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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Hook Possum 4/4

Art by @monsdasarah for Harringrove Big Bang!

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

The last night, Robin told one of the weirder bits of Hook Possum lore, staring dead at Steve the whole time.

“Once, long, long time ago,” she began, in a sibilant stage whisper, her flashlight under her chin. “Back when all these trees were still pinecones, a stranger came to the little town you passed driving in, on the highway.” The littlest kids shivered and nodded, scooting closer to the fire. “There wasn’t much going on there then,” Robin went on, grinning evilly, “—and a stranger was exciting. He went to all the dances, and he was handsome, and what do you think happened?” she offered the flashlight to an older girl, who was biting her lips together in glee.

“One of the girls fell in love with him,” she suggested, and Robin smiled.

“Have you never wondered who Hook Possum searches for, with a lantern, in the dead of night,” Robin said, and Steve rubbed his face, feeling it heat.

“...what,” Hook Possum asked, edging closer, and Steve sighed, shaking his head. It’d become habit now to slide his fingers in Hook Possum’s costume at the wrist, between his wrist, the cuff, and the friendship bracelet, and Steve leaned closer. Hook Possum’s hand twitched, but then he relaxed, ducking his head. Steve hoped he was smiling.

“Hook Possum searches for a murderer,” Robin said. “The dancing stranger. Because the night they were to be married, he left Hook Possum buried in a shallow grave.”

“Wait, Hook Possum’s a girl?!” yelled a kid, huge-eyed, and Hook Possum looked around. Steve thought Hook Possum being a possum was more to the point, but nobody else seemed to see a problem.

“It’s just a costume,” said another one. “Hook Possum might be a girl really.”

“That’s right, mom possums carry their young around,” said another one, and a couple kids grabbed Hook Possum’s legs and arm, listening intently.

“Hook Possum came to meet her love, under the yellow poplar in the center of camp,” Robin whispered. “And he buried her there.”

Everybody gasped, and Hook Possum’s mask twitched as he glanced at Steve.

“She’d made a lovely flower crown, and she never got to wear it at her wedding,” Robin said, and Steve’s cheeks heated further. He decided to shift the planks holding her mattress up that night, so she’d fall through in the dead of night. “And that,” Robin intoned, holding the flashlight under her chin, and letting her voice waver creepily, “—is the real reason Hook Possum wanders this earth, alone, with her lantern. She wants to wear her flower crown. She’s looking for her love.”

The kids were all staring at Hook Possum, but as a creepy mass, their eyes followed his arm down to where Steve had his fingers tucked in the cuff and friendship bracelet, and then up again to Steve’s face. “Oh noooo,” he breathed.

“I can make flower crowns,” said Blair Witch Mirror Kid.

“We can have a wedding,” said Sun Safety Girl.

“Tomorrow,” Robin said, her mouth quirked evilly. “We’ll need to get ready.”

“I was at a wedding,” Pink Overalls said. “You throw flowers at people.”

“Before the buses show up,” Robin announced. “We’ll hold a wedding for Hook Possum.”

Steve had wondered before then whether the kids had noticed...whatever it was, between him and Hook Possum. Hook Possum sat next to him at the fire, his mask on Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s fingers tucked against his wrist, feeling his heartbeat. Sometimes the kids looked at them for a while, but they never said anything shitty, and Steve wondered if he’d been obvious the whole time, and Robin, Dustin, Max, and El had been running interference.

“We’ll need vows,” said Bell Witch Mirror Game Kid, who needed a shorter nickname, but Steve shrugged, because it was the second-to-last day of camp.

Hook Possum’s mask kept jerking towards Steve, then away, but he didn’t pull his arm away from Steve’s.

The next morning, Hook Possum got drug away from the cabin first thing, while Steve still had his arms wrapped around the post of the bed, snoring with his head under the pillow. When they let Steve come and look, the kids had drug all the chairs so there was an aisle under the trees, and set up an overturned trash can as the altar.

“Because he’s a possum,” said Dustin, grinning.

“Ha, ha,” Steve said dryly. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he tried to keep a straight face as little kids showed him the flowers they’d picked, and told him they’d used all his possum facts in the vows. “...wow,” Steve said, thinking about ticks and carrion.

“We’re gonna play kazoos,” said Dustin, and Steve turned to see El earnestly putting a kazoo between her lips, accompanied by Max, Lucas, and Nancy’s kid brother, Mitchell. “...oh,” Steve said, wondering whether he was gonna be able to keep from doubling up with laughter when they were mid-possum vow and the kazoos started.

The kazoos started as they walked Hook Possum out, flower crown and all. “I made you a flower crown too,” Bell Witch Mirror Game Boy told Steve, and Steve dropped to a crouch let him put it on his head. He bit his lips as he turned to watch Hook Possum, bedecked in a flower crown and carrying a bouquet.

“There aren’t rings,” Robin whispered. “I got Sesame Street band-aids. Bert and Ernie.” It occurred to Steve suddenly, his cheeks heating at the actual care she’d put into it, that it might be on him, some day, to organize a more serious kind of wedding for her and her...someone. He bit his lip, trying not to think about how silly it all was, with Hook Possum moving away.

At least nearly everyone he knew had been at camp, he thought, watching Hook Possum bump blindly into the chairs, and listening to a bunch of off-tempo children earnestly try to produce ‘Here Comes The Bride’ on kazoo. They sounded like a lot of wet bees, mostly. At least Dustin would know what Steve was talking about, when he mentioned Hook Possum six times a sentence, or turned to grin at him, and then realized he wasn’t there.

Hook Possum drew closer—Pink Overalls had just grabbed his hand, finally, and hauled him along, and Steve wondered why he was having so much trouble seeing. It was drizzly, and gray, but it wasn’t dark. Pink Overalls threw flowers at Steve’s face, then at Hook Possum’s, and stepped back.

Steve wondered, as ever, what she thought was happening.

“Friends and campers gathered here today,” Dustin began, but Steve didn’t really listen to the vows. He’d slid his finger through Hook Possum’s handcuff, and the friendship bracelet, and his hand was shaking a little.

“Are you seriously okay with this,” he breathed, leaning close to Steve’s head. “This—this is—”

“Ssssshhhh,” Dustin groaned. “Where are the rings?”

“We’ll just wrap it around Hook Possum’s paw and he can put it on later,” Robin decided, and Steve wrapped it around Hook Possum’s furry-gloved finger. It felt really... weddingy, when Hook Possum (with Robin’s help) unwrapped the Bert-and-Ernie bandaid and wrapped it around Steve’s finger. Steve took his paw and squeezed it, wondering what he’d agreed to.

“To love and to cherish, so long as you both shall live?” Robin asked, her eyes steady, and Steve kind of wanted to run, dreading Hook Possum laughing.

“...I do,” he whispered.

“I do too,” Steve said quickly, grabbing Hook Possum’s other paw, and squeezing that one too.

“You may kiss the bride,” announced Dustin, and Steve leaned in and smacked a kiss on the mask, listening to the startled laughter of the man inside.

After that, in the first raindrops, Robin sent the kids to get their packed bags. “The buses will be here in twenty minutes!” she yelled, stomping off, and Steve pulled back from hugging Hook Possum as hard as he could.

“I have to take the costume off,” Hook Possum whispered. “It’s starting to rain.”

It hadn’t rained for the whole three weeks of camp, not during the day, and it felt like a sign camp was truly over. Steve nodded, squeezing the dirty old costume paws in his hands, and wondering about the human inside them.

“He said you could kiss the bride,” Hook Possum said in kind of a weird choked voice, standing perfectly still, and Steve froze.

“You...saying I can see you?” he whispered back, as the rain started to penetrate his hair, cold against his head.

“...I’m saying I’m taking it off,” Hook Possum hissed, dragging Steve back towards the cabin. “Don’t look. But, uh. If—if you—he said you could kiss the bride, so—”

“I want to,” Steve told him, panting as they ran. “I want to, I do.”

“Okay,” Hook Possum laughed, kind of unevenly. “Yeah.”

Steve helped him get out of the damn costume for the last time, untying the little cords slowly, and sliding the warm, wet, musty fabric down Hook Possum’s muscular shoulders. As a show of good faith, he opened Robin’s luggage and took out one of her kneesocks, and wrapped it around his eyes. That done, he ran his hands down Hook Possum’s arms to find his bracelet and cuff, and a warm, strong hand to run his fingers over. He did the same on the other side, finding that Hook Possum hadn’t put the band-aid on.

“Lemme do it right,” Steve asked, and Hook Possum stilled. Steve fiddled blindly with the little tabs, but he got it on there, and slid their fingers together. “...they fit nice,” he said softly, and Hook Possum sighed. “Lemme take your mask off,” Steve tried next, and Hook Possum let him, let him slide his hands up over the pulse pounding in Hook Possum’s neck, and lift the mask away, before running his thumb over a stubbly jaw, and sliding his fingers into soft, sweaty curls.

Hook Possum stepped away. “Just let me get my feet out,” he whispered.

Steve stood there with a sock around his head for a long second, feeling stupid, when warm, chapped lips met his. Hook Possum’s breath was shaky.

“...gonna miss you,” Steve told him, as soon as he could draw breath, licking his lips, and Hook Possum made a little grunty whining noise in the back of his throat, and kissed him again. “We’re married now,” Steve told him. “You aren’t gonna run out on me, are you?”

“...this was never real,” Hook Possum said, his voice cracking, and Steve nodded once, his eyes stinging, and walked out. He yanked the sock off his head and blinked up at the rain, then yelped as Hook Possum dragged him back against the side of the cabin, the rain slicking up their hands and faces as they kissed again. “I wish it was real,” Hook Possum whispered.

“Give me your phone number, at least,” Steve whispered, kissing the warm, soft mouth against his. “Your name?!”

“...sorry,” Hook Possum muttered, pulling away. “Don’t look.”

Steve didn’t. He stood there in the rain for five entire minutes. His shoulders shook because of the warm Indiana summer rain, and for no other reason.

“He’ll meet you at the diner,” Max’s voice said, as Steve was paying for a stack of frozen TV dinners at Bradley’s Big Buy, and skateboarded off, without telling Steve when, so he yelled incoherently after her and drove to the diner. He ordered coffee as his TV dinners slowly defrosted in his car, and watched the door, then, finally, when the waitress wouldn’t go away, he ordered pie. It was really good, he thought distractedly, chomping bites of lemon meringue as he stared through the door at the parking lot.

Three hours—and a lot of pie—later, Billy Hargrove pulled up in front, and Steve made a face, wondering if he dared risk running to the bathroom. Billy lingered outside, cleaning his windshield wipers, and checking under the hood, blocking Steve’s view of everyone else who might drive up, and in his annoyance, Steve failed to notice he’d received and finished another refill on his coffee, and the bathroom question was becoming desperate.

He pressed his knees together, glancing at the clock, and gritting his teeth.

Billy glanced in, saw Steve, and stopped, watching him like he still kinda wanted to beat his teeth in, or something. Steve knocked back half a mug of coffee in sheer annoyance, and then glowered down at it, mentally apologizing to his bladder.

The door creaked open, and Steve jerked to attention, nearly knocking his latest empty pie plate off the counter with his elbow, but it was just Billy, slouching, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was tugging at his cuff, one hand stuffed in his pocket.

“Harrington,” he said, and Steve nodded, trying to see past him through the door. Billy huffed a laugh. “...you got a hot date?” he asked, and Steve nearly said yes, but then thought what it would look like, when a man showed up.

“None of your beeswax,” he said tiredly, wishing Max had said when. “Hey,” he called to the waitress. “How early d’you open in the morning?”

“We’re open five o’clock in the morning to eleven o’clock at night,” she said, and Steve winced, hoping Hook Possum showed up before, like, tomorrow afternoon. He had visions of himself keeping vigil for days, glutting himself on pie, and sleeping in the parking lot.

Billy turned and stalked back out, shaking his head, and Steve decided to risk the bathroom. He sprinted back out to see the parking spot in front empty, and sat back down, opening the pie menu.

“Your friend left,” said the waitress.

“What?!” Steve said, jerking his head around to the door. “Just now?!”

“The boy with the shirt and jacket made of blue jeans,” she said, cocking her head like Billy’s fashion sense was annoying, which to be fair, it was.

“Oh,” Steve said, deflating.

“He came back and asked how long you’d waited. If you’d said anything about who you were waiting for,” she said, eyeing him narrowly, and Steve blinked back at her.

Max’s voice suddenly sounded in his head again. Uh, he lives on my street. She’d sounded hesitant, which was very unlike Max.

He’s the big brother I never had, she’d said, and Steve had assumed that couldn’t be Billy.

You’re the son of the boss’s boss?! He heard again, in Hook Possum’s raspy, high-pitched tones. You could get me fired.

“...Billy,” Steve said aloud.

“Is this some kind of Shop Around The Corner thing? I love that movie.” the waitress asked, as Steve scrambled for his wallet, thinking about Billy’s curls, and how he’d been afraid of Steve seeing him with the mask off, even once they were friends. “Was he supposed to carry a certain book or something? Were you penpals?” she asked idly, leaning on the counter. “You should probably go talk to him, if you can walk, after all that pie.”

“He’s moving to California,” Steve said, shoving a wad of cash at her without bothering to count it, and running out to his car.

“Good luck!” she called after him. “Idiot,” he thought he heard, and his cheeks burned.

When he pulled up to the Hargrove house, it wasn’t lit up. He ran around to Max’s window—he knew where that was, from driving Dustin and Lucas around—and tossed a pinecone at it. After a few thudded into the glass, the blinds shot up, and she glowered out, then glared down at him, yanking the window up. “The hell are you doing here?!” she hissed.

“Billy’s Hook Possum,” Steve stage-whispered back at her, cupping his face. “Isn’t he?”

She frowned harder, glancing over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?!”

“Come let me in,” Steve told her, and she shook her head.

“He’s not home! Did you miss him?! God, you’re such morons—”

“Where’s his room?” Steve hissed back, and she pointed, leaning out.

“He left like an hour ago,” she shot back, waving at the road. “We’d hear his car.”

“Let me in, I’ll wait for him,” Steve whispered up, and she groaned, leaning her head against the wood of the window.

“Fine,” she said, slamming it shut. A few minutes later, the window next to it opened, and Max’s head poked out. “Get up here,” she said. “And be quiet, you’ll get him in trouble, his dad’s watching the ballgame.”

“Okay,” Steve said, gauging the jump to the windowsill.

He wasn’t graceful, but he made it in, kicking off the siding and getting an arm inside. He clambered in with Max’s help, and looked around in the refracted light from the streetlamps. Everything was in boxes. “...when’s he leaving,” Steve asked, his throat tight.

“He was gonna leave today, but I got him to meet you at the diner,” Max growled. “What happened?!”

“He didn’t say anything, he just left,” Steve groaned, his eye catching on something over on the mirrored dresser thingy. He squinted in the dim light, leaning in—and he was right, it was the flower crown Hook Possum had worn for their ‘marriage’. The flowers were wilted, their petals crumbly in his hands, and Steve leaned to smell them, remembering.

He shivered, trying not to laugh, because he was right, Billy Hargrove was Hook Possum, and now everything was even more complicated. Billy Hargrove hates me, Steve thought, bewildered. He HATES me, he nearly beat my face in.

“That’s his car,” Max said, staring at nothing, and then Steve could hear it, through the open window.

“I just need to talk to him,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, you fucking do,” she muttered, slamming the door on her way out.

Alone in Billy’s room, Steve wandered around, squinting at the couple of posters still on the wall. He found the light switch, and leaned against the wall near it as footsteps came down the hall, and the doorknob turned.

Steve waited until Billy shut the door and wandered over to the window before flipping on the light, and Billy yelled.

“Holy cross eyed jesus, Harrington,” he panted, staring. “What—why—”

“You’re Hook Possum,” Steve said. “Right?”

“What,” Billy said, backing away. He had his arms up like he wanted to fight, but as Steve stepped closer he just flinched back, his head and shoulders thudding against the wall. Steve could see a glint against his denim cuff, and grabbed his wrist, sliding a finger down inside.

“My friendship bracelet,” he said, feeling too relieved for a true smirk. “...and you still haven’t gotten this handcuff off?!” he asked, sliding the clinking metal up Billy’s wrist.

“Looks kinda rad, don’t you think,” Billy whispered, swallowing. “Why’re you here, Harrington?”

“You’re Hook Possum,” Steve said again, running his fingers along the soft skin on the underside of Billy’s wrist, under the cuff and the friendship bracelet.

Billy watched his face, licking his lips, and Steve remembered how it’d felt kissing him. He’d kissed Billy Hargrove, he thought, his brain stumbling to a halt as it reorganized Steve’s memories to fit the new facts.

“What happens now,” Billy asked, and Steve let him go, stepping back as he remembered nothing had actually changed.

“...you’re moving to California,” Steve said, looking around at the boxes. “I—I guess I can send postcards now. Now I know the big secret.” It was almost worse, knowing more about Hook Possum, and having to watch him leave.

“...you’re not pissed,” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows, and Steve considered, and then shook his head.

It was hard to imagine being angry at Hook Possum, even if Hook Possum was Billy Hargrove. “Nah,” Steve said, stalking over to sit on the bed. “Thanks, uh, thanks for meeting me. I guess. I know you didn’t want to see me again.” He’d thought Hook Possum liked him, which was stupid, he realized. “I should go, huh.”

“I didn’t know you’d be there, at the camp,” Billy said, laughing. He sounded tense. “I thought I was getting away from Hawkins.”

Max knew, Steve thought, remembering planning with Dustin and everyone. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You wishing you didn’t know, now?” Billy asked, with another laugh, sitting in the window, and gripping the sill with white knuckles.

“...no,” Steve said, honestly. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this...wary distance.

“You want your friendship bracelet back?” Billy sneered, and Steve just shook his head, and got up to leave out the door, if Billy was gonna block the window. The eight slices of pie were roiling in his stomach with probably two whole pots of coffee, and he felt like he might throw up. “Harrington, fuck, wait,” Billy growled, pushing himself up to stalk over and hold the door shut. “Why’d you come over here,” he hissed, his low register all Billy Hargrove, who’d beaten Steve unconscious.

“I don’t know,” Steve said, laughing, a little, because Hook Possum had been right. Summer camp wasn’t the real world, and he wasn’t married to a magic possum. He yanked on the doorknob, but Billy leaned his weight against the door, watching his face.

“Do you still want me,” Billy asked, grabbing Steve’s arm.

Steve wanted to get out of the conversation, and he almost dodged the question with a what do you mean, or a I have to go, but Billy’s hand was warm on his skin, and nervously sweaty.

Steve nodded.

Billy made a noise in his throat, kind of a strangled choke, and grabbed him, yanking him into a clumsy kiss, all teeth, because he was laughing. “You’ll make me another friendship bracelet, right,” he said breathlessly, like it was important, and Steve nodded, losing track of what was going on. He ran his finger along Billy’s wrist, and hooked it around the friendship bracelet/cuff accessory, and Billy kissed him again, leaning in. “If—if I’m here, you’ll make me another one.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, dizzy with kisses.

“Make us rings,” Billy whispered, smiling so wide his kisses were a little wet against Steve’s cheek, and ear. Steve’s bones creaked from how hard Billy was squeezing him.

“...can’t believe you haven’t taken the handcuff off,” Steve whispered, against Billy’s jaw. “...god, I hope nobody ever asks how we met. Stay out of the trash.”

Billy snorted a laugh, leaning his face into Steve’s neck with a sigh, and then pressing soft kisses up it, so Steve started having wild thoughts about Billy’s mattress, five feet away. “Y’know,” Billy said softly, “I kinda hope they do ask, actually. You ashamed of your magical...haunted possum...girlfriend?”

“God I missed you,” Steve said, snorting a laugh. His vision blurred with tears.

#harringrove big bang #Harringrove #Ridiculous possum mascot story #Art by Monsdasarah!!#Amazing

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dellinah · 3 years

Photo

I know yall are probably tired of seeing this image everywhere by now but my friend asked me if I wanted to join in the meme as a collab and I couldn’t say no and now you get to suffer with me

This is the first real art collab I’ve ever done I’m so proud of us I wouldn’t have it any other way. She sketched Mordecai and I sketched Twilight and then we lined and colored each other’s sketches and this is our joined masterpiece

If you allow me to go off for a little bit, I honestly really like what the original Mordetwi picture represents and the positive cultural shift we’ve had towards “cringe culture” in the past few years, and I say this without a hint of irony

I think most of us had a time in our lives when we were kids and got attached to kids shows and found comfort in certain characters and had our fun pairing them up or just drawing them in MS Paint bc we looked up to artists online and wanted to be like them but didn’t know how to draw any other way. The fics were poorly written and the art was bad but we had fun doing it in earnest and it brought us joy and that’s what matters in the end

A few years ago it was so common to make fun of it and even make comments such as “This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen / this makes me want to die / I wanna kms” towards pieces like the original Mordetwi and I cannot grasp why we ever thought it was ok to react in such way towards a kid’s work? Kids who were just having fun? It’s just such a toxic mentality honestly, and I’m glad that seems to be mostly dead now and we just shamelessly embrace the things we like even as adults

Besides no artist is born with the talent they have and we wouldn’t have the amazing artists/writers we have today if they hadn’t done their “cringy” MS Paint drawings and Deviantart fanfics back in the day and I’m proud of all the progress they’ve done

I look back fondly at the things I did as a kid even if they were bad bc not only I wouldn’t be where I’m at without them, but also I had fun making them and there’s nothing cringy in just wanting to be happy and I hope people (kids or adults) can just indulge in their harmless interests without toxicity. Whether that’s being a furry or watching cartoons or writing weird fics or roleplaying or cosplaying or listening to “bad” music or shipping characters, or whatever it might be

As Jenny Nicholson puts it, “Yeah, it’s pretty cringy. But then again, most fun things are.”

All hail Mordetwi

#Twilight Sparkle #My little pony #Mordecai #A regular show #Mordetwi #Cringe culture is dead and I spit on its grave #Besides #This is a great meme #I hope the kid who made the original is doing great today #Redraw #Airplanes meme #Collab #Thank you Jen for doing this with me ily #My art #Digital art #Finished art #be yourself honestly #*pets your head* go enjoy all the cringy interests

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Mused obsession (3)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 6k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, so much drunken sexual tension, Jimin has a praise kink what's new, masturbation(both), blowjob, cum on Jimin's pretty face, cum on the floor, cum eating, just a bunch of cum, Luxe sheets with a thread count over 500.

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

How the tables had turned. Just yesterday Jimin was teasing Jungkook with a graze to the thigh, leaning so close he could hear his heart beat in his ears. "No questions asked...right?” “N-no questions,” Jimin confirms, not wholly nervous but aching with anticipation. H is wine-stained lips purse naturally as he tries to relax his tense muscles. The buildup is torture, but he has a feeling Jungkook will make it well worth the wait.

Jungkook squeezes the blondes thigh a little harder, internally cursing at how firm it is in his grasp. His eyes roam down Jimin’s features for a moment, as if giving himself time to think.

What does he want? After a moment that felt like forever, but in reality was merely a minute, Kook’s lips finally part as he mumbles out his slurry words. “Let me take pictures of you." It sounds harmless, but what Jungkook has in mind was far from innocent.

Jimin’s eyebrow quirks at the request. “What...kind of pictures?” He asks, but quickly clasps his hands over his mouth, breaking the one rule he himself set for the bet. “I mean…uh…” He tries to recoup regardless of his slip. He can’t help his curiosity. He wasn’t expecting a request so formal yet intimate. A personal photoshoot, in the private mansion of Jeon Jungkook of GJK industries? Surely this offer has never been extended to anyone else beside himself, and the thought alone makes him feel drunker by the second. “Lead the way,” Jimin confirms with false confidence.

Jungkook breathes out a chuckle through his nose, lifting a finger to wiggle it in front of Jimin’s nose. “No questions.” Slowly, his finger inches closer to drag the pad of it down the blonde’s nose bridge until it playfully pokes the button tip. “Come,” he slurs out, dangerously close to having a double meaning. Jungkook stands to his feet, wobbling slightly as he extends his arm to Jimin with tattoos on clear display as he does so. “I ne-eed you…” The younger pauses to take a breath, gathering himself—the floaty feeling mostly foreign to him, not used to drinking often after all, “...In my studio,” he clarifies.

With Jungkook’s help, Jimin stands to his feet, wobbling to hold his balance. He grips onto the tattooed arm and glides his fingertips over the needle-poked skin, memorizing the patterns like braille. He must look like a drunken idiot but he doesn’t care. He’s far past caring and it's greatly due to the fine wine and sexual tension that, at this point, he would need to cut with a jackhammer. “You have me,” he slurs. It’s supposed to be a question, confirming that the tall man had a firm grasp on him while they shuffle to the studio, but it’s laden with double-meaning. He leaves it at that, pleased to have the younger interpret it in any way he pleases.

Jungkook’s firm grasp doesn’t falter as he guides the elder to his personal studio. It’s a large room with no windows to disturb the artificial light fixtures, placed neatly around the place. His eyes glance over stacks of printed photographs on his desk, scattered out as he was rummaging through them this morning. They’re from last night’s shoot. Every single photo, different variations of Jimin—his new favorite subject. His eyes flicker over to the framed photos on the wall by the desk, filled with his personal favorite shots of the blonde. From a candid closeup of him being surprised as he walked into the glass-mirrored room, to the shot of him dropped to his knees, skin glistening with sweat from swinging the sledgehammer.

It’s pure art. Jimin is pure art. Now, Jungkook has this gorgeous man to himself, ready to do whatever he asks for. He snaps out of his thoughts as he looks over at Jimin, wondering if he notices the photos on the walls too.

But to Jimin, all he sees is a man dedicated to his work. It strikes him differently to see the photos printed in a large format. His drunken self doesn’t even process the fact that he was the only subject matter displayed on Jungkook’s studio walls. His wide eyes transfix on the fine details of each photo as he follows them down the line. It’s proof, Jeon Jungkook is the most dedicated photographer he’s ever had the pleasure of working with. “Which is your favorite?” Jimin asks, mentally taking note to possibly replicate the same expression in their impromptu shoot. He really wants to make the moment perfect.

Jungkook hums in thought as he’s barely paying attention to the photos on the walls. Instead, his attention is tunnel-visioned on the blonde, right next to him, in the flesh. “I think tonight...will be my favorite,” he murmurs, letting go of Jimin to head over towards the spot he just knows he needs to see Jimin pose, grabbing his camera along the way. The set looks as if it was prepared in advance. A large, furry white rug is placed on the floor at the center, surrounded by copious amounts of space. Some lights are placed around it, almost like there had been a shoot there before...which wasn’t the case, technically . It was prepared with Jimin in mind, but never did Jungkook believe he’d actually have him here... this quickly. “Stand on the rug,” Jungkook instructs. His voice is clearer now, even if he’s still in a haze. He beckons the model with his slender, tattooed fingers.

Jimin does as instructed, falling into the rhythm the younger set the past couple of days during their promo shoot. He’s almost positive he knows the next step, itching to shuck off his jacket and bend to his knees, but he’s patient and waits for instruction. Jungkook’s towering, lean body makes him feel smaller than he is. He’s ready to submit—to be a good boy for the victor.

The photographer steps closer to Jimin to inspect him further, as if he doesn’t already have every single detail of the elders face ingrained in his memory. Either way, reaches out to brush the blonde fringe away from his face. “No questions, okay?” He reminds, as if he needs to give another confirmation of this before he continues. He knows that as soon as he starts, he won’t be able to stop. Then he backs a few steps before he sits down on a stool with his camera held high, turning it on with a flick. He peeks through the screen, the small wall of technology serving as a detachment from reality, only spurring his own fantasies to grow. “Undress... slowly .”

The model knew it was coming. How could he not? But the moment those words slip from the younger’s sweet cherry lips, his mind numbs. He’s working solely on instinct and pure lust-driven adrenaline. He could feel the tension engulfing his entire being from the moment he first touched Jungkook; feeling fire ignite his skin to burn . There’s not a moment of hesitance as Jimin slowly begins to slide his jacket off his arms, looking down bashfully at his body, pretending he doesn’t realize the effect it has on anyone who looks. He’s a professional after all.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten around his camera at the tortuous show Jimin puts on, or rather...takes off. With eyes trained on the elder through the camera, he zooms into the parts he loves the most; his lips, his neck… However, soon, he’s sure the entirety of the blonde will be his favorite part. “Shirt too.” His voice is low and smooth. “Then turn around, let me see your back.”

Jimin trips over his own feet as he turns around, which would have been embarrassing at any regular modelling event, however, he lightly laughs—so airy and innocent. He turns around so the photographer can get a good look as he very slowly lifts his shirt over his head and casts it to the floor. He leaves his Chanel necklace on as he loves the way the thin material dances along his neckline, teasing the lens with faint flashes of light off the diamonds that lay there. He begins to unbuckle his pants and looks over his shoulder to make sure he’s being watched, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself, Jeon?” Shit —he asked another question. He really can’t help his praise kink, wondering what’s going though Jungkook’s mind as he slowly slides the pants down past his strong thighs.

The shutter of the camera going off echoes in the quiet room—the only other noises heard would be their voices and Jungkook’s breathing as it gradually grows heavier. It’s as if he’s in a trance, time and surroundings long forgotten. Everything is about Jimin and his gorgeous body slowly coming into view. A low groan catches in Jungkook’s throat at the sight of the blonde’s muscular back, wasting no time in capturing the moment on video as his focus lowers down to Jimin’s behind. “Fuck, Jimin...you’re breathtaking.” He breathes out the words in a low groan, shifting in his seat as the aching in his pants becomes less easy to ignore. Eyes are completely lost in the way Jimin’s ass looks slightly bent over while peeling the pants down his thighs.

Jungkook’s compliment fuels Jimin to move faster, but he reels in his desire, taking his time with the final articles of clothing. First, he bends deeper to untie his shoes, leaving his briefs for the final reveal. He takes one shoe off, followed by the other, then places them gently by his discarded shirt. Pants slide down completely and are kicked to the side. He turns around to face Jungkook, not realizing the flash from his camera stopped and that he was being recorded. …Not that he would mind much, he likes to be admired in any form, especially by the younger man. Jimin’s hand slowly traces down his chest and taut abs, over his clothed cock, which is now beginning to strain uncomfortably against the fabric. He glides his hand over his length torturously slow, relaxing his face, closing his eyes—completely lost in the moment.

The red light flashing on the photographer’s camera indicates that he’s still shamelessly recording—the content is nothing but the most valuable thing he will ever own. ...Except for the man himself.

“You’re driving me crazy , Jimin…” Jungkook hisses through his teeth, now holding the camera with one hand as the other unbuttons his shirt, growing hot. “You’re doing so well,” he praises and he becomes impatient with the buttons, opting to simply rip the shirt open. Buttons scatter on the floor around him, exposing the middle of his torso as he lets the shirt hang from his shoulders. Never once do his eyes leave Jimin as the camera pans out to get the full view of the blonde touching himself—every expression saved into a digital memory for him to keep.

Throwing caution to the wind, Jimin strokes deliberately, snaking his hand underneath the waistband to wrap around his shaft. “F-feels good…” he whines. He opens his eyes and stares hungrily at the sight before him—Jungkook, camera in-hand, looking a hot mess with his shirt torn open. He no longer cares about breaking rules. They’ve broken one too many rules in their partnership already, what’s another? “Want to see?” He asks, slowly peeling the fabric lower with his other hand.

Jungkook peeks over his camera, eyes blown wide with need. The slow tease is tortuous, but he absolutely loves it. “Yes, take it off.” His eyes flicker between Jimin’s, roaming down his body until it lands on where the elders hand is hiding. Kook licks his lips in anticipation as his free hand now palms his own aching bulge, camera still held high to capture every single second of the scene in front of him. “Hurry.”

Jimin tugs the waistband low, gripping his hard cock in his hand, silver rings gliding over the sensitive skin. The briefs fall to the floor and are carelessly kicked off. It’s entrancing to see how eager Jungkook is for him, boosting Jimin’s confidence as he quickens his pace, using the dewey beads of precum to ease the glide. It wasn’t a mistake Jimin requested red wine—the rich liquid always makes him shameless and bold enough to do things he wouldn’t normally. He moans aloud, just for the photographer.

Jungkook’s bottom lip is clamped between his teeth with heavy breaths forcing their way through his nose. His chest heaves up and down slowly. The sounds coming from Jimin are sinful, and it drives the younger man closer towards madness.

How long could he go without craving his touch? The answer is simple. Not long at all.

“Baby....” The pet name naturally slips through Kook's teeth as his tattooed hand squeezes the prominent outline of his length, drawing out a low moan of his own. “Come here,” he nudges with his chin towards the open space on the floor between his manspread, eyes burning with need for the blonde.

No questions asked, right?

Never one to argue with the creative flow of a visionary, Jimin dutifully sits on his knees, resting his smaller frame between Jungkook’s parted thighs. He leans forward and presses his pout against the hardworking tattooed hand, flicking his tongue out to trace circles along the ink. “Yes, sir,” he muffles, lapping hot open-mouthed kisses down the hand until he snakes a finger between his thick lips. He wants Jungkook to know exactly what he can have—no questions asked.

A series of breathy curses slip through Jungkook’s lips as he stares down at Jimin, aiming his camera for a good closeup of the man’s lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. He leans back just a bit to get a better view, replacing the finger teasing between Jimin’s lips with his thumb and resting the rest of the fingers underneath his chin. “Your lips are so pretty,” he praises, swiping the pad of his thumb across Jimin’s upper lip—the pout being one of his favorite features.

“Thank you, sir,” Jimin whispers before sliding the thumb into his mouth, curling his tongue around it. He wets the digit well and pulls back, releasing it with a pop. He stares up at the man with wide lustful eyes, looking directly into the camera lens. “Please…,” he pauses, nipping his lip, “Please let me suck your cock, sir. I want to taste you.”

Jungkook feels like his breath is constantly forced out of his lungs everytime Jimin opens his mouth...he’s that fucking entranced by the man. Whatever he did to end up in this very moment, he’s grateful. The grip around his camera is tightening, internally swearing that if he were to squeeze it any tighter, it would threaten to burst in his hand. He slightly shakes at the tension built up in his body. “Go on, then. Take it out.” His lips curled up in a small smile, withdrawing his hand to let it settle on his thigh as he waits for the blonde to get to work. “It’s all yours.”

Jimin nearly drools at the sight before him, ignoring the ache in his own lap for Jungkook’s permission to touch. Now fully hard, every inch of the younger man is visible through the thin fabric of his underwear. The model firmly digs his shaking fingers under Jungkook’s waistband at both sides and tugs down until the length springs free, standing tall against his abdomen. There really are no words Jimin can use to articulate his excitement, so he shows it with his hands and skillful mouth. He delicately wraps his hand around Jungkook’s fat cock and strokes him just as he would himself, working him up and down gradually. He flattens his tongue against the underside and draws it up painfully slow, holding his eyes on the lens the whole time. Old habits die hard—he can’t help but be a bit of a tease even when he suffers just as much.

“Ah, fuck…” Jungkook’s thigh muscles tense. Automatically, his body reacts with greed before he’s able to control his impulses, hips twitching upwards to chase for friction. “Don’t tease,” he says with a stern tone, letting his free hand tangle in Jimin’s blonde curls. He tugs lightly to bring him closer towards his length, hoping to draw out some whines in the process.

“Mm…Y-yes, sir,” Jimin breathes, wrapping his lips around Jungkook’s large reddened tip. The sting in his roots from the younger’s grip tingles throughout his entire body. To be controlled by this man in a professional setting is exhilarating all on it’s own, but in this context…it feels electrifying . He wants to worship this man on his knees for all eternity, fighting to swallow around his punishing length.

‘yes, sir’ —the two words Jungkook never knew he wanted to continuously hear tumble from Jimin’s lips over and over until now. It makes him feel powerful, and he is... He’s one of the most powerful men in the industry, and he can have anything he wants by the simple wave of his hand, but this ... It beats every piece of wealth he could ever possess. His control over the man who had willingly dropped to his knees to please...now that was priceless. “What a good boy..” Jungkook purrs, inching the camera lens closer to Jimin’s face. The focus for this shot will be the way his length sinks deeper into the elders mouth at the photographer’s demand, in the form of a hand pushing the back of his neck. “‘Let’s see how much you can take.”

Jimin glows under the praise. He feels even needier by the sounds he was drawing from above, driven to make Jungkook fill his large house with only the sounds of pleasure he was administering. He braces himself clumsily on Jungkook’s inner thigh for leverage as his mouth begins to get fucked into. On queue, Jimin hallows his cheeks for a tight suction as he quickens his pace, making the younger grip his hair even harder, guiding his head exactly where he wants it.

Beads of sweat start to form on Jungkook’s temples, trickling down as he’s practically taking control; the grip on the blonde’s curls tighten further. “So good…” Jungkook drops the camera to the floor with a loud thud, with no regard to whether it would break or not. He wants to indulge in the reality of the situation, letting both his hands control Jimin’s head as hips fuck his cock down his throat. Jungkook throws his head back, lips parting in heavy breaths and moans that constantly slip through them. With every groan, the adam's apple underneath his clammy skin bobs. “Shit, you’re everything …”

Jimin focuses on shallow breaths, uncontrollably swallowing around Jungkook’s cock as it slides past his gag reflex. Without the camera to perform to, Jimin’s glazed eyes stare up, directly at Jungkook. Just seeing his sweat-dampened skin, his parted lips, and hearing the erotic sounds that escape them is enough to let Jimin know just how close he’s getting. Jimin fumbles to wrap his hand around his own length, struggling to resist any longer.

Indulging in the moment for as long as humanly possible, Jungkook continuously thrusts into Jimin’s mouth until he feels the familiar heat pooling in his lower abdomen. The muscles in his thighs tense up with every slick stroke against the blonde’s tongue. “I’m g-gonna cum soon…” He stutters out his breathy words, head bending forward to get a good look of Jimin desperately trying to please him. The grip in the model’s hair loosens slightly to let him work on his own length. “Keep going,’’ Jungkook says as he reaches for the fallen camera on the floor. Video is still recording as he guides the lens back to focus on Jimin’s pouty lips and glazed eyes. “A little more… Use your hands, wanna cum on your face…”

Those last words make Jimin jump in his skin, swirling his tongue around Jungkook sloppily with wet smacks and stroking himself faster in tandem. It has to be perfect—every fibre of his being sings to please the young photographer and give the performance of a lifetime. His own skin beads with sweat as he works himself up to finish, even harder at the promise of feeling Jungkook’s hot cum on his face.

The crease between Jungkook’s eyebrows become more and more prominent with every passing second, watching Jimin through his camera lens once again, feeding his obsession further. His hips start to tense and jut upwards for even more friction. “Wait, wait, f-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” He hisses out, not giving Jimin much time to make a show out of it. Instead the younger presses his hand against Jimin’s neck to force him further down on his knees, allowing his cock to pop out of his mouth. He quickly grabs a hold of his length and strokes himself right in front of Jimin’s face, letting the tip graze the soft, damp pout. A loud, drawn out moan follows the moment Jungkook cums. His hand shakily records his next piece of art; Jimin’s face covered in himself.

The model closes his eyes as he feels the first pat of cum hit his lips. Out of instinct, his tongue darts out to lick it away; salt and musk coating his taste buds. More spurts tap his face and gleam under the studio lights, making the beauty even more picturesque, painted just for Jungkook. “Mm…thank you,” he breathes, voice breaking into a whimper. He opens his eyes, face shining in the younger’s release, wanting to give him the best shot possible. However, Jimin never stops touching himself and begins to break. “F-fuck—“ A strangled moan catches in his tender throat as his hand continues to work steadily. He looks up at Jungkook with stars in his eyes and damp lips parted, begging for his own release. “ Please , sir…wanna cum too.” He edges himself, barely touching his hard cock until he receives permission from the victor. “…m-may I, please?”

Jungkook quickly gathers himself, sobered from his release, which only made this so much better. He’s able to properly focus on the man, on his knees beneath him. He gently gives his own length a slow stroke, quietly exhaling from the oversensitivity. “You may, you’ve been nothing but a good boy,” he coos, suddenly standing from his seat and pulling his pants back up. He pushes the stool aside before dropping to his knees in front of Jimin, getting a perfect view of the wrecked mess—a blonde angel. “Cum on the floor,” he instructs, focusing the camera lens on the way Jimin’s face distorts with pleasure.

Jimin nods dutifully and bites his lip in response to the praise. He relinquishes all power to the younger man; drunk and so incredibly weak from pent-up lust. With Jungkook’s permission and explicit instructions, Jimin leans forward and braces his palm on the floor while the other picks up the pace. He barely has to touch himself, he’s already so close to breaking. A string of curses escape his throat as he doubles over and breathes heavily, moaning aloud and stroking himself until he shakes. “C-cumming… fuck ..” His muscles spasm and contract—cum pooling on the floor beneath him. He sits back on his heels and looks up at Jungkook, exhausted and damp with sweat, cock twitching in his palm.

“ Wow …” Jungkook stares in awe, the same way he’d look at Jimin during their photoshoots. It doesn’t matter what state the blonde is in; he could be put together and styled to perfection, or a fucked out, sweaty mess beneath him with a face glistening in cum. It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s perfection . “You’re incredible…” the photographer breathes out as he pans the zoom, getting a full image of the scene on his recording. Jungkook reaches out to swipe his thumb across the elders cheek and gathers some of his cum before bringing it to Jimin’s lips, urging him to lick his finger clean. “Look at the mess you’ve made on my floor…” he says coyly, as if he wasn’t the one who instructed Jimin to do so, “Clean it up, will you? With your tongue.”

Jimin’s dextrous tongue snakes around Jungkook’s thumb, sucking it into his mouth sweetly before releasing it, completely cleaned of the sticky mess. The next request was past a boundary Jimin hadn’t pushed, but felt so eager to cross. He had a hunch the younger man was kinky behind closed doors, but he didn’t expect his mind to be pure filth. He loves discovering more about him. “Yes, Sir,” he nods again and levels himself to the floor on hands and knees, bent over like an obedient dog. He laps a rope of his own release onto his flattened tongue, pulling it up to allow Jungkook to record it going into his mouth, slowly, closing his eyes. Moans and wet laps fill the silence until the floor is sparkling clean, without a trace of his warm cum. He wonders what else he has yet to discover about the man that is perhaps even more sinister and degrading than what took place tonight in his mansion. “All clean.”

Jungkook is lost in his own world through the lens, making sure he captures everything in an angle that he knows will drive him absolutely mad later, as he will likely replay the content over and over. He hums in approval as he reaches out to grasp Jimin’s jaw between his fingers, squeezing his cheeks to amplify the pout of those plushy lips. “Good boy.” He praises, finally turning the camera off and placing it on the floor to give his full attention. “There’s one more thing that I want before we’re done for today,” he murmurs, slowly inching closer to the angel, “want to kiss you.”

“Mm,” Jimin hums at the mere idea of Jungkook tasting him on his lips. “Kiss me,” he permits, melting into his touch, leaning forward to close the distance himself. It’s timid and slow, almost more intimate than sucking his cock. Jimin parts his lips to take him in deeper, needing to be closer, letting Jungkook guide the way. His mind is swimming, still drunk and coming down from his euphoric state. It feels like the perfect wrap-up after a tiring shoot. Yet, it feels much more than a reward for a job well-done. Perhaps it’s the glimmer of childlike innocence in Jungkook’s eyes that make Jimin’s heart pool in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he needs this more than he thought he would. He has all the attention he could ever want in the world of fashion, but he hasn’t felt this appreciated in a long time.

Jungkook’s hand moves to gently cup the elders cheek, drawing him closer into the kiss as he lets his lips slowly explore the other male’s. A little cautious at first, but quickly, he starts to move more naturally against Jimin’s lips, already growing addicted to the feeling. They’re silky smooth, plump, like a kiss from an angel itself. Fuck… Jungkook is whipped. “Would you like a bath before bed?” He casually asks; the domestic feel of his words are completely unfitting for the situation, yet...not. He leans in for another chaste kiss, unable to keep himself away for too long now that he’d gotten a taste.

“Before…bed…” Jimin’s words trail quietly as he didn't expect to be staying much longer, let alone overnight. Hell, he didn’t expect a lot of things to happen past his fumbling attempt to beat the younger man at his own game—Overwatch. Even then, he should attribute most of what happened to his poor handling of a controller. He could only imagine what would have happened if he accepted the offer of sugary banana milk in place of red wine. “O-kay,” he solidifies, stumbling over his words, suddenly shy under the kindness being bestowed upon him. He seals his answer with a kiss, full lips lingering on the other man’s and breathing in the intoxicating scent of cologne and natural musk. He’s in no shape to go home anyhow. The relaxing offer of a bath felt so good after the day he had.

Jungkook pulls back from the kiss to get up on his feet, effortlessly lifting Jimin within the same motion as he snakes his arm around the elder’s hip. Without a word, he guides the two of them towards the grand bathroom upstairs, paying no mind towards the maid throwing small glances from the hallway where she’s cleaning. She’s never seen the young Jeon Jungkook bring such company to his home before, so the obvious look of surprise was hard to miss. A s the door closes behind them, the younger man prepares to fill up the bathtub with hot water. He pours in some bubbles with a mild fresh scent– because, well, he loves bubbles. His childlike bunny smile widens as he turns around. “Get in, I’ll wash you.”

Jimin gives him a small smile in response and steps into the warm water. It envelops him as he slides in, soothing and fragrant like Jungkook’s long fluffy hair. It’s a calming scent that Jimin now associates with the photographer, reminding him of the studio couch where they first sat close. Jimin is small in the lavish tub—it’s almost comical how the large bubbles nearly reach his chin. He’s still sobering but already feels much less drunk cradled in the calming water. But one important element is missing— “You wanted to wash me, Jeon?” Jimin tongues his red plushy lip and nods for Jungkook to join him in the tub. “Plenty of room for us both…”

Jungkook nods eagerly as he gets rid of the clothes covering his body, throwing them off to the side before stepping inside the tub to sink down behind Jimin. The bubbles rise with the added body into the water. “See it as a reward for being so good to me.” He praises, reaching out for the shampoo bottle to squirt a generous amount into his hand. He inhales the scent. It’s his favorite, and now the blonde would smell like it too. It’s almost as if he’s marking the elder once more in small ways. He gently starts to massage the shampoo into Jimin’s scalp, taking his time to cover every inch of the gorgeous locks. Jungkook loves to touch him, he can’t get enough.

The blonde’s eyes flutter shut, “Mm feels so good…thank you.” He leans back into Jungkook’s chest, allowing each of his muscles to go slack as the pleasurable sensation of fingers running through his hair puts him at ease. This is all very, very new to Jimin, but he’s quickly getting used to it. The slow and rhythmic motion gives him time to reflect on the day. “Do you think the show went well without me?” Jimin speaks openly, eyes still closed. Today’s event was just another critical component of his project and can’t help worrying that he may have jeopardized it by leaving early. Deep down, especially in this moment with Jungkook’s lean body pressing against his back, it’s hard to have regrets.

“You showed up, that’s all you needed to do,” Jungkook reassures with a soothing voice. His long fingers comb through the blonde curls until there’s a decent amount of lather builds up. When he deems it enough, he leans back further and pushes Jimin down gently. “Sink down further please, let me wash this off…”

Jimin slides his slick and soapy body further down into the water and cradles his head in the curve of Jungkook’s chest. At this angle, all he has to do is open his eyes to watch adoringly as the younger man combs his hands through his hair. He’s so relaxed at this point, accepting every bit of care with a contented sigh. Jimin smiles meekly, “How are you so good at this? Plenty of practice, I assume?”

The younger cups water into his hand as he washed off the suds, gently running his fingers through Jimin’s hair in the process. He smiles, nose scrunching up as he shakes his head. “No, it’s a first for me. I’ve seen it in movies, though,” he admits as the grin on his lips widens in light embarrassment. He finishes rinsing the blonde’s hair clean, then snakes his arms around his torso to pull him closer against his own. The intimacy is just as good, if not better, then the things that went down earlier.

“You’re a natural,” Jimin compliments, resting against his chest fully, “and so comfortable.” He turns his head to look up at Jungkook and admire the glowing sheen of sweat that tickles down his strong neck, over his collarbones. God, he really is beautiful. Jimin can’t wait to tailor a suit for the man, making good on his promise earlier. Every angle of his body deserves to be hugged tight. As the hot bath water cools, Jimin begins to feel very sleepy—the long day finally catching up. Trailing shortly behind, Jungkook also began to feel sleepiness creep up on him. However, he still gives himself a few minutes of comfortable silence to simply enjoy feeling Jimin skin to skin. “Hm..” He hums in content, eyes drinking in the pretty boy beneath him, “Alright… Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow’s a long day.” Jungkook gets up to his feet with water trickling down his body, then reaches down to help Jimin up as well. He steps out of the tub and grabs two bathrobes, handing one to the elder to get warm, then guides him to his room.

Just as Jimin settles into the bathrobe, thinking it’s the cosiest thing he had ever slipped his naked body into, he sits on Jungkook’s large bed and discovers it’s even cosier. Luxe sheets, with a thread count over 500. It isn’t something the model has dabbled in; impressing that the younger man has a taste for such things. He notes that any article of clothing made for him must be of the highest quality—no exceptions. Positively high on cloud nine, Jimin settles deeper into the bed and wonders where Jungkook ran off to. No doubt tipping the maid to keep quiet.

Jungkook returned to his studio to pick the camera off the floor. He brings it with him as he inspects the content, shameless of the sounds of Jimin’s moans and his own praises echoing, mindlessly going to the kitchen to grab himself a trusted banana milk before bed. His eyes sparkle at the video. The touch of the elder is still fresh. Hell, he’s literally upstairs in his bed. Slowly, he saunters back towards the bedroom with a camera in hand and a banana milk straw in his mouth. His gaze lifts to see his maid stand in the hallway, trying her best to seem unfazed by the lewd sounds coming from his device. “Isn’t his voice just sweeter than any other?” Jungkook smirks at the maids reaction. Obviously nodding out of respect. “Yeah… I want to keep him,” he mutters, “Make sure there’s breakfast ready in the morning.” He pays the maid no more attention before stepping inside his bedroom with the camera turned off. He places it on the nightstand along with the empty milk container, slipping out of his robe to slide under the covers next to Jimin and immediately wrapping his strong arms around him to hold close. “Missed me?’‘

“Mhm...” Jimin’s voice tapers, already partially asleep. “Missed me , Jeon?” He pushes his ass into the curve of Jungkook’s hips and feels the heat of his groin radiating into his bare flesh. His cocky confident attitude slowly returning as the alcohol burns from his system. Yet, he’s too restless to push any further. It feels good to be a bit of a tease right before bed, but he has his limits. “I’ll dream about you...,” Jimin mumbles into the pillow, muscles relaxing and eyes falling shut, “...Sir.”

Jungkook presses his nose to Jimin’s blonde curls and inhales the scent, which is now a mix between natural musk and his own shampoo. “Sleep well, butterfly,” he whispers, hugging Jimin tight as he too feels his body ache for sleep.

After a while of just...enjoying the moment, sleep finally finds Jungkook as well.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #jungkook x jimin #jikook #yandere bts #bts mxm #jikook smut #jungkook smut #jimin smut #bts smut #bts mxm smut #sombreboy #chimoona #boymeetsmxm

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xgoldentigerlilyx · 4 years

Text

Here I am, another fan drabble for @themetaphorgirl and her AU Patron Saints of Lost Causes! This is where you can find all of the Information about this wonderful story!

I thought I could stop myself after Hypochondriac and Saved for a Rainy Day, but i had another cute idea and wanted to bring it to life. Thanks to Caitlin for letting me write this, and it may not be as perfect as her fantastic writing but I love it! Enjoy!

(I may have also gotten a bit carried away)

Penelope’s Plan

Word count: 2.3k

Rainy day crafts

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“My, Chocolate Thunder! I’ve never been in your room before! Let me guess, you’ve got a few football posters, and at least one sock on your bed right now?” Penelopeasked Derek, her left arm linked through his and her right arm tapping her chin inquisitively with a playful smile.

“Spencer Reid! You’re room!” Penelope exclaimed, dropping Derek’s arm and walking slowly to Spencer’s bookshelf, and looked around the barren walls and shelves of his side of the room. Derek went to stop her from speaking, knowing from the look on Spencer's face that he didn’t want anymore pity, especially one of the girls. Before Derek could stop her from the usual probing questions he got like ‘Where’s all of your things,’ or ‘You can’t even afford a proper blanket?’, she shushed Derek. “We need to decorate in here, stat! Tell me my dear boy genius, your favourite shows, books, colours, pets, everything!”

Once Penelope was satisfied with Spencer's answers, she flipped her new unicorn notebook shut and stuffed it into her small unicorn purse hanging by her side. “Alright kiddo, go back to reading your book. What do you even have enough time to read, anyways?” She asked curiously, the worn cover not providing her much insight.

Spencer picked to book back up, trying to find his previous page. “It’s War and Peace, I finally found it in its original Russian!” He smiled, proud of being able to find it in the library without Alex’s help.When Penelope nodded with a look of shock on her face, he presumed she had no interest if he started to explain it to her. So he turned his full attention back to the books, with the wonder of what she would be doing with this new found knowledge of him.

When Derek was done with his laundry, Penelope waved quickly to a zoned in Spencer and hastily pulled Derek out of the shared room, slamming the door behind her and continued to drag him to the library. Once sat down at a secluded corner, Penelope finally decided to answer Derek’s questions. “We need to make Spencer some crafts to decorate his side of the room. Now, throw me some ideas.” Penelope smiled, with her notebook out once more and her pen at the ready to start a brand new list. Derek raised a brow silently. Penelope groaned. “Come on. His room needs to be more Spencer! It looks like a hotel room on his side. It needs to be more like him if he’s going to be there all year!” She rambled her hands waving through the air as she talked.

“Alright, alright. Well, he likes books so maybe something to do with like, book pages? I don’t know. You should ask everyone else. And don’t give me that glare, baby girl! I’m just saying someone else may be a bit more insightful on how to help. My bet is on Alex.” Penelope’s glare dissolved, as she got the idea to go ask everyone in their little friend group. She stood from her chair, returned her notebook to her bag, and set off on her mission.

------------

She wandered for a bit, looking at all of their normal spots to find their friends. It was, afterall, a Sunday. Her first location, the amphitheater, was where she found Hotch and Emily with large textbooks open on their laps and stationary surrounding them. “Hello, my fine furry friends! I come seeking knowledge from all of my peers and hope you both can contribute!” The pair of juniors shared a nervous glance, before setting their textbooks aside for a moment.

“What’s up Pen?” Emily asked, and Penelope immediately smiled and retrieved her trusty notepad and sparkly pink pen.

She flipped the cover open while she spoke. “I need help finding ways to decorate Spencer's room. Poor thing doesn’t have a poster, decal, or even a picture that represents himself. So, and ideas?” She questioned, hopefully glancing between the two. They thought for a moment before sharing their answers.

“Well, you could make him one of those calendars with a new word a day or something.” Emily shrugged, thinking of the things Spencer likes.

“You can just ask him what he wants.” Aaron nodded, eyes drifting back to his books. Emily gave him a slight shove. “You know the kid, he doesn’t ask for anything. He would just deny that he needed anything.” She retorted, thinking back to the many times he had done that very thing.

Penelope nodded, and scribbled the viable suggestion next to Emily’s name, and added an ‘N/A’ to where Hotch’s name was listed. “Alright, off to the next friends! Thank you my favourite band of heroes!” Penelope thanked, and turned out of the amphitheater and back to the main campus.

“We need to get her drug tested.” Hotch announced to Emily.

-------------------------------------------------

Out in the soccer field is where she went next, and Penelope found JJ running drills alone while Blake and Rossi sat on the bleachers, talking and occasionally glancing over to a determined looking JJ. When they saw Penelope approaching, they sat up straight. When she reached them, she sat in front of them on a cold seat. “JJ! Sorry to interrupt Jayje, but this is important!” Penelope yelled to her blonde friend who grabbed a battered pink water bottle from beside her duffle bag and made her way over to the bleachers huffing and puffing. Penelope looked over to James and David with a worried expression. “Two hours,” James clarified to an exasperated Penelope, “And she only took a break when we asked her to, which was around an hour ago.” He explained, and hushed as JJ reached them.

She crashed into the empty seat beside Penelope and took another long drink. “What’s wrong? Is everything ok?” She questioned, her breathing returning back to normal and an expression of concern overtook the exhaustion. Penelope laughed.

“Of course, Jayje. Well, mostly.” Penelope turned her attention to all of them as one and continued. “I only just saw the dorm room of Dere-Bear and our little genius, and the lack of any flair from Spencer’s side of the room made me a new type of sorrow. So! I’m going from friend to friend looking for ideas to make for his room to add a little flair of him to his room!” She explained, a big grin on her face.

“You could make him one of those folded book sculptures?” JJ threw out, wiping some sweat off of her forehead.

“Hand drawing him a poster of a band he likes would be something he’d like, right?” James asked, looking to David who was nodding.

David thought for a moment while Penelope hastily wrote down the ideas, her pink pen scratching and scrawling on the page. “I’m sure the kid will like anything you do for him. Not like he has anyone in his life to make gifts like you do, Garcia.” David shrugged.

Penelope finished her quick note taking and once more closed and put away her notebook. She smiled and said, “Thanks for the help guys! I’ll keep you in the loop!”. She skipped her way off the soccer field, and JJ returned to the soccer field to continue her practice.

-------------------------------------------------

Alex sat in the library, reading a book and sneakily snacking on some of the pop-tarts she kept hidden in her desk. She heard the faint and growing sound of footsteps, so she closed the drawer with the secret snacks and went back to reading her book as normal. The doors opened, and Penelope’s eyes swept the library before her eyes found Alex at the main desk. Once she had her eyes set on her target, she walked with determination to a now amused looking Alex. She rested her elbow on a pile of old books waiting to be organized and announced, “Alex! Just the gal I was looking for!”.

Alex set her book down, noting the page as she did so. “What do you need, Garcia?” She asked, sitting back in the comfortable office chair.

“Well, our dear Baby Genius has no evidence of him even living in his room, and we need to spice it up a bit!” Penelope spoke enthusiastically and quickly of her grand idea once more to the person she thought to be the most helpful.

Alex stopped to think for a moment, processing Penelope’s words. “So you want my help?” She asked curiously, her mind already thinking of some small ideas.

Penelope nodded with a grin, and grabbed her trusted notebook and sparkly pen, and answered Alex’s question. “Well, of course! I do have some other ideas as well from the rest of our squad, but I bet you’ll have one really great idea! So, bounce some ideas!” she rambled on.

Alex had many ideas, but then the right one hit her. She smiled at Penelope and sat up. “I think I’ve got the perfect idea.”

-------------------------------------------------

That saturday was perfect for Penelope's plan, as it was a rainy and quiet day. She had been plotting since Tuesday on her master plan. She made them all a group chat. And asked who wanted to help her with some arts and crafts. She got a yes from all but David and Hotch (it isn’t that they didn’t want to help, it’s just that they insisted they were terrible at crafts) so she had a separate mission for them; to distract Spencer.

On that rainy Saturday morning, the plan was going perfectly. David and Hotch made up a story about how they needed to run into town to the bookstore for some book Hotch needed, and asked if anyone would like to join them. Spencer, being his book loving self, instantly agreed while everyone politely turned them down all with their own excuses.

“Oh, I’ll leave the books to Pretty Boy.’

“I have to finish that math assignment with JJ.”

“I would love to, but I picked up an extra library shift.”

So they set off into the town, and made sure to let Spencer ramble his heart out. And they took him out for ice cream just so the crafters had enough time to get everything done.

Meanwhile, everyone got started on their projects. Penelope had an extensive, almost obsessive collection of craft supplies, and some old books free to mutilate if anyone needed them. They all got their hands working, and by the end of their rainy day craft session, everyone was covered in purple glitter from when Derek dropped the glitter shaker in front of the hair dryer being used to dry some paint. But alas, they all had completed their gifts and now just had to place them for when the boys got back from their distraction trip.

-------------------------------------------------

Spencer opened the door to his dorm room, clutching an armful of books and an empty bowl with some melted ice cream remainaints. “Derek! You wouldn’t BELIEVE how many books are in the store just beside the craft shop! David let me get so-” He cut himself off as he went to dump his books on his bed.

The first thing he noticed was the cluster of people in his small room. Penelope with Derek on his respective bed, JJ and Emily on Spencer's bed, and Alex standing beside his priorly barren wall. “Woah…” He mumbled to himself, looking to his new decorations. A miniature replica of the TARDIS made of popsicle sticks and adorned with blue glitter sat on his bedside table. A small piece of paper with a purple glittery book leaned against the TARDIS. A homemade Lerner&Lowe poster was taped to his headboard, and on his bookshelf was a book flipped with the spine facing in. But instead of regular pages, they were folded (slightly crooked) to look like the Death Star. And the thing that took up the most space was a tree made from construction paper taped on the wall. But on each branch there was a name of someone in their friend group, a short message, and a picture of them. The top of the tree had the words ‘Our Family’.

Spencer’s eyes were watering as he finished taking all of it in. Dave and Aaron stood behind him, resting on the sides of the doorframe and watching like everyone else was. He sniffled, and wiped his eyes quickly. He was overwhelmed, but in the best way. After taking a moment to collect himself from the shock and awe, everyone stayed in their room for the rest of the day until supper, just hanging out before they had to regroup in the cafeteria for supper.

Penelope was glad her plan had the desired effect, and everyone was content with seeing Spencer happy.

-------------------------------------------------

#patron saints of lost causes #criminal minds #themetaphorgirl #psolc #criminal minds au #sorry for the formatting #wrote this on my laptop #hope you enjoyed #tried so hard to keep them all in character #:)

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mycophobian · 4 years

Text

Femboy Hooters - Rhink

The two men both were browsing their phones after their afternoon meeting. Sitting on opposite sides of a smaller round table in comfortable leather couches. Link had his slim legs crossed. It always fascinated Rhett how the man could sit comfortably like that. Link always sat in weird positions, it almost had a femininity to it.

Rhett like to browse reddit and twitter, oftentimes stumbling upon memes and occassionly some more inappropriate fandom related things. He likes researching and digging deeper into things, so naturally he had read a fanfic or two. Or three.. actually, he had read so many at this point he could no longer count them. But he didn't really talk about this much. It was mostly for the jokes.

There was something about that portion of fans of theirs however, the ones who shipped them, that made him feel comfortable in coming to terms with his will to explore sexually. It was like he could do it without the effort - and most importantly, in silence.

The bearded man had stumbled upon memes of Hooters before. He wasn't by any means involved in the fad culture of the internet but he just couldn't help but get weirdly attached to this concept of male maids at a Hooters restaurant. Alot of the art was of incredibly feminine boys in the classic Hooters outfit. Ofcourse alot of them were of furries, he didn't quite understand them. But the art was oddly hot regardless.

As he once again scrolled by one of these 'Femboy Hooters' memes, he locked his phone and looked up at Link.

"Do you remember the Hooters restaurant incident the summer of 98?" He asked with a light giggle.

Link chuckled back. "What? Yeah? How on earth did you just come to think of that all of a sudden?"

"It was so bad man."

"I'd appreciate if we didn't bring this up at all. Let's just remove these memories."

"It was never my thing anyways."

Rhett knew Link always got off going to a Hooters restaurant, but they didn't do it once more since that time. They both got thrown out. Rhett however was never into it even if he really tried to. Link was visually uncomfortable bringing this topic up. "I grew up, I'm ashamed and I wished that day in particular did not exist. I get it's fun and silly to talk about man, but please drop this." Link swallowed.

The tone and tension shifted in a second. "Did you see about-"

"Yeah, yeah." Link interrupted him. He knew exactly what he was aiming at. The newly opened gay Hooters restaurant.

"Internet is crazy man. People made a GoFundMe for this."

"Whatever man. Just drop this."

Rhett knew Link always became uncomfortable about male sexuality in general. He decided to drop the subject.

"See you on monday then." Link waved goodbye with the carkeys in his hand.

"Take care." Rhett replied before entering his own car. He took a moment to check his phone again. He looked over his shoulder and around him as if someone could potentially be spying on him. Jessie and the kids were going on a trip this weekend and he wasn't following. This was a perfect time for him to relax.

He tapped on his phone, putting something into google and opened up maps. He placed the phone on the holder infront of him and drove off. He passed by the Femboy Hooters restaurant and inspected it from a distance for a couple of minutes before actually making his way home.

At the McLaughlins it was quiet and empty. Not even Barbara was home with him. He enjoyed the silence sometimes, it helped him with regaining energy. For now his thoughts were consumed with fantasies about the Femboy Hooters restaurant. He tried to gain courage enough to actually have a night out for himself. The bearded man was resting on top of the sheets in the king sized bed. He could hear the clock ticking as he just stared into the ceiling. Rhett knew that if he were going to the Hooters restaurant he needed to do so discretely. If even one person recognises him, that meant the whole internet would soon do the same. To be fair he had no idea what impact that could have on his career, but he decided not to dwell on that.

It was close to 7pm and Rhett just came out of the shower, drying his dark blonde locks. He trimmed his beard, brushed his teeth and dressed up. He was ready to leave, putting on a brown leather jacket.

After about a 40 minute drive he parked the car outside of the wooden building on the lot. A big orange neon sign graced the front of the building. He exited the car and hunched insecurely as he approached the entrance. He stopped at the door and took a deep breath before actually opening and going inside. It was almost fully seated, he found a table that was a bit aside and sat down by it.

His heart was pounding. He took a moment and checked his surroundings. Attractive men in the same Hooters outfits that he could remember. Many of them looked very feminine. The shorts were tight and short and they all wore white crop tops. Surprisingly there seemed to be men and boys of various ages. Some seemed to be 18, and some over 40. He could already notice that there were more diversity in this restaurant than in any original Hooters.

The tense man was still hunched at the table. Sure Rhett was excited but he was also incredibly insecure. Something that one maid must have noticed as he approached Rhett's table.

"Welcome to Femboy Hooters, sir. I'm maid Jaden. First visit?" The curvy, extroverted boy smiled sweetly at him.

Rhett just nodded slightly and couldn't for the life of him keep eye contact with the maid.

"Don't worry, honey. You'll soften up after you've tried our special wings." The boy winked at Rhett.

Rhett looked up at the very pretty boy briefly before flinching his eyes immediately as if he was doing something illegal. It was a pale man with long, straight, ginger hair and thick lashes. "I-I'll take one of those, then." He replied.

"Sure thing! Drink?" The boy was posing while writing in his notes.

"Uhh.. I'll just take a sparkled water."

"Anything else?"

"I'm good."

"Great! Just 15 minutes, honey." The boy bowed quickly and smiled warmly at Rhett before leaving.

Rhett exhaled and rubbed his face. After what felt like several hours, a different maid approached him. It took a little while before he could actually look at the man's face, but he could already see this person was both taller and tanner than Jaden.

"Good evening, sir. I'm maid Charlie." The man introduced himself while placing the food on the table. "Sorry, I had to stick in for Jaden, sir. I'll be serving you for the rest of the evening." He chuckled and smiled.

Rhett furrowed his brows and his eyes twitched as he heard the voice. He grabbed the menu infront of him in an attempt to hide behind it. "Mhm." He mumbled.

"Enjoy your food sir! How's your experience with us so far?" The maid rested on one leg and leaned a bit to the side.

Rhett did not answer. He was sweating cold.

"... wait.. Rhett..?" The maid, who turned out to be Link, broke his femboy character as he saw his best friend.

Rhett stared into the menu, then looked up at Link in disbelief.

"What on earth are you-? You work here?!"

Links face flushed red. "You visit here?!"

The two men just stared into eachothers eyes before Link was abruptly pulled away, being needed in the kitchen. He looked back at Rhett a couple times before disappearing. Rhett's cheeks felt hot. He eyed the food that was just served to him, but he couldn't bring himself to eat it. His apetite was completely lost at this point.

He rose, placing a hundred dollar bill on the tray before walking out of the restaurant and made his way back to his car. He grabbed the wheel and stared down on his lap. After a couple of minutes he drove off.

The tension in the studio on monday morning will be different.

#rhink #fanfic #ficlet #femboy hooters #my work #my art

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ngame989 · 5 years

Text

“Soul” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 9

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox

Editing: @ubercelloczar, @toxicpsychox, @seddm

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: It's that time of the year for another Soulrise, and Tom throws Marco the birthday bash of a lifetime to celebrate, but Marco realizes that underneath all the joy and celebration Tom has a storm of emotions brewing inside. When Star gets dragged into some mysterious mission on the surface, it's up to Marco to realize just what's been bothering his demon friend.

Comic Page

Masterpost

And we're back with another chapter! Things are ramping up a bit, and we have plans for probably the next dozen chapters in the works already with a few special events in the mix. Thanks for sticking around, and stay tuned for more. Hope you enjoy!

“A little to the left.” Tom hovered above the door and moved a massive cloud of dark blue balloons slightly over in the wrong direction, glancing up at her to check. “My left, honey.” He nodded and shifted them back. A little more, a little more, and… “There. Nice work, Tommypoo,” Wrathmelior affectionately growled in her native tongue while reaching down to rustle her smiling son’s hair. When Tom suggested throwing a party for a friend she hadn’t met yet, the same boy who had been the subject of quite a few mother-son heart-to-hearts in years past, some old concerns had bubbled up in the back of her mind. But she couldn’t bear saying no for long, and it wasn’t long until she was more than happy to volunteer the Lucitor lake house for the occasion.

Tom’s enigmatic friend Janna popped her head out the front door with a sly grin that would put many of the devils Wrathmelior personally knew to shame. “Yo Tommypoo, can I get a hand at the snack table?”

All three of his eyes popped open and cast intense glares back and forth between Janna and Wrathmelior. “You even taught her that?” he groaned incredulously at the latter.

Wrathmelior smiled apologetically. “Sorry, sweetie. She’s quite persuasive.” Janna had been spending enough time in the Underworld that Wrathmelior had given her a few crash courses in conversational demonic, enough to get by on her own when she tagged along with whatever Tom was doing in the kingdom. Though she was still difficult to figure out, they got along swimmingly. So many humans seemed either too scared or concerningly excited about the lava, wings, and horns they might encounter down below, and Janna’s cool enthusiasm was refreshingly welcome.

“Guilty as charged.” Janna pointed finger guns at Tom as he walked through the door and they disappeared into the house.

Wrathmelior went into the more appropriately sized entrance into the kitchen, where by the time she arrived Tom and Janna were putting out plates and napkins. Her husband was there as well and had apparently been receiving a cooking lesson from Star for some time now, judging by the lecture she was giving him. “-can’t do this too early or the chips will get totally mushy and gross. Crunchy chips, molten cheese, crisp pico - all required elements for any Marco-approved nachos.” Star instructed before bending down to grab a tray full of chips out of the oven, setting it down on the counter next to the other supplies. “If you pour juuuuuust right, the cheese will get all in between the chips so you get a little with every bite.” Dave solemnly followed her work as the jumbo bowl was filled with a quantity of triangle chips, yellow goop, and vegetables that gave even the full-sized demon pause. “Voilà! Star’s Super Spectacular Nachos!” Everyone grabbed a sample chip, and just as she said, a little bit of everything seemed to work its way through the dish.

“Mmmmph,” Dave grunted. “These are good. Star, can you teach the castle staff how to make this marvelous thing?”

“Honestly, I’m not that good at it, Marco and I have just been cooking a ton lately. Campus food is both really expensive and really crummy.” Star stuck her tongue out in disgust. While the others, Wrathmelior included, tried and failed to stop eating, Star wandered through the living room and looked around at all the decorations and party games that had been set up, her grin only growing wider as she did.

Tom leaned against the stairs with his hands in the pockets of his teal shorts, smirked as he coolly observed the room. “We are preeeeetty good party planners, aren’t we?”

“Aww yeah we are!” Star skipped over and bumped shoulders with Tom. “But honestly this was mostly you. Marco’s gonna love it.”

“You think?” Tom’s cocky demeanor fell away to the earnestness underneath. “Ah, it was nothing. I mean, sure, we’ve got a private beachfront property, the most state of the art ping-pong tables in the world, a live Love Sentence cover band… I mean, who wouldn’t do this for their friend’s 17th birthday?”

Janna slurped the stretchy cheese off her last chip before chiming in from the kitchen. “You’ve been spending, like, every waking moment on it, dude. Feels like we haven’t even hung out in weeks, buuuut it is pretty cool. Remind me to call you when I’m in the mood to throw a grave rave.” He flashed a casual toothy smirk, but there was an extra glint in his eyes that caught Wrathmelior’s attention. Janna sauntered into the living room to join the others. “So what’s the special occasion, Tom?”

Whatever that look had meant, it was quickly replaced with sheer confusion. “Uh, Marco’s birthday? Did you get bit by a Hippocampotamus or something? Those things are nasty.”

The Earth girl rolled her eyes. “I mean why all the fuss? This is basically the one human teenage birthday that isn’t extra special.”

“Whatever. Just wanted to throw an ultra awesome party for one of my best friends because he’s a super cool guy.” He quickly averted his gaze, eyes drifting around the room until they stopped on the elegant family grandfather clock. “Probably about that time, ready for me to send you back?” he asked, glancing sideways at Star.

“Oooooone sec.” Star ruffled her hands through her hair, brushed sand out of her light blue blouse, and stuffed her sunhat and sunglasses into her purse. “Sand would blow my cover.” Pillars of fire erupted in the wide open area of the living room as Tom’s eyes glowed, and the familiar carriage he’d built himself once upon a time quickly spawned from the ground. “See you in a few!” Star climbed into the seat; one sizzling rush of air later and she was gone. The irony of Star using the vehicle Tom had delicately crafted once upon a time in the service of wooing her to pick up her human boyfriend wasn’t lost on Wrathmelior, but there was no point to harboring any negativity if Tom was happy with it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wrathmelior saw a smug Janna sneaking up behind Tom. He lightly shrieked when she slapped him on the back. “Good job, Lucitor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go set up the traditional Diaz prank. I’m pulling out all the stops this year.” When she opened her jacket, his eyes widened at the various weapons, gadgets, skulls, and animals hiding within. One of them stuck its furry head out. “I became the alpha possum just a few weeks ago. Scooter here can smell red hoodies through walls, isn’t that right?” She scratched the creature’s head before closing the olive jacket back up. “So, you want in?”

“Nah,” he scoffed, waving his hands dismissively. “You go ahead, do your thing. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of the master.”

“You flatter me. Suit yourself, see ya,” Janna shrugged and slinked off elsewhere in the cabin, leaving just the Lucitor family behind. Tom milled about the cabin making minute adjustments to the decorations and furniture, seemingly to kill time more than anything. What had him so worked up? There was no time for Wrathmelior to ponder this question, though, as a loud swoosh from the outside signalled the arrival of the carriage before she could even collect her thoughts.

Tom perked up and bolted out the door while Wrathmelior took the larger exit out the side. Just as the carriage doors opened, Tom snapped his fingers and summoned a black cloth, blinding the boy within whom she presumed to be Marco. “What the heck, man?” Marco curiously started the famous sword-hand dance, but Tom floated over and past him to peek into the chassis.

“Wait, where’s Star?”

“Moon needed her for a little bit, she said she’d be ready pretty soon but said I should go ahead. Can you get this thing off me?”

“Right, right, sorry,” he stuttered while fumbling with the knot until it came undone. “Anyway, welcome to the Lucitor family lake house!”

“Surprise!” The Lucitors spoke in unison, although Wrathmelior knew she wouldn’t be understood. “Happy birthday!”

His eyes widened in wonder at the massive quantity of balloons and the big sign that greeted him. “Wooooah, you guys, you didn’t have to!”

Tom put his arm around Marco’s shoulder and began walking him towards the door. “Don’t worry about it. Oh, Marco, meet my mom and dad, Queen and King Lucitor of the Underworld.”

“My pleasure, young man,” Dave warmly stated as he stepped forward to shake Marco’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Wrathmelior growled out with Dave translating.

Marco waved up at her, possessing the same unflinching assuredness that she’d noticed in Janna. “Tom’s told me a lot about you, thanks for having me. Just one question. Is there-”

“Ping-pong?” They said in unison, both their faces breaking into wide smiles before they’d even finished the word.

“If the brand-new Dropshot 720 DX model with real-time trajectory tracking and RGB paddles counts, sure.”

Marco excitedly grabbed Tom by the shoulders, shaking him back and forth. “With optional holographic crowd simulator?”

“Duh. Marco, please, I’m not an amateur.”

“What are we waiting for? The ping ain’t gonna pong itself.”

“We’ve got snacks and music and all sorts of other things, too. Ha, now I feel kinda silly, putting all this together and being the only one here when you show up. I totally understand if you want to go with Star instead, I’d never try to get in the way of, you know, the whole thing you two have.”

The human boy crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow in response. “Tom, you’re one of my best friends and you’re throwing me a ping-pong birthday party. If you think I don’t want to kick your butt until we’ve broken every last ping-pong ball in the kingdom, you’ve got another thing coming, buddy.” Both glanced down when his stomach loudly rumbled. “...but maybe, um, we start with the snacks.”

Wrathmelior cooed at the exchange as Tom wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulder and led him into the house. So much had changed in the past few years, both above and below ground. Even if her own home and kingdom had been affected to the same degree as those of the surface-dwellers though, none of it would compare in Wrathmelior’s eyes to what she’d seen out of her son. With the ample time she’d had to reflect since the state of the world settled down, she might even say that he’d been the more mature one between them. The last time she’d played doting demon mom over her son’s relationships had gone… regrettably, to say the least, and it had hurt like heaven when he broke the news of what had happened. Could anyone blame her for wanting things to work out with the girl he’d spent years chasing? Most shocking of all was that he hadn’t even talked to her about it beforehand. Before she could even realize it, he’d grown into a capable young Prince of the Underworld solving his problems all on his own.

“Surprise, Diaz!” The moment of solemn reflection was interrupted by Janna’s voice from inside the house followed by a series of crashes and girlish shrieks. “Go, Scooter, go!” As the chaos unfolded, she could hear Tom simultaneously laughing to the point of breathlessness and blasting fire to defend Marco.

While she still couldn’t help but worry that something seemed off with Tom today - a feeling compounded by how little experience she had not being the first one to know what might be going wrong in his life - it was surprisingly easy to push aside. With the friendships he had, she felt at ease knowing he could handle it.

***

“Lava snakes up above you, Tom!” Marco launched up into the sky with a flurry of sword strikes to stun the enemies while Tom floated over to cover. Tom’s mage dropped icicles from the ceiling to pin the first of the bosses to the ground for Marco to execute. “Thanks.”

Meanwhile, Janna’s character dropped a smokebomb and used the cover to sneak up and eliminate the ranged attackers with his shotgun. “These stupid alien crabs won’t stop spawning,” she growled.

“It’s fine, keep on them. Obsidian lizard to your right, Marco!”

One of Tom’s gifts to Marco had been Threat of Wet 2, the hit sequel to the original action game Threat of Wet. He initially hadn’t been sure if it would be his sort of game but it only took a few minutes of endless heart-pumping mob-slaughtering multiplayer action to be hooked. Even if he was having fun, he wasn’t great at it, judging by the amount of nervous sweat he had to wipe off his brow in a rare free moment between dodging deadly lasers and spikeballs. He used an uppercut to alley-oop the lizard into Tom’s laser blast before dashing and slashing through it for the kill.

“Little help?!?” Janna shouted, tossing a stun grenade at the ravenous pack of creepy jesters clawing at her and rolling under a fallen pillar to regroup with the team. The horde got distracted and chased after one of their mini fighter drones, giving the group a moment of respite.

“Last ones, I think,” Marco said with a grimace. “Not sure what the best move is here, they’ll obliterate me.”

Janna snapped a finger and pointed at Tom. “You think we can pull off Tamalebolge here?” Marco had no clue what she was talking about, but Tom’s mouth slowly widened into an eager grin as he apparently understood what she was trying to say. They nodded with conviction and turned back to the game.

“Set the smokescreens, I’ll get in position. Marco, just follow me.” He went along with it and hunkered his swordsman down between two clouds of smoke blocking their vision while Janna laid out more in a straight line with gaps in between. Janna maneuvered her character towards the spooky clowns and shot a single pellet at them to get their attention. Once they began charging over, Tom started unloading every spell he had while moving backwards in and out of smoke patches.

The clowns kept moving forward, but seemed to be stuttering in a way that prevented them from ever successfully landing a hit. In a moment of confusion while Marco tried to process it, he got bodyslammed into the ground and instantly killed. “You’re dead… that was embarrassing,” the game’s message on his corner of the massive screen in Tom’s media room taunted. What the heck were they up to, and why was it working?

“Almost… almost… no!” Tom’s thumb slipped on the controller and Marco could literally see the fire in his eyes at the mistake. At the last second Janna rolled under the legs of their enemies and stunned them just as they were about to slam, finishing them off and displaying a message to proceed to the next level. Their characters sauntered over to the exit and halted for a moment while Tom and Janna proudly hi-fived in celebration… and in the half-second they’d looked away, a thin blip of flame from a single floating wraith pierced through both, killing them instantly. “OH, COME ON!” Yep, this game certainly was unforgiving.

Janna busted out laughing and patted Tom on the shoulder. “Dude, take it easy, that was sick. You were right, this was pretty fun.”

“Told you.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what the heck is Tamalebolge?”

“There’s this place called Tamalebolge on the outskirts of the Underworld, we stopped there for lunch one day after Mom sent me to give a big box of eyeballs to the mayor there. Dunno why a town needed 10000 preserved eyeballs, but whatever.”

On the other side of the couch, Janna scoffed resentfully. “Lucky town.”

“Anyway, they had this tamale that was a bunch of layers that got spicier as you bit in, and it hurts because each time you hit one layer you let your guard down for the next so you get that burning feeling a bunch of times in a row. In one of our trips to the Librarinth we got cornered by some Decimatals and had the idea to put up a bunch of walls of fire, since they could-”

“Could never adapt to the fire because it wasn’t steady,” Marco finished with a hint of awe as the pieces clicked into place. “Dang, that’s really smart.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Janna exclaimed in a monotone, not even looking up from her phone. “Alright, Marco, what did Star say she was doing exactly? She hasn’t even asked for any pictures yet.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “Well, Moon said she needed to borrow Star for a bit, but that was a few hours ago so…” Suddenly the weirdness of Janna’s last statement - well, compared to the baseline he expected from her - struck him. “Wait, pictures?”

“Yeah, dude,” she coolly responded, leaning over Tom and showing him an album with… how many pictures of him was that exactly? 500? 1000? He looked away before any more could load to just stare in complete indignant shock at his friend. “Anytime we hang out without her, Star asks me to, like, take pictures of you and send them to her. You haven’t noticed by now? Damn, I’m just that good.” She smirked and twirled her phone around, blowing on it like a smoking gun before holstering it in her pocket.

Tom folded his arms and leaned forward to stare Janna down. “Really? Star asks you to do this?”

“Yes. Well, I started it first. And sent a new shot every few minutes for weeks. And now she’s so used to it that me not doing it makes her think we all got eaten by weresharks, so whenever I stop she always asks what’s wrong. So yeah, basically she asks for them.”

From Marco’s position reclined into one end of the sofa, Tom had to twist himself around to shoot Marco an incredulous look and nudge his attention towards Janna as if to beam “Are you really gonna just let that slide?“ directly into his brain. “Whatever, I’m used to it. The most surprising thing is that you actually, y’know, send them to Star."

Janna finally devoted her undivided attention on Marco for a few seconds, assessing him with her cold and enigmatic expression before sighing. “I already had them and Star’s madly in love with you for some reason so why not? What, Diaz, I’m not allowed to do nice things for my friends now?” Leave it to Janna to make being kind of normal and thoughtful still creepy and weird.

“You know what, I’m just gonna message her,” Marco said, walking out of the room to clear his head and pulling out his phone to check in on Star. She could certainly handle herself, especially with Moon there, but he was still curious what could be making her miss a lot of the celebration that she herself had helped set up. After he’d sent the first, he hastily added on a second asking if she needed him for anything. OK, so maybe a little worried. It surprisingly only took a second before his phone dinged with a response.

“Mina’s back. Long story, not what you think, we’re fine here 👍. Kinda crazy tho. 😵 Will tell you later. 😈 acting a bit strange, stay and try to see why? 🤔 Also have fun, it’s your party!!!!🎊🥳🎉🎈 Hopefully will be done soon, would never miss 👻rise with you 💕💞💏 Love you 😘🥰😻”

Mina? Every bone in his body wanted to leap into action, but Star knew her better than probably anyone; if she said there wasn’t a problem, he’d trust that. The fact that something was up with Tom, on the other hand, demanded attention. Was there something strange going on? It hadn’t occurred to him, but now that the idea had been planted in his head, Tom wasn’t the first person he’d have expected to go through all this trouble. He was a great and thoughtful guy, sure, but weeks of detail-oriented planning seemed... a bit out of place for him. Like Star said, though, he should still just enjoy the day and there’d be plenty of time to try and sleuth out whatever Star thought was going on.

“Hey, man,” Tom said as he poked his head around the corner. “We’re going surfing, wanna come with?”

“Sure Tom, just one tiny problem: the water here is lava-”

Tom only smiled wider in response. “Come on, you’ll see.” The two headed outside where Wrathmelior and Dave were sunba- uh, stalactitebathing, he supposed? Marco wasn’t sure what the point was underground but, hey, maybe it was a demon thing. Janna, too, had already made her way outside and stripped down to an outfit more suitable for a lava beach. She appeared to be rubbing some sort of neon red goop all over herself, which stupefied him so much that he barely noticed she was wearing a pair of hot pink shorts. What kind of bizarro world had he entered?

When she finally noticed him, he quickly averted his gaze to avoid any suspicion. “Yo, Diaz, liking the view?” Too late. She put a cap on the bottle of goo and nodded in the direction of the lake. What was she up to? As Marco warily followed, he saw Tom swimming around in the lava unfettered. All of a sudden, Janna started running with intent towards the lake.

“JANNA, NO!” Marco surged forward to try and stop her but she had a headstart and was surprisingly fast on her feet. When she kicked off the sand to hurl herself into the lava, Marco’s eyes instinctively squeezed shut and let out a whimper despite knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that she had to have some sort of plan.

When Marco opened his eyes, Janna was completely unharmed and lazily treading lava. She ducked under to sneak up on the lazily backstroking Tom, rising up to grab him by the horns and dunk him. He flailed for a minute before bobbing back up and taking a big gulp of air.

“Janna, what the here?!? Not cool...” he paddled to shore and shook the excess molten rock from his ears before standing with Marco, careful to keep his distance since he still had some residual slag on him. “Can you believe that?”

There was no other way Marco saw fit to respond to that than look of pure incredulity. “Yes? Always? So, anyway, how is she not dead right now?”

“Full cocktail of fire and heat resistance. Mostly Earth sunscreen with some demon incantations courtesy of my parents. Seeps in and affects your hair and innards and even any tight clothing for perfect safety. There’s enough for you too, if you want.”

As if today couldn’t get any crazier, disbelief morphed into fight or flight instinct as he tried to keep himself calm. “...so I’m just supposed to rub something Janna is giving me all over my body… and- and then jump into lava? Are you insane? What if it makes my tongue sentient, turns my legs into pudding, o-o-or worse? Oh my gosh, i-it’s gonna kill me-” Well, so much for calm, the sole bit of his mind hanging on to rationality offered.

“Woah, man, easy. Deep breaths. Just offering.” Tom gently patted his back until his breath steadied. He sighed and looked away. “For the record, Janna is a pretty good friend, you know. I’ve actually liked doing all the princely political crap when she’s here, and- and she does help. A lot, actually. I get that she likes messing with you, and honestly dude, it is pretty funny sometimes. If you don’t want to risk it, I totally respect that, but…” Marco followed his gaze out towards the lake where Janna was trying to befriend a wandering hellbat. “She really does care, in her own way.” There was an emotional conviction there that impacted Marco on a level he wasn’t prepared for, and even after a lifetime of wariness around Janna he found himself trusting more in Tom’s vote of confidence in the here and now… plus lava surfing did sound pretty awesome. Was this what Star had meant about his behavior today? He made a mental note before turning his focus back to the present dilemma. In all his time as an interdimensional adventurer he’d piloted dragoncycles, trained in combat with the sharpest swords he’d ever seen, and flipped a horse made of pure magic while floating on the back of one of his best friends. Why not go for this?

“Alright, let’s do this,” Marco said, marching over to the towel that had been laid out on the sand and cautiously picking up the bottle at arm’s length as though it was a radiation hazard, which he couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t.

The bottle floated up out of his hands on a puff of smoke guided by Tom’s magic. “Heads up, though, the souls of the damned mixed in there can bleach pretty badly, so maybe don’t wear anything you care about. Janna ruined my perfectly good ‘cold as ice’ shirt testing it,” Tom pouted. Marco stripped off his hoodie and goblin dog t-shirt, finding them far too valuable to damage.

I didn’t care about these swim trunks that much anyway, he internally grumbled while he snatched the bottle from Tom and gingerly applied it to his skin. After giving the first gentle dab on his arm a minute to verify he didn’t turn into a pig-goat, he reluctantly spread it around the rest of his body. He was surprised to find that it soaked in even easier than regular sunscreen despite its incredibly visible color. The even more daunting step was trusting it to protect his skin from literal lava. Tom held up a small flame in his hand. Marco instinctively recoiled but allowed Tom to bring it closer as a test, and sure enough even once it came in direct contact with his skin he felt nothing beyond a weird air current and a gentle warmth with no damage left behind. The only step left was taking the plunge. Now or never, Diaz, he chanted as he walked towards the edge of the sand.

“Aww, does Marco need floaties?” Janna goaded, having moved back into wading level to witness Marco’s entry. One toe went forward, very delicately. Almost, almooooooost… and it was in! It probably took about 10 minutes for Marco to fully immerse himself in the boiling liquid, mostly by choice, although its viscosity made the prospect of freely swimming around seem tiring regardless of magical protection.

Tom’s parents had approached the shore during that time and applauded Marco’s efforts. Wrathmelior made some deep rumbling sounds that caused Tom and Janna to both snicker. Tom noticed Marco’s frown and waved reassuringly. “She just said you’re moving slower than the lava itself, but don’t worry dude, you’re only the second human who’s even tried this. You’re doing great!” Tom motioned towards his parents before taking a running leap into the lake and paddling over to Marco, patting his back and inviting Marco to hop on. “Remember that move we practiced? The Screeching Bat?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Think we can use it here?” he asked, pointing to the beginnings of a massive wave forming in the distance.

Despite all his reservations about every step thus far, one thing he knew he could always trust was his and Tom’s teamwork. They’d had each others’ backs even when their friendship should have been shattered to pieces by guilt and heartache, and it had only improved from there. Deep breath, Diaz. “Let’s do this,” he confidently declared, climbing onto Tom’s lower back and bracing his legs under Tom’s arms while he assumed his usual four-limbed propulsion flight position. “Wait, where’s Janna?”

As the rippling sea started to form a recognizable wave, the pair saw a creature emerge to ride the peak with Janna on its back. “I’m QUEEEEN OF THE UNDERWORLD!” she screamed as the three-headed sea-turtle-esque animal carried her along.

Wrathmelior waved her giant camera in the air and made another comment that instantly left Tom with face a few shades redder than normal as he turned away. Being new to the whole “dipping skin in lava” experience, Marco’s focus was too scattered to trust his own judgment on whether or not Tom’s reaction was just a trick of the heat. He didn’t have time to dwell on it further before Tom jostled under him. “Whatever. C’mon, Marco, let’s just do this thing. Keep steady and don’t push down too hard, the heat doesn’t bother me but it’s still not fun having my face skid on molten rock at highway speeds.” Marco nodded and Tom lifted them off of the surface before flying over to the waves, picking up speed as they went.

They lost track of time as they did loop-de-loops and pushed their moves to the limits, swimming over and under and through the most insane ocean waves Marco had ever seen. At one point, as Janna rode closer to the ground, Tom followed the curve of a wave until he was upside-down under the crest of the wave as it crashed down behind them. Marco let go of Tom’s neck and felt his heart pounding as he straightened out, letting his body dip down in their signature trick that earned this flight pattern its name. Come to think of it, this was the first time they’d even made use of any of the awesome combat patterns they’d spent weeks naming and practicing in the last year, but they’d had enough fun goofing off in the sky that it was its own reward. When the largest wave yet approached, Tom veered straight for it and carved a hole in it with a fire blast at the last second. Marco tucked himself closely onto Tom’s back as they blasted through, and he was so high on adrenaline that he couldn’t help but sit straight up and holler in victory right afterwards.

As it approached an hour since they’d set out onto the lake, they all headed back at Tom’s suggestion that the potion’s effect wouldn’t last. They were greeted with another assortment of snacks and drinks from Tom’s parents, giving their swim trunks some time to… whatever the lava equivalent of “dry” was... in the comfort of the living room. Janna grabbed a glowing green glass bottle and took a huge swig. Marco’s wary gaze on its contents must have lasted a bit long because Janna took notice. “Chill, this is just Underworld cow’s milk. Tastes the same as ours.” If anything, that freaked him out more, but he’d had enough of these moments throughout the day that he could just put up with it at this point. As Tom approached with some sort of large bug shells on a plate - thank heavens the Underworld imported Earth snacks now - Janna silently looked him up and down a few times. “So, Lucitor, I didn’t know you had those moves. If I knew you could float upside-down so easily…” she trailed off with implications Marco didn’t feel like trying to unpack. Tom could only babble incoherently in response until he sprinted off deeper into the house. “Ooooor not,” Janna grumbled before sinking into the couch and taking a swig.

“Is everything OK with Tom?” Marco hesitantly asked.

“Beats me. Lately we’re just on mission after mission with no time to stop and catch our breath or even get a bite to eat in-between. Can’t believe one lousy year has already made him such a workaholic. Even Star only got like this when she thought, like, the entire kingdom would collapse or something.” She grabbed her phone as it buzzed, frowning at the screen. Suddenly, she took a photo of Marco and tapped her screen a bunch of times, standing up as she shoved it back in the back pocket of her shorts.

“What was that?”

“That was Star, she apparently needs me to bring a few of my more… let’s just say noxious potion blends, in case of some kind of emergency. But first she wanted to make sure the lava surfing didn’t damage your abs.” She faked a gag response and rolled her eyes. “And she also said, and I quote, ‘Tell Marco he doesn’t need to come because he should reeeeeally take care of the thing, and that I’m suuuuuper sorry for skipping out on you, and that we’re aaaaaalmooooost done here, and then we can cuddle up for the Soulrise.’ Normally I’d pry about ‘the thing’ but I’m too nauseous right now. Also, an ‘I love you’ filled with hearts until the character limit, so that settles it: me reading that is the next five years of birthday presents, minimum, for both of you. You’re welcome.” She punctuated with a snap of her fingers and a rumble grew louder until a chasm opened up in the ground and Tom’s carriage rolled up the side.

“Since when could you-”

Janna winked and hopped in the carriage door as it vanished in a column of flame, leaving only Marco behind. He had hundreds of questions and concerns about Star’s situation, but between her continued insistence on staying behind and what Janna had just said, his certainty was growing that something fishy was afoot with Tom. Where might his friend go if something was troubling him? This could take an hour, no, all day to crack the case, but Marco was ready to sleuth harder than ever to solve this mystery.

One guess and thirty seconds later, Marco found Tom sitting on the couch in another one of the lounge spaces in the lake house, manipulating two paddles to play ping-pong against each other. Leaning against the wall, Marco observed as the simulated crowd went wild in stark opposition to Tom’s joyless expression that alternated between the match and his own lap, never once noticing his friend to his side. After a few more minutes of this, the announcer enthusiastically cheered for the victor of the round.

When the system rebooted, Marco made his move. “Playing without me?”

Tom glanced up from the table. “Wuh? Oh, hey.”

“Wanna play?”

“Well, obviously I would, but, um, I just… gotta…”

“What’s wrong, Tom?”

“Wrong? Me? Nothing’s wrong, Marco! Why would anything be wrong?” A puff of smoke shot out of his nostrils and clearly forced grin on the last word.

“C’mon, man. We both know something’s up. You’ve been acting all strange today.”

He threw his hands up with a defeated scowl creasing his eyes and face. “OK, fine, you got me. I stubbed my toe on the beach earlier and it really stings-”

“Tom.” Neither budged as they stared each other down. So it’s gonna be like that, huh? If he cloaked himself in bravado, then Marco just needed to find a way to open up that shell and draw the inner turmoil out. “You, me, first one to 6. If I win, you talk.”

Tom crossed his arms suspiciously. “Dude, you’ve literally never beaten me.”

“Yeah, well, then it should be easy for you. Whaddya say?”

“What do I get when I win?”

Marco gestured at the table humility. “I will officially give up any hopes of ever beating you and you’ll forever be known as King Pong.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll play. You’re going down.”

“Game on.”

"Let's see, ‘enter nickname’... Tom the Bomb? Seriously, man? I-"

Marco was interrupted by the fake stadium’s booming audio as the commentators began. "Welcome everyone to the championship bout where we will determine who is the true king of the ping."

“Hey, that’s my joke,” Marco whined pointlessly, drowned out by a second female announcing voice that continued without pause.

“On the away team, we have the human, the underdog to win it all this year, Marco Diaaaaaaaz! He’s got wicked topspin sure to send heads spinning and he’s hungry for the title. Never count out the man in red! Now on the home team, you know him, you love him, it’s the man with a plan to slice and dice you to pieces, it’s Prince of the Underworld Tom Lucitoooooooooor!”

Marco pointed incredulously at… well, everything happening around them. “Seriously, dude, are you sure this is even a computer?” Tom shrugged nonchalantly in response.

“We have a lot we could say up here about this long-awaited grudge match, isn’t that right, Janet?”

“That we could, Derek, but I’m sure all the lovely AI fans here don’t want all this AI blabber. They want some good old-fashioned ping-pong. Now let’s watch while Tom readies up the serve…” Tom deeply inhaled and exhaled a few times, then got into position on his end of the table. He crouched over slightly with the ball in one hand and paddle in the other, then tossed it up into the air and smashed it with the paddle. Marco jumped backwards to avoid the searing speed of the projectile that was aimed at him with a disdain reminiscent of the first time they’d ever played the game. If he’s gonna amp up his game with demon powers, I’ll just need to be better.

“Wow, what a scorcher right down the diagonal! I sure wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that, it’d fry my processor to a crisp!” Marco didn’t find a chance to start a volley on the second point, nor did his possession of the serve change the outcome in the slightest. When Tom got the ball back, he didn’t even use his paddle as his powers drove the ball directly sideways after the initial impact in Marco’s court. Marco called a timeout and turned away from the table in thought, stumped for solutions. This game was his idea, after all... The AI announcers irritated Marco with their constant humiliation of his skills, but one sarcastic jab struck an unexpected chord: “If he wants to beat Tom, maybe he shouldn’t be playing ping-pong.” He’d gotten nowhere trying to break through with blunt questioning and was doing a worse job trying to get past his confidence at the sport. But if there was a deep insecurity underneath that facade of confidence, maybe he needed to work on building that up instead.

Turning back to the table, he placed his paddle flat on the table for a moment. “Look, Tom, I get it. I can’t beat you at this game. I-I just didn’t want my best friend acting so bummed at a party he threw, OK? If winning here would cheer you up a bit, it’s match point. I won’t stop you. And- and maybe I’m not even the one to deal with this, since I know you usually talk to your mom about this sort of thing, but-”

“Marco, I-” He paused, started again, stopped, and stuttered his way through another half-dozen attempts at a sentence before falling silent and gazing at the floor. “Look, I’m not upset, everything’s fine,” he angrily said through gritted teeth. Tom grabbed the paddle and gracelessly swatted at the ball. Marco flinched and shut his eyes, ready to hear the announcers celebrate the clean sweep… but nothing. “Huh?” he wondered aloud before seeing a ball way off to his left. Had Tom just flubbed the serve? Tom tried once more, much less methodical in his swing. Marco swatted it back over the net and in Tom’s haste to return he spiked it directly onto his own court.

“...and in a shocking turn of events, it’s now 5-1, Lucitor! Now is Marco’s chance to turn it around!”

The three eyes in front of him glowed at the edges in anger, but the expression within wasn’t one Marco feared was directed at him. Marco centered himself and performed a straightforward serve to the edge of Tom’s court, and Tom managed to return it for the first genuine volley of the match, but a steep drop shot gave Marco his second point of the match. Tom grunted in frustration as Marco set up for the next serve, and he immediately lashed out with demon telekinesis but put too much power into it and sent the ball flying with an animalistic growl that betrayed more pain than fury, as if he was squaring off against himself and not Marco.

Tom flopped four serves in a row, leaving the game tied at 5-5. “Whatever it is, Tom, we can talk about it. You’re worrying me a bit, dude.” Tom didn’t even bother to return Marco’s next serve, putting the game at match point, win by 2.

“Just off my game. I told you, nothing’s wrong, there’s not anything I need to talk about right now,” his voice trembled. “I can do this.” Marco raised an eyebrow in a challenge to Tom, then served the ball in the exact opposite direction of the table. Bluff called. Tom hesitated a split second before sending his paddle soaring through the air around Marco’s head to make contact with the ball and fruitlessly swat it to the ground, giving Marco the point as the crowd went wild with cheers and boos at the performance. But Tom ignored all of that to toss himself onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, and Marco immediately dropped next to him.

“Dude, just talk to me,” Marco offered sympathetically.

“I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.”

“With what?”

With his face buried in a pillow, Marco didn’t catch anything more than “a-a” in response.

“What was that?”

“Janna,” he forced out as though the word caused physical grief.

He had been a bit weird around her specifically, but somehow Marco hadn’t come into this conversation quite expecting it. “Um, OK. Well, I get that… she gets on my nerves too, and since you’re spending so much time with her I totally get- oh.”

Tom sighed.

“Ooooooooh.” It was all Marco could say as his mind raced to process the new developments.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t think you-”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” Marco placed an arm around Tom’s shoulders to try and comfort him, and Tom merely returned a lopsided smile, opting to sit in silence while Marco wracked his brain for an idea of how best to respond. “When I…” Tom hesitantly spoke up but immediately faltered, taking a moment to regroup mentally. “My whole thing with Star went for, like, two years, and looking back I kind of feel like I was an idiot every second of it. Every time I got caught up in that dumb crush it just messed things up more. Like, remember that big monster party she threw? I was too hung up on dancing to even worry about what my friends needed.”

“Look, Tom, we all did lots of dumb stuff back then-”

The half-demon sunk into the couch, shrugging Marco’s arm off of him and staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, sure, but at least you and Star were only completely clueless about how much you guys love each other, and even that was at least a little bit my bad too! A year after Star and I broke up the first time, she came back to Mewni as this confident and charismatic person, and I didn’t even know how to do anything besides flounder around doing nothing when she wasn’t around. Ever since I put all that stuff behind me, it’s- things have been going great!” Tom paused for a second after his voice cracked sharply. “Janna’s clever, she’s actually really thoughtful sometimes, she’s the funniest person I know, and she helped me realize I actually kind of like doing all the stuff that a prince is probably supposed to be doing. And here I am, the buffoon with a crush yet again.”

Marco had a few differences of opinion on the details, to put it lightly, but the sentiment struck a chord. “It’s- it’s never easy. I mean, there was a part of me that felt like I couldn’t even be regular friends with Star anymore for a while ‘cause it just kinda sucked to keep getting reminded of those feelings.”

“Really? Never would have thought.”

“Yeah, well, me too. But that did get better after, well, the booth…”

“So I just have to find a photo goblin and kiss her then, got it.”

“Not my point, Tom,” he retorted with a light punch in the arm, both of them smirking; it was still a sensitive topic, but this seemed to be helping Tom shake off the worst of his anxieties at the very least. “You’re being too hard on yourself, man. Literal hours after we met, you tried to kill me for dancing with a girl you weren’t even dating, then you saved me from a rampaging monster who then proceeded to get turned into a baby.”

“Has that ever stopped being kinda messed up?” Tom quickly interjected.

“Not really, no. But even if all that stuff you said is true, which it isn’t, anyone would still be lucky to have a friend like you. If you think you’re not a good enough friend for Janna or whatever, you’re wrong, and if you think you might screw something up, maybe you will but that doesn’t mean you should just give up those feelings. Take that from me.”

With a giant huff of air, Tom ran a hand through his hair, body language still displaying loads of tension even if he was being more open about his problems. “I’m not- I don’t want to just walk away entirely, but… When I went on that trip by myself right before Earth and Mewni merged, when I was just chilling on a hill in some dimension out there looking up at a thousand stars disappearing behind the horizon, I finally realized that what I wanted most was to find someone I could share that sort of moment with, even if it’s not romantic. Someone I could just sit next to without saying a word and still feel like we were doing something special.”

“Yeah…” Even though Marco had a great respect for his friend, it never ceased to amaze him how potently reflective and sensitive he could be, especially for someone who’d once been every human’s worst stereotype of a rage-filled demon monster. The words made him think of Star, who he could spend every single day with doing absolutely nothing and never get bored. Who was always there to lift him out of his lowest times, celebrate his best, and everything in between. Who would always be his very best friend, so long as they both shall live. Tom deserved every bit of happiness that Marco had discovered came with that kind of relationship, and if he could find it with Janna then Marco would be behind him all the way. “These things can take time, it did for me and Star.”

“No offense dude, but did it? You were best friends, like, seventeen hours tops after you met, and I bet even when things were at their worst you knew it, too. I like Janna, a lot, but I don’t know if that’s the sort of thing we have in the first place. And if I’m not sure of that, then I might be risking a friendship for something I’m not even sure would be good for me.” All three of Tom’s eyes sparkled their plea as he finally turned to fully face Marco, who returned the favor. “What do I do?”

“...really, Tom, I’m not sure.” Jackie, and Kelly, and the Curse… he’d had a lot of doubt in what he wanted most, for sure, but Tom was right about one thing: even if he hadn’t realized it, that unshakeable certainty in Star’s friendship somewhere in the core of his being had gotten him through whatever life threw at him. Without that, he shuddered at the thought of what might have been. “If you think saying something is a bad idea right now, then don’t. Just promise me one thing, OK?”

“Mhmm?”

“If and when you do feel confident that saying something to her is what you want to do, don’t wait, OK? If she really is your best friend, don’t hide it from her. That’ll only hurt you both, and that is 100% Marco Diaz first hand advice.”

Tom pulled Marco into a tight hug, clapping him on the back a few times for emphasis. “Thanks.”

When they broke apart, Marco kept a hand extended to Tom’s shoulder. “You can always join me and Star for sunset-watching, too, if you want. They might not be the same as one thousand at once, but Earthni’s are pretty amazing.”

“Might take you up on that. Feeling a lot better already, to be honest. Don’t feel like I need to avoid being around Janna anymore.”

“I’m glad.” Marco felt his phone buzz and check

“Awwww, isn’t that heartwarming, folks? It just warms my neural net. With that healthy of an approach to love, I don’t think there’s a wrong play Tom could make here. He’s got a good spin on the ball to angle that shot exactly where he needs it to go. What do you think, Janet?”

“Right you are, Derek, this is a truly remarkable sight seeing these two guys talk about their feelings. Usually we see young players put all their focus into fast smashes without buckling down on the fundamentals and getting a good, clean drive. If he can just find someone to lob, I think he’ll be alright. What do you say, all you people watching out there?”

“JANTOM! STARCO! JANTOM! STARCO!” The crowd chanted in unison, some even holding up signs. Were those doodles of their faces?

Notice of the loud noise startled the boys. Had they been watching the whole time? “What the-” they both exclaimed in utter shock as they jumped up and struck defensive poses.

One spectator ran up to the edge of the holographic projection with a pair of fake horns. “I LOVE YOU TOM PLEASE MARRY MEeeeeeeeeeuuuuu...” Marco yelped as the control console exploded from one of Tom’s fire blasts, causing the shrieking voice to trail off into a deep robotic crackle. Both breathed heavily as their eyes, wide with fear, flickered all around the ping pong setup in search of any other hidden dangers. When his heart had stopped racing enough for him to feel any external sensations again, Marco felt a vibration in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Oh, hey, Star’s ready for the Soulrise, which is in… forty minutes? Holy crap.”

“Sorry you spent so much of today dealing with my stuff.”

“Hey, anytime. I’ve always got your back.”

“C’mon, at least let me feel bad about this.” The pair each put an arm around the other’s shoulders and grinned at the warmth of friendship. Well, and the warmth of the flaming wreckage in front of them.

“I’ll get the carriage for them, but first, um, can you help me with one more thing?”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should throw this thing into the lava ocean?”

“You read my mind.”

***

How long had it been since she’d last seen a Soulrise? Despite her lifespan as a demon, she had never understood the fuss. Last year Relicor had discovered that the merging of dimensions had shifted the surface geography enough to make the Soulrise visible from their lake house, and it was only the sheer convenience that kept her here. As the winged skeletons danced above the lake, Wrathmelior could certainly admit it was a charming display, but was it really that different than anything else one could find in the Underworld if they only looked around them? Still, it was nice to spend an evening on the sands of their own private beach with her husband and a pretty display of spirits. But where was Tom?

“Hey, Lady and Lord Lucitor, thanks for everything today.” She looked down at the sound of Marco’s voice and saw him escorting a half-asleep Star with mud caked onto her skirt.

“Why yes, Roy, I- zzzzzz - would like all fifty flavors of goblin dog, thankszzzzz,” Star mumbled as she drifted in and out of sleep. Her eyes slowly blinked open and stared at the boy’s face. “Oh hi, Mr. Pillowzzzzzz…” She was visibly drooling into Marco’s hoodie as she clutched his torso tightly.

Dave stood up and went around Wrathmelior’s legs to see what was going on. “What happened to her?”

“Had a really long day dealing with an old enemy, I think. Didn’t get too many details before she fell asleep on me. Can you send us home, if it’s not too much trouble?”

“No, you’re adorablezzzz… wait, home?” Blonde hair whipped around her face as she jolted awake with a mortified expression. “Ugh, Marco, nooooo, it’s your birthday and I said I’d be heeeere and I can totally stay…” She trailed off into a massive yawn and firmly pinched her cheeks. “...awake.” She hung her head shamefully, turning away from him but leaving his arm hooked around her waist that was keeping her upright.

Marco smiled and spun her around to face him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You should rest, don’t force yourself to do this.”

“Nighty tightyzzzzzz...” Star hooked her arms around his neck and drifted off to a deeper sleep.

“I can summon the carriage, but I’m afraid I don’t know where you live,” Wrathmelior grumbled with her husband translating. Now that she had a glimpse, she could understand a bit better what Tom had meant when he said those two had something special.

“Oh, right, duh. Um, the Monster Temple then? We can stay there tonight.” He put an arm behind Star’s knees and lifted her up, using her unconscious grip on his neck for leverage.

Wrathmelior nodded and began to tap into her well of demon magic to yank Tom’s carriage from its usual den deep in their home when Dave spoke up, catching her attention. “Did you want to say goodbye to Tom, too? I don’t know where he ran off to.”

Something above her caught Marco’s eye, causing him to beam at the sight. “Nah, it’s fine, I’ll just call him tomorrow.” Wrathmelior craned her head to look behind her; Tom and Janna were sitting together on the roof, not saying a word. Even from a bit of a distance, it was plain to see that Janna was completely enraptured by the whirling vortex of shrieking ghouls while Tom was spending just as much time taking in her reaction as he was the event itself. If neither had noticed the commotion on the ground now, nothing in all the dimensions would do the trick.

“It’s just a Soulrise,” Wrath muttered, communicating through Dave.

After entering the carriage, Marco cast one long look at his friends. “Yeah, but they’ve earned this one.”

#starco #jantom #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #tgg svtfoe #wonder if we'll see how star's day went? ;)#fanfic

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versatilewindow · 4 years

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Reflections From The Eye of The North

Find it on Ao3

Summary: The Commander reflects on the shift in the relationship between themselves and their close friends

A/N: im reposting this bc i hated the format it was in before lol

It was hard staying away from home for so long, I never really get to see my family, my friends back home, but it's been manageable. Creating, being a part of Dragon’s Watch, has maybe been my greatest accomplishment to date. Ok, raising a dragon is pretty cool, saving Tyria from certain destruction is something most adventurers and warriors only dream about, but along with that came a roller coaster of emotions. Losing good soldiers, people I had seen as friends, that was hard, making me wonder if this campaign against the dragons was even worth it. But on these adventures I met my closest friends, people that are now my family.

It always kinda pissed me off how Rytlock started to dote on me after I died. Ok that's understandable. Coming back from the dead is not something a lot of people do, but Rytlock always seemed to be part of the group just for the fights, never really joining us in meals, always having a snarky reply to whatever someone said. But after the incident, he would suggest taking breaks to rest more often, something he would never do when we were in Maguuma, a time where he would berate us for stopping to catch our breath even for a second. He was reminding me of basic self care. Like eating or sleeping. Which at times was called for, particularly in the days leading up to the fight with Balthazar, or later when we were rescuing Taimi.

Despite all this parental behavior, I didn’t make too much of it until Aurene also… passed. The days following were honestly a blur, sleeping, only being awake long enough to acknowledge the presence of my friends and the food they left nearby my bed. As much as it pissed me off then, Rytlock would wake me up and basically pull me out of bed to make me walk around and take a bath. Sitting on the bathroom floor, listening to the water run into the tub, listening to Rytlock talk at me about what was going on that day, if there were any updates on Kralkatorrik, him checking the temperature of the tub from time to time. Him giving me time to sit in the tub for what felt like hours on end while he tidied up my room, opening the curtains, leaving a peaceful silence between us, other than the occasional, “Hey kid, you still alive in there?” when he would quickly pop his head in the door of the bathroom to make sure I was ok.

I never did thank him for that.

With the other members of Dragon’s Watch, they didn’t really find the best way to express their grief to me. Rox was sweet, leaving me a piece of cake or pie in my room, but mostly left me alone. Braham, who has been through this sort of grief with Eir, really just spent his time hunting, bringing some kind of animal back for that night’s dinner. And Taimi, I didn’t see too much of her, but she would come to my room and talk to me about her research while she thought I was asleep. Caithe basically fell off the face of Tyria until she called everyone together to see Aurene again.

Watching Rytlock interact with Crecia was… to put this.... Interesting. It was like watching an old married couple bicker about the dumbest thing, but also like watching two strangers get to know each other.

It was not a surprise to me that Rytlock was a dad. Yes Charr culture puts more emphasis on your found families in the farhar and warbands, but fathering a child, changes people, changes the way they see and protect their loved ones. Meeting Ryland made the recent shift in behavior make sense. I imagine that when Rytlock was young and rising up, he had a similar view on how to approach a problem (that is to just cut it down and fight until there is no more problems).

The fight with Drakkar, like most big fights, was honestly a blur. When I look back on it, all I really remember is seeing the inky black avatar for the Whisper of Jormag, the incomprehensible yelling from Crecia and Rytlock, and the moment of numbness before the burning in my chest started and wouldn’t stop. This was what dying felt like.

As someone who most would consider to be well versed in the art of passing out from injury. It was hard to stay out. I would think that the pain would keep me sleeping, but all it did was wake me up for just a few seconds of white, hot pain before feeling faint and going limp in whosoevers arms I was in. I vaguely remember furry, soft arms, and bigger, more sturdy ones. I remember Braham whispering to me, “It’s going to be alright Commander, we’re gonna get you to safety.” Although those words seemed more to reassure himself than me. I remember more bickering from Crecia and Rytlock, him berating himself for being distracted while Bangar shot me, and then Crecia reminding him in not the most polite tone that they couldn’t do anything until they got me to safety.

Waking up to see Aurene was one of the greatest feelings ever, only to be struck back down from the exhaustion and the weight in my chest. The following conversations were hard to follow from the pain in my head and chest, the burning had not gone away.

The very first few days of recovery, Rytlock never left my side, helping me in and out of bed, running the bath and even staying in the room to make sure I didn’t reopen any wounds. His claws would delicately lower me down into the bed, petting my head to lull me to sleep through the soreness and tightness in my chest.

I was never left alone, whether I was sleeping, eating, or bathing. It was usually Rytlock or Braham who stayed with me, helping me up out of bed or helping me dress. Which was so terribly embarrassing for everyone involved. I really appreciated the company, but Braham wouldn’t stop talking about how sorry he was, how it was his bow, and how irresponsible he was to lose it in the first place. With Rytlock, we both kept to ourselves, enjoying each other’s company, speaking only when needed.

That's when I realized it, Rytlock reminded me of my dad, who always reminded me that actions speak louder than words. It’s hard being away from home, where I grew up, but a home is not always a place, it’s where your heart lies. Home is with my friends who I consider my family. We can travel the world, fight with each other, but it’s still home.

A/N: my original title was rytlock be like: i am ur father anyway lmk if u love it or hate it bc i cant get better at writing without feedback also I may or may not do this with other characters depending on what yall think

#Guild wars 2 #gw2 #commander #rytlock brimstone #crecia stoneglow #braham eirsson #aurene

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biiscione · 4 years

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INTRODUCTIONS: Panagiotis && Konstantinos “ Κατα μανα κατα κυρη κατα γιο και θυγατερα De tal palo tal astilla. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. ”

***please check the end of post for tw/cw before continuing Background Panagiotis, preferably Panos, is of Greek and Armenian descent. His parents, formerly Greek nationals, immigrate to the United States after the birth of their first child, Jocasta, and it is in the Olympia, Washington that their son is born. His early childhood is happy though odd as he grows into two worlds: one of his revolutionary refugee parents exiled from their homeland and the other of American Suburbia. Death continuously alters his course, distorting a happy childhood into one of pain and suffering. Forced to live with his father’s brother and his wife in New Jersey, he endures abuses hurled at him until his late uncle’s death. Hardened and barely a teenager, he travels northward to the Big Apple. In Brooklyn he finds a way to make money, not in the most honest of ways, but hey, it keeps a roof over his head. While collecting rent for some big mucky - muck landlords in Bushwick, he ends up meeting who will be the mother of his son. She’s a few years old than he but just as calloused to the world. There time together is short - lived and a few months after Konnie is born, Panos is a single father. Strapped for cash and getting to know the truth of his parent’s past as anarchist revolutionaries, he endeavors to travel to his distant family in Macedonia where he then leaves his son and travels to Athens. Following in his father’s footsteps is quite easy and he takes to the streets just as he had to fight tyranny and fascism. This dreamlike sequence of valor ends with the death of a close friend, collateral damage to the volatile politics in Athens, and Panos’s own incarceration in his own failed attempt at a revenge killing. After serving his time, he returns to Macedonia to find his infant son already a smart, sensitive little boy. In a quarter-life crisis and realizing he needs to get his shit together for his son, he finds mercenary work in Central Asia and the Middle East.... and he hates it. There’s just something about assisting a private military organization stage de facto wars on resource - rich regions that didn’t sit right with him. So, after ensuring his payment, he throws a wrench or two into his employer’s plans and dips as fast as he can. He returns to Athens briefly, hoping to find permanent work that didn’t necessarily compromise his morality. A friend informs him of a mercenary job in Italy as a glorified bodyguard so he takes it upon himself to travel there with his son and what little money he has left. There’s nothing like an in-person interview, right? Panos lands the job working for a reclusive, wealthy man ( mostly on account of him being somewhat attractive and a single dad ) and the rest is history. Personality Abrasive and aggressive doesn’t necessarily mean bitter and unkind. He can be loud and a little too friendly at times ( a mask for his borderline - crippling anxiety and undiagnosed mood disorder ) but just chalk it up to his blended accent. Overtly sexual jokes and blunt questioning is meant to vet any weakness in the prospects of friendship, while also being a handy - dandy tool to be antisocial. He dislikes authority figures but as he ages, he tends to keep his cool as long as they leave him alone. While he airs less on the polite side of socializing, he does hold himself to a high moral code, nothing too chivalrous or anything, but he would defend another’s human rights with his very life. He’s loyal to a fault and has a hard time distancing himself from those he has grown fond of, even when their morals do not align with his own. Appearance He stands 6′ (give or take a half inch) with lax posture and lean frame. Tawny - colored hair, long - topped with a short undercut, is typically dressed in pomade and slicked back. He has blue eyes, icy or azure dependent on lighting. Olive - toned skin stays paled as he keeps away from the sun. Nose is shaped in the classic hellenic fashion, rather, it was . . . it’s been broken so many times that it sits crookedly upon his face, a bump breaking the Greek silhouette of his bridge. Full lips settle into a pout on his rarely expressionless face. His face is quite square, accentuated with a wide jaw. High cheekbones are accentuated not by makeup but tattoos, a broadsword along the hollow of one cheek. Misc. tattoos dress his arms and neck. A tattoo of a Roman/Sol Invictus diadem and ‘Κωνσταντῖνος’ along the crown’s band is on the left - side of his chest. Fingers are tattooed with anarchist and subtle anti - fascist symbols, blurred and faded with age. The juxtaposition of his rugged physical appearance with his bespoke wardrobe accentuates the starkness between his past life as a revolutionary and his quiet life as a mercenary/gun-for-hire. Notes ● is a devout member of the Greek Orthodox Church, despite his negative relationship with his priest uncle. ● avoids romantic and sexual relationships ● physical affection that he doesn’t initiate himself his wholly unwanted and is often violently rejected ● uh... heterosexual? sort of? ● loves to paint ppl, especially portraits ● thinks knives are pretty cool ● good at making things look like accidents Background Konstantinos, fondly Konnie, is American - born like his father and mother of Puerto-Rican and German descent but he doesn’t remember much of where he was born, his mother, and the apartment they lived in together. His earliest memory is of his father’s grandmother, the scars upon her flesh concluding stories she could not finish herself. In Macedonia, he has many mothers; though they remain faceless in his mind, they carry with them the same sweet scent of chrysanthemums. He does not recall his father being in his life till he’s just learning how to read and write, when he takes him away from the comfort of his many-mothers. As he grows, the gentle boy is troubled with this realization but cannot come to resent his father for his decision. He is whisked off to an unfamiliar place where unfamiliar people speak in an unfamiliar language. However, he is still young enough to teach, to mold, and he takes to this new language so easily that he almost forgets the tongue of his many-mothers. In his time in primary school, he earns the badge of polyglot. As he grows and becomes an acceptable age to be sent away, he is offered the chance to go to several prestigious boarding schools by his adoptive grandfather but, much to his relief, his father softly declines this generous offer. As he has been torn from comfort before, he holds the pain of the trauma of being taken from familiarity, causing him to be anxious and he is, although he excels in much that he does, unsure of himself, even at the tender age of eleven. He clings to his father and grandfather and the many people who work/reside upon his grandfather’s estate, for everyone there is gentle and keenly aware of his nervousness. Even now, at fifteen/sixteen, he still finds himself most comfortable in the quietest corners of his grandfather’s estate. Personality Those who are unfamiliar with him, especially extroverted adults, may find him, not shy, but haughty on account of his observant quietness and stature. He does not interact well with children his own age and, if he does find himself accepted into a friend group, he is the reserved listener. However, timidness is overshadowed by his morality, defending others valiantly and with a vulgarity that almost completely mirrors his father’s. Silence is complacency, his father taught him, and he is steadfast in his actions in the face of injustice and cruelty. Opposite his father, he is soft - spoken and educated in his speech. He is quite agreeable in mood and disposition though is considered “irregularly emotional” for a teenage boy by those stuck in the Old World. His emotional intelligence was nurtured by Panos, whose own emotional intelligence was stunted, and he is particularly empathetic and kind, with others and himself. Maybe that could get him in trouble later in life. Appearance At sixteen, he is 5′11 but looks taller with his stately posture and lean build. His face shape is much softer than his father’s with rounded jaw and fuller cheeks. He has his father’s full lips and his mother’s narrow, bowed - bridged and wide - tipped nose. Head is topped with light brown, tawny - tinted waves, hair long enough to curl around his ears, at the nape of his neck, and on his forehead. He has his father’s color-changing, light hues and they are further accentuated with his olive - toned skin that darkens easily in summer under an Italian sun. His attire is always shifting and evolving though always echoes the softness of his personality. Notes ● though raised in a Roman Catholic household, he is a practicing member of the Greek Orthodox church ● loves animals.... so much. often babysits his grandfather’s pet snakes (though he prefers the furry sorts) ● a casual art historian ● wants to be a mary wollstonecraft shelley historian when he gets older ● dad taught him how to shoot and he’s a very good marksman ● because his father constantly changes his own last name, panos and raphael agreed that konnie would take raphael’s, if not for stability, for social prestige

Shipping p: it’s rare that there’s chemistry for a sexual/romantic ship but i’m pretty open to trying! love enemy ships for him tho! k: no sexual/romantic ships since i’ll play him as a minor both: platonic and familial ships, ftw Selectivity/Activity p: always active/ will interact with everyone and anyone k: quite finicky/ will interact with anyone ***Trigger Warnings talk of: physical, mental, and sexual abuse, violence, death, graphic sex, death, mental illness, disordered eating, anxiety, weapons actions: physical and emotional violence, murder, body horror, disordered eating, weapons (guns and knives) Panos’ childhood was full of abuse: mental, physical, and sexual. I won’t bring up specifics in my writings unless prompted and will tag them accordingly. Panos does engage in a lot of violence and uses violent language. Panos suffers from disordered eating and a mood disorder, the earlier shown in less than subtle ways. Konnie has generalized anxiety. If any of these things are a serious problem, message me and I’ll be sure to constantly tag them. If you find yourself overwhelmed or know you will be, please don’t be afraid to soft block. I really wouldn’t mind.

#'NEW' MUSES #finally said fuck it and put them here #p.introduction #k.introduction #p.about #k.about #their stories depend on raph's so hey... might as well

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

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Eat Your Heart Out

February Prompts 2/13

Prompt List

First // Previous February Prompt // Previous MDP Chapter // Next

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Venom/Vecant

Ship: Prinxiety (kinda…) and Logicality (kinda…)

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

WARNING: Some gore, mentions of death

Roman paced anxiously, leaves crunching against his boots. Logan had been in the cave for quite some time now and the prince wasn’t quite sure if he was alive. If he was, perhaps Roman should go after him?

Virgil didn’t seem bothered by Logan’s absence in the least. If Logan was in trouble, he would undoubtedly reach out for one of them, or switch to his other form. If Logan switched, then Virgil would be capable of returning to his human state. This was also the case if Logan perished. So, until he could turn, or Logan returned, there was no point in wasting as much energy as Roman seemed to be.

It wasn’t as if Virgil was unconcerned. No, his best friend just strode unarmed and alone in a Dragon’s Lair! However, Virgil trusted Logan’s judgement and had learned long ago not to doubt him. For now, all they could do was wait and set up camp as he had asked.

“How can you be so calm!” Roman’s whiney voice came, making the Procyon want to roll its eyes. “He’s in there, all alone, probably being roasted alive and you’re… what? Adding to your stick collection?”

The raccoon seemed to give the prince an even glance, stick in question still between his teeth. The guy was over dramatic, for sure, and far too loud, but he still felt the prince was important on the venture forward. The issue was that he didn’t know how or why.

“Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one that let him walk in there! I’m just your captive,” the prince huffed, tossing up his hands flamboyantly as he turned to the raccoon. “What would you have me do?!”

Virgil continued to stare at him pointedly, unamused by his constant chattering. The furry animal was fairly certain that if Roman ever came to be cursed as they had been, he would no doubt be turned into something similar to a squirrel or a chipmunk. At least then he wouldn’t be quite as annoying.

Virgil made sure to keep the eye contact as he continued on his path, waddling towards the small clearing of leaves he had made and dropping his stick onto the small pile he had collected already.

It was starting to get a bit late and with each passing hour the temperature was dropping. Perhaps Virgil was far too attuned to this fact due to his beastly state; or perhaps it was that he had lived most of his life sleeping on the streets. Either way, he didn’t expect someone as pampered and pompous as the man before him to understand just yet.

“Why am I even still here?!” Roman’s dramatic display continued. “I could have made a break for it ages ago!” Virgil huffed and moved to continue collecting sticks for his fire. “I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to find my way back. Surely, considering the sun rises in the east then I can find north and be safe and warm back-”

Virgil gave a discreet sideways glance as the prince trailed off, the sound of his heavy footfalls silencing as the realization hit him. His little mammalian heart could have broken for him in that moment if he had allowed it. Virgil picked up another couple of sticks in his jaws as reality began to sink in.

Roman was no doubt remembering the horrific deeds of the night before. The countless lives lost, the burning homes, his family… The poor guy was on his own now. Virgil was curious if he was aware of that, not that he would, or could, ask him as things were.

He dropped the last of the twigs onto the pile and glanced up. The look of pure anguish on the prince’s face was devastating. Roman’s brows furrowed slightly upwards as he stared into the distances, eyes vacant. Virgil was far too familiar with that look, with that feeling. He would have to be careful with the prince. He would have to keep an eye on the guy to make sure he didn’t spiral too hard.

The raccoon seemed to sigh as he moved back to the discarded pack and began to di. His tiny hands pushed around this or that as he searched for what he needed. The worn leather tilted sideways as Virgil was forced onto his hind legs for better leverage the deeper he went.

Finally, he produced a small dark stone bound with a dark cord, along with a small metal tool. He held it up to grip between his sharp jaws before disregarding the bag completely.

In the next instance, he was bounding towards Roman. He didn’t bother to hesitate before climbing the prince like a tree, scurrying up his stained clothing. The weight of the large Procyon had Roman stumbling to keep his balance, the feel of its paws on his person making him give an uncomfortable squeak of surprise.

“Warn a man!” he snapped a bit breathless, snapping out of the living nightmares swirling in his head. “I’m not accustomed to badgers having their way with me,” he paused as if considering it that was technically the truth. He was fairly certain that a certain badger-like individual from the neighboring kingdom didn’t count. “At least for the most part,” he clarified.

Virgil gave a small growl in response, but let the insult slide. He wasn’t quite sure if the prince was being facetious or if he truly were sheltered enough or stupid enough not to know the difference between a badger and a raccoon. Regardless, Virgil shifted so that his weight was mostly on the man’s shoulder before taking the parcel from his mouth and offering it out.

The prince reached up to take the parcel from Virgil’s paw and examined it carefully before giving a sigh.

“Even as a beast, you’re bossy,” he mumbled under his breath as Virgil jumped down. Roman really didn’t mind, of course. In all honesty, he was glad for the distraction as he moved to the mound of sticks and untied the bundle.

It took a few strikes of the flint for the kindling beneath the wood to begin to crackle and smoke. He wasn’t the most skilled at building fires considering he hadn’t needed to light one for some years now. Everything had always been done for him, minus his interests. Perhaps, he was as useless as he felt.

He shifted from where he knelt next to the wood, moving back a decent amount before crossing his legs beneath him and staring into the flames that were beginning to engulf the pile. The warmth of the dancing lights had his heart sinking. How many of his people had died? Why didn’t he stay and fight? Why did he allow himself to be chased from the only place he had ever called home? What was he to do now? Staying with Logan and Virgil, surely wouldn’t help his cause. Perhaps if he-

A chittering nudge against his side had him pulling from his spiraling thoughts as Virgil’s furry forehead pressed against him once more. He sat back on his plump rear, pulling the corner of what appeared to be another cloak from his mouth and offered it out.

Roman would never admit it, but the image of raccoon Virgil’s little paws trying to wrap around the bulk fabric and offering it out to him as if he were worried that Roman would catch a cold, was perhaps the most adorable thing he had ever seen. He couldn’t help but give a small grateful smile as he accepted the blanket, wrapping it around himself.

A yawn escaped him, despite his efforts to trap it with the back of his hand. Virgil might be nocturnal, but Roman still hadn’t gotten much sleep with everything that had happened either.

His gaze shifted towards the creature next to him. Virgil had curled into a ball, head resting on his paws as his eyes slid closed. The prince supposed he wasn’t that bad, all in all. A bit feisty maybe, but Roman had always enjoyed that quality in others.

Roman didn’t really hesitate before shifting to pick the fur ball up with both hands. Startled and certainly not use to being man-handled, Virgil went into a clawing and hissing fit. His little arms and legs began to flail as Roman gentle moved him, dropping him into his lap.

Virgil tensed as his feet landed, hackles still raised, realization of what exactly was happening slowly sank in. Roman deserved to have his eyes clawed for treating him in such a manner. Still, the man was radiating heat… and it was getting cold…

Virgil shot him a heated glare, straining his neck to peer up at him tiredly, but complied. He shifted, making sure to knead at the prince’s thighs and causing him to give a sharp intake of breath at the pain it caused. With a huff, and before Roman could shoo him away, Virgil plopped down, curling into the dip of his legs. The raccoon gave another small content chirp before allowing his eyes to close.

……..

“If your visions brought you here, then you know if I’m going to help you or not,” Patton pointed out as he handed a small mug of tea to the lanky man currently sitting cross legged on his floor, still gloriously shirtless. He tried not to stare.

“Thank you,” Logan mumbled, accepting the offering. “Unfortunately, that is not the case. I had believed that the lapse in my visions was due to…” He paused, measuring how much he should say, “Due to another complication of my own making. However, now that I have met you, I believe it is something else entirely.”

“Oh?” Patton asked, smiling fondly as he picked up his own mug.

“It seems that your existence within magic is so strong that it is blinding. I could not, and can not, see anything past my entrance into the cave,” Logan continued, taking a small sip of the surprisingly soothing liquid. “If you are indeed the cause, then I can only assume that you will agree to join us in our journey.”

“Well, gosh Kiddo, that does make sense,” Patton admitted, setting his own mug aside, “or it is possible that you can’t see past the cave because you don’t leave.”

The words had Logan tensing. He had thought of that as well, but hearing it from such a powerful being was terrifying; the fact that the words were spoken with such sweet fondness was also a bit dispiriting.

“You’re just so darn cute! I just want to bundle you up and keep you forever!” Patton chirped excitedly.

Logan wasn’t quite sure what to make of the creature before him. He had never had a functioning understanding of social interaction, which was why he remained in his cat form most of the time. Yet, he was at more of a loss than usual with this man.

“I appreciate the compliment, Patton,” Logan offered a bit hesitant, not sure if that was the correct response, “but I’m afraid I cannot allow that. You see, while, in extension, I am here for my own gain, there is someone else that needs this more.”

Patton’s smile faded at the words but he didn’t seem offended. No, if anything the creature seemed concerned as he studied the witch.

“You mean, the man you’re siphoning off of?” he asked blatantly, causing Logan’s tension to increase.

“How did you-” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. It didn’t matter. Dragons were powerful creatures whose abilities were no doubt far beyond what he currently comprehended. While his curiosity was a powerful force to be reckoned with, now was not the time.

“Yes,” the witch admitted softly, shame filling him, “because of me, an innocent man who has wanted nothing for himself is suffering. I cannot allow this to continue. While I hope that we are able to find a solution that does not end in my death, I have come to terms with the possibility.”

“Logan,” Patton breathed softly, a sadness in his eyes that Logan hadn’t expected to see. “What did you expect when you came here?” he asked softly.

“I…” Logan began but hesitated. What had he expected? He was so desperate for a way to save his companion that he wasn’t quite sure. He had blindly followed his visions in the hope that they could lead him to the answers he needed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I suppose I was hoping for answers.”

“Well, Kiddo,” Patton replied, smile finally returning, “That I can help with,” he bounced a bit in his chair, inching his small form to perch on the edge. “I’m good with answers! Granted, they are not always the ones you want. Most people track me down to either try and kill me or bribe me. People are generally selfish and driven by their own material desires. I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet someone as good-hearted as you, Logan.”

Logan could feel his face heating at the compliment. He had never considered himself ‘good’ in any aspect really. He had done such horrible things in the name of logic and progression. How could anyone describe him in such a way, especially someone like Patton?

“Give me your hand,” the dragon instructed, holding out his own palm. Logan hesitated briefly, setting aside his mug before complying. His hands practically dwarfed Patton’s as he used both to clasp Logan’s. If the witch wasn’t aware of just what Patton was, he would no doubt find the fact extremely endearing.

The smaller man’s grip tightened almost painfully as he closed his eyes, causing Logan to glance up quickly. Patton had allowed his eyes to close, brows furrowing in concentration. His teeth dug into his bottom lip gently, worrying the pink flesh as he started to hum.

Logan could suddenly feel the warmth radiating from the other man. It was intense, though not unpleasant, as it moved from his fingertips up the witch’s arm and slowly made its way through the rest of his body.

Suddenly, Logan’s body jerked, causing a small cry to escape him as his soul was practically pulled from it’s vessel and into a world that was far too foreign and yet extremely familiar.

……..

Dark blues and blacks swirled around him, reminding him far too much of the night sky as Logan stepped forward. His gentle foot falls made no sound as he collided with the translucent floor beneath him.

“What is this place? Where have you taken me?” he asked softly, voice echoing into the nothingness. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew that Patton was there but something just felt right about it.

“Don’t worry, Kiddo,” the chipper voice came, small specs of lights beginning to appear with every word, “You’re completely safe here.” The lights swirled around him. They appeared to be some sort of star system. Logan knew the patterns. He would often gaze far, far into the future during those dark nights alone in his cell, when the only company he had was the pain of his wounds and the screams of the suffering individuals around him. He would gaze at the future, the people there so obsessed with the stars just as he was. He would watch as they built giant structures that could look upon massive collections of stars that they called galaxies. They were beautifully stunning. Each glimpse Logan managed was so breathtaking that he would forget the world around him. He would forget his own torment and suffering, the pain and poverty of the world around him, and instead commited the images to memory.

The stars swirled around him, a small loving smile playing on his lips as he reached out for one, causing it to glow brightly. He recognized it. How could he not?

“Procyon…” he whispered in awe. The star was the brightest object in the constellation that the future human race called Canis Minor. It would be the eighth-brightest star in the night sky when they eventually named it. It had been the first star Logan had ever glimpsed up close through his visions. He had instantly fallen in love. Of course, he could never tell Virgil about any of this. The fact that the star shared a name with the man was far too serendipitous.

“It is beautiful,” Patton whispered softly next to him, peering around his lean figure and making Logan jump slightly. The witch couldn’t help but give another fond smile towards the star.

“Yes,” he breathed softly, “it is. The most beautiful thing I had ever seen.” He supposed that was before he had met his first dragon. He tensed when he realized what he had said, flushing deeply at the omission.

“That’s so sweet Logan! You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel such affection! It’s good to have passions!” Patton chittered excitedly, clapping his hands as he bounced.

“Where are we?” Logan asked again, determined to change the subject as he glanced about.

“Somewhere between your current existence and the next,” Patton explained, taking his hand. “Come on, this way!” he urged before breaking into a run, dragging the witch along with him.

Logan tried not to think about how perfectly Patton’s hand fit in his or how easily the touch was given. Most individuals tended to shy away from him once they discovered his nature. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t too keen on physical touch.

The dark blue and black swirls shifted around them, ever changing, but never fading as they went.

Patton pulled to a stop so suddenly that Logan stumbled to avoid colliding with the man, his feet sliding across the non-existent floor.

“Awwww!!” the dragon squealed, letting go of Logan’s hand to applaud happily at the sight before him.

A tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, face hidden beneath the edge, stood before them. Its arms were cradled around the black and white fur of a raccoon sleeping peacefully against its chest.

“W-who is that?” Logan asked softly, fear beginning to dance along his spine. The feeling was irrational, there was nothing that came off as threatening about the individual as far as he could tell, and yet… his hands were shaking.

“It’s you, silly,” Patton explained simply, smile still present. “Now, shush… lets see what happens.”

The Anti-Logan pulled down his hood, revealing his mismatched feline eyes as he turned his head, glancing over his shoulder as another approached.

“Prince Roman…” Real-Logan breathed in awe as the well dressed man approached the anti-Logan so casually.

“A prince?!” Patton gasped, “how exciting!”

Roman and Anti-Logan stood shoulder to shoulder, heads turned to peer at one another for a long moment before the raccoon began to stir.

The raccoon’s whiskers twitched as he sniffed the air expectantly, gaze turning towards the prince. Roman glanced down, a small smile playing on his features before he offered out a hand to the raccoon.

The beast sniffed the palm before chomping down on one of the prince’s fingers. Roman didn’t react to the bite as the raccoon began to hiss and scratch at him.

“Aw! He’s so cute!” Patton cooed softly.

“He has far too much venom, it is a hassle,” Logan admitted softly, still watching the scene play out.

After a moment, the raccoon seemed to calm itself and Anti-Logan shifted, holding the beast out to the prince. Roman seemed to hesitate before taking the raccoon with both hands just under its arms.

As soon as the creature had been passed off, Anti-Logan began to fade into the nothingness that surrounded them, leaving Roman and his new companion on their own.

Slowly, the raccoon’s form began to shift, his meager stature stretching until it formed the dark haired witch Logan had come to care deeply for. Virgil peered at Roman with the same purple-brown eyes as Anti-Logan, his expression affectionate.

The sense of fear that crept through Logan doubled. If this was an indication that Virgil was to fall in love then he was happy for it, but… but something was wrong… Something was off.

Suddenly, the smaller witch’s hand jerked forward, embedding in Roman’s chest,a smile still present on his features.

“Oh… Dear…” Patton gasped.

Logan couldn’t even bring himself to make a similar noise of surprise. His eyes were glued to the horrific scene before him, knees threatening to give way.

Roman remained as he was, his soft expression still in place as he lifted a hand to rest on Virigl’s shoulder.

However, Virgil jerked his hand back, blood splattering between the two of them as he removed a still beating organ from the prince’s chest. He brought it to his mouth taking a large bite of the bloody organ. Roman’s body took a moment to catch up with what had just happened. Then the prince collapsed before Virgil’s feet with an echoing thud .

“No…” Logan finally whispered, tears threatening to fall as he watched Virgil bite into the bloody object. “No!” He snapped, the image disappearing. “This isn’t what will happen! Virgil is not a murderer!”

……..

Suddenly, he gave a jerk, his soul returning to the body that now hunched over the small table before him. The pain of what he saw came rushing in, causing him to gasp as the tears ran down his chin, dripping onto the polished wood.

“You’re wrong,” the sound of Logan’s cracked voice came, “That will not happen.”

“Logan,” Patton sighed softly, moving to rest a soft hand atop of the witch’s, causing him to jerk away.

“You’re wrong!!” Logan snapped angrily, lifting his head to glare at the beast.

“I’m not…” Patton breathed calmly, a pained look of concern apparent on his features. “You know as well as I do that we do not control visions of the future.They are what they are. If your friend is to return to his human body…” he paused, glancing away as if ashamed to repeat it, “then the prince won’t survive.’

To be continued...

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @sumersnowlilly @aequinoctiale

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