#anyways that’s a rabbit trail but what I’m saying is

[hazzabeeforlou]

.

[icyminghao]

look at me

pairing: jeonghan x gn!reader genre: fluff, some angst(?), college!au warning(s): none word count: 1.2k

summary: you’ve been noticing that jeonghan never fails to maintain eye contact with everyone he converses with. everyone but you, that is.

In your past year of interacting with and being around a certain Yoon Jeonghan from Mass Communications, you’ve noticed that he loves eye contact.

He maintains intense eye contact in every conversation, one that would definitely render you speechless had you been the receiver of his undivided attention.

Which is why this whole… thing has increasingly become evidence of Yoon Jeonghan’s possible dislike towards you.

From what you’ve noticed, Jeonghan holds eye contact with everyone he’s speaking with, but not you.

You’ve tried asking his best friend, Jisoo, if he’d experienced something similar and whether it was normal, to which he’d just let out an awkward laugh and told you to “Go ask him yourself”, much to your dismay.

But then again, you’re probably overthinking. Right?

“What are you thinking about?”

As if on cue, Wonwoo shows up at just the right time to ground you before you start spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-doubt.

“You know what I’m thinking about,” you sigh, sending Wonwoo a tight-lipped smile.

“Jeonghan again, huh?” Wonwoo chuckles, eyes trailing after the man of the hour from across the bar, having the time of his life with his two best friends in tow. Beside you, Soonyoung nearly spits out his drink at whatever had just come out of Wonwoo’s mouth.

“Yoon Jeonghan? y/n, you like—”

“Soonie, no!” you lightly hit Soonyoung on his forearm, and he dramatically winces in pain like you’d just delivered a killing blow to his arm, “I just… think he doesn’t like me.”

“What? Why? He’s—”

“It’s stupid,” you cut Soonyoung off before he can complete his sentence. Soonyoung simply stares at you, and you sigh.

“Well, um, you know how he always maintains eye contact with whoever he’s speaking?” Soonyoung raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but nods anyway, prompting you to continue, “I’ve been realising recently that he just doesn’t seem to want to look at me every time we talk.”

An eerie silence engulfs the three of you, and you can almost hear the gears turning in Soonyoung’s head, making you all the more insecure.

“Let me get this straight,” Soonyoung speaks up after what feels like a long while, holding back laughter, “You think that loverboy over there doesn’t like you because he refuses to make eye contact with you?”

“I told you it was stupid!” you groan, resting your head on your hands, “Wonwoo, help me here!”

“Well, it is pretty stupid,” Wonwoo shrugs, patting your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“He doesn’t hate you, y/n,” Soonyoung pipes up, practically exploding from where he’s seated. “It’s quite the opposite, really-”

“What’s quite the opposite?” you remove your head from your hands to be greeted with the sight of Seungcheol coming up to stand in front of the three of you, Jeonghan and Jisoo in tow.

“Hyung! My man,” Soonyoung raises his voice in excitement, and you wince a little at the sheer volume as they both greet each other with a hug.

As usual, Jeonghan’s eyes are trained on anything but you, and you can’t help but notice that he’s being a little more fidgety than usual, bouncing on the balls of his feet and playing with his fingers all while Seungcheol and Soonyoung are quite literally acting like nobody else is around them watching their interaction.

“Anyway, we’re here because Jeonghan… has something to say to y/n,” Seungcheol turns to us and explains with a teasing lilt in his voice, and Jeonghan’s cheeks darken ever so slightly under the dim lighting of the club.

“He does? That’s literally such a coincidence, we were just talk—”

“Let’s go, Soonyoung, I just saw Jihoon over there,” Wonwoo cups a hand over Soonyoung’s mouth before he can complete his sentence, practically dragging him away from the conversation.

Seungcheol and Jisoo, too, bid their awkward goodbyes, each lightly punching Jeonghan on his shoulder before leaving the two of you behind. Alone.

For awhile, the two of you simply stand there in silence, and you can only hope and pray for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Um—”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Jeonghan cuts you off as you speak, and your eyes widen a little at his cold tone.

“Oh, I—” you shrink into yourself, willing yourself to stay calm.

“No! Wait, I meant—” Jeonghan leans forward, taking a deep breath, “Seungcheol and Jisoo put me up for this for no reason.”

“So it’s a joke?” you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow at Jeonghan as the embers of rage grow inside of you.

“No! I—” Jeonghan’s eyes widen, immediately shaking his head to refute before you cut him off.

“Do you hate me, Jeonghan?”

“What? No, I- I don’t hate you, y/n,” Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you refuse to look at me every time we talk, and now you’re- you’re doing this and making me confused and- I don’t know what to think, Jeonghan.” you bite back, growing more and more annoyed by the second

“Look, I-” Jeonghan pauses, seemingly trying to gather the right words, “I don’t hate you, y/n. I could never.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Jeonghan holds a hand up, continuing, “I’m just— I usually know what to do, okay? Usually, it’d be the other way around, and you’d be the one as flustered as I am right now, but you’re- you’re different. I’ve… had a crush on you ever since we met through Wonwoo and I just… couldn’t hold a conversation with you long enough without chickening out and just ended up trying as much as possible not to interact with or look at you so I don’t make a fool of myself and I guess… you saw it as me hating you and no, that’s not true, it’s far from it even, I—”

Jeonghan is cut off as you lean forward to press the tiniest of kisses on his lips to shut him up, and his eyes widen in response.

“I like you too, Jeonghan,” you flash him the softest of smiles, and he just looks right back at you blankly, still trying to process what had just happened, much to your endearment.

“You… do?” you nod. “But… I was so horrible to you.”

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” you reply, and Jeonghan shakes his head immediately. “I didn’t, but—”

“Well, then, you could make up for it by taking me on a date,” you cut him off, surprising both him and yourself at your boldness. Jeonghan flashes the cutest shade of red, before nodding determinedly.

“We should get back to the boys,” wrapping your arms around Jeonghan, you start leading him towards where the boys have gathered from across the club, filled with newfound hope for your blossoming relationship with Jeonghan, “They haven’t stopped looking at us since they left.”

BONUS:

“And then he told me to— Hannie, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Jeonghan simply chuckles from beside you as you pause your rambling, furrowing your brows at him.

“You’re staring. What happened to refusing to look at me, hm?” you lean towards him, taunting.

“Well, that made you think I hated you, so I’ve gotta ramp up the eye contact to make sure you know how much I love you, babe.” Jeonghan leans forward too, resting his forehead on yours.

“You’re so cheesy,” you lightly punch his chest, giggling.

“Only for you, babe.”

a/n: hi i’m back! i hope this was okay, i struggled with jeonghan’s characterisation but i thought a flustered him would be cute ><

taglist: @xomingyu @pepperonidk @belladaises @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia @kwantaro @chanceonceli

masterlist

[aliesbienish]

A study of wolves: chapter three

chapter one ✩ chapter two

Paul Lahote x Reader

- The previous day -

“Why did we even agree to this study, clearly she is going to notice signs that the wolves around here aren’t always of the typical gray variety?” Paul questioned the tribal council, pacing at the foot of the meeting table.

“Son we didn’t have a choice, the majority of the land you boys protect falls out of the reservation. It was going ahead anyway, so it made sense to at least have someone from the council always there to steer clear of anything suspicious,” Billy placated, hands up in surrender to the clearly riled man.

“Billy’s right Paul,” Sam chimed in “there wasn’t an option. Plus this way we get income from the cabin and a guide. You know we need this to complete the maintenance on the school.”

“So you are okay with us becoming a study? Because we all know between the cameras and her field observation training we’re fucked. There is no way we can always play it safe with these cold ones lurking around, a mistake is inevitable.”

“Son,” Billy continued “it’s not even like it’s an issue anymore. You’ve imprinted on her, so she is one of us now. It’s well within reason to tell her what is going on.”

“No” Paul growled. “That is my choice and it’s absolutely not happening. Some silly idea that she’s my soulmate doesn’t change the fact she is a complete stranger. We don’t how she’ll react, there is no way I’m risking it,”

“You might not have a choice if she catches sight of something she’s not supposed to.”

“This is my only choice, and I’m not letting anyone taking it from me. Not even you.”

Billy sighed, resting his head in his hands. The chief was well aware what Paul’s reservations were really about. “Son, I know you didn’t want this. But please understand this is a blessing from the spirits, fighting this will only hurt you,”

“I refuse to let my choice be taken away, and I refuse to let hers. I will help to keep our secret safe but once this project is over she will leave and life will continue. And I don’t want anyone to try to do anything to change that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sky was clear but the southerly winds whipped ferociously along the cliff face where Paul parked up. The great blue expanse of ocean was mesmerising, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was in moments like this you felt solace, out of the noise and bustle of large cities. Just the sounds of birds, waves crashing and winds whistling amongst the trees. After taking the moment to ground yourself you made your way over to the truck bed to grab your gear, Paul doing the same with his own bag.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well the most recent report says the last sighting was off this trail here,” you said pointing across the gravel road and to the unsigned trail head. “It happened in a clearing about four miles in so I think we head out there keeping an eye out on the way.”

“Sure thing boss. Anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“If you wouldn’t mind looking for prints, the ground should be pretty muddy under the vegetation cover so anything that’s been here since the previous rainfall last week should have left a mark. I don’t think we’ll actually come across a wolf since they’re nocturnal. But hopefully we can find a good spot for at least one of the cameras,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For the past hour you had been hiking in relative silence. Paul lead the way, keeping a steady but maintainable pace. The trail itself was muddy but relatively flat, and wide enough you didn’t have to squeeze past any bushes. So far you hadn’t spotted anything apart from a wild rabbit that darted across the path in front of you.

Seeing a fallen trunk parallel to the path up ahead you decided now was as good a time as any to have a break.

“You keen for some morning tea?” You called to your companion, who gave you a nod and slowed down.

Perching on the thankfully stable trunk you pulled out the first of the sandwich haul.

“What’s your poison; PB & J or ham and cheese?”

“Whatever one you don’t want,”

“Na-ah, that wasn’t my question now was it. What kind of boss would I be if I just gave my worker scraps?”

“A standard one,” Paul smirked. Before grabbing the ham and cheese sandwich from the lunchbox. “Thanks”

“So Paul,” you began after a few bites of food, “what do you usually do besides leading clueless city girls around the forest ?”

“Thanks for making me sound like a serial killer. Plus I wouldn’t call you clueless,”

“I mean in the serial killer equation I think I’d rather be clueless. Would be worse if I willingly followed a killer into the middle of nowhere. Now answer the question idiot,” you laughed affectionately.

“Whatever the council needs really. Usually some form of construction or land maintenance,”

“Do you enjoy it? I imagine it’s nice to be working with your hands and doing something different every day?”

“I do. It’s not what I had anticipated doing, but it keeps me busy. I don’t think I could ever work in an office.”

“What did you think you’ll be doing?” You paused a second, and realised you may be getting too intrusive with someone you didn’t know. Something about Paul just made you want to dig into what made him…well him. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that. I’ll just shut up,”

“Don’t worry [y/n], it’s fine. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone,”

“I solemnly swear,” you declared grabbing his left pinkie with your right.

“Child,” Pull laughed, before wrapping his pinkie around your own. “I also thought by now I’d be travelling the country. Maybe working with animals on my way, at a ranch or something like that,”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it’s smart, animals are obviously much better than people,”

“Obviously,” he snorted.

“May I asked what changed?”

“Ah just council things really, it’s my duty to the tribe.”

You could tell he was skirting around the answer, but you knew it would be beyond rude to pry any further.

“Well there’s still plenty of time to try something new,” you declared as you swung your backpack on. “Shall we continue future cowboy?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you all enjoyed xx

Next chapter

[driflew]

another zero context renchanting au scene, from yet another au w cherri. this one doesnt have a name (we've just been calling it "witch au" w the vague promise to make a better name eventually that has not yet been fulfilled) but theres witches and werewolves and it's a fun time.

anyway. here's a scene where Ren doesnt know what the hell is happening. see if you can figure it out faster than he does

Ren wakes with a start. His whole body tingles; there’s pins and needles through every limb, wrapped around his spine, and laced just below every rib. The only thing he can feel is a burning in his throat, and he forces his half-numb body to roll over onto his stomach to force out whatever is lodged there. He coughs violently into the hardwood floor below him, and what comes up is sticky clumps of something red-brown. 

“Woah, hey, you’re okay,” it takes Ren a half-moment to register Martyn’s hand on his back, but no time at all to recognize his voice. “You’re fine, you’re okay.” 

Ren keeps coughing until he feels he can breathe again, Martyn smoothing short lines and circles down his shoulder and through his hair. Ren’s not wearing a shirt, if the immediacy of Martyn’s palm against the skin of his back is anything to go by, but he doesn’t raise his head to check. 

“I’m—?” Ren says, unsure what he’s asking, because he’s having a bit of trouble thinking. His head feels full of cotton, asleep as every one of his limbs. 

“You’re okay,” Martyn assures, “Can you sit up for me? I want to check you over.” 

Ren does as he’s told, but the movements are awkward. When he pries himself off the ground, he finds himself to be in Martyn’s living room, though Martyn has moved the rug to make for some kind of magic circle. The two of them are sitting in the middle, candles and spellbooks about nearby. The most worrying thing Ren sees is a bloody pile of fur—normally, Ren would assume any dead animals to be his own doing, but rabbits and squirrels like the ones he sees are too small to be of interest to the wolf, and the wounds are too clean to be his claws or teeth. 

If Ren had to guess, Ren would say Martyn stabbed an alarming number of small animals right beside Ren’s head while he slept off his transformation, though he has no idea why Martyn would do anything like that. 

Martyn’s hand smoothes over Ren’s chest, palm flat over his heart, distracting Ren entirely from his thoughts. Ren looks down—no, he isn’t wearing anything, though it’s not like it’s the first time Martyn’s seen him like this, what with the amount of full moons he’s weathered and returned to himself from in Martyn’s company. It’s the first time Martyn’s been even remotely touchy with him, though, which Ren finds absolutely baffling. 

“How do you feel?” Martyn asks. He applies some pressure to Ren’s chest, though Ren has no idea what he’s trying to do. 

“I feel…” Ren has to think for a moment, but his thoughts feel difficult to wrangle, “Strange.” 

“Strange?” Martyn asks. Ren lifts one of his hands, stretching and uncurling his fingers. The pins and needles feeling begins to clear, leaving his body feeling clumsy and sore. 

“I dunno,” Ren says. His tongue is no exception to the strange state of Ren’s muscles, but if Martyn notices the slur in his words, he doesn’t say. 

“Okay,” Martyn says, “What’s the last thing you remember?” 

“I…” Ren trails off. He isn’t sure about that, either. Was it the full moon last night? It must be, if he’s naked on Martyn’s floor, but he doesn’t remember anything else. 

“It’s okay,” Martyn says, but he doesn’t sound okay. “Do you remember who you are?” 

“Ren,” Ren says, because he does know that, and he’s not sure why Martyn would think he doesn’t. 

“Good. Do you…” Martyn moves his hand from Ren’s chest to his hair, twisting one of the loose strands hanging down Ren’s chest between two fingers and a thumb. “You know me, right?” 

“Yeah,” Ren says, “Martyn.” 

“Good,” Martyn says, “I’d be really offended if you forgot me.” 

Ren laughs under his breath, but doesn’t comment on it. The harder he thinks back to his last memory, the more fuzzy he feels. They haven’t bothered with trying to sedate the wolf in months—did something change? Did he do something different? Why can’t Ren recall anything from last night?

“Did we use a new sedative?” Ren asks. He doesn’t know what else would leave him feeling this out of it, though he can’t remember taking anything. 

Martyn’s hand freezes in his hair. 

“You don’t remember?” Martyn asks. Ren shakes his head—Martyn releases his hair to free it for the movement, dropping his hand down to rest on Ren’s leg. Ren’s eye follows it down, where he finds he appears to be wrapped in a bedsheet, spare fabric bunching around his waist. 

“No,” Ren says, “I don’t— my head feels weird.” 

“It’ll pass,” Martyn promises him, reaching up to place both hands on either temple. “Close your eyes. This’ll help.” 

Ren does as he’s told. There’s a flash against his eyelids, and when Martyn pulls his hands away, Ren finds he can think a little clearer. 

“What else?” Martyn asks, “Are you in pain?” 

“I’m sore. Especially,” Ren says, reaching up to touch his neck. Before he can reach it, Martyn snatches his hand, threading their fingers together. 

“Don’t touch your neck,” Martyn says. It’s the first time he’s gotten curt with Ren since he woke, Ren realizes, and the thought makes him laugh. 

“Whatever you say, Doctor,” Ren says, “What happened last night?” 

“You really don’t remember anything?” Martyn asks. Ren shrugs.

“No. Maybe? I'm completely at a loss, dude. If you say something about it I might remember?”

“Right,” Martyn whispers. "it was..."

Martyn trails off, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in his face. He looks Ren up and down once, releasing Ren’s hand to smooth his hand over Ren’s chest. He presses on a few points—Ren’s stomach, Ren’s shoulder, Ren’s heart—watching Ren’s face for a reaction. When he gets nothing more than a twitch and some laughter, he launches himself forward, wrapping himself around Ren’s torso.

“Martyn?” Ren asks. He returns the hug on instinct, letting Martyn settle against him. Martyn’s really warm, Ren observes idly. If Martyn’s face weren’t already tucked against Ren’s chest, Ren would be burying his in Martyn’s neck, chasing away the chill he’s only just noticing.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Martyn says. His voice is very quiet, but more surprising than that, it cracks. Ren doesn’t know what to do with that, but when he feels water on his shoulder, he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze Martyn closer to himself.

“I’m okay,” Ren says, unsure what else to tell him. He smooths a hand through Martyn’s hair, though it’s greasy, and his fingers catch on quite a few knots. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”

Martyn’s breath hitches, and Ren moves his hand to Martyn’s back. He scratches his nails gently over the fabric, hushing Martyn to soothe him. He doesn't even know how to begin to guess the cause of Martyn's behavior, and even clearing half the cotton from his head hasn't helped him to process Martyn's tears on his skin.

“It’s okay,” Ren whispers, leaning the side of his head against Martyn’s temple, “Let it out. I’ll be right here. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sound which tears out of Martyn’s throat is unlike anything Ren has ever heard from him before, ragged and wretched and wet. Ren’s heart shatters for him, though he doesn’t know why.

“I’m sorry,” Martyn says, voice shaking. He curls his hands tightly into Ren’s hair, and it hurts, but Ren lets him, “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Ren doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A bead of water rolls down Ren’s chest. “Why are you sorry?” 

Martyn can’t answer—as soon as he opens his mouth, his breath catches, and his entire body shakes with a violent sob. Ren holds him a bit tighter. 

“Don’t tell me. Don’t worry about it,” Ren quickly corrects, “I’m here. We can talk later. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Martyn sobs again, choking on his own tears. Ren’s chest aches for him, but he falls silent—it seems even simple assurances can tip Martyn over the edge. 

Ren holds him for what feels like hours, lightly scratching Martyn’s back as he slowly loses feeling in his knees. Martyn collects himself in pieces, reigning in his tears in staggered, shaking gasps. When his breathing returns almost to normal, he pulls back, wiping his face with his arm. 

“I’ll— Let me clean my face,” Martyn says, jumping back from Ren as though he’s been shocked. “There’s clothes for you on the ground. Sorry. Probably should’ve let you get dressed before I— that was stupid of me.” 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Ren smiles. Martyn looks almost as though he’s been struck, but he runs off before Ren can reply. 

Ren collects his clothes off the floor quietly. His legs wobble when he tries to stand, and he gets dressed sitting on Martyn’s couch. Trying to tie the knots fastening his shirt proves to be a more difficult challenge—his fingers struggle with the fine movements enough he’s still not tied it by the time Martyn returns, face puffy but dry. 

“Can you help me?” Ren asks. Martyn’s brow furrows. 

“Can’t tie a knot?” Martyn asks, closing the distance to kneel at Ren’s feet. Ren shrugs. 

“My fingers aren’t working right.” 

“Right,” Martyn says. He ties the knot on Ren’s behalf, then captures both of Ren’s hands, clasping them between his own. A soft light slips out between his fingers, and Ren’s numb, clumsy fingers feel a bit more alive. 

“Thank you,” Ren says, but when he smiles at Martyn, Martyn looks away. 

“Least I could do,” Martyn says. “Is anywhere else bothering you?”

“My legs,” Ren says, “I was having trouble standing.” 

“I’ve got you,” Martyn says. He kneels, setting a glowing hand on either of Ren's leg and moving gradually down, gentle light and fleeting touch contrasted against an expression of stony concentration. Ren's leg returns to life under his palm, and once he reaches the end of Ren's limbs, he moves to Ren’s arm without even being asked. Martyn cups his hands around Ren’s shoulder and trails his arm all the way down to his hand, healing one arm at a time. Finished with Ren's limbs, he traces soft light over Ren's torso, his shoulders, his sides, his face—anywhere he can think of, letting warmth sink back into each and every one of Ren's muscles, all without Ren needing to ask, or even mention it at all. 

It's appreciated, of course, but the overwhelming completeness and care of it is a bit much, at least coming from a man whose normal concept of affection tends to be annoying Ren until he gets bored.

“Uh. Thank you?” Ren says. Martyn still isn’t looking at him. He stays where he is, kneeling at Ren's feet, his eyes locked on Ren’s hands clasped in his lap. 

“Anytime,” Martyn says. He reaches out, putting one hand over Ren’s and meeting Ren’s eyes with an intense sort of devotion Ren has never seen in him before. “I mean that. No matter what, okay? I’m going to keep you safe. I promise.” 

“Okay,” Ren says, unsure what to make of the certainty burning in Martyn’s expression. Is this really the same man who had rolled his eyes at Ren wanting to come over to spend the full moon together just a few hours ago? 

“Okay?” Martyn snickers, not impressed with Ren's lack of real response. Ren flushes. 

“I don’t know. You’re being weird,” Ren says, “Good weird. But still weird. What happened last night?” 

Martyn's face falls. Ren regrets asking. 

“You don’t have to tell—”

“You died.” 

“…What?” Ren asks. 

“You died. I— We got caught. Your neighbors found you. They cornered you after you changed back. I couldn't do anything about it, I'd— They'd have known I was a witch if I said anything to defend you, so I—” Martyn cuts himself off, deciding just to get to the point: “They had you beheaded. It was… it’s better if you don’t remember, if I'm honest.”

Ren reaches up to touch his neck. This time, Martyn doesn’t stop him. Ren's fingers brush over rough stitching and a rougher scar, and his stomach turns. It doesn't hurt, not really, but he can recognize the thick stitching for what it is.

Suddenly, Ren is very grateful Martyn stopped him from touching his neck earlier. He drops his hand, resolving to avoid making this mistake again.

When he looks at Martyn again, he suddenly understands the guilty, sad look Martyn's been giving him all morning.

“I’ve been trying to bring you back for a week.” 

“I’ve been dead for a week?” Ren’s voice comes out almost as a squeak.

Even with the gravity of the situation, Martyn still laughs at him. 

“Yeah. So tell me if you feel off—stiff muscles, brain fog, anything else. I was preserving you with magic the best I could, but I don’t know if I completely stopped brain tissue death or muscle atrophy.”

How Martyn manages some semblance of doctoral composure even now, Ren can’t begin to guess. Decades of hiding his identity by passing himself off as a doctor seem to have done wonders for Martyn's nerves.

“Oh,” Ren says. He doesn’t know what else to say, honestly, though Martyn lifts his other hand to hold both of Ren’s. He’s still kneeling at Ren's feet, and he squeezes Ren’s hands in his own. 

“It’s okay. I was thorough. You’ll be just fine. I'm the best at what I do, so you've got nothing to worry about,” Martyn says, “And if you aren’t, I’ll fix it. I promise you. Anything that happens, I’ll fix it. You’ll be okay.” 

“Okay,” Ren says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Martyn seems to take that as disapproval, though it doesn't deter him.  

“Are you upset with me?” Martyn asks, “I won’t apologize for bringing you back.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Ren says, “I don’t— I don’t know what I’m feeling.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to. You have plenty of time to sort through it,” Martyn says, “You’re safe. No one even knows I have your body. I’m going to buy us passage far, far away from here, and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Ren nods—Martyn squeezes his hands one more time, then stands. 

“Let me make us something to eat and clean up my mess,” Martyn says, shooting a glance toward his pile of books and animal bodies. Ren makes a face.

“You’re going to clean?” Ren asks, “Not just kick it under the couch?” 

“I’m definitely kicking half of this under the couch,” Martyn says.

“Don't you dare kick any of the dead animals under the couch.”

“I won't! Jeez, have a little faith in me,” Martyn protests, “I just don’t want to look at the necromancy stuff anymore.” 

“I’ll help clean, then,” Ren says, but when he tries to stand, Martyn pushes him back down to the couch. 

“You’re going to relax,” Martyn says, “You were dead not even an hour ago. Let your body adjust to having blood flow again.” 

“And watch you make a worse mess of your house?” Ren asks. 

“You can clean it again later if you hate it so bad,” Martyn says, “But for now, let me take care of you.”

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - seventy-eight | sharing screens and secrets

“Hello?” Quack asked as you clicked the ‘Answer’ button on the screen.

“Can you hear me?”

“I can.”

You didn’t talk to Quack much via voice, but every time you did you thought she sounded so youthful. You were pretty sure you were around the same age, considering when she started modding for you, but she always sounded so much more cute than her business-like demeanor in texts would have you think.

“Okay, so I’ll share my screen now.”

You clicked over to what she was showing you.

“So, my friend did a bunch of digging, a little hacking, a little asking favors, and this is what she found. Well, the stuff we can legally use in court, anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess we can’t use hacked content as evidence, since hacking is illegal.”

“Mhm.” Quack pulled up a Twitch vod channel that seemed devoted to you.

“What the fuck?”

“This guy is… forget head over heels, he might just be spinning ass over tea kettle down a rabbit hole of love for you.”

There were videos with titles like ‘JGG is the best!’ ‘I’d lick JGGs boots clean if I could AND say thank you!’ ‘JGG loves me?’. 

You noticed the dates of the videos. “--Wait, is this the bottom of the page?”

“Yeah, this is all his old shit. If we scroll up, you can see here…” Quack scrolled up and stopped, her mouse hovering over the upload date of a video. “This is the day you had Morn guest the first time.”

The title was ‘JGG CHEATING ON ME???’ 

Quack clicked on it and clicked to about the halfway point of the video. The background of the video was the stream where you and Morn played together for the first time and he made you play Minecraft with him after everyone left, accompanied by a voice over by the channel owner.

“I just don’t understand-- I’ve been supporting her all this time and then she has this guy on to stream?” His voice broke as he sobbed. “I have spent so much money in her chat, she owes it to me to not invite another man on! I was lenient with Keeho, because they knew each other since they were in high school, but who the fuck is this-- this-- MorningStar? She could invite me-- or anyone else in the chat to play and she invites this man she just met! Whoring herself out for him while he simps after her like a beta cuck with no balls! She’s a--”

Quack stopped it. “I already listened to it once and it doesn’t get better.”

Your hand had been over your mouth in shock as you listened to his rant. You pulled it away. “No, uh… yeah-- I…” You trailed off.

“Are you okay?”

“...What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And he’s the one who’s been leaving all the comments?”

“Yeah, he’s been using a bot farm to do it. My friend shut it down.”

“Tell her I said thank you.”

“I will.”

You were quiet for a few moments as the words you just heard rang in your head like the tinnitus from hearing loss. “Wait… he said he’s been supporting me all this time...”

“If you’re about to ask if I know who he is, I do. Are you ready to see?”

“No, but, yeah.”

Quack clicked a link in the description of his About Me which led to some kind of affiliate link farm page you didn’t understand, then a link on that page, and another, and another, until she opened two in new tabs.

“Okay… I think I need you to take a deep breath before I show you this.”

“Is it that bad? It’s not Morn, is it?”

Quack chuckled. “No, it’s not Morn. But you’ve met the guy before.”

“What?” You whispered.

“Please take a breath.”

You did as she asked, exaggerating it so the microphone would pick it up and she could hear.

“Okay… this is who he is online.” She opened the first tab.

‘TheNicestGuy’ was the channel username that stared you in the face.

“What?” You whispered again. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“But… he’s been in my chat for forever and never said anything shitty before… has he?”

“Mmm…”

“Has he done something and you didn’t tell me?”

“Normally he engages about as much as most people. Maybe not excited as other chatters like Yuta or Tree, but now I’m thinking that he might have been doing that to mask how he really felt.”

“Wearing sheep’s clothing.”

“Basically. Ever since Morn showed up he’s been doing a lot of ‘dot dot dot’-ing, and I thought it was weird but I don’t talk to him so I wasn’t sure what it meant.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

You thought for a few moments. He never seemed weird or out of sorts at all to you. He seemed about as normal as any of your other chat members, like Namhae. 

“Are you ready for the next one?”

“Now I really am scared.”

“It’s…” Quack trailed off.

You sat in silence for a few moments.

“I’m not going to lie. It’s going to be scary.”

“Great...” you said, voice shaking.

“But I have to show you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“Just do it.”

“This is who he is offline.” She clicked the second link. It was a LinkedIn page. His profile was him smiling brightly in front of a mottled light blue background, the kind of picture a professional takes so they can use it on their social media.

You knew the face.

You knew you knew it.

It was the face of the man who had been showing up to the café for the past few months, and who chased you and San through the downtown area.

Of course you knew his face.

The stalker.

Tears pricked at your eyes as your brain spat out every time he had shown up in the café like a search engine finding every instance of a search term across the internet, and a torrent of anxiety and dread followed behind it all like a dam breaking old concrete and drowning everything in the valley below it. 

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Are you okay?”

“No… is that it?”

“No. This is his old account.”

She opened another tab and navigated to it: it was the page of the guy who took the picture outside of the café you used to work at.

“...Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“Oh my god!”

“I know.”

“How are you so calm right now?! That’s my stalker! He followed me to Seoul!”

“Because when my friend sent me the CCTV footage I got a good look at him, and when she sent me this last night, I recognized him immediately. …I spent most of the morning trying to figure out how to tell you.”

You stood up from your chair and went to pace, but your head was yanked back by the headset wire. 

“Are you okay?”

“I-- I-- I just--”

“I know.”

Tears rolled hot over your cheeks. “What the fuck, Quack? What the fuck?”

“I know.”

“I just… I… I’m sorry for crying.” You fell back into your chair, your legs weak from how the information shook you. You sobbed loudly and inhaled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for crying.”

“Don’t apologize. Please don't apologize.”

“I just… I can’t believe a person who’s been following me for forever in my chat has been following me in real life! I--”

“Please, Cat, breathe.”

“I-- I can’t! I’m freaking out!”

“Can you call someone? Morn, maybe?”

“No, I can’t…”

“Why not…”

“I just can’t!”

Quack was silent as you cried.

You shoved your headset off and screamed until your lungs exhausted, and you slumped over your desk. Pulling your arms over your head, you laid like that, cheekbone pressed into the desk's hard surface and held yourself, knees pulled up as high as they could go under you. Even if Quack said something to you, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

This was the worst possible thing that could be happening: he was the weird donor, the cafe picture, the influx of comments calling you a whore, the watching you in person, the chasing you in the dark-- he was all of it. He thought you were his, was that it? He thought he could own you - should own you - just because he donated sometimes? Streaming was a tip-based job; that's like saying that the waiter owes you sex because you tipped 30%. The dates on his page showed that he'd been fixated on you for a long time, but why the sudden ramping up? Was it because you refused his donation months ago? You could never take that much money from someone, it was the kind of amount that made you owe people... was that what he wanted? Did he want  you to owe him so... so what? So he could try to convince you to do something for him? Or...to him? You felt sick all over again.

You cried until the panic subsided and you could finally breathe normally, and when the feelings of terror and horror had finally finished washing over you, it was replaced with something else.

You sat up and grabbed the tissue box nearby and blew your nose. You grabbed another one and dried your eyes. You inhaled deeply and put your headset back on.

“You still there?” You asked.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“No.” Your voice was level now. You looked at his face on your screen. “I’m so mad.”

“Mad?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were freaking out.”

“I’m done freaking out… I’m mad now.” 

You looked at the picture for a few moments, Quack not saying anything. You weren’t sure what this feeling was, anger? Vengeance? Something in you congealed into a feeling that burned through your tired bones until they were ash, and what grew back in their place was so much more disconnected to the situation and the feelings of sorrow and hurt.

You knew what it was now.

Rage.

“This guy has been disrupting my life for what? Months now? At both of my jobs?” You asked.

“Mhm.”

“He followed me through a move and chased me and my friend around downtown.”

“Yeah.”

“I just feel so mad. I’m so angry, dude.”

“Yeah… that makes sense.”

“I’m just so fucking angry.”

“...What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know… I want him to suffer, because he’s been making me suffer this whole time.”

“Understandable.”

“And like… I want to know why, you know?”

“Yeah.”

You sat in silence.

“You’ve known me for a long time, right Quack?”

“I feel like this is going somewhere... yes.”

You chuckled. “You know I’m not a bitch, right?”

“You’re one of the nicest people I know. Definitely the best boss I’ve had so far.”

“Well thank you: You’re my best employee.”

“I’m your only employee.”

“There’s other mods now.”

“Yeah, but I’m basically their manager and you’re my boss.”

“Have they been working out well?”

“They’re great.”

“Have you heard from Namhae at all?”

“No. I should probably ping him and see what’s up.”

“I hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah, same.”

You nodded, looping your fingers in your headphone cord. “But like… this guy ‘NicestGuy’-- fucking ironic name; why do men who act like shit think they’re god’s gift to the world?”

“A-men.”

“But this guy… he makes me want to be a bitch, you know? All that unhinged, surprising rage that men act like women have but really it’s only surprising to them because they weren’t listening to us the first forty times we told them to leave us alone.”

“Relatable.”

“I… I want to talk to him.”

A beat of silence as she processed what you said. “Cat, are you sure about that?”

You thought, your eyes boring into the pixels that made up his picture on your screen. He looked like a perfectly normal guy, the kind of shmo you’d walk past down the street and never have a second thought about. And yet, all that surface-level normalcy was hiding something so terrible.

“Yeah. I need to ask why. And I want a confession out of him that he did it. I want something the police can’t ignore.”

“You want him to confess?”

“Yeah. I want him to fucking say he did all this and I want to record him and I want him to go to prison.”

She was silent for a moment. 

“Quack?”

“Yeah-- sorry. I was wondering if it would even be possible.”

“Do you think it is?”

“Yeah, I think it might be.”

You nodded, not that she could see.

“I'll tell you what: I’ll talk to my White Hat friend about it, and I’ll see if she has any advice, like, legally.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Oh and, don’t tell Morn about this at all.”

“Why not?”

“He might freak out.”

“Shouldn’t he? The guy was stalking you. What if he wants to help?”

“I have some other friends that can help.”

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you know what she says.”

“Thanks. And Quack?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad we met all those years ago. You’re not just an invaluable employee, you're a really great friend as well.”

Quack chuckled. “You better stop that or I’ll ask for a raise.”

You laughed. “You’re actually overdue for a raise, I think.”

She laughed again. “We can talk about it when all this is over.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

She ended the call.

You stared at the picture of your stalker. ‘Seo Byungchul,’ his page said. You looked at the smile on his face and wondered when he took the picture. Was it before he was stalking you? It had to be after he started watching your stream, by the age he appeared to be and how long you could remember him being in your chat. You wondered what he was thinking about when he took the picture. You wondered if he thought he was a good person. You wondered if he went to work every day, safe in the knowledge that none of his coworkers knew he was stalking a streamer both on the internet and in real life. You wondered if he stalked anyone else.

Hey Nero,

(I’m not sure if I should call you Nero or not anymore lol)

I’m just letting you know that I’ll be sort of unavailable outside of streaming for a bit. I have some irl shit I need to take care of and it might get a little rocky for everything outside of streaming. 

I’ll definitely let you know when I’m available to edit again though.

See ya round,

Cat

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Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @dinossaurz​​ • @conwunder​ • @tinyelfperson​ • 

[mostlyghostlyy]

I’ve just found your stuff and I’m so glad there’s other freaky people out there! Anyway, if you don’t mind me asking this of you, what would you think Longlegs would be like with a person on their period? Is it a little tainted to him because it’s blood or… hmm?? Anyway! Don’t answer if you don’t want to!

He for sure doesn't give a shit. I don't see him getting grossed out at all. Sure, he'll be a darling and buy you some treats, and he'll say something about how sorry he is that you have to go through this. But let's be real, you came for smut.

I think personally it would turn him on. And if you're the type to get honey on your period, then it's perfect. Match made in heaven because you can't keep him off of you. He'd be on you almost 24/7. Like rabbits, one could say.

If you're the type to get grossed out, then that's really too bad because you don't really get a choice in the matter. He'd go down on you if the mood took him. Eating out your pussy like there was no tomorrow. Licking and slurping at your bleeding hole. Seemingly encouraging you to bleed more. He'd lap it all up. it would only encourage him more to hear the disgusted noise you make compared to his lewd guzzling of your blood. Inhaling your bloody scent.

After he's finished he has a thick layer of blood and cum caked onto his face. His smile and teeth tinged red. He's the type to try to kiss you afterwards. He wants you to taste yourself on his lips. His still bloody tongue and lips leaving a trail of grime around your neck and face. He won't stop until you push him off.

He wouldn't mind getting his cock a little messy either. If anything, he prefers blood. I could see him trying to get you to suck him off after. Your blood is drying on his dick, how messy. Now he wants you to clean him off, lick him squeaky clean. What? You don't want to? How come? Aren't you the person who's always complaining that he's dirty? He isn't asking anymore, he is demanding it.

[midnightanxietytm]

Planned Sacrifice AU

a/n: Just a silly goose (me) playing around with a "bad ending" au for Narilamb.

Summary: The Lamb agrees to be sacrificed, thinking Narinder would bring them back after gathering enough devotion.

There’s a body on the stone.

There’s a fluffy, small, body on the stone; no visible wounds on it, and a smile on the peaceful face, as if the little Lamb was simply sleeping. Narinder knew that wasn’t the case.

He was free, his vessel was dead.

He turns to face the Lamb’s former followers, now his own, and as soon as he does, they grovel and kneel, he smiles. “Rejoice, your true deity is free.” He says. “Your faith is to be rewarded, but now, you shall build my new temple!”

He is free!

…

There is silence in the throne room.

It took almost a century for his temple to be built, mostly because the stupid followers kept dissenting, clamoring that the Lamb wouldn’t have abandoned them, that Narinder was lying, and other absurdities.

Very few of the Lamb’s original followers stood by his side, and Cain was the only one left; a doe Narinder remembers seeing through the crown's eye since the very beginning of the Lamb’s crusades with bright eyes and sharp wit.

Now though, he walks with his head low, speaks softly, and Narinder feels that part of the devotion he emanates always gets dispersed, looking for something, someone, else. Narinder knows he shouldn't allow this, he should be the only one in his followers' minds, but still, Cain remained.

“I’m glad you’ve grown attached to him.” Lameniel says from behind him, ghastly had come to rest on his shoulder. It’s not real, he knows, but he still shivers.

“I wouldn’t call it attachment.” He retorts, because he’s grown tired of trying to ignore the apparition. “Cain is useful, that’s all.”

“Hm, he is adaptable, strong, It’s part of why I loved him.” It floats until it’s in front of him; a perfect copy of his former vessel, except their eyes are pitch black and ichor drips from their neck and mouth occasionally. “It pains me to see him so…” The figure trails off. “But that’s not why you keep him; it’s because he reminds you of me, you should admit it.”

Narinder scowls and claws at the figure suddenly, but it only disperses like smoke, and forms again one second later, now laughing.

“You can’t kill me twice, Nari!” They say it like it’s a casual joke between friends, it enrages him more. “Anyways, he’s only loyal to you because I told him to be, so you should at least pretend to honor my memory if you want to keep him that way.”

The damned Lamb disappears just in time for Aym to peek into the room. “Master, the banquet is about to begin.” Says his kit diligently.

Narinder looks at him for a moment and then takes a big breath. “I’ll be there soon.”

His personal demon appears again the second Aym is out of the room. “Well he isn’t much of a kit anymore, you saw him flirting with that rabbit during last sermon. Add that to the list of things you should acknowledge and deal with!”

Narinder sighs again and stands up, he has barely taken two steps before he feels ghostly arms wrapping around his neck. “Nari, you could bring me back any time, you don’t have to live with my death…”

“I don’t need stupid lambs telling me what to do, alive or dead.” He pulls away harshly, and this time the lamb disappears.

…

They appear again while he lays in his chambers; the curtains drawn and the room dark, but he still can’t rest, and he feels their phantom weight in his lap; “You adored us, once, what changed?”

“A thousand years of imprisonment.” He cuts. “Sheep have always been sacrificed, you were no different.” He sounds colder than the room around him.

“Yet I still haunt you, my soul powered you out of your chains, but now you have more than enough devotion, you could resurrect me any time, you say you don’t want to, but you keep my memory alive.” Fingers crawl through his neck, his face, trace his features with adoration. “What do you fear, Narinder?”

He doesn’t answer.

They don’t talk after this, but the haunting figure doesn’t go away either; it follows him everywhere.

“Lameniel.” He calls one time in the dead of the night on the balcony of his room “Am I the only one you pester with such insistence?”

It’s a while before the figure answers, voice sounding like a whisper from behind him. “Cain can see me, sometimes.” Narinder’s hand tightens around the railing. “I’m not exactly the same when with him as I am with you; I am part soul, part memory, and his memories with me are completely different from yours…”

“I should have killed that damn deer…” Narinder snarls.

“And kill part of what keeps me alive?” Lameniel mocks. “I don’t think you will.”

There is silence again.

“I could just free your soul entirely. You could be reborn.” Narinder says, his hands relaxing.

“I’m tired of waiting entire lives to be with you, Narinder. If I must wait in death for you to bring me back, I will, but my soul won’t leave you again.” 

“You have always been disgustingly loyal…”

a/n: Cain is a follower from my new save and I love him to death.

[twink-between-worlds]

safety net

hello linked universe fandom, we have returned after months with queer rabbits. tried a more spaced-out format, trying to please people who said our other writing style gets too confusing. (i just think they cant read -dex)

ao3 link; x

“What’re you doin up here, rabbit?”

“Ah—oh! Honeybee, hi. Sorry, did I wake you up?”Ravio turned to the side, watching as Legend sat down next to him on the roof.

Legend just hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“...huh?”

“You only do this when you’re upset. What’s wrong?”Legend shouldn’t push him, not really, but it’s the only way Ravio ever admits when something’s bugging him. They’re as stubborn as each other sometimes.

For a minute, it’s quiet, the only sounds heard being each other's breaths. Then, “I get scared when you’re away,”Ravio whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, “I get scared that you won’t come back. That you’ll get hurt, or worse. I mean—you got stabbed, bun. That’s—that’s scary.”

“I don’t like being away either,”Legend admitted. “I never know if you’re safe when I’m gone. Realistically I know you are, but..”The hero trailed off, ending with a vague, “Yeah.”

Ravio let out a breath. “Yeah.”He repeated with a small laugh.

Another silence followed, but this one felt…lighter than the one before. No baited breath, waiting for one of them to admit to anything.

“Wouldn’t want Hyrule’s best merchant to die off, would we?”Legend grinned slightly, a lopsided little thing.

Ravio couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Well lucky, I don’t want my favourite customer dying anytime soon!”

“Can we go back inside now? It’s freezing out here.”

“Well, Mr. Hero, maybe you would be warmer if you didn’t insist on wearing a dress in all weather!”Ravio tutted at him, but began to unwind his scarf from his neck.

“It’s not a dress! They’re tunics, not dresses. And they’re way more comfortable.”Legend complained, arms crossed.

“Whatever you say, honeybun.”He replied, simply looping his scarf around Legend’s neck a few times. “There we go~ You should be warmer now! I won’t charge you for this one.”

“You would charge me for it?”

“...nah, probably not.”He admitted with a sigh.

“Good. Guess that means I can take your scarf more often then, right?”

“You like it that much?”Ravio laughed, face tinting slightly red when Legend nodded in response. “Wow.”

“It smells like you.”

“Oh.”The merchant paused, not having expected that. “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Hero.”

“Mhm.”Legend hummed out, leaning against the other. “...I’m sorry I got hurt.”

“No no no, don’t you dare apologise for getting hurt. You didn’t exactly do it yourself!”Ravio laughed. “...did you?”

“No, Rav, what the fuck?”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for asking!”Ravio cackled. “For all I know, you stabbed yourself so your lovely, caring boyfriend would nurse you back to health~”

“I’d rather die.”Legend huffed. “I wouldn’t trust you to look after me with a stab wound anyways.”

Ravio gasped, loud and dramatic. “That’s so mean! I would take the best care of you!”

“Yeah right.”

“I would and you know it. I’d take the best care of my prince,”He grinned, throwing the nickname in there just to see the hero go bright red, laughing when the other pushed him away, embarrassed.

“I-I told you not to call me that.”Legend complained, though the blush on his face and the way his ears pointed downwards betrayed any semblance of annoyance.

“Fine~”Ravio giggled, nuzzling Legend’s shoulder. “I won’t call you my prince. Even though it’s true.”

“Rav!”

Another laugh.

“We should probably go back inside though. You’re right, it’s a little cold.”

“A little? It’s fucking freezing.”

“You didn’t have to come after me.”Ravio offered a hand to the hero, helping him climb down the side of the roof.

“Yes I did,”Legend insisted. “I needed to make sure you were okay, rabbit.”

“Awh, that’s so sweet of you~”

“Go to hell.”The hero replied bluntly, sighing quietly when he was standing on the grass again, waiting for Ravio to hop down from the roof.

“I’ll probably meet you there, Mr. Hero.”

“Probably? Nah. You’ll absolutely meet me there. No doubt.”Legend snorted, heading inside the house when Ravio finally gathered the courage to jump down from the roof.

“Guess you’re never getting rid of me, then!”Ravio replied cheerfully, pushing his hood down once they got inside. He doesn’t understand it, but Legend has a rule about hats and hoods being worn inside. Says it’s bad luck or something.

The two made their way back to their bedroom, quiet so as to not disturb any of the heroes currently sleeping on the floor in the living room.

“You put your prosthetic on just to check on me?”Ravio realised belatedly, as they made it to the bedroom and Legend sat on their bed and began to remove the aforementioned metal leg.

“Couldn’t get onto the roof without it.”Was all he got.

Ravio wants to tease him for it, or remind him that he didn’t have to come and check on him, but any words he had died in his throat as he settled into bed, Legend curling up into his side. Legend was worried about him.

It’s…not too surprising—Legend’s always cared in his own way—but it still catches the merchant off guard.

“Rulie healed the wound after it happened,”The hero mumbled. “Made sure there wasn’t gonna be any lasting damage outside of a scar.”

“That’s good,”Ravio hummed, running his hands through the other’s hair. It’s suspiciously pinker than usual, but he won’t ask about it. Not right now, anyways. Maybe later. “Sucks that there’s gonna be a scar, though.”

“Eh,”The other shrugged, “It’s just another one to the collection.”

“Honeybee…”

“I know,”He sighed. “Sorry. It’s just easier to think of them as a collection instead of injuries.”

“It’s okay.”Ravio assured him, pressing a soft kiss to Legend’s forehead. “...you’re gonna take the scarf off to sleep, right?”

“Um…I wasn’t planning to, no, but if you’re worried about me choking or something I can take it off.”He laughed quietly. “Do you want me to remove it?”

“If..you don’t mind. I just worry that it’ll get tangled.”

“Fair enough,”The hero shrugged, unwinding the scarf and placing it on the table beside the bed. “I’m really fucking tired, so I’m definitely going to fall asleep soon, but if you need to leave again, wake me up. Okay?”

“Okay, good night bunny.”

“Night, rabbit.”Legend pressed a kiss to Ravio’s cheek before settling, burying his face into Ravio’s neck.

He was asleep within minutes, which isn’t really anything new. It warms Ravio’s heart a little, knowing that Legend feels safe with him. The merchant continued to play with the hero’s hair, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the other’s breathing. He knows he can’t protect Legend when he’s out adventuring, when he’s doing his job, but… At least he can protect him here, and at least he knows Legend is safe here. That’s all he can really ask for. Ravio knows he can’t make him feel safe all the time, but he’s glad he can at least make him feel safe in his own home. Which is a bit of an odd sentence, but he knows that Legend struggled with that a little bit before he came along. He sighed, closing his eyes. He shouldn’t still be awake, Legend will worry if he has bags under his eyes again. At least he fell asleep easily tonight, which probably had something to do with having the hero asleep in his arms, safe and sound.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 51)

Prologue/TOC | Previous (50) | Next (52)

Content Warning: Blood and gore, violence, death

Word Count: 2.4k

------ Chapter 51: Hunting Expedition ------

Candy feared that the king was legitimately going to murder her in a fit of rage. His violence was escalating, to the point where he came close to mangling her beyond repair on a regular basis. The servants, along with his family members, avoided him as best they could, lest they become the unlucky target of his wrath. Nobody wished to be beaten—or worse, executed—for a petty error.

After being thumped hard on the skull when the king lost his temper, Leon suggested that he go hunting to blow off some steam and sate his bloodlust. To his relief, King Richard agreed with enthusiasm. He summoned Sir Maneater, his squire, and the dog trainer to his study and ordered them to prepare for a hunting expedition. Joey and Martin saddled up all the horses, collected their weapons, and set out into the woodlands surrounding the castle with the king.

The king, despite the sharper edge in his words and gestures, was in high spirits at the prospect of hunting. He enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the kill. Unlike some men of higher station, he relished the opportunity to personally skin and gut an animal, to soak his hands in blood. Ajax, riding alongside him on a gargantuan coal-black stallion, carried the king’s gilded bow and hunting knife for him.

Hardon chattered on to Martin about hunting techniques and the best game, with the knight giving brief and polite responses in turn. Joey rode on Martin’s right in silence, unsure what to say or if engaging in the conversation would be rude—not that he wanted to speak to the depraved king anyway. Ajax scanned the trees like a hawk for potential threats. The dog trainer urged the army of greyhounds ahead of the horses to seek a game trail.

“I’m hoping to snag a few red foxes,” the king prattled on. “They have such lovely pelts, perfect for lining a new coat for the upcoming winter.” As he spoke, he idly scratched at his chest inside his shirt and plucked out Candy, chained to his necklace. “I want to keep my little darling warm, after all! Assuming she makes it another season without pissing me off!” He snarled and snapped his teeth at her, eliciting a shrill shriek that made him laugh wickedly.

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind hunting rabbits or deer either. They make the most delicious stews. She could always stay warm in my belly too!” He chuckled while Candy turned dreadfully pale. She glanced over at Martin with pleading, watery eyes. He averted his gaze with shame. There was nothing he could do for her.

Candy broke inside, seeing the handsome knight of her dreams dressed in the king’s livery of silver and purple—the colors of the enemy, complete with the sable wolf adorning his breast. He wasn’t on her side, and he was never going to help her. She choked out a sob, prompting the king to squeeze her with irritation.

“Enough of that nonsense now. Unless you want me to give you a real reason to cry,” Hardon growled. He was growing weary of Candy’s near-constant melancholy, so different from Millie’s cheerfulness. She bit her tongue hard, struggling to hold back the rising tide of grief. Luckily, loud baying from several of the hounds distracted her tormentor. The dogs surged forward in a stampede; the riders spurred on their horses in excited pursuit.

“Tally-ho!” the king exclaimed gleefully. “Ajax, my bow!” The guard passed him the weapon with an arrow already in position and the king took a shot. The fox, its red fur standing out among the brown and green brush, darted to the side and dodged the arrow. Joey sent an arrow of his own in swift succession, piercing the fox in the nape of its neck. The creature squealed and collapsed on its side, thrashing and panting.

“Ah, a direct hit!” King Richard shouted victoriously. “Let me finish it!” The dog trainer stayed the hounds and the king leapt off his horse with a bloodthirsty, triumphant leer. He drew his knife and approached his dying quarry with confidence.

“Be cautious, Your Majesty!” Martin warned as he dismounted his own steed. “That fox will fight to its dying breath!” The king ignored his warning and approached recklessly. The fox yipped and feebly scrabbled at the dirt with its paws, but couldn’t get away fast enough. The giant crouched over the fox and raised his dagger to plunge the blade into its flesh.

The fox lunged forward at the threat, in a last-ditch effort to defend itself. Hardon recoiled in surprise. Candy screamed as the giant animal’s maw, bristling with sharp white teeth, rocketed towards her as she hung in the air from the king’s neck. The huge jaws snapped shut inches from her toes, barely missing her, as a strand of thick saliva splashed on her calf. The giant kicked the beast into submission and stabbed it in the gut with a splatter of garish crimson.

“Gotcha!” he gloated, dragging the blade up the creature’s belly to its collar as it barked in agony. A spray of scarlet sprinkled his hands and torso, including Candy. She wailed in an earsplitting tone, horrified by the carnage and still reeling from nearly being bitten in half.

The king winced. “Ugh, Candy. Do you have to make such a racket? That’s really annoying.” Candy tried to stop, but her body was wracked with heaving sobs. She choked and cried and gasped in a most undignified display, unable to hold in all her feelings and fluids any longer.

Hardon groaned. “Uggghhhh. Stupid human,” he muttered. He turned to Martin, who happened to be wading through the vegetation towards him. “Hold this whiny little rat for a second.” He unclipped Candy from his necklace and tossed her at Martin, who scrambled to catch her in shock. His breath hitched in his throat as he held her in his gloved palm. She looked terrible, with flecks of blood and saliva on her sickly skin, and snot and tears running down her puckered face. Her body was dotted with purple and gray bruises from the king’s violence.

When she realized she was sitting in Martin’s hand, her cries stopped. She sucked in a sharp breath and gazed up at him with desperation. She was too upset to speak coherently, but her eyes spoke for her. Help me. HELP ME. HELP ME PLEASE!!!

Martin’s heart stopped. He'd obsessed over this woman’s lamentable fate, schemed about stealing her away from the king, regretted his decision not to help her every night, and mentally flagellated himself for his powerlessness and ineptitude. And here she was, by an extraordinary stroke of fate, sitting in his hand: unguarded and ripe for the taking. He glanced over at the king, who was preoccupied with slitting the fox’s throat and tearing out its entrails. His back was to the knight, oblivious to the frantic machinations in Martin’s head.

Martin slowly backed away from the king, step by step, as he closed his hand over Candy protectively. He knew he was throwing away everything he had worked so hard for in a flash, but he had never been so certain of a decision in his life. He tried to act casual and inconspicuous as he mounted his horse. He stuffed Candy into one of the pouches on his belt to keep his hands free, in case he needed to fight. Joey tilted his head in a questioning gesture, not comprehending what Martin was plotting. Martin urged on his horse and trotted away.

At the sound of horse hooves, the king spun around, still clasping the fox’s liver in his hand. His eyes blazed with outraged recognition when he realized what Martin was doing. “Ajax! After him!” he bellowed, pointing towards the knight. Martin, hearing his order, spurred his horse into a gallop. Ajax kicked his own beast into pursuit. Joey froze up, eyes wide.

“You too, you damned fool!” the king yelled at him. The squire, flustered, hastened to catch up. The king swore explosively as he threw away the liver and wiped off the blood soaking his hands.

Martin leaned into his horse with desperation. The trees flew by in a blur as he rapidly crossed through a grassy clearing. The heavy hooves of Ajax’s steed pounded behind him, getting closer and closer, as loud as his own hammering heart. Joey brought up the rear, straining to catch up. He drew his bow and aimed it with a steady arm. He was not, however, pointing it at Martin. His arrow, hungry for blood, was fixed on Ajax, at a chink in his armor.

Joey let loose the arrow. His aim was true, and the projectile sailed directly into the flesh of the massive guard’s back. To Joey’s shock, the guard flinched slightly from the impact but otherwise was unaffected. The squire shot another arrow, this time into his neck, and the guard absorbed it like nothing more than a bee sting. He ignored Joey and continued his pursuit relentlessly.

Ajax was gaining on his prey. Martin glanced back to behold the terrifying image of the guard with an arrow tip sticking out of his throat, completely unfazed as a river of blood ran down his chest. He urged on his horse, but the trees were growing thicker and the horse was forced to slow down. Leaves and branches slapped at Martin’s face, obscuring his vision. He heard the cracks of wood breaking from behind him, dreadfully close.

A thick branch whacked him hard in the torso and knocked him off his horse. His skull collided with the ground, causing his vision to explode into a kaleidoscope of stars. The horse whinnied and darted off into the trees, disappearing in seconds. Martin groaned, dazed and winded, as the hooves of the gigantic stallion clomped down next to his head, followed by huge leather boots. Martin’s hand strayed to the pouch attached to his belt; fortunately, Candy hadn’t been crushed in the fall.

A beefy, hairy hand grabbed his shirt and hauled him into the air. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him. Martin tried to retaliate, but the world spun around him at a nauseating rate, and his head lolled down to his chest. He grunted incoherently and flailed his arms like limp noodles. The guard, with his singular eye, stared at him impassively before turning his attention to the approaching gallop of hooves.

Joey’s horse careened through the trees close behind. He saw the menacing shadow of Ajax’s figure standing through a veil of leaves. At first, he hoped to trample the man with his horse, but he was forced to curb his momentum when he saw Martin hanging from his hands before him. His horse stumbled over a thick root and Joey flipped backwards over its hindquarters, smacking into a tree trunk. He crumbled to the ground, but clumsily recovered his footing as his enemy lunged at him, tossing Martin to the side.

The squire heard the smooth schlink of a sword sliding out of its scabbard. He managed to draw his own sword just in time, narrowly parrying the blade thrust from his opponent. Ajax’s blade slid across his with a squeal of metal and impaled the tree behind him with startling force, sinking into the bark almost completely to the hilt. The giant strained with tremendous muscle to rip the sword out in a flurry of splinters.

He jerked back, momentarily off-balance. Joey saw his opportunity and darted in with intent to kill. He landed a direct hit in his broad midsection, stabbing him brutally below the sternum. Ajax didn’t slump over or scream, merely glaring at him coldly. Joey twisted the blade savagely, but despite a hot gush of blood, the guard still failed to show any indication of pain. Joey gaped, incredulous.

With a roar, Ajax retaliated and swung his sword. Joey hopped back, relinquishing his weapon to his enemy’s body, but he failed to evade the vicious slash that cleaved him diagonally from hip to shoulder. He cried out in pain as he lost his footing and collapsed against the split trunk behind him. Ajax raised his arm to deal the killing blow.

Martin jumped him from behind and wrenched back his muscular arm with a feral cry. Knife in hand, the knight swung it wildly at the guard’s face, hoping to perhaps blind him if the other fatal wounds wouldn’t stop him. He missed his good eye, instead thrusting his dagger into the empty eye socket covered by the eyepatch. To his surprise, his knife contacted an object inside the skull with a gravelly crunch, something very unlike flesh and blood but rather stone. The guard convulsed violently and dropped to the earth like a puppet with cut strings.

Martin pulled his knife from the guard’s eye socket with confusion. Stuck to the other end of his blade was a glowing runic stone, cracked in the middle. The blade tip had caught in the carved symbol and distorted it, diluting the magic within. Martin pulled the stone off his knife and threw it away, then rushed over to his loyal squire, who was lying on his back.

“Joey! Oh God, Joey!” Martin exclaimed, examining the sizable gash. Ajax’s sword had cut through his clothes and roughly cleaved his flesh apart. The wound oozed blood, saturating the torn fabric.

“I’m okay,” Joey gasped. “It’s not a fatal wound, and it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s a shallow cut. It just... really hurts.” He grimaced. “I don’t think I can move...”

A shroud of horror darkened over the knight as the howling of hounds sounded off in the distance. “Oh no! C’mon Joey, we need to go!” He wrapped his arms around the squire, fully intending to carry him.

“NO!” Joey protested. Martin recoiled at the vociferous protest. “Go without me! Now!”

“But Joey-”

“I’ll be fine! I’ll survive! I was chasing you, remember? Following the king’s orders.” He sucked in a sharp breath as a spasm of pain shook his frame. “The guard is dead. Nobody will know that I betrayed him. But you... if you’re caught...” He gritted his teeth as the excited barks and baying waxed closer. “There’s no time. GO!”

“Alright.” Martin brushed Joey’s sweaty face with his glove. “Thank you, Joey. If I never see you again… just know, I’m proud of you. You’ve blossomed into a good man.” Without any time to spare, he ran.

Chapter 52

Tag List: @yummynomms @maybeiamdownbad @tinycoded360

[galaxycunt]

I Can’t Keep Crying pt 2

Find part 1 here

Your ship was set to leave the next day, your friend convincing you to go out. You didn’t want to face Buggy, but it was his ship after all. So you dressed up nice, wearing your friend’s favorite costume. She was an acrobat, the frilly purple dress sparkled as it caught the light.

“I’m being stupid aren’t I?” you said.

She shrugged, “oh who isn’t. I’m sleeping with the first mate.”

”Shit, look at us. In our prime, stuck with those gross ass guys.”

Your friend laughed, trying to shush you as you kept going. Let Buggy hear it, you wanted him hurt as much as you did. If he did hear you, it was soon drowned out by your friend singing and chattering away as you both applied makeup.

“He’s really nice, in his own way.”

”Buggy gave me a necklace, ain’t that weird?”

She nodded, “wear it. It’ll make him crazy.”

”If we walk the plank by the end of the night, I’m blaming you.”

It was easy to get lost in a crowd, observing everyone without notice. You found Buggy, your eyes followed him as he approached the bar. He didn’t have a lover sucking on his lips this time around, he was looking for someone to remedy that.

He found you instead, walking over you you with a look of a fox stalking its prey. You were no rabbit.

”Hey, baby.”

”Captain.”

He chuckled, “missed you these past couple of days, where you been hiding?”

“I been here, where you been?”

His fingers trailed down your neck, across your collarbone. He wouldn’t make eye contact with you, focusing on the locket.

”You’re wearing it, huh?”

”Yup.”

He nodded his head, “you look nice.”

You crossed your arms, “the townies already tired of your jokes?”

”Excuse me?”

”I’m allowed to be mad.”

”You’re just like any of these other fucks, don’t forget that,” he sneered.

“Fine.”

”Fine.”

You chugged your beer, turning to order something stronger. Buggy followed you the whole night, staring down anyone who wanted to get close. Eventually you found your friend, treading carefully around the captain to get to you.

”I was kidding about walking the plank.”

”I’m not stopping him from having a good time.”

She glanced between the two of you, sighing. She could laugh, the way feelings were like this even when every party involved was well into their thirties.

“Don’t shit where you eat, right?”

”Says the broad sleeping with the first mate.”

”I don’t shoot for the stars, easier time that way.”

You turned over what to do now in your head, you had to either end this tonight for good, or let whatever punishment he’d throw at you happen until he found a new plaything.

You approach Buggy, who was pretending to not even notice you. He was in the middle of a tale about how a woman rode his face until his nose broke off. With a twirl, he faced you, a smile on his face.

”Oh! Look who it is!”

”Let’s talk.”

He followed you without a fight, the night air cooling off both your heads. You honestly felt like an idiot, this wasn’t your lover. He wasn’t going to settle down with the woman on his crew who fixed everything. You weren’t even a part of the show.

”Okay, I get it. I’m just some chick, but you can’t just act like I’m nothing once the ship docks somewhere.”

“Who said you were?”

”You, the minute you decided to sleep with someone else.”

He tilted his head, “and who decided I can’t?”

You bit your lip, causing him to cackle.

”There’s plenty of Buggy to go around, sweet cheeks.”

”Well maybe I-“ you paused.

”What?”

You shook your head, this got him interested. Buggy was only into attention, wherever and however he received it. You knew he only cared now, because you were offering up secret affection.

”I don’t think you deserve it anyway.”

”Is that right?”

“Yep.”

He stepped closer to you, reaching out for your arm. His face hid any emotion, eyes staring into your soul. Buggy wasn’t going to win that easily.

“Fuck whoever you want. I’m done, the gifts? You can have them back.”

”What? Baby-“

”-don’t call me that. You’re gonna have to earn the right.”

You expected him to laugh, throw you off the crew to fend for yourself. Instead he frowned, closing his eyes.

”Fine. I’m sorry, I won’t…I won’t do it again.”

There was fragile power in your hands now, “not good enough. I told you. I’m done, unless you change.”

You knew he wasn’t going to, walking away with a heavy heart. You expected to feel free, no longer subject to his whims and feelings like you had been for the past 6 months. It wasn’t like you guys ever talked about feelings, it was stupid of you to think any different.

On good days, Buggy would call you to his room. He would be tired from fighting, sprawled across his sheets. He’d perk up the moment you entered his space, hands floating towards you to pull you closer. It was like you were pulling his teeth, but eventually he let you come and go as you pleased.

Now, you slept in your hammock. Your friend snuck out at some point only to return like nothing happened. She gave you a wink, she had this figured out. You were jealous, you had too much heart to be unattached. You should’ve slept with anyone else on this crew, you were stupid like that.

If he woke before you, he kept an arm with you. Something to cuddle up with, unintentionally making you fall for him. Even if you weren’t the strongest, the bravest, he liked you enough anyway. Now it felt empty, here in the hammock you laid in. You weren’t going to give in that easy.

As the ship readied for launch, you were handed down orders. Buggy wanted to wear you down first, you swabbed the deck, cleaned the cannons, mended the tears in all the sails. The work seemed never ending, your arms sore from hauling crates.

As you worked, you watched Buggy at the helm. A gleam on his chest caught your attention, looking down at your own chest. The locket was missing, now around his neck. You wore it last night, that bastard.

So that was how he’s going to play it then?

[topazy]

In the shadows

Paring: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 1.10

𝚃𝚘 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 -

𝙸'𝚖 𝟿𝟿.𝟿% 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎.

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 -

𝙻𝚢𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞!

𝚃𝚘 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 -

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝! 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠. 𝙸𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

When Lydia invited you to go shopping with her and Allison, you declined at first, due to hating shopping for clothes and still trying to process finding out who the alpha is, but Stiles begged you to go.

𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 -

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍

“Allison, when you said you needed to stop for an errand before we went shopping, a five-mile hike in the woods was not what I was expecting.” Lydia says he's trying to keep up with her.

You felt extremely uncomfortable. It was obvious there was some tension between Scott’s ex and the redhead.

“Before I forgot, I was trying to ask if you were okay with something,” Allison says. Jackson asked me to the winter formal. “Just as friends, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it first.”

“Sure,” Lydia tries to hide the hurt and jealousy in her voice, but her facial expression gives her emotions away. “As long as it’s just friends.”

“Well, yeah, I knew. It’s not like I wouldn’t take him to the coach's office during lacrosse practice to make out with him or anything.”

They both go quiet, and you decide to speak up. “I don’t know why either of you would want to be his friends anyway; Jackson is a total jackass.”

When they both give you looks that make you shut up, you text Stiles, demanding he or Scott come and get you.

—

You puff out your cheeks while snapping twigs between your fingers. Allison was letting out her rage, firing arrows into trees, while Lydia desperately tried to make small talk with her angry friend. Leaving you to sit on your own, bored, you’d gone deeper into the forest and lost signal on your phone, so you couldn’t even text Stiles.

“What’s that?” Allison asks, worried at the sound of branches snapping.

“Probably a rabbit, a deer, or... someone walking their dog.”

Allison goes to investigate, leaving you and Lydia alone; the red turns and gives you a knowing look. You shrug, “I didn’t tell her anything.”

She lets out a huff. “Do you really think Jackson is a jackass?”

“Yes. There are much nicer, sweeter, funnier guys out there.”

She lets out a chuckle. “Oh yeah, who?”

“Um, Stiles, Scott…” you trail off when you can’t think of anyone else.

Lydia goes to say something but stops when she notices Scott and Allison approaching.

—

You’re made aware of the sheriff’s presence when he lets out a sigh and says, “Good evening, Mori.”

“Hi Mr. Stilinski,” you say from your spot on Stiles' bed.

“Are you aware my son isn’t home yet?” He looks amused when you nod. “I’ve just gotten home myself, so how on earth did you get in?”

You take out a set of keys from your jacket pocket and hold them up, saying, “Stiles got me a set made.”

The sheriff shakes his head and says, “Of course he did. I’m assuming this was after your mom called the cops because she thought a burglar was breaking in when it was actually my son.”

“Actually no,” you do your best to stifle a laugh at the look on his face. “Stiles already had keys made to mine and Scott’s house; he just prefers the window.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

—

“Hey!” You frown at Stiles when he rips an old comic book from your hands and tosses it onto his bed and says, “I was reading that.”

“We need to go now,” he says seriously. “This is life or death.”

You uncross your legs and reach for your shoes without urgency, asking, “What’s going on?”

“Scott’s mom is on a date.”

“Okay? What's so deadly about that?”

He gives you a look that silently screams we are screwed. “Melissa is on a date with the Alpha!”

“Oh shit,” you scramble to your feet and grab your jacket that’s hanging on the back of his door. “We need to go right now! What's our plan?”

—

“Hold on!”

You brace yourself as Stiles rams the back of his Jeep into the Alpha, also known as Peter Halle’s car. This was his master plan for saving Scott’s mom—crashing into her.

“Aww, are you kidding me? Stiles!” She fumes as she steps out of the car.

“Mrs McCall?” Stiles jumps out of his. “Wow, this is... this is just crazy. What a coincidence, huh?”

Peter gets out of the car and gives you a smug look. He knows that wasn’t an accident; he looks almost impressed and mumbles something under his breath.

“Mori!” Melissa waves for you to come out and join them.

Reluctantly, you do. You weren’t the best of liars and had a feeling Melissa would see right through you. Although, anything you said couldn’t have been as bad as Stiles, who claimed he just didn’t see the car.

You try your best to listen to what Peter is saying; he must have figured out Scott was nearby and was talking to him. You could have sworn Peter's eyes occasionally flickers red.

[brown-little-robin]

Hello, Robin!! *waves*

Since we got onto the topic of synesthesia, now I’m quite curious: how did you come to find out that you had synesthesia? What did that process look like for you?

Hi, Grace!! *waves back*!

YEAH OKAY SO! It was pretty interesting! In a nutshell, it went: I hear about synesthesia and go "couldn't be me! my color associations must be made-up and only in my head!". I learn that not everyone sees real-time subtitles in their mental space. I learn that not everyone has a mental space. weird, but okay. I keep thinking about it for a few years. I read various synesthete's descriptions of their own experiences, including symptoms that are different from what I initially assumed was The Only True Synesthesia. (useful athough limited terms: "associative" versus "projective" synesthesia.) I talk to a psychology grad student who explains how synesthesia works, physically, in the brain. I finally accept that I process almost everything through the color center of my brain. Every concept, thought, sound, and touch-sensation registers as "color/light" to me. I have two fields of vision, which I cannot turn on or off at will: the physical one and the mental one, and sometimes they overlap. I decide that I definitely have synesthesia.

Basically, the process of finding out I had synesthesia was part paying careful, consistent attention to how my brain works, and part learning how other people's brains work. I had to learn that my experiences were not just What Everyone Does, and come up with my own terms for my own experiences as well as adopting certain existing terms!

Detailed timeline of Robin's Synesthesia Adventure below the cut! <3

1) At age 10, I have an argument with dad where I argue that 5 is green, and he says it's red, and I say NO it's GREEN, and he says "well it could really be either, I could see 5 being green", and I stop, confused, and think ....no, every number is only ONE color (except for the number 2 which is two colors at once), what is he talking about. I could understand 5 being red for dad and green for me, but the idea that 5 was totally unconnected to color, that this argument had no basis in reality? that was weird.

2) years later, I learn the term "synesthesia". Cool! I think. Couldn't be me, since when I look at the number five, it isn't green on the page, exactly. It's just green in my head, and sometimes on the page. Same with all the other letters and numbers, and with sounds and textures. High short sounds only make bright neon flashes in my head, and cello is only brown and fuzzy in my head, and guitar only makes sharp metallic shapes in my head, and so on; it's not like I'm actually seeing sounds. Also, "R" is "red", and "Y" is yellow, and "G" is green, and many such things; if I really had synesthesia, surely the pairings would be totally random and not influenced by my culture or the stuff I grew up with. surely.

3) I read a book from the perspective of a character with synesthesia (who also had magic alien communication powers related to that), and HER symptoms were so extreme that it confirmed me in the belief that I definitely did not have synesthesia, because I don't like, hallucinate! (note: the definition of hallucination is a bit loose. you could argue that I do hallucinate. but anyway.) but I, unlike this fictional character, don't react physically to sound-colors like they're real! Except when things are so loud that I experience them as bright and instinctively close my eyes, but that doesn't count. surely.

4) I get into a research rabbit-trail on synesthesia. synesthesia is so cool! what is it like to have that? from the inside? wait, this sounds like me. wait, you can have associative synesthesia versus projective synesthesia?? what's the difference?? WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I HAVE BOTH ASSOCIATIVE AND PROJECTIVE SYNESTHESIA. I have to be making this up. I don't think these words exactly fit my experiences; I definitely see the colors I associate with things, but not in the real world, not exactly, not all the time. hmm.

5) I learn that most people don't experience ticker-tape synesthesia (involuntarily seeing captions as people speak). It is at THIS point that I first go: yeah, I definitely have SOMETHING. I DEFINITELY have THAT. But then I think, wait, I don't see captions for ALL LANGUAGES. that must mean I'm making it up. when people speak a different language than English around me, all I see is blobs of color, like how it looks when people sing without words, and occasional "captions" when I pick up something that my brain can transliterate into Roman characters. surely this is not synesthesia. this is just... Thinking.

6) After upwards of a year of wondering about this and observing myself, I come to the conclusion that although the specific associations are not intrinsic to my brain (for instance, I develop color associations with friends that I don't have with strangers, and letters correspond to related colors), my synesthesia is both consistent and involuntary; piano was white sparkles five years ago, and it's still white sparkles now. I am not making it up on purpose. It happens whether I want it to or not, and I cannot turn the sensations off when I try. This is just something my brain does. (note: recently I've been having fun watching my brain come up with colors for the Japanese characters I'm learning! ら,る,れ, and ろ are all red :])

6.5) I meet a grad student in psychology at my university who hears that I think I might have synesthesia. He is DELIGHTED to share the current research on exactly how synesthesia forms in the brain with me, out loud and via sketching on a napkin. I kid you not, on a napkin. I learn that synesthesia is a physical process in the brain, and that almost every baby is born with some form of synesthesia; sensational signals (electrical impulses) travel to multiple receiving parts of their brain through your neurons. Eventually, baby brains figure out to send visual signals only to certain areas, such as the color and shape sensing areas, and auditory signals only to auditory receiving, and so on, without triggering the other parts. HOWEVER. Synesthetes' brains never quite lose some of the more convoluted sensational paths. (side note: you can also develop synesthesia later in life because the brain is very flexible and very weird. people sometimes gain it after a brain injury, for instance.) anyway, I, personally, seem to route all of my sensations through the color processing area in the brain. I don't know why, but maybe because it seems to be useful to my memory recall systems! When I try to retrieve memories, the first thing I always think of is the color I associate with a memory/concept/thought. Then my brain uses that color as a key to find the related memory/concept/thought.

Wow.

7) Sharing this experience isn't necessary to have synesthesia, but I realize that my synesthesia significantly affects my functioning; due to having two fields of vision that overlap sometimes (like glass being laid over the real world or something), I get easily overwhelmed/overstimulated. And being overwhelmed causes my "synesthesia vision" to overlap MORE with the real world, causing more distress, causing a spiral of overstimulation that I seek to escape via closing my eyes, putting on music in earbuds, or leaving the room. A lot of what I and others had labeled "being shy", I realized, wasn't that I didn't want to be around people; it was my body getting stressed out and overwhelmed and trying to escape the double vision by any means necessary. It also gave me a tendency to dissociate and ignore my body. I become gentler with myself and learn to work with my brain, including knowing when to embrace discomfort and open my senses versus when to accept that the current overwhelm is not helpful and dissociate intentionally and/or remove myself to a quieter environment.

8) present day! I am still learning more about synesthesia and I love talking to people with different forms of it, or people with related conditions like aphantasia (face-blindness / inability to mentally visualize). I also like to argue about it. April is pale purple and I will FIGHT YOU on that.

if you have any questions or comments or things that stood out to you about this you'd like to exclaim over, please feel free to reply or dm or send an ask about it!! I Love Talking About Synesthesia >:D

[lilyrizzy]

cw: a/b/o dynamics, mention of scars from past sa, set in this universe

It’s winter and the windows are closed. The sickly smell of sunshine hitting warm, damp earth that’s ready to give way to something new and green, it’s all Max. Outside, the ground is stone and unforgiving to life.

“Daniel,” Max whimpers, hips rolling languidly in his lap. Everywhere they touch is sweat sodden, Max’s back sticking to Daniel’s chest. He presses a kiss to a patch of acne on his shoulder; sweet imperfection. “Daniel-- please.”

Touching his stomach with one hand, Daniel shifts them so he slides that little bit deeper inside. His fingertips graze the more sinister scars, the angry, sickening red of most having faded long ago to a muted pink, while with others it has only been weeks. Other hand resting over Max’s chest, Daniel lets the rabbit quick beat of his heart underneath his palm soothe him. This way, he tells himself, he’ll know if he does anything wrong.

He used to be confident helping girlfriends, an occasional friend through heats. Kiss, thrust, knot, come. Simplicity. With Max, there’s no room for error and yet so many tight corners it feels impossible not to go wide anyway.

“Baby,” he says, then leans in to kiss the tender spot behind Max’s ear, where he’s so sure nobody else has before. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

Max whines, shaking his head as much as he can without forcing Daniel’s mouth away. Still Daniel moves, lips trailing until they’re resting on his neck, over where Max’s scent is thickest. It settles heavily over his tongue, like syrup with all of the gluey sweetness. The air around them is too humid for how cold it must be in every other room of the house, the heating switched off the moment Max’s fever began.

Daniel lets his teeth scrape against this most tender part, testing. Max’s hips stutter, Daniel’s lap gets wetter. He moves the hand on Max’s stomach down, until he’s touching where Max is hard, a different kind of sticky.

It’s freedom to do this, to hold Max in his arms and make him feel good. To show him that not every ache has to hurt. That when love is done right, it is the same thing as safety.

“I love you,” he says to remind Max, to sate the lion prowling in his chest that wants to pick its teeth with Jos’s bones, “all mine, my Maxy.”

Max’s head falls back onto Daniel’s shoulder at the mention of his name, and he’s smiling shyly. The flushed pink of his face the same colour as the first tulips Daniel gave to him, though this wasn’t what he’d been thinking about at the time. The sunlight filtering through the blinds bathes him in gold and Daniel has to have him forever.

Neck straining, Max’s lips reach to kiss Daniel's scent gland in return. To press his face into the place he knows it’s okay to hide. Daniel’s hips keep moving, rolling gently as he starts to swell.

Pain blossoms as Max’s teeth graze the thin skin of Daniel’s neck when he comes, hard enough to make Daniel’s hips jerk. Too rough in a way he promised he’d never be, but Max only whimpers, only pulls his face back a few moments later, and there's a tiny speck of blood covering the freckle on his mouth.

“Please,” he says again, and Daniel bites.

[dragon-creates]

Dress

Funnybunny Week Day One: Wedding . It was just them, no one else. They didn’t need anyone else for this moment. If word got out about what they were about to do then Caine would find out, and all hell would break loose. It was best this was kept secret. Only the stars were witnesses for something as special as this.

Read on AO3

Hey ya'll! I'm still kind of on a break but I wanted to put a pause in it to participate in this year's first ever funnybunny week! This event was created by my good friend Ann, who created this on twitter. If you wanna take part in this, whether its art or fanfics etc, you can check it out here. Anyways, I hope you enjoy day one and hopefully I'll see ya'll tomorrow! <3

.

Say my name and everything just stops, I don't want you like a best friend - Dress by Taylor Swift

.

It was just them, no one else. They didn’t need anyone else for this moment. If word got out about what they were about to do then Caine would find out, and all hell would break loose. It was best this was kept secret. Only the stars were witnesses for something as special as this.

Jax and Pomni stood outside, bare feet against the plush grass as a warm breeze floated past them. The rabbit was wearing  a white blouse underneath a black blazer and trousers, while the jester had gotten rid of her hat and changed into a beautiful starlight shimmering dress with long sleeves and her long skirts trailing behind her along with a sparkling cape on her shoulders. 

In his hands, Jax held a small black box, holding onto it carefully as if it was the most precious cargo he ever had in his life. In this case, for him, it certainly was. 

He opened the box, two small wedding rings gleaming beneath the star-filled night. “Pomni,” he started, his heart already skipping a beat at her soft smile. “I might not be able to make this nightmare of a place go away, but I can promise you this. No matter what, I will be by your side. No matter what I will protect you from anything Caine throws at us. No matter what, I will love you more than anything else in this world and the next. You are the sun and moon itself Pomni, you make my life brighter every single day and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you, will you accept this ring,” he held up the gold band, “And be my wife.”

“Yes, a thousand times yes,” a few tears streamed down her cheeks, Jax was pretty sure that he was going through the same thing. He slipped the gold band onto her tiny finger, kissing her hand and reveled in the way her pale cheeks turned into a strawberry hue. 

Pomni picked up the silver band from the box, this time it was her turn to speak. “Jax, I know that I’m not a perfect person. I get scared easily, I run when things seem dire, I become overwhelmed by the smallest things. But out of everyone, you’ve always been by my side to help me. Sure at first, you weren’t my favorite person,” she giggled at his fake offended gasp, “But over the months, I felt like you were the one who understood me the most. In a way, you were the most honest with me about this place. Soon, I got to know the layers underneath you. I know that despite your reputation as the resident jerk here, you still appreciate it when someone asks you if you’re okay. You absolutely love hugs even if you try to hide it, you turn into a real octopus whenever we cuddle at night. And when I wake up after a nightmare, you always say the kindest things to me, making sure that I feel safe enough to fall back to sleep. When we get out of here, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So please, take this ring, and become my husband.”

Jax carefully took her hand, guiding her to slip the ring onto his finger before taking both of her hands into his bigger ones, “I do, always and forever.”

“Always and forever,” Pomni repeated, her lips drifting closer to his.

Jax shivered as her breath washed over him. Unable to hold himself back, he swooped her up into his arms and pressed his lips against hers. Pomni returned the kiss with the same amount of passion, holding him tighter while he ran his fingers through her hair.

After a while, the two finally separated, laughing quietly as they pressed their foreheads together. 

It was just them, no one else. They didn’t need anyone else for this moment, this moment where two kindred spirits finally became husband and wife. Eloping under the midnight sky, away from Caine’s all seeing, prying eyes. 

Even when the sun would rise, and they would pretend that this night’s events had never happened. The warmth that the two shared could never be taken away. The love that they have will always be there.

Always and forever.

[alovelyfox]

Chapter 9: Confessions with a side of pancakes

The words leave your mouth in a tone much more harsh than you mean them to, but it seems to stop whatever the two idiots on your couch were just doing, so it feels justified. Stan abruptly gets off Wendy, and she sits up to look at you. For a minute, the three of you are trapped in some kind of sick staring-contest, eyes darting back and forth between each other. But you’re the first to break when the sight of Stan’s happy trail causes you to turn around, nearly dropping Kyle as he drunkenly leans on your body.

“Put some goddamn clothes on,” you demand, and wait until Wendy gives you the all-clear that they’re decent before facing them. You clear your throat before addressing them again, the anger in your voice gone but the irritation ever present.

“Please, someone tell me what the fuck was going on here. Because if it’s what I think it is, I swear to-”

“It was,” Wendy interrupts. “It is. I don’t know, but… yeah. Whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right.”

Kyle stirs slightly after you let out a heavy sigh, and you figure your first priority should be him. You motion for Stan to come take him off you, and when he’s been gently laid on an empty chair, you go and take a seat beside Wendy, ignoring what they were probably doing where you’re currently seated to avoid throwing up.

“Wendy, are you serious? I know emotions are running high after not seeing each other for 7 years, but immediately having sex with him? You’re not teenagers anymore, why rush into something like that?”

“Because we’re in love,” Stan replies, but your withering gaze doesn’t make him shut up, and he continues. “I love Wendy, and she loves me. I’m sorry Y/N, but you can’t stop true love, a love like ours.”

You think hearing the word ‘love’ come out of Stan’s mouth one more time will kill you, so you turn to Wendy, and stare deeply into her eyes to discern her true feelings on the matter as you ask your next question.

“And you want this? A relationship with Stan again?”

She nods yes, but turns her gaze to the floor to avoid yours, something which tells you she might not be entirely sure. But it’s obvious she’s not going to share her ambivalent feelings with him in the room, so you decide to let it go.

“Whatever. Fall in love, get hurt, have each other’s babies, whatever, just keep me out of it. Anyways, is he staying over?”

She shares a look with him, and purses her lips together.

“Ask him.”

You reluctantly drag your gaze to Stan’s, who’s standing awkwardly next to where Kyle’s slumped.

“I mean, I can probably catch a lift with Kyle right?”

“I guess. He does need someone to drive his car back to his place, maybe you could crash with him there… Let’s ask,” you say as you walk towards the kitchen, fixing a cold glass of water for Kyle. You press it against his flustered cheek, and it seems to wake him up from his stupor, if barely.

“Hey Kyle, can Stan drive you-”

“Hey Y/N,” he replies with a dopey grin on his face, and the sheer cluelessness of his expression results in you giving him an embarrassed smile in return.

“Hi Kyle. Look, can Stan drive your car home and-”

“Stan? Stan Marsh, from South Park? Fuck no he’s not driving my car, shit’s gonna end up crashed into a beaver dam or something.”

Wendy stifles a laugh while Stan protests in the background that it was a boat rather than a car, and you reassuringly pat Kyle’s soft curly hair, lulling him back to his drunken slumber.

“Okay, so that means all four of us are sleeping in the apartment tonight,” you say, as Stan and Wendy share a look. You catch on, and immediately shut it down.

“No way you two are sleeping together in the same room. I’m not falling asleep listening to muffled moans through the wall by you two horny rabbits. What about this, I’ll give my room up to Kyle and Stan, while Wendy and I crash in hers?”

Everyone still awake agrees, and Stan drags Kyle off to your room. You help Wendy clean up, and eventually you’re both settled in her bed ready to sleep. But while the alcohol in your bloodstream is making you more tired than anything, Wendy is buzzing with a nervous energy, so you decide to ask her exactly what happened which led to her and Stan before you and Kyle walked in.

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest. You see, today’s our anniversary, so of course I was thinking of him. And then he just showed up, talking all about how much he missed me after all these years, how much he loves me… And he asked if I loved him back. While we were having sex. Fuck, it all got so confusing, I still can’t make sense of it even now.”

“I’m sorry Wendy, but what? I mean, you haven’t seen this guy in what, 7 years, and then he shows up on your anniversary and love bombs you like that. And then you have sex with him despite not being completely sure about your feelings? I’m sorry, but I think that sounds really toxic.”

She just shrugs it off. “I think it sounds really romantic. I mean, now that I know exactly how he feels, it can help me decide how I feel about him. And don’t judge me for having sex with him, didn’t you bring Kyle here to do the same thing?”

You know she’s just trying to divert attention away from her and Stan’s relationship which you think is weird, but don’t decide to push it any further. Plus, this new topic she’s brought up has you squirming uncomfortably.

“Of course not,” you reply. “He’s in no condition to drive home, you saw how drunk he was.”

“So the only thing stopping you was how drunk he was? It doesn’t matter how attractive he looks to be now?” She inquires, and you feel your face heat up.

“I mean-”

“So you like him?”

You open your mouth to answer, but your brain hesitates for a moment and you close it. Do you like Kyle? You certainly like the way you feel around him. That sounds like what you’d say about someone you like. But maybe that just means you feel safe around him, like he’s a trusted friend akin to someone like Wendy. Yet you don’t stare into her black eyes the way you do his emerald green, wondering what he’s thinking behind his often serious gaze. And you don’t feel that same electrical tingle run through your body whenever your skin makes contact with hers as you do with his. Fuck, maybe you do like him.

“I’m attracted to him, at the very least,” you reply, and Wendy lets out a teasing smile.

“So what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing. It’d be too awkward to do anything about these… feelings I have, especially since he’s my boss.”

“Sure, he’s your boss right now , but what about when he’s not? I mean, I do remember you mentioning something about how there’s some changes going on at your firm, and I know you’re anxious about what it could mean for you, but maybe something happens with Kyle instead and you’re no longer working under him. What then?”

You forgot you had told her about the management changes happening at the company. The stress over potentially losing your job was what you used to justify why you came home crying after the Langford trial, the shame of losing too humiliating to relate back to Wendy. But you remember how kindly Kyle had taken you in his arms when you told him, letting you pour all your emotions onto him without uttering a word of complaint. And if that’s the lengths he’s willing to go to make an employee feel better, imagine what he’d do for his girlfriend. If you were his girlfriend.

“If there was a chance we could date, then… Then I would at least tell him how I feel.”

It feels good, talking it all out like this, expressing the thoughts you’d hidden inside for so long. But the idea of once again being so vulnerable in front of him leaves you nervous, so you’re happy when Wendy slightly changes the subject to something else.

“I get it, to be honest. I mean, he’s changed so much from when I knew him in South Park. Back then, he was just a tall, scrawny Jewish kid who was too smart for his own good and hung out with Stan a lot. But now… He’s certainly come into his looks.”

Hearing her talk about how attractive Kyle is makes you a little uncomfortable, so you take the opportunity to ask about how it was growing up in South Park, and how the three of them really knew each other. Wendy divulges it to you, and for the rest of the night she explains the complicated dynamics of their relationships, along with the other interesting characters of their small Colorado town, until you both grow too tired to keep talking and fall into a dreamless sleep.

…

The time on your phone reads 8 am when your eyes groggily open, so you silently slink out of bed to avoid waking a still snoring Wendy and make your way out into the living area, which is where you encounter Kyle with his back towards you in the kitchen. Taking a seat on a nearby barstool, you cram your head to the side and try and see what exactly he’s doing to produce the delicious smell filling the air. You realize he’s making breakfast, cooking enough pancakes to feed you both and everyone else when they wake up.

You reflect back on all the other times he’s gone out of his way to do things that take care of you and others, and your heart warms.

He would make such a good husband one day, you catch yourself wondering, but your thoughts are interrupted by Kyle turning around and getting jump-scared by you sitting down in front of him.

“Jesus Y/N, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough that I totally appreciate what you’re doing right now” you reply with a playful smile.

“Well, this hangover’s beating my ass right now, but I hear keeping busy can help, so I thought I’d make breakfast for everyone,” he replies, turning back to flip over some pancakes after taking a strawberry from a crowded bowl and placing the rest in front of you. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Fuck no,” you respond, popping a juicy red one in your mouth. “But for your information, the best hangover cure is raw eggs, no contest.”

He gives you a confused look.

“There’s no way that actually works.”

“I swear on the stars themselves it does. Fastest way to reset your body back to normal and it'll probably help stop the pounding you’re hearing inside your head right now.”

Kyle scoffs.

“Drinking a glass of them could open up my third eye, still not drinking that.”

“C’mon, it’s really not that bad,” you say, getting off the stool and heading towards the pantry to grab some. But Kyle’s faster, and comes up behind to put it high enough in the air that you can’t reach.

“I told you, I’d rather die.”

You roll your eyes and strain to get them, struggling while he quietly laughs. But when you jump up, he goes silent. You keep jumping before you realize something’s slightly poking in the back.

Holy shit. Is he hard?

In a rush last night, you put on a thin pair of mini shorts, which means you can feel all of him through them. You’re about to say something when lowers his head down to yours. You feel his curly hair brush against the side of your face, and can smell a hint of strawberry on his breath when he whispers into your ear.

“Don’t stop.”

His words tickle and a faint smile appears on your face. You arch your back slightly towards him, and he lets out a soft groan. His breathing becomes more labored as you continue grinding against him, and you feel yourself getting wet. Your entire body’s on fire, and the noises he’s making behind you aren’t helping cool you down.

But when he tries to pull you closer by your waist, he accidentally lets go of the eggs, which subsequently spill all over you. The cold sensation of the runny yolks spilt on your body pulls you out of whatever trance you were just in, and you and Kyle move away from each other as his eyes widen.

“Oh my god, Y/N. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” you reply, and start to clean up the mess before he stops you.

“No, let me. You go take a shower and get that off of you, I have to finish cooking anyways.”

You nod and make your way to the bathroom, wishing that the earth would break apart and swallow you whole. But as you open the door, the sight in front of you immediately quells any concerns about what just happened with Kyle.

Wendy and Stan are engaged in a passionate make out session before the sink, hands tangled in each other's hair and lips locked firmly together.

“Oh my god, it’s not even been 24 hours after you finished having sex, give it a rest!” You exclaim, causing Wendy to turn towards you while Stan barely notices you’re there. You pull him away from her and tell them both to go sit at opposite ends of the dining table while you take a shower.

“And keep your hands to yourselves for fucks sake,” you call out before slamming the bathroom door shut.

You know you’re projecting your anger over what happened with Kyle onto them, but you can’t help it. Stripping off your clothes and hopping in, you wonder how far the two of you would’ve gone if not… interrupted. But the stickiness you feel on the inside of your thighs tells you all you need to know, and you sigh before letting the cold water hit your face, scrubbing away the eggs and the shamefulness you feel over what you just did.

…

Stepping out of the bathroom, the table is set and filled with a massive stack of pancakes, which all three of the others are helping themselves to. You take a seat next to Wendy and across from Stan, who seems to have already forgotten your angry outburst and is tucking in.

“Alright, I know I said not to get me involved in your relationship, but I at least wanna know what you two are to each other, so I won’t be as shocked next time I walk in and see the two of you dry-humping.”

Stan looks up from his food with a mouthful of pancake, which he swallows before answering.

“That’s easy, we’re dating. Right Wendy?”

You turn towards her and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“I don’t know, I thought maybe we could just take it slow,” she replies, which causes Stan to drop his utensils as he stares at her in surprise.

“What the fuck? Fuck that, we’re just resuming from where we left off in high school.”

You sneak a glance at Kyle, who’s focusing all his energy into not being noticed by you. You sigh and silently eat while Wendy and Stan continue arguing.

“I think our high-school relationship was riddled with a bunch of problems I’d rather forget, so I’d rather we just start newly-fresh.”

“Wendy, what ‘newly-fresh’ couple says I love you the first time they have sex?”

Wendy's eyes dart from her breakfast to Stan’s face, while his gaze remains secured on hers. She shyly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear while tilting her face away from him before replying.

“Well, you see, the thing is, I’m not really sure I meant it. I think I was just caught up in the moment.”

Kyle seems to sense that Stan’s about to start yelling, so he stands up and clears his throat.

“Alright, I think it’s time for Y/N & I to head off to work, we can drop Stan off on the way if Wendy doesn’t mind cleaning up here?”

He looks at her and she enthusiastically nods, obviously willing to do anything to not continue her conversation with Stan. But he declines, standing up and stating he’d rather stay here and keep talking, which is when Kyle grabs his wrist and mutters it’s probably best to leave Wendy alone for now, since she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Stan clenches his jaw, but agrees, and soon enough the three of you are in Kyle’s car.

…

The ride is quiet, Kyle focused on driving, you trying to avoid his gaze in the passenger’s seat, and Stan simmering in the backseat. You eventually reach his place, and he mumbles a thank you under his breath then gets out of the car, leaving you and Kyle alone with the memory of what happened in the kitchen. The car is too silent, and you hate the idea of going back to where you used to be in your relationship because of one silly mistake, so you try to start a conversation about something else entirely.

“Hey, so what did you and Stan talk about last night after Wendy and I went to bed?”

He sighs, before letting out a faint smile.

“Honestly? I have no clue. He probably did say something to me, but I was too drunk off my ass to take it into consideration.”

“Lightweight,” you reply, and he smirks.

“Maybe. I don’t know, I don’t remember getting drunk like that, ever. And it’s funny, I wasn’t even planning to drink that much. But I guess you just bring out that side of me.”

You turn your head away, flustered at the implication.

“I wonder what other sides I can bring out of you,” you accidentally say out loud, and now it’s Kyle’s turn to blush.

For the rest of the ride, the both of you sit in a comfortable, albeit embarrassed silence. Upon arriving at the firm, you get out of the car quickly, claiming it’s just so Kyle can go park without you distracting him, but you both know it’s so you can catch your breath. The fresh breeze hits your face, cooling your cheeks down significantly. You walk into the building and elevator by yourself, wanting some time to collect your thoughts before going in without his intoxicating presence to fry your brain. But there’s a blond-haired man standing at the front desk who you assume is Sam’s replacement, so you plaster on a big smile and introduce yourself.

“Hi, you must be the new receptionist, Leopold! My name’s Y/N, I’m a junior lawyer here.”

“Oh well hey there!” he replies in an enthusiastic, slightly southern voice. “You don’t have to call me Leopold. I mean, it’s technically my name, but I'm only using it to get away from a toxic ex I have. I really prefer it when people use my nickname,-”

“BUTTERS?” Kyle calls out from behind you, and you recognize the name from what Wendy told you last night about their hometown.

“Butters? From South Park?” You ask, and he shyly grins.

“Yep, that’s me.”

[wishe-d-doll666]

The first night to remember…

Tobias Erin Rodgers. The famous serial killer known for committing mass arson and the murder of his father. He has not been found since he mysteriously vanished with no trace…

“S-Shu-Shit!” Toby cursed out, his Tourette’s getting the best of him. He carried his hatchet through the woods trying not to make sound as he thought the police were hot on his trail. Sometimes the hatchet would bounce off a root when he would occasionally drag it and cut his calf. He didn’t mind. He couldn’t even feel it. As he trudged through the woods looking for shelter he stepped on something odd. When he stepped on it, it clinked. Of course, he thought it was some sort of beer can or another piece of trash which wasn’t rare in his area. People throw trash in the street all the time. Sometimes even glass bottles, something reminiscent of his childhood. The first time he went on a walk with his sister. Toby was about 3 or 4 from his recollection and he wore the cutest little sandals. While he was walking, he fell in the ditch and cut his foot on a broken whiskey bottle. Lyra carried him back home and bandaged his wound. Oh, how he missed her… He refocused himself and kept walking. However, it was that same clinking noise. He looked down and realized he was walking on scrap metal. “S-Scrap m-muh…metal?” He whispered to himself, kicking some leaves off of it. It was an advertisement for a… pizzeria? Out here? There’s no way a pizzeria is back there! Right? Toby knows everything around here. He kept walking. He walked until he arrived in a parking lot. Looking up, he sees… The pizzeria. It had a bear on it and it said something like, “Freddy Fazbears Pizza.”

“F-Freddy… F-fuh… Fazbear?”

Toby stuttered and hunched over as a tic.

He goes up to the door and breaks the cracked glass. It didn’t matter if he got hurt; like I said, he couldn’t feel it. He has a rare condition called CIPA. Anyway, he walks into the building. It had a nostalgic smell, It’s like his father’s alcohol that spilled on the 3 week old pizza which was about to start growing mold. As he walks further in, it was filled with old arcade games and left behind tables, cups and silverware, and… A stage. He peeks behind the curtain and freezes.

“W-What… Wh-What are you?”

He pulls the curtain back, revealing 3 animatronics of a bear, bunny, and chicken. “Huh… Y-You must be-be Fr-Fre-Freddy, hm?” Toby asked as if the bear was a person as he chuckled softly, like he didn’t just set his neighborhood on fire, killing his father with the hatchet he carried. He turned his attention towards another, smaller curtain that says “Pirates Cove!” on it.

He moved the curtain back on Pirates cove and sees a fox animatronic, designed to look like a pirate.

“T-The ‘P-Puh… Pirate’s C-Cove’ really makes sen-sense now, heh…”

He chuckled again and went to explore more. Toby found his way to the back of the building, where the security guard should be. Yet, there was no security guard. No wonder he could just… break in. He turns on the computers and cameras. As he did, a VHS player starts, explaining the security guard job.

“D-Dammit. I’m-I’m not starting a job…”

Toby cussed out as he dropped his hatchet, watching the video anyways. It was only about 11 PM, so the, what the VHS called “night guard’s”, shift started in about an hour. He watched the video, bored out of his mind. He decided he’ll do it, out of pure boredom. Toby went to the locker, put the uniform on, and sat in front of the cameras. “D-Damn th-this limited power… B-Bullshit.” He snarled under his mask. He checked the first camera. The stage. “W-What?! Where’s the rabbit?!” He yelled and checked around, seeing it in the hallway. He peeked out the door, watched it walk closer as he hid inside, closing the door and checking the light. It stood there. Staring. “F-Fuck off… Y-You c-crackwhore r-ra…rabbit.” This bullshit of checking the cameras, closing and opening the doors, checking the animatronics kept on until 5 AM… Then, he checked the camera showing the Pirate Cove. The fox was about to start going down the hallway. Toby thought that fox will start walking like the others until he checked again. He looked at the hallway camera and the fox was running. It ran… He slammed the door closed and he could hear banging and scratching. Toby never got scared of… anything other than his dad. But this… this was different. The little alarm clock hit 6 AM and made this little bell noise. It was like, celebration music. He grabbed his axe, opened the door, and ran out. He held his axe like he is going to swing at anything coming in front of him. As he ran outside, he realized it was day out… He can’t go out with cops looking for him…

(Part 2??)

Suggested by @coquetteraccoon