#4k words

[pandoa]

I FINALLY FINISHED HOLY SHIT

#4K WORDS #4K #HOUSEWARDENS ARE SO EXPENSIVE IDK IF I'D WANT TO DO THIS AGAIN APIGNAGPDGL #THEY'RE ALL LUCKY I LOVE THEM

[hopelessromance21]

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𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬/𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʟɪғᴇ,

ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ,

ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴘʟᴇ ᴏᴄ ᴄᴀᴍᴇᴏ, ᴘʟᴏᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴍᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴏʀɴ,

ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴄᴏɴsᴛɪᴘᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ

[ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴛᴀʟᴇ ᴏᴄ] 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“𝘼𝙇𝙀𝙓𝙄𝙏𝙃𝙔𝙈𝙄𝘼” (1/3)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4,093

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so, uh. some context? this is a fic i wrote for christmas for my bestie. 11k words of purely self-indulgent simping for her own character :) annnd yea, i got her permission to post it here as well.

(Ialsomightveprintedandbookbounditsoshehasaphysicalcopybutthatdoesntmatterhaha)

June, Lune, and Ruebris belong to @simpymf

Sorel and Ange belong to me :)

Enjoy part one~

THE SURFACE

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘

[𝟐𝟒 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇

𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐓. 𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓]

21XX

[ᴘ ᴀ ᴄ ɪ ғ ɪ s ᴛ]

You met Lune at the same time that monsters joined the world. Well, correction: you met June. Lune you met a few nights later, as you ran up, expecting to be greeted by the bubbly, cheerful demeanor of June and instead met by a sour face and look of indifference.

As first impressions go, Lune never made good ones. When you asked her, mistaking her still for June, why she looked so sour, you got a snappy remark and scowl. The next day June called you in a panic, and explained everything at lunch later that day.

But you got over it, introduced yourself properly next time you encountered Lune and invited her to get coffee with you, at whatever time she liked.

She scoffed at you with this look of disbelief, taking your kindness as something degrading and demeaning. A form of pity and attempted inclusion. It took her a while to get used to the idea that your kindness was only that; kindness.

Five dates in, she still met your interest with doubt and pessimistic dread.

Standing in front of the mirror, Lune hated that you made her dress up nice for dinner. Nice for Lune was a short black skirt and a small black shirt with some lace on the shoulders— not that anyone would see with the leather jacket dwarfing her top.

She kicked on her platform boots reluctantly, scowling as her pink hair got in the way of her vision.

‘Quit acting all grumpy! We’re going to see her tonight!’

June, as peppy as ever, scolded Lune within her mind. Her tone dripped with a sappy puppy love that made Lune grimace.

“Ugh- can’t believe you’re making me do this…”

‘Wh-! You like seeing her too! I know you do!’

If she could stand in front of her right now, Lune knew that June would poke at her chest indignantly, her cheeks puffed with insistence. Lune would roll her eyes and shove her away.

Instead, Lune just struggled to tune her out as she left her apartment, June yapping incessantly about how Lune should be lucky that she keeps getting dates with you.

It was late in the evening as Lune walked down the street, knowing the way to this classy, upscale restaurant that you didn’t ask, but told her to meet you at. You learned to give her no choice in the matter, only telling her where and when she had to be there.

Even if you had given her the choice to say no, June would bitch in Lune’s mind until she had to say yes, for her own sanity’s sake.

Though there was a bit of chill in the air, Lune’s jacket shielded her from it, and her black tights kept her legs warm. She knew how to dress for the weather, unlike some people…

‘Why are you walking?? Get a cab, or an uber!’

‘It’s a seven minute walk. And it’s cheaper, since we’re dining so extra tonight.’

Lune barely felt the tickle of impatience that ebbed from her shared SOUL with June. She ignored it, rolling her eyes at how hopeless her alter was.

June’s chattering seemed to die down as they grew closer to the restaurant. The glow of the neon lights could be seen on the street, a bright orange-red spelling out MTT RESORT II. Lune scoffed.

From afar Lune could see you standing outside the front doors, looking around expectantly. She had a thought to ditch you, as much as June would bitch about it later. But you looked down the street and saw her, your face brightening so obviously. Lune sighed as she continued forward.

“… hi,” she greeted you flatly.

“Hi,” you replied with a smile, stepping closer.

Lune saw your silent offer for a hug, and permitted one, though stiff and from the side.

“I’m so glad you could make it! I had to make this reservation a week in advance. I guess it’s pretty popular.”

“Mm.”

Sensing that the outside conversation was hitting a dead end, you flashed another smile as you let your jacket slip off your shoulders and stepped towards the door.

“Let’s head in.”

As you stepped away, Lune looked you over, her eyes devoid of obvious interest. You wore baggy whitewashed jeans and a pink shirt with a strawberry print scattered across. The neckline was low, accentuating your chest.. Your coat was unimportant; a cream white and long, reaching your knees.

Inside the restaurant, it was warm and bright. Basically the same layout and colors as the first one. Lune found it even uglier than she remembered.

A human stood at the hostess podium and quickly found the reservation under your name. She gathered two menus and utensils before leading you and Lune into the dining room. You reached behind and grabbed Lune’s hand, walking in with her.

Lune stiffened as your hand gripped hers with certainty. She stared at your back as she followed you, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

The hostess brought you to an intimate table for two, set with a tablecloth, dishes, and a centerpiece of candles. Faint jazzy music played, filling the dimly lit room with a cozy aura. Lune grimaced.

‘Smile!!’

‘No one likes my smile and you know it.’

‘Th-that’s not true! People just need to… t-to get used to it!’

Lune rolled her eyes, taking her seat unceremoniously. You seated yourself across from her, shrugging your jacket off completely and letting it drape over the back of your chair.

Lune slouched back into her seat, letting her eyes wander around the room. Other tables around them were occupied by two or three, and across the room was a loudly chatting party of five people. A bunch of monsters listening to a tall skeleton tell an animated story. Lune subtly tugged her jacket collar up.

“So, what have you been up to this week?” You asked, opening your menu and passively looking over the options. What in the world was a Glamburger?

Lune avoided looking at you, studying her menu as well. Her eyes glanced over the listed options, nothing looking appetizing in the slightest.

“Uh… worked. That’s it.”

She could see from her peripheral that you smiled and looked at her over your menu.

“Oh yeah, June told me you started a new night job. How’s that going?”

Lune grit her teeth, overcome with irritation that the little blabber-mouth told you about her new position as a dressed-up cocktail waitress. It was not a job she wanted to brag about, and she explicitly told June not to say anything.

“Yeah. It’s fan-fucking-tastic. I get groped every night for tips.”

Your expression wilted noticeably, and for some unknown reason it brought Lune’s gaze to flicker upward.

“Really? It’s that bad?” You asked, your concern weighing on your face with your frown.

Lune sighs, sensing June’s inner urging to console you.

“No, it’s not that bad. I give off enough of a vibe to keep the creeps off of me. It’s just a seedy joint. Not a place you’d be into.”

At this, you perked up, grinning in a way that Lune still couldn’t decipher in the few times she’d seen it.

“Oh really? You don’t think I’m the type to go there?”

“Pffft,” Lune snorted, taking a drink of her curiously bedazzled water. “No way.”

You kept your next thought to yourself, keeping control of your smile as you looked back down at the menu.

Lune had no appetite for any of the listed items on the menu, but she obliged with a Glamburger while you ordered The Show Stopper Salmon.

The idle minutes spent waiting for your meals were spent with you doing most of the talking. You told her about your job and how it was going, some of the annoying customers you handled in the past week, your excitement for the first Monster Comedy Special premiering soon; every mundane detail you shared was something Lune couldn’t care less about, but sat there and listened with brief head nods or gruff “mhm… uh-huh…”s.

‘Don’t act like you’re bored!! You’re not doing anything for this conversation! You’re making her do all the work!’

‘Well she seems to be doing just fine! All she’s doing is talking about herself!’

‘Because you barely answered any of her questions!!’

Lune grimaced at June’s accuracy, though you read it as dread for this ongoing conversation— promptly alerting you to how much you talked about yourself.

“Oh- I’m sorry, I’ve been talking too much-!” you laughed at yourself and waved your hands.

Lune’s eyes passed to glare at a corner of the room, her lips pursed in reluctance.

“Nah, it’s fine. You’ve got a nice voice.”

‘!!!’

Your eyes grew wide, face flushing a noticeable shade as you stared at Lune.

“O-Oh-! Uh- th-thank you!”

“Mhm..”

Seconds ticked by in silence, punctuated as the waiter arrived with your plates. You thanked them politely as your meal was set before you, readying your utensils to dig in.

Lune unfolded her napkin slowly, watching you begin to cut into your dish.

“… I wouldn’t mind seeing that Monster Comedy,” she spoke up, taking a bite out of her burger immediately after.

You paused mid-slice with your steak knife, looking up at Lune in momentary shock. If you were reading into it right, and you hoped you were, Lune was proposing a future date…

Your eyes lit up with anticipation, watching her chew her burger with an expression of bewilderment directed to her meal.

“Yeah? I think the local theater is showing the premier next Tuesday. Do you wanna. . .”

You trailed off in the hopes that Lune would ask you outright, a clear sign that there was something here, some progress being made and some effort being put in by her.

“Yeah, sure. I can come get you at six.”

Her tone was only apathetic, borderline disinterested in the notion of another date. But watching her, you could swear you saw her blushing.

Your smile reappeared as you cut into your fish and took a bite, ignoring the odd, tingly sensation that spread across your tongue from the edible glitter, and the fluttering in your stomach from the woman across from you.

“So, tell me about your first day at work…”

𝐓𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘

‘I’m so proud of you!!’

“Shut up,” Lune muttered between her teeth.

“Hm?” You asked, walking down the street on Lune’s arm.

“Just talking to June.”

Lune caught the slight surprise that crossed your face, not expecting her to admit to speaking to her other half.

You knew she did, and that June did the same when she was out. But Lune never admitted it or outright ignored you in the past when you caught her mumbling. You took to assuming her irritated expressions were directed internally about 50% of the time.

“Oh, okay,” you laughed sheepishly and tucked yourself closer into Lune’s side.

Lune grimaced as she looked down at you, her face turning a slight red.

“What are you doing?”

You looked up at her, feigning innocence only to give yourself away with your flustered smile.

“I’m cold,” you answered and shrugged your shoulders underneath an obviously warm coat.

Lune scoffed in dismissal, clearly seeing through your ruse. You had appeared warm and comfortable enough when she arrived to pick you up, greeting her at the door in a cozy sweater (that June had lent you and then forgot about-) and form-fitting leggings.

However, she put her arm around your body, pulling you close as you walked along.

“Should’ve layered up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I should’ve.”

Stepping into the theater that was several degrees warmer than outside, Lune removed her arm around you to pay for the tickets. You busied yourself with buying popcorn and two drinks, feeling Lune step up behind you after her transaction was finished.

You turned to her and handed her one drink with a smile.

“Ready?”

“Yep,” she answered, handing you your ticket stub.

You took the paper from her, before taking her hand in yours to hold as you both found your theater room.

‘You’re blushinggg~’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

You both walked into your theater room, up the carpeted walkways until you reached your seats. You sat down and settled in, waiting for the rest of the theater to settle and the show to start. Around you people whispered in conversations of excitement as they took their seats.

“NYAH-HA-HA! I CANNOT WAIT!”

‘Oh my God-’

“I know Papy, but we have to be quiet! We don’t want to be kicked out, hehe-!”

“Do you want some

popcorn, Rueb?”

“Oh… sure…”

“‘scuse me, don’t mean to make a production over here- ererer…”

“Oh my God-”

You were about to ask Lune about the mutter of dread you just heard from her, but were interrupted by a shrill gasp before you could speak a word.

“Oh, Lune!!”

“Shhhh-!”

“SHH-!”

“Shhh!!”

“Shh!” “Shhh!”

Grimacing in her seat, Lune attempted to slump lower to hide herself. But even in a dark theater, her bubblegum-pink hair was unmistakable.

“Lune!! What a small world, hehe-!”

You turned in your seat, viewing a familiar mossy green monster looming over Lune’s seat. Coils of her willow-branch hair dangled over Lune’s sour expression, the monster’s bright yellow eyes glowing in the dark as she stared down at your date.

“… hhey, Ange,” Lune greeted her begrudgingly. You saw the monster’s elf-like ears begin to flutter.

“It’s so nice to see you out! I didn’t know you enjoyed comedies!”

Lune stared forward with a look of regret, her face blooming with a red hue. You couldn’t help but grin at how helpless and disgruntled she looked.

“Yeah… trying something new,” Lune muttered through her teeth.

“How wonderful! It’s always good to broaden your horizons! Even if you don’t enjoy it, you still tried it!!”

“That’s true!” You chimed in. The moment your voice met her fluttering ears, Ange turned her head to stare at you. Her eyes widened and grew brighter in recognition, her ears turning to green blurs on either side of her head.

“Oh!! Lune, I didn’t know you were on a date!”

You laughed at Ange’s sudden shift in attention and smiled up at her. Lune stared into the middle distance with an expression of wishing she was anywhere else other than here.

“What a coincidence, we’re on a date too!”

“Oh God…” Lune groaned. You smiled at her with sympathy.

“We’re on a double date with Sorel and Rueby!”

“… mhm…” Lune mumbled in hesitant acknowledgement.

“What if we made it a triple date?!”

“That sounds like fun!” You answered, holding Lune’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Ange kicked her feet excitedly, bounding back to her seat where Papyrus, who you had met briefly in the past, sat. She leaned close to whisper to the flustered skeleton. In reply he bellowed, in what you could only assume was his lowest voice, “WHY, THAT IS WONDERFUL ANGE! WE WILL SOON HAVE A COUPLE ARMY!”

“ey, i don’t mean to make a scene over ‘ere…”

“Oh my fucking God-”

Craning her neck to see the short, pudgy skeleton that continued to crack movie-themed puns, Lune glared venomously at Sans, who only grinned back smugly.

“but the show is starting so… we need quiet on the set…”

“Fucking die.”

“Lune!” You laughed, pulling her back into her seat. You curled your arm around hers, feeling her reluctantly settle down beside you.

“Tch- he’s so fucking annoying…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fend him off,” you joked. Lune only rolled her eyes, the theater falling into silence as the show began to play…

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫…

As the comedy show concluded, you laughed along and grinned at the jokes sprinkled into the ending. Occasionally you turned to glance at Lune, viewing her either stone-faced or allowing the occasional chuckle or huff of amusement.

Once the lights brightened the room, everyone stood and began collecting their things. You gathered your bag and trash, Lune standing behind you and watching you collect yourself. Once you stepped out into the aisle, Ange rushed up to Lune, leaping up to hug her tightly.

“Hi Lune!”

“Eh… hi…”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed the comedy show! I heard you laugh three times!”

You caught the way Lune’s face flushed with shame, her eyes looking left and right to see if anyone else saw this embarrassing display.

“Yeah… wasn’t horrible.”

“YES, I BELIEVE MOST OF THE JOKES WERE TOLERABLE. FAR BETTER THAN MY BONE-HEADED BROTHER’S!” Papyrus chimed in, stepping into the conversation as Ange released Lune from her hug.

“ey, c’mon now bro, i think i’m pretty.. humerus.”

You snorted at the play on words and heard Lune scoff at the same time.

“AHEM- ANYHOW… SINCE YOU ARE A PART OF OUR COUPLE ARMY, YOU MUST JOIN US FOR SOME ICE CREAM!”

“Oh yes!” Ange squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. “Please join us, Lune!”

Lune made no reaction as all eyes landed on her, only turning to glance back at you. You smiled at her and shrugged; willing to join them or to leave if Lune wanted.

She sighed, turning back to the eagerly awaiting monsters.

“… okay, fine.”

“Oh goodie!” Ange cheered, hugging Lune once more.

Now absorbed into the party of monsters, you and Lune walked out with them into the lobby of the movie theater. Ange chatted excitedly with everyone, asking their opinions on the jokes since she didn’t understand any of them. You made friendly small-talk with Sorel, you and him seeming to mirror each other as you both had stoically silent partners on your arm.

Lune cast her eyes out on the collection of monsters surrounding her, all the while feeling the warmth of your touch around her arm. Everyone’s voices clamored around her in a jumble of irritating noise as the group traveled down the street.

“OH YES, MY SWEET ANGE, THAT WAS A VERY FUNNY JOKE—”

“Ohh, so that’s what it meant??”

“and then i said to him, i said, ‘that ain’t a scientific prop, that's my mom!’ ereererer—”

“Heh… that is

very funny, Sans….”

“So, are you and Lune having a good night?”

“Oh yeah, I think so!”

Hearing your voice ring out with tentative hope, Lune glanced down at you as you continued conversing with the Screenface.

“Last week we went to the MTT Resort. It was pretty nice despite the wait and all…”

“Oh! That-that’s really nice!”

“Mhm!”

“… D-Did you enjoy the Resort, Lune?”

Lune stiffened as she was caught by Sorel, who didn’t spare her for eavesdropping on their conversation and instead invited her input.

Lune frowned as both he and you turned to look at her. She looked away, searching for her opinion of last week’s date.

‘Tch- I didn’t really care either way—’

‘It seemed like a shitty restaurant, especially with those insane prices—’

‘I dunno why she insists on dragging me out every weekend or whatever—’

“It was fine, I guess. They fucked up hamburgers, which I thought would be impossible.”

You and Sorel laughed at Lune’s dry and genuine criticism of the restaurant, Lune looking at you both with a blank face.

Sorel sighed, leaning into Ruebris’ arm. “Yeah, I never did get the Resort’s food. Whatever sells I guess…”

Ruebris’ brows knitted together as he thought back to a memory. Through his mandibles he muttered; “there was even glitter in the water…”

You laughed as you slipped your hand down to hold Lune’s hand. “Yeah.. I still had a good time, though.”

Lune felt your eyes settle on her, staring in apparent admiration. Though she kept her gaze fixated ahead, her features unmoving, her cheeks did glow with a subtle pink. She blamed June… somehow.

“Ooh! We’re here!” Ange exclaimed, clapping her hands.

The party stopped in front of an idyllic ice cream shop, looking warm and cozy inside while it remained frosty and cold outside. No one wasted any time stepping in, the party of seven filling the somewhat small store.

“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE, MY DEAR SWEET ANGE?” Papyrus asked the short Moss Maiden with tender sweetness, leaning down to meet her face. Lune grimaced as the two brushed noses in affection.

“Mint chocolate chip, please!”

“ONE MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP FOR MY LOVELY MOSS MAID!”

Queuing up in the line, Papyrus stood with his brother to make his order. Ruebris and Sorel stood together behind them, with Sorel reading the menu that hung above the cashier while Ruebris squinted blindly.

You parted from Lune’s side, taking out your wallet with one hand.

“What would you like?” You asked her.

Lune stood in silence, considering refusing to let you buy her ice cream— but she wouldn’t buy herself any either, and she figured the group would complain about her lack of participation.

“Hh… whatever’s cheap.”

You blinked in surprise, the questioning clear in your eyes. But you just smiled and nodded, stepping into the line behind the other monsters.

Lune expected to just stand around in wait, boredly watching the line shuffle along. However, her mundane plans were ruined with Ange pulling her to a table in the corner. Lune found herself sitting across from the energetic and always-cheery monster, and already felt like she fell into a trap.

Her ears fluttered softly as Ange stared with bright yellow eyes. Lune’s sour gaze stared back, blank and dull.

“I’m so happy to see you out, Lune! Normally we only see you if you’re spending time with us!”

Lune glanced left and right, shifting in discomfort in her seat.

“Yeah…”

“And it’s so nice that you’re going on dates with _______! It seems like you’re having a good time with her!”

Lune blinked, struck with slight surprise at Ange’s words. She almost didn’t believe her— how could she look like she was having a good time?

“I-… I do?”

“Mhm! Well- I mean, obviously you can’t very obviously show that you’re enjoying yourself, but you are acting warmly towards her! Letting her hold your hand or lean on you! I see that as you enjoying yourself— otherwise you would just leave!”

Lune shifted again, her discomfort growing as she found herself stuck in one of those introspective, emotional talks with Ange.

“Mm… I guess…”

Ange tilted her head at Lune, propping her head in her hands. “What, is that not the case?”

Lune glanced from Ange to you still waiting in line. She frowned in thought, always finding it difficult to be introspective about her entirely absent feelings.

“I guess I just feel obligated to stay… if I ditch, it’ll make her upset.”

Looking back at Ange, Lune’s frown worsened as she read that Ange was delighted by her words.

“Oh Lune, that’s wonderful! That means you care about her feelings! I’m so happy for you!”

“Wh- I… no I don’t— tch-”

Ange giggled softly, shaking her head and making her willow locks shuffle around her shoulders.

“Well, you care about my feelings, don’t you? Or- you’re aware of them. Isn’t that why you agreed to join us here, even though it wasn’t in your plans? And I’m just your friend!”

Lune stared pensively at a spot on the table, her gaze so intense it almost appeared she was trying to burn a hole into the patterned surface.

“… yeah, I guess.”

“All I’m saying is I’m happy to see you doing things without us. I want you to have a life and interests outside of me and Sorel and Papy and Sans! It’s good for you!”

“— ONE MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP FOR MY LOVELY ANGE!”

Arriving at their table suddenly, Papyrus swooped to Ange’s side with a waffle cone topped with bright green ice cream speckled with chocolate. Ange gasped in surprise and took the treat, her ears fluttering happily as she kissed Papyrus’ cheek.

“Oh thank you, my sweet Papy!”

“Ugh-” Lune groaned, rolling her eyes to the right. As she did, you fell into her view, walking up with two separate cups of ice cream.

“I got you vanilla,” you said, taking the seat beside her and passing her the ice cream.

Lune looked down at it in contemplation, a mound of creamy white with a spoon stuck into it. She glanced at you as you ate a spoonful of ice cream— also a cream white, but blemished with frozen mounds of edible cookie dough.

She huffed as she draped her arm around the back of your seat, taking a spoonful of her ice cream. From the corner of her eye, she saw you smile.

“Thanks…”

#undertale #undertale fic #discord rp origins #discord rp oc #undertale oc x reader #x reader #this is entirely for simpy #4k words #part 1 #alexithymia #no one perceive me #simpy finally wins

[allovertheplaceficrecs]

Like A Model by matildajones

“What if I could get you off desk duty?” he finally says. Stiles looks up, eyes wide. “Can you? Please, please, please. I’d love you forever.”

Derek’s heart skips a beat. “We need you to go undercover as a model.”

Stiles starts laughing instantly. His grin is bright, his voice is loud, and Derek waits for him to calm down.

“Me?” he says. “A model? Shut up.”

Words: 4,706

Miss Congeniality AUs are my favourite niche trope and I LOVE how this author did it.

#teen wolf fic #teen wolf au #derek x stiles #4k words #teen wolf

[not-orphaned-account]

Safe From The World

Another Death Note fic! I’m writing some fluffy stuff to feel better while I’m sick, so here’s this lol

Read it here!

#death note fanfiction #mellodramattic #matt/mello #ao3 #oneshot #new fic #light angst #fluff #4k words

[tontonhokage]

Ashes in my Wake: Chapter 2, Questions

[Links to all chapters here]

The next day, when Essek goes downstairs to meet Nott and Caleb, he finds them already two trosts deep into their breakfast and looking like they’d only just managed to kiss their pillows and not actually sleep on them.

He sits across from them and tries a careful, “Good morning?”

Caleb grunts out his ‘good morning’ while Nott actually seems to be attempting something pleasant, “Good morning, Mr. Thaine. How are you doing?”

“A bit better than you by the looks of it. Did something happen yesterday?” Essek asks, and they’re both silent for a moment.

“Zombies,” Caleb finally says, “at the circus.”

Veth nods vigorously, “At first it was just one, but then it killed someone and infected her too! And we think it was that little girl’s fault. She had such a nice voice…”

“She did,” Caleb muses, “ but we don’t know that she caused it. In any case, we got rid of them.”

“The zombies,” Veth clarifies, “and it wasn’t just us. All those other weirdos you met down here yesterday helped. But then they arrested Beau and all the people from the circus. But all of them got out, but none of us can leave town because we’re still under investigation.”

Caleb begins rubbing at his temples, “So now we get to look forward to sitting here and stressing until the Starosta figures this whole mess out.”

Their skills in storytelling are abysmal and Essek thinks he’s missing a lot of crucial details, but he decides not to press because frankly it looks like Caleb had been thinking about it far too much. Instead of that, Essek takes out his spellbook and places it on the table in front of him.

“How about you think about something else for a little while then? Nott tells me that I wouldn’t be turned away for trying to give you a few pointers?” Essek smiles.

Caleb looks suspicious, “In exchange for what?”

Essek shrugs, “Some company for the morning? A distraction from my work? I can put it in writing that I’m not going to try and charge you for this if you like.”

Caleb’s distrust doesn't seem to subside at all as he asks, “And what kind of work is it that you do, Dezran?”

Now there’s a dangerous question. Essek can’t save the world alone, he knows that…so it would logically follow that if he needs the Nein’s help he’s going to have to tell them what he’s doing. They are however, not the warriors that he remembers if they’re incapable of escaping the ire of a po-dunk Empire town’s Starosta. For light’s sake, without Caduceus they’re not even the team that he remembers. And on top of that, he’d technically only met them yesterday. Every bone in his body screams at him to trust them, to not repeat his mistakes and to lay all his secrets bare before them, but he can’t. He can’t drop something so big on them after having scarcely talked to them once. It will take time.

So Essek opts for being cryptic instead and gives Caleb a condescending smile, “Something far above your paygrade I’m sure.”

Caleb regards Essek for a long time. His distrust doesn't seem to be quelled, but he concedes, "Alright, in that case what would you have me learn today?"

Essek considers the question for a moment, then says, “How about we try for something simple. A cantrip. No paper required.”

“Can we get a demonstration?” Veth demands with wide eyes and excited fidgety fingers.

Essek pauses, “It's…rather painful for any creature you cast it on. Though I suppose it would work on some produce? You’ll have to test the full results the next time you encounter…circus zombies was it?”

Caleb snorts, nods, then rolls an apple he’d been gnawing on over to Essek, “So what does it do exactly?”

Essek casts Sapping Sting on the apple as it rolls, and then holds the fruit up for their examination. The just pristine red apple’s skin now shows some browning and bruises that hadn’t been there before.

“It steals a bit of time from any creature you target. Not much, but enough to sting.” Essek knows he’s being manipulative with his choice of cantrip, but he also knows that Caleb (among other members of the Nein) is distrustful by nature. He’ll flaunt a little chronurgy in his face of it at least captures Caleb's interest. Also…he rather enjoys impressing Caleb. It seems to work as he watches the weary set of Caleb’s shoulders subtly straighten and the man’s eyes become alert and interested and oh doesn't having this man's attention feel lovely.

“It's only a little thing,” Essek continues, tossing Caleb the apple, “but the more you practice the more time you can sap.”

Veth scurries over to press into Caleb’s side and the two of them poke and prod at the apple’s newly bruised and tender flesh with interest. She seems almost as interested as Caleb and asks Essek somewhat shyly, “Would you teach me this one too, Mr. Thaine?”

Essek smiles at her and over a plate of hash, he explains to them the theory behind this particular cantrip, shows them just where and how to focus their magic and guides them through the motions of it. He orders a few more apples for the two of them to practice on and by the time Fjord and Molly come down the stairs and wander over to their table, there’s at least a dozen bruising little fruits rolling around between their plates. 

Molly grabs one of the abused apples as he takes a seat across from Essek, takes a bite and offers a, “Good morning,” through his mouthful to Caleb and Veth. He swallows then turns to Essek and says, “And good morning to you, sir who walked away before I could even properly introduce myself yesterday. I’m Mollymauk.” Molly takes another bite and offers his hand out for Essek to shake.

“Is it safe for him to eat that?” Veth asks and Molly freezes mid-chew, his eyes going wide.

Essek chuckles, then shakes Molly’s stiff hand, “Yes it's perfectly safe, you’re fine Mollymauk. My name is Dezran and I apologize for my behavior yesterday. You caught me in a bad mood.”

Molly relaxes, nods and continues eating. Fjord gives him a disgusted look, “What, you’re not even gonna ask what they did to those?

He hums, “Do I want to know?”

Essek shrugs, “Just a bit of harmless magic.”

"Speaking of magic, I was just asking Caleb last night if he knew anything about the Soltrice Academy. Me and Jester were thinking of making our way up that way," Fjord grimaces, “well, once we resolve this whole thing with the circus. Did you hear…?”

Essek waves a hand, “Caleb and Nott were kind enough to fill me in. I’m glad to see you looking well after your ordeal.”

Fjord nods, “Thank you. But yeah, I’m trying to find out as much about the Academy as I can before we get there. You don’t happen to know anything about it, being a wizard and all?”

Essek’s eyes slide over to Caleb and he finds the man already studying him, waiting on his response. He is of course aware of Caleb’s history at that institution even if it is severely lacking in context having been mostly learned through brusque comments and innuendo rather than any proper explanation. 

“And what did you tell him? I’d rather not repeat anything he’s already heard.” Essek asks, putting on a face of faintly tickled curiosity rather than the nervousness he actually feels. It will be a delicate subject for him to navigate.

“Not much, just that it's hard to get into,” Caleb shrugs, “ I don’t know much more than that.”

A lie then. Essek nods then turns to Fjord, “Alright, then what is it that you want to know? What are you hoping to accomplish by going there?”

“Well,” Fjord begins, “you weren’t there at the circus to see, but I don’t just swing around this sword here. I can do a bit of magic which is kind of a recent development for me. I was just…hoping to find out more about it really. Where it comes from and how to use it.”

“Oh, well in that case my advice is to stay away from the Academy. Far away from it.” Essek says with firmness and surety.

Fjord looks surprised, “Really? Why?”

“In truth, I would have given you that same advice in almost any circumstances, but particularly the way you describe your magic, ‘a development’. I gather you didn’t learn it then? Not from a master or a book? Not through rote and study?”

Fjord shakes his head and Essek continues, “Yes, then Soltrice from my understanding will not turn you away necessarily, but any magics outside the practice of wizardry are not their, ah…specialty. So I would advise you to seek your answers and your guidance elsewhere.”

“But they are good at teaching wizard magic?” Veth asks and Essek does not like that gleam in her eye.

“I said it was their specialty, but I would not say they were good at it. Good implies, “ Essek struggles with his words for a moment, “…something that they lack. Effective I would rather say.”

“Now what does that mean?” Molly asks curiously.

“It means that the Cerberus Assembly is a group run by a flock of unbridled and selfish little gannets who while away the hours jerking each other off, fucking each other over and inserting their political ambition into as many of this forsaken empire’s institutions as possible. And they have seen fit to to dig their claws into the education of every mind at the Soltrice Academy, the Halls of Erudition and every gormless Berk and Betsy who can find the time between hours of slaving away in the name of Dwendal to attend a crown-funded class or two.” Essek spits, feeling shame alongside his fury as every accusation he made of them was meant just as much for himself and his own performance as Shadowhand. The people of the Dynasty had deserved far better than his ambitions and his scheming. Essek has to close his eyes and start taking deep breaths to calm down.

“What the hell did you guys say to Thain to get him worked up this early?” Beau complains as she and Jester approach and help themselves to the seats on either side of Essek.

“Was he worked up just then? I thought that was his default.” Molly mocks over the rim of a water glass he’s currently sipping from.

Essek does regret his rudeness with Molly the previous day, but he decides to be petty anyways and subtly flicks his fingers at Molly’s glass. The tiefling overcompensates for the glass’s suddenly and very magically diminished weight and flings the contents of the cup into his own face. He sputters.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Beau says, eyeing Molly distastefully.

Jester seems to be the only one to have noticed Essek’s spell and she offers him a sly grin. He winks at her and Jester’s responding giggle is enough to soothe the intense emotions that had just roiled through him.

“I was only asking about the Soltrice Academy. I had no idea things were so…political here in the Empire.” Fjord says, apparently deciding to ignore Molly’s antics.

“No more than anywhere else. I might just be slightly more invested than your average person.” Essek sighs.

“Were you a student then? Of the Academy?” Caleb asks. His tone is casual but his stare is fierce.

“No, actually I was taught by my mother, then by hired tutors when my curiosity outgrew her patience.” Essek explains.

“That’s a fair bit of animosity you’ve got for an institution you’ve never even attended.” Molly points out as he drags his tunic up to dry his face.

Essek pauses, choosing his words carefully, “...I had a friend who learned his trade at the Soltrice Academy. I’ve heard about what goes on behind those walls…and I may or may not have had dealings in the past with members of the Assembly that have informed my ah…critical opinion of them. Do whatever you will with what I’ve told you, Fjord. What you want may very well be in that Academy, I only ask that you bear in mind the forces at play in this country when you make your decision. And that’s all I’m willing to say about it for the moment.”

“Well in that case, now that we’re all here: we need a plan.” Fjord says, switching subjects easily.

Essek simply listens, packing away his spellbook as they plot. Their conversation fills in a lot of the gaps that Caleb and Nott's story had left, notably explaining Yasha's absence as one of those mysterious flights that she was prone to. Essek is amused though not surprised to hear them plotting to take the justice of Trostenwald into their own hands. They're a lot more timid about their plans than he's ever seen them be, but he supposes they're only just becoming the friends he knew despite how achingly familiar they all seem.

He only interjects when he sees  Molly pull out wigs and makeup, apparently hoping a little facepaint will be enough for them to slip past their guards.

"How about," Essek offers, wiggling his fingers meaningfully, "I give you all a bit of help with your disguises and you can save yourselves the energy and the paint, hm?"

"Oh, me and Fjord can already do that for ourselves. We’re sneaky like that.” Jester says

“Would it tempt you to know that the disguise I cast on you will last eight hours and withstand most lower-level wards?” he offers

Fjord whistles, “Eight hours? Well shoot, alright. I’ll take it if you’re offering.”

Essek turns to Veth, “What about you, Nott? It might ease your way to appear a bit less… green.” 

Fjord frowns, “Hey.”

“Ah,” Says Essek apologetically, “no offense.”

He eventually manages to sweet talk everyone into having Seeming cast on them. Even Caleb who insists that it is unnecessary (he isn’t under house arrest after all) aquiesses when he’s reminded that observing new magics is key to his improvement. They all find themselves in the privacy of Fjord and Molly’s room for the casting. Essek takes a minute to consider their disguises before he casts.

For Jester, Essek gives the guise of a half-elven woman sporting some ethereal pastoral-chic garments and long flowing midnight-black hair. She immediately begins posing in from of a mirror.

Beau, he turns into a human man: older, darker and balder than herself and she is predictably delighted by this.

Fjord becomes human as well: an old pale man with a bulbous nose, big ears and a hunch. He nods at his disguise in approval.

Essek felt a little petty when he’d picked out Molly’s disguise and he thinks he really needs to stop doing this. Molly isn’t Lucian, so there’s no reason to keep poking at him at every given opportunity. Despite understanding the error of his ways, Essek still gets some satisfaction when Molly observes his new disguise and moans out, “Oh, now look at what you’ve done to me you terror. Dezran, how could you?!”

He’d kept Molly a tiefling, though he’d opted for a much more common crimson for his skin and blond for his hair. He had also given him a ghastly choppy bowl cut that sat awkwardly around his horns and a painfully bland outfit which managed to be both unflattering and terribly out of fashion.

Veth…had been trickier. He wanted her to feel a bit more like her old self but it wasn’t as though he could just slap a face he shouldn’t know on her and expect her not to ask questions. So he makes her look Veth…adjacent. She’s a gnome for one, not a halfling. Her skin is kept within the same range as her old self, maybe two or three shades off. He maintains her old roundness and maybe her eyes are exactly the same shape that he remembers, but everything else is different. The nose is too narrow, the lips too thin, eyebrows too arched, hair too light, the eyes too blue. He even makes her look six or seven years younger. 

Essek subtly watches her out of the corner of his eye after he casts the spell as she stares silently at herself in the mirror, her face unreadable. She sniffles and he turns away, leaving her what meager privacy he can to turn to Caleb.

“You hardly did anything.” the man grouses and Essek shrugs.

“You said you weren’t forbidden from leaving so I was only giving you a bit of a touch-up.” Essek explains.

True to their words, Caleb truthfully doesn't look all that different. All that changed was that his skin was cleared of any grime, his hair appears combed and tidy, his beard oiled and a little fuller. Essek had swapped out Caleb’s clothes, but not anything dramatic. The illusion’s garments all have the same cut as Caleb’s filthy ones, they only appear clean, pressed and of a good deal higher quality.

“Ooooh Caleb, you look so handsome!” Jester coos and latches herself to his arm. Her nose wrinkles, “Ugh, you’re still pretty stinky though.”

The preen and bitch and settle into their disguises for a few minutes before Fjord starts herding everyone towards the door, eager to begin their investigation. In the hallway, Essek bids them goodbye and he’s met with a disappointed look from Veth.

“You’re not coming with us, Mr. Thaine?” she asks.

Essek cocks his head to the side, “Why would I? I’ve got no name to clear.”

“We’d appreciate any help you can give, any at all.” Fjord urges.

“Then consider those disguises of yours my contribution to the cause.”Essek says, then grins, “ You owe me one.”

Fjord chuckles, “Alright, fair enough. Let's go.” and all but Beau begin to make their way back downstairs. She’s staring at him. He stares back.

“So,” she says conversationally once the rest are out of earshot, “you’ve had dealings with the Cerberus Assembly before? You must be kind of a bigshot. What brings someone like you down to little old Trostenwald?”

“Nothing particularly. I was walking, I needed a bed and saw a town so I went to it.” He says which is actually completely honest, though its clear Beau isn’t buying it by the way her illusory beard bristles.

“Alright, it's cool. Keep your secrets.” she punches his shoulder, “I’ll see you later, man.” then turns to join the rest of the Nein.

Essek gets back to work.

***

“Do you guys think Dezran is involved in this?” Beau asks after a few hours of investigation turns up nothing and they’re all loitering by the docks trying to come up with ideas.

Jester gives her a funny look, which Beau doesn't think looks as cute in that elf disguise, “Why would you think that?”

“So you all heard him this morning right? He said he’s had dealings with the Cerberus Assembly before, so that must mean he’s something important. And he’s sitting here in the middle of no-fucking-where Trostenwald. And when I asked him what he was doing here he basically said he just wandered in, and that can’t be true. It's totally suspicious. Plus, he’s like a super powerful wizard so he’s probably capable of…zombie-fication.” Beau explains.

Caleb frowns, “When I asked him what he did for work, he told me it was, ‘far above my paygrade’ and didn't elaborate.”

“Why would some Empire big-shot want to sabotage a circus though?” Fjord asks.

“I don’t know, but he clearly doesn't like me,” Molly says from his perch on a fence post, “and he was asking Yasha some awfully sensitive questions yesterday, so you can’t say for sure he hasn’t got something against carnies.”

“He apologized for being rude yesterday though, he said he was just in a bad mood.” Veth points out.

“But right after that he played that little trick where he made Molly pour water on himself.” Jester laughs.

“Oh I knew that was him, that little scut!” Molly cries.

“I just thought you were being an idiot.” Beau says flatly, “But anyways, there’s something else. When I was having that conversation with him where I asked him why he was here, I punched him in the shoulder and my fingers passed through his sleeve a little. Like it was an illusion.”

The incensed cries and looks of concern are just about what Beau expects, but then she sees Nott staring very thoughtfully at her illusory hands, brow furrowed.

“Okay, so he’s hiding something. So what?” Nott says and she points a finger at Molly, “I want to know why you have freaky bloody icy sword powers, but it's not like it's any of my business. I bet you all want to know why a goblin is running around with a human in big people’s settlements where everyone wants to kill her, but that’s none of your business either! So what if Dezran is wearing an illusion? Maybe he has a good reason for it. And he wasn’t even at the circus last night anyways, he stayed behind remember?”

“He could have been wearing a disguise, we already know he can cast pretty good ones,” Beau challenges and spreads her arms out to display her manly bearded self.

Veth presses her lips together, “I think he’s a nice guy.”

“Nice? Look at what he turned me into!” Molly cries, gesturing to his clothes.

“Last time I checked, being a little cheeky with someone wasn’t enough to make a man guilty!” Nott snaps.

“Nobody is saying he’s guilty,” Fjord steps in and holds up his hands diplomatically, “we’re just exploring our options here, Nott. We can look into Dezran with an open mind.”

Nott glowers at her feet and Caleb places a hand on her shoulder, “Hey, let’s go take a breather, huh?”

Beau watches as Caleb leads Nott away with pursed lips

***

Essek finally comes to a decision: he needs to find Caduceus before he does anything else. Essek knows that the Nein traveled with Molly for some time before he’d been killed, but doesn't know when. Which is an issue because Molly can’t die, that’s just leaving the door wide open for Lucian to take charge of his old body, become the Nonagon again and no. Molly has to live. But as much as seeing them eases the ache in his chest, Essek cannot waste time tooling around backwoods Empire towns acting like Molly’s bodyguard while the Nein figure out which end of the sword to stab with so to speak.

There are things that need doing in Eisselcross, there’s a halfling man and his son in Felderwin that need relocating, there’s a war that needs preventing among a whole host of other things. None of which can be seen to while Essek is connected to Molly at the hip. Hence: Caduceus. It's a hope not a certainty, but having an extra cleric travel with them (one who Essek will be sure to pile high with diamonds) should do the trick of keeping the tiefling alive and void of Lucien in his absence.

He had not, however, ever had the pleasure of visiting The Blooming Grove so there’s a good chance he’s going to have to do at least part of the journey on foot and that is not a pleasant thought.

#critical role fanfiction #critical role fanfic #essek thelyss #4k words #matt gave essek a vaguely central european accent #but here when he got worked up i had him barking like a yorkie this is my design

[camillamaecaulay]

graves grow no green that you can use.

gwendolyn brooks

#mine* #camillamaecaulay #poetblr #words #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #the secret history #dead poets society #gwendolyn brooks #poetry #da aesthetic #to the young who want to die #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #6k #7k #8k #9k #10k #lol #11k #12k #13k #smashed it ladies good game #oh wow 17k #okay

[mycharacterdump]

To Those Who Bear Fangs

𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕

Maisie was uniquely aware of her unlikeness to that of most girls her age. However it wasn’t the deafness that provided a wedge between herself and others — rather the way she hid in closets when a thunderstorm barreled through; wrapped herself tightly in the heaviest blanket on the shelf so she could regulate each emotion that arrived slowly, like the tide wading in and out; her avoidance of prolonged eye contact (or any eye contact); the confusion that nestled in her gut when someone told a joke; her obsession with celestial bodies and, oddly enough, ferrets, which wormed its way into every conversation she held. All of these things and more contributed to making her a singularity among her peers. While she had the support of her triplet siblings, they couldn’t always be there for her, and as time wore on she distanced herself as a measure of consideration so they didn’t risk being as isolated as she felt everyday.

She thoroughly enjoyed her time spent by herself. She could focus on what truly mattered: like studying and re-reading the same three books over and over (always Dune, her mother’s old grimoire, or The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a book wherein she could actually understand the jokes being told). Still, there were extended lulls in life that left her uncomfortable. She tried filling the empty gaps with more of the same, but it never cured the emptiness she felt in her chest every time she was excluded from something simply because it was assumed she’d dread even being asked. She was fourteen when she first realized she had been experiencing life on the other side of the glass, watching everyone else soak in the sunrays and enjoy the cool grass while she remained perched on the windowsill feeling a distinct otherness and an aching heart.

Her first foray into a social life was on the Halloween nearing her seventeenth year. It was widely celebrated on the island, garnering more time and attention to detail from the residents than Christmas. The diced up suburbs all had their own celebrations taking place, and depending on where you were located they ranged from something as quaint as a small gathering at a friend’s house to a parade held after a Trunk-Or-Treat event in the town square. Rather than pick one of the two, Maisie overheard her sister, Mim, mention a party being thrown at the Albrights’ residence in the Westside. She had planned on appearing as Velma from Scooby Doo alongside her best friend Lark, who was meant to be Daphne, spending two hours in their shared bathroom painting her face and suffocating herself in a garishly orange turtleneck before she announced she was ready to leave.

While Maisie didn’t have a costume, she quickly stitched together an outfit from her closet. After stealing a red corset from Mim’s side and pairing it with a long, flowing black skirt, she squeezed into the bathroom after her sister and used up their final fifteen minutes before they were meant to leave willing her fangs to protrude as she drew on intense eyeliner. She was only one fourth vampire, but she and all her siblings exclusively fed on blood as infants and they had developed sharpened canines upon losing their baby teeth that couldn’t quite sink as deep into one’s pulse as someone like her father’s — who were nearly half an inch larger than all of his children’s. She held up the others as she shuffled desperately through the kitchen cabinets for red food dye, miraculously finding an expired tube in the very back and hurriedly smearing it over her mouth before she scurried out of the house in the Chuck Taylors she didn’t think to bother changing. 

As her brother Max drove them in their shared Jeep across town, Maisie ignored the pangs in her ribs every time she exhaled, stretching the corset around her torso. She normally enjoyed that kind of compression, finding it gave her an anchor into the earth, but the texture of the food dye on her lips and her skirt flowing in the steady breeze left her feeling restless rather than confident. She cranked down the passenger side window, leaning her head out and allowing the wind to caress her flushed cheeks. She looked up at the stars above, glad that it wasn’t cloudy out for once, and recounted the tales of each one she could identify as they cruised along the streets of Deer Isle to the sound of a Kanye song that she felt the intense beat reverberating throughout the car, under her seat and beneath her feet. In the backseat, Mim and Lark were enthusiastically rapping along, while Max paid strict attention to the narrow backroads that linked the Northside and the Westside. 

They arrived at half past nine o’clock, which is typically when Maisie was beginning her nighttime routine — only consisting of showering, stealing some of Mim’s skincare products for herself, and reading in bed until she fell asleep around midnight. She stepped out of the Jeep and as her feet struck the earth, she could see the world spinning around her and reached out for Mim’s arm.

“Maisie?” Mim spoke up, her voice filtering through Maisie’s implant and catching her attention. “Are you okay?”

Maisie swallowed dryly and gave her what she thought was an enthusiastic smile, holding up two thumbs affirmatively. Her sister eyed her suspiciously before she led the way up to the front steps of the house. She watched as Mim was greeted at the door by Briar, who wasn’t the host of the party, but was always sweet enough to take up the responsibilities of one. She walked up each step one at a time and focused on leveling her breathing. Flinching when she closed in on the porch and her implant began translating the admixture of sounds flooding in from every direction, she instinctively switched it off. She greeted Briar and followed her siblings inside, ignoring how her younger brothers remained at the door so they could continue pestering the poor girl.

Like the kind boy he was, Max remained at Maisie’s side as they ventured through the first floor of the party. She was led along by his hand, which she eventually recoiled from whenever her palms began perspiring. It didn’t take long after that for her to lose him in the dense crowds, and as she felt the music reverberate her skeleton and the film of smoke infiltrate her lungs, the corset grew tighter and tighter around her core until it was like her ribs were cracking beneath the pressure. She could feel tears develop on her waterline, threatening her makeup, which she hurriedly blotted away as she went to find reprieve in a less populated corner of the house. 

She found herself in the kitchen. Only a few people lingered on the isle as they poured themselves drinks and ravaged through the fridge and pantry for drunk snacks. The gentle glow of a hanging light gave her a sense of direction as she moved toward the nook where a table was situated by the bay windows, sitting farthest away from everyone so that she could catch her breath. Before she could properly collect herself, a familiar face approached her and began speaking. Overwhelmed by everything occurring around her, Maisie found it difficult to read her lips, and instead switched her implant back on.

“— you deserve a drink, you look like a deer in the headlights.” Zelda laughed warmly as she offered Maisie a shot glass that looked like melted honey. Her eyebrows fixed together and she raised the glass to her nose, sniffing and scrunching her nose up at the pungent smell of cinnamon. “It’s Fireball. Baby food, really. You’ll like it. Relax some, Jensen!”

Maisie gave an awkward smile, pressing the glass against her lips and beginning to nurse the shot before Zelda grasped onto her wrist. “You’ve got to throw it back.” she said, eyebrows raised expectantly at the younger girl. “All at once.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as she obeyed the other, tossing the shot glass back and feeling the alcohol burn her lips, then tongue, and finally her throat which started warming up considerably after swallowing. She coughed into her elbow and tried to keep the imminent nausea at bay. That was horrible. How did Mim and Max drink that?

“Good girl,” Zelda praised her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You enjoy yourself, okay? You look hot, by the way. Tell me if there’s any boy I need to beat up to defend you.”

Maisie nodded along as Zelda waltzed out of the kitchen in a costume that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She had worn a bleach blonde wig and a red spandex suit, a tail protruding from her tailbone. The devil? She did have an uncanny resemblance to the heirloom dolls that Maisie and Mim shared as children. Regardless, she likely looked much better than the thrown together costume Maisie had adorned. 

She sat at the table for another fifteen minutes before she could feel comfortable standing again, wading through the people that had started coming into the kitchen for more drinks and trying to find her way back to where her siblings had been left. It would be an uphill battle, she knew that much, as it was closing in on eleven and the party was beginning to swell with more life. Smoke swirled at her ankles, rendering her unable to see her own shoes, and there was the persistent scent of weed that circled in from outside. She worried it would stick to her t-shirt and hurried upstairs in an attempt to avoid it, finding herself more at peace as the vibrations under her feet faded away and people became scarcer to see. 

Before she could cower away in a bathroom, she felt someone grasp onto her elbow and she tore herself away with widened brown eyes. There was a boy, standing at what seemed to be an entire foot taller than her, with glazed over hazel eyes and a cheshire grin creased in her corner of his pink lips. He wasn’t terrible to observe, but Maisie didn’t have any intention on pursuing more than that. 

“Sorry, I’m looking for the bathroom,” she said, her volume elevated as she felt she needed to compensate for the loud music still blaring downstairs.

“I can show you,” he returned. Her chest tightened up and she eyed him warily. “It’s Wesley. Henderson. From homeroom?” He extended a hand, to which she stared at before reluctantly grasping onto it and shaking politely. “I never thought I’d see you in a place like this.”

Maisie wished she’d have kept her implant off. “Well, here I am.” she said, awkwardly curtseying, which made him laugh. Did she do it wrong? She smoothed out her skirt and waited for Wesley to calm down.

“Come on, bathroom’s this way,” Wesley nodded down the hallway, leading the way for them as he took ahold of her hand. She grimaced — debating pulling away before deciding she could brave through it. He greeted those they passed while she remained quiet, feeling flighty as her nerves buzzed underneath her skin and she heavily considered finding her own way to the bathroom. 

Alas, it wasn’t long until Wesley finally pulled them away from the strangers and invited her into one of the bathrooms. She stepped inside, moving so she could shut the door behind her before Wesley held a hand against it and grinned down at her, sliding in beside her smoothly. She could feel her heart sink into her stomach. She would never find a moment’s peace, would she? She yearned for Mim in that instance, knowing her sister was likely having the time of her life pining after her best friend while under the neon glow of the lights strung along the living room walls. 

Maisie awkwardly leaned back against the sink, her corset riding up without her realizing. All she could think about was how her entire body pulsed, wishing she could cower into herself and hide her head in her knees like a child. His eyes followed her every breath and she wanted to purge the sick feeling she had in her gut.

“You’re even quieter now than you are at school,” Wesley chuckled, reaching out to brush some chestnut curls out of her face. A reactive blush painted her features. He grinned. “Look at you, all red. Even cuter, too.”

“I’m not cute,” Maisie finally spoke up as she stared at him.

Wesley perked a brow at her, caught off guard by her intense stare. “You are. I’m looking at you right now. What are you supposed to be, anyway? A pirate?” he wondered, his fingers skating across her jawline. She could feel her mouth begin watering, her fangs protruding more then than when she was trying to force them out before leaving the house.

She shook her head at him. She really, really didn’t want to have to be reduced to what she feared was bubbling beneath the surface — she always considered herself more of a witch than a vampire, considering how much wix blood coursed through her veins and her ardent passion for the art of magick. She had collected not only her mother’s grimoire but others, which had weathered considerably worse with time, and even went as far as owning a faux wand that she could fidget with. It was gorgeous; crafted from rowan wood with detailed engravings at the handle, boasting a supple flexibility and a shiny finish. It had been the best Yule present she ever received and she—

“Macy?” Wesley said, his fingertips scorching the side of her neck.

Maisie blinked out of her thoughts and gave him a once over. “It’s Maisie,” she enunciated the ‘Z’ in the middle of her name, watching him adorn another insufferably sly grin. Overstimulated and irritated as a result, she parted her lips as she leaned in closer to him. He was extremely responsive to this, mirroring her until she ducked her head underneath his chin and sunk her fangs into his neck. She could hear the breath being driven from his lungs and it was oddly satisfying, clinging onto him until he managed to shove her away. She panted as she was forced back against the sink, fresh blood staining her lips more so than the food dye.

“You’re — you’re fucking crazy!” Wesley exclaimed as he held onto his neck that was dribbling blood. You should be lucky I’m not with my father, or else you’d be dead, she thought to herself, enjoying watching him scramble for a towel so he could stop the bloodflow.

The bathroom door came swinging open and, much to Maisie’s surprise, she recognized underneath some light makeup and a white dress with accenting wings, Zelda’s boyfriend.

“What are you doing in here?” Jules asked them with brows furrowed in concern.

Wesley began pushing past him. “She fucking — bit me!” he hissed loudly. “She’s fucking insane, man!” “Why did she bite you?” Jules immediately countered.

“We were just hanging out—”

“I wanted to be alone.” Maisie interrupted with a deadpan.

Jules stared at Wesley, not letting him pass by just yet. “You’ve got thirty seconds to get the fuck out of my girlfriend’s house before I let her loose on you.” he said through gritted teeth. Maisie had never seen the normally subdued young adult hold such a temper before. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Wesley asked, scoffing loudly as Jules held their stare until he eventually crumbled. “Fucking lame party anyway. You’re so screwed.” he said to Maisie venomously, shoving past by Jules and leaving his wings crooked as he hurried downstairs.

Once Wesley was out of sight, Jules looked over to Maisie. “Do you want to sit out back? There’s no one out there,” he offered gently. She swallowed and nodded, feeling a bit of relief that she’d finally run into someone that had her best interests at heart. They threaded through the crowds, Jules keeping a hand placed on the small of her back as he stopped when he saw Zelda and informed her of the situation. All Maisie could see was flames in the young spitfire’s eyes as she took off to presumably find Wesley or her sisters to make sure they remained unharmed as well.

The back porch was peaceful. There, Maisie felt comfortable enough alongside Jules to undo her corset, leaving her in her t-shirt and skirt as she gave a sigh and felt the pain gradually melt off her bones. She sat on the steps, letting the cool autumn air soothe her just as it had in the car ride over, her sneakers planted on the earth in front of her. She could still taste the metallic tinge of blood in her mouth, and as she reached up it was still slick on her mouth. Wincing, she wiped it away as much as she could with the hem of her shirt, glancing over to Jules occasionally as he let her take a breath.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

Jules nodded along. She hoped this wasn’t too insufferable for him — he was a wolf and she was a vampire, after all, albeit not as much as one as she could’ve been. “Of course. I don’t need anyone hurt at a party. How’d you get dragged here, anyway? Never pegged it as your scene.”

“Never pegged it as your scene.” she returned, which earned a chuckle out of him.

“It’s not. But I’m here for Zelly. She insisted on these costumes, too,” he held up the skirt of his dress. 

“The devil and an angel?” Maisie assumed, reaching up so she could poke at the halo fixed on the crown of his head.

Jules smiled at her. “That’s right. I insisted we switch roles, but she found this dress in my dad’s closet and wanted to see me in it. Kind of a sadist. Which is probably why she’s the devil between us.”

“... She gave me a drink earlier. Fireball,” Maisie told him. His mouth quirked up into a grin. “I think that’s what made me bite him.”

“I think you bit him because he’s an asshole,” Jules immediately denied. 

Maisie rubbed her hands together, wanting nothing more than to forget about the entire night and fall asleep in her own bed with a good book in her hands. Maybe that grimoire, so she could practice more defensive spells. “That too.” she agreed, her chin tilting up to see the sky. “... I can see Pegasus.”

“Sorry?” he hummed, cocking his head sideways at her curiously.

“The constellation,” she clarified as she kept her eyes fixed above them. “It — it was first catalogued by Ptolemy in the 2nd century. The constellation was named after Pegasus, the winged horse in Greek mythology. It’s known for the Great Square of Pegasus, and for some bright stars and deep sky objects, like Messier 15 and Stephan’s Quintet of galaxies… um, the Einstein Cross, too, that’s a gravitationally lensed quasar. And an unbarred spiral galaxy.” 

Jules was taken aback by the shift in conversation, but he coasted along with it much like he did whenever Zelda’s Uncle Cody began spouting what sounded like utter nonsense about his work. “Wow,” he said. “Sounds impressive.”

“Very impressive. Seventh biggest constellation in the sky.” she informed him. “Messier 15 has nine stars with actual confirmed planets. Can you imagine living out there?”

“Seems like a dream to me.” Jules laughed a little. “Did always felt a little alienated here.”

Maisie turned to face him, giving him a soft smile. “Me too.”

Jules rubbed her back comfortingly as the back door came creaking open and Mim and Max rushed out toward them, huddling around Maisie as they worried over her while Jules remained on the sidelines just to make sure the young woman didn’t become too overwhelmed. She let Mim help her up off the steps, leaning into Max’s welcoming arm.

“Thanks, Jules,” Mim said, holding tightly onto her sister. “We owe you one.”

“You don’t,” Jules denied with a shake of his head. “Just get yourselves home safe, alright?”

Mim nodded, her and her brother escorting Maisie off the porch while Zelda snuck by them with worry etched on her features. The wolf looked up to her boyfriend, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Is she okay?” Zelda asked. “Are you okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, Zelly,” Jules confirmed as he pressed a kiss against her temple. “I think I may call it a night, though. Do you mind?”

She snorted loudly in response. “Absolutely not. Fuck this party. We can leave Aly in charge and head to the Squeeze In for some burgers. You good to drive? I’m a little fucked up.”

Jules smiled and wrapped an arm around her. “Always good.”

At the Jensen residence, Mim and Max carefully brought Maisie upstairs to their room without alerting their parents’ that they’d returned from the party. After double-checking that she was okay, Max was given the relief to leave for his own bedroom, only the two girls left. Without hesitation, Mim had her sister strip and ran a hot bath for her, dumping half a box of soothing minerals into the water and a pair of oversized pajamas on the marble counter. She waited, perched on the edge of her bed, having gotten undressed herself in the meantime, texting Lark an update whenever Maisie emerged from the bathroom.

Quickly, Mim tossed her phone aside and went to pull back the sun and moon duvet that decorated Maisie’s bed, inviting her sister to lay down. Once she was settled underneath the covers, Mim leaned over her and gave a sigh.

“What?” Maisie murmured.

“We should’ve stayed close with you,” Mim said, her words slurring together a bit. It had just occurred to Maisie that her sister was slightly drunk. “Max and me. I’m sorry, Mai Mai.”

Maisie lifted herself up onto her elbows, shaking her head at Mim. “Don’t apologize. I don’t need to be looked after.”

“You kind of do,” Her sister said as she reached behind her ear to take off her implant. “You bit a dude.”

And I’ve learned my lesson. No more parties. Maisie signed.

Mim chuckled softly and stood up from where she sat, tucking her sister in tightly. No more parties, she signed back. 

As her sister quickly fell asleep in the bed adjacent to hers, Maisie stared out the window that allowed her to see into the night sky. She gave a gentle sigh, already feeling the bruises forming on her middle. But she didn’t think too much about it — looking up at Pegasus and remembering the myth behind the constellation.

The most famous myth involving Pegasus was the one of Bellerophon, the hero who was sent by King Iobates of Lycia to defeat the Chimaera, a monster that breathed fire and was devastating the king’s land. Bellerophon found Pegasus and tamed him using a golden bridle given to him by the goddess Athena. Then he swooped down on the Chimaera from the sky and defeated the monster with his lance and arrows. After this and several other heroic deeds for King Iobates, Bellerophon let the successes get to his head. Riding Pegasus, he tried to fly to Olympus and join the gods. He didn’t succeed. He fell off the horse and back to Earth.

Pegasus did however make it to Olympus. There, Zeus used the horse to carry his thunder and lightning, and eventually placed him among the constellations.

Turning over, a single tear escaped her eyes before she shut them so she could finally fall into the embrace of sleep, knowing that it’d do no good to stay up any later than she already had. She hoped that somehow, she would be deserving of a place like that one day among the stars, rather than being immortalized as the monster she had become on earth.

#self-para #4k words

[okletsgetnuts]

#scott pilgrim vs the world #scott pilgrim #kieran culkin #michael cera #the L word #the other L Word #movie #film #action #comedy #fantasy #romance #lesbian #lesbians #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #6k #7k #2010 films #2010 movies #edgar wright #ruined weeknd #okletsgetnuts #celebrity #dunkindonutz #pop culture #pop crave

[sollucets]

veiled zhou zishu

#word of honor #zhang zhehan #zhou zishu #rowan gifs #💜💜💜 #userbon #tusermona #baek1nho #tuserashinlae #roserayne #lizlookatthis #seamayweed #tostrangers #i got my hands on 4k woh as u can perhaps see #i am doing my best with it in honor of this Absolute Look. #he and wen kexing are fighting during the conference so what im hearing is i have a chance #with this beautiful man and his divorcee disguise

[abandoned-quiche]

.

#deltarune #spamton #spamton word of the day #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

#Situations Asks #rns asks #anonymous #tw wounds #tw blood #tw dying #tw fear #welsknight #helsknight #[jazzhands] mind the tags she's an intense one! #And also very long #4k words woooo #The poem in Middle English is Why Have Ye No Routhe On My Child #it is supposedly from the 14th century #but i had a very very hard time finding sources for it #so take that with a heavy grain of salt #i will say the middle english -> modern english translation is mine #done using the Chaucer Dictionary from the University of Cambridge #As well as the Oxford Middle English Compendium #take the translation with a grain of salt its one of maybe twice i've done something like this #but i think it stayed decently faithful to the source material #as faithful as someone who sucks at reading Middle English can make a translation anyway #rns ficlet

[dreamerdeity]

𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

*ೃ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Choso Kamo x Fem. reader

*ೃ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 4.1k

*ೃ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : A hectic schedule and impending deadlines require you to be at your sharpest, yet you can't seem to get a second of sleep thanks to your heedless dorm-mate's nightly jam sessions. To scold him at first, you make your way over to his room, but suddenly he's teaching you how to strum a guitar, and suddenly again, you're somehow in his lap .

*ೃ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Hand job, Praise kink (f. giving), unestablished relationship, cursing, slightly perverted behavior (?), 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, the rest, please proceed at your own risk.

*ೃ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : YAYYY first Kinktober piece in my series!! This one's quite long only because it's Choso and I've recently (2 years and counting) been on my Kamo boys d riding shi so they get special treatment. Also, please do not report my work! I'm tired of getting flagged, so if you are uncomfortable, do not read.

⇄ 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Football season approached its grand commencement, dawning an atmosphere of vibrance and vitality upon a typically spiritless college campus (mid terms tend to have that sort of effect on people, you supposed). Every kid around the buzzy premises had begun to eagerly place their bets, ready to squander their humble savings on predictions pertaining to games they weren't exactly a part of.

But as elating as it all sounded to the average student with heaps of coursework and limited entertainment, opening week was an incredibly hectic time for you, and if you were normally indifferent about being on the cheer squad, you sure as hell hated it during this time of year. Because let’s just say, sore muscles and ill-functioning ankles weren’t exactly your idea of fun—Neither were tight ponytails that threatened to rapture a vein in your temple, however—oh however, setting all of that aside, there was one thing you always, always looked forward to: Catching a glimpse of Choso Kamo languidly slumped against the least congested corner of the bleachers--if he were lucky enough to score a corner seat, that is—his bored eyes barely following the figures of beefy men running around the field at breakneck speed.

His entire existence within the stadium was an anomaly of sorts as raging crowds jumped and screamed around him, and it baffled you to say the least; How he never failed to show up—all dressed up and equipped, mind you—but barely reacted. Why the hell was he here when he clearly looked like he'd rather be doing anything but this? Like, maybe, spending the evening in his lair (his room) all alone, drowning in stifling darkness (he refused to raise his blinds. ever). Though the more you saw him around the stadium, the more you looked forward to being there.

pretty weird, pretty sappy.

You often found yourself discretely glancing over at the crowds in search of him when a game was on, smiling to yourself with a giddy skip to your step every time you did. The circumstances were ordinary, unfavorable even—and you racked your brain left and right—for any logical justification to the sizzling concoction of emotions that bore itself into your psyche every time he so much as uttered a single unenthusiastic “Hi” your way.

Sure, he was aloof and mostly kept to himself, emanating a brooding air that bordered on intimidation as his sharp features wordlessly screamed “don’t talk to me” while you greatly contrasted him in demeanor, carrying yourself ever so vivaciously, always high-spirited and bubbling with energy, but something about him made your head spin. Perhaps it was the way he towered over you as he passed by in the hallways, his guitar case handle firmly secured under the grip of his ring-stacked fingers. Or maybe it was those tired half-lidded eyes that met your own for a speck of a second every time you encountered one another on the way to your neighboring dorm rooms. Granted, you’ve barely exchanged a full sentence over the past two years you'd "known" him, apart from the occasional “good morning”, and “the weather sucks today, doesn’t it?”, but damn.

Choso on the other hand simply didn't have a single fucking clue how to approach you. Despite his good looks, he was too awkward to pull the girls he wanted, and he didn't have much game anyway, he knew that much, though that never stopped him from stealing glances at your pretty round ass every time your skirt rode up your thighs a little too high while you passionately cheered for your team down by the field, or how his vivid imagination raced at a million miles per second every time he caught a whiff of your vanilla bean mist as you skipped past him with your friends. It seemed like you weren't the only one having a hard time, and yet the both of you were acting like cowardly hormonal teenagers, too afraid of laying your feelings out in the open for each other to see.

You fancied the man, that was the conclusion you'd reached, but boy did he love to get on your nerves sometimes. Matter of fact, you'd pray to whatever deity if it meant getting him out of the damn dorms and off somewhere with whatever friends he had for once, because at this rate you won't be getting any shut-eye for the rest of your days. You always heard him toying with that blaring guitar of his late into Friday nights, missing a single note and deciding to play the same riff again over and over until your eardrums threatened to pop. You swore it made you want to rip your hair out every time, and tonight was no different. You dramatically pull the covers over your head in an attempt to block away the ruckus, making a point of huffing and puffing dramatically, hoping he'd magically hear your distress and quit his shit.

To absolutely no avail. He did not quit his shit.

After what felt like an eternity of agitated tossing and turning, you get up with an exasperated sigh and stomp out of your dorm room, making your way over to Choso's to give him a piece of your mind.

"Open up, will you? I've been hearing you fiddle on that thing for an hour, ya know. Some of us need to sleep!" You knock a little too aggressively for his liking and shift your weight between your feet in awaiting. A few beats later, muffled shuffling echoes from within his room, and you can hear him groan in annoyance as he trudges toward the door.

It cracks open at first, timidly almost, like he was debating whether to step out there and confront you, or shut the door right back at your face. Under any other circumstances, you think you might've found that cute, how a grown man double your size was so unnerved by your presence, but right now, you needed sleep, and you needed to scold him. So you lightly block the door with your hand and he finally yields, stepping out in all of his glory.

Fuck.

Whatever bitter words you had planned to hurl at him stick in your throat. He looms over you in nothing but a black shirt that hugs his pecs a little too tightly, sweatpants hanging loosely around his hips, the hem of his boxers peeking just above the waistband. It just dawned on you that you'd never been in this close a proximity to him before, and you involuntarily trail your eyes downward, gulping at what you thought you saw under the thin fabric of his sweats. Probably packing a horse or two down there if you dare say. Stop being weird, damn it.

"Sorry. I'll play unplugged then." He tells you blandly, his guitar still hanging around his waist and his digits hover over what looked like the B string, giving you a view of the bulging veins and stacked up rings hugging his thick index and middle fingers. Pretty hands. Really pretty fucking hands. You wonder how it might feel to intertwine your fingers with his own, or trace the callouses on his palm, or maybe even have those fingers in your—

"You uhh...you good?" He clears his throat to grab your visibly wandering thoughts and you shoot upright like a child caught sneaking a bite of candy right before supper.

Great. You were staring. He caught you staring.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, you do that." You just smile like an idiot, having forgotten why you knocked in the first place at this point and quickly avert your eyes, haphazardly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear in a failed attempt to busy yourself with any kind of movement, anything to dissipate the cloud of tension (or awkwardness, you tended to get delusional sometimes so you weren't so sure) that had loomed over the two of you.

"That song you were playing. It's really nostalgic. I didn't know you had a thing for the oldies." You beam at him with a tilt of your head, expertly deflecting from whatever he might have said after following your eyes that cast down. And maybe even an implicit apology for your irritated banging earlier

"Yeah? You know it?" His stoic eyes light up ever so slightly with a glint of enthusiasm, and you wouldn't have noticed it at all had you not been standing mere inches from his form.

"Yeah, my dad used to blast it in the car all the time I almost got sick of it."

"Well, he's got taste." His lips curl up in a faint smile, and he pauses for a moment, internally battling with himself at the inevitable prospect of having to cut this conversation short, so he does what any normal person would do, perking up slightly and gesturing behind him, "Hey, you uh, wanna come in? You could watch me play or something, I dunno."

This was the closest Choso was ever going to get to making a move. Quite frankly, he expected a rejection right then and there, and he would have preferred if you just got it over with as soon as possible instead of staring at him with wide eyes and an indecipherable expression, but you would have been a fool to decline his invitation. After all, this was your chance to get…closer to him. Whatever that may mean, and so you too did what any normal person would do...

"Yeah, sure!"

Accept his invitation.

It takes him a moment to realize you've said yes, going into a momentary stupor, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was...shocked. Though he doesn't hesitate in retreating to the side, holding the door open for you with his free hand. There was plenty of room to smoothly make your way inside, and yet you deliberately brush your hip against his arm as you wiggle in, fleetingly glancing up at him with a knowing smile, because, my god, there was no denying the fact that he caught onto your subtle gesture, pulse quickening and faint flush steadily creeping up his cheekbones as he averts his eyes some place else to avoid your own. He's so cute.

"Neat room." You trail off as you make your way around, unceremoniously plopping down on his gaming chair.

"Thanks. Your posture is terrible, by the way." He quips with a quirk of his eyebrow, making his way over to sit across you on the carpeted floor.

"Oh well, aren't you a peach, insulting me in my own home!" You glare at him, voice laced with feigned offense that hardly masks your amusement.

"Your own home? You're in my room."

"This entire building is the home in question."

"That makes no sense becau—"

"Shut up!"

“Ok sorry.”

My god, he really is so cute, and you wonder when was the last time your heart fluttered at a man as he pliantly drops the subject and crosses his legs, adjusting the guitar in his arms. He’s wearing Christmas socks in March, you note. Gotta marry him. When hes happy with his posture, he glances back up at you as you swivel and spin in his chair like a child.

“Got anything in mind?” He tilts his head to the side, calloused fingers absently strumming on amp-less strings.

"Something easy to play. I know a thing or two about guitar you know. You're not the only cool one here." You quip with crossed arms.

"That so?" Choso chuckles at your words, grabbing his pick and steadying his posture. " 'Kay, how about this?"

He starts off softly, a recognizable riff reverberating within the walls of his dark-lit room, and the notes are barely audible over the buzzing of the air conditioner. His eyes cast down to watch the movement of his fingers, head bobbing slightly to tone-less notes and foot tapping leisurely to the rhythm. You watch. Your eyes focus on his face, then fall to his dexterous hands, then back up to his face. Was he always this sexy? It takes you a moment to realize he had stopped playing, wrist relaxing and eyes following your own.

"'Smoke on the Water?' Really?" You snort at him with an incredulous look on your face and he frowns in return, his lower lip jutting out in an offended pout.

"What? You said easy to play. Besides, it'd sound better if I play it plugged, but somebody would have a problem with that."

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Then you burst into a fit of laughter, causing him to subconsciously replace his own pout with a smile that mirrors your own. He's so lost in every wave of your hand and shake of your shoulders that it takes him a second to register what you say a few seconds later as your giggles die down.

"You're cute. Like, really cute."

You're going to kill him.

"Ah, y-you too.." Great. How fucking lame, pathetic even. Did he really just say that?

"Teach me guitar... Mr. You Too." You say a little too breathlessly, a sweet lilt to your pretty voice that has blood rushing to places he'd rather it didn't. But god, was he supposed to just ignore the way you were looking at him right now? The way your arms squeezed those perfect tits of yours together over the thin silk of your sleepwear? The soft flesh of your thighs spilling past your tiny shorts? How was he supposed to foc—

"Sure." Swirling thoughts and rushing blood are set aside. He rises to his feet, taking a step toward your sitting figure and meekly handing you his guitar, something incredibly surprising in and of itself, because typically hell would break loose if a soul dared touch his guitar, but it was you. And he liked you. So damn much it almost hurt.

You take it from his hands, fingers brushing against his own. Awkwardly, you try to adjust the startlingly heavy instrument within your arms, struggling to set it at the right angle, huffing and puffing to yourself as Choso does nothing but watch you with a lazy snicker in your state of distress, and when you finally manage on your own, the notes come out far from what you had expected, deepening the frown on your face. Choso thinks you look adorable when you're mad, but he's not so cruel, so he senses your distaste at the muffled notes and plugs the guitar into the amp for you. His lips curl into a little smile as he watches your face light up.

"Woah! How does it literally sound so different?" You gawk in excitement at the rich timbre of crunchy notes.

"Trippy as fuck, isn't it?"

You hum in acknowledgement and rack your brain for the right notes to play. Which string was D again? More frowning. More pouting, and Choso remains unmoving, too fixated on your cute expressions to do anything.

He feels bad. Eventually.

"Here, let me help you." Gruff voice reassures you softly as he makes his way behind your chair, hunching forward, breath fanning against your cheek, and fingers planted over your own, so very gently guiding you to the needed fret. The distinct scent of cedar wood and whisky floods your senses and fuck, you don't even want to play anymore. You want him. All of him. Maybe if you just—

"Choso..."

"Hmm?"

You're not even sure what came over you, but your head is suddenly void of reason when you turn your face to his and crash your lips on his own. So soft. This is what you were missing? Fuck it, there's no time to be embarrassed of your boldness-out of the blue, not when he returns your kiss with as much fervor, lips melding with your own and tongue eagerly swiping over yours, and definitely not when he’s picking you up and throwing you on his bed, climbing right after you and situating you on his lap. Guitar lays forgotten as it haphazardly rests on the chair across the room. His thoughts are all of you, and you of him.

"This okay?" He mutters quietly, like he was embarrassed, cheeks flushed as he seeks permission to place his hands on your hips. You smile down at him, wordlessly placing your hands over his rough ones and guiding them to your curves. How could a man looking so strong be this gentle?

Before he could say anything more, your lips are on his again, tongue sucking on his own and fingers entangled in tousled strands of jet black hair, hips grinding frantically against his lap, feeling him harden under you with every delicate roll of your hips.

"Mmph.." He groans softly into the kiss, grip tightening impossibly on your hips as he guides your movements. Up, down. Left, right. Fuck, he's wanted this for so long he might cum in his pants from this alone. That won't do. What would you think then? He's got to hold out, he's got to—

"sh-shit." Pulling away from those glossy lips of yours, he buries his face in your neck, breath ragged and hands halting your grinding hips. You were so lost in your feels that it took you a second to put two and two together, glancing down and seeing the object of his distress; A dark patch of precum staining his sweats. What a development.

"So worked up just from this? You're so cute." You coo at him so sweetly, so softly he thinks he might just lose his mind, and your hands find his pretty, blushing face, gingerly cupping his cheeks to place a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and trailing down to his jaw. You nip and suck on his skin, sloppy kisses peppered along his jaw and down the junction of his neck and shoulder, a hand reaching under his shirt to brush against his abdomen, and just as he thought his heart couldn't race any faster, he could feel it vigorously thump against his ribs with the tickle of your breath against his earlobe.

"Just... let me. Wanna make you cum all pretty for me." You whisper so tenderly against his skin when your hand reached for the waistband of his sweats only for him to block it with a grip to your wrist, too flustered to have you see him that way. But, god, with the way your voice drips with honey, your soft fingers dance along the skin of his stomach, your warm breath teases his cheek, he's got no choice but to hand himself over to you. Let you have him whichever way you pleased. Make him feel good.

His grip around your wrist loosens and his hand rises back up to your waist. He's biting his lip, eyes so dazed already and you haven't even done anything yet. You search his features for any signs of discomfort, finding none and taking it as invitation to go further. You slowly reach into his sweats, palming him through his boxers and grazing your nails over his thighs. So agonizing.

"Please..." Choso whimpers, desperate, soft, and fucking hell, it's your turn to cover your face, a surge of electricity traveling up your spine from his voice alone. You don't respond, your actions speaking for themselves as you pull his twitching cock from within its confines and give it a few experimental pumps, slowly circling your thumb over his slit and smearing precum along the rest of his length. His breath hitches at the contact, tip so wet and sensitive as arousal dribbles down his cock in a shiny stream.

"You're so perfect like this. Doing so good for me, Cho..."

Stop it.

"You're gonna kill me if you keep saying shit like that..." He hisses so faintly you barely catch it, and brings his forehead to rest on your shoulder as your hand sets a rhythmic pace around his cock, twisting around the base when you glide down and the tip when you glide back up. At least if you couldn't see his face and him yours, he'll last longer. Maybe.

"Do you like it though?"

Of course he likes it. What kind of question even was that? Could you not see the way he involuntarily bucked into your hand with every word of praise you gave him? How a brilliant blush crept up his cheeks as you called him cute that first time around? How he could barely keep himself upright just now? But he tells you none of those things, instead, he nods against your shoulder, eyes closed and hands brushing up your waist so gently you almost melt into his arms.

"Yeah, keep talking—fuck, j-just keep talking."

And you do just that, dipping to suck on the exposed side of his thick neck as you murmur every honeyed word you could muster. "You like it, huh? Look at you bucking into my hand all pretty. Makin' me wet with all those sounds you're making." And fuck, he groans so loudly in acknowledgement, hips jerking upward to meet your strokes like a bitch in heat. You pump him as expertly as you've been doing this entire time, deft hand relentlessly gliding up and down, determined to make him cum all over you, to give you what you've been craving for as long as you could remember, because fuck was he so pretty like this, black strands damp with sweat as they stuck to his face, body shuddering with each and every touch of your hands, lips parted and his breath fanning against your shoulder, flush reaching all the way down to his neck. Hell. You might be the one to cum untouched after all.

"I-if you keep this up m'gonna—fuck..m'gonna cum."

You don't stop.

"Then cum. Wanna see your face when you do though. Wanna see how good it feels, Cho." You murmur desperately against the side of his neck, his face still nuzzled in your shoulder, but your tender coaxing drives him to meet your gaze, lips parted and breath picking up as his chest rises and falls in tandem with his jerking hips. His eyebrows furrow, his head falls back, he bucks violently into your hand, a throaty groan tumbles past his lips and he grips your hips so hard you're positive it'll leave a bruise.

"Oh fuckfuckfuck c-cumming..." He babbles frantically, so lost in the feeling and you stroke him vigorously through his high, watching as his cock twitches and a string of thick white shoots past your hand, painting your fingers and the hem of his black shirt porcelain. Delicately, your movements slow down, eyes not leaving his face for a single second, though he's too busy attempting to recompose himself to notice your relentless gaze.

"You did so good." You finally coo at him softly.

"Whatever." He murmurs, averting his eyes as fast as they met your own and covering his face with the back of his hand, post-nut clarity finally hitting him like a truck.

"Don't be like that!" You stifle a giggle and swat his arm, watching as he refuses to look at you like some teenager touching a girl for the first time, and you lean over him, gingerly bringing his face in your hands.

"Hi." You grin down at him, your hair tickling his face and giving him a good reason to close his eyes, avoiding your gaze even further.

"Hey."

"By the way, I have a question that's been eating me up for ages."

"What is it?" His curiosity piques, eyes finally meeting your own.

"Why do you always show up to games when you look half-asleep and bored out of your mind every single time?"

He eyes you incredulously. Out of all the things you could've asked at a time like this...

"Ah, my little brother is on the team. I've gotta be there for him somehow."

You're squeaking and giddily bouncing in his lap and he thinks you've gone crazy, staring blankly at you as you bring your hands to squish at his cheeks yet again. "That's so adorable! You're so adorable! Who is it? It's Yuji isn't it? I knew it! I somehow did. I'm so sure it is!"

"Whatefuh you shay, and yeah. Can you let go of m'face now."

"Right! Sorry--" You let his cheeks fall back into place and begin to rise from his lap, but he holds you back down with a firm grip to your waist.

"Where're you goin'? You didn't get to cum." He drawls, raspy voice hitting you right in your core as he leans closer, lips brushing against your own as he speaks again. "I'll make it up to you... 'Just let me.' "

Fine, you'll just let him then...

@kimhargreeves

#choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso kamo #kinktober 2023 #choso jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #choso x female reader #choso smut #I'm crazy why is this 4k something words