#but in a 'you fill me with an ungodly amount of rage when i see you' way

[reliccipher]

It is sooo much easier to explain to people that you love a character for no reason than it is to explain that you hate a character for no reason, worse if that character is a villain

Yeah I know he's a terrible person in canon but that's not why I hate him, yeah it adds on to the hatred and it makes him a terrible person and no, I don't hate how he's written/designed or his role/importance to the plot, I hate him for Some Other Third Reason that can't be explained. Hope this helps <33

[struggling-with-time]

How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

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Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He’s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[honey-coloured-passion]

Surprise! (Sapnap x Reader)

Request: “Sapnap X Reader where he surprises the reader while she’s streaming”

Words: 1.5k

“Hello chat how are your days going? Good, bad? Finals!? Oh my gosh I hate finals dude I’m so sorry f to pay respects,” you paused to stretch and adjust your headset as you had just started your stream. “I’m kinda just bored today chat so what should we do? Mods can you all run a poll or something?” You glanced at your discord and saw messages from Sap.

“Hey angel!”

“Oh you’re streaming!”

“You look cute on stream” 

You rolled your eyes but chat caught you blushing and saw that Sapnap was viewing the stream, and immediately lost it. They’d been shipping the two of you for months, but little did they know you guys had been dating for three months, since you met up in person for the first time. It hadn’t felt like the right time to announce to the world and you’d wanted to establish your relationship privately before telling the fans, but that didn’t mean you’d had a couple slip ups leading the fans to theorize. 

This included you calling Sapnap various forms of babe, bubs, Nick, love etc. Same went for Sap who gets teased for endlessly rushing to your defense on the SMP and responding casually when you call him a pet name, almost like he does it all the time... yeah, chat was on to the two of you. 

“Shut up guys and tell me what we’re doing today! We could go grind netherite tools and chill? How does that sound?” the SMP always got a resounding yes, and just like that you were off, the SMP had won the poll anyways. 

You messaged Sap in discord, “wanna call for the stream?” and quickly he was on the call with you. 

“Hello Mr. Sapitus Napitus, how’s your day going on this fine Friday?” you laughed as you ran through the nether, having just collected enough wool and planks to make beds. “It’s going, I was bored as heck so I wound up here, what about you?” You knew the longer end to that story, his family was out and he thought editing would take longer but now he was stuck at home. “Same same, I’m chillin and got bored after scrolling on Tiktok for like two hours so now I’m here!” You moved on, blowing up the nether hunting for netherite scrap while talking with chat.

A familiar notification went off, “water check from, um ,GogySupremacy420,000, oh my god what a username. Alright everyone drink some water! This is good I haven’t drank water since like breakfast.” you heard Sap pipe up, “you’ve eaten since breakfast right?” you rolled your eyes, “nope I’ll eat after stream don’t worry Simpnap” tacking on the nickname earned a scoff from the simp himself. “Not a simp,” he answered, giving you a punch in the game making you hit him back. After a mini fight ending in you threatening to place a bed and effectively kill the both of you, you were back to mining. 

“Hey I’ve gotta go drive and grab something want me to stay on call though?” your head whipped to discord to look for another message, knowing Sap didn’t have anywhere to be tonight. But there was nothing. “Oh I don’t mind, chat and I enjoy your company!” you said with a grin. You’d made it to enchanting now, having found all the netherite you needed.

As you sat on the spider spawner you heard Sap get in the car, the familiar beep of him unlocking his car and the revving of the engine making you laugh, “you’re car is literally so old I’m surprised it starts,” you heard Sapnap scoff, “old?! don’t you dare speak to her like that, she’s beautiful,” you rolled your eyes, Callahan who must’ve been on your stream quickly piped up in the game chat “Y/n is jealousss!” now it was your turn to be offended, “you think I’d be jealous of a bucket of rusty bolts and oil? No chance,” you laughed, checking chat as they were spamming JealousChamp. “Whatever you say ba- Y/n,” Sapnap played it off with a cough and you quickly changed the subject to how much XP you would need for all your tools. 

“Hey I’ve gotta go on deafen real quick be back soon!” Sap’s voice flooded your mic, he must’ve brough the mic close to his mouth because his smooth and deep voice curled around the mic perfectly, sending shivers down your spine as his warm tone filled your headphones. “B-bye” you choked out, pretending to adjust your headset as you continued killing mobs. “So chat, got any questions to pass this alone time?” you watched the chat speed up, hoping your mods would filter out poor questions. “Favorite. color? Easy who knows? Yup! You guys know me too well. Ooh favorite fast food place? This is hard cuz I don’t wanna say something you all don’t know but I can tell you guys my McDonalds order because it’s immaculate. Do I know Sapnap’s order? This is a good test you guys, I’m pretty sure it’s like an ungodly amount of spicy McChickens and a Dr. Pepper but I swear he changes it like every day.” you laughed, reading out other people’s orders then moved to debating if the icecream machine is actually broken or if the workers are just lazy. They’re lazy, confirmed by workers in chat apparently. 

“I’m back but I have to go in like five minutes, did you miss me?” Sap’s voice flooded your headphones again. As you adjusted his volume you teased, “hmm nope!” to which he began pouting making you laugh at his “baby rage”. Just as you were finishing with enchants on your axe he had to go. “Don’t miss me too much I’ll talk to you later, chat behave yourself I know you all will miss me but just leave y/n open in a muted tab,” he teased making you roll your eyes, “whatever we’re gonna have a super secret conversation after you’re gone about how we only let you on the stream out of pity right chat?” you couldn’t stop smiling and laughing through the teasing. “Okay okay, I actually gotta go, see you soon,” you bid Sapnap farewell and returned to joking with chat, turning on media share to pass some time as you reacted to animatics, hilarious compilations, and the occasional y/n x sapnap video making chat light up as you laughed through the videos. 

As you watched the videos and killed cave spiders you got a text from Sapnap. 

You still streaming?

Yup! Where’d you end up going? you replied.

Open your door and find out

Your breath hitched. “One- one minute chat,” you pulled your headset off and heard a small rustling in your hallway. As soon as you tabbed out of the game you stood up, rushing off camera to fling your door open and,

There he was. His smile was infectious and you couldn’t help yourself from screaming and running into his open arms. As he held you, rocking back and forth, you heard him mumbled. “I missed you”  Into your ear while you clung to him. “I missed you more,” you whispered back, Finally, you released him enough to peck his lips, unable to wipe the grin from your face. “I got food cuz you said you didn’t eat and I figured if I had time I wanted to spend it with you!” your heart practically melted, taking a bag of food in one hand and holding Sapnap’s hand with your other you realized you forgot to mute or end stream.

“Um, so I’m still streaming... what do we do?” you glanced up nervously but Sapnap just started laughing, “oh my god I guess I can say hi so chat doesn’t lose it’s mind,” you swallowed nervously, glancing down at your phone you had been tagged in endless clips of you running off camera then screaming about 15 seconds later. “Yeah better give them an answer,” you giggled.

Rushing back to your setup you saw chat blowing up as you put your headset back on. “Heyyy guys! So yeah, um I guess I can just show you that, we have a special guest!” You gestured to Sapnap to come into frame, pulling up a chair as he sat down next to you. “Yeah I gave y/n a visit cuz I was bored. Hi chat, hello, hello! You guys are going really fast dang,” Sapnap gripped your hand under the table, you squeezed back, leaning into his embrace. “So um, I think Sap and I are gonna hangout, right?” you glanced at him and he nodded, he really hadn’t stopped smiling since he got to your place. “Yup! Maybe if there’s time we’ll go live again I’m not sure! Kinda spur of the moment yeah?” you finished your thought. Saying goodbye to chat you ended stream just a few minutes later.

“We’ve really gotta tell people soon, I wanna be able to hold your hand on camera not just off,” Sapnap said between bites of food. “Yeah, I think it’ll be okay right?” You had always been nervous about stans hating you or people trying to get in between your relationship. “As long as I’ve got you I’m more than fine, I’m- I don’t know I guess I’m pogchamp,” you shook your head, “god you are such a dork,” Sapnap scrunched his nose with a laugh, “I’m your dork though so I’m so special!” and you couldn’t agree more. <3

[novasheadcanons]

The Brothers with a MC who’s presence is calming their sin

TW: None :3    SFW   Fluff

Lucifer

-One word: Denial.

- He was always proud. And he found new pride in being the Avatar he is. He would never allow anything else to happen.

- But you wormed your way almost to easy into the eldest heart.

- You started bringing him tea and a snack in the evening, when the others were getting ready for bed and you knew he was still working. The amount of paperwork seemingly endless.

- He scroffed the first time you did this. He didn’t need a weak human to take care of him.

- He will absolutly deny how quickly he was looking forward to seeing you in the evening, a gentle smile your lips and delicious tea and his favourite cake in your hands.

- You humbled him. Soft whispers of comfort in the night when he was overworked, stressed and trying to ingnore painful memories. He allowes you to care for him when he previously would have strangled anyone who saw him like this. Now he’s questioning what he did to deserve you.

- He leans into your touch and reaches out for you in return.

- What was previously limited to when you two were alone starts to seep into his daily life with the brothers as well.

- He recrognizes his shortcomings and flaws more, but still struggles to act on it. But he becomes more forgiving. His brothers were sure he was deadly ill the first time they noticed.

- Lucifer will always be the embodyment of pride, but he becomes softer around the edges.

- He like to pull you on his lap and stroke over your cheek. It never fails to make him smile when you look at him with so much adoration.

- “You know I can’t let you go just yet, right?”

 Mammon

-He thinks he’s dying. No joke. He has been googling his ‘symtoms’ 6 time now. - But ‘Help I’m the Avatar of Greed but I feel weird!’ doesn’t really bring forth anything useful.

- Mammon’s greed is something he never had any control over, and he still doesn’t. At least no concious control.

- It starts when you two are out and about. He made a new money making sheme and dragged you along, as usual, but now you two were sitting at this fountain for two hours already and he forgot why he dragged you in the first place.

- Mammon watched you laugh over something he said, but it was a nice laugh. A laugh that didn’t sting. You weren’t laughing about him. This was nice. He wanted more of this.

- When he actually managed to make money and he found himself looking for something for you instead of him, it dawned on him. This dork came home with 4 gifts for you and only one cool pair of shades for himself. Pff, he wanted nothing else anyway, why are you looking at him so surprised?

- He still gets the sticky fingers when he sees something he could sell to make money, but more often than not he placed it back after thinking about how you would not like him stealing and getting in trouble again.

- The Avatar of Greed is still well...greedy. But it changes. Mammon feels so fuzzy inside when you're happy, laughing, reaching out towards him. He finally noticed how much more he wants of this. No amount of grimm could outshine your smile when you look at him. You filled the emptiness he tried to stuff with grimm, clothes and jewelry.

- He hugged you close one night, not knowing you were still awake. You had been watching a movie together and decided that you would be sleeping here, to tired to go back to your room.

- He whispers quietly in your hair while pulling you even closer to his chest. “Ya are the biggest tressure I ever held...”

 Leviathan

-absolutly oblivious to it. Like, this man does not notice at all.

- It also took a long time. His envy isn’t just jealousy. It is self-deprecation. It is comparing himself to anyone else and always comming to the conclusion that the other person is better.

- It only started when he accepted (for the most part) that you truly were his friend. That you didn’t secretly were planning a long-term joke on him.

- He had been ranting about a new fascination of his for a while now, while you were watching him being so in his element. He looked... happy maybe even a little confident? When he noticed how long he had been talking again he apologized but he didn’t look ashamed like he usually looked. More bashfull, but still smiling. And it didn’t take much convincing to have him continue.

- It was a lot of these little things. But more and more his envy lost it’s sharp edge that used to stab him in the back everytime he so much as thought about being proud of something he achived.

- You helped him becomming more at ease with himself. Your presence reminded him about all the things that were good in this life. Things others didn’t have.

- He realised this when he was complaining about how unfair something was when he looked at you. Patiently sitting there and holding his hand. With this loving look in your eyes.

- The widest smile you’ve ever seen from him streched across his face, lighting up his eyes and he squeezed your hand.

- “What am I doing? How could I complain about something so trivial when I have you by my side?”

- Cue both of you blushing and looking surprised. You couldn’t help but laugh a little when he hid his face in your shoulder when you hugged him. A blushing, blabbering mess

- He may be making progress but he would always be your Levi.

- There will be time where he falls back into his old harmfull thoughts but he knows you will be there to hold his hand. Just like Henry does for the Lord of Shadows!

 Satan

-He caught on the quickest and welcomed it the slowest.

- Every since you moved in with them he felt weird when you were in the room. Probably because he was so sensitive. Satan picked up on everything in a room, so every little thing could set him off if he hadn’t learned how to quickly escape and rage in the safety of his room.

- But the more time he spend in a room, close to you, the calmer his mind became. He still picked up on everything but when he glanced at you, or when you softly touched his hand because you noticed his eyes tighten a little, a wave of calm washed over him.

- He did not trust it. At all. Were you influencing him with magic? Were you doing it on purpose? But if you were so powerful that you could calm the Avatar of Wrath with a single touch why were you always so close to dying??

- As usual for Satan he spend days researching, trying to find anything. Without success.

- He barged into your room, agitated by the lack of success. Satan had nearly kicked your door open. And froze when he saw you.

- You were laying your back, your legs streched out and propped up on the wall. Your D.D.D making contact with your face when he had barged in. He couldn’d help but to laugh a little. His previous anger forgotten

- Calmly he closed the door and joining you on the bed, where you had just set up and were rubbing your forehead. “The fuck, Satan?”

- He smiled softly, taking your hand in his so he could give the red spot on your forehead a little peck. “Let me make it better.”

- Maybe it wasn’t so important why and how. You calmed his wrath finally making place for something else.

- When his brothers catched on they would practially dump you on top of Satan whenever he worked himself into a rage. Works like a charm.

-He never said anything to you, but you knew. The look in his eyes told you everything.

 Asmodeus

-For him the transission was so smothly he didn’t notices it for a while. He started complimenting you, without complimenting himself while doing it. He didn’t praise his outer beauty with nearly every single breath anymore. Still alot (Have you seen him?) but less desperatly. Asmo forgot to post his morning selfies twice in a row because he lazed around in bed with you.

- It irretated him to no end for weeks now. Something felt off and he had no clue what it was. It was driving him absolutly insane and his brothers were acting like they knew why, but noone would tell him anything!

- It was the third week now he didn’t feel like going partying to get praised, get eye-fucked by every passing person...

- Instead you two were in his room, wearing soft pjs and laying on his bed, shoulders pressed together

- You had grapped his hand while talking, gestureing wildly exited about something.

- It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy you talking, or wasn’t interessted but he was to mesmerised by your face, eyes shining with joy.

- Suddenly it just...clicked.

- “It’s you...!”

- He was sitting up, pulling you up with him. You rearly witnessed the Avatar of Lust looking at you so...seriously.

- “Asmo...is everything alright? Did I-“

- He had pulled you on his lap, arm tight around you, just holding you as close as possibly to him. You were all he ever wanted but tried so hard to deny. You loved him. Not the Avatar of Lust, but him!

- “I...I love you more than I love myself.”

-You calmed his desprate desire to be loved. To be seen.

 Beelzebub

-It started after you made the pact with him, probably because you were spending more time with him now.

- probably the most noticable change out of the brothers.

- It also started of slow. A few less snacks in between classes, not 12 plates of food at breakfeast but 10

- The brothers noticed immediatly but he brushed it off. He was feeling fine. Better than fine actually. Beely felt this warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Smiling happily he took another bite, enjoying the taste more than usually before gulfing down more.

- The first time you two fell asleep in a bed together, you had made yourself comftable on top of him, he gently brushed some strands of hair out of your face. You had fallen asleep ontop of him. He was kind of hungry but you looked so blissfully happy...

- In the end he fell asleep, too. And he sleept through the night.

- Imagine his shock when he woke up before you, now really feeling hungry expecting it to be around midnight, as usual, but instead it was time for breakfest... When was the last time he didn’t get up in the night to eat?

- He is still eating an absolutly ungodly amount of food but he doesn’t feel like he is starving nearly every seconds of the day anymore. When he realised it was because of you, he picked you up in a bear-hug. Just holding you close and pressing his face into your neck. You swear you feel your neck getting a bit wet...

- “Thank you...Thank you so much...”

 Belphegor

-after being freed from the attic he finally joined the ‘normal’ life in the House of Lamentation again

- the others had already spend a lot of time with you. So they figured it out by now already but they agreed not to tell Belphie for two reasons:

- 1. Nobody wanted him to be dissapointed should it turn out that it doesn’t happen for him.

- 2. They wanted it to be a surprise should it work.

- Belphie felt insecure for a while since all his brothers were already so close to you and he well... He wasn’t exactly starting of a clean plate here...

- So he occupied your time a lot for a while

- He didn’t notices his brothers small changes for that reason

- It started off by being more awake around you when you two had cuddle & nap sessions together. He shrugged it of to just wanting to get to know you more.

- Your presence made him being able to be awake for longer periods of time in the beginning, then when you forced him to participate in activities with Beel and you his energy didn’t drain as quickly as he was used to. When he slept, he didn’t sleep quiet as long but felt so much better after waking up.

- It made him suspicious. So he started watching his brothers more.

- After two month he confronted you at breakfeast.

- “What are you doing to me?” Okay, rude...

- Why were his brothers ginning so stupidly?

- After you spend a while explaining what you and the others figured out he leaned back, taken aback. A soft smile taking over his lips that he could not surpress fast enough.

- Later that night he made himself comtable on top of you, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. He didn’t know what to do, but your lovingly petting his hair made him realise he didn’t need to.

- He still sleeps a lot, often and in the weirdest places, he will always be the Avatar of Sloth but this might not be so bad after all.

__________________________________________________________

Please reblog and like if you liked this! I would love to know what you think of this, so consider leaving a comment. This is my first try on HC for anything :3 My requests are open!

[chocolate-parfait]

Hello! Can I get a headcanon where MC(they/them) gets a little lonely so they climb a tree in the middle of the night to get to Comte/Mozart/Napoleon's room window. How would the boys react?

THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! +they're more scenarios than headcanons I hope you dont mind ;-; (I also hope you dont mind the amount of cheesiness i put into this lmao)

(+Trees shouldn't stay at a arm's length from houses because they can cause big problems in case of storms or things like that,, let's pretend for the sake of the story that they don't and that's why they're so near the windows)

Comte

Mama Comte was just chilling in his armchair, drinking a glass of red wine while letting his thoughts chase each other in endless circles, vivid images of past memories dancing behind his closed eyelids. More often than he liked to admit, he'd find himself in these exact circumstances, and that night was certainly no different. It was probably way past midnight when the still silence that hovered in the room was interrupted by a small whisper, followed by another and another one again. Attracted by the curious sound the pureblood got up from his sit and walked to the window, opening it with one swift gesture

"Comte, here!"

After his dark pupils focused on a silhouette that was undeniably yours, a rare look of shock and disbelief crept upon his features. Despite having risked falling to the ground like a sack of potatoes multiple times while climbing all the way to one of the highest branches of the tree, the man's expression made the effort more than worth the danger

Before he could ask you what in the world you were doing perched on a tree branch in front of his room at such a late hour, you eagerly told him why, words leaving your mouth in a single breath

"I-i couldn't fall asleep and thought of you and then I had this sudden urge to see you but I didn't know if you were awake so I climbed this tree to see if your light was on and then-"

As his caramel eyes softened and a warm smile appeared on his lips, Comte asked for you to stay still, and mere seconds after the last syllable reached your ears, you heard the fluttering of his coat that was now right in front of your widened eyes

Had he???just???jumped from his window????to land?????on a tree branch????next to you??? MC: why though? Comte: why not- MC: BUT why th- Comte: why not.

Giggling at your reaction while securing you against his chest, something was extremely clear in his eyes. Since you came all the way up there just to see him, it would have been a terrible waste to just send you away, right? And you knew he wouldn't have taken a no as an answer

"Hold on tight, ma chérie. We wouldn't want you falling down, now would we?"

Taking advantage of the position you were both in and with the excuse of possibly falling down, you contentedly snuggled in the crook of his neck; soft, expensive fabric caressing your cheek while his perfume rubbed on you, sure to remain there for at least a week

Comte on the other hand didn't complain nor move away, watching as your hair moved under the moonlight, softly swayed by the wind

Maybe spending a night in someone's company was a better alternative than staying alone, after all

Mozart

Mozart hadn't realized it had gotten that late until he finally closed the fall board of his piano, looking out of the window to see the stars and a full moon shining gently over the dim lit marble pavement of the music room

Almost one year ago on a night with the same moon, you walked out of Comte's door, looking as confused and scared as a little fawn. Since then you worked hard all over the mansion doing all kind of tasks, and though he'd have loathed the idea before, you two ended up getting incredibly close. Only lately he had started noticing many weird little behaviors that were slowly becoming a part of his routine; the way he had now stopped putting off having breakfast to play the piano in order to see you sooner, how his guts seemed to writhe whenever he saw you smiling at someone else, and as if it wasn't already enough, he found his thirst for blood more and more insatiable

Knowing what that meant but still fearing the answer, he tore himself away from the disheartening path his thoughts were taking, finally snapping back to reality. When he did so, a gleam coming from the tree near the window caught his attention. The closer he got, the more he seemed to distinguish your moonlit form standing in the foliage. Was he hallucinating now? Were his mind and heart so full of thoughts of you to the point of imagining your figure in the weirdest of places?

Before he could realize that you were in fact right outside his window, you called out to him, causing the poor man to flinch in surprise. Despite the harsh scolding that followed your appearance, just seeing his face was enough to ease the stingy feeling that was keeping your heart in a tight embrace. Seeing the bittersweet look in your eyes, Mozart couldn't stop his voice and gaze from softening considerably. But how could he not? Over the past months he had subconsciously started to consider you the one closest to his heart, and you were, more than he was ready to admit, his worst weakness

Sighing to himself as he reached past the parted glass panels to brush some leaves off your hair, he asked you "So, what are you doing here at this ungodly hour of the night?"

Amethyst spheres focusing on your expression, you told him the whole truth, not that you could easily make up a lie, seeing the position you were in. "I know you don't like it when people come into the music room, so this was the easiest way..." As if he had the strength and willpower to get angry at you, he thought. "A-anyways I-...I just wanted to see you, that's all."

Oh Gott, if only you could hear the way his blood pace sped up its tempo at the sound of those words, though you probably could see the way his usually pale cheeks were now flushed in a lovely shade of red. He, too, missed you, and now that the constant feeling of longing had met a correspondent in your gaze, it reached its bursting point

Not bothering to ask you permission to, he roughly grasped your wrist and pulled you away with superhuman strength from the offshoot you were sitting on. You were now on sill of the window, facing him and just inches from his doll-like face. Glancing up at him you found a pair of violet eyes staring back at you with the intensity and strength of a storm. Had he always been this bold? Had his irises always been this full of raw passion? Had his body always been this warm?

Your heart was thumping so loud in your ears that it was as if you were standing in the middle of an orchestra, senses all focused on him and only him. All the times were you hoped to be held like this by him came crashing onto your mind all at once, the fiercest blush born from the slow realization of how those fantasies were finally reality blooming on your cheeks

The tight grip he kept on your hips told you he had no intention to let go of you soon, but who would be so foolish to not take advantage of the situation?

That night, after months and months of anonymous, mutual feelings, you and the pianist were able to manifest the most breathtaking of emotions through the words that you'd have kept hearing for a lifetime, the touches and caresses that would have been the same for the years to come, moved by never changing feelings to express an everlasting love; but you were sure, you were oh so sure, that none of them would have ever been enough

Napoleon

Unlike any other day, Napoleon wasn't tired at all, rather, he felt quite restless instead. That morning you had accompanied him and Isaac in their usual "street lessons" to the children of the city, and ever since then, a whole storm of butterflies had been freely running around his stomach. Each time your laughter ringed in his ears, each time your eyes twinkled with amusement, each time a smile as bright as the sun graced your lips, his heart couldn't help but leap with one of the greatest joys known to man: love. He wasn't an innocent boy who couldn't tell an emotion from the other, and he knew that this was a love like no other

Twisting and retwisting his thoughts in the attempt of getting to know about all the facets and implications this new feeling brought him, Napoleon let his feet carry him around the garden, similar to a lovestruck hero from a Shakespearean play tormenting himself over his beloved

He was so immersed in the meanders of his mind, that he barely heard you exclaiming his name in surprise. Barely, that is. As his brain registered your presence, his eyes and heart danced in search of you until they landed on the lowest arm of the pine tree near his window.

He looked at you and you looked at him, the soft sound of crickets the only melody filling the background. You could clearly see the way le Monsieur de Wahaha's shoulders shook in an attempt to keep in the raging fits of laughter that would have been surely let out soon enough. The same way, despite tears of amusement fogging his vision, Napoleon was extremely aware of the embarrassment creeping up your features

"Nunuche" he managed to say in between his strangled fits, "what in- pftt- what are you doing there-"

"I just wanted to thank you for today so I had been searching for you- S-stop laughing at me, you moron! I'm trying to be serious here!!" How could he take someone who was perched on a tree in the middle of the night seriously? You truly were a silly one

With arms opened wide, he walked over the pine trunk and with a tender but still lightly shaking tone that was exclusive for your ears only, he said "Come! I'll definitely catch you, mon amour"

You just stared at him in silence with the widest eyes your head could muster without popping them out of their orbits. You were just a couple meters from the ground, sure, but was he truly this confident in catching you? And did he just call you "my love"?? There was a LOT to unpack for your brain, but the man had no intention of letting you idle by with your thoughts for long, challenging you with his vivid emerald eyes as if to say "what, you don't trust me?"

The fearless Napoleon had this habit of infusing in others a courage so strong, that even the most impossible action seemed achievable; and that, with a bit of adrenaline caused by how quick the silent night escalated when the Nightmare of Europe stepped into the scene, made you follow his command. And you jumped.

The rustling of leaves above your head, a strong pair of arms around your torso, a silent breathing interrupted by a low chuckle that could've melted all the glaciers in the world. His smell, his warmth, his voice, they were all so close and yet so distant, just like his heart. He wasn't yours and you had no right to claim him as so, but being with him was all you needed and wanted the most

"What are you thinking about?" He asked with a curious look, still holding you between his arms. As much as you wanted to answer him, no words were forming in your mind that was so full of him and so empty at the same time. All the boldness from the jump had dissipated in the air the same way one would puff out air from his lungs in the night sky

But when words fail us, actions find their way through our minds. Slipping a pair of arms behind his neck, you snuggled against his chest and whispered "Let's stay like this, just for a little longer, please"

He couldn't help but comply; your wish was his command and he, the Emperor of France, was your slave

[harrysgloves]

Fine Line (Chapter 7)

>>>Catch up with the Fine Line Masterlist!

word count: 1.2k

story summary: Since you were kids you and Harry had always walked that fine line of friends or something more. Now, pregnant by someone else, you find yourself staying with your long time best friend after things go sour with your boyfriend of 3 years.

Singlemom!Reader x Harry Styles

chapter summary: You make breakfast for your best friend and he leaves you breathless.

warnings: Language // Harry is a dumb ass tease.

a/n: And this is the closest we’re getting to smut anytime soon. Sometimes writing slow burns is hard for me. Basically because I’m ungodly h*rny for this man. Let’s be real, we all are.

>>>

You woke that morning finally not sick to your stomach, for once. Your arms stretching behind you as you sat up in your super comfortable bed. Eyes flickering over momentarily to the bunny lamp that was on the nightstand beside the bed. A smile forming on your lips as you looked at it.

Harry sure had a way of being adorable when he wanted to and there was no doubt in your mind that this room was absolutely decorated with you in mind. The walls painted a deep navy blue which was always your favorite color. The bedspread was a stark contrast of bright white that matched the sheer curtains that let the perfect amount of morning sun into the room.

The bed was a beautiful gold frame that you knew you could never afford even if you saved every penny to your name. But the real kicker was the paintings of the bunnies above what was now, your bed.

Harry was always a cheeky thing when it came to keeping his promises. Sparing no expense when it came to making sure you’d always have a room in his home for you.

Your fingers ran down the stairway railing as you studied every picture he had on his wall. One’s of you two in high school. One of you wearing a Harry shirt at the X-factor audition. Another one of you, Gemma, and Abby at your graduation. A few of his mum and sister. Even a really good one of Mitch and Sarah cuddling on the tour bus from last year.

But none of Camille or any of his other love interests over the years were anywhere in sight.

As you walked the house. You started to wonder if any of his girlfriends had ever been in this house. No shred of evidence any of them ever existed laid around the neat and organized place.

If you didn’t know he was dating someone, you would have never been able to guess it. No pictures or notes from her were on the fridge. Instead, a birthday card you had gotten him 3 years prior was smack dab in the middle with a magnet you’d gotten him for Christmas. The handwritten message glared back at you as you opened the fridge door.

“Hazza,

Hope your birthday in Japan is amazing. Can’t wait to see you again and make our birthday wishes together.

Love you always, Bunny.”

You smiled one last time at the card that had a bunny with a birthday hat on it as you shut the fridge door.

You and Harry had made so many pledges to each other over the years. Deals and pinky promises, you both took a tad bit too seriously. One of them was to never make birthday wishes without the other.

Every year when it was exactly in-between both of your birthdays you two would have a mini party together. Just the two of you. A cupcake with a candle on top of it as you both made a wish at the same exact time. It was a weird childhood tradition that carried on way too far into adulthood.

But you always figured this way you go two birthday wishes a year.

You flipped through the endless list of songs on your phone. Selecting your favorite one to cook before tying up your hair on top of your head. Hands working mindlessly to make the breakfast you’d made for you two so many times before.

You didn’t hear Harry get up. His lanky form resting against the doorway in the kitchen. Watching you. His arms crossed over his bare chest, head lying against the wooden frame of the door. His heart felt like it was going to burst at any second from seeing you like this.

God, how he missed seeing you like this.

Your body twisting and moving to the song. Your voice singing the lyrics a bit off-key but he thought it was adorable. Every thought running in his mind was screaming at him. Kiss her. Hold her. Tell her again. Maybe this time it’d be different. Maybe this time it’d work out.

He let out a breath, pointer finger, and thumb pulling at his bottom lip before pushing himself off the frame.

He knew he was getting himself in trouble. Knew he should stop feeling this way. Put some distance between you two. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the sight of you in his house, making him breakfast.

His arms wrapping around you made you jump. Your hand pressed against your chest to calm your heart.

“Fuck, you scared me.” You laughed, turning on the spot to look at his sleep filled eyes.

“Makin’ waffles?” He asked, his eyes peering over top of your head to look at all the ingredients you had laying out.

“Yup. Glad I bought you that waffle maker last year. And you said it wouldn’t get any use.” Your own arms wrapped around his waist, resting your head on his chest.

“We usually eat breakfast at yours.” He said with a slight shrug. His hand sliding up and down your back. His fingers running along your spine.

You groaned, face pushed in farther to his bare chest. Eyes closing as you silently cursed.

“I have to call movers this week to get my shit out of there.” You pouted, lips in a frown as you hugged tighter around him.

“He’s still not answering?” Harry asked, pausing his hands moving on your back when you pulled away.

“Even if he did answer, I’m not sure how that would go.” You said as you turned back around. Busying yourself with the last waffle in the waffle iron.

“‘Ere, let me.” Harry said as he reached for your hand a little too late. Your fingers catching the edge of the hot iron.

“Ouch!” You yelled, your hand jerking back quickly as it stung and burned. The blazing red skin on your fingers was already bubbling up. Your lip trembled. Eyes water filled with uncried tears.

“Fuck, bunny.” Harry cooed as he took your hand. His eyes took in the damage done. “Gotta be careful.”

His soft pink lips pressed a gentle kiss to your fingertip. Your eyes widening as you inhaled a sharp breath. Your thighs clenching together as your mouth hung open in shock.

Your brain suddenly put together the fact he was shirtless. Standing so close to you that you could smell the shampoo he used. Your chest was inches away from his own as he held your hand in his. His eyes flicking to yours as he pressed those soft cushions against your burned skin again.

“Feel better?” He asked when he pulled away, his eyes still trained on yours as you nodded your head yes.

Swallowing thickly when he didn’t immediately drop your hand. The tension in the air grew thick as his hand around yours tightened slightly.

You’d lie to yourself later and say between your legs wasn’t throbbing but you knew deep down that heat of desire was burning there. Your legs pressed together tightly as a soft whimper you tried your best to suppress slipped out of you.

Maybe it was the hormones. Or maybe it was the fact you couldn’t miss the way his glance flashed down to your bare legs and back up to your eyes. A slight smirk dancing on his lips.

Either way, you knew living here with him while your hormones were raging was going to be the hardest thing you had to do.

“Ready fo’ breakfast?” He asked, hand finally dropping yours as he turned to walk towards the table. Your mind blank as you stared after him. Hoping to the gods that you packed your vibrator.

[kasieli]

A/N: Entry for DamiRae week 2020 Day 1, Handcuffed/bound together. There’s just some suggestive themes and (lots of) language (sorry, mouth of a sailor), so this is going to be a T rating. If you’re uncomfortable with depictions of drinking, I suggest you skip this one, since it’s the majority of the fic. This is kind of like a college AU, yeah? Without further ado, let’s start DamiRae week 2020, shall we? ;)

---

Raven hissed out a sigh and rolled her eyes — something she knew she would be doing plenty of times this fine evening.

If there was one thing she hated more than lukewarm tea, it would be stuck in a crowd full of empty, nameless faces, at a raging party, in a freaking house. There was absolutely nowhere to escape, let alone anywhere to breath, and there was always someone invading her personal space which, she hated to admit, was far less than the mere five feet that she deemed satisfactory. God, everyone was nearly on top of her. 

She rolled her eyes again.

This is why she despised parties.

Sure, she could have just pushed her way through the sea of wasted college students to save her throbbing ear drums. Sure, she could have just exited the stupid party and gone the hell home. But unfortunately she didn’t even have the simple luxury of using the damned trashed up puke-infested-by-now restroom – or merely shield her ears with both hands if she wanted to.

Jesus Christ, how could she have been convinced by her roommate to attend this shit show? She honestly should have known better. Fraternity parties were never ever good news, she didn’t even need to attend one to know. 

And yet here she was, standing in the middle of a jam-packed crowd, in a fraternity house, with a bottle of tequila in one hand, and a handcuff attached to another human being on the other. 

That was the quintessential fifths and cuffs party, after all. 

Bringing the bottle up to her lips, she quickly threw her head back as she took a greedy swig of tequila and winced, causing some of it to spew from the sides of the bottle and splash over her face and her admittedly too-exposed chest. That, she realized  –  alongside choosing tequila as her alcohol of choice –  was a monumental mistake.

“Woah, slow down!” her ‘date’ next to her exclaimed as he grabbed the bottle out of her hands.

“Give me that back,” she grunted, clawing at his hand. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “At this rate you’re going to finish this in no less than 10 minutes.” Even with the Backstreet Boys bellowing at ungodly volumes around her, she could tell that his voice was half filled with disbelief and the other with amusement. Chuckling slightly, he then followed her lead and took a gulp of tequila, except he did it gracefully. How could someone taking shots straight from a handle look so goddamn perfect? The man didn’t spill a mere drop on his face, as opposed to her scenario and her still damp halter top and the globs of tequila running down her chest.

Rolling her eyes, she snatched the handle from his grip and shot a heated glance over to her ‘date’, “Can’t you tell that’s what I’m trying to do?”

He shook his head and chuckled again. 

“That’s not entirely safe, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks for that information, captain obvious,” she growled as she took yet another swig, “I’ll survive,” she managed on a cough. 

The reality of the situation, however, was that no matter how fast her and her ‘date’ chugged this bottle of tequila, it would be borderline impossible to get out of these handcuffs without being completely wasted from the sheer amount of poison they were consuming – that is, if they could finish it. God, she knew it was dangerous, too, but the overwhelming desire to get the hell home plus the fact that she was starting to feel the woozy effects of the tequila oozing around her (still) logical senses (for now) was making her reasoning...well...completely unreasonable. 

But even with this so-called ‘liquid courage’, she was dumbfounded that anyone would be doing this for fun. At least, the crowd around her seemed to be having a wildly good time. Many were attempting to impress their dates by trying to show off their awful dance moves to some pounding beat (with the bonus side effect of the handcuffed date wiggling along), and some were already starting to eat each other’s faces (no liquid courage needed there). Really, how could this be fun? It was absolute torture. 

Her date beside her exhaled a sigh that wasn’t unlike the ones she had been doling out, and it was a teensy bit comforting that at least, to her observation, he wasn’t having a jolly ol’ blast, either. 

He clicked his tongue. “Alright, I know we were both dragged here against our will, so, please, let’s not try to get alcohol poisoning.”

She frowned as he took the bottle from her hands once again.

“Alright, Mr. Romantic, I know we were both dragged here against our will, so why don’t we finish this goddamn thing and get the hell out of here,” she spat. Jeez, even she could hear herself rolling her eyes in her voice.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re really going to be calling me that right now?” he scoffed with a voice that wonderfully took the same sarcastic tone.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t talk so much in Romantic Literature, you wouldn’t have that nickname.” She whipped her head around and gave him a hard, steady glare.

He scoffed again and rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course. That.”

For the first time in those how many minutes they were handcuffed together, she hadn’t cared to look at his face, as in really look at his face. This realization whacked her like the first C she got in their shared Romantic Literature class (she was now convinced the professor had a thing against her — she was also convinced that he was the professor’s favorite, the golden student, woohoo!) and she stood there like then, stunned, absolutely immobilized and even almost offended. But she didn’t have the luxury to ponder her placement in their class since the entirety of her muzzy, muddled mind seemed to be focusing on the fact that he was ridiculously and unsettlingly gorgeous. Having looks like that wasn’t fair. She had never seen him so up close before, and while, sure, maybe she thought he was kind of cute when she first saw him sitting stoically in their Romantic Literature class, she had never been able to tell just how incredible that jawline was or that his eyes were green – and a goddamn stunning green, at that. 

“If it really offends you, I’ll stop for now,” she successfully retrieved the bottle from his grasp and did exactly what she intended to do, “Damian,” she coughed again after feeling the burn of the tequila inch down her throat.

“Thank you, Mary Wollstonecraft (1),” he countered, smirking.

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck you,” she jeered as she shoved the bottle into his chest, causing him to catch her wrist in surprise. A few splashes of the tequila sloshed out and spattered onto his shirt. The sweeping motion of her eyes painting over him was almost automatic, and she soon came to realize that the shirt she just ruined was an elegant navy blue button down with a dainty pattern of dots – something that probably wasn’t meant to mop up some tequila droplets spilled by some English nerd. The sleeves were rolled up so that his forearms were exposed, and he had just the top two buttons undone at the collar of his shirt, but it was enough to flaunt that wonderful skin underneath. He always did dress quite nicely to class, and even from the distance, no matter what he wore, hoodie, button downs, t-shirts, she could tell he had a rather...delicious body. A golden boy, he absolutely was.

Oh, god, what was this alcohol doing to her?

“If it really offends you, I’ll stop for now...Raven,” he mimicked, smirking, eyes glued to hers.

Wait...eyes glued to hers? 

He was full on staring at her, and his face was so close, when did he get so close? No, she wasn’t stupid, she knew they were handcuffed so obviously they had to be relatively close, but just moments before she swore they were next to each other –  now they were face to face. Someone must have merely bumped into him and caused him to do so, but even so, she felt her heart alongside the blaring music strike against her already aching ears.

In no help to ease her already ripening...thoughts, he brought his hand up which was still holding onto her wrist which was still holding onto the bottle to his lips and took a slow sip. She could see that he rested the bottle on his tongue –  almost licking it – before those wonderful lips of his enclosed the rest and sipped that tequila as if it was goddamn syrup. He didn’t flinch or tear his eyes away from hers — God, he had such nice eyes — then afterwards he lapped up the rest of the tequila that must have wandered onto his lips. 

Okay, that was entirely intentional, she knew, since tequila burned.

“What?” he prodded in a voice that failed to be innocent. 

“Nothing,” she huffed as she tore her hand away from his grasp. 

She didn’t need the extra warmth, not right now, since she was already starting to sweat. Not solely because it was overly stuffed in the already small fraternity house and the sheer amount of bodies heavily increased the temperature, but also because of...him. Jeez, at this point, it wasn’t only the alcohol that was making her skin burn.

Her eyes averted to the bottle as she ripped it back from his hands and took a gulp, an awfully clumsy gulp, and to her dismay, but not surprise, covered herself in tequila once again.

A small chuckle from Damian made her blink up to look at him, only to find his eyes drifting off to an area much below hers.

“Oh, look at you, you’ve made a mess,” he whispered, “now you’re all wet.”

Fuck.

He was definitely flirting with her.

How could the know-it-all boy that could out talk their professor possibly be flirting with her? And more so, doing it successfully?

She couldn’t help but glance down at her chest and watch as the pesky droplets of tequila slid down before disappearing behind the edge of her halter top. In addition, the ample lighting provided by the sad excuse of a disco ball struck her chest in a way that illuminated both the thin sheet of sweat and the beads of tequila on her chest, emphasizing what made her a woman, as opposed to a man.  

“Your top is cute,” he added nonchalantly, successfully taking the bottle back and swallowing yet another deliberate, drawn out sip. This time, he didn’t care to lick the leftover tequila from his lips and boy — what was she thinking? He was eyeing her carefully, his eyes filled with a sort of wicked curiosity as he waited, presumably, for a response. 

At this point the alcohol was hitting her — hard. It was making the world spin wildly around her and the music fuzzy and her face numb, and for all things good, bad, and in between, the only thing she could focus on right now was how hot this man in front of her was. She really, really, really wanted to know if his bare chest was just as sculpted as she hypothesized it to be.

“It’s getting hot in here, isn’t it?” He asked almost aimlessly, ‘innocently’, once again. 

He peered around them, tilting his head. It may have not been intentional on his part, but by doing so, he freed his neck from his shirt collar, giving her an ample view of that incredible jawline...and his neck...her eyes trailed down more to his collarbone, just above where his shirt scraped the edges of his skin, and she could see the small beads of sweat dripping from his hair, and she suddenly had an urge to get rid of them, wipe them off by...whatever means necessary. 

“Yeah…” she responded, in a soft, senseless voice.

“Here, help me unbutton this, would you?”

Raising their handcuffed hands, he toyed at the top most button on his shirt. She felt her cheeks flare, even though they were numb — or so she thought.

“W...What?” she stammered. 

“The top button, it’s getting hot. Help me undo it,” he stated plainly as if his request was as simple as taking out the trash. 

“Fine.” She shook her head and obeyed — why did she obey? He wasn’t bound — he was simply just handcuffed. He could have done it himself, she knew he could have done it himself, and yet here she was, almost undressing him. Almost.

Her hands were shaky against his chest and, Jesus Christ, he was sweating under that fitted navy blue button down, she could see it on the newly exposed skin on his chest and, fuck, was it hot. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe or else she’d smell that scent that trailed off of him and destroy the last barrier she had controlling herself from tasting that skin of his neck.

He shifted so that her face was almost pressed up against that bare skin and cursed — it was like he was reading her fucking mind.

“Are you alright?” Despite the music, his voice was low, gruff, and breathy, and it seemed to be the only thing she could hear now –  besides her heart which was also squirming uncomfortably in her chest, screaming at her to get the hell out of there. “You seem a little...tight.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She turned her face away so that a thick curtain of hair could provide somewhat of a barrier between her and his bare chest and cleared her throat. Well, her throat was tight, that’s for sure. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. Definitely not fine. “I could just use a little fresh air, that’s all.” Definitely true.

And space. Lots of goddamn space. Space from him, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon now was it? After all, they still had half the bottle left to go. 

“Oh, you should have said something,” he replied as he took her hand. “Come with me.”

As if she had a choice.

Before leading her presumably outside the house, he paused momentarily by the kitchen counter and turned to her, an eyebrow raised, and a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh, by the way, you don’t want this anymore, do you?”

Standing beside a massive plastic tub filled with a so called ‘jungle juice’, he raised the handle of tequila over the top, tipped it over, and — 

“Oops.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, you can’t get rid of that —”

“Shh, calm down,” he leaned in close so that his lips brushed her ear. “You wouldn’t tell on me, would you?”

He wasn’t even looking at the tequila bottle as the rest of her sweet, burning escape (now, in more ways than one) glugged into the jungle juice. She, however, was examining it as if it were some sort of masterpiece, keeping her eyes glued as the rest of the contents sputtered to a stop. 

She swallowed hard, clenching her jaw. “No…” 

He let out a soft chuckle. “Good girl.” 

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

“See? Now we can get out of these.” He flashed a sly smile at her before she saw something else sparkle between his fingers.

Her eyes widened. Again. 

“You had the key this whole time?”

Without even giving her a semblance of a reply, he was already leading her outside, and before she knew it, they had perched onto a bench on the patio, and he was inserting the key into the lock and with a not-so-satisfying click!, she was...free.

The look he gave her next...well...it was...jeez. His hair was slightly unkempt because he had pushed it to the side, and she could see that his cheeks were almost imperceptibly tickled pink presumably by the effects of the alcohol, and now, with the hazy moonlight and twinkling patio lights, she could see those green gems he called eyes better, and they were hungry. The alcohol was gradually draining from her, she could feel it, but there was still enough in her, still enough wrapping around her senses that, without another thought, her now-free hand found his cheek and turned his face towards her, her breathing heavy even though she finally had fresh air. She never, ever wanted to kiss another human being so badly, never had such a burning desire for someone before, and here he was, a-sexy-as-hell man, basically taunting her to do so the whole goddamn night.

There was an ever so slightly widening of his eyes, before his expression went soft and a lopsided grin settled on his face once again. God, he was so beautiful.

“What do you want?” He hummed in a low voice.

She exhaled slowly, shakily, almost growling.

“You know what I want.”

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Oh? Do I, now?”

This...‘innocent’ act he was playing...he wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer.

She rolled her eyes, biting her lip, and she saw that he was intently watching every damn second as she did so. Oh, she was absolutely 100% certain that he did know. 

She was about to reply, but before she could say anything he leaned forward and tucked her hair behind her ears, then with those wonderful lips started exploring her neck. Man, she was glad he didn’t make her ask -- or beg. His lips felt so nice...they were so soft...he was surprisingly gentle, kissing her neck tenderly as if she were a delicate piece of art. It was exactly what she wanted but not remotely enough -- all at once. 

With an abrupt call from one of his friends, he stopped immediately. His eyes rolled up to meet hers as he tousled his already messy hair. “My, my...looks like I have to go,” he whispered. But that look in his eyes, she knew what it was, and she was sure as hell he didn’t want to leave just yet.

“Stay,” she commanded, tugging at that navy blue button down. “You’re not done yet.”

He chuckled.

“I’m not a bad boy,” he replied with a smirk, twisting a strand of her hair between his fingers. He pressed his lips against her ears, and she felt the hairs on her skin rise, something like electricity surging through her skin. “If you feel the same way tomorrow then…”

This time he nibbled her ear but she couldn’t seem to decide what to focus on because his hand was also traveling up her leg and he smelled so good and he was oh so warm, and, god, was going to this party a wonderful fucking idea.

“...Here, I’ll put my number on your phone.”

Her eyes shot down in a surprise. Oh, so he was reaching for her phone, not...something else. He handed back her phone and as she glanced down at her contact list, there it was, like he promised: ‘Mr. Romantic’ — complete with a goddamn heart emoji. 

He stood up and tilted his head as a smirk tickled his lips.

“See you in class, Raven.”

--

1. Mary Wollstonecraft was a writer in the late 1700s. One of her most notable works was A Vindication of the Rights of Women, and she is regarded to be one of the earliest feminist philosophers, so Damian is teasing Raven about being a strong feminist voice in their class. Not that he’s against it, he’s just teasing her since she teased him. 

[intimidating-fettuccine]

For the Sake of Science

I hope you enjoy this, because I am incredibly proud of it and I think it’s my favorite work. Under the cut for length.

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My parents were very interesting people. They had odd quirks and a habit of avoiding social situations, as their beliefs had made them outcasts amongst their community. My parents both claimed to be pursuing science for the sake of advancing society, but that couldn't be further from the truth at the root of it. They just wanted to test the limits of their "science", and I happened to be the perfect guinea pig for them.

My father was a surgeon in his day to day life, and my mother had been a chemist before she was abruptly fired one day for making propositions to her coworkers that were most definitely not in the job description. She had proposed that they begin experimenting on humans with various chemical combinations to try and alter the human species to a more evolved state, a "perfect" state, as she called it. She had threatened them when they called her insane, and she was fired for misconduct. My father seemed to agree with her ideals, and soon they began trying for a child, a child that they would make the perfect human being, and that child was me.

I don't remember much from my early years. It wasn't until about the age of five that things began to take a turn for the worst in my miserable excuse for a life. I remember that I was constantly getting sick, and I didn't know why. My parents never took me to the doctor and tried to nurse me back to health at home, and it wasn't until I had overheard my parents speaking one night that I learned that they had been poisoning my food. When I stopped eating any food they would give me, they began to take different measures to run their tests.

When I was eight, they renovated the basement in our house. What was once an empty bland storage room was now a medical lab that would soon become a living hell for me for many years to come. One day my mother led me down into the basement, telling me she was going to give me a physical checkup, something she told me was normal for every child to go through. I very quickly learned this to be incorrect. Once I was in the basement, she led me over to a medical be and had me hop up onto it, and before I was aware of what was happening, she and my father had held me down and restrained me to the bed.

My mother then proceeded to pull out some chemical blend that she had filled a syringe with, and she injected me with it at small amounts at a time. She claimed she was giving me a medicine that would make me better, but in reality, she was drugging me, and she continued to do so for many years. She would restrain me and test out new concoctions, and if the results proved to be unproductive she would start back at square one and begin all over again, never asking me if I wanted it, or how I felt other than if it was making me feel stronger, or more attractive, or more intelligent, to which I always answered no.

I learned quickly to not cry out when I would protest, when I would cry, scream out for help, yank on my restraints or try to bite them. My mother had a temper, and my father seemed to have no emotional attachments to me, so he would let her do as he pleased. She would get angry with me because perfect people weren't supposed to cry and refuse treatment. She would often beat me when I wouldn't listen to her when she was feeling kind. If she wasn't she would inject particularly painful substances or make me swallow them. Other times she would tie me up and whip me until her arm was tired or she was bored.

I hated my mother, but I would take her chemical injections over my father's specialty any day. My father was a surgeon, studied long and hard for it, but he, like my mother, wanted to take his chosen study further than moral decisions would allow him. He often did vivisections of me, sometimes alone, sometimes with my mother. Maybe I wouldn't have minded him poking around in my body so much if it wasn't for the fact that I was awake and had no numbing agents used on me to prevent pain. I would just have to sit there and bear with it as he stabbed and sliced and poked around inside me while I tried not to cry out or squirm in discomfort.

Sometimes my mother enjoyed injecting her drugs directly into specific organs, which resulted in multiple organs failing in my body, and me growing even weaker and even sicker. Of course, once they crossed the threshold of human experimentation they had no issues dealing in the black market, and they were able to procure me new organs whenever I needed them. After all, they would spare no expense in their delirious pursuit of perfection. Thankfully my father stopped cutting me open eventually, although it was only due to the fact that my skin stopped healing back as fast. I was fragile, and my skin would just peel right off in some places. Whenever I showered, which I was made to do quite often, I could no longer use regular loofas or sponges because they would tear my skin right off. Such is the expected result of being drugged on a daily basis.

These issues caused my skin to not only be sensitive but look and smell bad. Nobody wished to be friends with someone so visibly dying. A few of my teachers were quite concerned and tried to get involved and help me, but they all of a sudden stopped, most likely to my parents stepping in. They would ignore me and pretend I wasn't there unless they were passing back a paper or something else of the sort. The other students I went to school with weren't as forgiving. They would pick on me, some teasing and some spitting out harsh and cruel words about my appearance, my scent, my demeanor.

I didn't complain when they mocked me and called me horrible things. I didn't complain when they swapped out my food for stale, gross replacements. I didn't complain when they soaked me in water, or when one boy decided to piss all over me while I used the bathroom because as he claimed, I already smelled like shit anyways. I didn't say anything when they'd hit me like my mother would because I was already used to the pain. Some of them got bored because I wouldn't react, and some of them continued because they used me as a way for them to vent out their stupid bullshit frustrations. One particularly nasty bitch ended up calling me "Freakshow" one day, and the name quickly spread and stuck. I would be known as Freakshow for the rest of my academic career, and I ended up keeping in the afterlife, because why the fuck not, ya know? Nobody gives a damn anyway.

My mother seemed to become more and more distressed at my horrific state of appearance. Perfect people weren't supposed to be rotting corpses, they were supposed to be angelic and beautiful. Well, let me tell you, I was not nor have I ever been angelic and beautiful, and her worried distress only caused me to go even further from that state as she would pump me full of even more chemicals to try and reverse the effects of her years of misdeeds. When she realized that wasn't working, she stopped. She quit her injections and studies and tests and I thought for once in my life maybe she'd come to her senses. What a horseshit dream that was. Turns out she was trying to have me go through a sort of rehab, to try and get my body back to what a normal human was supposed to look like. When my body got back to a semi-normal state, she plunged right back into her experiments.

Now, I never gave a rat's ass about anything in life. I had nothing to live for, nobody to care about, no interests of any kind. It wasn't until I met Jackson that I seemed to change that thought. You see, Jackson accepted me, made me feel loved, and never judged me for any of my weird qualities. He gave me something to live for, something to hope for, something to smile about. I began dating him in secret behind my parent's backs, and he did a whole lot to increase my mental state. He got me addicted, addicted to living that is. Trying new things, having a fun time, living life. Dopamine and serotonin are two pretty addictive drugs, let me tell ya, and once I was used to feeling them, I couldn't get enough of it. When I was with Jackson I wasn't Freakshow, I wasn't Dexter. I was Dex. I was alive. I was his.

When I was with Jackson, I thought that nothing could go wrong, that maybe I could escape my parent's grasp. I couldn't have been more wrong. My parents ended up somehow finding out about Jackson around the time I'd turned 19, and unbeknownst to me, they kidnapped him and tortured him for several hours when I was out of the house one day. When I returned home, my father who had been waiting for me quickly grabbed me and dragged me downstairs to the basement to show me their handiwork. Jackson was gagged, naked, tied up to the wall, and mutilated beyond repair. He was barely hanging on, and when he saw me he was choking out, trying to say my name, to say anything. Well, my mom ended up killing him right then and there, right before my eyes. She claimed it was for the sake of science, as she howled in laughter. Well, let me tell you I had never felt such emotions raging up inside me as I did at that moment.

I went absolutely batshit crazy, and it's not something I'm proud of. I went apeshit and lost it on them, screaming at the top of my lungs as I went through catharsis, releasing all my pent up emotions over the years. They tried to calm me down with my mother's bullshit excuse of a homemade anesthetic and ended up killing me. So what do they do? Maybe cry, feel bad, repent for their mistakes? Nope. They dump my ass in the backyard and act like nothing ever happened. Of course, by some ungodly happening, I ended up waking back up. Except, I didn't feel like me. I felt goddamn amazing. I couldn't feel absolutely anything. I felt free. Well, almost completely free.

I made my way up through the dirt in our backyard, and then inside the house where I found my parents discussing adoption, of all things, planning on taking in another child for this. Well, I strolled right up to them, and ya know what I did? I bashed them right over the head with the very shovel they buried me with. Let me tell ya, the most fun I've ever had in my life was drugging and torturing them the same way they had done to me. They were crying, weeping, begging me for forgiveness by the time they woke up. Asking me to forgive them, to let them make it up to me. When they realized I wouldn't change my mind they changed their tune, screaming out that I was a disgrace, a zombified monster, a disgusting creature that would never know love. I had lots of fun that night, and I did it all for the sake of science.

[jj-ktae]

Papers, II

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish, Words : 2484 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner. Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST.

Prologue - I -

II,

Jinyoung wouldn’t say he is easy to disconcert. He saw too much to be concerned about trivial issues and his personality took the same way; he cannot be bothered easily.

Still, after recovering from the initial shock, his mind went into chaos. He blamed it on his overly imaginative self even as he tried to understand who the person could be.

She isn’t a student; none of them would wander the school outside of their usual schedule. They call themselves artists but their involvement with their surroundings is close to non-existent.

She can’t be a teacher. There is only one woman teaching and she hasn’t been around lately.

As Jinyoung falls on the slightly ripped couch and breathes the humid ambient air, he comes to the only conclusion he can feel satisfied with.

She has to be one of the persons in charge of keeping the school clean. He had seen a couple of women, all in their forties, walking around with their brooms.

They usually never work during class hours and hug the walls in fear of being noticed covered in dirt.

Jinyoung snorts, it’s not like they are doing the dirty work because the spoiled kids can’t take care of themselves.

So it makes sense. An old lady being bored and finding entertainment in chatting with a young gentleman is not shocking. It’s a good way to go unnoticed.

“I’m hungry,” Jackson cuts his thoughts with a grunt, “all we have are onions.”

“I thought there was bread left…” Jaebeom answers as he starts looking around the minuscule kitchen. He comes back with an old piece of half mouldy bread and tilts his head.

He hates that he even has to fill his stomach.

Money is something that comes in very little among for them. They usually take turns helping around in a small factory nearby but Jackson had to punch one the guy there.

It seems he didn’t like being called the filthy and useless orphan.

“There’s only the mine left.” Jinyoung concludes, “I will go tomorrow and ask if they have something for us. Next time keep your anger to yourself, Jackson.”

He sounds like he is scolding him but he is boiling inside. Jinyoung would have done way worse than a punch but he knows better than to let himself starve. There is only one way to survive and it doesn’t involve fighting for your own principles.

Sadly.

Jackson doesn’t say more but still, he joins Jaebeom. “Let’s just make a soup with the onions.” Jinyoung hears him cough loudly for a good minute before leaning against the couch.

He cannot stand the situation anymore.

He shouldn’t be worried about surviving; he should enjoy youth and have minor problems. He wants to worry about his future for a good reason, he wants to wake up without grimacing at how his stomach hurts.

His childhood was one of an orphan. It started with death and kept being surrounded by it. The orphanage wasn’t only a place of regular beating and fighting, it was also where they took the kids to work.

It was common until recently. Children would work wherever it was needed. The orphanages were the easiest place to find young people without family to put them to work.

From six to thirteen he, Jaebeom and Jackson wandered the coal mines, covered in dust and breathing the disgusting air. Several acts were made, but these applied to the kids with family who could report to the police.

It certainly didn’t apply to orphans whose only guardians were greedy people.

It’s a mystery how they survived, for most the other kids developed diseases or even died while working.

Jinyoung remembers how Jackson would try to protect them by working the most. He would be doing the job of three kids so that Jinyoung and Jaebeom would rest while no one was working. Back then he was already the most robust and lively of them three.

Hearing him cough so loudly puts him in such a state of rage.

There is nothing he can do about it; Jackson is stubborn and keeps on practicing swordsmanship while working an insane number of hours to bring money.

He barely lets them go in his place, explaining they have better things to do, almost begging them to make it with their intelligence and rely on his strength to take them out of here.

Guilt often adds to the number of things Jinyoung worries about.

So he fights, even though literature is annoying, even though he wants to run away and hide somewhere safe.

Jaebeom puts a worn-out bowl of soup in front of him and again, he wants to cry.

--

The amphitheatre is huge, Jinyoung thinks. They barely ever enter this room as most of their class are held in smaller rooms. The art department takes most of the space since many more students attend their classes.

Painting seems to be much more coveted.

He sits in silence, his shabby-looking bag now on the floor. He never uses it, mostly because it looks like a rag, but also because he hates weighing himself down with useless things. Today though, he has to go and find them a new place to earn money and he can’t risk his notebook falling into coal.

The teacher enters and starts explaining the importance of commas in sentences.

Jinyoung wants to sleep already.

It lasts for what seems like an eternity and Jinyoung ends up trying to find more inspiration. He takes the notes you had left behind in hope it would help and surprisingly it does. He writes five pages of his story. It evolved from the encounter of two people hidden behind pieces of paper to interrogations about the society and what it holds. He kept the identities secret, just like they are in reality.

Jaebeom has to nudge him when the class ends, so he absent-mindedly throws his notebook in the bag and walks away. He should hurry before the mine’s chief leaves.

He apprehends going there but he has no choice. He knows none of them want to go back there but it is the easiest way to get money without dealing with disrespectful people. The mine is like hell but everyone is the same under the ground.

It doesn’t take long to convince the chief. He is glad to find more people willing to risk their lives as apparently, he lost a few recently. The wage isn't big as expected, but it’s enough to eat more than rotten onions and mouldy bread.

“Why do you want to take turns? I’ve got kids working all day here.” The chief doesn’t know how painful these words are.

“We are students, sir.” Is all he answers; he certainly doesn’t want to explain how none of them are going to ruin their lives here daily.

The man is bewildered but he smiles, his dirty teeth appearing. “Why do you want to work here if you have money-”

“We don’t. We are orphans.” Jinyoung cuts through gritted teeth.

The chief ends up laughing so loud that Jinyoung wants to beat him up.

“I see...we can’t have you leech off society, right? Do as you please, I want one of you here every day. Money is once a week.”

Jinyoung takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Starting tomorrow, 8 p.m. until 8 a.m.” is what seals the deal. Jinyoung is absolutely not pleased as he leaves the place.

He is about to go back home when he feels his bag lighter than it is supposed to be.

When he opens it and notices the notebook missing, he runs back into the mine at full speed.

--

When you hear about the classroom not being used anymore your first reaction is to be relieved. You don’t know why but something seemed abnormal with this gentleman and his questions. You have no idea if he saw your answer but there is no need for you to worry about it anymore.

Life is about to go back to normal and you don’t know if it is for the best or not.

Vivienne has been teasing you about how you had been anticipating this exchange and you had brushed her off, explaining that there is nothing to be excited about.

This could cost more than it could bring.

You enter the numerous rooms one after the others, not without secretly checking under the tables.

It makes you wonder.

What would have been his answer?

Maybe he would have agreed; the rich love being flattered, anyways. He would have written about how true what you answered was, about how the wealthy are the cornerstones of the society and how everyone should be thankful for their hard work.

So yes, it’s probably for the best.

“They told me the main amphitheatre would be used for more classes now. The one where you have been sticking the notes is going to be renovated.” Vivienne announces from behind you.

“I know…” you utter.

So much for being relieved.

You open the door of the amphitheatre and start from the tables. You hate this room; it is big and it means more work for you but today is payday and you promised you would buy a cake for Vivienne’s birthday even though she told you to keep your money.

“Do they not teach them how to use a bin?” The latter is already complaining, making you smile in the middle of your work.

The sun is rapidly falling, painting the room with shades of pink and purple so you work faster. You don’t want to go back home at ungodly hours again.

Yesterday you spent an hour cleaning the stains of paint on the floor and even your skin itches from the amount of alcohol you used.

You’re sweeping between the tables when you find a notebook.

Vivienne is cleaning the huge board when you pick it up, puzzled. You look around before kneeling to grab it.

The handwriting is messy but it looks like it belongs to a student. There are notes, tiny drawings and lost sentences. Pieces of paper fall from between two pages. You pick one and your eyes go wide when you find your own handwriting.

These are the notes you left to the young gentleman.

“Sir, if you’re looking for the room being renovated, it is in the other part of the building.” Vivienne speaks loudly, making you look up from your spot between the tables.

You turn around, surprised to see a guy standing. He is breathless, his face and clothes are covered in coal and he is way too sweaty.

“Sir, I can take you-”

“I’m not here to renovate this goddamn place.” The answer startles the two of you but when you find him looking at you before approaching, you don’t need more explanations.

You get up, the notebook in your hands and the pieces of paper back on the floor.

He stops before you, his eyes so deep it makes you take a couple of steps back.

Jinyoung looks down and finds your answers, forgotten between dust. He sighs and leans to pick them up before extending his hand.

“I forgot my notebook.”

You blink, mouth opened. Didn’t he say he is a student? Why would a student be covered in coal and be this dishevelled?

“...you are...a student?” Vivienne gasps, realizing she had been speaking this way to someone who isn’t part of the school personnel. “I’m sorry sir.” she lets the dirty sponge fall back into her bucket before hurrying toward you. “We shall leave.” her eyes find the floor instantly.

Eye-contact with a wealthy person is something no sane - and poor - person should do.

She grabs your arm to take you out but Jinyoung is quick to grab your arm.

You’re done for. You are going to get fired, beaten, criticized by the whole neighbourhood for doing such a rude thing.

Jinyoung sees it, the way fear appears on your face, the way you wish the ground would swallow you. Even covered in coal, dirty and smelling like sweat and humidity, you still think he belongs to a class that you should bow to and beg for mercy.

Anger takes him, makes him forget about how absurd the situation is, blurs his vision, covers everything from the ground to your devastating beauty.

He snorts and tilts his head. “So, care to tell me what you think about the rich again?”

How did he even know it was you?

Vivienne freezes, a hand going to her mouth but before she can beg you again to leave, you stop her.

“Wait for me outside. You have nothing to do with this so leave.” You look at her with a tender smile, one she recognizes as resignation toward your fate.

“I will...wait for you.” She whispers, not daring enough to look at a fuming Jinyoung.

Once she is gone you hand the notebook to Jinyoung before freeing yourself from his grip.

“I am sorry for what I did, sir. I didn’t wish to look into your belongings nor did I think before answering the notes I found. I will leave and never find myself before you ever again so I beg you to forget about my friend who isn’t involved in such idiocy.” It is your only option. You will endure everything before leaving and pray for this incident not to spread in any way.

You know how things go when someone makes a mistake. No mistake is allowed for people like you.

Jinyoung grabs his notebook before shaking his head.

“You didn’t answer.” is all he says.

You want to cry when you bow to recite the praises.

“As I already answered, the rich are the essence of-”

“Is that what you really think? Even covered in dirt, even when you have to kneel every day, beg for forgiveness, fight for food and act like you are invisible?” Jinyoung is smiling when you get back up. “You don’t want them to disappear? You don’t want the rich to pay for the way they treat the poor? YOU DON’T HATE THEM?” He ends up yelling when he finds himself unable to control his feelings.

“No, sir.”

Jinyoung laughs, “Well, I do.” he says before turning around. His knuckles are turning white from how tight he is gripping the notebook.

It takes a while for you to process the words but when you fully grasp what he just said, you speak again.

“Why?”

Jinyoung stops. He doesn’t turn around, but you guess he is still angered by the situation.

“Because of how frightened you are. Because we must beg for forgiveness even when we did nothing wrong. Because no matter how I torture myself, I will never understand how inequitable this bloody society is. Nonetheless, you risk nothing with the filthy me, young lady.”

And he leaves.

-

[supernovadragoncat]

Thunderstruck Outtake: Sally Cancels the THOT in Sandor’s Dressing Room (What happened after Chapter 14)

Dedicated to @jennusdemenus who asked for a glimpse into what happened directly after Chapter 14 (aka what happened to that THOT in Sandor’s dressing room, you know the one!) 

Read on below the cut to find out! 

You can catch Thunderstruck here on AO3 and here on FF.net! Only two chapters left!  

Back to the door, Sally watched the venue thin out. This bit was always the same. The city or the venue didn’t matter. Groupies and drunks, they were always the last to go. The drunks would plant themselves in an empty floor and wail for another encore well after the band left the stage and the crew started clearing off the gear. The groupies would flock to the door Sally had planted himself in front of and wield their feminine wiles in hopes of sneaking past.

As it stood, neither the groupies nor the drunks got too far, and Sally occupied himself with self-indulgent daydreams. He was usually hungry right about now. Having scrambled for scraps earlier, tonight was no exception. While Cannibal Star was likely on the prowl for booze and women, Sally had one thing on his mind.

Soft and sweet. Heaven on his lips. He’d savor every moment.

I shouldn’t.

He’d already had two cupcakes, but then also that beer and he wasn’t a twenty-something anymore, metabolism burning through every bit of bullshit he put in his body. His gut could prove it; the wobbly bits that hadn’t been there two years ago and showed no signs of slowing down now.

What’s a third cupcake when you’ve already had two? Sally reasoned with himself.

Catering got the kind he liked; the icing wasn’t too sweet and melted like butter on a hot July day in his mouth. Not that he ever let it be known. This shit wasn’t about him and he was just grateful no one had told him to pound sand yet. If anything, Cannibal Star had become some of his closest friends, the crew like family. They took care of their own and catering got the cupcakes he liked. That must count for something.

A flurry of activity snapped Sally out of his daydream. The crew all appeared absolutely addled as a roadie hurried across the stage, hollering about something or another that beckoned the others to gape in saucer-eyed wonder. The roadie jumped down to the floor and rushed to Sally.

“Shit’s going down. Sandor and his girl,” the kid panted and nudged his way past Sally and through the door that led to the hall.

“Oh my God!” Sally damn near punted the roadie out of his way and bolted down the corridor. He caught of glimpse of fiery red hair blazing towards the back door and Sandor looking like the world was crumbling around him.

Sandor turned to Sally, at a loss and out of words, any stray bits of explanation he could manage. That all fled the man now and he tore into his dressing room like a tornado, fury quick on the heels of emotional ruin and it was a wonder the flimsy door wasn’t ripped off the hinges.

“Trouble with the little lady?”

Sally hovered outside the dressing room and recognized the voice emanating from the other side. Mona the Monster’s ludicrous attempt at sultry banter was embarrassing even in the best of times and now solidified her place squarely on the blacklist of shame.

The men of Cannibal Star didn’t spook easy and certainly put up with their fair share of crazy if it meant getting laid at the end of it. It took a lot to get added to the blacklist.

“Get the fuck out!” Sandor’s shouts exploded into the hall and he bounded towards the doorway, wrangling Mona by her upper arm as he went.

“If you think I’ll tell you twice, you’re stupider than I’ve always known you to be.”

The woman’s feet barely had the opportunity to the meet the floor before her mostly naked ass was being tossed into the hall for Cannibal Star, the crew, and all of God’s green creation to see.

Ankles buckling, she stumbled and barely caught herself when her arms shot to the cinderblock wall.

“I’m actually very intelligent—” she fired back, equal parts furious and haughty even now, mostly naked and looking haggard in the harsh fluorescent lights beaming up above.

Anger like Sally had never seen consumed Sandor. Wide-eyed fury, fists curled, chest heaving, and face burning red—if Sally didn’t know any better, Sandor was teetering on the precipice of quite literally exploding.

“You’re trash! That’s all you’ve ever been,” he seethed in a commendable show of restraint, so much so the man was shaking. He pointed a trembling finger at Mona the Monster.

A crowd had gathered in the corridor, the message having spread like wildfire. By Sally’s estimate, the entire production now lined the hall to watch this holy terror finally get taken to task. Mona the Monster had a reputation all her own—an ungodly abomination of self-righteous entitlement and paper-thin self-esteem.

Sandor shifted towards her in a quiet step and a faint smirk Sally knew to be the calm in the storm. The fury roiled beneath the surface but next came the exacting cruelty that Sandor wielded better than anyone Sally knew.

Mona seemed to know what was coming too. Her eyes scanned the hall of faces all watching in twisted delight at her impending downfall. Her arms crossed over her chest in a laughable attempt at modesty.

“In all these years you’ve been around, spreading your legs for anything with a guitar and a pulse, I’ve never gone for you,” Sandor began, voice a deep rumble, but his eyes still flashed with rage. “I haven’t even looked at you twice. I find a girl who’s leaps and bounds better than you in every conceivable way, the first girl I’ve ever loved, and that’s when you think I’m going to hit it? Tell me again how intelligent you are. You’re nothing. You’re old, your tits are saggy, you reek of cigarettes and booze. Even at your youngest, all you could ever offer anyone was a lousy lay and now you’ve defined new levels of disgusting and that’s the only distinction you’re worthy of.”  

Snickering and quiet encouragement rolled over the crowd. Mona’s eyes darted up and down the hall, desperate to find a sympathetic gaze to latch onto. For some absurd reason, her eyes landed on Sally.

“Don’t look at me!” Sally barked. “You’ve done it now, you nasty bitch.”

“Like you’ve ever amounted to anything,” Mona snapped. “You’re a nobody!”

All at once, the members of Cannibal Star hurled themselves from their perches throughout the hall, peeling away with congruent fervor to be done with Mona the Monster.

“Done! You’re done!” Sandor bellowed and lurched towards her, settling in next to Sally’s side. “If I ever see you at one of our shows or practices, you even breathe the name ‘Cannibal Star’ in this city, you’re getting a Stratocaster shoved so far up your ass, you’ll be choking on the strings for the rest of your shit-filled life.” Sandor leveled irate eyes at Sally. “Take out the trash.”

Sandor turned on his heel without another glance and disappeared in his dressing room. Silence blanketed the hall.

After all these years, the shame finally caught up to Mona and, when it came, it came like an avalanche. For the rest of them, justice came just as mighty and sugary sweet. Tears rolled down Mona’s cheeks in a river of jet-black mascara. In one last ditch effort, she reached for Thoros, tits now exposed for all to see.

“A bridge too far. Get the fuck out,” he grumbled and eyed her in a way no groupie ever wanted to be regarded. Sandor had the right of it—disgust. This woman was worthy of nothing more than that.

Mona stumbled towards Harwin, probably seeking out the softest of the bunch, the one most likely to toss her stray bits of sympathy. Sally held his breath and said a little prayer that the kid would keep his wits about him.  

“You heard the man,” Harwin sniped with usual iciness. “You’re done. Get out.”

In a few more faltering steps and gasping cries, Mona eased down the hall towards Bronn. Sally fell in after her, blocking her path should she try to flee the other way. Mona blubbered a plea and Bronn crossed his arms tight over his chest.

“This was a long time coming, sweetheart. We all stand behind his decision. Get gone.” Bronn motioned to the door at the end of the hall leading to the parking lot.

Sally remembered now that’s where that sweet little Sansa had disappeared, and he hoped like hell that girl still wasn’t out there. Or maybe it was better if she was—she could witness Mona’s fall from grace, though she probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much as the crew was now.

A wave of applause rolled down the hall, growing louder as Mona continued towards the doors with Sally close behind. At the end of the line, no rope left to cling to, Mona turned to Sally.

“Can I at least get my clothes?” she pleaded on a quivering breath.

In only heels and a thong, Mona tried in earnest to cover herself. Sally reached around her and pushed open the door. A blast of chilly air swept through.

“No, should’ve thought about that when you took them off in his dressing room.” Sally shoved Mona through to the other side and followed after. She shivered against the night air. “I mean, he came here with her. How fucking stupid are you? What exactly did you expect?”

Mona lifted her eyes from the ground and glared at Sally but must’ve thought the better of mouthing off. As it stood, she was the one humiliated for all to see and standing outside naked. Sally scanned the parking lot for Sansa and thanked the man upstairs that she wasn’t here. Hopefully, she was safe and okay.

Sally spotted a flattened cardboard box perched against the fence on the other side of the lot. He motioned his head towards it. “You can cover yourself with that.”

She had the audacity to scoff. The offended breath escaped her thin, ugly lips that snarled at him. Sally prodded her shoulder with his finger and stepped to her, forcing Mona to shuffle backwards.

“Now you listen here, and you listen well, you tramp—Sansa is beautiful, and kind and she loves him. You’re not even in the same Universe as her. You have nothing to offer him. And if you think she’s some lovesick hanger-on, I’ve known that man far longer than you have, and I’ve never seen him like this. He loves her too.

“Nothing’s coming between them. Not a tour, not distance, not time. Nothing. Mark my words, they’re it for each other and they’ll figure this out. And you’ll still be a dried-up, bitter hag.

“Like he said. You’re done. I’m putting the crew on notice. If anyone catches a whiff of your skanky ass, you’ll leave here missing more than just your clothes next time.”

“Bye now!” he taunted with a wave before pulling the door shut.

On the other side, the hall had cleared out, both shows of the night now over. Sally retreated to the catering room and poked his head inside. The stars aligned in a rare formation and by some celestial miracle one lone cupcake sat pristine and unaccounted for on the table. Sally plucked it from the spot on the plate and admired the swirl of white icing on the top.

Back down the hall, he cradled the cupcake in his hands but the little flush of joy he felt was short lived as he passed Sandor’s dressing room door, wide open now. Inside, Sandor dwarfed the chair he sat in, elbows to knees and his forehead cradled in the palm of his hand.

Sally hovered beneath the doorframe, almost certain Sandor was aware that a presence had joined him. His shoulders tensed and his breathing shallowed, but the man remained resolute in his abject misery that kept him rooted where he was.

“Anything I can do?” Sally ventured.

Face still obscured, Sandor didn’t move other than the faint shake of his head. It was a wasted courtesy anyhow. What exactly could he do? Anything he could think to offer would be like tossing fistfuls of dirt into a gaping chasm that’d been created in Sandor’s life. The futility was absurd, and the man was so clearly already suffering the loss.

Sally’s gaze drifted to the cupcake in his hand—the last one, but he’d already had two, so the right choice was glaringly obvious. He paced into the room in shuffled steps and stopped in front of Sandor.  

“Here. Take this.” He held out the cupcake and Sandor finally lifted his head from his hand. Sally saw clear enough what he’d been trying to hide. Sandor’s eyes glistened with tears.  

“Those are your favorite.” Sandor shook his head and settled back in the seat. “Why do you think we tell catering to get them?”

“Always assumed it was a coincidence,” Sally shrugged. “Then it sounds like there will be plenty of cupcakes in my future. Take it.”

He jabbed the cupcake towards Sandor who took it from Sally and set it on the table next to him.

“Thank you,” Sandor murmured on a voice almost as deflated as he looked.  

A cumbersome silence fell between them and Sally took it as his cue to leave. He retreated to the door but stopped beneath the frame.

“If you’re curious, after handing her ass to her, I told her touring, distance, time, a tramp in your dressing room—I don’t honestly believe any of that is going to come between you and Sansa.”

“How do you know that?” Sandor countered and a deep crease of contemplation settled between his brows.

Sally could’ve laughed. It was obvious. Everyone that met Sansa tonight commented on it in one way or another and it all distilled down to the same damn thing—something shifted in Sandor with her around. She quieted him in a way, the stillness of peace for a man so accustomed to a life uprooted and unsettled; one who prided himself on being grounded and Sansa rooted him in a different reality—one where he was worthy of love and she was more than willing to give it.

Sandor had no family, nothing much to call his own, except now her and it scared the poor bastard in a way that meant he understood the gravity of what he’d been given. In some ways, Sally couldn’t blame him; the guy had been given the keys to the kingdom and bore the responsibility of not fucking it up.

“Just a feeling,” Sally said because how the fuck was he supposed to explain all this? The man would figure it out one way or another. “When you know, you know. You know?”

Sandor expelled a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I do know,” he said, shouldering the tremendous weight of regret. Sally had been there. The lessons of age came with more than just a few extra pounds and some things were heavier and harder to carry.

“Was she out there?” he asked and, when his eyes drifted from the floor to Sally, Sandor looked caught in a tangle between devastating sadness and foolhardy hopefulness.

“No, man. She’s left.”

Once more, Sally glimpsed the way Sandor’s eyes glistened when his gaze returned to the floor. Sandor bit his bottom lip hard and nodded.

Sally offered what paltry advice he could, and it wasn’t about placating the man. He and Sandor had an honest understanding, one that meant they could speak freely with one another and Sally took that liberty where he could and right now Sandor needed it.

“She may have left, but that doesn’t mean she’s gone,” Sally offered. “And you may not be able to get her back tonight but, one of these nights, you will. You just wait and see.”

It was a call to faith and Sally didn’t know much about what Sandor believed in and in some ways it didn’t matter. Certain things superseded the superficial constructs of belief and love was one of them. And if there were ever two people desperately, stupidly in love with one another, it was Sansa and Sandor and sooner or later they’d figure it out.

[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 1

Characters: Vira, Vlad, Charles, Faust + some main cast

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​

A/N: Have my most recent Ikevamp OC! I realize that I have only posted 2 of my many ocs for this game so I am remedying that with this series! Note that this story is much darker than my other series, and will have adult content (next chapter and forward) and descriptive violence and gore, possibly even torture. It’s dark my friends.

WARNINGS: 18+ Violence and Descriptive Gore

 Metallic warmth coated her pale lips and slipped passed to spread across her tongue, like finding a single droplet of water after a century in the blazing heat of the desert that left her achingly parched. Stiff limbs regaining their ability to feel as the blood coated her throat, slowly giving life to that which had been rendered inanimate for an inhumanly amount of time.

Golden eyes opened for the first time in too long, unfocused, and blurry but the sight of simply the crumbling concrete ceiling of the mausoleum made her tingle with excitement. Her tongue slithered past her cracked lips to swipe away the last bit of blood that stained her red.

“Easy, Vira. You’ve plenty of time to regain your strength.”

Her lashes fluttered, words unable to escape her mouth that refused to work, too weak. The only thing that her voice could make was raspy, guttural laughter from deep within. Resurrected by Vlad, not her own father, boded well for her to return to Paris and paint it a gloriously deep crimson.

What fun would she soon have with this newfound freedom from eternal, restless slumber.

******

“Uncle Vlad, I’m grateful that you resurrected me. I’ll assume my father has no idea you’ve found me,” Vira sat upright on the slab of stone that used to be her resting place, the small vial of blood drained completely into her body and giving it the strength she once lacked. Though not blood related, the girl had spent so much time with the older vampire that she’d grown quite fond of him as part of her family. After all, he had been the one to side with her, believe in her, and allow her all the fun her heart desired.

The white-haired vampire extended his hand to her as his head shook in answer to question. Of course, her father couldn’t know of his plans to bring the child back, or he’d surely have hidden her body somewhere less likely to be discovered. “My apologies that you had to endure such cruel torture from him, and that I couldn’t rescue you sooner.”

Vira placed her dainty hand in his, accepting the assistance in standing. The amount of blood given to her not near enough to quench the painful thirst of a century without that vital nectar. Golden eyes flickered to the two lingering by the entrance to the mausoleum. “Can I drain them?”

“We are vampires ourselves, under Lord Vlad.” The taller one spoke with gruff and disdain. Though stories had been told of this wicked vampire, the priest found her lacking of the pedestal that he’d perceived her to be placed on. A dainty little thing, perfect for experimentation.

“So? Blood is blood, and I’m terribly thirsty.”

Vlad tightened his grip on her hand after the first malicious step she took toward them. “Faust, there’s no need to antagonize her. And Vira, darling, refrain from killing what’s mine or I’ll have to punish you.” The point pushed by the pain from the bones in her hand nearing their breaking point.

The girl gave a resigned sigh with a pout on her lips. “Breaking my bones isn’t necessary, Uncle Vlad. I wouldn’t do anything to harm those that you are fond of. All you need is to tell me.” Her head tilted to the side and the pout disappeared, slipping into a crooked smile. How long it had been since she last felt pain. Truthfully, it sent a shiver down her entire body to be on the brink of such an excruciating feeling. “Although, even if you say I shouldn’t visit my dear father, I won’t be able to resist. I owe him a little chaos for leaving me here.”

Flashes of that night arose from her deepest memories. Hours upon hours of dripping crimson blood onto the floor, not from her doing but spilled from her body. A rancid smell as the feeling in herself faded into a sedated, comatose state. By his hand.

Vira took in a deep breath once outside the crusty mausoleum that sat atop a hill far outside of the city of Paris. Land owned by the oldest vampire families and the burial ground for their beloved pet humans and outcast members that had been subjected to the same punishment that had befell her. Some especially dangerous were encased and hidden for none to discover.

The chilled wind crept over her form as if welcoming her back into the world with it’s harsh, frigid bite against pale skin. Leaves rattled in the trees like a fanfare. Moonlight reflecting in golden orbs shimmering with newfound purpose and an ungodly lust for the taste of human blood. It thrummed in her ears, even from this distance. A world of delectable decadence in the unsuspecting town that the vampire wished to indulge herself in.

“I’ve prepared a room for you at my home, whenever you’ve had your fill of fun tonight.” Vlad chuckled at her longing expression. First, she’d feed on a handful of unfortunate souls and then pay her visit to his longtime friend before scuttling home to him. Her mood would surely be lifted after this excursion and he could speak of his plans.

Vira adventured out into the night, like a grim reaper descending on the innocent townspeople out only to drink and be merry. Picking them off one by one, the little sheep falling prey to the frightfully starving wolf. The throbbing of their veins as her sharp fangs pierced their corroded paired with the thumping of their rapid heartbeat only drove her to find more humans to drain.

The struggling fizzled out, even the strongest of men unable to overpower the slight vampire. Pinning them against the rough brick wall of the alley, digging her knee into their stomach to keep them steady. The bite causing them to spiral into a state of surreal pleasure even as she gulped down their delectable, warm blood.

Golden irises reflected in their fear-stricken eyes. Her tongue sliding across crimson stained lips. Vira spent time with them, bringing them down from their high with a snap of one of their bones, only to sink in her fangs again to mask the pain with unbelievable euphoria. A shiver snaking down her own body. Their cries of pain and pleasure so delicious.

When their life ebbed away, she disposed of them by letting their bodies crumple to the ground, left in the dark alley to rot with the trash.

In a hazy state of ecstasy, Vira turned her sights on the mansion outside of town. Her strength fully returned; color brought back to her pale skin. Perhaps by morning, she’d dye the sky the same deep crimson that stained the streets of Paris.

The door unlocked. Quite dangerous, but it only proved that he believed no ill intent would come this far. What did vampires have to fear from weak humans? Vira took a deep breath. Fresh food of all varieties, a handful of lesser vampires gathered closely, and him.

Her hands trembled in anticipation. The prospect of destroying the picturesque evening and seeing how he’ll react. Will he be angry? Or maybe she’ll get a real treat and see utter despair and heart break. Her body was alight with tingly eagerness.

Once upon a time, she’d resided in this very mansion. Walking these halls, seeing little changes save for the gaggle of lesser vampires leaving their scent heavily over the house, it ignited the desire to watch it burn and crumble.

Tugging the door open, all the attention fell onto her. The eight seated around the table wearing varying degrees of confusion across their feature. Neither of the two who knew her were present.

What fun!

“Mademoiselle, how did you come to find this mansion?” The butler asked, hiding the deeper question behind a feigned smile. Why did you enter without permission? A human. His scent strong enough to wet her mouth with appetite that should have been filled after the jaunt in town.

Her desire for blood never truly satiated. Vira brought a lazy smile to her lips. Humans were less intimidated by friendly demeanor, weren’t they?

Maybe just a little...

“I shall inform M. Le Comte of an unexpected guest.”

Vira halted, head falling to the side at his words. Golden eyes sweeping over the array of utensils perfectly placed for each dish. His steps echoed in time with the beating of his heart.

“Are you a friend of Comte’s?” A gentle voice spoke from beside her. Cerulean blue eyes holding no amount of ill intent, only genuine curiosity.  

She was hot. Every fiber of her being reacting to that name like fiery lava about to erupt from the depths of a volcano. Rage like acid, burning and potent enough to disintegrate anything that dared enter her path.

The large bird awaiting to be carved supplied two tools. A slicing knife sharpened to easily slice the meat, and a two-pronged carving fork to hold it steady. 

They sounded friendly. As if they liked the damn man.

Vira jabbed the prongs down into the blonde man’s hand until it refused to sink further than the wooden table, freshly spilled blood filling her nostrils. Even vampire’s blood could be tasty when was spilled in tandem with pain.

She could hardly enjoy the cry of agony.

Chaos erupted around her, their movements like wading through thick tar in her vision. All drowned out by the pounding in her head. Wrath scorching, like fire lighting in her veins. Narrowed eyes locked onto the butler that nearly escaped her grasp but not quite quick enough. The knife embedded into the inside of his shoulder blade.

“Sit. Down.” Words hissed at anyone who dared to defy the insanity that had waltzed into their home that evening. Golden irises aflame.

They deserved to be hurt, broken, shredded into tiny pieces. Skinned down to their bones, muscles and tendons carved off their bodies. Rip their eyes from their sockets, and force them to devour it, choke on its bloody sinews. 

“Broer!” A foreign tongue roared from beside her. He towered over her small form, his own anger only that of a spark compared to the seething rage that radiated from the girl.

Vira caught his arm as his elbow thrust into her chest, drawing her ire upon him. Her strength far outweighed any lesser vampire. Like the snapping of a twig, she twisted his forearm back. The sickening crack of the bone breaking into two pieces wasn’t the end.

It didn’t satisfy her at all.

As the man sank to his knees in absolute agony. Her foot slammed into his side, leveraging her to pull the broken limb taught. “Would you like me to rip it off? I wonder which will give first. The mangled bone or the shoulder. Let’s find out-”

“Stop this madness!” Blade pressed against her throat; the soldier spoke with such authority he managed to gain her attention.

Her head lolled back, black, and red strands of hair falling away from her face. A devilish grin on her lips. “Are you planning to slice open my throat if I don’t? It’s too bad you wouldn’t be the first to do so.” Releasing the man like a child dropping a toy they’d lost interest in, Vira shifted her body to face the newcomer. 

The tip of his blade digging into her shoulder, intentionally done by her. Jade green eyes narrowed, standing his ground against the girl. “You’ve no place in this home.”

Wide-eyed, Vira burst out laughing, the sound off put by the whining and groaning of the three indisposed men. He’d only confirmed what she suspected that he had locked her away like an ill-kept secret, a skeleton in his closet that he planned to hide for the rest of eternity. “You aren’t his family. You’re his pieces on a chess board, pawns to be used to cure his boredom of immortality.” 

She shoved the sword away with her palm, letting it cut into her skin. The feeling of pain sending a shiver over her being. Calculated steps, quick and unread, the pureblood had the man shoved against the wall. Fangs sunk into his neck.

Whatever he may be, his blood unlike anything that she’d tasted previously. Not fully human, but not quite vampire, some abomination in between the two species, lost in limbo of life and death. Her eyes rolled back as a moan rumbled in her throat. Every last drop.

A rough hand gripped the back of her neck, throwing the girl away from her prey before she could fully take his life. Her body thumping against the floor, knocking all the air from her lungs. “How rude, Leo. I wasn’t finished.” Her crimson coated tongue swiped a missed droplet off her chin.

“You haven’t changed, cara mia. I thought that Comte had banished you.” Leonardo narrowed his eyes, supporting the weakened soldier who could barely stand.

“Banished? Oh, if only.” Vira climbed back to her feet, brushing her hands together as she checked for any injuries. To her dismay, no broken bones to play with. “But, why ruin the surprise. He’ll admit to his sins in due time. I only came by to say a little hello.” Her gaze swept across the dining hall.

Leonardo shot a warning glance at the others, silently telling them to stay back. He’d witnessed her handy work firsthand, and this had barely scratched the surface of her twisted pleasures. “I’ll be sure to pass along that you were here, Vira.”

“He couldn’t even bother to be here when his precious daughter comes home after centuries? Aww.” A pout set on her lips as she whined, as if all her work had been for naught. She’d craved to see his reaction to her revival. “Do tell him that this is just the beginning.”

She’d savor it another time.

Vira flashed a wry grin at the residents before turning on her heel to exit. Her hand rested on the knob. “Till next time.” She tossed the words over her shoulder with a wink and malicious smirk.

There were so many to play with, it would be difficult to choose.

Ah, but it hardly mattered. Any playmate will suffice. All they need do is bleed and cry out in pain.

Returning to her Uncle Vlad’s castle, her hums echoed down the empty corridors. Her bloodied clothes littered around, like a trail of clues leading straight to the culprit. Her steps light and airy, like a ghost dancing through the moonlight that bathed her pale skin.

High. Hazy. Tingling with desire and need. Her eyes slid closed, replaying the sight of their blood and their pained expressions bringing a soft moan to her throat. The whines and screams, the slicing of her own skin by the sharp blade. It electrified her nerves, leaving her wound tightly and longing for more release.

Golden eyes met with pale green ones.

That will do.

[reeeyachi]

Departure

Year written: 2013 Characters: Gon, Killua A/N: I think I wrote this right after reading that particular chapter in the manga. I was pretty proud of the title I gave this fic. Departure is such a happy song, right?

--

Cold…

I feel cold.

A pair of brown eyes slowly fluttered its way open to meet the full moon from up above the dark endless, lifeless sky. There were no stars–only the bright white moon giving color to the galaxy. Gon stared at it after waking up, with eyes so insipid its irises would not shine like diamonds unlike before. His body was numb and completely beaten, he couldn’t lift a finger, he couldn’t feel oxygen entering his nose, and he couldn’t feel his heartbeat. He wanted to rest there on the cold, moist earth for a while to try and remember why he ended up feeling nothing at all. And just then he thought, why can’t I remember anything?

The cool wind howled strong once more. It was a dead night. Nothing could be heard except from thousands of crickets crying from within the grasses and bushes planted on the soil of the forest, and the leaves of the trees clashing against each other while dancing harmonically with the wind as its music. Gon closed his eyes and managed to paint a weak smile on his face when he felt the cold bite his skin.

I feel cold, he thought while keeping that small smile plastered on his face, an indicator that I’m still alive. Though he could not remember anything, considering the circumstances, Gon knew he had fought a very strong creature. His eyes flutter as he lifted them up at the moon again, thinking. He tried going back a few weeks ago to try and refresh his memories.

Greed Island. I cleared Greed Island—me, Killua, Bisuke. Gon blinked when his best friend’s name went past his thoughts and regretted not thinking about how he was doing the moment he regained consciousness. He tried remembering again. Bisuke went on her way after, then Ging… Gon fixed his gaze on that one visible dark spot on the moon. I used ‘accompany’ so Killua and I could meet…

“Kite.”

Without warning to his nerves and beat up muscles, Gon instantly sat up straight, breathing heavily, eyes blinking immensely under his furrowed eyebrows. Everything was coming back to him. It felt as though he was a huge magnet and the metal scraps of painful memories were hitting him hard as they stick like crab clamps to his skin. It was as though he was being shot by bullets from guns pointed to his temples.

Kite… Kite is gone… Tears of hate and rage and grief and self-loathing formed in the corners of his eyes—his inanimate eyes. For a moment Gon sat there on the wet ground, moist eyes fixed on nothing, arms slumped lifelessly to his sides, legs numb. He felt number, more frozen. He wished he was. The fact that Kite had died in front of his face and the fact that he blamed himself for what had happened will never, not ever, be erased from his tainted memory anymore. It penetrated his heart and body, and it was so close to penetrating his soul.

The cool wind howled even wilder than before. And as though the wind had pushed his back hard to let his emotions soak within him, Gon lifted his limp arms and hugged his curled legs as his tears passionately poured from his shut eyes. “Kite, I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” He cried tremendously, chanting Kite’s name under his breath as though doing so would bring him back to life. “I’m sorry…”

He laid on the cold ground of the forest, tears streaming down his face, screaming and weeping to the top of his lungs. He wished someone or something would kill him right that instant, to show fairness to his dead preceptor—a life for a life.

Then he stopped.

Opening his eyes while his chest was still recovering from the downpour of emotions, he sat up slowly, sniffling and wheezing, ears focused on something he did not know where. Gon wiped his face and nose with the back of his hand and tried standing up. Initially, he thought he was going to fall back down with his limp muscles, but surprisingly he did not, and he was able to stand up and move his arms without feeling any pain. They were just numb, rickety. Gon then lifted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes.

He was sure he heard something.

He was sure he heard someone weep with him.

There was someone out there.

Opening his eyes, he stepped forward slowly. Though the earth was covered with a great amount of dried leaves, him stepping his foot on the wet soil surprisingly did not make any noise. He ignored that fact and carried on with listening, trying to hear that sound again, determined to find out who that person was. He paused and closed his eyes.

The weeping continued. It was faint and silent but he was sure. Gon was so sure the person was close to him—there, at his back. He turned around—there, at his left.

Gon stepped forward and slowly walked to the strange silhouette sitting on the ground. It suddenly reminded him of Kite and how he cried earlier when he remembered him. A frown covered his mouth, but he shook the thought aside and went back to walking to the person—thinking of helping him, or her. Getting closer, the silhouette of the person was slowly turning into a real human form.

Closer…

And with the help of the moon’s light, now seeing that familiar hair color—too familiar, very familiar—Gon’s eyes grew wide and his senses suddenly woke.

There was no doubt.

“Killua,” he mumbled under his breath. This sudden burst of energy went running through his lifeless nerves it felt as though a bucket of warm water had been poured onto his cold dry skin. He suddenly felt so strong again now that he had seen the person who always made him feel so. He felt warm and relieved that his best friend was safe, and was there, with him. But he was confused. He was certain he heard him crying.

“…”

Gon was right. Those thin pale shoulders were shuddering in between sniffles. Killua only cried silently—unlike Gon—but the latter was becoming worried about why his best friend was crying. He never saw him cry before. Killua was never like that. Gon’s chest silently became heavy; crying for Kite never felt as heartbreaking as seeing Killua cry.

“Killua!”

With fifteen feet away from his best friend, Gon ran towards Killua with his right arm stretched–reaching for him desperately, wanting to comfort him, to ask him what happened, to figure out why he was there. Gon’s eyes were still not shining the golden brown like before, but they looked worried. He was worried and excited at the same time to see his best friend.

And then time seemed to stop.

Gon froze halfway when his gaze landed closer to Killua. He froze. And everything came back to him again like what had happened earlier—only this time, it was faster and more painful, like his skull had been cracked open and the bullets of memories from that certain gun was being shot straight to his brain’s memory bank in an ungodly manner.

Everything was falling into place.

With lips half apart, eyes sullen, for the first time since he regained consciousness, he looked around slowly and the whole perimeter of the forest was suddenly lit and bright and… covered in a pool of crimson blood. Gon was horrified. The view of the open field of the forest he was standing in was gruesome. Lumps of blood were scattered, painting the dried leaves on the ground red, intestines hung on nearby bushes, insides blown all over the place. Gon looked down at the moist ground and followed the significant path of blood with his wide eyes. There revealed the crashed body of the creature he knew he fought all his might with—Neferpitou, a dead Neferpitou. I defeated him, he thought, scanning the dead ant’s body. Pitou’s dead.

Seeing enough of the damage he had done to Pitou, Gon closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He didn’t want that picture of Pitou’s bloody, broken body staying inside his head. Realizing this, he opened his eyes and stared at his palms, they were surprisingly fine. He turned his gaze at his feet. No marks at all—

“Gon…”

Completely ignoring his confusion, Gon turned around and looked at his best friend. Killua… He called me. Instinct told him to come closer. He felt weak, incredibly weak, but his best friend’s voice calling him gave him enough strength.

“Gon…” Killua whispered firmly between gritted teeth.

Gon paused five feet away and listened.

“You…” One could tell that Killua was holding back his tears while speaking. His voice was faint and cracked and weak and dead. “Gon, you… You’re an idiot…” Killua’s shoulders started shuddering violently.

Gon leaned back and looked down.

“You are such an idiot…”

And right there and then, it hit him—like a bulldozer hitting a dead leaf on a concrete ground. He just knew. And for some reason, he wasn’t surprised. But he was regretful—incalculably regretful—now that his best friend, whom he told to ‘stay out of it’, was there, in front of him, eyes filled with salty tears. He must hate me now. I deserved it anyways. “Killua,” Gon called out with a low cracked voice. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Killua! I’m so—”

“Gon, why!?” Killua snapped, looking up and letting his emotions dominate his system. He cried passionately hard and loud. “You are stupid, Gon! Why… Why did you do this? Why— Why couldn’t you wait for me? And now… now… now… Now…! Gon, I can’t… I’m sorry… I’m sorry!” Killua’s scream was filled with pure passionate emotion. It was painful. It was as though his heart has been ripped off his chest, and it felt like that—like his left arm and leg had been pulled off of his body. He sounded so broken, so shattered. Killua crouched down and wailed between screams ever so incredibly tormented than before.

Gon’s world crashed upon him. He felt so weak, so weak his knees couldn’t hold his body up anymore. He voluntarily let his legs collapse to the ground while trying to reach out to Killua’s shoulders. But his best friend felt so distant. And he didn’t want that. He wanted to apologize. But… Killua couldn’t hear him. He will never hear him again. Never again.

Killua screamed once more and cried with all his soul, hugging ever so tightly Gon’s lifeless corpse.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🏐 Long Way Down; Morisuke Yaku (Sportember #007)

📑 Table of Contents | ⚾ Challenge Post

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,925

Pairing: Reader x Yaku

World: Haikyuu!!

Prompt: “Life is walking on a tightrope, with nothing but a blindfold. It’s a long way down.”

Sport: Volleyball

WARNING: This fic contains depression and self-harm. If this is a trigger for you, please do not read.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

When people looked at you, they saw a cheerful third-year so full of life and ambition. And why wouldn’t you be? You attended a good school, your family didn’t have financial problems, you came from a loving family, blessed with parents that loved you and supported everything you decided to do. Your grades were above average, you were athletic, selfless, and willing to give the shirt off your back if someone needed it. Your classmates called you perfect, but you weren’t. Far from it.

No one knew about the demons that you battled on a daily basis. No one knew that you cried yourself to sleep nearly every night. No one knew just how much you were suffering, how much you hated yourself. In your mind, you simply weren’t good enough, not strong enough, despite people telling you that you were. With every decision, you felt regret. With every compliment, you wanted to tell them that they were wrong. But people expected you to be happy, to cheer them up when they were feeling down.

What would everyone think if they knew the truth? If they knew what a depressed mess that you were, barely holding on… You wanted nothing more than to be the person people believed you to be, but you just weren’t strong enough to meet everyone’s expectations.

When your depression finally reached its peak, you knew you had to do something, so you met up with your friend in a small coffee shop far enough away from Nekoma high to avoid any of your classmates. The two of you had been close since middle school, but she had chosen a different high school so you didn’t get to hang out with each other as often anymore. At first, she was cheerful, asking why you suddenly wanted to meet up, but when you explained your situation, her face went blank.

“Is this a joke?” Her voice was deathly calm, but rage was swirling within her dark eyes.

You frowned, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. “No. Why would I -”

“Give me a break!” She suddenly snapped, her fist making the table rattle when it made contact. “Little perfect Y/N is depressed? You have no right to be depressed, bitch. Your family doesn’t struggle to pay bills, your parents don’t hate each other’s guts. You have people kissing the ground you walk on! You don’t have to worry about being held back because you can’t make the grade, but you’re depressed?” She scoffed in disbelief, quickly standing up. “No, you’re just a greedy, self-centered little cunt that has to have everyone’s attention just to be happy!”

Tears stung at your eyes as your friend left the cafe with a huff. Guilt filled your entire being as her words rang out in your mind. ‘She’s right… I was so wrapped up in my own feelings, I didn’t stop to consider hers. She’s going through so much and I… I’m a terrible human being.’ You bit your lip hard to muffle your sobs as you held your face in your hands, tears sliding down your warm cheeks.

No one within the cafe even batted an eye in your direction.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

Since that meeting with your friend, you’ve found it harder and harder to keep your emotions in check. It was like your negative emotions were demons locked behind a steel door, constantly slamming their bodies against it to try and break it open, but the padlocks were holding strong. At least until your friend broke one of them off. Now, that door is rattling more violently, the screws slowly but surely being knocked loose.

How much longer before they broke the door down? What would happen then? You felt so terrified and so very alone.

There were many options to help curb the pain. Temporary distractions to let you feel normal and happy for a short amount of time. False hope in the form of alcohol or drugs, self-harm or even violence. You decided to start cutting yourself – just one or two marks on your stomach at first, then your inner thighs and chest. Anywhere that couldn’t be seen in your uniform. It wasn’t long before it became your addiction, a fix you couldn’t make it through the day without. It made everything so much more bearable, but you were beginning to run out of free space.

You started to wear long sleeves even when it was ungodly hot, the sweat clinging to the wounds and making them burn slightly. With your attention on the physical pain, the demons behind the door started to calm. It was an incredible feeling, making the pain worth it.

If people noticed your change in attitude, they didn’t seem too bothered by it. Most assumed you were just trying to be quirky, and they started wearing long-sleeved sweaters, too, thinking it was just a fashion trend that you were starting.

There was one person that couldn’t be fooled, though, and he was starting to grow quite concerned.

━━━━━━༻🎾_🏀_🏐༺━━━━━━

When you showed up to help with the volleyball team’s afternoon practice, the boys gave you weird looks. It was the middle of summer, the heat climbing to its peak, yet you were dressed in the winter gym uniform as if it were twenty degrees. They were on the fence about bringing this up but ultimately decided against it. The problem was that Kenma lacked a filter.

“Y/N-san, why are you dressed like that? I feel hot just looking at you.”

You had gotten used to comments like these and just smiled it off. “I like it!”

Yaku scowled, his hand resting on his hip. “I don’t care if you like it. Go put on the other uniform before you die of heatstroke!” He was feeling frustrated because he had already told you that the AC in the gym was broken, but you just didn’t seem to care. He could clearly see you sweating and he knew you were feeling hot. ‘Y/N doesn’t seem to care much for anything these days…’

You tried to brush off the comment, but something about his tone really irked you and you just snapped. “You’re not my damn dad, Yaku, don’t think you can just order me around!”

Yaku and the rest of the team froze in shock, staring at you as if you had just spouted an extra head. In all of the time that they had known you, you had never raised your voice to any of them or even gotten upset with them, and especially not with Yaku, who you were easily the closest to.

The sudden silence made you realize your mistake and you quickly faked a laugh, rubbing the back of your head. “Just kidding~!”

The team visibly relaxed and Yamamoto stepped up to slap your shoulder, making you wince for multiple reasons. “Good one, Y/N! You really had us going there!”

“Thank you,” you quickly turned on your heel before heading into the storage room to catch your breath. You were so caught up in cursing yourself for your reaction that you didn’t hear the footsteps coming after you or the sound of the door being slid closed.

“Y/N.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, whirling around with your hand over your heart and forcing a smile on your lips. “You scared me, Yaku! Guess that’s karma for the joke, huh?”

He frowned. “When are you going to stop with the fake smiles?”

Your smile faltered a bit. “I don -”

“Stop lying!” He scowled, hands balling into fists at his sides. “What’s happened to you, Y/N? You’ve become so fake lately.”

The words were like arrows piercing your skin and you lowered your head, biting hard on your bottom lip. ‘He’s right. What have I become? Why am I so damn pathetic?’

For a moment, he just watched you, his dark eyes taking in every slight movement that your body made. The subtle quiver of your chain. The light jolting of your shoulders. The way clamped so tightly onto your lip. You were in pain, that much was obvious, but… why? What was causing you so much distress?

“I can’t do this anymore…” your voice was soft, barely reaching his ears. “I’m just so tired, Yaku. I just want everything to… to stop.” Your legs gave out beneath you, body crumbling to the ground, which caused him to race forward on instinct.

“Y/N -” He reached for your hand and froze, eyes widening when he noticed the thin trail of blood rolling down from beneath your sleeve, coming from the wound that Yamamoto had reopened when he smacked your shoulder. With his heart hammering in his ears, his fingers gently wrapped around your wrist, carefully sliding the sleeve of your sweater up. What he saw made his stomach turn.

Dozens of cuts, big and small, littered your skin, some old, some new, some scabbed over and bright red. The older ones were in short, straight lines across your arm, but the newer ones were clearly done with haste, criss-crossing and varying in length. As his finger gently traced the healing wounds, he could feel your desperation increasing with each cut.

“Pathetic, right?” You chuckled bitterly. “I have everything, but it’s just not enough. It’s never enough…”

Yaku tugged on your wrist, pulling you into his warm, protective embrace. “Idiot, why didn’t you come to me?”

Tears fell from your eyes in droves as you clung to his jersey. “I-I was so sc-scared,” you sobbed into his chest. “I don’t – I don’t want you to… to h-hate me!”

His arms tightened around your body. “I could never hate you, Y/N. Why would you think that?”

Reluctantly, you told him about your friend, feeling his body tensing up against yours. “I’m so-sorry…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was warm and soft, his grip firm as he took you by the shoulders, pushing your body backward so he could meet your eyes. “Listen to me. It doesn’t matter what you have or don’t have, depression is an illness. It doesn’t see social status or material objects, it affects everyone equally. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N, but you can’t just leave it unchecked. You have to tell your family.”

The thought sent a wave of fear and panic throughout your body and you frantically shook your head. “N-No, I can’t…!”

“You can,” he assured you. “And I’ll be right there beside you. You’re not alone, Y/N, this team cares deeply for you. I care deeply for you and I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.”

“Yaku…” your eyes shimmered as a fresh round of tears fell down your cheeks.

He leaned forward, lips pressing softly to your forehead. “I will always be here for you, no matter what. But you have to promise me something.”

You frowned, fingers curling around the end of his jersey. “What is it?”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, gathering your tears. “Promise me that you won’t hurt yourself anymore. When you get the urge to do so, come to me. I’ll beat that desire into submission!”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at his declaration, nuzzling your face into his neck. Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but he knew what the words were as your lips formed them against his skin. “I promise.”

And you meant them with every fiber of your being. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem quite so dark, quite so heavy upon your shoulders.

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[darthplagueis13]

Sometimes I just ever-so-slightly wanna go back in time and punch Plato in the face. Like, if you read just a little between the lines this dude was so horrendously full of himself, it’s unbelievable.

Like, you know the cave allegory? The man who gets to go outside and see the true world is supposed to represent philosophy. And just when he’s seen the beauty of the true world, he’s then supposed to go back into the cave and rather than free the other people and lead them outside so they too can see the sun, he’s supposed to rule over them because he knows better.

This story is implying that

1: Non-philosophers are just bumbling idiots who chase after shadows on the wall, fail to see the greater picture and shouldn’t be allowed to have a say in any important matter

2: Philosophers are elightened beings who should represent a leading elite in the state and who are actually just going to rule over the rest as an act of self-sacrifice instead of enjoying their lifes in the sun.

I’ve tried reading Plato a few times and I’ve always found that it makes me angry because he draws conclusions based on utterly wild assumptions that you wouldn’t just agree to like that in a simple dialogue. Specifically since the dialogues consist of mostly the other person either agreeing or throwing in weak and anemic strawman arguments that can just be dismissed in half a sentence. I wanna have a full-on debate with this dude because it’s genuinely fascinating but the old wanker has been dead for like 2300 years and just reading his shit fills me with ungodly amounts of rage. I wanna play Phoenix Wright and yell a big old “OBJECTION” but there’s no use screaming at a bunch of text.

[hopeaterart]

The shittiest family reunion in the history of ever: Chapter 4

Sadao vs Devo.

Aka Imagine being a professional assassin and Stand User since birth and getting your ass kicked by a 152 cm (Just a bit shorter than five ft) tall, slightly underweight, Standless 48 years old man who hasn’t gotten in a fight in over twenty years.

Noriaki slowly made his way through the house, supporting himself on a wall and occasionally wincing in pain at his wounds. He continued taking deep breaths, thinking of how he needed to get out of this house fast. He didn’t want to be around when Dio’s men came to collect their heads-

And he just stumbled into the kitchen. Kujo Jotaro was sitting here, sitting in a tank top and shorts while he ate the ungodly amount of pancakes on his plate, and his father Sadao was currently making coffee, standing in his pajams with his long hair up in a bun. The shorter man turned toward him. “Oh. Kakyoin-san. Hungry?”

“I... uh...” The teen decided to nod, coming to sit down and trying not to let his pain show. Sadao nodded back, taking a plate out of the cupboards and, setting a few pancakes on it, and giving it to the redhead along with utensils. “Th- thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The shorter man reassured him, before pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Jotaro, do you want some?” His son nodded, his mouth full with pancakes. Sadao nodded back, pouring another cup of coffee and putting some sugar and milk in it before giving it to the teenager. “There you go.”

Jotaro swallowed, taking the cup of coffee. “Thanks, old man.” Sadao nodded.

“Are either of you panning on going to school today?” He asked. “I know it’s just a half-day today, but... well, Jotaro, you came back early, and Kakyoin-san, you spent your afternoon trying to kill us.” Noriaki winced. “Sorry.”

“Fuck that.” Jotaro muttered. “I’m gonna stay here with Kakyoin to figure out whatever this... Stand thingy is.”

“And I’d rather avoid people for now.” The redhead admitted. “My face hurts...” he then added in a small voice. There was some movement out of the corner of his eyes, and two bags of frozen vegetable slid across the table to him. “Uh?”

“For your black eye and broken rib.” Sadao explained. Noriaki hummed in understanding, taking one of the packs and applying it to the bruised side of his face.

“Thank y-”

“Stop thanking me for basic decency.” Sadao cut him off, frowning in confusion. Noriaki blinked, then nodded, averting his eyes from the shorter man and landing on Jotaro instead. Who was looking at him.

He frowned. “What?”

“Are you gonna eat your breakfast, or...?” The taller teenager asked Noriaki, who turned toward his plate. A few seconds passed, before he put down the frozen bag and took the utensils in hand, cutting into the pancakes before bringing up a piece to his mouth.

The redhead immediately lightened up, humming in pleased surprise at how good the pancake was. He quickly ate the rest, Jotaro and Sadao watching him intently. He slowly slowed down, his self-consciousness catching up to him. “Sorry.”

Sadao frowned. “What are you apologizing for? You need the food.”

“Yeah...” Jotaro started awkwardly, looking off to the side and avoiding eye contact. “I’m the one who carried you to the bathroom, and you’re light as shit. So eat up.” Noriaki blinked, before turning back toward his plate and eating what was left on it.

“Thank you for the meal.” He said as he finished it, Sadao nodding in satisfaction.

“You’ll tell Holly that when she comes back, ‘kay?” The older man asked him, the redhead nodding in acknowledgement as he continued eating breakfast.

“Where did mom go, by the way?”

“Your uncle told her he’d be there as soon as possible, so she went to pick him up at the airport.” Sadao reassured Jotaro, sitting down at the table and sipping on his coffee. “Where are you two planning to... do whatever?”

Jotaro blinked at his father slowly as Noriaki choked on his food at the wording. “Don’t- don’t put it like that.”

“What’s wrong with the way I put it- oh.” Sadao looked off to the side. “Okay, yeah, I see it now- I mean, if you’re into guys it’s okay, your mom will still love you and I... kind of don’t care, but I meant the whole evil spirit business.” Noriaki frowned in confusion as Jotaro pulled a face.

“Evil spirit? Do you mean Stands?” Noriaki asked only to be promptly ignored.

“Yeah, we’re gonna go in the backyard.” Jotaro answered his father before turning toward the redhead. “Finish eating, then follow me.” Noriaki stared at the taller teenager for a moment, before sighing. It’s the least he owed them.

-

Sadao entered his office, tying his hair up in a high ponytail as he neared his piano, a half-done music partition on it. He sat down, fingers gently splaying over the keys as he looked over the sheet, frowning. He had the bones of the melody, but that was it. He cracked his knuckles and gently brought them to the keys, playing the notes, music filling the room for a few seconds.

He opened his eyes, turning toward the closet in the room. “You know,” he started, turning around on his seat. “I usually don’t mind having an audience, but I do prefer it when they’re not spying on me.” He narrowed his eyes, getting up and opening one of the drawers in his desk.

He heard the door of his closet open, and turned back around as he closed the drawer, pocket knife in hand. There was now a heavily scared man hunched over, long black hair covering his face. He turned toward Sadao, raising an eyebrow. “How did you know I was in the closet?”

Sadao raised an unimpressed eyebrow, gesturing at the boxes on the floor. “Those were inside of my closet,” he then pointed the opened chain lock. “I keep my closet locked at all times,” and he picked up the doll on his desk. “And that wasn’t there before.” He put the doll back on the desk, glaring at the man. “Now, get the fuck out of my house.”

The man just laughed, infuriating the shorter one further. “And who are you to order me around?”

“The guy who 1) owns the house and 2) got a knife.” Sadao snapped back. “So why don’t you just get out without starting any shit before I make your face look even worse, hm? I mean shit, you look like you throw yourself out of glass windows on a regular basis.”

The man simply laughed further. “You? Hurt me? You’re just a little man without a Stand, what could you possibly do- AUGH!” CRACK! Sadao had reacted faster than lightning, his free hand taking a hold of his nose and twisting, the sickening noise of bones and cartilage breaking resonating in the room.

Sadao used his hold on the stranger’s face to throw him over his desk, before jumping on his back, wrapping his legs around his torso, took a fistful of his hair and bashed his head in on said desk. “I might be small and not have an evil spirit following me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fuck your shit up!”

“Get off of me, you-!” The man screamed, reaching at his back, one hand taking a hold of Sadao’s hair. The lighter man gave a shout of his own before biting at his shoulder, feeling blood in his mouth. One of his hand came up to hold the arm in place, the other one stabbing in the shoulder.

The enemy let go with a shout, and Sadao moved his legs so he was able to kick him away. The man now had his back turned to the open door, usually open when Sadao was in his office. He suddenly started giggling, confusing Sadao further. “What’s so funny?”

“You fool!” The man suddenly exclaimed! “How dare you do this to me!? Now, now I can hold a grudge against you!” He laughed further, Sadao backing away for a moment, disturbed. “It hurts! It really hurts! Curse you... how dare you! How dare you do tha-”

The shorter man grit his teeth just as he started advancing again. “Alright... so now, for the last time...” His leg suddenly shot up, knee connecting with the guy’s junk and making him scream in pain just as Sadao’s face switched from frustration to pure rage that wouldn’t be out of place on his son’s face. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!” He then kicked him in the face, sending him flying backward into the corridor just as Sadao slammed the door to his office closed.

He then felt a pain in his calf. He looked down, a cut that wasn’t there before bleeding abundantly. He tch-ed under his breath, heading for his closet, taking out the first aid kit he kept in there to bandage his wound as he texted Jotaro about this recent .

u and kakyoin stay caerful

*careful

some crazy dude broke int he house

i dont want u 2 to get hurt

*in the

Got it Sadao

Sadao sighed, his elbows hitting the desk as he sighed. He turned toward the doll on it, frowning. He’d have to find a way to get rid of it. Maybe give it to Yuichi? He was into that kind of creepy stuff, with it’s worn down wooden texture, weird red gems encrusted in it and beady green eyes-

Wait.

It’s eyes weren’t open before.

And sure as heel didn’t have a creepy smile with pointy teeth.

Before it could do anything, however, Sadao threw it far away from him. The doll landed on the wall with a heavy sound and a pained yell, which confirmed his suspicion of fucking haunted. He grabbed the closest object he could easily swing (a spare microphone stand in the closet) and pointed it in the direction of the doll, a string of profanities leaving his mouth.

[How dare you!] The doll suddenly suddenly screeched, getting up and waving what looked like a very sharp object at Sadao. [How dare you destroy one of my shoulders!]

“... Oh, what the fuck.”

[At least, you gave me enough of a grudge to- ACK!” The doll was cut off by Sadao as he wacked it on the head with pole, the sound of metal hitting wood echoing in the room.

“I said GET OUT!” The japanese man yelled, attempting to hit the doll again, this time to no avail as it dodged it. The doll then proceeded to jump onto the improvised staff, cackling all the while as it ran up it. Sadao screamed in surprise, but was able to dodge at the last second, ending up with a cut on his cheek rather than wound in his forehead.

The doll cackled further, dashing at Sadao's side and cutting into his hip, the short man yelping in pain and surprise as he jumped out the way. [Are you really planning on defeating me with a random metal pole you found in your closet!? You'd be better off twisting yourself on it!]

"And you," Sadao hissed, "would be better off if you never came here in the first place!" He then threw the stand at the doll, knocking it on the ground. The staff then flied off in the air for a few seconds, before landing onto it. Sadao then calmly walked to it, taking a hold of it's throat. "Now, time to get rid of you."

The doll looked at him for a few seconds, before smiling creepily. It then bit him, making him let go with a yelp as it laughed, running toward the door. [You fool! You think a Standless user like you can hurt me!? Once I'm done with the brats, I'm going to kill you!]

Brats?

Jotaro.

Sadao gasped in realization, before feeling rage overpower him as he ran toward the doll in the corridor, jumping onto it. He took it's head in one hand, it's neck in the other one, ans twisted.

“KUTABARE!” Sadao screeched as he wrenched the doll’s head from it’s neck. It’s shortly after that he heard two screams. He ran toward the source, only to stumble upon Jotaro and Kakyoin in the kitchen, screaming their heads off. In the air, the headless body of the man he had been fighting was suspended, and his head had rolled not too far away.

And it is with a strange sense of numbness and a complete lack of regret, that Sadao realized that he just killed a man.

The door suddenly opened. “Boys, I’m baaa...” Holly trailed off, the scene of the two screaming teenagers, the headless body floating between green strings, and her frazzled and wounded husband looking at her like a deer in headlights.

“Alright sis, I’ll admit it.” The man behind her started, pushing his sunglasses up to his forehead to reveal beautiful blue eyes. “You weren’t kidding when you said you guys were in one bizarre situation.”

[mel-ancholymuse]

ABOUT OLIVER MUSE.

oliver muse was a name that, at one point, held a lot of weight on the island’s music scene. a talented song writer and producer, oliver had leant his musical ear to some of the most popular and successful acts on the island — even helping produce powerline’s first album. with talent and drive like his it seems nothing could have ever stopped oliver muse’s reign. but as times changed and the sounds on the radio evolved, oliver found it difficult to evolve with them, and soon the work came in less frequently. to make matters worse, oliver lived a grandiose lifestyle that his sudden lack of work simply couldn’t support. blowing all his money on a large house, flashy suits and supporting his five daughters and the various music lessons he insisted they take; oliver suddenly, and horrifyingly, finds himself between a rock and hard place financially. his reckless spending would soon be his undoing.

ABOUT PRIVATE SHOW: THE EP.

in a last ditch effort to cling to a legacy that was quickly escaping him, oliver gets the bright idea to turn his daughters into a girl group. the idea comes to him as the girls sing christmas carols around the piano for their families, hearing the easy ways their voices compliment and harmonize. it doesn’t take much convincing to get all the girls on board, if only to please their beloved father. oliver has a vision for the girls, and when he sees them sing and dance together he envisions the greats: the supremes, En Vogue, TLC! and once again, it becomes evident that he simply can’t be bothered to keep up with the times. the nostalgic 90s sound that finds it way into their first recorded body of work is one the girls appreciate, but can’t necessarily claim as their own. but as it is with most things, it’s Oliver’s vision or nothing at all. the girls sing along to songs they don’t write and ignore the empty way some of those lyrics feel because it’s not their story, just an extension of his.

THE UNGODLY HOUR.

oliver muses’ untimely death turns the girls’ worlds upside down. creatively, they find themselves on their own and for the first time in their lives daddy isn’t there to tell them what to do or who to be. it’s liberating. it’s terrifying. just as terrifying and disorienting?  learning their father owed a surprising amount of money to oscar bordes. the muse sisters, for the most part, had known their father had some financial struggles but the realization of how much their father owed in loans was staggering — and humbling. and while each girl had other means of income prior to the group, those jobs wouldn’t cover the monthly payments they owed the casino owner. so the muses remained a group and signed the first record deal tossed their way, needing a quick payout to cover some of their new financial costs. but without oliver around to guide them the question then became: what now?

the girls quickly assumed new roles to keep the ship afloat. calli penning almost all the tracks on their album, mel taking over production, clio arranging vocals, era creating outfits to match the visuals they come up with, and teri lending her dance experience as choreographer. overwhelmed and with a growing and impatient fanbase, the girls get to work on their first album. of all the ideas they throw out, the one that sticks is one that will force them to be a little more open musically than they were prepared for.

ungodly hour: a time of day when it is very early or very late, and not reasonable to speak to or see someone.

THE NATIONAL MANTHEM. w. calliope muse. wanting a song to show off the girl’s harmonizing abilities, the girls debated having a full-blown song completely acapella before deciding against it. a compromise was made and much like with raindrops they decided to go for a shorter song, just slightly over half a minute. national manthem showcases the girls’ raw voices while also sending a message to men listening to always know the worth of the women in their lives, as well as being a reminder to women everywhere that they too can be goddesses.

GOD IS A WOMAN. w. calliope muse, melpomene muse, clio muse. named after actual greek gods, the world of divine feminity isn’t a concept entirely new to the muse girls. calli lends her pretty prose to the track, painting dreamy imagery of the powerful woman clio and mel create for this song. the hook, ‘i can be all the things you told me not to be / when you try to come for me i keep on flourishing’ is a positive affirmation meant both for their fanbase but themselves. a reminder to each other that hardship won’t break them.

TIPSY. w. calliope muse, clio muse. while clio isn’t one of the stronger writers of the group, that doesn’t mean she was going to allow their first album to be released without a song primarily written by her (with calli’s help, of course). and given her current rocky relationship with one danny fenton, it only seemed obvious for her to take inspiration from that. tipsy was written as a warning to him - and all men everywhere - about what can happen if they fuck up in a relationship. it’s a reminder to treat your woman right or else there will be consequences. of course she claims to just be exaggerating. of course she would never hurt or kill anyone ever. but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to fantasize about it every once in awhile. secretly this song is also dedicated to her best friends gigi moth and rosie widow, but for very obvious reasons she will never admit that out loud.

MAD AT ME. w calliope muse, melpomene muse, clio muse. the majority of the writing sessions for ungodly hour were...heavy, the sisters opening up lyrically about things they wouldn’t even talk to each other about. with an outkast song stuck in their minds the girls set out to recreate the confident, bossy feeling the rap singing duo evokes in ‘so fresh and so clean’. early in the writing process it becomes clear to the eldest muse sister that mel and clio need the fun ego boost, watching the two girls dance, laugh and hype each other up as they put their drama behind them and have fun. the girls only hope the song makes their fans feel as cool and powerful as it made them feel, knowing that somewhere in the world someone needs a reminder that they’re #thatbitch.

WOMAN LIKE ME. w calliope muse, melpomene muse, clio muse, erato muse, terpsichore muse. one of the first songs the girls wrote and recorded for their album, ‘woman like me’ served as a much needed bonded experience for the girls who found their lives turned upside down. one of the only writing sessions that featured more laughing than arguing, the girls reflect on their lives and embrace all the positives and negatives that make them who they are. the song is meant to make the girls listening feel as powerful and sexy as it felt for them to write it, and remind their listeners that changing who they are for the attention of a boy is silly. he’s gotta accept you as you are.

THINK ABOUT US. w. calliope muse, melpomene muse. written long before their relationship imploded, mel found herself quickly smitten with oscar bordes after they initially met. she focuses on the rush of that initial moment she first laid eyes on him, and how he managed to do what she deemed virtually impossible — hold her attention for the rest of the night. unbeknownst to her at the time, the chase was just a game to him. but that information doesn’t change the way she initially felt about him. learning that he’d only used her as a way to get her father crushed her, and she spent months avoiding going to the monthly payment meetings just to escape the embarrassment and pain. when it came time to vote for songs that would make the final cut of the album mel found herself a little annoyed that think about us remained in the fight, and she knows if she told her sisters she’d rather not be reminded of how stupid she was they would have scrapped the track. but that would mean coming clean about her relationship with oscar, and her fear of telling the truth about it outweighs how much she hates hearing the song now.

NOTICE. w calliope muse, clio muse. with their father finally out of the picture, it would make sense for the girls to open up a bit more about their more private parts of their lives. with notice the muse sisters came in strong asserting their sexuality and more sensual sides. inspired particularly by the lack of attention clio has felt in her current and previous relationships, she channeled that frustration at being ignored into notice. of course, her issues actually tend to be over more minor details but she is the queen of nothing if not exaggerating. it took a lot of fighting from calli to remove a line specifically about friday nights, reminding clio that she can’t be too obvious when it comes to songwriting and that the more vague they can be the more their fans will be able to relate. also she just didn’t want to see a fight break out between the younger muse girl and her boyfriend.

LIGHTNING. w. calliope muse, melpomene muse. mel is heartbroken, plain and simple. but her sisters would never know it, because she’s playing the greatest role of her life — removed and unbothered by the betrayal and heartache she’s hiding. as she struggles internally with her feelings and how they won’t just...go away, she finds herself in the studio struggling to put to words all the things she’s feeling. calli helps tremendously, filling in mel’s silent rage and pain with pretty words that almost make it all feel a little better. anytime mel finds herself missing oscar she revisits this song, and to be fair, she often needs the reminder that he’s a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve her lingering feelings. but just because he doesn’t deserve them doesn’t mean they’re not still there.

FIRES & FLAMES. w. calliope muse, melpomene muse, clio muse. as each girl writes about their very different relationships, fires and flames becomes a song about various people. on clio’s end, her troubled relationship with danny as they start to suffer from the effects of a hasty decision to rush into something without really knowing each other. as they argue more frequently and find that going days without talking to each other is their new normal, the couple finds themself teetering on the edge of an end that clio isn’t really sure she wants. on mel’s end, her heart is torn between two men and she hates how tired this story is. ‘i can’t forget what we’ve been through now / I’ve tried to not let you self destruct’, for hans mel feels grief over whatever pain ending their relationship could have caused him. ‘i keep my back against the wall / and i’m scared that you’re too powerful / i try to stop getting too close.’ for oscar she stupidly clings to the man she fell for and not the monster that her sisters think killed their father. despite the warring emotions from the girls and the very different stories they try to paint, the song bonds clio and mel as the other realizes there’s certainly more going on with the other beneath the surface. and for the two sisters whose guard is almost always up, it’s nice to be open and honest about their feelings in some way.

LIFE’S TOO SHORT. w. calliope muse, melpomene muse. while she’s unaware of all the ways hans has changed after his mother’s death, mel knows there will always be very few constants in her life, and hans’ presence is one of them. having met in their high school’s band the pair became fast friends, bonding over sharing some rather nerdy extracurriculars (because who the fuck plays the oboe and cello?), mel’s daily routine soon included spending time with her newest best friend. the decision to take their friendship further didn’t come until much later but mel knows it was probably one of the only smart decisions she’s ever made in regards to her love life. there’s a level of familiarity and trust in their relationship that made it so easy for them to transition, and there was a time where mel thought they’d be together forever. but when the girls first became a girl group she had less time for her best friend and lover, and so, she ended things to focus on making sure a dream that was never hers succeeds. she misses him, and that’s putting it very simply. after everything with her father’s death, oscar’s “possible” involvement with it and their new debt; mel found herself baring her soul to hans and unsurprisingly he was there for her like he always was when they were younger. he’s got new friends now, and honestly mel can’t really wrap her head around why he wants to hang around candice da vil and genevieve hart — hans had always been so sweet and harmless, and her memories of the mentioned girls doesn’t align with that. but he still makes time for her and it’s making her wonder if she’d made yet another mistake by letting him go.

RASCAL. w calliope muse, clio muse. similar to the image they put out with joan of arc, rascal tells the story of a lifestyle the girls are no longer living. ‘money, cash, clothes, fast cars’ are all far from their grasp and the least of their concerns as they continue to painstakingly put nearly every penny they make into paying off their debt, but they can't let the world to know that. the girls put on a brave face as they go out every day, pretending to live a life that was taken away from them. this song about being successful, making money, and having unapologetic fun is nothing more than a fantasy, the way they want their fans to see them. the sisters decided that if they put the energy out there, maybe they could one day live the glamorous, carefree life of a superstar.

JOAN OF ARC. w calliope muse, clio muse. while in reality the girls are far from living comfortably financially, that doesn’t mean they want that information to go public. in fact, it’s quite important that the debt they owe to oscar bordes remains a secret. for this reason, many of the girls (clio specifically) wanted to ensure they had at least one song about how they can provide for themselves. joan of arc acts as a feminist anthem about loving yourself and knowing that you can do whatever you want on your own. as they put it ‘i don’t need a man / if i’m loving you it’s ‘cause i can’. and while some of the girls are uncomfortable singing about having their own cash and putting their own rocks on their hand when they are in fact in deep debt, a song like this was expected by many fans and the muses ensured they did not disappoint.

RAINDROPS. w. calliope muse. one would think it’s a no brainer to write a song honoring their late great father. what the world will never know is that the very idea created an ongoing battle amongst the sisters for weeks. mel finds herself in a new role, no longer interested in keeping the peace because her rage with their father and his secrets and his (now their) debt winning out over her quiet nature. she insists the man doesn’t really deserve some long, beautiful song about how great he was when quite frankly he wasn’t. clio, unsurprisingly, agrees but argues that they need to keep up appearances and that the world could never be let into what they were dealing with and how it could have changed their view of their father. teri is adamant that she doesn’t want to sing a song about her father if it’s not coming from a genuine place, and as the youngest muse struggles with the new information about her father, the other sisters continue to war over what they know. in the end, they dedicate a barely there song to their father, leaving the task of writing something pretty and meaningful about the man to calli.

ROYL. w calliope muse, melpomene muse, erato muse, clio muse, terpsichore muse. no matter the complicated feelings each muse sister has about their father, one thing was certain: his sudden death left each of the girls reeling and with one reminder. life is short. despite even the youngest and most immature of the sisters being forced to grow up as their newfound debt and relationship with oscar bordes looms over their heads, royl serves as a reminder to both the girls and their fans to hold on to their youth and live each day like its your last. royl empowers their listeners to embrace their mistakes and imperfections, choosing to live out their best lives by having fun and worrying about the consequences later. you never know what you could be missing out on because you're living out the rest of your life in your head rather than just going for it.