the time where she rubs the back of her neck any time she’d get close to you. knowing she liked you and knowing how much she liked you were vaguely different, though. you’d often just come over to her cabin, walking in without even knocking because she’d always let you.

that was till now. ellie thought you had been put on patrol today because she’d asked. and she asked for a reason. not very smart of her to be leaving her door unlocked but she was non the wiser that someone else had took your spot and you weren’t leaving today. ellie spun the pen nervously in her hand, images of you flashing up in her head, the ones she could never rid. her diary on her lap, her leg bouncing up and down. there was no way she could ever get rid of these thoughts—ones of you…naked. yeah…naked.

she silently cursed herself for thinking of you like this, but it made the heat growing between her thighs feel hotter. until her pencil meets the paper. “fuck,” she mumbles as she draws you on her page, drawing every single detail and leaving nothing left out, making sure its perfect for her eyes only. she focused on particular areas, such as your boobs, your pussy, your hips, the list goes on. she gave alot of detail, until she heard her door slam open.

“oh my gosh, ellie! you’re never gonna believe what i—“ you paused, your eyes landing on her completely pale and dumbfounded face. she never normally looked like that when you walked in so you immediately raises your suspicions. her demeanour completely changed—almost slamming her diary shut. your brows furrow, looking at her as she never broke eye contact, probably because she couldnt move from shock and silently praying you didnt see anything.

“what was that?” you ask, voice innocent and it ran straight through her. her eyes blinked, her whole body shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “n—nothing…!” she gulped, but you could see right through her lie. your eyes squinted as you walked closer to her, her eyes never leaving you as you did because she didnt know what else to even look at. she held her diary tighter—thinking you wouldnt suddenly take it out of her hands, even though thats exactly what you did. she gasped slightly, her face now growing redder. “w—wait, i…” she stutters. fuck. now she was definitely in deep shit. or so she thought.

your eyes widened at the page you opened up to, seeing your exact figure, but naked. your eyes widen even further, your finger tracing over the paper. you never knew she was capable of such things as this, but nonetheless you never felt uncomfortable. you noticed how she’d payed extra attention to certain places and it made you grin. you put her book down, standing straight infront of her as you look down at her in her seat, looking completely helpless.

“its good, i’ll give you that. but i think you need a reference, hm?” you say, beginning to take your shirt off slowly.

ellies eyes widen and her cheeks grow pure red, immediately shifting in her seat as she now realised what you meant as she watched you completely undress infront of her eyes, absolutely unashamed and she loved that.

it turned out her night was going to be long after all.

taglist: @valeisaslut @elliesfavtoy @ttspenny @ellieswrath @willurms @slutt4ellie @stvrluvrrpres @elliescoochieeater @les4elliewilliams @eveyuyy @starwilliams @eriiwaii @vahnilla @ellieputellas @vampirq @elliesngirl @se4ttlellie @edenspoem

[kithtaehyung]

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | ���� join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[blushedfemmes]

i wish people would stop making well-intentioned positivity posts for stone bottoms/pillow princesses that begin and end with scolding people for ‘not respecting our boundaries.’ like yeah it’s partly about boundaries but it’s way more about how sex- topping in particular- is viewed as labor, and therefore must be a reciprocal or somehow equal exchange. the same way one might talk about household chores. shit-talking pillow princesses is so common within sapphic spaces because it is perceived to be a MORAL stance. treating this problem as if it’s purely an interpersonal matter of respecting individual boundaries is not gonna get us anywhere.

sex is only work when it’s sex work. if you think topping is a chore, you shouldn’t be doing it. if a satisfying sexual encounter for you involves taking turns, or trading orgasms, or whatever, of course that’s completely fine and good! the problem arises when people assume that’s the default, natural, moral, correct or only way of having sex as a queer person. when people assume that it goes without saying. stone folks exist in defiance of that. and everyone benefits from shedding normative, restrictive ideas about sex. which, by the way, is a value-neutral 100% optional activity with infinite variations. we need to work on tearing down any moralizing about how it should be done, beyond risk-aware consent, which is really all that matters.

people feel justified in disregarding, mocking, belittling or shaming stone folks’ boundaries because they do not think those boundaries are morally or socially correct. i know these positivity posts mean well, but shouting ‘respect boundaries!!’ over and over is missing the bigger picture.