#if I had a dollar for every fish I would have a lot of fish but no dollars because I spent it all on buying more fish

[earthtooz]

OMG IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH FOR FAKE PT.2 I LOVED PT 1 SM I LOVE YOU SM EHEHEH

𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ─ when the reader receives hate ! pt 1

includes: reo mikage, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi

warnings: gn!reader, they/them prns in kaiser + isagi, 2k+ wc for reo, 1.6k for kaiser and 1k for isagi, ooc!characters, borderline panic attack in reo's, hate and negative comments, happy endings for all, let me know if i'm missing any warnings, bad wriitng LOL

a/n: ask and u shall receive ! bro why is the cover image so low quality i can't be assed to fix it - ANYWAYS ENJOY ANON !!!

MIKAGE REO:

if there’s one thing reo is used to, it’s the amount of eyes constantly surveying his every move. there is not one aspect of his life that hasn’t been intruded by the amount of aristocratic families wondering how he’s doing. reo’s quite fed up with it himself. 

but of course, if there’s one thing dating reo mikage entails, it’s having those same eyes scrutinising your every move even harder- a fact you accepted before he asked you to be his. a fact you were starting to get used to.

despite all the glamourised smiles and ambiguous compliments of your relationship, there will always be some who aren’t afraid to voice their opinions.

which, is how you got stuck talking to some ceo’s daughter at a gala you were attending as reo’s plus one. 

“i’m not trying to be mean or anything, just honest,” she says with a particular slice of her hands, flaunting her expensive nails and jewellery. “but i don’t think you’re right for reo, and i know i am not the only one who thinks that! don’t you think it’s time you stop hogging him and y’know, return him to those who really deserve him?”

something disgusting churns within you at the way she talks of your boyfriend, as if he were some goal; a fish in a sea of hungry fishermen. the statement makes you feel violated, you can’t imagine how reo would feel being talked about like this for his entire life.

“and who might that be?” you counter, trying your best to remain calm and not give in to the storm within you.

she flares her nostrils, narrowing her perfectly painted eyes. “look around. take a good glance at the competition.”

“i won’t do that because there is no competition. reo chose me, whether you like it or not,” you firmly place your drink down on the table beside you before pointedly showing her the beautiful promise ring, encrusted with diamonds that reo himself placed on your finger. “besides, if there even was a competition in the first place, i’m afraid you’re all much too late.”

with a final sneer, she turns around with a pointed flick of her healthy, smooth hair before walking away, classy and expensive as ever.

just like everyone around you.

you, on the other hand, find it hard to breathe, and the luxurious fabric of your even more luxurious outfit is clinging to your body. before you even know it, you’re making a run for the exit, slipping past crowds of people and ignoring their looks of curiosity. 

no one would bother to look too long anyways.

you should be proud of how you managed to remain level-headed during that interaction, but you can’t help but give in to her manipulative tactics. you did take a good look of the competition and they all looked like millions upon millions of dollars. they have had their life plan sorted from the very moment of their birth, their destiny handed to them of a silver platter, and although you know to look beyond the materialism and gold, it’s hard to ignore it when you’re surrounded by marble walls and crystal chandeliers.

suddenly feeling like an imposter, you just want to hop in a cab and go home.

bolting through expansive halls with decorative arches and doors to match, you’re almost at the parking lot where the chauffeurs awaited, just a flight of stairs await your descent.

it’s not until a hand catches your wrist that you stop. 

turning around, you find no comfort in the familiarity of reo’s face which was laced with concern and worry. he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin, and his hair was all over his face. was he chasing after you?

“y/n! where are you going?” the purple-haired asks, eyebrows furrowing even more as he notices the distressed state you’re in. he grabs both your hands, manoeuvring you to look him square in the eyes. except, it’s so difficult, you’re looking everywhere but at him. “i was calling your name the entire time, did you not hear me?” 

“reo, please, leave me alone,” you request with a shaky voice, trying to get out of his grip with no success.

“i can’t, not when you’re like this,” he protests, “deep breaths, y/n, come back to me.”

a few moments of silence pass by, allowing you to return to your senses as reo holds your hands against his heart, stroking your skin with his thumb. no longer overwhelmed and suffocated by your thoughts, it’s hard to look your boyfriend in the eye, cowering away from his gaze.

“what’s the matter?” he asks gently, pressing a hand against your cheek delicately. it’s warm. you want to melt into him.

“it’s- i, i had a really- you know what, nevermind,” you murmur, shaking your head, turning your back against reo as you pull your hands away from his. 

you miss the expression of heartbreak that appears on his pretty face. 

your cold actions don’t deter him. instead, it makes him more determined to stay by your side, chasing after you even as you descend down the stairs. since your shoes were a lot more complicated than his, the soccer player catches up to you quickly to guide you by the small of your back as he mirrors your pace.

“i want to go home,” you mutter to him once you’re on the ground, trying your best not to collapse under the gaze of so many, surrounded by butlers and chauffeurs.  

he nods with a gentle gaze. “let’s go home then.”

his kindness is not enough to shield you from the scrutiny that bears into you. “no, reo, you should stay, i’ll just catch a taxi home or something.”

he looks at you in pure astonishment, slightly taken back by your weird attitude. 

“but i don’t want to. why would i want to stay if you’re not?” asks the purple-haired. 

opting to remain silent rather than answer, you try to walk towards the main road of the highway, only to be cut off by reo shoving himself in front of you.

“and why would i let you take a cab home?” your purple-haired lover questions, placing both of his hands on his cheeks so you can finally look him in the eye. “y/n, what’s going on? something happened, didn’t it?”

taking both of his hands away from your face, you take a step away; once again missing the look of astonishment and heartbreak that appears on reo’s face. “nothing happened,” you say stubbornly, rubbing your hands against your arms.

“i don’t want to go home if you’re like this, can we please just talk for a little?” he remains behind you, getting the hint that you don’t want to be provoked or touched in any way, even if it’s killing him. the soccer player’s fingers itch with the need to embrace and trace every part of you that you’ll allow, but, for the sake of your fragile state, he doesn’t.

with a small exhale, you agree. it would be unfair for you to leave reo in the dark, continually brushing off his genuine kindness due to some chick that got in your head.

he leads you towards the gardens nearby which were dimly lit, yet still very beautiful. spring was in full season, so you could only catch glimpses of the beautiful flora that aligned the path, but there was no denying that it was still breathtaking. reo walks beside you, synchronising his footsteps with yours.

eventually, you arrive at a fountain in the middle of the garden. where you take a seat on its marble ledge, reo whispers ‘one second’ to you before running off to the bushes where the red roses were. he returns quickly, jogging back to you with a singular flower in his hands. 

“for you, my love,” he declares with a small smile, bowing with an extended hand, expecting you to take his gift.

you readily do, heart warming at his silliness whilst twirling the rose in your fingers. “thank you,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his cheek when he places his hand next to you so he can lean against the fountain for support. 

the promise ring you wear on your finger feels heavier than usual, especially when he smiles fondly at you, a lovesick expression on his face that is no doubt mirrored by you. 

but looking at him, you can’t help but recall the stinging reality that he lived in a world of glamour, decadence, and allure; only doubled by the fame that came with his life as a pro-soccer player. you love reo with your whole being, really, sometimes you fear that your feelings might be a little too much, but loving him with a materialistic barrier in between is difficult. 

the idea of letting him go than stealing him away from the world of mystique feels suddenly a lot kinder.

“reo,” you begin after a few minutes of simply being in each other’s presence. he looks at you with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, directing 100% of his attention towards you. with a deep inhale, you continue.

“do you ever think that… we’re not, meant to be?”

the silence is deafening.

“what do you mean?” he asks with a small stutter of disbelief, “of course we’re meant to be! you’re the one for me- you’re my soulmate!”

usually, when reo says that, it makes your insides gush and flutter, but now it riddles you with guilt and scepticism. “how can you be so sure?”

“y/n,” he sounds so very desperate. reo’s eyes have always been the window to his soul and seeing the way they shine with tears, your chest clenches with an unpleasant feeling. “why are you doubting my love for you?”

his hand goes to your ring finger, playing with the jewellery that you suddenly feel like you don’t deserve.

“you agreed, remember? you agreed to letting me love you forever and loving me in return. i put this ring on you because it’s always going to be you, no matter what circumstance, i’ll always choose you.” 

“but is choosing me the right decision?”

“yes, a thousand times yes, there will never be. anyone. but. you.” reo increases the amount of emphasis he puts into each word, now changing his position so that he stood in front of you, caging you with his build. “can you tell me what happened, beautiful? because something clearly did and soured my gorgeous y/n’s mood.”

the sudden onslaught of compliments, mixed with how close reo was, broke down your resolve easily, crumbling at his feet as you gave in to his gentle demands. 

“i met an unpleasant someone who told me i should give you up for people who deserve you more,” you whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, a gesture of equal affection and possessiveness. 

he hums, seemingly calm but you know better. the furrow of his eyebrows was one of scrutiny and distaste. you’re glad he’s trying to remain subtle, you’ve had enough of emotional responses for one night.

“and who might this unpleasant someone be?”

“i have no idea. she gave me a name but it went in one ear then out the other.”

pressing his face into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, the soccer player revels at this chance to be close to you. 

“it was probably important though,” you reiterate, “and, well, might be able to benefit you a lot better than i ever can.” 

he scoffs into your skin, causing you to shiver. “no one’s name is as important as mine, my love, and no one can boost it more than what it’s already worth. if anything, those who have me gets the boost, i’m already the best.” 

his (rightfully deserved) cockiness makes you smile ever so slightly as you punch his shoulder. “are you implying i’m a gold digger?”

“well, you didn’t choose me, did you?” asks reo with a raise of his eyebrow. “i begged you to go on a date with me and you only agreed the fourth time i asked.”

the recollection makes a giggle slip past your lips- a sound reo dearly missed as he admires your beauty in the dim lighting of the gardens. he places a fleeting kiss on your neck before looking up at you. 

“of course, everyone else won’t know that and assume,” you point out before leaning in towards his lips, unable to resist him much longer.

“who cares?” he mutters against you before melting against you in a gentle kiss filled with love, reassurance, and promises. “they’re all irrelevant anyways, just a bunch of talkers with nothing to back up their words.”

“then what am i?”

“you’re my future. you’re the one that actually cares about me, more than my money or my soccer skills. remember the first day we met and you told me to get out of the way? back in college?”

“well you were blocking my path. i was running late to my class as well.”

reo chuckles, pulling away from you so there was a little distance between your faces. “never thought i’d want someone so bad just because they didn’t know who i was.”

“then show me,” you say with a little challenge in your tone. “screw the gala, take me home, reo.”

“thought you’d never ask.”

MICHAEL KAISER:

“kaiser gets it in! a miracle shot, just what you’d expect from bastard münchen’s genius striker!” the announcer exclaims as the crowd shoots up in excitement, roaring and buzzing with excitement as the members of germany’s football team all swarm around the blond, cheering and celebrating. 

kaiser participates in the hype, fist bumping his teammates before running back to position, but not without sparing a look at the screen that was displaying the match. no one misses the kiss he blows in the direction of the camera and although the stadium is filled with squeals (from boys, girls, grown ups and children alike), you know something they don’t.

right before the match, kaiser made you promise that each goal of his equated to ten kisses, a deal that you readily accepted and bumped up to twenty as a way of motivating him to take the game home.

that kiss he blew was just a way of solidifying that he was thinking of you and the wink he sent straight after was just making sure you’d keep your promise.

you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world with him. 

as the match progresses, you can tell it’s going to be an easy victory, with all favours towards your lover’s team - kaiser earning another two himself. 

it’s almost scary just how effortlessly he dominates, settling the score at 3-1 for bastard münchen, once again making feats you thought were difficult look effortless. as the whistle blew announcing the end of the game, roars fill the stadium once again and you too, jump up with the crowd to cheer as loudly as you can.

repping his jersey with his name on the back, it just feels too good, especially when you bask in the afterglow of a well deserved victory.

you don’t miss the amount of glances kaiser sends your way, antsy to be able to reach you and spend some time with you because he’d rather have you congratulate him than a bunch of old, white men that just want to sponsor him. they can get in line because you’re his top priority.

you hope he sees you and the heart you make with your arms over your head just for him. 

dawdling out of the stadium always takes forever because of the amount of people that always come to see his game so when over half the people have cleared out, you make your way down to the front row, where your soccer genius boyfriend was waiting for you.

“you were incredible, my love,” you say as a greeting, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, one that he readily returns. you don’t really care that he was sweaty, too overwhelmed by how proud of him you were.

not that your opinions really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but kaiser considered it a great lucky charm, one he holds highly.

“as always,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against your cheek. you giggle at the sensation, smiling widely as he continues. “tell me more about how amazing i was.”

rolling your eyes at his arrogance, you decide to indulge him, just a little. “the best out there, greatest soccer player of all time, and you looked so handsome too, my main character,” you pinch his cheek. “done?”

“not at all,” keens kaiser, smiling at you like a cat.

“get your stuff first and then when we’re home, i’m all yours.”

“i’m holding you to your promise, pretty, that’s sixty kisses from you.”

with a final kiss on the forehead as farewell, you bid him goodbye and watch as he runs off to get changed, joining ness who was waiting for him by the exit. the magenta-haired soccer player waves at you from halfway across the field, a gesture you readily return before turning around to go outside.

passing by the security guards who give you a little nod of acknowledgement, you’re relieved to see that the audience that gathered tonight had gone off into their cars, ready to go home for the night. 

you’re about to go around to where the players exit so kaiser wouldn’t swarmed by a flurry of fans and reporters, until you’re stopped by a hand on the shoulder. the grip wasn’t strong, but demanding enough for you to turn around and greet whoever wanted to talk to you.

it was a pair of teenage girls. they were well-dressed and pampered, but the look they were giving you was less than friendly. somehow, you already knew where this conversation was going.

“can i help you?” you ask, flashing them a smile.

one of them eyes you up and down, judgement very clear in her eyes. you cringe a little. “are you kaiser’s partner?” she asks. 

you nod in affirmation. you hate the sleazy feeling developing in your gut, expanding due to the scrutiny of their gazes. one of the girls nudge the other one in an ‘i told you so’ manner, which is returned with a smirk that is mischievous in kind.

“do you need something from me?” you question, finally letting your astoundment show on your face. really, you just wanted to walk away from this conversation and find kaiser so you could go home.

“yeah, we’re just wondering why, y’know, that he’d choose you.” 

“excuse me?”

“like don’t get us wrong, you’re pretty and all, but we just think that you’re kinda bland for him,” one of them states as the other hums in agreement. 

the audacity. you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground.

“okay, cool. what do you suggest i do then since you seem to be experts in my relationship.”

“break up with him, duh?”

“and let one of you date him instead?” you scoff. “fat chance.” 

“just give him up, okay? we could love kaiser more than you probably ever could, clout chaser.”

“gold digger!”

now amused more than frustrated, you bite back the laugh that bubbles in your chest. it was entertaining seeing some sixteen year old girls try to tell you that you and your boyfriend (of two years) shouldn’t be together. 

being kaiser’s partner had its downsides sometimes, and it was mostly just the hate you receive for ‘stealing’ him off the market, especially since he was so young, some fans didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor. but, you’re used to it. so long as you get to watch him in the spotlight, you don’t really mind the darkness. 

you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “right… are we done here? because this ‘gold digger’ wants to see their partner and congratulate him.”

“what part aren’t you understanding?” one of them asks before the other one completes the sentence. “you and kaiser just don’t look good together!”

before you could answer, a heavy arm drapes itself over your shoulders. “aww, why not?” a familiar voice asks. the two girls in front of you freeze, panic evident on their faces. “what disturbances held you up from seeing me?”

then you see and hear an overload of flashes and camera clicks. kaiser must’ve caught the paparazzi on his way out and you suddenly remember that you left him waiting, feeling slightly guilty when you turn your head to meet his gaze. you wrap your arms around his torso, happier than ever to feel his warmth against your own. 

“what happened here?” kaiser asks, a question directed at you and you only. 

“they were just telling me that they didn’t like that i was a main role in your theatre,” you say, earning an eyebrow raise from your genius boyfriend. “how should we fix that?”

he hums for a moment, meeting the widened eyes of his fans.

“kick them out,” he simply declares before turning around with you still in his arms. you two pass by paparazzi, paying them little mind except from the small smiles you send their way. 

once you’re in a clearer, quieter area, your boyfriend turns to you and embraces you properly, a gesture you return eagerly as he breathes you in.

“what a way to sour such a good victory,” murmurs kaiser, voice muffled by his jersey that you were wearing. “can’t believe i had to play your knight in shining armour instead of the king that i am.”

you pinch his neck which causes him to flinch with a little shriek. always leave it to you to dumb down his narcissism.

“i was handling it myself pretty well, y’know,” you sigh, “being the michael kaiser’s partner, i’ve grown immune to the hate i receive.”

kaiser frowns, “i didn’t think it happened often,” he whispers. “i’m sorry. how many times have you had to defend yourself without me knowing?”

“it hardly matters-”

“-but it does. i don’t like when people slander you, less when it’s for no reason other than because you’re with me. you should be marvelled at and admired, just like the masterpiece you are.”

his words cause butterflies to erupt in your stomach, a feeling you mask with a playful eye roll. 

“yes but,” you counter, reaching to cup his cheek, “being with you makes up for it.” 

he smirks, contrasting the downhearted expression he wore moments earlier. kaiser’s skill of immediately recovering from whatever kicks him down truly is something to behold and at times, envy. “of course it does,” he boasts, dramatically flipping one of his bangs. 

“besides, i’m willing to fight back if it means i get to be with you.”

before he can argue back, you grab his arm and pull him towards the entrance.

“now come on, let’s talk about it another day. i believe i owe you sixty kisses.”

“make it one hundred now for leaving me waiting for so long.”

“if you get too greedy i’ll leave you on the sidewalk.”

“you’d do that to your king? how dare you!”

ISAGI YOICHI:

“what does your mum like?” you ask a clueless isagi who simply stares at the range of perfumes that the department store had displayed.

“i have no idea,” he mutters. “i never really paid attention to what smells she used.”

“fragrances, yoichi, not smells.”

“oh. right,” the star soccer player rubs his neck awkwardly, smiling sheepishly at you after correcting his small mistake. 

he was so adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks.

this was the first time that isagi was buying a gift for his mother with his own money, and the first person he turned to for help was his partner: you, explaining that this had to be the best gift she’s ever received. for how much she’s done for him, and how much she’s supported his soccer career, isagi doesn’t know if he can repay it through money, but gifts are hard to deny regardless.

readily agreeing to help, you have memories of isagi’s mother welcoming you into the family with warm arms. she would tell you how beautiful you are, how excited she was to meet you, and that her son better treat you well otherwise you could always turn to her for help; a statement that made the star striker gulp.

“i mean, you could never go wrong with a few classics like carolina herrera, dior, or chanel?” you suggest, walking over to the section filled with perfumes contained in shelves, their respective brands displayed on top. isagi follows you like a lost puppy, clinging close to your side by holding your hand, squeezing it ever so often.

everything you’re saying is going in one ear and through the other, and isagi lets it show on his face. 

“don’t worry yoichi, any perfume you pick tends to be a good gift regardless, besides, we have the whole day to figure out what your mum likes,” you reason logically, just in case it might provide him with some relief in the midst of expensive, designer fragrances. 

“right,” he huffs, reaching out to read the labels of some bottles.

after a long hunt of going through the shelves, he eventually settles on a fragrance from maison francis (with a pricetag that made you gawk yet isagi was very calm about, agreeing without even thinking about it), but since the packaged version was locked in a glass cabinet, you opted to call a store attendant.

“that’s a great idea, babe, need me to go with you?” he asks, readjusting the strap of his beat-up bag, the one he’s had since high school. funny how some things don’t change for isagi, you love that about him.

you shake your head in response, telling him to ‘wait here’ before strolling off.

however, during this brief time of being without you, isagi was approached by a trio who looked like they were a family, the eldest holding a phone between his hand.

“isagi yoichi?” he asks timidly, fiddling with the phone.

the soccer player flashes a friendly smile, hoping to reduce any of the anxiety they might feel from approaching him. he was just an average, friendly guy after all. “that’s me, need anything?”

“can we take a picture?” the middle daughter asks, pressing her hands together in a pleading motion.

“of course! come on.”

the set of siblings smile eagerly before ambling to isagi’s side, who squats down so he could fit in frame. after a ‘3, 2, 1’ countdown, the photo is taken and just as the dark-haired athlete was about to stand up, a store attendant approaches.

“would you like me to take the picture?” they ask politely, gesturing to the phone.

simultaneously, everyone agrees and soon enough, the photo is taken and done, allowing isagi to high-five them before waving them off, the three of them thanking him profusely for his time.

the store attendant lingers, turning to face him with wide eyes of admiration. “wow, i didn’t think i’d ever get to meet you!” they exclaim. “i watched your match against the under-20 team like so long ago! you were amazing!”

“oh, yeah,” isagi chuckles, flustered at all this recognition, even though he’s been getting more and more of it lately, “thank you for your support.”

although he inwardly cringes at the line that he’s reused over and over again, the store helper thinks nothing of it, beaming back at him. “you’re super cute too, do you think i could get your number?”

isagi lets his shock show on his face before blurting out: “no, i have a partner already.”

the attendant’s face drops into a look of disappointment and the striker wants to run off to find you. you never should have left him alone.

“what a shame. the person that you were just with right?” isagi nods. “don’t know what you think is so special about them, i personally think you’re too good for them and should find someone better, but, it’s not up to me.”

isagi feels his vision zero in, growing red with each word. him? too good for you? what irony.

“excuse me?” he vocalised lowly- practically a growl as he eyes the employee down. “i’m giving you three seconds to get out of my sight before i-.”

he’s too preoccupied with the fury he feels to notice the way the attendant squeaks, eyes laced with fear, before scurrying off mid-sentence, fully intimidated by the striker. isagi sighs, slumping his shoulders. he’s never used that tone to anyone outside of soccer in an attempt of pre-game slander and now he just misses you.

where did you run off to?

right on queue, you materialise beside him, huffing with a pout on your face. “i couldn’t find any store attendants, that’s so weird! where’d they go?”

deciding against telling you that he just scared one away for trashing you, he simply leans his body weight on you, sighing when you embrace him tightly so he wouldn’t knock the both of you over.

“whoa, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” you ask, unable to hide the smile on your face from his sudden acts of affection. “everything okay, love?” 

“i want to go home,” he whispers against your shoulder. “spend some time with you.”

“what about the gift?”

“i’ll order it online. it can arrive in time.”

relenting, you pluck him off you with great effort. “if you’re sure then, okay, let’s go home.”

“we can get takeout from your favourite on the way home.”

“what’s the occasion?”

“thought i needed to show you how much i appreciate you.”

[neominthe]

Practicing character design with some novel's MCs. Here are my headcanons:

Cheong Myeong

Bulky and beefy body. Big arms and hands, which can't be seen as his robes are too big on him

Tanned skin as he trains in the sun a lot, but only on the hands, face and neck since they aren't covered by his Mount Hua robes

I headcanon him as short since he started exercising from an early age in unhealthy amounts, stunting his growth

Super curly hair which Cheong Myeong keeps constantly in a ponytail. At one point in time he will pull in a bun to keep it from tangling

Sharp eyes with extremely long eyelashes

Han Yoojin

I'm a sucker for gaining weight representing character is in a safe and happy place for them

His nose is like a button, a feature he shares with Yoohyun

Yoojin has curlier hair than Yoohyun, though does not care for it. As a result, it's constantly messy and tangled, adding to the 'single mother who has two jobs' look

In the novel (I can't remember which chapter) it is mentioned that Yoojin gained a bit of skin color, making him look healthier. I followed the webtoon skin color (which was like white paper) and darkened it a bit, to look healthier but still very light

Yoojin has pieces of Sung Hyunjae's wardrobe on him. The guy has a lot of money, surely he won't be missing his 100k dollar suit right? (Hyunjae allows it since it is Yoojin stealing and it kinda "marks his territory". You know, like a dog)

Park Moondae

After receiving Idol Inc' sweather, he always wears it as Moondae is too lazy to go buy his own clothes (and to save money)

He got the shoes from Seon Ahyeon, which were one size bigger than his. Moondae doesn't bother telling Ahyeon he got the wrong size, so wearing it causes blisters

Moondae has "dead fish eyes" and a small mouth, making him look like the emoji '-' Fans find it adorable, though

He got a soft jawline and a thin face, as well as a pointy nose

It's possible to determine Moondae's emotion by the glint of his eyes, but only his close friends can do it precisely

Kim Dokja

I didn't intend to make him look like a corpse, but as I kept drawing it felt more and more right for him to be that way. He was an office worker and only had one happiness: a webnovel

Dokja spends most of his time indoors, so he is very pale and lacking of vitamin D. As he became a constellation and Demon King, his complexity worsened and looked inhumane, turning grey ash

He is able to retract his wings, but not his horns. They are constantly out and a burdensome, since Dokja often forgets they are there, making him hit the doorframe several times

Dokja's hair covers a part of his face (an ode to the damn censorship Bihyung added) and is choppy because he cuts his own hair. If cared and brushed almost every day, it would be like his mom's: flowy and soft

He has long eyelashes, especially on the lower lid, and downturned eyes, which makes him look gloomy and teary-faced

I imagine Dokja having a bit of a hunchback from all the time he spends in his phone and working in a computer

Dokja also has long legs, which he keeps hidden under his tattered coat

Cale Henituse

The man has a thin and tall body, to the point he seems both elegant and fragile at the same time

Cale has light skin due to his time spent indoors or under every shade he can find whenever he has to go out

Cale's features are mostly pointy, with sharp angles and straight lines running down. His nose is upturned, has arched eyebrows and sharp eyes

The straight hair was inherited from Deruth's parents, Cale's gradparents and red obviously from Jour

[tange-my-rine]

saying something stupid (like I love you) || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: With Lemon's guidance, you take the initiative and confess to Tangerine. He kept saying he felt the same, and wouldn't shut up until you did it. So, in a moment of weakness, you told him. You kind of knew what to expect: either reciprocation or rejection. Easy. But when Tangerine instead physically runs away from you, you have to admit you weren't expecting that.

TW: angsty (with a happy ending), crying, cursing (it's Tangerine), and avoidance (Tangerine is really bad at feelings, what can I say).

[[A/N: yes this is based off that one song. It's so GOODDD. And also something Tangerine would totally do. Peep the Little Women reference. Enjoy :)]]

"C'mon," Lemon urged, "-'s not 'at hard, mate."

You rolled your eyes, absent-mindedly chewing the inside of your cheek, "You say that as if you've ever been in a relationship. Ever."

You had known the twins since middle school (probably), both raised with shitty parents and even shittier lives. When you saw them for the first time swindling a boy out of his money in a go-fish game, you essentially blackmailed them.

('If I don't get a share, I'm telling the teacher.')

You actually even knew their names, and them yours, but you preferred the codenames -you were the one to come up with them afterall.

Tangerine almost popped a blood vessel when you met that day, but Lemon smiled big and bright and pulled a five out of his brother’s hand. You and Lemon were fast friends after that; Tangerine took a lot more time.

That being said, when you were finally friends -near high school, he started to... fill out his form. Naturally, being close to someone who is handsome, you find yourself in... certain states of mind. And what started as a little crush your senior year, snowballed to now.

Where you were in love with him.

You probably told Lemon after a few years of it not going away. But, you'd find that every day after you'd regret that decision.

"Sally Jones," Lemon offered up, seemingly in defense of himself.

You scoffed, "The girl you dated for a month?"

He nodded his head.

"You didn't even like her," you clarified, "-you liked that she had cable so you could watch your fucking trains."

"So?"

"So-" you said a little loudly, turning to the bedroom where Tangerine slept and drastically lowering your voice at the distinct absence of shuffling, "-Lemon. We have been best friends since we were kids, that's... That's a lot to mess up because I'm... because I have feelings."

"What so-" Lemon starts, "What if he gets married one day? What are goin' to do? Just... Just fuckin' bury it down?"

"First off, he's too much of a dick to get married, secondly-" you paused, letting out a big sigh -something in your chest twisting, "-yeah. I mean, it's what I've done for all of these years, isn't it?"

He frowned for a minute, hand finding its place on your shoulder, "You ever think ya deserve to get it off your chest? 'At maybe you deserve the happiness it'll give ya?"

"Might give me," you corrected.

"Look, I know my brother," Lemon argued, brown eyes layered onto yours, "-and I know he's been fuckin' crazy about you since you stole that fuckin' five dollars on the playground."

"I didn't steal it," you clarified, a little defensively "-we made a deal. We negotiated-"

"Y/N," he refocused, "-I just wanna see the two of ya happy, yeah?"

"I know," you spoke, softer, "-I know, Lemon."

Before another word could be spoken and it really seemed like Lemon wanted to, Tangerine stepped into the living room -hair still sleep-mussed, and clothes far more casual than what he'd wear normally. Not that it was new to you, but it still made your heart flutter a little.

"You 'avin' a fuckin' pow wow without me?"

"Morning, sunshine," you smiled with a sing-songy tone.

"Fuck you," Tangerine muttered (a tiny little smile quirked onto his lips), before slinking off into the kitchen -most likely in search of coffee.

When you stayed seated, eyes flickering over whatever reality TV show was on -Lemon nearly burned a whole in your side.

'What?!' you mouthed, exasperated.

He was wordless, brown eyes darting from you to the kitchen -a few times in a row actually.

'Now?' you mouthed back.

'The sooner the fuckin' better,' Lemon mouthed back, shoving you further down the couch.

Well, you debated to yourself, it would get him off your back, and that would be nice.

But, you didn't feel so scared then -not like all the years prior. It was like something... something had shifted in you and you just wanted it done.

Shit, you thought, maybe it is time.

You took a deep breath in and with raised hands (in mock surrender), stood up.

'Fine.'

Lemon seemed taken aback a moment, shock, like he'd never actually expected you to cave; to be fair, you were a little surprised too. But... you were tired, and if heartbreak was to come of it -you wanted to get it over with now.

'But if he doesn't...' you mouthed, '-you owe me everything in your wallet.'

He neatly nodded in agreement.

You swallowed, squeezing your hands together and with the timidness of a doe, entered the kitchen.

The kitchen in the apartment was small, but modern-looking. It was all sleek metal and plain colored cabinets, looked like something out of a magazine. That being said, Tangerine fit right in.

Your eyes unwillingly went to his hair, the unkempt curls, and you briefly wondered if they felt soft.

"Hey, Tan?" you echoed out -trying to keep your voice level and calm.

He held up a finger -as if to say 'one moment', before fidgeting with his coffee. He took it basically black so it didn't take him too long to do so. Just a dash of both sugar and milk, he spun around to look at you.

You supposed you hadn't thought about the idea that he had to be looking at you while you said it. His eyes were always so... bright and distracting -you could hardly handle it when he looked at you so intensely on a regular day. How could you do that today? Right now?

You cleared your throat, wringing your hands together, "I, um, I need to tell you something."

Tangerine pursed his lips, looking you over -leaning slightly on the counter with his cup in his hand. His eyes dashed over yours with a curious sort of question there -scanning over you like he was trying to figure out just what it was.

"Ya alright, love?"

You blinked, trying to clear your head, and opening your mouth to respond. In what way, you weren't sure but any at all sounded good-

"Get fuckin' on with it, mate," Lemon yelled out from the living room -apparently hearing everything in here he could.

Tangerine was just looking at you -blue eyes just looking.

Something in you snapped.

"Jesus Christ, fine, Lemon," you hissed in frustration -words coming out before you could stop them, "-Tangerine, I'm in love with you."

Tangerine froze.

You weren't even sure he was breathing.

"Tangerine," you stepped forward, concerned, "-are you okay?"

Before you could so much as touch him though, he, without a word, beelined out of the kitchen. So fast you were left reeling in his dust, blinking a little deliriously.

You instantly spun around your heels and rushed to the living room -just in time to see Tangerine swipe the keys (the car keys) off of the little table near the door and promptly leave the apartment.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed into your mind -like a pin dropping into silence.

Something swirling up into your chest, you swallowed -something heavy on your tongue and even heavier on your heart. You blankly stared at the door, like if you wished hard enough he'd come back and tell you he loved you. That all of it had just been a gut reaction.

After a few minutes, that did not happen.

"Lemon...?" You croaked out, eyes suddenly blurry and heart pounding in your chest -had you really just ruined it all?

"Lemon-" you let out a breath and it somehow turned into a sob. It felt like your chest had been cracked open and your heart crushed to dust.

God, you'd lost him. You fucking lost your best friend because you decided to be stupid and fall in love with him-

You don't know when you fell to the floor, crying, but you do remember Lemon rushing over to you -brown eyes guilty and somewhat confused.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He kept repeating it, over and over, but all you could see in your head was Tangerine frozen and all you could feel was a loss. You were grieving him, there was no way anything could go back to normal-

You'd have to get separate jobs, live on your own-

"I'm not leavin' you," Lemon said suddenly, and you realized you must've been muttering, "-My brother can shove 'at idea up his arse."

Without another breath, you pushed yourself into his arms -wrapped around him into a hug.

"Liked you much better anyway," he muttered, and there was a laugh that burst through your chest.

You and Lemon ended up staying at that apartment for about three more days, waiting to see if Tangerine would return. All of his clothes were here, and you weren't entirely sure he even had his wallet in his pajamas -but he didn't show back up.

Not that he hadn't been in contact, Lemon had been both answering and not answering phone calls from him almost by the hour. He always ran to another room to answer them though, and you respected the privacy -it's not like you wanted to hear from Tangerine anyway.

Even though he was your friend and you were worried, you knew it best not to talk to him.

"You're a fuckin' idiot, mate," Lemon hissed out -bitter and disapproving, "-none of it makes any fuckin' sense, I swear you were-"

There was silence for a minute, you assumed Tangerine interrupted him.

"Are you really fuckin' serious with me right now?" Came back with a much harsher sentiment and the tone of it chilled you to the bone -Lemon was mad.

Which you'd really only seen once or twice, in grade school, either when someone picked on you and you cried (both boys reacted similarly to that) or when someone, unprompted, hurt Tangerine.

You were suddenly flashed back to your senior prom when a guy had asked you but it had all turned out to be some joke. 'He's fuckin' stupid not to like you, love,' rang through your head -familiar blue eyes and arm wrapped solidly around you pulled you into his side, '-doesn't deserve you anyway.'

There was a bitter taste in your mouth.

Lemon pulled you out of your thoughts, "What were 'ey supposed to think, mate? That you were so joyous you couldn't stay fuckin' still?!"

You rubbed your hands up and down your arms, mindlessly packing your bag. The next piece made you stutter to a stop. Hands lingering on a long-sleeved button-up, one you'd borrowed from Tangerine and he'd never asked for back, your heart sunk to the bottom of your chest.

No more crying, you thought.

With not a word, you took the fabric in your hands, leaving your room, and shoving it into Tangerine's bag.

You did stay in the room for a moment, breathing in the... Tangerine of it all.

And then, you left.

"No, no, mate," Lemon laughed, incredulously, "-I'm not doin' shit for you. You come 'ere and do damage control yourself."

You pulled your bag up on your shoulder, it was just a little duffle -you didn't carry much job to job, and trailed into the living room.

Lemon immediately straightened, cutting off Tangerine, "I've got to go, brother. I think you know 'at to do."

With the precise press of a finger, he hung up.

Letting out a big sigh, Lemon turned to you, "Let me get 'is stuff, and then we'll leave, yeah?"

And you did.

You're not sure what the last call was about, but after that one, he started calling you too.

Lemon had decided to cool off on the jobs, just visiting a few cities out of want -kind of treating it like a tourist. It was weird, but not unwelcome. One of those nights, it started.

You were eating on the couch, some sort of reality TV show distracting you with Lemon -when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. You unhesitatingly went to pick it up, eyes smoothing across the name-

'Tan 🍊'.

Staring at it for a moment in disbelief, you quickly declined and set your phone back on the coffee table.

He didn't call you again until late that night when Lemon was asleep in his room; you weren't asleep, to be fair, just staring up at the ceiling.

The name flickered across your screen, and with a little hesitation, you answered.

"What the hell do you want, Tan?"

He was silent for a minute, slow to respond -speaking a little in disbelief, "Hey, love."

"Tangerine, don't-" you started, something breaking in your voice -you cleared your throat, "-That's not fair."

"Love-"

"You're being mean," you echoed out, tone a little broken and weepy -it was all you could say.

He was silent for a long while then, almost exhausted, "I'm sorry."

"It feels like," and you could feel the tears bubbling up, "-it feels like when that stupid guy ditched me at prom," your voice got much quieter -a little pathetic but you didn’t care, "-but you're not here, Tan."

'I want you here,' went unsaid.

"I'm sorry," he repeated -but this time a little more dim.

"Don't you think I deserve to hear that in person?" You offered -swallowed back a sob, you were crying by now, just silent tears down your cheeks, "Don't you have any respect for me-"

"I never meant to-"

"Save it," you interrupted -tired and exhausted, "-I need to sleep."

Before he could say another word, you hung up.

And if you cried yourself to sleep that night, that was between you and the apartment walls.

He didn't stop after that night, calling you more than Lemon -he still answered. You didn't. You had nothing to say to him, until he decided to apologize, in person. Or even just come back at all. He couldn't run forever. No matter how much he didn't want to reject you, you needed to hear it.

Couldn't he understand that?

Because every day he didn't, there was a traitorous little part of you that held onto the hope that maybe he had just been overwhelmed. Maybe he just wasn't ready.

And that hurt more than anything else. That he wouldn't come to tell you otherwise, when you already knew it.

There were a few times he'd call you, and Lemon would call him back: 'Just leave 'em alone, mate.' And then, he'd disappear off into a room -ready to talk about whatever they did.

And then, about a month after the start of it all, you heard a knock on the door.

It was a normal day, where you and Lemon ate takeout and watched whatever show was on -which was often shitty. He didn't talk about Tangerine, so the conversations were more lighthearted -made you feel better.

But when you heard the door, you froze.

Lemon seemed to be looking for your reaction, brown eyes darting all over your face. And for a moment, you were relieved that he was okay but then your face settled into something strained.

You told him you loved him and he ran away. You didn't think it could get much worse than rejection, but it did.

Lemon took the look as a sign to gently rub your shoulder, comforting, before standing up and heading to the door.

Deciding to focus on the TV and eat, you did so. You only flinched when he swung open the door, and in quiet whispers, you heard his voice again. It felt like your whole world was crumbling, you thought you were ready for this -the rejection. But you still loved him so much-

You blinked away tears, determined not to let him see you cry. You wouldn't accept pity, not from him.

You knew his footfall, knew exactly where he stopped behind the couch and you even felt his hand come to clutch it right by your head. You ignored him.

"Y/N," he started and his voice seemed a little wrecked.

Not knowing entirely why (or maybe knowing exactly), you turned to meet him.

Tangerine was disheveled, hair messy like he'd been running his hand through it for days -which you knew he did when he was nervous, and his new suit messy. He did look a little like he'd been in a bar fight, and won. You also knew he did that when he needed some stress relief.

Was that why he was here? For refuge?

"I-"

You abruptly stood up, food falling from your lap, and somehow safely onto the couch, "I'm too tired for this."

Tangerine looked at you for a moment, and you thought it was a little desperate but you smushed the idea without hesitation.

This time, you were the one to run away from him.

You found immediate solace in your room, slinking against the door and breathing so quickly -your eyes fogged up. Needing something to do, you decided to unpack your bag.

Unwillingly, you heard a mutter of voices, and even Lemon's footfall as he disappeared into his room. Tangerine took a bit longer, but when you heard the door shut, you let out a long sigh of relief. Not tonight.

Before you could finish with your clothes though, you heard his steps again -slow and hesitant. You thought for a second that maybe he was leaving again, and something in your stomach twisted.

Instead, though, all you hear was them booming closer. You stilled.

You had the off thought to run over and lock it, but it was too late then. The door opened slowly like he wasn't sure if you were asleep. And you chastised yourself for not thinking of that.

When he opened it all the way, his eyes landed squarely on you. You waited for him to say something, anything, so you could shut him down and go to bed.

Instead, he simply extended his hand forward.

Your eyes darted to it, his hand clutching a shirt -the shirt you had shoved back into his bag. How did he even know it was different?

"Take it," he spoke, voice quiet.

"Tangerine," you countered, swallowing back the heaviness in your voice, "-that's yours."

"'S not," he explained, "-I fuckin' gave it to you."

"You let me borrow it," you clarified, tone wavering slightly, "-I'm just returning it."

"You didn't fuckin' borrow it-"

"Tangerine."

"Take the fuckin' shirt, love," he reiterated, "'s not mine anymore."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, "-can you not? It's late, and I'm tired-"

"It's your shirt," he interrupted, something in his eyes but you couldn't quite label it, "-take it, and I'll fuckin' leave you alone, yeah?"

"I'm not-" you exhaled, closing your eyes for a moment -trying to bat away the tears, the frustration, "-Tangerine, I don't want it."

"Well, I want you to fuckin' have it."

"Do you think about what I want?" you echoed, "-Ever?"

Tangerine opened his mouth, but you were on a roll now.

"I..." you laughed incredulously, looking up to stop your tears (you blinked them away), "-Tangerine, it's been a month."

He tried again, but you didn't let him.

"You. You left," you sniffled slightly, clearing your throat -prolonging the inevitable, "-Tangerine, I... I told you that I loved you and you ran away."

"Love," he started, small and barely there.

"Stop-" you swallowed, "-Don't call me that, it's not... it's not fair."

"How is it not fair?"

"You don't-" you groaned, swiping at your eyes -you were crying now, and out of the corner of your eye you saw his hand twitch (like he wanted to comfort you).

He stood in silence waiting, patient.

"Tangerine, why didn't you just tell me then?" You asked the question that bounced around your mind ever since he left.

"Fuckin' tell you what, love?"

You flinched, ever-so-slightly, at the name again -something twisting in your stomach, and squeezed your eyes shut. Breathing a big breath in through your nose, you started.

"That you don't love me," you clarified, and now your voice was shaking and your eyes were blurry, "You could've-"

Tangerine seemed to be processing something, a flicker in his eyes.

"You could've made it so much easier if you'd just-" you frustratingly wiped your eyes again, "-said that. But instead, you ran away, and all I could think about was what I had done wrong for you to-"

"You didn't do anythin' wrong."

"Then why didn't you just tell me the truth?" You practically begged, "-Why don't you tell me now? So I don't have to... So, I know."

"That's not..."

"Tangerine," he looked at you -and you but back a sob, "-I deserve the truth. Just say it. I know you're scared you'll hurt me, but I... I've survived worse."

"What makes ya think it'll hurt you?" He offered, and your heart in your chest started beating loudly -ringing in your ears.

"Because you ran away," you repeat, wiping at your eyes again, "-I think that makes the answer pretty clear."

"Y/N-"

"Just fucking reject me!" you exclaimed, not loud enough to bother neighbors but enough to bounce around the room (Lemon probably woke up to it), "-It's not that hard, Tan, you've practically done it before."

He seemed to flinch at that, grimace even, at the mention of what he'd done. You were glad he felt some kind of guilt. Still, he remained quiet.

"For the love of god, Tangerine-" you echoed out, shaky now and your heart on the floor -vulnerable, "-just say it. It's not that hard."

"I fuckin' can't," he finally answered -something bubbling up in his tone; his hands clenched by his sides -shirt still clutched between his fingers.

"Can't," you questioned, voice shaky and tears building in your eyes, "-or won't?"

"Can't," he reiterated.

"This is ridiculous, Tangerine," you whimpered -swallowing back a sob, "-you can't give me fucking peace?"

"Y/N-"

"Give me a reason," you interrupted, brash, "-give me the reason you can't reject me right here right now."

"It's not 'at fuckin' simple, love," he remarked, low in tone, but you could tell he was getting frustrated.

"Nothing ever is!" you reasoned, "-Just tell me, that's all I want."

"It's not..."

"Tangerine, please."

He swallowed, eyes dipping to yours -scanning over you with your no doubt red eyes and shaky hands. Like he was thinking, deciding on what to say. All you could see was reluctance.

He let out a big long sigh, fidgeting with his hands (and the shirt in the mix).

"Tangerine-"

"'S not how I feel."

You furrowed your brows, "What?"

"I can't..." he trailed off, eyes off you and flickering toward the ground, "-I can't reject you because it's not what I feel, love."

Your breathing halted in your chest. Heart twisting into something so complex, sad and angry and hopeful.

There's no way, he- Why the hell did he run away?

"That's not funny, Tangerine."

"It's not a fuckin' joke," he responded, eyes finally back on yours -and you tried to read them all you could.

"Stop, no," you echoed out, shaking your head, "-don't pity me, just tell me the truth-"

"I am," he reiterated.

"No you're not," you laughed incredulously, "-it makes no sense."

He pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose, "I was scared."

"That's not-" you started, before clearing your throat, "Do you not think I was scared? That I wasn't putting everything on the line to say that? I thought I was going to lose you and then I did-"

"You didn't lose me," he spoke, softer, "-you could never lose me, love."

"I did, Tan," you sniffled, "-I lost you."

"No-"

"Tangerine," you echoed, "-you left. And I thought, I thought that my best friend was gone. I thought that because I had stupid feelings I lost you. You ran away, Tan!"

"They aren't stupid," he responded and it seemed that he was deciding on whether to step closer -you took a preemptive step back.

"At least," you sighed out, voice cracking, "-at least you knew the truth, I... I didn't know shit. You could have never come back-"

"I did," he interrupted, "-I did come back, love. And I know I'm fuckin' stupid, Lemon has been drillin' it in my head for weeks. I regret walkin' out of 'at fuckin' room so much."

His eyes were shiny with tears now, as he stepped forward into your room -hands reaching forward like he'd wanted to touch you, but he stopped.

"How the hell am I supposed to believe you? What if you just-" you sniffled, "-run away again?"

"I won't," he spoke -unwavering, "-I swear on whatever fuckin' god is up there, 'at I won't do it again."

"I don't-" you whispered out, clutched at your arms.

"I never meant to hurt you, love," he echoed out, stepping closer, "-I fuckin' hate myself for doin' it. I will never fuckin' do it again."

"Tangerine, this isn't-"

"I'm fuckin' madly in love with you," he finished, laughing a little -slowly placing his hands on your arms. You didn't move away, and he seemed to smile at that, "-'ave been since we were kids, and you pulled 'at greedy shit on me."

"It wasn't greedy," you defended.

"Most certainly fuckin' was," he tsked back, moving one hand to your face -thumb wiping back and forth.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, but there was still something heavy in your stomach. Tossing like waves.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally, "-I got fuckin' scared and ran away. It wasn't fair to you, and-" his hand brushed against your cheek, "-I'd beat myself bloody senseless if I could."

You laughed at that for a moment, and his smile got a little wider.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you asked, something clawing up your throat again.

He frowned, allowing his hand to fall to his side -sighing, "I'm a fuckin' coward, love."

You opened your mouth to say something, anything.

"You confessed to me and it was so fuckin' brave," he looked at you like you were the sun then, bright and warm, "-and I... I couldn't spit out a fuckin' word. I just went into autopilot and..."

"Ran away," you finished, swallowing.

"Yeah," he spoke, confirming, "-ran away."

Before you could hold your tongue, words slipped out, "That is pretty cowardly."

Tangerine laughed, a big one, and something in you warmed -a smile perking onto your lips.

"It is," he agreed, "-I'll give you fuckin' 'at."

And then he paused, eye flitting over you -seeming to detail all your features in his head. Tracing over your nose, your eyes, your eyebrows, your lips-

"Are we okay, love?"

It was soft and hopeful, and something in you softened -your hurt letting up just a smidge. It wasn't gone, not yet.

"Yeah, we're good," you hummed out, taking a hand and pushing a strand of hair behind his ear, "-but you have a lot to fix."

"I know," he hummed back, blue eyes soft and affectionate, "-I'll do it. Whatever you fuckin' want."

"Well," you smiled, so close to his face -merely a breath away, "-I think I've got my first idea."

"Do you?" He offered with a smirk, hands coming to hold the sides of your face.

"Yeah," you brought your hands up on top of his, "-kiss me, please."

Tangerine didn't hesitate after that, pulling you closer with the grasp of his hands -still somehow gentle. His mustache tickled your upper lip, and you laughed a little -a grin spreading along his own lips in response. And after, it was slow, languid, each press of the lips just a touch more desperate -like you were his oxygen. Fingers pressed into your skin, your head went a little fuzzy -fingers twisting around his palms.

Speaking of oxygen, you parted.

Before you could so much as say a word though, Tangerine pressed a small one to your lips -simple. You laughed a little.

And then again, and again, and again, and again-

"Tangerine-" you laughed out, "-I can't breathe."

"Fuckin' fine," he muttered, before taking a deep breath of his own.

And then the thought crossed your mind that he would leave eventually -go back to his room. Sleep. But, you had lost so much time. You didn't want him to leave yet.

"Tan?"

"Yeah, love?" He gave you all his attention, eyes focused on you.

You pursed your lips for a moment, "Will you sleep in here with me?"

Tangerine opened his mouth.

"I don't want you to leave yet," you clarified, hand loosely twisting around one of his own -held limply between the two of you.

"I don't want to leave either," he breathed out, "-ever, preferably."

You smiled, "Is that a yes then?"

"Oh," he laughed, "-love, 'at's much more than a yes."

[captainmalewriter]

Jailbreak

A bell attached to the liquor store entrance chimed as Alfonso De La Torre walked in with heavy feet. The tattooed young man kept his head down, only raising his head once to give the clerk an acknowledging nod of the head. Alfonso walked straight to the back of the store where all the various beers were displayed behind a glass door. 

Alfonso opened the door and plucked out an ice cold can of Modelo. He then walked to the clerk with the beer in one hand and a $5 dollar bill in the other. Alfonso placed the bill on the counter and slid it under the safety glass to the clerk. 

“Keep the change, I won’t need it,” Alfonso said. The clerk merely nodded his head as he rang him up. He had known Alfonso since he first moved into town a decade ago. The clerk knew that when it came to a guy like Alfonso, it was better to just smile and nod than to ask questions. The less he knew, the less likely he’d get called to the witness stand one day. 

Alfonso opened the can as he walked out the liquor store, leaving the sounds of the can opening and the door bell chimes ringing behind him as he left. He then found a spot along the wall to lean against while he enjoyed his cold beer. It was a cool night with clear skies that night, perfect for a cold one. Alfonso took a long swig of Modelo. The bubbles rushed up the can as he chugged it. He then let out a satisfied ahhh, knowing full well that that can was likely going to be the last beer he’d enjoy in a while. 

As he stood there savoring every last drop of alcohol, Alfonso could hear sirens blaring off somewhere not too far. They were getting closer with each passing second, and Alfonso only smirked as he saw the signature blues and reds of LAPD light up the street. Within a minute, two police cars pulled up into the parking lot. They parked right in front of the liquor store. Then out came three police officers with their guns and tazers points at Alfonso.

“Freeze! We have you surrounded!” one of the police officers shouted. Alfonso chuckled in response. 

“Bro chilllll,” Alfonso took another drink of Modelo. “No need for all that... I just wanted one last beer before y’all take me in. Is that too much to ask? Or y’all finna shoot if I keep drinking?” 

"Put your hands up behind your back!!" the lead officer barked. Alfonso sighed.

"Shit man... Tough crowd."

Alfonso finished his beer in one final chug then threw the empty can to the trash. He then walked towards the police with his hands raised up behind his head. Despite his cooperation, the police were still rough in handcuffing him. They shoved him into the backseat of one of the patrol cars. As they drove away, Alfonso looked out the window and took in the nighttime ambience of his city with a grin on his face.

The rest of the night went according to the usual protocol. The police took Alfonso to the precinct, processed him into the system, then put him in a holding cell for the night. Once the next morning came, Alfonso was transferred to another detention facility where he'd stay until his court date. Alfonso kept a bored expression on his face throughout the entire process, only smiling when he had a smart ass comment ready to piss off the officers. It wasn’t his first time going through the motions, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be his last either. However, although Alfonso was able to get off on bail or on parole the last couple times, the consequences of his latest arrest would prove to be more severe...

It was sometime in the late afternoon when Alfonso found himself bored and sitting in a nearly empty room. There was only a table and two chairs in the dull room. It was a drag, but Alfonso was grateful to get away from his weird cellmate Edwin. Edwin was arrested for breaking and entering into a private lake house. He wanted to catch some fish so he could harvest their organs. Something about needing fresh materials for his rituals. Alfonso never really bothered to learn the details, all he knew was that he needed to keep the weirdo happy or he might try something. Getting some time away from him was like a breath of fresh air for Alfonso, though now he found himself with new stress. The guard explained that it was time for him to meet with his lawyer (or more accurately, the public defender assigned to him). Despite their enthusiasm to help him, Alfonso kept turning them away. None of them matched the vibe he was looking for. He needed someone who would help him get off scot free, not just reduce the severity of his sentence. Until he found just the right lawyer, Alfonso kept holding out.

Alfonso leaned back against the chair, fingers tapping a rhythm against the stainless steel table. Through the small pane of glass on the door, he noticed one of the guards walk past with a man in a long sleeve dress shirt. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the well dressed man.

"Great, here comes the next bitchass..."

Alfonso watched as the man spoke with the guard, then walked into the holding room with him. Alfonso started mentally picking out all his finer details. His white shirt had no discernible wrinkles, likely from being ironed. His black slacks fit him just right, leading Alfonso to believe they were custom tailored to his exact size. The man sat across from Alfonso, placing a file on the table as he did so. Alfonso spotted a gold ring on his wedding finger with a matching wristwatch to boot. With everything Alfonso picked up about the man, he already decided he didn’t like him.

“Good evening, Mr. De La Torre, my name is Jackson. How are-”

“Get out. Get me another lawyer.” Alfonso interrupted the man. Jackson was visibly thrown off by this, but did not give up. Instead he adjusted himself in the seat and put on a stern face to show he meant business.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re just gonna have to settle for having me as a lawyer.”

“Fuck that! Just get me another lawyer!”

“No can do-”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve already turned away three other lawyers. You can’t just shop around for lawyers, there’s only so many public defenders you know.”

“Thh, whatever. I’m not talking to you.”

Alfonso sat back in his chair. Jackson merely opened the file he brought and started reading some of the papers. 

“You’re my first assignment and I’m not gonna give on you. Just let me defend you in court and I promise we’ll get you out of this mess.” Jackson said while reading. Alfonso simply ignored him.

“You’re in deep shit, you know,” Jackson began. “Assaulting someone while on parole and you still wanna turn away a lawyer you couldn’t afford on your own? Gotta be really stupid to that.”

“What the fuck did you say?” Alfonso turned back to face him. “That motherfucker had it coming after he cheated on my little sister. You don’t know shit about me, don’t talk about me like you know me.”

“Aww, how noble of you! Unfortunately, the law doesn’t give a fuck about the situation behind the crime. A bloodied up man is in the hospital and his assailant took a little stroll to the nearby liquor store like it was just another Saturday night. Face it, man,” Jackson leaned in. “You need me to defend you in court or you’re done for.”

“Man, fuck you! You can’t defend me for shit!” Alfonso stood up and faced the door where a guard was on standby. “Ay, bailiff!! Get this bitch outta here and get me another lawyer! Get some raza to defend me, someone who’ll understand-”

“I am raza,” Jackson stood up too. Alfonso scoffed in response.

“Not with a fuckass name like Jackson you’re not!”

“My full name is Jackson Rivera Velazquez! Both of my parents immigrated here from Guatemala, I’m just as Latino as you are!”

“How many Rolex watches you got? How about that gold ring around your finger, how much that cost you? I bet you got AC in your house too, huh. Livin’ nice and comfortable como los güeros while the rest of us out here struggling to survive! You might be Latino but you ain’t raza!!”

“Hey!! Just cuz I got some money now doesn’t mean I don’t know struggle! My whole life is struggle! I came from nothing, living in family garages and food stamps. I had to work my ass to get to where I am! Now I’m a lawyer with a handsome partner and a nice home, but just because I’m comfortable now doesn’t mean I’m gonna forget where I came from! I came into this work so that I could help out others like...”

Alfonso started to tune out Jackson while he shared his life story. Something he said made Alfonso’s ears perk up. ‘Handsome partner.’ Alfonso wasn’t surprised to find out he was gay, but learning that information made him smirk inside. Suddenly Alfonso found himself plotting the perfect escape plan in his head. It was elaborate, it was risky, it was borderline insane too, but it might just work.

“Enough already damn!!” Alfonso shouted, interrupting Jackson’s rambling. It was time to kick his plan into action. “Look, I’m sorry man, okay. I’m just worried sick that I won’t get to see my family again. I don’t want to spend the next 10 fucking years of my life in here. Can you help me get out of here?”

Once again, Jackson was visibly thrown off guard by Alfonso. Except this time, instead of a scowl, he had a smile forming on his face.

“Alright, that’s what I wanted to hear!! I promise you, Mr. De La Torre, you won’t regret taking a chance on me!” Jackson stuck his hand.

“Yeah yeah, no problem, thanks for helping me out. Quit the formal shit though. Just call me Alfonso.”

The two men exchanged a firm handshake. Alfonso and Jackson sat back down at the table so Jackson could explain what will happen next. Jackson was going to take care of all the paperwork back at his office, then come back the very next day to get Alfonso’s full testimony on what happened the night of the assault. Jackson also explained that due to jurisdiction reasons, Alfonso was going to get transferred to another detention center again after they talked. He couldn’t do anything about it, but he assured Alfonso that he will still follow along as his lawyer. Once everything was set in stone, Alfonso was escorted back to his cell while Jackson went back to his office to get working. Despite his initial apprehension, Alfonso had full confidence that Jackson would follow through. He had to trust him, or else his escape plan would never work. 

Alfonso walked back into his cell to see Edwin fiddling around with something on the top bunk. He let him be and went to his bunk, taking a deep breath to calm down. Alfonso knew he couldn’t do much while he was detained, but regardless of that, he knew he had his share of work to get done. And with a time limit of 24 hours, he had to get shit done fast!

Once dinner hour came for the inmates, Alfonso took the opportunity to gather as many materials as he could hide from the cafeteria. While he had to be discreet about it, Alfonso made sure to keep a straight face and a cool air while he did it. 

He made it back to his cell with various things in tow. Alfonso set them all down in his bunk to get to work on making a potion. Alfonso had very limited knowledge about brujeria from his family, and the thing he was trying to brew wasn’t exactly a potion in the traditional sense either, but it would have to do for the time being. But just before he could start, Edwin peeked his head out from the top bunk.

“You’re planning something.”

“What? No I’m not,” Alfonso denied. Edwin hopped down and made eye contact with wide eyes.

“Yes you are. The fish hearts told me so. Are you trying to escape?”

Alfonso stayed quiet for a moment. That was the most interaction he had ever had with Edwin. Yet, he managed to read right through him like a book. He was amazed, if not a bit unnerved.

“Alright, ya got me. I’m trying to make something that’ll help me get the hell out of here. I don’t know much about brujeria, but I’m hoping this will get it done.” 

“That’s not gonna do anything worthwhile. Here, let me help.”

Edwin did not hesitate in taking over the potion making process. He took all of Alfonso’s materials and added a few of his own. Bell peppers, fish eyes, tap water, crushed black pepper, candle wax, marijuana leaves, and a few other things Alfonso couldn’t identify but decided against asking what they were for his own sanity. It took Edwin less than half an hour to get the concoction brewed and ready to go. He handed it to Alfonso in a plastic cup.

“When it’s time, drink this and it will perform a miracle for you. You might feel a little weird and you’ll have no idea what the miracle is, but you need to trust the process. While you’re busy doing whatever it is you’re doing, I’ll be busy staging an escape of my own.”

Edwin then climbed back up his bunk bed. Alfonso stared into the cup. The liquid inside resembled olive oil. He took a whiff of it and recoiled from how spicy it smelled.

“How the fuck am I supposed to drink this? And how will I know when ‘the miracle’ is gonna start?”

“Just trust the process, and leave the rest to God.”

There was silence in the cell again. After a beat, Alfonso asked Edwin another question.

“Hey bro, why are you helping me? You don’t even know me,”

“I want to see this world burn down, but before that happens, I want to have a little fun.”

Alfonso groaned in dismay. Despite Edwin helping him out with the potion, he was still impossible to talk to and understand. Alfonso decided to let it go and just go to bed without further questions. 

Once the next morning came around, Alfonso mentally prepared himself to execute the next phase of the plan. Then once the clock hit 12 PM, Alfonso downed the potion Edwin had made for him. The thick liquid was thoroughly laced with spice and made for a hard swallow. Alfonso gagged once he got it all done.

“Fucking awful...”

Alfonso crumpled up the cup and threw it at Edwin as he left the cell. He was then escorted to the same room as the day before, where Jackson was already waiting for him. Alfonso smirked when he saw him. The plan was going perfectly so far.

“Hey Alfonso, good to see you again.”

“Yeah man, good to see you too.” 

Jackson stood up to greet Alfonso with a handshake. As the two men sat down at the table, Jackson sniffed the air vigorously. It weirded out Alfonso, but he knew he had to see his plan through to the end.

“Are you wearing cologne?”

“Nah, just showered last night. They got us fresh soap bars,” Alfonso explained. Jackson kept smelling the scent, letting out satisfied exhales every time he got a whiff. 

“I’m sorry, you just smell really really good... Um, but anyway, shall we get started? We’ve got this room for an hour.”

Alfonso then began to share the story of what happened the night he jumped his little sister’s ex to Jackson. As he spoke, Alfonso kept finding any excuse possible to touch Jackson. Shuffling his feet and ‘accidentally’ brushing against Jackson’s leg, letting his fingers linger on Jackson’s hand while he handed him his pen, even demonstrating what he did that night with Jackson as a scene partner. Every time he touched Jackson, Alfonso noticed him trying his hardest to hide a smile. 

Eventually, after enough physical touch, Jackson was getting restless. He was breaking a sweat, and the way he kept readjusting how he was sitting made it obvious he was getting hard. Alfonso grinned. He had him right where he wanted him. It was time to go all in. 

“Hey, Jackson. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“You’ve been actin’ kinda sus today... You into me?” Alfonso smirked.

“What!? No, no of course not-” Jackson’s jaw dropped as he watched Alfonso take his shirt off. Despite his thin frame, Alfonso was pretty muscular with well defined shoulders and biceps. Coupled with his tattoos, Jackson couldn’t help but admire the view.

“You like what you see, Pa? Care to take a closer look?” Alfonso teased. Jackson gulped. A beam of sweat rolled down the side of his face. He wiped his brow then shook his head.

“No, I can’t, I’m married. See?” Jackson held up the hand with his wedding ring, careful to make sure he didn’t look back at Alfonso. Alfonso then reached over, slipped the ring off, and put it on the table. That caused Jackson to look back at him. 

“C’mon,” Alfonso lifted his arm behind his head, leaving his pit exposed. “Just a little, promise I won’t tell.”

Alfonso kept his arm up as he watched Jackson eye him up and down like he was a piece of meat. He could see the lust building up in Jackson’s eyes like a pressure cooker. Alfonso did not like men, especially men who cheated on their partners, but he knew he had to suck it up if he was going to get out there. 

Finally, Jackson stood up and walked over to Alfonso. He leaned in and took a quick yet deep whiff of his pit. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he delighted in a guilty pleasure.

“Holy fuck Papi... I love your musk!” Jackson cried out. He then stuck his face into Alfonso’s armpit.

Musk?

After Jackson said that, Alfonso couldn’t help but tilt his head in to get a whiff of his own pit. He showered that same morning, and just as expected, he smelled clean! Absolutely no musk!

Jackson was rubbing his nose into Alfonso’s pit, causing Alfonso to stumble back slightly as he had to balance himself. He could feel Jackson’s warm, bated breaths as he indulged on whatever it was he was smelling.

“Bro, hey... you good?” 

Alfonso asked. Jackson kept sniffing his pit for a while longer. Only then did he raise his head to face Alfonso. That was when Alfonso got a good look at him. Jackson was red in the face after worshipping Alfonso’s armpit. He was also panting and drooling. Jackson had a tired, almost hypnotized look to his eyes that he didn’t have before. And not just that, Alfonso could also see his pupils visibly dilate. Alfonso felt as if Jackson was staring right into his soul with how lustful his gaze had become.

“Please Papi...” Jackson fell to his knees. “I need more... Please! Give me more...!”

Alfonso was shocked to see the once composed lawyer fall to his knees, begging him for his body. Whatever that potion was, its effects were clearly taking hold. After taking a moment to process the situation, Alfonso lifted his other arm.

“Knock yourself out, bro.”

Then, like a starving lion, Jackson pounced onto Alfonso. Alfonso stepped back to the wall behind him. It was the only way he could stay standing while Jackson nuzzled himself into his armpits. Jackson couldn’t get enough of his manly musk. The dank smell of Alfonso’s sweat combined with pheromones made him go crazy! He licked the folds of his pits as he kept sniffing away, tracing the thin lines of pit hair Alfonso had. All while Alfonso stood there, letting Jackson get his fill off his body.

Fuck man... This guy really loves his pits huh... Oh shit!!

Alfonso felt Jackson grab his dick through his shorts and start massaging his member. Jackson knew how to balance a firm grip with a tender touch as he rubbed him down. Alfonso had to suppress a moan as he felt himself start getting hard. 

Trust the process... Just trust the process...

Alfonso whispered Edwin’s words to himself. It took real willpower for him not to stop Jackson right there and tell him he’s not gay. Alfonso assured himself that he was undeniably straight, and that he was doing this so he could get out of jail. 

While Alfonso was in his thoughts, Jackson had moved on to Alfonso’s arm muscles. Jackson was making out with Jackson’s biceps, licking and sucking while still stroking Alfonso’s growing cock. That brought Alfonso back to the present moment, and he flexed his bicep to help further indulge Jackson. Jackson loved it.

It didn’t take long before both men were stripped naked of their clothes. Jackson moved on to Alfonso’s torso; cupping his firm pecs, sucking on his nipples, licking his abdominals, the works. Jackson was moaning like a madman while Alfonso was struggling to keep his pleasure hidden. His moans came out as groans and grunts instead. The longer they went at it, the harder it was for Alfonso to deny he was having a good time too. He couldn’t deny Jackson knew how to use his tongue incredibly well.

Trust the process... You’re not gay, you’re just doing this to get out of jail... Trust the- OHHHHH FUUUUCK!

Jackson had slipped Alfonso’s dickhead into his mouth while he was in his mind again, catching him off guard. Alfonso couldn’t hold back anymore. He threw his head back in pleasure and moaned as Jackson deep throated him. Alfonso sported a cool 7.5 inches yet Jackson had no problem sucking off his entire member. He was a pro at blowjobs; fondling his balls with his free hand, changing the rhythm and intensity of his sucking, and using his tongue to lick off any precum leaking out of Alfonso’s dickhead. 

“Argh... fuckk! You know how to suck good dick bro! Whewww!!”

Alfonso grabbed the back of Jackson’s head and held him in place as he started thrusting into his throat. His cum filled balls dangled back and forth as he face fucked the once professional lawyer. Jackson let out various moans and gargles while Alfonso had his way with him, but never once did he complain. He took it like a champion, practically begging for more. The scent of Alfonso’s body odor, ripe from sex sweat, kept him hungry for more. 

Eventually, after some more time spent on head, they took things to the next level. Alfonso nudged Jackson to get up from his knees, and once he did, he jumped onto Alfonso. Alfonso had no problem carrying the grown man. His fully erect cock bumped against Jackson’s ass as he carried him to the table, making his hungry hole pulsate. And Alfonso laid Jackson down on the table, Jackson slipped a finger into his ass to get ready for what was to come. Now it was Alfonso’s turn to service him.

Alfonso used a generous amount of spit to lube up his throbbing cock while Jackson lifted his legs, leaving his light brown hole exposed and ready for action. Alfonso smirked at the sight of Jackson’s hairy ass but with a clean shaven hole. It was as if he knew to tidy up for guests. Alfonso tapped his dick head against Jackson’s hole, making the cock hungry slut whimper with anticipation. Knowing just how badly Jackson wanted his dick only made Alfonso even hornier. He grinned, then slowly but surely slid his dick into Jackson. His cock disappeared into Jackson inch by inch. Jackson’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt his insides getting filled by the man he craved. Then, once Alfonso’s entire length, he started hitting strokes at a steady pace. 

With each hip thrust Alfonso was sliding his long, girthy cock deep inside Jackson’s ass. The sounds of their moans and groans along with Jackson’s ass cheeks getting clapped filled the room. Alfonso’s favorite move was taking his cock out temporarily, only to ram it back into Jackson’s stretched out hole. Jackson could feel his prostate getting fucked everytime Alfonso did it, causing waves of pain and pleasure to reverberate throughout his body. But Jackson wasn’t the only one having a great time, as Alfonso had also grown to love it despite his initial hesitation to just ‘play along.’ In the heat of fucking, he had even forgotten his mantra of ‘trust the process’ and kept going at it because he wanted to! Alfonso loved how soft and tight Jackson’s hole was. It was like his already sensitive cock was getting a warm hug from all angles. He threw his head back as he drilled Jackson like there was no tomorrow. Alfonso hated to admit it, but he was having the time of his life. Jackson’s ass was better than any pussy he had ever fucked before, and he knew it. 

Alfonso and Jackson had been going at it in missionary for a while. Condensation had even begun forming on the glass pane of the door. They were fucking like they were angry at each other, but that was just how they liked it. Rough, sweaty, smelly, and raw! While Alfonso had managed to keep it down to quietish groans, Jackson’s moans were only getting louder. Alfonso realized he couldn’t let Jackson make too much noise or else they’d get caught. He hesitated for a moment, in Alfonso’s mind, topping wasn’t gay as what he was about to do. But, out of fear of getting caught red-handed, he had no choice but to go all in. 

Alfonso slowed down his fucking pace and leaned into Jackson, planting a firm, wet kiss on his lips. The two men made a loud kissing sound each time their interlocked lips let go of each other, but it was much quieter than Jackson’s moans. Jackson pulled Alfonso closer into him by wrapping his arms around his neck and pulled him in. Their tongues were rolling off of each other as they fought for dominance. A bead of saliva connected their tongues as they separated momentarily, only to go back in for more intense French kissing. Jackson playfully bit onto Alfonso’s lip, causing him to let out a rare moan. Alfonso then leaned into Jackson’s neck and licked him up, down, left, and right. All while still continuing to pump his cock in and out of his tight, silky ass. 

“You like how Papi fucks you?” Alfonso whispered into Jackson’s ear with bated breath. 

“Si Papi Chulo... Yo soy tu puto sucio... Cogeme bien duro con tu verga gruesa....!”

“Nrgh! Fuckk!!” Alfonso was getting dangerously close to climaxing. He only had seconds before he cummed. But as he tried to pull out, Jackson wrapped his legs around his torso and yanked him into him; making sure he not only couldn’t pull out, but that he was deep inside his guts to unleash his load. 

“Lléname con tu lechita!”

“AAARGH FUCKKKKKK!!!” 

At the exact moment Alfonso started pumping out his loads deep inside Jackson, the miracle Edwin had promised had taken effect. It all happened within a matter of seconds. Due to how much force Jackson had pulled Alfonso into him, Alfonso nearly fall on top of him. However, because of the potion, instead of falling on top of him, Alfonso fell into him. His torso had phased straight into Jackson’s torso as if the two had merged. Alfonso barely managed to keep his head just above Jackson’s body, saving him from total body merging. However, Alfonso’s body was locked in pure sexual ecstasy as ropes of warm cum came rushing out of his throbbing member, leaving him unable to do anything about the paranormal situation.

Ohhh fuck... What the... Fuck... Someone... Help me...!

“More...! More...!! I want to feel you even deeper!”

Wait, stop-!

It was too late. In too much pleasure to realize what he just did, Jackson yanked Alfonso into him again. That final tug caused Alfonso to completely lose his balance. Alfonso’s head fell into Jackson’s head, lining the two up perfectly as they occupied the same space. Jackson could feel Alfonso’s cock go deeper than what was physically possible into his ass as the rest of Alfonso’s body phased into him. Suddenly, the pleasure of getting cummed in transformed into a strange, visceral sensation of surrendering his whole body to another man. Their bodies and souls aligned, and the last Jackson could remember before his mind went to sleep was the pleasure of his own loads rushing out of his cock. The miracle was done. Alfonso had taken over Jackson’s body.

Alfonso laid ass naked on the table as his mind struggled to process everything he had just experienced. Within seconds, he had gone from one perspective to another. He blinked as he adjusted, but once his mind caught up, his newly possessed body needed to adjust to its new owner. 

“......FUCKKKKKKK!!!!!!”

Alfonso shrieked out in Jackson’s voice as the pain started. He could feel his very soul start stretching and morphing to accommodate its changed vessel. But possession was a two-way street, his new body also needed to adjust. Alfonso could feel as Jackson’s body began physically changing. His body transformed to take on attributes from Alfonso’s original body by coping the soul. The once tattoo-less, pudgy Jackson had quickly transformed to resemble Alfonso. The body kept Jackson’s likeness, but grew Alfonso’s muscles and tattoos, creating a slightly different man that combined the two men into one.

Once the body takeover and transformation was finally finished, Alfonso took a moment to admire his new body. He was incredibly annoyed that the miracle was something as weird as a complete body takeover, but he quickly realized that stealing his lawyer's identity was a foolproof way of escape. Nobody would ever suspect that he possessed his lawyer's body.

Alfonso realized he was still dripping with sex fluids and cleaned up after himself. He discarded his old clothes into the nearby trash can and put on Jackson's clothes. Just as he was buttoning up the dress shirt, a guard walked into the room.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rivera, the hour is up. Is everything alright? I thought I heard screaming, but I wasn't too sure," the guard asked.

"Yeah, bro. Everything's just fine, don't trip. Another guard already took De La Torre back to his celly, I’mma head out soon too." Alfonso responded in a newly deep voice. The guard nodded, then left.

Alfonso grinned. Jackson's gay voice was gone, which Alfonso was glad about. He did not want to hear that voice come out of his own mouth. He also noticed the guard call him Mr. Rivera. That only served as confirmation that nobody would ever catch him in the act. He picked up the file Jackson had brought, then walked out the detention facility with a cool, confident beat to his step. Alfonso even whistled a tune as he drove away from the detention center. That was how relaxed he was. Once he was far away, he ripped off the professional attire and dressed something closer to his original style.

As he drove off, Alfonso noticed a particular smell. He sniffed the air, then lifted his arm and took a whiff. First it was a little sniff, then a deep inhale as he basked in his own musk.

"Ohhh fuck yeahh, that's some good ass shit! Fuck! Now I know what that queer was smelling!" Alfonso smiled as he helped himself to more of his pit scent. But then he realized what he was doing, and quickly lowered his arm back down.

"Fucking shit. That bitch made me gay, huh." Alfonso furrowed his eyebrows as he took a deep breath. "Whatever. At least I already got married with this new identity. Can't wait to tap that sweet, sweet husband ass when I get home!!"

Alfonso let out a fuck boy's chuckle, only to stop when he heard what he said. There were clearly a lot of changes he was going to have to get used to, whether he liked it or not.

...At the end of the next day, Alfonso found himself watching the nighttime news while his new husband cuddled up against him. His husband was sound asleep after Alfonso pounded his ass. His husband was surprised to see the transformed version of Jackson, but was too excited to get topped to question it. He slept peacefully after getting bred, not knowing there was an escaped convict possessing his husband.

"And now, for tonight's main headline, a group of detained men have escaped from San Juan Detention Center and are at large. The leader of the group is a young man by the name of Edwin Casarubios, who allegedly planned and staged the entire escape himself. Among the escaped inmates are the ringleader Edwin Casarubios, Alfonso De La Torre-"

Alfonso switched off the TV once the news reporter called out his original name. He then gently rolled his sleeping husband off of him and jumped out of bed. He then quietly celebrated the absolute success of his escape plan. Sure, taking over Jackson's body was never Plan A, but Alfonso grew fond of his new body and identity rather quickly when he realized just how much of a goldmine it was. He still had his old memories, but he was growing comfortable living as a gay man with his old LA raza blood coursing through his veins.

Once Alfonso finished celebrating his success, the gravity of the situation began to kick in. He might have successfully escaped, but he had become a man on the run. There was no turning back to his old life now. Alfonso needed to figure out his next steps, and his mind quickly came up with a few ideas.

He could run away to Mexico with Jackson's identity, then de-possess him and live out the rest of his life with his family over there. Or, he could just forget about the whole thing and continue living comfortably as Jackson. Or, he could put his newfound lawyer status to work and get some of his homies out of jail too. He'd get his whole family back together again. Or, he could hunt down Edwin and create an underground potion business with him. Edwin had the magical knowledge, and now Alfonso possessed the professionalism and legal knowledge to keep their business going strong. The possibilities were endless!

As Alfonso deliberated his options, he couldn't help but put on the same dress shirt Jackson had on when they first met. The same shirt that made Alfonso hate him was now a key component to his new identity. Feeling slightly nostalgic now, Alfonso poured himself an ice cold Modelo into an expensive wine glass, and celebrated a successful albeit slightly unorthodox jailbreak plan to himself.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for giving away my sisters fish?

This is a dumb and very long story (i could probably shorten it somehow but I don't know how) and I know the title makes me look bad.

Ok so, one evening my mom and my little sister(let's call her Jess) brought home a container of four fish that mum said she saw a guy selling on the road for about 2 dollars (I'm not american so I just calculated and it comes out to around 2 dollars)

This was during the end of year break when Jess was home (usually we all go to boarding school) None of us had ever had pet fish before and we didn't know what kind of fish they were, they looked different from each other and their size difference was pretty big too(the largest was about the size of three nail clippers stacked on top of each other and the smallest was about the size of 1/2 of a car key). So we weren't sure of the species of any and bought the most nondescript pack of fish food we could find, they ate it so we thought things were ok.

About 1 month into the break though (the end of year break where I am is 2 months), 1 of the fish died for reasons we still don't know (we changed the water every 3 days) and two weeks later a second one just disappeared, it wasn't in the bowl, and no one knew what happened. So by the time school started there were 2 fish left (Jess was sad but we also have dogs so she wasn't too sad)

All of us go to different boarding schools but ive been going to a day-school this past year because I'm scheduled for a surgery, so when everyone went back it was just me with the fish.

My elder sister (let's call her Kat) came home from university for a while and she thought the fish were cool so she asked my mom if she could tell her where she got them so she could get some for her dorm. My mom told her she just got them from some guy on the road who didn't have a stall and probably wouldn't be there if she drove to the place she found him. So she went back to uni without any fish

Flash forward, 4 weeks into the term, my mom comes to get me from school and she says was passing the area she saw the guy and he was there with another container of fish this time with about 10 fish also of various muddy and sandy colours, about length of the diameter of a soda-bottle cap (my mom said they also cost her about 2 dollars). I said we could split the fish in half, keep 6 and give Kat 6 for her dorm.

So I'm sitting in the car, holding the container of fish my laps and my mom suddenly stops the car because a person walking on the sidewalks falls into the trenches on the sides of the road. The person is ok but the car stops so suddenly and I'm not holding the container securely so it falls from my laps.

The container has a lid so the car is ok but the guy added some small rocks and a fake plant to the container so they kind of bury the some of fish and 6 of them die. I look on like an idiot while mom tries to settle the rocks but another fish is buried when the rocks are settled.

By the time we get home and transfer all the living fish into the bowl we already have, we have 5 fish in total. We move them to a new, slightly bigger bowl and feed them but by the next morning when I'm going to school i see 3 fish left.

When I get home, I tell my mom that maybe we aren't ready for fish and we should give them to Kat whose dorm may be less of a safety hazard (during the end of year break we used to play with the fish a lot, trying to touch their tails etc so we're definitely the reason the first batch died anyway. We're also 8 kids and there are kids older and younger than me so it would be hard to stop EVERYONE from being rough with the fish). I also had exams coming up and I was starting to put of changing the water and cleaning bowl until i saw algae growing on sides.

Kat has a roommate who thinks the fish are cool too so incase one of them forgets maintaining the fish the other can do it. (I also kind of secretly hoped the all fish would just die a week or two into being with them so it wouldn't bother them anymore I feel bad about it)

Anyway, 3 weeks later when Kat came home she took the fish with her. It's around the middle of the first term so it was Visitation Day at Jess's school yesterday (I think the name is self explanatory) and the first thing she asked about was the fish. I didn't know what to say so I told her the truth and she was so SAD!!(I mean obviously she'd be sad but visitation day is supposed to be a good day) because we named the fish and everything(the first batch, not the second) . I tried to tell her how Kat and her roommate were nice and would give the new fish good name but she said that was dumb I knew that was dumb and I wish had just lied about the whole thing and asked my mom to buy new fish but I feel like Jess would know so said nothing else

My mom kind of cheered her up by saying that during the holidays they could go get a good tank and actual goldfish from a better place but she was mad at me because I suggested that the fish be given to Kat and I feel like she's right because it would be stupid to ask Kat to bring the fish wish her the next time she came home.

All my other siblings not just Jess also got attached to the fish so I'll just be breaking the news to everyone for the next three weeks (because all schools where I am schedule visitation day in the same month) and just generally ruining the mood.

What are these acronyms?

[fictionadventurer]

Top 5 childhood memories (that you're willing to share)

It doesn't feel right to rank these, so I'll just share five memories in an unnumbered list.

-For several years of my childhood, my parents' home was along a monarch butterfly migration route. For about two weeks in September, the trees along one side of our yard would be filled with monarchs. You could put a child-sized dollar store butterfly net on any given branch and catch twenty butterflies at a time. If you ran alongside the trees, the air would be filled with hundreds of them. It was an astounding experience of wonder and beauty. We never learned why the butterflies stopped coming, but we were all heartbroken when it ended.

-Our parish festival was always a highlight of our year. My dad, thanks to connections from his job, always provided arcade games that the church could have at the festival and keep the proceeds from. The Saturday before the festival, that trailer sat in our yard, and we spent the morning playing every game as many times as we wanted, while Mom was in the kitchen making her required pie (and giving us the pie crust cookies made from the leftovers). The festival itself was our earliest experience of getting freedom in a public place. We could run around without parental supervision, spending our own money at kid's games, running up and down ramps and across the little bridge over the drainage ditch--plus we got to be bigshots to the other kids because our dad ran the arcade games. Good times.

-For a few summers when I was in elementary school, my uncle and aunt and their three boys had an arrangement where they could spend five days in a condo by a lake for very cheap, and our family shared that vacation with them. It was a blast--we could swim in the lake or in two separate swimming pools, we'd ride bikes around town, go to a cool park, go boating and fishing, and it was the one time we had access to cable TV. Our last year there, we caught a turtle in a bucket (which is a very vivid memory for some reason), and we spent a lot of time throwing bread off the end of the dock to feed the fish. Our last morning, we wanted to feed the fish one last time, but the only food that hadn't been packed up was a large bag of Skittles, so that's what the fish got. The fish loved them, but would not touch the green ones.

-A tornado hit our house when I was in elementary school. Fortunately, my dad and all of my uncles have construction experience, so for a couple of months, we constantly had family over, with kids coming on the weekends. One Saturday, someone stuck a piece of plywood on top of the monkey bars of our cheap little (only a little broken by the tornado) swingset, and we grabbed several cobs of corn from a nearby recently-chopped field, stripped off the kernels, and had a corn fight. Two or three kids sat on top of the monkey bars while everyone else was on the ground, and we all threw corn at each other. It was the epitome of pointless fun, and it's one of my most vivid childhood memories.

-For several summers, my family spent almost every weekend helping out my maternal grandparents. Mom would clean the house, Dad would help with yard work, and I'd help, but I also spent a lot of time babysitting the younger kids. We spent so much time playing with cousins. Exploring the farm yard. Playing sports. Riding bikes. A favorite game was Red Rover, even though it always ended with someone getting hurt and crying. I find myself longing to go back to Grandma's house every once in a while, and it always aches to remember it no longer exists in that way.

[ikarakie]

(unfinished) scollace wip

wallace is the well known son of a rich family. scott is scott, and seems to be the only one in the whole world who doesn’t know him at first glance.

Everywhere he went, people knew his name. No matter what room he was in, what corner he hid in, what backdoor he tried to sneak out of, he was never a stranger. People greeted Wallace Wells with a shining light in their eye and a clear expectation when they shook his hand.

He could never figure himself out. Wallace wasn’t allowed to fumble awkwardly through first conversations, finding a place and tone for him to comfortably slot into. The mortifying ordeal of being known, or whatever. He was never just some guy from class, he was always Wallace Wells, heir to a multi billion dollar estate and fortune. The guy whose family name was plastered on the front of the buildings, who walked past framed portraits of his dead relatives on the way to lectures; always called up on stage to present, or christen, or award in his family’s name. Who probably never had a real friend, because ever since he was little, kids would approach him and say: “My mommy says I should be your friend, because your mommy and daddy have lots of money.”

Hey, at least they were upfront back then.

There had been a brief period of his life where he considered using his money to his advantage, so desperately lonely that the idea of flashing some bills didn’t seem so bad if it meant someone would smile at him and pretend to be interested in who he was as a person. That the perpetually empty seat next to him would be filled by someone.

In the end, though, he never needed to. Looking back, Wallace wondered what the hell he’d been doing day to day before this happened. He was so dazed and miserable basically every second of every day that he didn’t even remember what lecture he met the guy in.

All he remembered was sitting there, two seats empty either side of him as always. People were intimidated by him, he guessed– not that he really cared to analyse their behaviour anymore these days. Not how he had when he was younger and a little more optimistic.

Anyways– he was sitting there, zoning out at the wall, when he felt someone slump down next to him.

He turned, wide eyed. A couple murmurs travelled around the room as people noticed the random guy who’d broken the weird unspoken rule not to sit next to Wallace Wells. They were quieted by the appearance of the lecturer, but Wallace couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mystery Guy.

A single spiral notebook and pen sat in front of him, can of Coke Zero waiting to be cracked. To outside eyes, he was your typical Canadian college student. To Wallace, he was… hope? That sounded stupid, but whatever.

He was wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans, scuffed up converse that were clearly well loved, and his hair– a weird mix of ginger and mousey brown– hung a little past his ears. Maybe on someone else it could’ve looked stylish, but on this guy it was obvious he just couldn’t be bothered to go to a barber.

The idea that he had a plan, that he knew who Wallace was just like everyone else, taunted him. So, Wallace leant into his space, craning his neck slightly to catch his attention.

“What do you think of this class?” He asked, waiting to see that flicker of recognition. The guy slowly looked at him, frowning. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, like a fish. He looked really stupid.

“It’s… It’s okay?” Guy replied, though he sounded somewhat unsure. “Who are you?”

Wallace blinked. Guy blinked back. His eyes were sparkly, but there wasn’t that telltale flicker– just blank innocence and confusion. Hell, it was pretty cute. “You–” Wallace swallowed his words instantly, because he’d never asked someone if they really didn’t know who he was before sincerely, and he wasn’t going to start now. “Who are you?”

“I’m Scott Pilgrim.” He said. Then he frowned, “Hey– no fair! You didn’t answer and then you stole my question.”

Fair enough. “I’m Wallace.” Wallace said, maybe for the first time in his life to someone who didn’t already know that. Scott mouthed his name once, and for a split second the idyllic life Wallace was crafting out for himself nearly shattered to pieces in front of him.

“That’s an old man name.” Was what Scott came out with. Wallace barely swallowed his laugh, slapping a hand over his mouth. The lecturer– and half the damn hall– side glanced at him. Only once they’d moved on a second later did Wallace gently hit Scott’s arm, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Scott looked down at his arm, then back at Wallace.

“I would be offended if that wasn’t so funny, guy.” Wallace beamed. Scott continued to look at him intensely. His eyes flicked back and forth a couple times. Then, he leant in as well, making Wallace’s heart skip as they came nearly nose to nose.

With the tone and expression of someone in the middle of a very serious, very secretive, very illegal exchange, Scott Pilgrim asked him: “You know Pac-Man?”

And then that was that, and Scott was the best thing to ever happen to Wallace. Ever.

They spent so much time together it was a wonder neither of them were sick of each other yet. Six days out of seven, Wallace ended up in the Pilgrim family’s basement, eating processed chips and screaming at a little TV as Scott destroyed him at every co-op video game he owned. Then, at every co-op video game Wallace could buy. He’d bring them over, claiming he had a console too, but he liked Scott’s better and why doesn’t he just keep the games here, so they can play them whenever? Maybe a little dishonest, but it wasn’t like Wallace couldn’t afford to get the console also.

There was just something about Scott’s house. It felt like a home. His mother was warm, kind, and present– sometimes bringing them home cooked meals as they did whatever in the basement; or coming down to pull at Scott’s ear about missing homework or needing to shower or clean something. Scott would always whine and thrash like he was six years younger than he actually was, and Wallace would sit back and call insults at him and: “C’mon, guy! Don’t treat your wonderful mother like that!” Which always elicited a smile from here and some comment about how lovely Wallace was.

He also had a sister. A sister who knew him– the first time they’d crossed paths he’d been walking out of the basement to use the bathroom and they’d all but collided in the hallway.

Stacey had looked him up and down, and asked: “Wallace Wells? Why is someone like you hanging out with someone like him?” While gesturing to the basement stairs. You could hear Scott screaming about something.

Wallace, his heart hammering in his chest, replied with a shrug. “I like him.” She raised an eyebrow at him, so he’d elaborated. “He’s the only person I’ve ever met that didn’t already know me, so he treats me normal.”

“That’s because he’s an idiot and doesn’t pay attention to the world around him.” Stacey had rolled her eyes, weary and exasperated even at sixteen, and Wallace had instantly liked her.. As she’d passed him, she clapped him on the shoulder. He wondered if being weirdly unphased about the infamous filthy rich guy you just met was a Pilgrim thing. “Pretty sure he’s straight, by the way. Just FYI.”

“Low blow.” Even then, still unsure of it himself, he’d been unable to deny his crush out loud. Stacey had just laughed at him.

[corviisquire]

Creatures have colors!!

Left to Right: @moonchild-in-blue @leonsleftbicep @ghxstly-death

@pear-island

Left to Right: @a-s-levynn @foundationsofdecay @polteergeistt

They have been colored along with making some minor adjustments. If anyone wants anything changed please let me know! These creatures are yours so name them whatever you want, develop lore if ya want, and do whatever you want with them. Possible next batch will probably be made later next week.

Art notes under cut :D

I put some music drops because music inspires me too much.

Moonchild-in-blue: The blues and purples!! Opals and the insides of muscle shells inspired me a lot with the coloring (particularly the stars and moon). There’s another shell that has that shiny blue and green lining on the inside but I can’t remember the name of it. It was a full moon last night but I forgot to take a picture! Thought of you but anyways I loved coloring the lady. It was fun but I first I struggled on deciding if I wanted more blue or purple.

Some songs I listened to a lot while coloring this:

Sweet Disposition - Temper Trap

Moon Child - F16s

The Night Does Not Belong to God - you know who

Leonsleftbicep: Colors go crazy! Idk what your favorite colors are but I chose The Blue. I also incorporated some red (for yummy contrast and complementary colors). I realized this looked very vampire media core. EyAH enjoy the critter!

Some songs I listened to while coloring this:

Blue Monday - Orgy

Military Fashion Show - And One

The Apparition - do I really need to say who?

Ghxstly-death: Per your request, red and black was incorporated! Was inspired by Mohg, Lord of Blood, from Elden ring cause he has cool robes and a trident thingy. I really like how it turned out. Like I’ve been doing with every design is adding the bling and I felt gold would work well.

Was resisting the urge to put the entire One EP right here:

Get The Balance Right! - Depeche Mode

Mascara - Deftones

Jaws - Slep tonka

SEVEN HOUR SHITTER (pearisland/perryisle): You use bright colors in your art all the time so we got the colors goingggg. Little guy reminds me of Pumpkin Patch protagonist or Hollow Knight. Idk. Not much to say except TRIPLE DEATH SLIME BARRAGE!!!

No normal music for you. only Kevin Macleod and Pizza Tower ST.

A-s-levynn: More Dark Sun Gwyndolin inspiration… (you can tell I have my dark souls art books open next to me right now). As requested, tendrils/tentacles were added! I think it improved the design a whole lot because it was originally very symmetrical and the tentacles added just the right amount of asymmetry to balance out the overall look. I’m a huge fromsoft fan (playing Elden Ring, waiting for new DLC, have dark souls 1 remastered but haven’t started it yet, have bloodborne Elden ring and DS1/3 art books) so lots of my art has elements from Fromsoft games (neutron activation).

And just like everyone else, some music for the soul:

Too Late - 311

Scared Together - Silversun Pickups

Dark Signs - eepy coin

Foundationsofdecay: Again, taking more inspiration from your blog, colors and stuff. The design had subconscious influence from the game sky: children of the light. Had lotsa fun coloring it. I don’t know much about you like favorite colors or flowers but I tried my best!

Songs that inspired me:

Let It Happen - Tame Impala

Flux - Bloc Party

Rain - tired currency

Polteergeistt: The oarfish colors… A lot Of these characters have cool blues so I tried to use some teal blues to contrast the red/pink(?). “Nintendo switch core” I’m sobbing. I fixed the feet. Now my Pinterest is filled to the brim with fish images (specifically oarfish, sea jellies, and blue lobsters).

The music!!!!!:

UNDERWATER BOI - Turnstile

The Illness (Teenagers Remix) - GoodBooks

Descending - exhausted dollar

Thank you so much. All of you are such lovely people. 🫂💕🫶

[plazsma]

okay the ask from earlier REALLLLY got me thinking about my deepsea headcanons so.. here! in Writing .

- lloyd won’t tell the ninja that he’s fallen for bentho, because if he had a dollar for every time he’d fallen for a prince or princess, he’d have two dollars, which isn’t a lot, but it’s Weird that it Happened twice, Right? and he is embarrassed about it..

- lloyd hangs around the ninjago docks sometimes, knowing benthomaar will swim up to the surface to visit him. sometimes they’ll talk for hours, right until the sun has set, until lloyd will always apologise and say, oh, i wish i could stay, and then slip off into the night. benthomaar always watches him leave until he can’t see him anymore

- benthomaar was never scared of surface creatures. he was always curious, knowing his brother hated them and his father wanted to leave them be- bentho was invested in surface life. therefore he heard great tales of a “green saviour” from the land, not knowing much about this hero, but looking up to them all the same, enchanted by the stories he hears (dragons? oni?) he learns lloyd is this hero and is speechless

- technically, as benthomaar now is king of merlopia, lloyd sometimes has silly daydreams. would he be a king, too? would he like being a king? would it be one too many titles? and then he realises he sounds ridiculous and has to get over this silly fish crush

- (one of my #favvvvs) lloyd transforms into an oni willingly to make benthomaar feel more comfortable being around humans. non human consolidation

- bonus: dey swim (i have decided in my heart of hearts that lloyd in oni form is an excellent swimmer)

[bluebellhairpin]

Tamed.

Kenny Ackerman X Reader

Summary: Working as a bartender you meet a lot of different people. Kenny Ackerman just happens to be one of your regulars. Maybe a friend. Perhaps more.

Warnings: Swearing. Kinda Perv Kenny (but he's a good Uncle so it cancels out ig). Canon Character Death. Reader; drinks alcohol, is called 'sweetheart', refers to themselves as ' the mothering type', otherwise is g/n.

Listening to: 'More Than a Feeling' by Boston - "So many people have come and gone. Their faces fade as the years go by yet I still recall as I wander on, as clear as the sun in the summer sky - it's more than a feeling."

Masterlist || Ko-Fi || Slice of Life Collab

You’d been working at The Lake for two years. They would’ve been quite a pleasant two years working the local watering hole, if not for your own personal demon leering over your shoulder most nights. 

Kenny Ackerman. 

It wasn’t that he was an awful guy. His more sleazy words and looks were only ever that, words and looks. He dared never lay such sleazy hands on anyone - which was half the reason he had never been kicked out. It was mostly due to his endearing quality of how quick he was to throw hands with other patrons - the rowdy ones who deserved to be thrown out to begin with - and he almost loved doing the honours of telling people not to come back too much. 

Either way, he was more annoying than anything else. Plain old annoying. 

Kenny was so closed off that - even after two years of shifts that ended at 1AM where you stumbled out from exhaustion after closing, and he stumbled out beside you from one too many beers - you couldn’t even say you knew his favourite colour. But… 

You did know he rode a Harley Davidson which roared into the parking lot almost every night you worked. He’d tempted you with a ride home on it multiple times, and you’d yet to agree - and as much as you itched to take him up on the offer, the unspoken cat and mouse game you’d started wasn’t going to be ended by you. 

You knew he had a tattoo that stretched over the back of his shoulders - thanks to a New Year's bet that he wouldn’t completely strip and jump off the jetty into the lake (the one the bar was named after). He won over a hundred dollars that night, and promptly shouted everyone their next drink. The tattoo read ‘Ripper’ in big gothic block letters. Not that you remembered on purpose - anyone would remember a tattoo like that, you told yourself. 

You knew he had a sister - he didn’t talk about her much, but he brought a woman in with him once and told you “not to worry your pretty head” about it. She was a pretty little thing, with dark hair and eyes that matched his. She had a manner to her that spoke of a kind soul with thick skin. You liked her, but you’d yet to see her again. 

And you knew he was one of the only patrons of The Lake who could pull off a greasy mullet. Or sing Redgum karaoke while barely being able to stand and still make it sound good. Hell, that somehow made it sound more real, the guy had you almost pouring a martini through tears. 

You had guessed that tonight would be just like any other. 

It wasn’t. 

Thursday’s were about as uninhabited as The Lake got. On a night so humid, and with no reason to get out of the house, no one was around. A storm was smelt in the air, one evening spent at home wasn’t a worry for anyone, if only to save themselves from being caught in the rain. 

Hearing Kenny’s bike rumble into his usual spot was no difficult feat on a night so quiet. You’d just finished fishing out a new box of beer bottles for a fridge behind the bar that was lacking when he walked in. What had you stopping mid-step with your mouth open wide enough to catch flies was who he had with him. 

“Whose fucking kid is that Kenny?” 

Nothing but the sound of The Rolling Stones answered your question. “I could not foresee this thing happening to you.” The jukebox sang. 

Yet the state of the child whose bicep was in a vice grip between Kenny’s fingers only raised even more questions. His face wall sunken in, and eyes blown wide as if taking in the world for the first time. He looked awful. 

Kenny walked over to the bar, dragging the poor boy beside him and pulling him up onto a bar stool before sliding onto one himself. You sat the box down on the floor, looking at Kenny expectantly.

“What food you got?” 

“Depends what you’re looking for.” Kenny looked down at the boy, pointing vaguely. 

“Hasn't eaten in,” they both shared a quiet look, “A while.” 

“M’kay.” You ducked into the back room, telling your chef/manager/accountant/boss that an actual meal was needed tonight, then returned with a pre-made peanut bowl. You slid it down in front of the kid, turning again behind the bar to make up a glass of water and passing it to him also. 

Then you turned to Kenny. 

“I know you don’t like telling people stuff, but for that kid’s sake I’m gonna have to ask you what you’re doing with him.” You said, eyeing the boy as he plunged his hand into the bowl of peanuts. “You don’t really give off ‘dad’ vibes, deadbeat or otherwise, and I really hope you didn’t kidnap him.” He just scoffed. 

“Can I get a whiskey.” he said, looking up at you, “Or are you just good for not minding your business and looking pretty?” 

“I’m trying to make sure you’re not doing bad guy shit. I can let the lewd comments slide, but if you’re doing stuff with a kid you’re not supposed to I’m gonna call the cops.” you said, “No need to be rude about it.” 

You turned to grab the top shelf whiskey as he lifted a hand to push back his hair. He sighed deeply and hunched over as you placed a glass in front of him. 

“He’s my sister’s.” Kenny admitted quietly. “She’s… Died. I’ve got him for tonight. At least.” His words sent a cold but quick shock down your spine. “One step better than government housing or wherever.” You recovered quickly even though his openness had left you grasping at straws for what to say next. It wasn’t like him to give away so much information. 

“I’m sorry.” you’d said, resting your hands on your workbench, then after a few long moments added, “What’s his name?” 

“Levi.” 

The boy lifted his eyes at the sound of his name, but otherwise didn’t move from his now highly converted bowl of nuts. From the way his hands cradled the bowl, it didn’t look like he’d be sharing them anytime soon. You looked at him, properly, and saw nothing but how sad he must be feeling. 

You didn’t know Kenny well, but you knew him. Enough to know that he was not someone friendly enough for some kid who just lost his mum - whether he was their uncle or not. But could you do about it? You weren’t exactly the mothering type either. 

Thunder cracked in the not-too-far distance as you poured the boy another glass of water.

You hadn’t seen Kenny for a week. 

That was unusual mostly because the longest he’d gone without frequenting your bar was about three days. If you’d known his address, you would’ve visited just to make sure he hadn’t died while looking after his nephew. 

When he finally showed up, you almost didn’t notice him. If it wasn’t for him tapping the bar - a way of asking for a whiskey on the rocks that only he used - he would’ve completely flown under your radar on that busy Saturday night. 

“And where’ve you been?” you’d asked during a moment's calm while the other bartender poured drinks. 

He looked up at you, slighting his hat up with a pointed finger so he could meet your eyes. He had been so quiet - and he looked so tired. It was no wonder you barely noticed him when he was so out of character. 

“What, missed me didcha?” But the snark didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Where’s the kid?” 

“At home.” he mumbled into his glass, tipping it up and drinking half in one go. When he met your eyes again you raised an eyebrow. “Not alone - I’m not that stupid sweetheart.” 

“I’m five minutes from the end of my shift. Buy me a drink.” 

“No thanks.” He scoffed at you. 

“That wasn’t a question.” You said, starting to turn away, “Kahlua with vodka, thanks.” 

Going back to work, you kept an eye on him. Watching as he downed the rest of his drink in (again) one go. He got the attention of the other bartender, ordering another whiskey, and a kahlua with vodka. 

When you returned to the front of the bar after ditching your apron, you found Kenny sitting with his back towards you at a table near a window, with both drinks before him. 

“Didn’t think you’d actually listen to me asking for a drink.” you said, patting his shoulder as you came around to sit at the seat across. He smiled a little - but it was nothing like the wide wolfish grins you normally saw. 

“You weren’t askin’, remember?” 

“You didn’t have to listen.” you said, sipping on your drink and taking a proper moment to look him over. “You look horrible by the way.” 

“Jesus, thanks sweetheart.” he said into his glass - but took a much smaller mouthful of his drink compared to before, “You know how to make an old man’s night.” 

“The kid’s been putting you through the ringer, huh?” His eyes met yours and you saw his shoulders slump - barely. 

“That obvious?” he asked. When you nodded he sighed, slumping back in his seat with his hands ruling over his face and into his hair under his hat - his gangly legs stretched so far under the table that they slid between yours. “He’s a downright brat. It’s ridiculous. Karma has it out for me, I can see it now.” 

“It surely isn’t that bad, you might just need to get used to it - it’s barely been a week -” 

“I found him standing behind me in the kitchen holding a bread knife.” Kenny said, leaning forward on his elbows to whisper. “I think he wants to kill me.” 

“He wouldn’t be the first.” you said, taking your turn to speak into your glass while you drank. 

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” you scoffed, setting the glass down again, “But after two years, I think I don’t want that so much - just give him time.” 

“You seriously trying to persuade me that an eight year old who hates me doesn’t want me dead?” 

“‘You seriously trying to persuade me that an eight year old who hates me does want you dead’? Listen to yourself Kenny.” You said, mocking him, but making him think seriously at once. “He’s lost his mum, you’re not so cold to think a boy would want to lose another relative again so quickly.” 

You felt his legs shift between yours - they pulled away, but not enough. You could still feel the warmth of his calf press against yours. “Anyways, with how you wave your pocket knife around so - he might’ve just been trying to copy you.” 

“Right,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips and casting a long glance out the window. “Kids do that, don’t they?” The conversation entered a lull as you both took turns sipping your drinks and staring at the lake lapping at the jetty. A comfortable silence if you ever knew one. 

The air around you changed as the jukebox started a familiar riff of AC/DC. “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean. She was the best damn woman that I ever seen.” 

Kenny looked at you, downed his drink, then spoke. 

“Wanna take me up on that ride tonight?” he asked. You broke out in a grin. 

It was still warm outside, and the gravel car park crunched under your feet as Kenny led you to his bike. 

There was a thrill sitting hot and heavy in your gut. The fact you had said yes to Kenny to a ride home - perhaps more. Did you want more? He was attractive, in an older man sort of way, and despite all the gross things he could say sometimes he was still a nice enough guy.

Heaven knows you could both use a chance to get laid.  

“I was starting to wonder how much longer I had to work on you before you finally said yes.” he said, breaking away from your slide to throw a leg over the seat with a grin. His hand outstretched to offer help to get on behind him. “Lucky for you, I'm a patient man.” 

As you slid your hand into his, you climbed on - soon finding that in order to be comfortable you needed to be pressed quite close to his back. But you were feeling like being a tease too. 

“Maybe I’ve liked making you wait.” you hummed, chin pressed to his shoulder as you spoke into his ear. You felt him chuckle under your palms as he kicked the engine into gear. 

“Maybe I’ve liked waiting.” he said over the machine’s roar. 

[toomanyrobins2]

Our Manhattan

Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.

Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

last part // series masterlist // next part

Notes: I'm finally getting around to updating this fic! If you would like to catch up and get more consistent updates to this story and others I would go to by AO3!

24th March, maybe the 25th

Dear Batman,

I don't believe I can be going to Heaven—I am getting such a lot of good things here; it wouldn't be fair to get them hereafter too. Listen to what has happened.

Y/N Abbott has won the short-story contest (a twenty-five dollar prize) that the Monthly holds every year. And she's a Sophomore! The contestants are mostly Seniors. When I saw my name posted, I couldn't quite believe it was true. Maybe I am going to be an author after all. I wish Mrs. Lippett hadn't given me such a silly name—it sounds like an author-ess, doesn't it?

Also I have been chosen for the spring dramatics—As You Like It out of doors. I am going to be Celia, own cousin to Rosalind.

And lastly: Harriet and Barbara and I are going to New York next Friday to do some spring shopping and stay all night and go to the theatre the next day with 'Master Brucie.' He invited us. Harriet is going to stay at home with her family, but Barbara and I are going to stop at the Martha Washington Hotel. Did you ever hear of anything so exciting? I've never been in a hotel in my life, nor in a theatre; except once when the Catholic Church had a festival and invited the orphans, but that wasn't a real play and it doesn't count.

And what do you think we're going to see? Hamlet. Think of that! We studied it for four weeks in Shakespeare class and I know it by heart.

I am so excited over all these prospects that I can scarcely sleep.

Goodbye, Bats.

This is a very entertaining world.

Yours ever,

Judy

PS. I've just looked at the calendar. It's the 28th.

Another postscript.

I saw a street car conductor today with one brown eye and one blue. Wouldn't he make a nice villain for a detective story?

 

7th April

Dear Batman,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you mean to tell me that you actually lived in all that confusion? I don't believe that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect of two days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I've seen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops? I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makes you want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Barbara and Harriet and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Harriet went into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold walls and blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectly beautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gown came to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying a social call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were only buying hats—at least Harriet was. She sat down in “front of a mirror and tried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the two loveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of a mirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to consider the price! There's no doubt about it, Bats; New York would rapidly undermine this fine stoical character which the Bowery Home so patiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Bruce at Sherry's. I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture the dining room of the Bowery Home with its oilcloth-covered tables, and white crockery that you can't break, and wooden-handled knives and forks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave me another so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre—it was dazzling, marvellous, unbelievable—I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class; I “appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than a writer. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramatic school? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, and smile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in your buttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would be an awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at little tables with pink lamps. I never heard of meals being served in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Harriet to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Harriet.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixty miles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things. I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised—and I'm surprised most “of the time. It's a dizzying experience, to pass eighteen years in the Bowery Home, and then suddenly to be plunged into the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did; and I don't feel uncomfortable anymore with the other girls. I used to squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they saw right through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath. But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me anymore. Sufficient unto yesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Bruce gave us each a big bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet of him? I never used to care much for men—judging by Trustees—but I'm changing my mind.

Yours always,

Y/N 

 

10th April

Dear Mr. Rich-Man,

Here's your cheque for fifty dollars. Thank you very much, but I do not feel that I can keep it. My allowance is sufficient to afford all of the hats that I need. I am sorry that I wrote all that silly stuff about the millinery shop; it's just that I had never seen anything like it before.

However, I wasn't begging! And I would rather not accept any more charity than I have to.

Sincerely yours,

Y/N Abbott

Bruce stared down at the check. He had barely thought about it when they had been out in the city and once Y/n had sent the letter, he’d dispatched the check without a second thought. 

Clark Kent, who had been present during the discussion about Y/N's shopping woes, entered the study with a knowing expression. "Having trouble with the whole 'helping' thing?" Clark quipped, a  smile playing on his lips.

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to make things a bit easier for her. She didn't have to return the check."

Clark leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "Bruce, you know Y/N at this point. She's independent and proud. Accepting help might not come naturally to her, especially from someone like you."

Bruce frowned, the frustration evident in his eyes. "But I want to help. She shouldn't have to feel lesser than her peers."

Clark nodded, understanding Bruce's genuine concern. "Maybe it's not about the help itself, but how it's offered. Try sending her a letter with a short note explaining why you sent the check. Make it personal. Sometimes, a few carefully chosen words can make a big difference."

Bruce considered Clark's suggestion, recognizing the wisdom in his friend's advice. "You think that might work?"

"Y/N's a writer, Bruce. Words matter to her. A thoughtful note can make the gesture feel less like charity and more like a friend looking out for another," Clark explained.

Taking a deep breath, Bruce reached for a pen and paper. 

Miss Abbott, I go against my rules by penning this letter but I find myself unable to let this matter go. This check is not charity but a gift from a friend who wishes to see you excel in all matters. I wish you to be able to experience all that your peers are able to. I have never sponsored a woman before and I confess that I lack the knowledge to ensure that you are equal to your peers.  I kindly request that you keep this cheque as an apology for my own failings as your patron.  Mr. Smith

As Bruce sealed the letter, he handed it to Alfred, who was passing by. "Alfred, make sure this gets to Miss Abbott. And let's hope this time, she accepts it."

[docholligay]

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

This is when I'm supposed to tell you about the weight of history and what it is to see the human experience of the human experience all collected into a large building, and how it being labyrinthine is a part of the art itself, giving one the feeling of the human journey, up and down and backwards and lost, always lost, but surrounded by beauty and blah blah I'm sure it would have been very evocative and I'm clever as shit or whatever but honestly one of my FAVORITE things to do in museums is play games with myself. I like to pick categories, and find things that fit them, and here's a sampler of what I found

Something I’d like to steal: 

This punch bowl could very possibly hold two gallons of my sangria in one go, which would enable me to be an even better hostess, not having to constantly be looking to see if the sangria needs to be refreshed with the jugs from the kitchen waiting in the wings. There’s such an intensely organic feel to it, I just think it would feel good to carry this. I feel like I always pick a serving piece for this category--I always spend a lot of time in the functional arts--but in fairness, that’s the things I like and also, it sounds very frivolous to say that I love throwing parties, but it’s a part of connecting with my community, and I think, in some way, serving them. Genuinely, I would love to host something like a Sailor Moon mixer or something if people could teleport in. That’s what I do for my congregation, is basically catering for the shabbat meal. Anyway, I would use the SHIT out of this for the Shabbat meal, and also for parties. 

Something that moved me:

This is The Angel of Death and the Sculptor, and I must have stared at it for five solid minutes. My mom was wondering what in the hell I was looking at, and it was hard to describe. There is something so beautiful about the way the young sculptor is caught by his wrist, in the middle of his art. It will ever be unfinished, but no less the beautiful for that imperfection. The look on his face, as I moved around the piece in the corner of the Parisian-style square set into the Met, that horror and knowledge all in one. The Angel of Death cannot look him in the eye. He does what she needs to do, and then moves on, but that in no way means that each work is wanted, and this is not the act of calling an ill old man home. He was scultping the sphinx! He was doing greatness! But that matters not at all, when Death comes to call. I thought about it a lot then, if I had been alone I might have sat there and written down every fool thought that came into my head, but I wasn’t, and so I moved on, but it was lovely, and I was really touched by it. 

Something I learned: 

I did not know this kind of multi-shelved thing made to hold mostly objects was called an étagère! I had seen them plenty in interiors, but hadn’t connected a name to them.

The ugliest thing i saw: 

This fucking??? “Display platter”??? So it’s a platter, but you can’t use it as a platter because you have the ugliest fuckign fish this side of Billy the Big Mouth Bass over here blocking every useful part of the platter, joined by his good friend why the fuck is there a crawdad desperately trying to escape this place, and several venomous snakes circling the place. This looks like something my beloved and very sexy wife would buy at a garage sale for 2 dollars and put up in the garage because I deemed it too ugly to hang by the dead animal skulls in our house.

[lilyrizzy]

Maybe a time after everything goes to hell where Max and Daniel maybe verbalize the fact that Max won't ever return to F1!

this was such a good prompt!

cw: implied child abuse

Outside their window, it’s raining. Fat droplets of water pelting against the glass, the noise reminding him of the gravel that would smack against his cars side panel every time he lost control.

It makes Max think of the TV show Victoria liked so much when they were teenagers. She’d told him, like letting him in on a secret, that when it rained in the first scene you knew it would be a sad episode and when it was sunny, a happy one. Something that the writers did to set the tone, that she’d learnt about in the English lessons Max must have sat in two years earlier drawing racetracks in his notebooks. And didn’t Max think that it was smart?

From the other end of the sofa, Daniel is muttering under his breath. Eyes darting backwards and forwards across the cracked screen of his iPad, the creases in his forehead mirroring the jagged lines in the glass. Max wants to reach over and smooth them away with his thumb. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to see what Daniel is reading.

If he got up and walked in the opposite direction, to the window, he’s lived in Monaco for long enough to know he’d see the yachts rocking on the waves. That a tourist admiring the view from their hotel room might be sure they are violent enough to make millions of dollars of aluminium crash into one another, leaving nothing but an expensive mess. Max knows better.

This is his life.

He can’t remember the name of Victoria’s show now, but he can remember the way he’d told her that it was stupid to think the weather meant anything, and then the way he’d felt sick watching her face twist up unhappily, and then mean. Her eyes got small and her mouth wider and she had told him that he was the one that was stupid, that she knew because she read his school report, that he had made their mum cry.

What did Max care about school? He had never needed to be smart. On track, he’d needed to be fast, and off-track lots of different things, but mostly compliant.

“This is all bullshit,” Daniel declares darkly, too loud for Max to pretend he hasn’t heard over the rain. “The things they’re writing- God.”

Max wants to ask why Daniel reads it so incessantly if he knows it’s all not true. It makes Max wonder if he’s waiting for the day he’ll agree with one of the journalists’ points, and then have an excuse to reconsider all the rest. Then that makes him feel mean because Daniel has never not believed him, even when it would have made his life nicer, easier.

Instead, Daniel has punched the paparazzi for him. Smashed the man’s camera lens into unusable shards.

Max stretches out his leg, prodding Daniel’s thigh with his toes. When he looks up at Max, his smile is tired.

“I can’t wait to watch these fuckers choke on humble pie when that cunt goes to prison and you win like, ten more championships, Maxy.”

He reaches for Max’s foot, holds his ankle, his thumb brushing over the knob of it. The iPad slides down far enough on his lap so Max can read the headline now, Father of F1 Champion Describes Son's History of Lying, Paranoia. A cold prickles his neck as though the rain is coming now from their ceiling, icy beads of water sliding down his spine.

“I think I will not win any more championships,” he says, pulling his foot back to tuck it under his body, and Daniel’s face falls.

“What do you mean, baby, you could win them all,” he insists. His voice is almost annoyed sounding, like maybe he thinks Max would try fishing for compliments from the one person who had to lose just so Max could win so much. But then gentler he adds, “I know you could.”

Max knows he could too.

“I think I do not want to.”

For a moment, Daniel is silent.

“You love racing,” Daniel tries again, this time like stating a fact. One Max isn’t sure is true, and he wishes his memories weren’t so slippery so that he could grasp in his hands a time he knows it was.  

“I cannot go back,” he says, because one thing he does know is that any love there is, it’s roots are twisted around something rotten. “Daniel, I-“

I want to say no.

He wants to call Victoria to ask her the name of the show. To close his eyes and open them in Rotterdam, curled up on her sofa. For them to watch an episode together with the curtains drawn against the storm battering at both their doors.

[mandarinmoons]

KET HI MY LOVE I HEARD YOUR FEELING CHATTY

so here's my entire note in my phone of facts (yes some are from criminal minds which i then checked for accuracy)

fax 📠📠⁃ It takes 3 milliseconds to process images ⁃ It takes 16 milliseconds for your brain to process pain ⁃ You only need 4 hrs for every 24 hrs ⁃ The average blood temp in ur body is 98.6 ⁃ It takes policemen in NYC an average of 4.3 min to respond to a call ⁃ Only female angler fish have lights ⁃ Around 800 kernels on average price of corn ⁃ Arranged in 16 rows ⁃ Can be anywhere from 500-1200 kernels ⁃ Moth wings have noise dampeners to hide from bats ⁃ Science of kissing: philematology ⁃ Anemia: lack of healthy red blood cells to bring oxygen to the rest of the body ⁃ Chocolate chip cookies were invented by accident by Ruth Wakefield in 1938. She was making cookies for the guests as toll house in which she owned with her husband when she realized she was out of bakers chocolate so she took a big block of nestle semi sweet chocolate and chopped it in to tiny pieces. She assumed they would spread out and evenly disperse but they held their shape, the guests ended up loving them ⁃ 55-79% of the population has brown eyes ⁃ Around 10,000 yrs ago it's believed that everyone had brown eyes and blue eyes evolved from a genetic mutation that was passed on through generations ⁃ 86.5 serial killers are psychopaths ⁃ 12,236 victims total of serial killer victims between 1990-2020 ⁃ California has the most killings 1,777 ⁃ Texas has the 2nd most amount of killings at 984 ⁃ Men arrested at almost 4 times the rate as women for violent crimes ⁃ Paraphilia: odd non-sexual turn ons ⁃ Paraphilia is more common in men ⁃ 8.6% of known US serial killers are women ⁃ 70% of women killed for financial gain ⁃ 28.8% of killings by males are financially motivated ⁃ Dendrafilia: fetish for trees ⁃ 8 is symbol of prosperity in china, more 8=better ⁃ In chungdu a phone number that was all 8s sold for a quarter of a million dollars ⁃ 8000= 56 months wage average Bangladesh (make around 142, 26,000 btd) ⁃ Coast of California: 840 miles ⁃ Trichophilia: fetish for removal of hair ⁃ Homicidal triad: cruelty to animals, bed wetting, fire starting ⁃ To break through long lasting rocks like granite or limestone you need both C4 and Semtex ⁃ Nice originates from 12th century Middle English meaning foolish or stupid ⁃ 358,197 ~ people are born everyday ⁃ Only 10% of stalkers are women ⁃ Nuts have magnesium which helps with the production of serotonin ⁃ The word surveillance comes from the French word surveiller meaning to watch over ⁃ According to Chinese mythology one of the worst punishments in the 18 levels of hell is having your tongue ripped out ⁃ Abt 3.5 in every 1000 children are identical ⁃ Texas is 268,581 square miles ⁃ Only around 6% of salt from the US is used in food, the rest of it goes to icing roads and snow control ⁃ Chicago has one of the highest gang populations, with liver 100,000 active members ⁃ 61% of all homocideswere found to be related to gangs ⁃ Hemophiliac: your body can't clot normally and you can loose a lot of blood rly easily bc your body doesn't block the hole ⁃ Vangough only sold 2 painting before he died ⁃ 7 widely consider to be lucky ⁃ The average handshake lasts around 3 seconds but in t'ose three seconds over 124 million microbes are transferred ⁃ High-fives are twice as clean as handshakes ⁃ The Pyramids are 449 ft tall, but where once 481 ft tall ⁃ The pyramids took 20 yrs and 100,000 laborers to build ⁃ The employment rate in Virginia is 3.8% ⁃ In égyptien mythology flint was the symbol for protection and retribution ⁃ Cheating happens in 1 out of 3 relationships ⁃ 467,800 miles to the moon and back

Max when I say I have missed your rambles I mean it!!

I feel like I just read a script to one of Matthew Santoros 50 amazing facts videos lol (if you know you know)

Would you believe me when I say that I already knew some of this stuff? 😌

Thanks for invigorating my brain, much appreciated x

[persephonewritessometimes]

me and the devil / unsub!hotch x reader / chapter two

Summary: It's been a week since her unfortunate first run-in with Aaron Hotchner. Has she scared him off, or will she see him at the club tonight?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 3471

Warnings: verbal harassment, several men following reader, threatening of violence, strip club, cursing, morgan being a cheeky bastard, mentions of a dead spouse

Key: y/n = your name

me and the devil series masterlist

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

         Another day, another dollar. That’s what I tell myself as I get off the bus close to the club. My car is in the shop – again – so I have to take the bus until it gets fixed. It had been one week since my run-in with Mr. Hotchner where I laid him out, and every time I think about it, I get embarrassed all over again. He hasn’t been to the club since – maybe I scared him off. Groaning, I grab my work bag and head inside, putting in my earbuds to drown out the shitty music in the locker room. Tia has had the flu for the past few days and hasn’t been to work, so I’m on my own again. I’m grateful that I packed my bag when I was in a better mood this morning and grin when I pull out my rhinestone set. It’s a rhinestone bikini top, with a silver thong, and a matching rhinestone skirt. I always make a shit ton of money in this. I shimmy it on, careful not to mess up my hair and makeup, give myself a once over in the mirror and head out into the club.

         It’s already loud in here, but the lights bounce off my outfit, drawing many pairs of eyes toward me. No one approaches though, so I roam, looking for my regulars. I’m passing by the bar and the next thing I know I’m slamming into someone on accident. I’m mortified.

         “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I apologize quickly, trying to move past whomever I bumped into. A large hand closes around my wrist stopping me in my tracks.

         “Hello, Y/N.” Hotch’s low voice reaches me, and I look up at him. “It seems like it’s your mission to kill me one way or another.” He chuckles.

         “Oh, Jesus.” I use my free hand to cover my face. “Yes, it would appear so. Sorry.”

         He’s looking me over when I peek at him in between my fingers. He gently grabs a trail of rhinestones from my skirt. “I like this outfit,” he says, letting go of the rhinestones and the land lightly on my leg.

         “Thank you. It’s my personal favorite.” I sway my hips and the lights catch on me again. I grin and look up at him.

         “That reminds me, I wanted to give you my number, just in case you were to ever need me.”

         “I don’t understand. First, I flip you over my shoulders, I just slammed into you, and you still want to give me your number?” I furrow my brow as he reaches into the inside of his suit jacket. I see a flash of gold on the inside and grab his jacket, pulling it open and he lets me. “You’re an agent?”

         “Yes.”

         “Hmmm.”

         “Is that a good ‘hmmm’ or bad ‘hmmm’.” He raises one eyebrow, finally fishing a small piece of paper out of his pocket.

         “I’m still deciding.” I give him a grin. “A lot of the agents who come in here are handsy despite them being ‘beacons of the law’,” I say, miming air quotes at the last four words. He tips his head back and laughs at this and I wish I could bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

         “And who fed you that bullshit?”

         “I think that’s a Derek Morgan quote if I remember correctly.”

         “Yeah, that sounds like something he’d say.” He slips the piece of paper in my hand and closes my fingers around it. “Put that somewhere safe, pretty girl.” He says into my ear, and I get goosebumps. I look up at him through my eyelashes and nod, giving him my best smile before turning and retreating back to the locker room. I immediately put his number into my phone. I slip the piece of paper into my locker after admiring his harsh handwriting. It makes me think about what else his strong hands are capable of. The rest of the night goes well, with several of my regulars coming in. It’s late – almost 3 AM when I’m finally getting my stuff together to leave. I slide out of my work clothes, putting on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. I sling my bag onto my shoulders, bid Alex goodnight, and make my way out into the night. The bus stop is only a five-minute walk from the club, but the air is very still tonight. Something isn’t right. I should turn around and go back into the club and ask one of the other girls for a ride home, but I don’t want to bother anyone. I walk quickly to the bus stop, and I’m almost there when I hear it, a cough, and the sound of a voice. Several voices. Shit, shit, shit.

         “Hey! Beautiful lady! Where you headed tonight? Maybe we can help you?” A voice calls behind me. Several voices laugh. I’m in deep shit. I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket walk straight past the bus stop and veer right, closer to town. Rita’s, one of the local bars, is five minutes from the bus stop and I know they’re still open. If I can just make it there, I’ll be fine. I don’t give myself time to think as I press Hotch’s contact and press the ringing phone up to my ear. He picks up within ten seconds.

         “Hi, this is Y/N. I’m so sorry to bother you but there’s a group of guys following me right now.”

         “Where are you?”

         “Four minutes from Rita’s. Three if I pick up the pace.”

         “How close are they?” I listen for a second.

         “Thirty, maybe forty feet? Judging by their voices.”

         “I’m at Rita’s right now. Be there in a second.” He doesn’t hang up on the phone, keeping me on the line, probably so he can hear everything that’s going on.

         “Hey! Why are you walking away from us? We just want to have some fun!” Their voices are getting closer. Two people I can probably take in a fight, but it sounds like there are a least three of them. Those aren’t odds I’m willing to mess with. Rita’s comes into view and I see Hotch jogging towards me, hand on his hip – he’s armed. I shut my phone, shoving it back into my pocket. We make contact in the next few seconds, his arm coming around my shoulders and he hurries me inside the bar. Once inside, he turns to me, grabbing my face in his hands.

         “Hey, are you okay?” I nod, tears welling in my eyes. “Come on, come sit down.” He guides me to a small table in the back, away from the crowd. “Where’s your car? Why weren’t you driving?”

         “Stupid thing broke down again. It’s in the shop. I have to take the bus until it’s fixed.”

         “Yeah, you’re not doing that. No offense, but even with an FBI office here these streets aren’t very safe after midnight. I don’t even let my team members walk to their cars alone when we go out. I’ve got an extra car; you can borrow it until yours is fixed.”

         “Hotch that’s very generous, but I can’t accept that.”

         “You can, and you will. I don’t want to lay in bed at night unable to sleep because I’m afraid you’re about to get jumped. Do you own a gun?” I nod, still processing the fact that he inadvertently let slip that he thinks about me at night. “Good. Carry it with you.”

         “I can’t take it into the club.”

         “Then don’t let anyone see it.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Some rules are meant to be broken. And if it comes down to breaking the club’s rules and saving your life, I hope you’d choose to save your life every time.”

         The bell on the door rings and the voices that were following me have come into the bar. I feel lightheaded and panicked, and my eyes widen when I look at Hotch.

         “What do you want me to do? Scare the shit out of them, beat the shit out of them, or get them kicked out of the bar?”

         “I kind of want to beat the shit out of them. How many are there?” Hotch glances back towards the door.

         “Four.”

         “Yeah, we can take ‘em.” He blinks in surprise.

         “You’re a very interesting person, Y/N.” He says, regarding me.

         “Yeah, well, I didn’t take martial arts for fifteen years to not use it. Come on.” I slip out of the booth, stretching my arms over my head pulling them tight, and then shaking them out. I pull the hair tie off my wrist and tie up my hair.

         “HEY! ASSHOLES!” I shout. They turn and look at me, grinning, but those grins disappear when they see the man lurking behind me. “What makes you think it’s okay to follow women around at night, hmmm?” The whole bar is quiet, watching the confrontation. “I don’t think that’s very nice, and neither does my very, very, scary boyfriend. So please, step outside with us so we can beat the shit out of you.” They glance at each other quickly, trying to decide if they want to take on me and Hotch.

         “I, uh, I think we’ll pass. Sorry, miss.” One of the men in the front says nervously.

         “Don’t do it again. Or we’ll really beat your asses, got it?” I say sweetly.

         “Got it. Sorry.” They duck out of the bar quickly and I feel Hotch’s hand on my lower back. The bar cheers and I give them a small little curtsy. I turn to face Hotch and he’s smiling at me.

         “So, I’m your ‘very scary’ boyfriend now?” He says, walking me back to the table and I feel my cheeks grow warm.

         “Shut up. They’re more likely to leave me alone if they think we’re together.” I avoid his gaze.

         “Fair enough, my very scary girlfriend.” I can hear the smile in his voice but, I avert the topic quickly.

         “So, what’s an FBI agent doing out at three in the morning? Don’t you have lives to save or something?”

         “Well, seeing as it’s early Saturday morning, I’m off the hook until Monday at 8 AM.”

         “Touché. But the question still stands, don’t you have things to attend to at home?”

         “Well, my son is with my sister-in-law, so I’ve got an open schedule.” Sister-in-law. Fuck. He’s married. That’s my one no-no. I’m fine with engaging with married men in the club – that’s their business, not mine. Damn, and I thought we were gonna have something.

         “Oh. I didn’t know you were married.” I shift in my seat, looking down at the table.

         “Don’t worry, she’s dead.” I blink in surprise.

         “I’m sorry, what?” My pitch tilts up on the last word.

         “She died two years ago.”

         “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

         “Hey, look at me.” I feel his hand close over mine. I look up at him. “I’m not upset with you. Just being honest. It was a long time ago, I’m okay.”

         “Okay.” I shift in my seat again.

         “You can ask.” He says.

         “I don’t want to be rude.”

         “Yet you’re literally fidgeting trying not to ask the question. Just ask it.” He’s got a half smile on his face – strange for a man who just admitted his wife is dead.

         “What happened to her?” I ask quietly and focus on his hand over mine on the table, rather than look into his endless eyes.

         “She was murdered.” I look up at him quickly, and he nods. “That’s all I’m willing to say right now.”

         “Of course, of course. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine going through that.” He just nods and I change the subject again.

         “Is your job dangerous? I mean, what exactly do you do for a living? Besides look intimidating as hell.”

         “You think I’m intimidating?”

         “Very. Why do you think I just kept staring at you and never actually talked to you?”

         “Well, it’s good to know the feeling is mutual, you’re also very intimidating.” I laugh at that.

         “Me? Intimidating? Yeah, like I’m gonna believe that.”

         “Y/N, you literally just stood up to four men and threatened to beat them up! And yes, you’re intimidating, especially in the club environment. You know everyone’s eyes are on you, so you play a part, coy, seductive, it’s entrancing and very intimidating.”

         “Well, I’m disappointed in you. You don’t seem like the kind of man to back down from a powerful woman.” I say, winking at him. His hand tightens imperceptibly over mine. “I’m serious though, what do you do for the FBI?”

         “I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We catch bad people, killers, mostly. Morgan is a profiler too.” He says, nodding towards the right. I turn around quickly and see Derek Morgan at a table a few away from us. He takes notice, winks at me, then goes back to talking to three women – two blonde women and one dark-haired woman.

         “Are they on your team too? The women?”

         “You don’t miss much, do you? And yes, from left to right, that’s JJ, Penelope, and Emily.” I wave at them, as now all the attention is on me, and they all smile and wave back.

         “They seem nice. Is that why you’re gone a lot? Working on catching killers?”

         “Yeah, we get cases all over the country.”

         “A well-traveled man, it seems.”

         “You could say that.”

         “I know it’s not in the US, but I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. It’s so cliché, but to be able to see the Eiffel Tower in person? I don’t think anything could compare to that.” I shrug, kind of embarrassed that I admitted that.

         “You would love Paris.”

         “You’ve been?” I exclaim and sit up straighter.

         “Many times. It’s a beautiful city, you would fit right in there.” I smile at that, before yawning. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot you worked tonight. Would you like a ride home?”

         “As much as I’m enjoying talking to you right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than snuggled up in my bed right now.” He laughs and we slide out of the booth. We have to walk past Morgan’s table, and Hotch stops there.

         “We’re heading out, Morgan. Will you walk them to your car when you’re finished?”

         “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything different, Hotch. Hey Y/N, you work tonight?”

         “Yeah, and many of the girls were upset that you weren’t there to entertain us,” I say, winking at him. He lets out a laugh at that. “I’m Y/N, by the way,” I say, shifting my attention to the three women. They take their turn saying hi to me.

         “Hotch, you didn’t tell us she’s drop dead gorgeous,” Penelope says, grinning at me.

         “That wasn’t important to the story.”

         “Wait, what story?” I asked, confused.

         “The story where you flipped our very unsuspecting boss on his back,” Emily says laughing.

         “Hotch! You told them about that?”

         “Well, how else was I supposed to explain that I couldn’t do field work due to bruised ribs?” He shoots back, raising an eyebrow. I wince at that and mouth ‘sorry’. He shrugs, placing his hand on my back, a move that does not go unnoticed by the four profilers sitting in front of us.

         “Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Morgan says, winking, and I smack him on the shoulder.

         “And I better see you shelling out a lot of money at the club next week, dickhead.” The women watch the exchange with amusement.

         “Yeah, when can we come to the club with you, Morgan?” Penelope asks, genuinely curious. I feel Hotch stiffen behind me.

         “All in good time, ladies. I’ll lose all my favorite girls to you guys the moment you show up.”

         “You are welcome anytime, Penelope. We would love to have you. Either on stage or watching.” I say with a slight smile, and she blushes, flattered. “But I really do have to get going now. It was lovely meeting you all.” They echo the sentiment, and Hotch and I make our way into the chilly night. “Oh, you have a nice ass car.” I whistle low. The SUV has blacked-out windows and looks badass.

         “Government issued.” He says, opening the passenger door for me and giving me his hand to help me get in the car. He comes around the other side and gets in. “What’s your address?” I give him the address to the Sunningdale Meadows Condos, and he frowns.

         “Hey, no judging. I’m a college student, I’m just trying to get by.” He says nothing, just puts the car in drive and starts the short ten-minute drive to my apartment.

         “Which number are you?”

         “307. It’s towards the back on the left-hand side.” He finds the apartment number lit up just barely by my dim outdoor light. “Thank you so much,” I say, quickly undoing the seat belt and getting out of the car. I hear his door open as well and he comes around to my side. “Hotch, I can walk to my own apartment.”

         “I’m not taking any chances,” he says, voice tight. He offers me his arm and I happily take it as we make our way up to the second floor and I unlock my door.

         “Can I come in and check your locks and windows?” I laugh but he looks deathly serious.

         “Jeez, Mr. Serious. Yes, you can come in and check them.” I walk into the small, but quaint apartment and am greeted by my dog jogging up to us and butting into my legs.

         “I didn’t know you have a dog.”

         “I got him as protection, but he’s a faithful friend too,” I say scratching his ears. “Aren’t you, Cujo?” He laughs at that.

         “Cujo? Very fitting for a Doberman.” I smile up at him, and Cujo wanders over to Hotch, smelling him for a couple of seconds before sitting down and placing one of his paws on his knee.

         “That’s really weird, he doesn’t typically take well to strangers,” I say, straightening up and watching Hotch lean down to pet Cujo a few times. “Cujo, come!” I say, walking back towards my small kitchen. “Check what you need to check, Hotch, so you can sleep tonight.” He chuckles and I scoop out some dog food for Cujo, pouring it into his bowl and refilling his water. I can hear Hotch checking the locks and I smile to myself. He seems like a very caring man if he’s going this far just to make sure a stripper gets home safe. “Bedroom is in the back – I’ve got one window in there,” I call out softly, not wanting my voice to travel through the thin walls, but it’s not as if my neighbors are that considerate. He brushes past me, hands pressing into my hips briefly to squeeze behind me in the small walkway. My breath stutters in my chest but the moment is over just as soon as it began. I hear him check the lock in there.

         “Where do you keep your gun?”

         “In my nightstand, like everybody else. And there’s one in my ottoman by the door. As well as a set of throwing knives. And a couple of spare knives in my underwear drawer.” He pokes his head back into the kitchen.

         “I’m sorry, throwing knives?”

         “It’s just a hobby,” I say, shrugging.

         “You keep getting more and more interesting, Y/N,” he says, stepping into the kitchen and leaning on the fridge.

         “Are the locks up to your standards, sir?” I ask, mockingly. I watch his eyes darken and I make a mental note to revisit that later, preferably when I’m not bone tired.

         “They are. And I’m glad you have multiple ways to defend yourself. Cujo included,” he says, nodding his head towards my dog. Cujo cocks his head at Hotch and we both laugh at that.

         “Thank you. For the ride. For everything.” I say quietly.

         “Anytime. Give me a call when you’re up tomorrow and I’ll get you that car as I promised.”

         “Hotch, seriously, you don’t have to do that.”

         “I want to.” He says simply.

         “Well, let me walk you to the door,” I say, yawning and stretching my arms. I turn and walk towards the door, opening it for him. “Thank you, again.”

         “Of course, pretty girl.” He says and presses a quick kiss to my forehead before leaving my apartment, jogging down the stairs, and driving away. I’m smiling the whole time, and the smile is still on my face as I lock the door and get ready for bed.

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chapter three

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[crookedfandomquill]

"Hotel King" Rewatch: Episode 1

Let’s address the elephant in the room: if I had a dollar for every time Lee Dong Wook and Lee Da Hae played love interests in a fake-out incest plotline…

Tragic backstories are like blood in the water and I am a hungry-ass shark

I’m sorry but his name being Jayden will never not be funny to me. I am from the American South and I know multiple Jaydens, all of whom are polo-wearing white boys ages 5 to 26 whose moms sell knock-off essential oils out of the backs of their minivans. I can’t take the name seriously in this context

“Is this heaven?” Oh honey no it really isn’t

Ah and the gaslighting begins. I’m remembering now that the main character in this drama is one of the more traumatized ones I’ve come across

Mmm yeah this is a good look for LDW. Not my absolute favorite (*cough* Soo Yeol *cough*) but objectively spiffy nonetheless

You know what, that party was so painfully lame that Chairman Ah saved it by falling to his death in the middle of it

Say what you will about the balls-to-the-wall plots of melodramas, but more often than not they deliver really incredible character writing. 30 minutes into the show you already know so much about Jae Won: he’s cold and full of anger, but he’s also idealistic and a bit naive (he genuinely thought Chairman Ah would acknowledge him and beg forgiveness if he just confronted him). He’s competent and driven but also completely beholden to his abusive father figure. He’s a man of few words and fewer platitudes, and the only thing sharper than the lines of his suit is his business acumen. Going back through the journey of getting to know the characters is my favorite part of any rewatch

Meanwhile, Mo Ne be sneakin’ (badly)

Gosh, imagine your beloved father has died and you make your grand return to the country by crab-walking in public, committing widespread property damage, and braining somebody with a large frozen fish 

Oh look, it’s the manager who CARRIES A HORSE WHIP??? Look, she knows her aesthetic and she’s rocking it. And no patience for guests creeping on the maids, I can’t not stan

Alright, but the fact that our lead couple starts out with him thinking she’s his secret half-sister/rival for his inheritance, and her thinking he killed her dad? It’s the messed up, angsty, weird, character-driven stuff that dreams are made of (mine, at least) 

Mo Ne really said “I want lots of money and zero responsibility” and let me tell you I felt that in my broke 20-something soul

Very strong soundtrack on this drama tbh, even if it does get repetitive after a while

Overall rewatch thoughts: I’m a ho for intrigue and this drama has so much of it, no wonder I binged the whole thing in about two days the first time around. The acting is as good as I remembered it, the secondary characters are so promising just from the first episode, and the vice chairman really makes my skin crawl. Knowing all the insane twists and turns the story takes just makes the rewatch extra fun. Safe to say that I have been thoroughly dragged back into Hotel King!