#I don’t think it’s going to be any better this year considering I keep flipping between slow sad love type songs to fucking 90s classics

[kaydenverse]

grocery emergency

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader x john "soap" mctavish

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with fluff mixed in

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i swear i'm trying to get more works out i've just had a rough start to my year so bare with me for the time being lmao but enjoy this that's been sitting in my google docs for like a month

content warnings: gender neutral reader, phone sex, excessive swearing, teasing, switch reader, switch simon, switch johnny, quickie, price is so done, gaz is a little shit

summary: why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

“how much longer are we gonna be here, cap?” johnny questions as he lightly taps a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of him and straightens them out. he neatly sets them back down on the table before sitting up a little to stretch his back. 

johnny sits cross legged on the floor in front of the polished coffee table. although it would probably be better for his back to sit on the cushioned black leather couch opposite of him where kyle had been sitting before he went to grab a file price had asked for. but still he swears the floor is more comfortable. his tailbone is starting to hurt though, he realizes.

he’s still going to sit on the floor

“i’ve got one more folder and gaz is going to bring another one in a couple minutes,” price sighs, his office chair creaking as he leans back into it. “we should be done after those and you'll be free to go, son.” johnny’s heart swells a bit at the nickname but instead of telling price that, he huffs which makes the captain chuckle.

the five of you had gotten back from a successful mission in moscow, just a simple recon, a few days ago. now you had to do the boring parts of your jobs, the long debriefings and the piles of paperwork.

you and ghost had remained tucked away at the top of an abandoned building with your sniper guns to cover soap, gaz, and price while they had raided the warehouse across the street. because the three of them had been in the main action, naturally, they had more paperwork to cover than the two who kept look-out from a distance. 

but don’t get anyone wrong, of course the two of you still did a phenomenal job of dropping any and all of the strays who tried to escape the wrath of your three teammates. they were sorely mistaken when a bullet from your gun would lodge itself into their necks. 

johnny sighs as he picks another folder up and flips it open. his mind begins to wander before he’s even gotten halfway through the first page.

he’s thinking about this morning.

again. 

-

in all honesty, earlier that morning, johnny had deeply considered turning his car back around and called in sick because of how desperate and clingy his two partners had been while he had gotten ready. he to go in and finish up some leftover paperwork with price. he had swatted both your hands and simon’s away from dripping past the waistband of his pants. 

“stop it.” johnny said sternly as he grabbed your wrist when your fingers began to work their way down his happy trail yet again. “i’ll be gone for barely half a day, maybe less, we’re almost done with everything. you can wait.” he snickers. you groan in defeat and slump forward so your right cheek presses up against his back. simon leans in the doorway of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. 

he would gladly stay and let your hands wander all over him but he knows he’ll be at least an hour late because johnny likes to take his time with you in the mornings. price wouldn’t be too excited about the late arrival. not after the last time that happened.

“i’ll just fuck simon then.” you resort, your voice still laced with drowsiness from having woken up to johnny’s 7 am alarm. you still keep your arms locked around johnny’s waist and one corner of simon’s mouth perks up at the suggestion. the messy blond hair atop Simon’s head that curls around the tops of his ears and the sleepy look in his eyes only makes your sexual frustration grow. 

“no.” johnny says, plain and simple. he combs a hand through his mohawk. “wait until i get back home, both of you.” he locks eyes with simon through the mirror he’s standing in front of. 

simon hums with his head held high as he strides over to the two of you. he kisses the top of johnny’s head, catching a whiff of johnny’s eucalyptus scented shampoo. he then kisses the top of your head that smell like your own shampoo. he makes sure what he murmurs to you is loud enough that johnny can hear too.

“you can fuck me all you’d like once he’s left for work, darling.” simon’s sleepiness adds an extra gruffness to his already deep voice. that alone nearly made johnny call price and ask to do the paperwork tomorrow.

nearly. 

“sure, go ahead.” johnny turns around to face the two of you. “but if you do so and i find out, i won't let either of you cum for a week.” the almost cold tone of his voice as he speaks and the cocking of his head makes you go weak in the knees and simon grins. “and i always find out.” 

“not always.” simon says in a very matter of fact way. the grin that plasters across johnny’s face is devilish. if simon hadn’t grabbed ahold of your hip when he’d kissed your head, you’re almost sure that your knees would’ve completely given out from how wonderfully taunting johnny looked. 

“i pay good attention to detail, lieutenant, i always know.” he gives you a peck on your lips then simon’s before slipping out of the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. 

-

johnny is pulled out of his thoughts when his phone begins to vibrate on the table. normally he would  let it send whoever had called to voicemail due to his current task but his heart jumps when he sees your contact name and the contact picture of you smiling softly at the camera. in that photo, he can tell you're looking at him and not the camera because of the look of adoration on your face. 

he glances up at price who nods to let him take the call. you don’t often call him when he’s at the office and you’re home. you’d usually just text him and let him respond when he can so he assumes it must be important if you’re calling. 

“hey, what’s up-“ johnny is almost immediately cut off by you speaking. 

“can si and i please fuck? we were going to wait until you got home, i swear to god we were, but i feel like i’m going to fucking explode right fucking now. you can stay on the phone if you want to.” you’re so straight to the point that a cackle from simon can be heard through the phone. 

johnny is ridden speechless for a few seconds at such a forward request. he can hear the desperation in your words, you’re not even trying to be subtle at all. he blinks before he speaks again. 

“sorry cap, grocery emergency.” johnny stands up to excuse himself. price is a tad confused but lets him go to solve the problem. johnny eyes clock above the door before walking out into the hall. 

“you’ve got seven minutes. go.” johnny leans back against the wall with his free hand shoved into his pocket. immediately, johnny can hear the two of you begin to shuffle around. he can also hear the sloppy kisses that are exchanged between the soft thuds of clothing hitting the floor. 

“simon,” you say in a stern manner. “let me ride you.” the bluntness in your voice makes johnny exhale a small laugh. 

you will forever be a stubborn one in bed.

“but-“ simon sounds winded, sounds like you’d refused to let him take his lips off yours to breathe. 

you had. 

“ah,” all shuffling on the other end of the phone ceases at the sound of johnny’s voice. he hums in approval as the scot waits until a new recruit, who’s name slips johnny’s mind at the moment, to quickly shuffle past him and down the hall. they exchange a silent nod of greeting before the recruit disappears around the corner. “listen to them. since you decided to be such a brat this morning.” he then continues in a slightly hushed tone. 

johnny can clearly visualize simon giving the phone a glare that he just knows simon just gave as he allows you to settle in his lap. the phone falls silent again and johnny grins proudly.

you’re both waiting for his next call of instruction. 

always so good for him.

“well? hurry it up, you’re losin’ time.” johnny glances down at his watch to see you’ve both got just over five minutes left. the shuffling resumes followed but a pleased groan from simon. johnny knows that kind of groan from the many times he’s pinched simon’s nipples. 

“no teasing,” simon’s voice has pitched up ever so slightly. johnny shivers delightfully at the small detail. “no time for that.” 

“so needy.” you coo which you then follow up with a low moan. when the wet sounds of you picking your hips up and then quickly dropping back down spills through the speaker of johnny’s phone, he swears his knees almost buckle. he leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. 

you’d both prepared for him to give in, touched each other before you’d called him.

he makes a mental note to praise the two of you on this silly little scheme later on. 

oh, how he wishes he was there. 

oh, how he wishes to sit himself on the end of the bed and watch his partners desperately pull orgasms out of each other. 

oh, how he wishes he can see simon’s glossed over eyes peak over your shoulder and moan out a whiny ‘please touch us.’ to johnny. 

“stop trying to hold your tongue, let it out si.” your sultry tone makes johnny let out a shaky breath.

oh, how he wishes he were there. 

simon groans as the wet sound over the phone picks up in pace and volume. johnny clicks the volume up on his phone two clicks. any louder and anyone who were to walk by would very clearly hear sounds that one certainly wouldn’t make at in grocery store. 

“three minutes.” johnny glances down at his watch again. he could swear his soul left his body for a second when he hears a faint gag followed by a chuckle from you. 

“so fucking pretty sucking on my fingers like that.” your voice is much closer to the microphone now. you’d picked up your phone and held it as you ground your hips down onto simon’s. johnny can now clearly hear simon’s panting and shaky groans. 

simon always likes to joke that if anyone, and i mean anyone, somehow knew just how pathetic simon could get at the hands of you and johnny, he just might have to kill them.

 he’s obviously kidding.

maybe. 

“johnny,” simon breathes out and johnny thinks he’s about to collapse. the name is muffled, almost slurred really. your fingers pressing down on simon’s tongue force him to sound like that. 

why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

unbelievable. 

“you gonna cum for us, si? come on make it quick, you’re down to two minutes.” johnny hums and both of you make a noise of pleasure at that. the drop in johnny’s tone makes his accent sound thicker in the best way possible. on top of that, the time limit is exciting you far more than either of you had anticipated.

“fucking-“ you’re words fizzle out into a whine when johnny hears the way simon begin to meet your bounces on him. that skin-on-skin noise that johnny loves to hear so much grows louder. “i’m gonna fucking cum.” he then hears you drop the phone. he can picture the way you start shaking atop simon when your incredibly pleased sob fills johnny’s ear. 

“there you go, just like that.” simon sighs as your fingers slip out of his mouth. he wraps an arm around your hips to move you himself. johnny’s hips twitch at the rasp in simon��s voice. he’s starting to wish he didn’t leave you both on edge this morning. 

he should’ve known his two bratty partners would  both do this to him.

“45 seconds or i’ll make you stop and i’m not touching either of you until tomorrow instead of when i get home.” johnny keeps his voice flat to hide how needy he’s starting to get.

that’s a lie.

that’s a lie and all three of you know it. 

he’d have his hands on both of you before the front door is even fully closed and locked regardless of how long you take. 

not even a full two seconds later, you’re squeezing your knees around simon’s waist. “come on pretty boy.” you moan out as you fall apart. and that pet name has him spilling into you seconds later. johnny can feel the tips of his ears burning bright fucking red. 

he’s hard now and there’s nothing he can do about it until he gets home to you two.

“finished with 15 seconds to spare.” johnny’s makes sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “i’m impressed.” 

“well having been on edge from this morning really helped.” you’re panting and feel like mush in simon’s lap. 

“you’re an arse for that by the way.” simon grunts. johnny snickers and shrugs his shoulders. 

“you liked it though, both of ya did.” johnny points out and takes the beat of silence as confirmation.”but seven minutes are up, i gotta go.” he says reluctantly. he feels like he should stick around for aftercare for a bit but he is unfortunately needed elsewhere. 

damn that all of that paperwork, why can’t it fill itself out? 

but he knows you two can take care of each other. he smiles at the thought. 

“you brats both did so well. i’ll decide if that little plan is punishment worthy or not later. that was a genius plan by the way.” johnny chuckles. his heart swells both of your laughs. such wonderful sounds. 

“i love you, johnny.” your voice is back next to the speaker again. his heart somehow manages to swell even bigger when you kiss the phone. 

“i also love you, mctavish.” simon adds. he kisses the phone as well but only because you silently insisted that he did. he pretends to hate doing that. 

“i love you both too. i’ll be home soon so please be good until then.” johnny says, kissing the phone two times for his two favorite people.

“be good until then” you playfully mock the mohawked man’s accent. simon can’t help but snort at that. 

“very funny.” johnny chuckles. “and please actually go to the store, we need more milk.” he doesn’t notice kyle standing in the doorway of his office a few feet away with a file in his hands until he hangs up and turns to walk to price’s office door again. johnny’s face flushes at the amused look on his teammates face.

“how long you been standin’ there, mate?” johnny shyly slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

“opened the door right when you were telling your brats how well they did.” kyle teases. thankfully, that’s all that kyle says before opening the door to price’s office and walks, leaving the door open for johnny to follow him back in. 

but, kyle will be bringing this back up later over comms next mission. 

and price is going to question his life choices when he has to get the four of you back on task.

he pauses so he can quickly… adjust himself… before opening the door to price’s office again. 

“groceries sorted out?” price raises his eyebrows at the sergeant who once again seats himself in the chair across from his desk. 

“sorted out.” johnny nods, praying that price can’t see how red his ears are.

price sees, he always does. 

johnny flushes even harder at price’s next words while kyle erupts into laughter. 

“now let's get this paperwork sorted and quick so you can get home to help with those so-called “groceries” yeah?”

#simon ghost riley x reader x john soap mctavish #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley smut #john mctavish smut #simon riley x reader #john mctavish x reader #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod #simon riley #john mctavish #call of duty smut

[kissingkiszka]

The Sweet Symphony-Chapter One: Rockstar Romeo

Jake Kiszka x Reader series

Words: 600+

Summary: shopping at the local record store on your one day off, you have an enticing experience with an unexpected encounter.

CW: MDNI, 18+, fluff, flirtatious banter

This chapter is literally so short I don’t even think it can be considered a full chapter! This is more of an introduction to set the scene!

Masterlist

—————————————————————

The bright sun was beaming down into the local record store window in Nashville, Tennessee. You finally had a day off from your job at the hair salon, and you were going to spend it doing the thing you loved. Music. More specifically, shopping for vintage records. Your fingers hovered over the rock section until you came across Elvis Presley. You flipped through the old records, noticing a man across from you began to scan his hand over the Elvis section as well. At the bottom of the collection, there was The Essential Elvis Presley in mint condition. Your hand flew to pick up the record, only to be met with the other man's hand on top of yours. Your fingers softly interlocked with his. He mirrored your image as you pushed your hair behind your ear, trying to get a better look at the man. He had long dark brown hair accompanied by matching dark brown eyes. His hands were the farthest thing from soft. They were cold and covered in calluses, you weren't going to lie. Staring into his eyes, a special kind of tension grew. It was if your souls had entered an intense staring contest. He opened his mouth, beginning to speak, but you needed the first word.

"Elvis?" As you continued to interlock fingers, the tension built. You begin to wonder if the contact continues because of your need for the record, or for a need of something else?

"He's one of my bands top influences." He declared, a wide smirk appearing on his face.

"You're in a band?" Your grip on the record grew tighter. It was now a game to see who would let go first. "What band?"

"Greta Van Fleet. we've been around for a few years now, but we're still trying to gain traction." He gave you a soft smile. "I play guitar. Been playing since I was three."

"Well are you any good?" You sarcastically questioned.

He chuckles to himself, running his large hand through his hair. "Why don't you come find out?"He let go of the record, letting you have it. "We're doing a charity concert tomorrow night. The Blue Room. I can save you a spot on our guest list. Come see us, we'll show you what music is."

You picked up the record, nodding. "I'll come by if I happen to be available." Your plans were to sit on your couch and binge watch the newest Netflix show. But those plans could easily take a rain check for a concert, especially if he would be playing the guitar. You could see him itching to keep the conversation going.

"My treat." He grabbed the record from your clutch and took it up to the register before you could protest. "Now everytime you play it, you'll think of me." He swiped his card, waiting for the transaction to go through.

"Ah yes, the mysterious musician I met at my local record store who will forever change my life." You joked as he handed the record back to you. "But, thank you."

"Who knows? Maybe there's something more here." He started towards the door, never taking his eyes off you.

You shrugged, having nothing left to say.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow darling."

"Yeah, yeah it's actually Y/N." You chuckled to yourself at the pure desperation of the situation. As you turned to leave, a panic set in. "Wait, I never got your name."

He paused for a moment, eyeing you up and down.

"Jake." He said with a sly nod. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and left the record store.

#jake kiska fic #jake kiskza x reader #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiskza fanfic #danny gvf #danny wagner #greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fluff #gvf imagine #gvf x reader #greta van fluff #greta van angst #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #sam gvf #josh gvf #gvf #sam kiszka gvf #danny wagner gvf #josh kiszka #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka

[l00rem]

Sammy Lawrence character analysis

I had a small epiphany recently about Sammy’s character which just recontextualized his entire character for me and I really wanted to write it down so here’s a mini essay about our beloved musician and prophet :)

I think one of the biggest questions people often have about Sammy as a character is why he never left JDS despite the fact he seemed quite aware of how horrible it was for his mental health and that he had the talent to get a better job. My answer to this is also the main basis of this entire analysis: Sammy is a person who would rather be treated horribly then be useless.

There are many examples of this throughout the entire series. To make things easier, I’ll be going through his character in a mostly chronological order.

Before being hired

To repeat what I said earlier, people find it quite strange that Sammy didn’t leave considering his level of talent and artistic genius. But I think it’s important that we flip this around. If Sammy has so much talent, how come before being hired by Joey he was taking on jobs that he clearly didn’t really want to be doing? To quote one of his scenes at the party:

‘ The man at the piano shook his head. He seemed annoyed.(…) Sammy was not a fan of attention and definitely didn’t like putting on a show like this’

So it’s obvious that performing to audiences isn’t how Sammy wanted to be using his talent. But judging by the amount of praise Joey heaps onto him, he could’ve gotten any job he wanted right?

This is where I’m going to start heading into headcannon territory, because we don’t really know much about Sammy before working with Jack apart from the fact he once worked for the cinema.

I think it’s highly possible that Sammy suffers from the case of being really gifted , but still not good enough. He’s definitely talented, he knows this himself. But for whatever reason he was never good enough to be hired to compose for movies or anything else he seemed he’d rather be doing. Perhaps this was because of his personality putting people off? He’s quite a straightforward guy, I wouldn’t be surprised if his employers didn’t appreciate his unsolicited criticism of their works ( in other words, they can’t handle his autistic swag lmao). In fact, going off of how suspicious and distrusting he is of Joey, Its possible that he’d been tricked or scammed by his past employers. Whatever the reason, it lead to him having to settle for less and not pursue his passion the way he truly wanted to.

This is why I think he’s surprisingly so easily hired by Joey. Sammy continuously acts like he’s disinterested in Joeys offer, even though we know he’s going to be working at this place for the next 16 years of his life. I believe this is because Sammy knows JDS needs him, he is too talented for this place which makes him important. Which means he’s useful and won’t be thrown away. This makes sense when you consider the state the music department is in when Sammy demands to see it.

‘ I opened the door to the small music room. An upright piano and music stand were tightly packed inside, barley able to fit in the space. (…) This definitely did not look impressive.’

The fact that Sammy immediately begins demanding things after seeing it says a lot too. It’s as if he’s immediately pushing to see what Joey will allow, to see how badly he needs him. The more desperate Joey is to hire him, the more safe and secure this job will be for him.

And so he takes as much control as possible, demanding complete creative control over his area. The more he’s responsible for, the more he’s proving himself useful. Even if this will lead to him having waaaay too much work for one person to handle.

Working at JDS

Sammy’s 1935 tape shows us just how much he’s willing to put up with as long as it means he’s useful. He’s completely aware of how overworked he is, but ignores this in favour of ‘ keeping the little devil happy’ which most likely refers to Joey. Despite how much he complains, I think he prides himself on being able to get so much work done in such little time. Perhaps he even sees being overworked as proof that the studio just needs him that much? That he’s that significant to the success of the cartoons? Joey probably also used this tactic to manipulate Sammy, to convince him that he’s only giving him so much work because he trusts and believes in him so much.

I think Joey also figured this out from the way he talks about Sammy in Tiol. In fact it’s as if he’s actively mocking him.

‘ I wouldn’t say I was lucky to get him as part of my team, nor that I’m lucky he’s stayed with me all these years.’

‘I can’t make anyone do anything, even as a boss.’

‘ I’d never trade Sammy Lawrence for anything.’

= ‘ oh yeah he’s really talented and could totally have another job if he wanted but I actually need him and would never throw him away! He totally has the will to leave if he wants to but he stays because he knows he’s wanted here :)’

Jack’s 1943 tape does seem to confirm that the studio needs Sammy. By 1943, bendy wasn’t very relevant. Most people hadn’t really heard about the cartoons. And yet Sammy and Jack were still winning awards for their songs. In Sammy’s mind this probably solidified that the studio needs him. He doesn’t care that Joey took the credit because that’s not what matters to him. Better to know your doing good at your job then to risk upsetting your employer.

It seems he prides himself on being able to take on so much work too. In the employee handbook there’s a newspaper article on how Joey mistreats his employees and here’s what Sammy has to say about it:

‘Some people can’t take it and that’s fine’- he’s highlighting the fact that he is someone who can take it and therefore is useful to the studio. He even seems to be projecting, calling those who drop out ‘ useless’.

I think ‘ love requires sacrifice’ isn’t actually something Sammy made up to appease bendy, it’s something he lived by for most of his life. He’ll sacrifice his entire mental health if it means he’ll be loved in return. Of course, this would later take on a more darker and literal meaning.

In fact, I think there’s another factor that contributed to Sammy not being able to leave. @threadedsafteypin wrote this analysis on how Sammy may have struggled with imposter syndrome:

https://www.tumblr.com/threadedsafetypin/668068661627600896/sammy-lawrence-having-imposter-syndrome-its-more

So this gives him another reason as to why he can’t leave. If he’s working at JDs because it enables him to feel wanted and useful, then quitting because he’s struggling would be literally admitting that there’s an area in music he struggles with. In his mind he’d be proving his insecurities right, that he’s not as amazing and talented as the world thinks he is.

But Sammy had people who cared about him that would’ve been able to prove to him he’s worth more then what he can do for others right? Probably, but I think he failed to see that because of how important it is for him to feel wanted.

Let’s look at his partnership with Jack. I do believe that they truly trusted each other and remained friends during their time at JDS. However, it wouldn’t surprise me if Sammy deliberately distanced himself from Jack. Sure, Jack is one of the few people Sammy seems to actually like, but would he leave Sammy for someone better if he realised how much Sammy was faking it? I doubt it. But Sammy’s fatal flaw is his lack of trust in other people, he’s so paranoid of being worthless in the eyes of other people that he’d rather isolate himself then risk losing them. Especially someone like Jack who is directly linked to him through his talent in music.

Tragically, I think his fallout with Susie would have confirmed this paranoia for him. From his perspective, Susie doesn’t like him anymore because she no longer works for him. He isn’t her boss, isn’t there to direct her anymore and is therefore useless to her. Of course, we know this isn’t the full story. Joey intentionally orchestrated Susie’s firing so that she’d think it was Sammy’s fault. It isn’t that she stopped caring about him because she didn’t need him anymore, it’s because she thought he’d abandoned her. This outcome is very beneficial for Joey, it’ll make Sammy more desperate to seek validation from working for Joey rather then his relationships with other people. So he’ll be more reliant on Joey, no matter how much work is shoved onto him. The moment someone doesn’t need him they’ll cut ties with him, so it’s best to stay with someone who obviously needs him.

Serving the ink demon

Sammy’s devotion to bendy is the best example of how far he’s willing to go to be useful to someone. I think when Sammy accidentally drinks ink for the first time he was actually in a very desperate position. In his letter to Joey at the start of Batdr he seems uncharacteristically worried.

Considering what we’ve established, it makes sense that he’d try to help the studio not shut down. If it does, not only will he lose the place he feels secure in, but it will also show that he wasn’t good enough to keep bendy successful ( this isn’t actually the case, we know it’s all Joeys fault for his spending habits, but I think this is how Sammy would see things).

Furthermore, by the time he gets infected Susie would have been fired for a while and Jack seems very absent in DCTL ( probably because he was murdered by Joey off screen) so Sammy would be lacking what little support system he actually had. Suffice to say, he would not have been doing mentally well.

Sammy knows this company is going down hill, it’s inevitable that it’ll go bankrupt at this point. He’s losing his purpose. Enter the ink demon. A terrifying and powerful being who promises to give him a new use. Sammy says it himself in Dctl:

‘It wanted me. He wanted me.’

‘The more I felt him. Heard him. I need to please him.’

He was so desperate to not be cast aside that he was literally willing to sacrifice his coworkers in order to be of use to someone.

And then he gets sent into the ink realm at some point and the ink demon presumably stops talking to him. He’s lost his purpose but doesn’t even have the option to leave anymore. So no wonder he deludes himself Into thinking bendy will set him free. He basically has no choice, if he faces the reality of his hopeless situation will he even be able to keep going?

He convinces himself that it’s all just a test, he hasn’t been abandoned, bendy does everything for a reason. He just needs to get him to notice him again through sacrifice to remind bendy of how useful he can be.

Bendy killing Sammy was a massive reality check for him. It sends him into a complete spiral as he’s forced to confront the truth that he’s been thrown away yet again. But he still can’t fathom why he’d been ‘ left to rot’. After all, he’d kept on sacrificing people like bendy originally wanted hadn’t he? He’d remained faithful even after being ignored for years, spent years praising bendy’s name despite all possible logic pointing against it!

He has nothing. He’s worth nothing. All the suffering he endured was for nothing. We can clearly see that Sammy despises being useless more then anything else. If bendy had kept on talking to him, even if it was all lies, he would have probably have been happier then facing the truth.

Having no purpose

He may have a stupidly small amount of screen time in batdr, but I think his jail scene still tells us a lot.

I’d go as far to argue that the Sammy we see in prison is probably his lowest point in the series that we’ve ever seen.

I mean just look at him. He doesn’t even turn to look at Audrey when she enters. He’s been told that his lord is dead, that he’s a false prophet, that nothing he’s done has mattered because no one is coming to free him. If this is how Sammy acts when he feels worthless it’s no wonder that he lied to himself about bendy being his lord. He’s completely dejected of all hope.

To add to this feeling of uselessness, it doesn’t even seem like he knows how to play anymore. It sounds like he’s trying to play hellfire follis but miserably failing. Not only does he fail as a prophet, but he can’t even be a musician- the last part of his identity he could even latch onto at this point.

And honestly, as happy as an ending as Batdr seems for most of the cast, I don’t think this’ll be the same for Sammy. After all, his lord has completely left the ink realm. He has no one to serve anymore. He’ll lose all his purpose, and everyone around him tells him this is supposed to be for the better? He’s supposed to be content with remaining an ink man for the foreseeable future just because there’s no other option?

I think Sammy actually has the potential to be a villain in the next game ( assuming we get one judging from that scene at the end). Maybe someone from gent, like Alan Grey, will somehow get in contact with him and promise to give him a use again. All he has to do is go against the residents of the ink realm in order to serve him. And if Sammy’s desperate enough, I wouldn’t be surprised if he accepted.

I really do hope we see more of Sammy. I don’t think the meatly is a particularly good writer so I’m not expecting some amazing character ark but tbh I’ll take any crumbs at this point. As long as they don’t make him forgive Joeys bs ‘redemption’ ark I don’t think they can mess up his character too badly. But I’ll guess we’ll have to see when the next bendy game comes out in five years.

#sammy lawrence #bendy and the dark revival #batim #batdr #joey drew #character analysis #wow I wrote so much for a character with such little screen time #what being hyperfixated on a character for months will do to a bitch #in conclusion please give Sammy more screen time bc he has so much potential as a character :)

[ijustreallylovethem]

another part of luke and jack girlfriend well now ex pleaseeeeeeee

see “crush” on my masterlist

it was almost two months after the last time that luke had seen you when your contact popped up on his phone. he stared at the screen in shock for a second before answering the call.

“hello?”

“hey, luke. how are you?” he almost melted just at the sound of your voice.

“pretty good. uh, how are you?”

“i’m doing better.”

“that’s good, i’m glad.”

“yeah, me too. but anyway, i was calling to see if you happened to be free tomorrow night?” luke’s heart stopped at your words, was this finally it?

“uh, yeah. yeah, i’m free.”

“any chance you would wanna come over for dinner tomorrow? i just moved in so i don’t really have much more than the necessities-“

“y/n, don’t even worry about it, that sounds great.”

“perfect. okay, i’ll send you my address and i was thinking of making spaghetti… you still like it right?” luke would eat spaghetti for the rest of his life if you were the one making it.

“of course. i’ll uh, i’ll see you then.”

“see ya.”

that was a month ago. the little date went perfectly and after another one the next night, luke asked you to be his girlfriend. you smiled as you agreed, leaning in to kiss him. you had to admit, it felt weird kissing luke after being with jack for all those years but at the same time, it felt… right. you hated how you had to hide what you had from everyone, though. you knew it would take a long time to go public with your relationship, considering the circumstances and the fact that luke was possibly the most private person on the planet. but you even had to hide from all your family and friends, worried about their reactions.

one night, while watching a move, luke had confided in you about his fears of telling his family. you agreed, though you did inform him about your conversation with quinn. he worried also about what his teammates might think of him. most of all, you both feared his parents and jacks reactions. you knew how hurt jack would be when he found out, and you hated to hurt him even further after leaving him at your proposal. and jim and ellen, you didn’t want them to think badly of you. you both agreed to keep everything under wraps for a bit longer, until you could figure out a way to break the news gently.

only a week later luke was inviting you over so he could cook for you for once. you were wary, but he assured you that ethan was out for the night and wouldn’t be back until long after you left. you agreed, but regretted it (just like you knew you would) when the front door swung open as you cuddled on the couch watching a movie. and to make matters worse, ethan wasn’t alone. he was followed into the house by an all-too-familiar devils number eighty six, and your heart stopped at the sight of him. the room was silent as the two boys took in the scene in front of them, and then jacks look of shock was flipped into anger.

“what the fuck?”

#blurb #jack hughes #luke hughes #nhl #umich hockey

[run2yoongi]

puppy love | jjk + kth x reader. ch.2

you’d met jeon jungkook and his best friend kim taehyung in your first year at university. it didn’t take long for you to fall for jungkook, however it was clear that he was less than interested in romance. you pushed down the frustration and jealousy when jungkook talks about his weekend exploits and dating app matches, telling yourself that being friends with benefits was better than being nothing at all. you didn’t expect that one of the benefits of your arrangement with jungkook was going to be his best friend, taehyung.

↳ pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x reader, taehyung x reader

↳ setting: college au

↳ warnings: alcohol consumption, spanking, teasing, drunk foreplay, fingering, handjob, possessive jungkook, crying, oral (m receiving), facefucking, angst :((

↳ side note: word count is 3.8k! ok so like theres one scene that mentions animal discipline and i just wanna clarify, i do not condone any sort of physical discipline on dogs lol. again, this is the first work i’ve posted in like 9 yrs so if you enjoy, pls let me know!!

previous | next

you were exhausted. taehyung had been helping you through practice exam after practice exam and you were now at the point of considering just failing your final exam instead of putting yourself through this torture. “still got a few wrong.” taehyung muttered as he flipped to the final page of your answer sheet. “i’m fine with that, tae.” you sighed. he was determined to keep you in the library until you got at least a 95% mark on your practice exams. that’s what you had drunkenly agreed on the night before, anyway. you didn’t expect him to keep his promise. 

it was nearly 9 o’clock at night and the library was set to close soon, but you knew that taehyung would insist on moving the study session back to either of your dorms until you met his expectations. “only 90 percent.” he sighed, closing his calculator app. 

you figured he was getting satisfaction from seeing you try and fail over and over again, but you had been sitting for so long that you were struggling to feel the lower half of your body. “we can pick this back up tomorrow.” you suggested, having no real intention of doing this all over again the next day. taehyung looked up at you, unimpressed. like he could read your thoughts, he said “i know you don’t mean that.”

you rolled your eyes and stood up from the university library seating and stretched your arms. “you’re right, but i feel like if i have to stare at another exam paper tonight, i’ll start going blind.” you argued, shifting your weight between your legs in an effort to regain feeling. a wave of soreness hit you and you let out a quiet groan. all jungkook’s fault. you reminded yourself to stretch next time he insisted on trying new positions with you. 

you didn’t notice taehyung’s eyes fix onto your lower stomach as you stretched, nor the dark expression dance across his features as you complained about your aching thighs. “you seen ‘kook today?” you asked innocently as you reached for your bag. jungkook was taehyungs dorm room neighbour, of course he’d seen him. “nope.” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “he’s probably with that girl that works at the uni bar.” he added. he knew it was cruel. 

taehyung, like you, had gotten used to ignoring the bubbling of jealousy and bitterness in his gut when the person he was interested in spoke about someone else. there wasn’t much he could do. he tried not to be bitter about it, but sometimes he spoke before he had the chance to think. 

you just nodded in response, securing your bag and gesturing to the elevator. “i think i need a drink after that psychological torture.” 

-

jungkook was not at the uni bar, luckily. you didn’t particularly want to see him flirt with the staff there, so you let out a relieved sigh as you scoped out the crowded venue. it was a sticky, hot night- you hadn’t been expecting it as you left the air-conditioned comfort of the library, but the heat washed over you leaving your skin covered in a glistening sheen as you adjusted to the humidity.

taehyung set down two glasses in front of you and you smiled at him thankfully. “i’ll get the next round.” you promised. 

you sipped at the sour margarita and relaxed your shoulders, finally letting yourself get out of your academic headspace. truthfully, it had been a while since had spent time alone with taehyung outside of tutoring, leaving you slightly nervous and stuck for things to say that didn’t revolve around political theory or grammar. 

or jungkook. 

you shook your head, determined to allow yourself a fun night without him crossing your mind. “you okay?” taehyung asked, arching his eyebrow skeptically. “yeah, just recovering from the suffering my evil peer mentor put me through.” you replied, smirking to cover up any tells that you were lying.

“i was just doing what you asked me to do.” he laughed softly, leaning back into the booth seat opposite you. “fuck, it’s hot.” he said to himself, shrugging his oversized hoodie off his shoulders. 

“was wondering when you were gonna take that off.” you mused, eyes quickly darting around the room looking for anyone you recognised, you missed the way taehyung’s mouth parted slightly at your words. your eyes caught one of your classmates from the previous term, one you’d bonded over a mutual passion for Agust D with. “ah- unnie!” you called out as you swiftly launched out of your seat and made your way over to her. 

taehyung whipped out his phone and opened his messages, not thrilled to be left alone with his thoughts.

to: jjk

you coming back to dorm tonight?

his phone buzzed within seconds, a reply received straight away.

from: jjk

im here now lol, where are you?

taehyung decided not to reply, lest he come and sweep you away before you even had a chance to finish your drink. he locked his phone and ignored the consistent buzzing, swallowing his guilt with the sugary taste of his drink. you returned shortly after, with a basket of chips in hand. setting it down on the table, you grinned at your friend. it’s always easier to talk over food. 

“don’t you have exams coming up too?” you asked, searching for an opportunity to give tutor-tae a taste of his own medicine. “of course, but i’m already getting 95 percent on my practice papers.” he replied, hiding his smirk with his cocktail glass. “of course you are.” you sighed, silently wishing that you had a mind like taehyung. he seemed to pull everything off so effortlessly, that’s the reason you were so eager to accept his offer to tutor you. as if he had some academic secret that would make everything instantly easier for you. how naive. 

you decided to slam the rest of your drink, convinced your tipsy-self would have something to talk about other than studies or your crush. by the time taehyung had gotten to the half-way mark of his drink, you’d come back with a second round. as the night continued, a seemingly continuous flow of people came to say hi to either taehyung or you, offering drinks and inviting you back to spontaneous dorm parties that neither of you really had any interest in attending. 

you’d begun feeling light headed and decided to swap the margaritas for water, when taehyung returned from a chat with one of his friends, jimin. he slipped in next to you on the booth seat, your eyes widening at the contact of his palm on your knee. taehyung could certainly hold his liquor better than you could, but he was clearly tipsy as well as he swayed slightly, your shoulders occasionally hitting into each other. “you know, we should do this more often,” he slurred. “you and me

without jungkook.” 

you were taken aback at the mention of your crush's name. you tried to process his words, rationalising that he was saying them innocently, he just wanted to be your friend too. “maybe you’d get over him quicker.” he muttered, tapping your knee before withdrawing his hand. your jaw dropped and you quickly turned yourself to face him directly. “wh-what?” you stammered, a feverish pink hue spreading over your cheeks and ears. taehyung let out a laugh, throwing his head back and clapping. “you think i couldn’t tell?” he questioned between short breaths. you broke your stare, looking to the floor in shame as your face grew hotter with embarrassment. “don’t tell him.” you mumbled, trying to save the last of your dignity. his laughter faded out and he extended his arm to spread over your shoulders, giving you a quick squeeze. “your very obvious secret is safe with me.” he assured you, a humorous glint still shining in his eyes. 

taehyung teased you the rest of the night, deriving joy from how easily embarrassed you were. it was cute. when you’d clearly reached your limit with his teasing, he eased up and started telling you about the friends that you’d met that night. you didn’t miss that his palm kept drifting back onto your knee, though. you really didn’t mind. maybe you would be able to get over jungkook this way. 

– 

you’d been so, so wrong. after returning to your dorm and having a hot shower, you were still flustered. taehyung's teasing and touching, the heat and being constantly reminded of your crush had you worked up. worst of all, your inhibitions had already been lowered by the time you had your third drink. you bit your lip as you opened up your messaging app. 

12:28 AM 

to: kookie ♡

how was your night?

you hid your phone under your pillow and began putting away the contents of your bag, determined not stare at your phone until he replied. you had begun your skincare routine when you heard your text tone go off.

from: kookie ♡

disappointing. lost my volleyball match :( 

better now though, what are you doing up so late?

you grinned reading the message over while smoothing your sheet mask over your jaw.

to: kookie ♡

just got back from drinks with tae 

he didn’t reply for another 15 minutes, adding to your frustration. you opened your laptop and turned on some random stream highlights from your favourite artists’ recent VLive. if there was one person in the world who could distract you from jungkook, it was probably going to be Agust D. 

from: kookie ♡

want me to come over?

excitement bubbled in your stomach, and you quickly discarded the face mask and applied your moisturiser. 

and some lip gloss, for good measure. 

to: kookie ♡

let me know when you’re outside, i’ll sneak you in :) 

you knew it only took about 10 minutes from taehyung and jungkook’s dorm to yours, so you used the time to apply some hair detangler and tidy your room before he arrived. your hair always seemed to get messy after he came over. 

your text tone rang out so you quietly snuck out of your room. you knew there would likely be people in the common area, but you still didn’t care to get yelled at by the people on your floor for walking too loudly, or whatever. 

jungkook was waiting outside wearing an oversized black hoodie and his grey sweatpants- an outfit which you’d become very well acquainted with in the last few months. your silk pyjama set grazed your skin as the breeze swept in passed the heavy dormitory building doors. “had a good night?” he asked, silently sneaking in through the doors and following you into the fire escape stairway to avoid the inevitable onlookers loitering in the ground floor common room. “mhmm, five exam papers down. it was tantalising.” you smiled insincerely. unlocking your door, you were surprised when jungkook didn’t wrap you up in his arms as he usually did. 

you turned back to him, confused. “good to hear that hyung is looking after you when i can’t.” he mocked, mischief playing in his stare. you furrowed your brows, not fully understanding. “i wouldn’t call the torture he put me through ‘looking after me’, ‘koo.” you replied. his eyebrows flew up in surprise. “torture? i didn’t take him for a sadist.” 

the cogs in your brain started turning and your eyes widened in shock, your hand flew to cover your mouth. “th-that’s not what i meant! i just meant…” you stammered, too flustered to finish your thought. as you computed what jungkook was implying by ‘looking after you’, your mind played back the memory of taehyungs palm on your knee, squeezing it gently. his glistening skin as he took off his hoodie. the image of his skin on yours. 

“i’m just teasing,” he admitted, taking a step closer and slotting his arms around your waist. “i had to interrogate him after i got your text, though.” 

oh. 

“i’ll be honest, i don’t like sharing my toys very much y/n.” he spoke as his face drew closer to yours. you looked up at him in anticipation, the excitement stirring in your stomach. your frustration began to compound at the same time. if you don’t like sharing, then make me yours. 

you pushed the thought back. he was just teasing you, and you knew how to play that game. “you’re gonna have to learn to like it, ‘koo.” you purred, your hands slipping under his hoodie to stroke his back in the way you knew gave him chills. then, you pulled the bottom of his hoodie over his head, taking in his perfect body under the dim light. he always felt a little more toned after volleyball. you hummed in appreciation of his hands working to unclothe you too. 

you caught the marks you gave him the other day on his neck and smiled smugly at your work. “am i?” he replied softly, chuckling as your striped silk shorts and top fell to the floor. “mhmm.” you hummed. he pushed you over to the bed, but before you could lie on your back, he sat down on the edge of the mattress and brought you in front of him. pulling you closer, he planted a trail of soft kisses on your rib cage, before turning you around and placing you over his knee. he held your hands behind your back with one hand and held you upright on his thigh with the other. his movements had switched from soft and tender to rough before you could hope to adjust. using the hand on your waist, he guided you back and forth on his muscular thigh, a wet mark glistening on his sweatpants already from your sex. 

“i guess i can’t expect my little puppy to follow me around forever.” he sighed darkly. you couldn’t see his expression, nor judge how serious he was by his tone. “but you know what happens to puppies who misbehave though?” he asked, his lips grazing the curve of your ear. 

you whimpered in response, understanding where this was likely going. 

smack! 

you let out a yelp in response to the intense stinging on your backside. while it stung, it had rocked you forward on jungkook’s thigh, creating a burst of sick pleasure that you craved. “discipline.” he answered for you before laying another smack on the flesh of your bare ass. 

this usually happened whenever jungkook lost a game or felt like he’d been slighted in some way. you weren’t one to complain though, you were sick enough to revel in the attention he gave you in times like this. 

“you like playing with my friends, baby?” he asked you, his palm brushing over the reddening mark on your backside. “n-no, only you.” you replied, eager to please him. “nothing even happened-” you began to speak when… 

smack!

anger began to build in your chest. jungkook could go out and fuck with whoever he liked. but when you decide to get drinks with taehyung, it was something to tease you over? you were friends. had he not been reminding himself of that every day, like you were?

whatever game you were playing, you'd lost.

you didn’t know what to say, you just let out a sob and tried to push back the tears that were forming. jungkook softened his grip on you and turned you around onto his lap. “did i hit you too hard?” he asked, his hand brushing the hair out of your eyes. “i’m sorry y/n, i shouldn’t have done that after you were drinking.”

“i-it’s not that.” you admitted, looking away in shame as you slid from his lap to spot next to him. “was it what i said?” he asked, pulling you into a side hug. “you know i don’t mean it, i was just teasing. taehyung told me you just went to the uni bar.” he admitted. 

“but why do you care?” you asked, looking up at him. you felt pathetic. trying to deduce if jungkook actually cared about your sex life as if that would provide any comfort when he was bringing girls back to his dorm every other week. “because you’re both my friends. it’d be weird.” 

you tried to see things from his point of view, but you didn’t get it. taehyung was your friend too. if you wanted to fuck him, so what? it shouldn’t matter to jungkook, he’d probably fucked people that you were friendly with already. 

“he’s like, my childhood friend y/n.” he clarified, seeing the irritation on your face. “i’ve known him since i was twelve. and you're..." he trailed off. "i wasn’t serious anyway.” he looked over to the door, obviously uncomfortable at the thought of sharing you with taehyung.

you nodded, exhausted and still buzzing from your drinks at the uni bar. “i’m sorry.” you mumbled, not wanting to ruin the mood any further by arguing. “don’t be.” he spoke, pulling your laptop over. “let's just watch a movie.” 

– 

as expected, watching a movie didn’t really end in you watching the drama you'd picked out. about an hour in, you found jungkook lifting your leg up as you lay on your side his other arm wrapped around your waist and fingertips toying with your damp core. he groaned rubbing his clothed cock against your plush ass. “feeling better now, baby?” he whispered at you, fingers prodding the entrance between your folds. “could be better,” you retorted. you let out a choked gasp as he slipped two fingers in your core, plunging them in and out slowly as you tensed in his arms. 

“yeah? better than this?” he asked. you didn’t dignify him with a response. instead, you reached behind you and reached for his aching cock over his sweatpants. he moaned loudly which earned him an icy stare. if you got a noise complaint, he wouldn’t be the one having to deal with it. he quickly removed his hand from your thigh to slip his sweatpants and briefs down to his ankles. your lips parted at the sight of his thick cock smacking against his hardened pelvis. 

he guided your hand back to his cock, stimulating the tip with firm strokes. you could see a bead of precum forming already. he stretched you out on his fingers, pushing in deeper and accelerating his pace as you tightened your grip on his cock. after the day you had, you just wanted to cum and your friend was getting you there quickly. 

“god you feel so good.” you moaned, widening your legs for him. he moved his fingers over your clit with renewed enthusiasm. you threw your head back as you grew closer. “not yet, baby.” he instructed you, knowing the look on your face too well. you groaned, ignoring him and feeling your release edge even closer at his ministrations. you quickened the pace of your strokes on his cock, much to his pleasure. he was bucking his hips to meet your hand, desperate for more friction and control. he increased the pressure on your clit with his two fingers, and you let out an unrestrained moan as you came. “fuck, fuck!” you panted, his fingers plunging back into your core as he stroked you through the waves of your orgasm. 

you released your grip on his cock so you didn’t accidentally injure it as every muscle in your body expanded and contracted. your back fell onto the mattress as he removed himself from behind you. “greedy girl. doesn't know how to listen.” he tutted as he placed a thigh on either side of your torso. “mm- ‘koo,” you hummed, slowly gaining your grasp on reality back. he dragged the tip of his cock along your bottom lip, smearing a layer of translucent precum over the skin. 

your parted your mouth and stuck out your tongue slightly as he tapped his cock on the muscle. "you know how to make it up to me though," he smiled, sliding past your lips slightly. you stretched your jaw trying to accommodate his length without choking. he let out a guttural moan at the feeling of your wet, warm mouth welcoming his dick. before he could bottom out, he pulled out. “this ok?” he asked softly, his thumb slowly stroking your jaw. “just really wanna fuck your pretty little mouth.”

you nodded at him, wanting to see him cum because of you. 

he slid is cock back past your lips and rested a hand on the headboard of your bed, slowly rocking his hips. you slid your tongue along the vein of his cock and hollowed your cheeks. he let out another moan as your tongue brushed the slit of his tip. leaning forward, he gently wrapped a hand around the back of your head as he cautiously thrust into your mouth. you continued, digging your fingernails into his thighs as he used you to bring him closer to his orgasm. “such a good girl.” he fawned, looking down at you with your mouth full of his cock and your glassy eyes staring back up at him. you hummed on his cock, sending a wave of vibration through him that brought him even closer. “can i go faster?” he asked, pleading. “mhmm,” you replied.

throwing his head back, he fucked your mouth harder, faster. letting out gasps and moans as you took him. your eyes were tearing up as he hit the back of your throat, gagging you. “i’m so close baby,” he hissed “fuck. where should i cum?” he groaned as he pulled out, feverishly stroking himself. you let out a soft moan at the thought of him cumming over you, a secret fetish that you hadn’t shared with him yet. you didn’t even have a second to answer before his cum shot out and landed over your chest, some making its way onto your neck. “fuck!” he yelled in pleasure as he finished himself off. 

you smiled at him as he panted, holding himself over you to catch his breath and take in the sight before bringing you a warm towel. “‘m sorry.” he mumbled as he wiped you up. “you’re too fucking hot sometimes.”

you just laughed and took the towel from him before making your way to the bathroom. at least you had that going for you. 

by the time you returned from the bathroom and fixed your hair up, jungkook had drifted off to sleep on your bed. letting out soft snores as he held a soft rabbit plush in his arms. 

how were you ever going to get over him?

–

taehyung waited until two in the morning to see if jungkook came back to his dorm, but he didn’t. it didn’t take a genius to figure out where he’d gone after just being grilled for ignoring his texts and hiding the fact he was hanging out with ‘his friend’. 

he considered changing his approach to you next time. he probably couldn’t tease you out of your infatuation with jungkook. instead, he could show you that there were other options available. that someone else could take his place. he was sure it wouldn't bother jungkook, you two were just friends after all.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook one shot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x yn #jjk smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x yn #taehyung x y/n #taehyung smut #taehyung one shot #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x you #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung imagine #kth smut #taekook x reader #taekook x y/n #taekook x yn #taekook x you #bts x you #bts fanfic

[broflovski-brah]

south park high school headcanons

TW for drinking and smoking (i have t watched the post pandemic special, so i don’t quite consider if canon..? I dunno though please don’t come for me-)

Eric Cartman:

Doesn’t give a shit about school tbh

I mean he’s probably a solid C/D student

Probably sits next to the teacher, lmao

He’s a pretentious little bitch, we know this, and he probably just harasses kids all the time

Like if there’s a presentation or something he’s probably pretending to be asleep or something

(especially if it’s Kyle)

Probably makes fun of everyone for their class choices

”Oh of course Kahl is taking economics. Those damn Jews” or “Kenny, why are you taking home economics if we all know you’re poor as hell and don’t have any food in your trailer to make this shit anyway?”

Was probably that one annoying kid who laughed during sex ed

Flips the teachers off when they aren’t looking

Is probably an angel to all the teachers but to the students, he’s a massive dick

Probably tried making Kyle fail his classes by hacking into the website

They only knew it was him because for comments/observations tab he put some ‘stupid Jew’ spiel

He’s dumb as shit sometimes

Bullies freshmen

Probably started Freshie Friday

Hes the kind of person to spray Axe Body Speay everywhere and has probably made multiple people sick because of it

Failing Gym

Mainly because he never makes up classes and refused to swim in ‘contaminated water’ (probably aimed at the girls or Kenny)

Doesnt date through high school

because nobody wanted to date a neonazi manipulative asshole

Probably didn’t do any clubs

He probably joined the Gay Straight Alliance (run probably by Big Gay Al) and ripped on everyone there

Got bored and never went back after he ran out of jokes

Honestly he’s probably to lazy to do any clubs after school

He doesn’t like staying in school after he’s already

Probably has gotten suspended a few times

(likely for putting a cherry bomb in Kyle’s locker)

Im kinda lost on Cartman lmao

Stan Marsh

Honestly? He probably drank a lot in high school

Kyle often had to take care of him and scold him for drinking

Stan’s probably a B/C student

Probably studies better in a group than alone

Thanks the stars that Shelley is a senior and will leave him alone

(though I do think she somewhat mellowed down, though she still threatens to beat the fuck out of him sometimes)

And Sharon probably helps him when she isn’t busy

But he feels awkward going to her for help

Randy is awful to study with

”So if I have x amounts of condoms and y amounts of-“ “Fuck this Im calling Kyle”

Kyle is his study buddy when he can’t turn to anyone else

which is pretty often

He pays pretty good attention in class

Probably still dating Wendy tbh

Stan definitely wears like zip up hoodies and ripped jeans and such

Probably bleached the lower half of his hair

it didn’t look good

His hair’s greasy af i’m calling it

Its fluffy when he washes it but that’s a rarity

Uses 3 in 1

wears gloves everywhere

lowkey germaphobe

Probably joined some sort of after school activity

Probably some sort of helping the community club

Tbh he failed chemistry multiple times

Hes trying though

Graduates with probably a solid 3.2 GPA

(idk how colorado does it i’m just going based off of where i live)

Probably goes to college and then drops out after two years

Works a few jobs because he wants to get out of the house

Overall good student, 7/10

Kyle Broflovski

That rare breed between nerd and jock

Hes probably one of those athletic kids getting awards and stuff all the time

Def on the swim team during the fall/spring and the basketball team during the winter

Also does a bunch of those community clubs (things that you would join to get into NHS)

His parents are probably super strict about grades

Theyre all about ‘keeping a good example for Ike’

So he usually beats himself up if he gets a grade below a 95

Speaking of, he’s probably top of his class ngl

Very smart

Studies better alone and probably isn’t the greatest at helping others study, but he’s trying

Honestly probably gets a little less insecure(?) about his hair and doesn’t wear his hat as much

Still barely takes it off but he’ll leave it off during sporting events

I know that thing smells like ass/hj

Probably wears a lot of flannels and t-shirts

Has reading glasses (they’re thick rimmed and brown)

Either that or he wears contact lenses but glasses are more convenient for him

Doesnt like wearing them because they remind him of his cousin Kyle Schwartz

Probably in all honors/AP/college courses

Gets academic awards a lot

He probably did band for one year to fulfill one of his miscellaneous credits (he played clarinet)

He’s probably one of the sweeter kids though, sports help him work through his anger issues

Still snaps at Cartman a lot though

Sometimes doesn’t take good care of himself between sports and studying

So Stan whips him into line

Probably had one partner through high school, doesn’t really play around much

Either that or he doesn’t date at all, he’s just too busy

If he were to date it’s be in junior/senior year, maybe sophomore year if it was the right person and they weren’t needy or too demanding of his time

Probably graduated with an advanced diploma

Goes to some ivy league school

Solid 4.0/4.1 GPA

Majors in math and minors in science

Kenny McCormick

Ngl he doesn’t give a shit

Probably failing some of his classes, has a few B’s, some D’s, he’s really scattered when it comes to grades

Probably skips class sometimes when he doesn’t feel like going

Still wears that same parka

He’s still taking home economics/hj

Probably sneaks into the girls changing room as Princess Kenny 🤭

That one kid who has a crush on all his female teachers

”Guys my average is a 69”

Hes the glue to keep all the boys together but tbh I feel like they drift apart and go their own directions during high school

They probably have like-game days on Saturdays though

He wants to keep the group together though because they’re probably more family than his own family (minus Karen)

Still dies a lot

Probably tries to die so he can get out of doing tests and such

Is the reason they don’t allow costumes at Halloween (he was def a playboy bunny)

Probably takes a lot of non honors/no college courses

The latter even less so because his family can’t afford it

Graduates with a barely passing GPA and goes to community college

Probably ended up dropping out tho

But he still makes sure to keep in touch with all the boys (minus cartman but he keeps in touch with Butters)

Butters Stotch

(speaking of-)

Honestly? Solid B student

Is probably still the most naive of the group, though he does stick up for himself now

Doesn’t like being called Butters much but Leopald is worse

So he either goes by Butters or Leo

Probably has a knack for history??

Honestly doesn’t do all honors courses, proabbly does honors history and maybeeee honors English

Sucks at math

His parents ground him a lot because of this

So he ends up with a tutor

He goes to the girls’ sleepovers as Margerine sometimes

Grew out of his Hello Kitty obsession :(

(…tbh he was probably into Pusheen at some point-)

Anyway

Probably has a solid 3.5 GPA or something

Doesn’t graduate at the top of his class but he isn’t the dumbest person in the room

Probably is involved in the theater department

Honestly very artsy??

Probably takes a lot of art classes because he loves it so much

Majors in it!!

Probably minors in history too :)

Hes pretty nice to everyone in his classes and maybe even dates in high school..?

His parents don’t like it though

And he can’t go out much because he gets grounded a lot still

Overall pretty good!!

Tolkien Black

Probably still dating Nicole

Salutatorian

Probably competes with Kyle a lot because of academics

Hes in the band

Plays trumpet

Of course Cartman says shit about this all the time, I’m calling it

Him and Kyle do butt heads a lot but honestly I feel like they’d end up being pretty good friends

Still cringed at his old TikToks

Hes probably in most AP/honors classes

Probably majors in music in college?

Or maybe he minors in it

Most likely the latter

He’a your go to study person

He’s pretty nice about it too, he doesn’t shame you for getting the answers wrong

He’s that one kid who has house parties a lot when his parents aren’t home

Mainly because Cartman kept calling him a pussy and saying he had no balls

Doesn’t have alcohol though

Him and Nicole were probably voted cutest couple

Them or Tweek and Craig

He hangs out with Clyde a lot and helps him with his courses

Hes probably class president tbh

Or maybe vice president

His parents donate tons of money to the school

Hes pretty level headed and calm during tests and quizzes

He’s really focused and motivated in school

Overall solid 3.9 GPA

Probably only behind Kyle by very little

And he’s okay with it

He probably goes to some hardcore Ivy League school like Harvard or Yale or some shit

Probably uses music as a side hustle in college to help pay for his classes

He was hellbent on paying for colllege alone, or mostly alone. He didn’t want people thinking he was only at said college because he was rich.

Pretty good overall, 10/10

Clyde Donovan

Clyde…is Clyde

Hes a dumbass

A lovable dumbass big a dumbass nonetheless

Scored so low on his SAT the first time he took it

Cries to Tolkien all the time because of his grades but when Tolkien tries to help him he gets distracted and leaves

He’s that one hella sporty kid though

Definitely captain of the soccer team

Probably in the Gay Straight Alliance for ‘shits and giggles’ but then finds out he’s pan, lmao

I feel like him and Bebe are really tight

They go shoe shopping together

Cries when he loses Kahoot

Uses Chat GDP to talk to girls 🫢

Honestly is probably like-weirdly good at math but nothing else

Calls Kyle and Tolkien his algebros whenever they’re grouped together

(i kinda hdc that he’s in honors math too with kyle and tolkien)

That honors math course saved his GPA

honestly it’s probably a 3.0 or a 3.1

Hes not completely dumb though

He gets a lot of sports awards and stuff

Kinda headcanon Clyde to have dyslexia?

So maybe that makes things a little more difficult for him

Studies better in groups

Gets easily distracted tho

He’s a horrible test taker

Cries whenever he can’t figure out the answer

Overall, he’s kinda mid

He probably goes to college tho

He stays in college for two years before he graduates

He was probably their star football player, so they were probably sad to see him go

But academically, he’s not great

Craig Tucker

Science geek

Mainly Earth Science but any science is basically a second language to him

He’s honestly probably good at English too?? like he’s a really good writer

Hes probably in honors English and Science

He combusts when it comes to geometry and map work

He’s bad with dates

Like he can hardly remember his anniversary with Tweek or his own birthday half the time

He’s pretty good at helping people study if it’s one on one

He’ll bully some people harder than others when it comes to helping them though

Goes after Clyde a lot of the time whenever he comes over for extra help

”Of you would leave I would be sooooo happy.”

He’s nice with Tweek though

Helps him not to panic during tests and such, probably gives him a lot of fidget toys too

(most of which are space themed)

Speaking of, I do kinda headcanon Craig with some kind of neurodivergent condition like autism or something

I kinda feel like space would be his special interest

He mellowed out a lot after middle school, but he still flips everyone off

Thats usually the extent though

His locker is an absolute mess, I already know it

The teachers for the most part like him

He pays attention and such

Probably wears reading glasses, they’re thin though and he doesn’t wear them a lot

Eric third wheels him and Tweek’s study dates a lot too

He studies online using things like Quizlet and stuff

Loves reading

He’s probably snuck out of class a few times, but doesn’t do it often

Solid 3.7/3.8 GPA

Probably in the top 20% in his class

Goes to a pretty good college, probably on the west coast like in California or something

He’s pretty good in school

Tweek Tweak

Horrible test taker

Probably has to go to a different room, which just stresses him out more

Tbh Eric probably got him to get high once or twice

It did calm him down but it also freaked Craig the fuck out

Especially because this was during lunch

Tweek was fine, he was just extraordinarily sick and Craig was not happy

The teachers don’t really like Tweek

They think he’s a distraction and a ‘bad influence’ for other kids because of his freak outs

He hogs the coffee machine at school istg

I kinda headcanon Tweek to have acid reflux too?? So his stomach ends up gurgling in class and making weird sounds and the teachers get mad-

And this freaks him out even more because he thinks he’s dying

”Why is it doing that?! Why?! Did someone poison the coffee?! Did the underpants gnomes come back?! GAH!”

He’s hella good in gym class

Tweek on the track team??? anyone???

It helps him burn through some of his anxiety

He probably has a 504 too after his parents kept getting calls about his anxiety

Goes to the school counselor a lot

He probably brings fidget toys to class a lot and often has to give Craig his phone so he doesn’t end up getting hooked in on something some celebrity said and then start freaking out

He’s probably really good at English

Reading helps him forget about his anxiety for a bit

He always has to double/triple check to make sure he hasn’t missed anything

He uses his agenda religiously

Its probably stained with coffee and smells like a mixture of coffee and honey and sweat

His hands sweat and shake a lot during tests

He’s probably barely passing math, Craig helps him through science

He’s alright in social studies

His lowest grade is probably a 75

Craig and Tolkien help him out a lot too

I feel like he studies better one on one though

Too many people in one group makes him feel easily overwhelmed

He probably graduates with a 3.4 GPA or so

Goes to college in New England, he thinks city life will calm him down

Spoiler, it doesn’t

He probably drops out after a year or two before applying somewhere on the West coast to be closer to Craig and some of his other friends

English major and art minor??

I feel like he’s really good at art too

Art helps him vent in a healthy manner

Good student, not great, but good

Wendy Testaburger

Honestly? She’s actually low key smart

She was probably third in her class

She’s very good in math and english

She probably takes all the super hard classes too to ‘challenge herself’

She probably invites all the girls (maybe Princess Kenny and Margerine/hj) over for study date sleepovers

They never end up studying

But it does make for a pretty good time

Shes a really good test taker, but she probably ends up being too hard on herself too

Stan probably (reluctantly) asks her for help a lot of the time too

Social studies is the thing she excels in the most

Especially women’s history

She’s probably in a lot of clubs too, like the community service clubs

Shes secretary of her class, methinks

(I think Tolkien would be president, Kyle would be VP, she would be secretary and Bebe would be treasurer)

Cartman ran but they found out he rigged the votes

She’s all for being just and fair, so this pissed her off to no end

She needs glasses, her eyesight worsened after middle school

So freshman year she got glasses

I can see her doing girls wrestling

Shes probably a somewhat sporty kid, not like Kyle sporty but sporty nonetheless

She’s kind of a geek too lol

I feel like her and Kyle and Bebe are actually pretty good friends

They play chess together lol

Shes actually really sweet to like, new kids and such-probably shows them around

She gets some muscle after wrestling for so long

She also probably does track and field

I can see her being really good in long jumping

She kinda sucks at science though

She takes French

She graduates with a 3.85/3.95 GPA

Probably leaning towards the latter number

She probably goes to the west coast as well, probably somewhere in Nevada or California as well

She does pretty well, she goes to a really good school and probably majors in History and minors in English

I can see her being an English:History teacher

Probably for younger kids though

She stays on Twitch with Bebe and Heidi for hours istg

Shes so sweet, i love wendy tbh

Bebe Stevens

I know her mom is like the dumb blonde stereotype, but I feel like Bebe would be somewhat smart

She’s probably not top of her class but that’s not to say she’s not smart

She honestly is probably in the top 10% of her class

Her and Wendy and Kyle probably do study sessions together

She’s really competitive, so she kinda gets mad if Wendy gets a better score than her lol

Shes really artsy

Took AP art

Shes probably in AP Social Studies and honors English as well

Shes fine with reading, she doesn’t like it, but she’ll do it

Shes really good at math tho

Shes not so good at science, similarly to Wendy

So usually Kyle takes the lead on science during study sessions

She’s that one kid to be like ‘tall the substitute teacher is so hot!’ unironically

Shes hella hood at sewing

She’s probably gonna end up going into fashion tbh

She’s oddly good with money

Treasurer of her class

She probably helps organize prom and homecoming and stuff

Doesn’t date, she crushes around though, but she never actually asked anyone out

She’s really intense ngl, she probably taught Wendy how to fight

She’s on the cheer team

She isn’t a prick though, she’s probably one of the most bubbly cheerleaders out there tbh

Shes also in art club

Maybe does theater too?

She’s in band and choir, she actually has a really lovely voice

She can play flute really well too

Shes pretty smart, solid 3.7/3.8 GPA

Graduates and goes to a New England school, like in New York or Connecticut

She majors in Fashion Design and minors in Art

Heidi Turner

She’s not the brightest

Not to say she isn’t smart, she just isn’t very academically inclined

She probably takes a lot of the mythology classes and such

Shes really into star signs and crystals

Her and Craig started a ‘Space Club’ and actually got a few members to join

She kicked Eric out tho

She’s hella hood at Math and English

The rest is history

Sges probably grown a lot since the whole ‘Cartwoman’ incident

And she’s a lot kinder to people now

She’s weird, but a good kind of weird

She gives away crystals as a gift a lot to new freshman

Shes in the choir!!

She actually has a really amazing voice, she’s been doing choir for years

Shes that one senior that all the freshman flock to because she’s the kindest

She stands up for them where they’re being bullied too, tells them to be wary of Cartman

Shes hella short (4’11’’)

So she often gets picked on like ‘aw, someone went into the wrong building!’ or something stupid like that

She’s so sweet though, she’s that one friend who offers to help you with your homework and then just gives you all the answers

She graduates with maybe a 3.6 GPA or so

She probably stays local tbh, for college

Either that or she would go down to New York or smth

Probably gets into a decent school and majors in music

Wait no, she majors in psychology and minors in music

She becomes an art and music therapist, she loves helping people out

i love heidi 🤭

reblog >>>>> liking

#south park #headcanons #south park headcanons #eric cartman #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #clyde donovan #craig tucker #tweek tweak #tolkien black #wendy testaburger #bebe stevens #heidi turner #headcanon #south park school headcanons

[squishmallow36]

It's Getting Dicey

Summary: It's the secret santa fic...Happy New Year @ultralazycreatorfan! I know I told @song-tam that it'd be here on the 30th and then that didn't happen and then I said it'd be here on the 31st and then I was struck down by a headache. Hooray. Anyway. Dex, Lovise, Sophie, and Keefe get together to play some bunco. "What's bunco?" you ask. A game that involves rolling dice. And swearing at dice. A lot of swearing at dice. Xe/xem Dex, it/its Keefe, he/him Sophie. You know how it is. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4398

TW: swearing, at least two (2) lewd jokes

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @faggot-friday @kamikothe1and0nly @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @i-loved-while-i-lied @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death @dizzeners @thefoxysnake @olivedumdum @loveution

On Ao3 or below the cut!

    It’s always a fun day when Dex finds xemself a new project. It’s an even more fun day when xe decides to rope other people into that project without telling them what they’re getting roped into. 

    Lovise is currently living in fear of what Dex has found this time. Xe’s not maniacally supervillain laughing quite yet, so that’s a good sign, though it’s certainly not removed from the realm of possibilities. 

    All xe’s done is drag Sophie and Keefe, presumably kicking and screaming, to Rimeshire. These three definitely can’t cause massive amounts of chaos. To be fair, with a Sophie comes a Sandor, so it can’t be all bad, but it’s still quite unsafe. Ro’s still off somewhere chasing down Cad, so she’s, thankfully, not a concern either. 

    “Hello, everyone. I thank you all for meeting with me on this fine evening against your better judgements—,” Dex begins. 

    Keefe interrupts, “That’s an understatement,” a smirk playing on its lips. 

    Dex gives it a look, a hard edge creeping into xor voice. “--The reason we are gathered here today is because I was recently informed about a human game by the name of bunco. I was also told that I would need to gather multiple willing victims in order to play. I think Sophie was simply trying to avoid me, but here we are anyway, so if you would please explain to us the rules.”

    “I should just jump out your window,” Sophie grumbles. 

    “With or without teleporting before hitting the ground?” asks Keefe.

    Sophie considers its question for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet. I guess we’ll see if I go splat.”

    Lovise flinches as Sandor pinches the bridge of his nose. “Today’s objective is that we’re trying to avoid an Elwin call.”

    “He’ll be so splat, there won’t be any need,” Keefe says, flipping its hair out of its eyes. 

    That really does not improve the situation by any meaningful metric. 

    Dex glances back and forth in the silence between Sophie and Keefe several times before asking, “The rules, please?” 

    Sophie leans forward and clasps his hands together. “Well, we aren't going to get very far unless you have six sided dice.” 

    Xe leans back, and without even looking, pulls out a clear box of more dice than xe should be trusted to have. And cards. And twenty-sided dice. And flat circles that probably have some purpose. Where xe got all this, Lovise doesn’t know. She doesn’t ask. 

    “How many do we need?” Dex asks, the dice clinking around in the hard plastic shell as xe digs them out of their prison. 

    “If we want to be nice and share, then three. If not, then we’re gonna need three per person.” 

    “Keep your grubby little hands off my fucking dice. Give me some d20s, baby.”

    Dex blushes to xor ears as he hands out dice to everybody. Keefe pouts when it’s given d6s instead of the d20s like it wanted. 

    Sophie leans back to look at Sandor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna play?” 

    Lovise then takes that opportunity to make the very bad life choice of kneeling down to join their little circle. What’s the worst that can happen? They throw dice at me? I think that’s gonna happen either way. 

    Two matching dice and one mismatched die, all in shades of green, roll their way towards her and settle just shy of being in her lap. A slight twinge of disappointment flickers in her chest that she doesn’t get Dex’s gold-plated plastic one, but that’s probably lost under xor bed or something.     

    Sophie stares at Sandor for another long second before jumping into an explanation of how to play. “Bunco has six rounds—round one you’re rolling for ones, round two you’re rolling for twos, so on and so forth. So, uh, Dex, if you would roll your dice for us, please.” 

    Dex rolls xor metallic red Clan Sea Fox dice from xor adventures playing Battletech to get a 1, 3, and a 4. 

    “Very nice. I guess we should probably nominate a scorekeeper—”

    Sophie is interrupted by the crashing sounds of Dex rummaging through the shit in xor room. Xe claims there’s a system. There’s no system. Miraculously, xe finds both a piece of paper that’s only used on one side and looks like it’s only been through a few avalanches, as well as a pen whose ink is almost guaranteed to be drier than ogre skin. 

     These get shuffled into Lovise’s responsibility because she seems “trustworthy.” Considering she’s thrown more games of Catan than one would think in order to make sure Dex doesn’t pout, that’s probably not ideal for integrity’s sake. 

    “So this is round one, so just kind of make a table tracking our point values with tally marks or some similar system if you guys don’t have that. The column headers can just be our initials or something. Be lazy. Just give Dex one point for that one xe rolled.” Sophie turns back to Dex. “You may roll again. And, yes, that does mean all the dice. We’re not playing Yahtzee, Keefe.” 

    Dex rolls again. 3,5,5. 

    “Because you didn’t get a one, the turn moves to the next victim. Do we wanna go clockwise or counterclockwise? Or are analog clocks not something that exist around here?”

    Before this devolves into a shouting match, Lovise suggests, “You go next so then I’ll go last.” 

     Sophie picks up his dice and begins shaking them. “In case I forget to mention it, three of any number that isn’t the round number—say I roll 3 fours right now—that’s worth five points. Rolling three of the target number is 21 points and is called a bunco. And we’re going to keep rolling until someone hits 21 points, and then we go to the next round rolling for twos, et cetera.”

    He lets the marbled, matching blue dice go. 2,5,6. 

    “Damn it. You gave me the cursed dice, didn’t you? Whatever. Keefe, it’s your turn.”

    “You better have given me the good dice.” Its dice don’t match by any means—one black and blue, one marbled brown, and one beige—but they’re all stolen from Munchkin, made obvious by the helmet representing the number one. 1,4,5. 

    “Lovise, please mark down a point and Keefe, you go again.”

    1,2,4.

    “One more point. Roll again.”  

    “Again? Exile.” 2,2,3. 

    “Holy fuck, I just thought you got five points. Don’t do that again. Lovise, it’s your turn whenever you’re ready.”

    The unfamiliar plastic dice are awkwardly light in her palm as she rolls. 1,2,4. “Can someone count how many I’m going to have to add so I don’t have to keep pausing?”

    Dex nods and puts a finger up—thankfully not that finger—as Lovise scoops the dice up again.

    1,1,2. 

    Sophie leans forward, his head in his hands. “If you had just gotten a bunco, I would have jumped out the window.”

   “Is that worth one point per one rolled, or some other weird stacking rule like rolling three?”

    “It’s one point per one rolled. So in total, she’s gotten three points this turn. One-seventh of the way to the end.”

    “One-seventh of the way to one-sixth of the way to the end,” Keefe corrects. 

    “I’ll do my best,” Lovise says as she scoops the dice up again, only to roll a 3,5, and 6. She marks down her three points. “To be fair, I did try.” 

     “That you did. Just not enough,” Dex says. Xe rolls a 1,1, and 2, prompting another Sophie-stroke. On the reroll, xe gets a 1,6,6. On the next reroll, xe gets a 3,5,6. Lovise writes all this down, bringing xor total up to 4. 

    Sophie’s turn again. 2,2,5. “This shit is so fucking rigged.”

    “No, that’s just how probabilities work sometimes,” Dex says as Keefe rolls. 1,4,6. 

    Sophie counts on his fingers as Keefe’s streak continues with a 1,5,5. 

    1,1,5. 

    2,2,4 and it all comes crashing down. Those four points bring its total up to six. 

    The turn comes back to Lovise, who rolls a 2,4,5, leaving as quickly as it arrived. 

    Dex seizes the opportunity to get a 1,4,5, followed closely by a 4,5,5. Sophie is blessed with a gorgeously useless 3,4,4, paralleled by Keefe’s 2,5,6. 

    Lovise follows that up with a 1,2,6, forgetting to ask someone to count and instead pausing to write it down on the scorecard. The next roll is a 1,4,5, which doesn’t get written down, and then 3,3,4, which has no reason to be marked. This brings her up to tie with Dex, though the both of them are still trailing behind Keefe. 

    Dex fumbles this opportunity to take the lead with a 2,5,6. 

    Sophie, on the other hand, is sulking something fierce when the turn comes back to him, convinced the ones on the dice are never going to appear. It turns out, with a roll of 1,1,5, they do, in fact, have ones on them, and those are his first two points on the board. They’re also his only two points on the board as his next roll is a 3,5,6. 

    Keefe and Lovise get a grand total of zero points during their turns with a 2,3,4 and a 3,4,6, respectively. 

     They do, however, learn that having a straight of numbers like Keefe’s does not count for any points. This is bullshit and should be amended to make this a more enjoyable experience for everyone involved. 

    And that’s when Dex decides to show off. Xor first roll is 1,3,4. Standard. Normal. Trustworthy. The next is 1,3,5. Like. Okay. You’re being a little extra there but go off I guess. And then the third roll. 1,3,6. 

    Stringing together three points in three separate rolls is a little absurd, which is why it gets nuked by a 3,3,5 moments later. This one turn didn’t net that many points in the grand scheme of things, but it does bring xem ahead to eight. More than a third of the way to the end goal. 

    The ones fall off the dice for an entire cycle, rotating around the entire group until Sophie’s next turn before any more points make their way onto the board. He does get a 1,1,4 so it’s not nothing, but the excitement quickly fades as the reroll of 2,3,6 materializes. 

    This brings him to four, narrowing the gap between first and last place without changing any placements. 

    The ones don’t appear again until his next turn, revealing themselves with a roll of 1,2,4. The reroll is a 5,5,6. 

   “Damn it. I really thought that was gave me five points.”

    Keefe tilts its head. “I guess you just can’t count.”

    “You’re right. Dex, do you have any integer dice?”

    “No changing dice in the middle of the game. What happened to last time when you cried for the blue ones?”

    “You’ve cursed the blue ones since the last time we played Munchkin!”

    “Or maybe I just wanted to make sure that you could successfully run away instead of getting violated by a tongue demon next time!” 

    “That’s just because you transed my gender and the fucking tongue demon got rid of my cheese grater of peace!” 

    Munchkin is an…interesting game, Lovise will give it that. 

    “I was just being accurate to the real world!” Dex argues. 

    “The real world hadn’t figured that out yet! You just wanted the -5 modifier during my next combat phase.”

    “Maybe I have a new ability that’s predicting the future. Did you ever think about that, Mr. I-have-five-abilities?”

    Sophie looks at Keefe, who shrugs. “I can’t tell what people’s abilities are, dude. After they’ve manifested, fucking forget it.”

    “Oh, please. Like you two haven’t had your hands all over each other since we were staying at Alluveterre.”

    “Yeah, but my ability’s on the newer side, so there’s not a whole lot I can do. Now, can it be my fucking turn, please? I need to show all of you how you roll dice.”

    Sophie huffs. “Sure, whatever.”

    Keefe gives him a bright false smile as it rolls. 1,6,6.  “Lovise, if you would mark that down, I’d appreciate it greatly.” 

    She had already written it down and is waiting for it to roll again. 1,3,3. 

    Keefe’s confidence hits the rafters as it scoops up the dice again, only to have it come fluttering down in tatters with a 3,5,6. It’s currently tied with Dex for first place. 

    It passes the turn to Lovise with a not-insignificant amount of grumbling. She gets a point with a roll of 1,3,4, but doesn’t have the necessary luck to get a string of rolls as her turn dies with a reroll of 2,2,4. 

    She’s up to six points, and at this rate, the gnomes are going to get Ravagog back before the first round is over. 

    Dex doesn’t choose to help this problem with xor roll of 3,5,5. It was so close to being promising. 

    Sophie and Keefe each pick up a point on their next turns. Keefe’s currently working on getting three dice to show the same face and it isn’t working quite yet, with two doubles in a row. (The first roll was a 1,3,3 and the second was 4,5,5.)

    It’s a whole cycle through their turns—Lovise 2,3,4; Dex 2,4,5; Sophie 3,3,6; Keefe 3,5,6—before Keefe officially declares, “The ones have fallen off the dice.”

    Lovise proves that to be not quite accurate by finding a 1,4,4 somewhere in there. Then, just to make sure, she finds a 1,1,3. That’s the last of the ones on her dice for now, however, ending her turn with a 3,4,6.  

     That brings her up to 9 points and into the lead, though not by much. 

    Dex rolls a gorgeous, worthless 2,3,4 on xor next turn, and Sophie follows that up with an equally beautiful 3,5,6. 

    Keefe can’t let this stand any longer with a turn composed of rolls of 1,3,6; 1,5,6; and 2,6,6. Its total comes to 11 and they’re nearing the halfway point. Though, dice will be thrown if Keefe wins, so trying to lengthen the game any way possible is advantageous.

    That’s Lovise strategy as she rolls a nice, normal 1,4,4 and scratches it onto the scoreboard. She picks the dice back up to get a 4,5,6. 

    Straights really should count for points, but when you’re playing with a bunch of gays, they don’t. Also that’s what Sophie says the rules are, but that’s the better reason. 

    This turn brings her to a total of ten points. A nice, round number. 

    Dex, on the other hand, has other plans. Xor starts off by rolling a 1,4,6. As one does. Xe continues by rolling a 1,3,5. As one also does. 

    And that’s when shit gets tense. Xe rolls again, but doesn’t get a one. Xe does, however, get a 2,2,2. 

    Five points. 

    Keefe’s bloodthirst is gleaming in its eyes as Dex picks up the dice again. Thankfully, Lovise doesn’t have to hold it back as xe rolls a 2,3,5, killing xor streak.

    That doesn’t reverse the past. The damage is done. Xe’s at fifteen points after pulling off that move. 

     “Always keep in mind that anyone can get a bunco at any time. Three ones and this is all over.” Sophie then takes his own advice and tries his best to make that happen. He’s actually fairly close with a 1,1,6 and an aneurysm from Keefe. His second attempt, a 3,5,6, is notably less successful but still brings him to eight points. 

    Keefe is not successful in its own 4,6,6 attempt. The grumbles that the dice are cursed have begun once again in greater force this time. 

    Lovise and Dex both pick up a point on their next turns and then the ones fall off the dice for two entire cycles. As in, it goes through Sophie, Keefe, Lovise, Dex, Sophie, Keefe, Lovise, and Dex before another point is on the board. 

    Where do the ones go? Nobody knows. They’re definitely still on the dice—Keefe checked. Loudly. They just don’t appear. For eight rolls in a row. 

    Sophie interrupts this spiraling trend with a 1,2,3 like a light in the darkness. Then, he gets a 1,3,6 with significantly less symbolic meaning behind it. He follows this up with a 2,3,5 that makes the veil of inky blackness fall over them once again. He’s up to ten points, so he’s still in last place, but less firmly so than before this last turn. 

    It’s Sophie’s next turn before the dice bless the group with a holy one in a roll of 1,3,6. It’s strangely fitting how the forgotten middle child of his previous round is now the roll that slows the encroaching emptiness. 

    Its luminescence is snuffed out almost as soon as it began like a candle on a windy night with a 2,4,5. 

    “Come on, you worthless sons of bitches,” Keefe mutters as it shakes the dice. 1,3,4. “Ooh, swearing at the dice is the answer? You should’ve told me this earlier. You pieces of shit better give me a one.” 1,3,4. 

    “To be fair, I’m kind of surprised it took you this long to figure out that secret,” Dex says. 

    Keefe ignores xem. “Please, motherfuckers.” 2,4,5.

    Unfortunately, Lovise doesn’t get to learn new swear words from Keefe’s newfound Polyglot ability with the end of that streak that took it to thirteen points. 

    It’s said that some humans find thirteen to be an unlucky number. It’ll be interesting to see if the dice agree with this superstition by grinding Keefe’s point gains to a halt. 

    Lovise rolls on her next turn—2,2,4. It’s getting real fucking old rolling and rolling and having nothing new to show for it. 

    Dex’s turn is filled with as much excitement as Lovise’s just was. Which is to say, none. Xe rolls a 4,6,6. Lovise thought xe got three 6s, but no. If xe had, the round would be over and Dex would be inventing a new victory dance. 

    Sophie, however, doesn’t let that stop him. 1,6,6. 1,4,6. 1,2,6. The dice seem rigged—almost like he isn’t even rolling them, but different ones are ending up as the ones and sixes. The only reason Lovise even bothered to notice was that she doesn’t trust any of her company that much. 

    Then Sophie decides to roll a 2,6,6, proving that all of this was meaningless speculation. But he is up to thirteen—tied with Keefe—so that’s nice for everyone except for Lovise in last place.

    It takes a whole cycle of grumbling, swearing at dice, and definitely not purposely rolling them at others before Keefe gets another point. Actually, two points. 1,1,4. It ends up only being those two points, as its next roll is 2,3,3 and a couple of tears that it wasn’t worth five points. That brings it up to fifteen, gnawing at the back of Dex’s heels for the honor of being in the lead. 

    The dice giveth and they taketh away. 

    They taketh away Lovise’s, Dex’s, Sophie’s, and Keefe’s next attempt to get points.

    “Bless me with your golden glory,” Lovise whispers, eyes skyward as she shakes the dice. 1,2,6. 

    She scratches her twelfth point into the paper before returning to the translucent cubes taunting her. She rolls again. 2,4,6. 

    Then it’s Dex’s turn once more—3,4,5. A roll that has absolutely nothing.

    Then it’s Sophie’s turn once more—3,3,6. If only four threes would count for something. Saw the dice apart. Do whatever it takes. 

    Then it’s Keefe’s turn once more—2,4,4. It’s a sharpie away from drawing extra dots. If every side has six dots, every roll is five points. 

    Then it’s Lovise’s turn once more—4,5,6. Straights still don’t count for points. With the way this game is going, it seems like the gays don’t either. 

    When the turn returns to Dex, expectations are on the floor. Then xe rolls a 1,5,6. That’s xor seventeenth point. Four more and this is over. Four more and two becomes the magic number. 

    Xe rolls again. 

    2,2,2. 

    Lovise’s breath catches in her throat. Five points. Bringing Dex to 22 and the round to proceed forward. 

    It’s almost poetic how the first round ends with the next magic number, come to bestow them with its splendor before it disappears from the dice forever. 

    Sophie, a smirk playing on his lips, taps on his Imparter in what looks like a very controlled fashion until an ear-splitting bell noise echoes through Dex’s room. 

    The only reason Dex merely flinches away and doesn’t banish him immediately from the premises for all eternity is presumably because rolling dice game fun when you win.     

    “My family’s bunco game has a bell that comes with it. That’s the closest I can do. Technically, I think the rules say you’re supposed to ring it only when you get a bunco. But we used to ring it at every available opportunity.” He turns to Keefe. “Which is why it’s as far from you as I can possibly get.” 

    Keefe pouts overdramatically, a feat considering it was already doing that at Dex’s accomplishment. 

    But Dex’s accomplishment means nothing. There’s five more rounds before Dex starts arguing that they should play the extended edition with the d100s xe inevitably has stored somewhere. 

     The following rounds feel as though they race by. 

    The twos round, Dex wins once more by rolling a triplet of 2s, except this time it’s worth a full 21 points. Keefe made it to 20 before Dex pulled that one out of xor ass, which is highly suspicious, so a dice trade is initiated. A diagonal cross results in Lovise getting Sophie’s blue dice and vice versa with Lovise’s green ones. 

    The threes round, against all odds, Dex wins again. If xe isn’t cheating, that’s one Exile of an accomplishment, and if xe is, xe’s not doing a very good job at hiding it. Dice are traded again, and Lovise ends up with Dex’s metal Battletech ones. 

    The antepenultimate fours round, Dex takes it upon xemself to win again. Xe has the audacity to get a triplet of 1s and 3s in the same roll streak. The fact that xe hasn’t been burned at the stake like the witch xe is is a fucking miracle. 

    Lovise having to fight off a feral Sophie and Keefe is not a fight that’s going to be pleasant. Don’t get her wrong, she’d still win, but she might get a couple of bite marks.

    They switch the dice again, and Lovise ends up with her original green dice, traitorous in their assistance of Sophie and Keefe over the past two rounds but magnificent in their return. 

    The penultimate fives round, Keefe finally gets to stop the waterfall of crocodile tears and replace them with actual tears as the dice finally decree that it’s worthy of winning. Dex has already won the game beyond defeat but it’s not about winning anymore. It’s about not losing and second place is still better than last place. 

    Now, to be fair, second place is the first place of losers, so maybe it’s just trying to say that it’s the top loser in the world. That would make a lot of sense. 

    Dex is also, notably, allowed to keep xor dice. All of the useful rolls were used up and xor seven points at the end of the round didn’t seem like enough of a threat. 

    And it is finally time for the grand finale. The ultimate challenge of dice throwing. The sixes round.

    Lovise gets so, so close to winning. She has twenty whole fucking points. Yes, all of the points are fucking. 

    And then Sophie just decides, “oh, yeah, I’ll get a bunco. No big deal” as the dice settle into a 6,6,6. 

    It is, in fact, a big deal. 

    Sandor will be hearing about this moment for all eternity. Lovise will make him suffer. He deserves it for his charge’s utter impunity.    

    It may or may not have been Lovise’s mostly-unintentional death glare that caused Sophie and Keefe to fabricate reasons to not be at Rimeshire anymore as they light leap away. 

    Dex begins stuffing the dice back into the box, clinking as they slide down unwillingly, forming a lopsided hot mess. 

    As soon as she’s certain Sophie and Keefe have vacated the premises, Lovise turns to xem and asks “How’d you cheat?”

    Xor hands fly up, framing xor face with xor palms out. “To be completely fair, I only cheated in the second round.”

    “I didn’t ask ‘did you cheat?’ I asked ‘how did you cheat?’”

    Dex digs out the Battletech dice xe was using in the first two rounds and rolls them around in xor hand. “It’s really easy to load metal dice, especially when you’ve got magnets to turn it off when someone wants to check if they’re loaded. I haven’t figured out how to load high numbers with it yet. And, besides, I forgot to do it in the first round and it only shifts the probabilities a little bit. It’s not cheating that much.” 

    “Yes it is.” Lovise pauses for dramatic effect. “Next time, if you have loaded dice, I expect some too.” 

    Dex throws xor head back, laughing. “I’ll make sure to get around to that as soon as possible, but first: I gotta go get some snackies from downstairs.”

#kotlc #kotlc secret santa 2023 #keefex #kotlc fanfic #kotlc dex #dex dizznee #lovise #kotlc lovise #kotlc keefe #keefe sencen #sophie foster #kotlc sophie

[hellfireslut]

Too Chic for the Freak - part 2

word count : 1.5k

read part 1 : here

paring : eddie munson x fem!wheeler!reader / eddie munson x fem!cheerleader

characters : eddie munson, chrissy cunningham, jason carver, nancy wheeler, hawkins high students

warnings : swearing, name calling, crying, fluff, angst, jason carver mentions

a/n: thank you for all the love on the first part! reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Hawkins Highschool, 1986, Library

God, this is going to be a long year, is all I can think about as I ran out of the cafeteria. Jason just embarrassed me in front of the whole school and all of my “friends”. I don’t understand why they’re so hung up on the fact that I’m tutoring Eddie. Sure, he’s a bit different from our crowd but deep down he’s just a big ol’ nerd! I wish I had the courage to stand up for myself, instead of letting him boss me around like a lap dog. I spent far too long pretending to be someone I’m not. I don’t fit in with all those jocks and cheerleaders. I know I am one but, I don’t enjoy gossiping about other peoples business, and being more occupied about others opinions on me. I don’t want to keep Eddie waiting any longer, I should get to the library.

-

I tried to wipe the mascara and fallen tears off of my cheek, hoping nobody saw me sobbing the whole way here. The scent of fresh paper, ink, and dust filled my nose as I pushed open the door of the library. It was mostly empty during this time, considering it was lunch. Nice, quiet, and alone. I looked around for the long haired metalhead, searching the tables. I found him at the table in the farthest corner, looking down at a book on his lap. Be cool Y/N, just walk over to him and say hello. Or should I ask him what he’s reading? Maybe compliment him? No that’s too much, just act normal!

“Hey Eddie!”

“Oh, Y/N! Jesus you scared me, we’re the only ones in here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, hey whatcha’ reading?”

“To Kill A Mockingbird, very riveting material.”

How is he so charming without even trying? He looks so pretty just sitting there reading. I put my bag down beside his seat, haphazardly grabbing my notebook and pens from the back pocket. I sensed eyes on me, so I looked up, causing Eddie to turn the other way. Was he staring at me?

“Were you just staring at me, Munson?” Jesus I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“And if I was? Is that a problem Wheeler?”

“No go on, stare some more, I enjoy the attention.”

I noticed Eddie spin his rings again. He’s nervous. Am I making him nervous? There’s no way in hell I’m making Eddie Munson nervous.

“Eddie, are you alright?”

“Never better Wheeler, so about this book?”

“Right, the book, sorry.”

I went to pick up one of my pens, not realizing Eddie was reaching for the same one, our hands brushed up against each other. Eddie pulled his hand away fast, and began scratching the back of his head. I slide the pen towards him, looking up at him with a smile. He smiled back to me, his face bright maroon with a rouge.

“Eddie, are you sure you want to do this? You seem a bit nervous.”

“That’s because you make me nervous, Wheeler.” His voice was almost inaudible, a hushed whisper.

“I’m not one of the big bad cheerleaders that are in the cafeteria, and I’m sure not anything like Jason. I enjoy talking to you Eddie, it’s a relief from Jock Central.”

“Aren’t your friends worried I’m going to sacrifice you for my cult?”

“It beats cheer practice.”

Eddie laughed, flashing his teeth with his radiant smile. He was nothing like how the rest of the school - and the town described him. He had a soft personality that was masked by his exterior. Leather jackets and band pins didn’t hide his charming demeanor. I flipped open to page 30 of the book, taking it from his lap, and placing it on the table. His ring clad hand grabbed the pencil from behind my ear, as he began writing down notes about the characters. His handwriting reflected his personality: a bit messy, but you could still read it. Once he finished writing, I began to explain the plot to him. His face shifted through many expressions as I spoke.

“So you’re telling me, there’s no mockingbirds in the story? Even though it’s called “To Kill A Mockingbird”?”

“Exactly! I mean it makes no sense, why would you name your book about something that has nothing to do with the book!”

We both laughed expressively, earning us a shush from the librarian, and a quiet sorry from Eddie. I turned my head to the sound of the library door opening. In walked my sister, Nancy. When she noticed it was me sitting in the library she made her way toward Eddie and I.

Nancy, I am begging you, please do not embarrass me in front of him.

“Hey little sis! How’s the tutoring going?”

“It’s going good, despite the fact that Eddie reads extremely slow.”

“It’s Y/N’s fault, she didn’t tell me I’d actually have to read.” Eddie threw the book towards me, I swiftly caught it, sticking my tongue out towards him.

“Oh! You’re Eddie! Y/N talks a lot about you, but I didn’t know she was tutoring you.”

“So little Wheeler talks about me at family dinner, wow I am truly honored.” He had a cocky, and smug look painted across his lips.

Jesus Nance, you’re going to be the death of me.

“Yeah, she’s always talking about how cute-“

“That’s enough Nancy! Don’t you have a newspaper to write about?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here actually. Just picking up some research materials. You two have fun studying though, see you at home Y/N.”

I let a small bye escape my lips, as I placed my face in my hands, letting out a large sigh.

“I’m sorry about her Eds, I never said that, she just loves to embarrass me.”

“It’s fine Y/N, I’m flattered honestly.”

Flattered? Just let me down easily Eddie, I can take it. I mean I don’t know what I was thinking trying to go for someone who’s the complete opposite of everything and everyone I associate myself with.

“So you don’t think it’s weird that I like you?” I looked down into my lap, trying to avoid the reject that was about to come.

Eddie’s head shot up, facing towards me. He had a confused and surprised look splattered across his face.

“Wait, you like me?”

He didn’t know!? Could he not tell? Maybe I was being too subtle, but Nancy just told him how I talk about him being cute all the time.

“Oh yeah, I thought I made it obvious when I asked you to be my student for tutors week.”

Eddie sat there with his arms crossed against his abdomen. I could tell he was thinking of what to say next. It felt like years when he finally spoke again.

“And this isn’t some trick you and your pep squad have planned to embarrass me?”

“Eddie, I’ve liked you before I even became a cheerleader.”

“But, I thought you were with Jason Carver?”

“God no, he’s been trying to get with me ever since Chrissy introduced me to him last semester. He’s not really my type, and he’s an asshole to you.”

“So what is your type then?”

“I don’t know… long hair? Maybe plays guitar, has his own band? Ring any bells?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. He sort of sounds like this guy I know that likes girls with Y/H/C hair, sparkly white shoes, and are head of the cheer team.”

“I’m not head of the cheer team dummy!”

“Close enough.”

We sat there in silence for about a minute, waiting for the other person to talk first. I really want to kiss him, maybe I should just go for it. My thoughts were suddenly cut off my Eddie’s voice.

“Y/N, can I kiss you?”

Before I could shake my head in response, I pressed my lips agains his. His hand traveled to my cheek, holding it as he rubbed his thumb across my face. His lips tasted of cigarettes, intertwining with my cherry chapstick. I pulled away from his face, slightly blushing from the way I made him flustered.

“Does this mean, you also like me?”

“I don’t go around kissing girls I don’t like, Wheeler.”

Though thoughts of swooning and sparks of romance should have been flooding my mind all I could think about was:

God, I can’t wait to tell Chrissy!

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #fiction #fluff #writing #eddie munson x you #headcanons #imagines #nancy wheeler x robin buckley #jason carver #chrissy stranger things #romance #strangers to lovers

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Advent - a Malevolent fic

Winter is a quiet time.

A time for contemplation.

A time for memories.

And sometimes, a time for change.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis. Happy holidays, everyone!

AO3

---------

Winters were always rough for Wallace Larson.

He’d taught himself not to think about it, about the bitterly cold and cruel beauty that preserved his dead family even as it kept him from going for help. He’d focused on the glittery nonsense instead, on the parties and comfort true wealth could bring, on the chortling pride of being inside, warm and waited on, while the lesser men were trapped outside suffering (as he once had), unable to save themselves.

He’d saved himself. He had. So winter was fine. Really.

Not this winter, though.

He had no parties to head. He had no cronies to woo. Instead, as the temperature dipped in the mornings and frost began to gather in the corners of the windows, all he had was the ghosts of memories, the weight of his dead wife, the connection of sun glinting on untouched snow like it had when he made his way to the shed every morning to ensure his family was still frozen solid.

So that was great. Terrific. It wouldn’t affect his work at all.

He tried to fight it. Threw himself into translation, into sensation, into the rich furs the Dancers provided and the mulled wine made available and steaming at every corner.

It didn’t work. His mood simply dipped, like an animal burrowing beneath the earth, waiting for spring.

Keeping busy was the key. It’s not like he could pursue any of his usual distractions; he hadn’t earned that freedom yet (though he would), and there simply was no one here he wanted to be near except for the King in Yellow.

Who was busy with his daughter.

Fuck them both.

Oh… no, that was not a safe thing to think, and if it slipped out at any point, he knew he’d be forfeiting something worse than his life. But it was impossible not to resent them now, today.

They were out there in the frost, laughing as he taught how to extract the slightly humid chill, how to create ice from air and death from cold, casually gamifying the kind of power that she could use in time to bring nations to their knees.

Would he have done that with Addy?

(There was that thought again, traitorous, surfacing like a damned watery corpse that hadn’t been weighted down.)

“Fuck,” he murmured.

The Librarian got his attention with a series of page flips, and when he looked over, presented its head, an open book, with a single question mark.

“Sorry, your honor,” he said (since nobody had ever explained how to greet this thing, and he still hadn’t found the right words). “Just got me thinking about people I’ve lost. Winter’s a hard time to keep your thoughts occupied.”

The Librarian considered this, pages rifling thoughtfully, and then produced a book.

He stared.

Its head did the thing, pages flying, and settled on an image of Larson (surprisingly accurate) beside a fireplace, reading.

He did not know this book. “Memories of Old?” he read. “I don’t recognize this from the translation list.”

More pages fanning, so rapidly they moved the air. A picture now of Larson and….

Ghosts? The same image of him by the fire, but with smoky, undetailed beings, hovering around him.

He stared at the book, then at the Librarian. “Reliving memories?” he guessed.

A nod.

“I don’t… know that’s such a good idea.”

A shrug. He could or could not; it was completely up to him.

Wallace sighed. “Thank you. I’ll… think on it.” And he tucked it into his fancy little bag and got back to work, focusing on what he needed to do, because that was better than thinking about the rest of this nonsense.

#

“Oh, shit,” Parker said the next morning, sitting up in bed to stare at the glittering, icy wonderland that his balcony had turned into. “Carcosa gets snow?”

Every now and again, Sunny said, though I imagine this is more of a consequence of the time of year in this part of the Dreamlands. There was quite the storm last night; the wind practically howled. Never fear, though; I doubt the gardens have been affected negatively.

“Wasn’t worried,” Parker said, crossing his legs. The chill was nearly palpable through the glass doors. Light, reflecting off the snow, made his bouquet on the nightstand look edged with frost. “Just haven’t really seen snow in all our travels. Is it really wintertime?”

In some parts of the Dreamlands, yes, Sunny said, voice warm. Some places eschew seasons, but the fruit and nut trees of Sydrathia need different temperatures to produce, and a dormancy period to rest. We must be far north. I wonder why the King elected to stay in this area? Maybe for Faroe?

“Heh. I don’t mind. Haven’t seen snow since we left Earth.” Parker flexed his knuckles, testing them against that familiar ache.

Would you like me to warm up your hands? Sunny said, low and purring and sultry.

“Stop that,” said Parker, voice playful as he brought his hands to their shared mouth, and shuddered as healing warmth spread through his hands at the touch of their lips. “It’s nice, you know. Kinda missed this. Once a real good snow like this comes in, it makes me start lookin’ forward to seeing all the Christmas stuff go up.” He laughed. “Though I guess there ain’t none of that here, is there?”

I must confess, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Sunny said.

“Bullshit,” Parker said. “You went to New York City a lot.”

Not in the winter, usually. The roads were bad, and… Larson doesn’t… like the winter very much. His voice dipped in that way that heralded the resurgence of bad memories, but he picked his voice up through sheer force of will. Usually he would host a large dinner around the solstice for the Order, but… I, uh. I didn’t tend to be very… present for those.

“Not a holiday guy, eh?” Parker said, low and heated, but he made himself drop it, made himself smile, and shook his head. “That’s a shame. Y’know, it’d be worth a drive to Boston to see them light the tree; I’d take you. Wrap you up in a big coat so you don’t get cold, just so I can watch your face when they turn on the lights.”

The fantasy of two bodies, in Boston, was so lovely that Sunny almost missed the most salient question: Why would you put lights on a tree?

“No idea. But it’s gorgeous; big ‘ol pine tree, decorated with tiny glittering bulbs, blown glass ornaments. Back in ‘18, Nova Scotia sent us a tree to thank us for helping out after some ships exploded in one’a their harbors, and that one was real special. We did it every year since 1912. They do it in New York too, in a couple’a parks, but the Boston one’s bettah.” He leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blankets up a bit more. “We were too poor to have a tree of our own, so we would go see it every year. And then you get to see the decorations, all over the city proper, and all the displays in the windows. But my favorite part…” He sighed, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “Mrs. Kerning would start makin’ Christmas cookies. She’d do it early, and the gingerbread would make the whole floor smell absolutely amazing. Sometimes we’d gather and sit outside her window, just to smell it, and she’d have us taste-test bits and pieces there.”

Christmas cookies, Sunny said, reverently. What makes them Christmas cookies?

“Time’a year, mostly—would feel a little weird to eat a gingerbread man in the middle of summer.” And he laughed. “You probably don’t… okay, imagine a little spice cookie, shaped like a guy, right? And you dress him up in little outfits made of icing.”

You mean to say… on Earth, people make effigies of men? To eat, as part of a celebration?

Parker snorted. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

And you think Carcosan customs are strange.

“You’ll change your tune when you try it,” Parker said, laughing. “I’m sure we can get the cooks to help us. If you don’t find that too strange.”

I could be convinced, Sunny said in the tone of one who needed no convincing whatsoever.

#

John remembered snow!

He wasn’t sure where he remembered it from, or when. Who cared! He remembered snow!

Arthur shivered and curled a little tighter. “Shit,” he mumbled in his sleep.

Arthur! Arthur! It’s all white! Look!

More curling.

Perhaps it made sense. Arthur didn’t have a lot of… padding. Arthur!

“Fuck me,” Arthur muttered, regrettably not literally, and somehow curled tighter. “What the fuck?”

Snow! Ice! Look!

“Did we leave the window open? Fuck…”

The balcony’s always open. Let’s go look! Let’s go look, Arthur!

Arthur literally took the bed with him, or at least everything that had been on it—sliding off in one huge mass, clutching the blankets and bedsheets around himself as he inched toward the balcony in sleepy concession.

Look! Snow!

“I can’t see it, John,” Arthur muttered.

It’s beautiful. The sun has turned it into a thousand thousand crystals. Some swaths are pink with the morning light, but the rest is a pure and glorious color, like clouds brought down. There aren’t any prints—I don’t know how Hastur did that—so it looks like a frozen sea, still and curving and so smooth that it tempts to the touch.

Arthur stood there, shivering like a wet puppy. “Wow,” he finally said.

You have the soul of a bleached rock.

“‘Kay,” Arthur muttered, and shuffled his way back toward the bed.

Come on, Arthur! No, don’t go back to bed!

“I’m cold,” Arthur said.

I’ll warm you up. A pause. That wasn’t a come-on. I mean I know how.

“I don’t feel up to casting magic.”

I was thinking more of a hot shower, warm clothes, a brisk walk, and food.

“Oh.” Arthur perked up; his hunched caterpillar-form stood taller. “That’s a good idea.”

Do you always get this muddled in wintertime? said John, unable to keep amusement from his voice.

Arthur sighed. “Parker called it my hibernation phase. Whatever. Let’s do your plan.”

It was a good plan. Before twenty minutes were up, they were steaming, thoroughly layered in thick, warm clothes, and beginning a brisk walk before breakfast.

And Arthur suddenly stopped dead. In the mirrors, his eyes were huge, and his mouth hung open.

What? said John.

“I smell… gingerbread?”

John did not remember gingerbread. You smell what?

“Gingerbread. It’s a biscuit—ah, a cookie—from Earth. A spice-cookie, usually with some icing. I didn’t know they knew how to make gingerbread here.” His face softened, grew fond. “I haven’t had that since… fuck, do you think we might be able to get some fresh ones? They’re usually best when they’re decorated, but I think a cup of tea and some warm gingerbread would go far to warm us up.”

John wasn’t sure what to do with this information. If you’re smelling it, doesn’t that mean they’re making it fresh right now? Baking, I guess?

Arthur brightened like the sun shining on snow, and made for the kitchen at speed.

#

It had taken ten minutes of lively discussion with the cooks and a trip to the Librarian, but Parker and Sunny had emerged victorious with a recipe for gingerbread in hand. The cooks nearly fell over themselves in excitement as Parker explained, though the concept of man-shaped cookies (but without genitalia) made them laugh uproariously in a way that turned Parker’s ears pink, and soon the smell of ginger and molasses and cloves wafted through the air.

The warm cookies had gotten Sunny’s seal of approval, and the cooks judged them fair enough to continue making after the first batch had emerged and promptly been devoured by all present; now that the second batch had cooled, Parker was having a more difficult time with the decorating aspect of the whole ordeal.

“I dunno how Mrs. Kerning made them look so nice,” he groused as he clumsily trailed royal icing off of the cookie and onto the countertop. “Guess I was never meant to be a pastry chef, huh?”

You should give him a little pocket watch, Sunny said. And he needs a mask!

“Hey. This one’s mine, you get the next one,” Parker laughed.

I don’t have hands! I need you to do it for me, whined Sunny. Please?

“Fine. But this one gets suspenders.”

Suspenders and a pocket watch.

“Where’s he gonna put his pocket watch if he’s only got trousers and suspenders?”

Don’t insert logic into our elaborate confectionary world, Sunny groused right back.

A drip of icing made the suspenders go long. “Guess it’s a trenchcoat now,” Parker said. “Our guy’s a hardboiled detective.”

And with perfect timing, Arthur peeked around the corner.

To be fair, it was John who peeked. Arthur sniffed, and licked his lips. “Hello?”

They’re in here, John whispered badly and unhelpfully.

“Who?” said Arthur.

For a brief moment Sunny went deathly quiet; and then he huffed. A trenchcoat it is, then.

“Mornin’, English,” Parker said, an easy grin on his face.

Arthur looked so relieved that it was hard to find fault in it. “Parker!”

Parker is teaching me about Christmas cookies, Sunny said, and his voice didn’t wobble even a little bit. He’s making a detective!

Arthur blinked a couple of times. “You baked cookies?”

It looks pretty good, John admitted, though I’m not sure what the little…. human shapes are wearing.

Sunny gasped in indignation. They are wearing clothes! Or the suggestion of them!

“Harder than it looks,” Parker said mildly. “The Librarian had a recipe and the cooks figured it out real fast. You want some, Arthur?”

“I’d love some. I haven’t… gods. I haven’t even smelled these in so many years.” He headed for the counter, slowly.

John disliked the reminder, disliked feeling less. You can all smell them, right?

Yes, Sunny sighed. They smell warm, and spicy, like… like the spice markets of the colonnades of the city, but sweet. He let out a little hum of thought. It’s like… I’m not sure how to describe it. I don’t have much of a sense of touch.

You do, accused John. Your lips. You can even ki—

“This smells incredible,” Arthur said quickly. “I don’t know if I can help decorate, but… I’m willing to try.”

“We got dozens of ‘em. Would appreciate the help,” Parker said. “Though I guess that’s more for John? You should eat one first, though. Grab a warm one.”

As if on cue, one of the cooks set down a plate of fresh gingerbread, still hot enough to be soft. Nervously, they peered at Arthur on the other side of Parker, half-dozen eyes full of worry and shame and apology.

The easy conversation had still not returned since the betrayal and punishment, but Parker was determined to repair what remained. “You’re alright,” Parker said, gentle. “Could we please get some coffee? I’d make it myself, but uh.” He held up his sticky, icing-covered hands. “Unless you want tea, Arthur? Feelin’ real posh today?”

“We can do both.” Arthur had that hopeful look that was somehow fragile, a look that upset Parker, though he couldn’t verbalize why.

“Well, you heard the man,” Parker said to the cook. “Please and thank you.”

They were happy to comply, murmuring among themselves, as much background as doves in the bushes.

Arthur inhaled. “Are these ready?” His hand hovered, maybe sensing heat.

“Got ones ready to decorate over in front of you,” Parker said, picking up the plate to move it between them. “But these ones are real fresh. And they’re real fuckin’ good, too.”

It tastes like… like sitting next to the fire after you were out in the cold, Sunny said abruptly, feeling his way through his analogy. And it’s almost too much at first. It’s really strong, that warmth; but then the sweetness seeps in and it softens it, helps all of you warm up. And it’s… safe, and makes you want to smile. Does that make sense, John?

Arthur’s eyes were wet. He didn’t seem to know.

Yes, John said, subdued. Thank you.

“We can do this,” said Arthur. “Your hand and eyes.”

John widened those eyes, suddenly on the spot. Slowly, as if being asked to take a scepter, or maybe a sword from a stone, he reached for the icing bag.

Parker passed it over without fuss. “Arthur, you’re gonna have to hold the top and squeeze,” he said, positioning hands. “John, you lead.”

Parker, your god demands another sacrifice, Sunny said, prim and proper. Please.

Parker snorted, picked up the half-decorated detective, and took a bite.

Sunny gasped. He wasn’t done!

“His trenchcoat was lopsided anyway,” Parker laughed, spraying his palm with crumbs. “Fuck that’s good.”

Slower. Icing was harder than John thought. No, not that slow!

“I had a boyfriend in college,” Arthur suddenly said with no preliminary whatsoever, and Parker choked on his cookie.

John jerked hard, tearing the icing bag, splutting all of its contents onto the cookie and Arthur’s hands. Arthur!

“What?” Arthur said, absolutely defensive.

“Wha—” Parker continued hacking up crumbs.

Like hell was Sunny letting this continue. No! I’ve got this. Ahlw'nafhor!

Parker’s throat cleared up, which he proved by shouting, “What the fuck, Arthur?”

The cooks were frozen statues, not even daring to breathe.

“It’s not that weird,” Arthur said defensively, trying to wipe icing off his hands. “You know that. Musicians are… expressive.”

“Expre— Arthur. Lester. Pal. You never told me!”

“I barely even told you I was married!”

“Yeah, but you—” Parker made the most frustrated sound he’d ever made. “Do you know what I would’ve done if you had?”

Arthur looked blank. “No?”

Parker, said Sunny, voice shaky.

Parker inhaled. If Sunny wasn’t okay, this—no matter how good an opening—didn’t matter. “Okay, we ain’t gonna—”

Then John just went there. You wanted him, didn’t you?

At this point, the cooks decided they were urgently needed elsewhere, and filed out of the kitchen.

Parker and Arthur faced each other, making eye contact though Arthur couldn’t see.

Sunny was quiet, but present, moving their tongue nervously.

“Hold on, you two,” Parker said, and turned away. “Sunny. This is the thing we talked about.”

I know.

Parker’s voice was low, barely audible, his words for Sunny alone. “He’s open. Right now. We could fucking close this book, finally. But if you’re not up for it, we don’t do it. You come first, partner. It’s you. He’ll be open another time. You come first.”

And there was that hint of a tear welling in the corner of his eye, and his mouth quirked into a smile without his input. Thank you. I… I’ve got your back, partner. Go get ‘em.

Parker smiled. Then he set his jaw and turned back around.

Arthur was busy reaming John out. “No! You can’t just say things like that to people!”

But I’m right!

“You don’t know that you’re right!”

 “You know what?” said Parker. “Yeah. He is right. I did.”

A beat.

“What?” said Arthur, high and shocked, startling with his whole body.

“You’re not the only one who can drop bombs over breakfast,” said Parker, and took a bite of gingerbread.

I knew it! I knew it! John crowed.

“You… what?” said Arthur in a small voice.

“I loved you, you moron,” said Parker. “You dumbass.”

“I loved you too, that didn’t mean—“

“More than friends,” said Parker. “Look. It’s okay. We’ve all moved on. I got Sunny, and that’s where I wanna be, and you got whatever the hell is happening with Hastur and John.”

He’s mine! John snapped at the same moment Arthur said, “Nothing is happening!”

“Well maybe it should,” said Parker, and took John’s hand to give him more icing. “I didn’t know for sure you swung both ways, Arthur.”

“That isn’t… it isn’t really a… it’s not a ways thing! It’s about… it’s got to be the right person!” Arthur stammered, then winced. “I’m sorry. That sounds so insulting, when I say it like that.”

“Except I speak Lesterese,” said Parker, pointing a gingerbread leg at him. “You’re saying you didn’t know how I felt, not that I couldn’t’ve tuned your piano real damn good.”

Arthur went very, very red.

“Gotcha,” said Parker.

“Did… I hurt you?” said Arthur after a moment.

“A little. Not bad, Lester. Just that ache of what could’a been. I knew you weren’t rejecting me. You were just dumb. You dummy.”

Sunny choked back a laugh. Shockingly, John took it up, a dark and weirdly joyful evil sound.

“Hey,” said Arthur without much rancor.

He can be so dumb! John confirmed, and this time, Sunny laughed with him.

Arthur grinned and rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“Smartest damn idiot I ever knew,” said Parker with pride as if he’d grown Arthur in a garden.

Arthur laughed, then felt for undecorated cookies. “All right, all right. I can’t argue. Parker, I… I’m sorry I never noticed.”

“Eh. It’s okay. Everything that happened would’ve been a lot harder to deal with if we had worked that out,” said Parker with a sort of gentle and horrible pragmatism.

Arthur hunched, processing; then he sighed. “You’re right. It would.”

John’s voice was tight. You mean if you’d been together when I—

“It’s all right, John,” said Arthur. “We weren’t.”

Parker reached up and stroked his jaw. “Worked out for the best. I meant it—I’m never going back to Arkham, I told you. I’m happy, Arthur. If all I had to do was die for all this to happen, then I got no regrets.”

Arthur’s lower lip trembled, and he abruptly dropped the cookie and came around the counter.

Parker did the same.

They met halfway, wordless, and joined in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Arthur.

“Don’t be,” whispered Parker. “It’s all water under the bridge. And I still love you, idiot. Just not that way.”

Arthur clearly needed to hear that. Tension left him. “Same. It never changed for me.”

“Good.” Parker sighed, pleased. “Good to know you still got my back.”

“Always.”

They stayed in that embrace—a years-late but still needed closeness.

[I knew it. I knew it! I knew he wanted him, but Arthur didn’t believe me. I was right!] John said, rumbling in R'lyehian, but Sunny didn’t go into celebration.

[He really is mine,] said Sunny softly. [I’m so lucky. I thought I might lose him, even now, if Arthur… responded.]

John sputtered. [You thought you might lose him? Why?]

[No one’s ever wanted me,] Sunny replied, voice tight. [But he does. He… he really does.]

John sounded so young. [You’re a god. We are. They can… not want you?]

Sunny’s tone turned gentle, warm, reassuring. [Arthur has only ever wanted you. You’re safe, John.  And… and Parker wants me.] And he let out a soft, dark, relieved chuckle.

“I knew I smelled cookies!” Faroe said, stepping into the kitchen, her cheeks red and shiny, her coat crimson with fur lining white as sun-kissed snow.

Hastur hovered in behind her, robe so bright and yellow; around his crown, Faroe had woven a long, beautiful chain of snow flowers, all brilliant blue petals with red stamen.

“Faroe!” Arthur cried, and went for her.

The King in Yellow eyed them, taking a moment to read the situation.

The embrace, interrupted. The condition of Sunny, of John. The mess of cookies and icing, and the complete lack of shame or guilt from his own.

Hastur knew humans better (in his opinion) than almost any god of his stature, and he understood the important thing: they were all right. Whatever had happened was big (and awkward, judging by the mess on the counter and Arthur’s red eyes), but they were all right.

It was some kind of winter solstice miracle. These four hadn’t needed to be locked in a closet. Apparently, they’d needed baked goods and a lot of creamy white glaze.

Heh, heh, heh, Hastur thought, pleased with himself for that one.

Faroe laughed. “It’s all over everything!”

“Yeah, I made a mess,” Arthur laughed with her.

“Got plenty more, you want to decorate,” said Parker.

“Decorate?” said Faroe, lighting up like she had over discussions of exploding enemies.

“Come on over here and I’ll show you how,” said Parker with a grin.

Of course, she did.

Thus abandoned, Arthur stood slowly, smiling, trying to wipe his hands clean on a towel.

“What has happened here?” said Hastur so quietly, just checking.

“You were right,” said Arthur.

Oh! Well, being right was one of his favorite things. “About?” said Hastur, tentacles undulating in anticipation.

“Later,” said Arthur, frustratingly, predictably, and went to join his daughter and his friend in making a great, big mess.

Fine. They could do that. He had things to—

“You’re not going back to work right now,” Faroe informed him with authority, and that was how the King in Yellow ended up decorating strange sexless human-cookies with eldritch runes until his family ate the very last one.

#

Last night had been… very bad.

Larson had sat by the fire in his silent room at two thirty-eight in the morning and stared at the smiling, ghostly figure of his wife.

It wasn’t her. This wasn’t pulling souls from the dead.

But it was his memory of her, clearer than he’d honestly expected it to be, wearing homespun he hadn’t seen in a long time, her hands more dry than he’d recalled, her smile more crooked than he’d remembered. Really, she wasn’t as lovely as he’d once thought, or even as young; his standards for both had changed since he’d gone up in the world, and he knew better as he looked at her now: a poor woman, whose teeth weren’t great, who’d done what she could with what she had, who’d worked very hard, and—

“Happy Christmas, Wallace,” she’d said.

He’d curled down over his lap and cried.

#

This morning, he hid his swollen eyes (damned pale skin showed everything) and red nose, and returned the book to the Librarian before breakfast.

It was waiting for him. It didn’t speak, couldn’t; but the way it tilted the tome of its head, the way it waited while he held out the book, spoke volumes.

Larson could feel the questions. Instead of answers, he gave a question of his own. “Why’d you give this to me?”

The Librarian’s head flipped, pages flying, and fell open at a two-page illustration of Larson himself.

On the left, at the bottom of the page, he was in a pit. Before him was a rocky, rugged, ugly path, climbing precipitously all the way to the right and out of the book at the corner of the page.

Larson swallowed. It had always treated him well, never less, never as if he were on some kind of parole, and he’d assumed…. Well. He’d assumed it knew nothing. “What did the King in Yellow tell you about me?”

Pages flipped. And there, right there, was the sigil of the Order of the Fallen Star.

“Ah,” said Larson, heart sinking.

The Librarian closed its head and just… waited.

Larson sighed and handed the book back. “Rootin’ for me, are you?” he said, and couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. “Is that what this is? What, you’re on my side?”

Pages fanned. There, the Yellow Sign (“Of course, you’re on his side,” Larson said), and then back to that image of him, in the pit, at the bottom of the path, facing a long climb out.

Larson wanted to ask why.

He wanted to ask if Hastur had put it up to this.

But all of that would be opening the door to the path he saw before him, literal and otherwise—a path away from the power he’d earned, the lethality he’d honed, and the ascension he was owed.

And toward what?

Mortality? Morality?

Weakness?

…happiness? Was that what it offered? Was that—

The fucking Saint’s laugh echoed down the hall, toward the kitchen, and Larson snapped his attention toward that disgusting sound. The lightest waft of gingerbread came with it as the lot of them—the Saint, Yellow, Lester, John, the King in Yellow, and his adopted daughter—headed toward the breakfasting area.

The Saint, who smiled and walked around, head unbowed, like the world owed him everything. Who’d gotten away with it all, and never earned a damn fucking thing.

Larson’s jaw clenched. He’d made the choices he had for a reason. The kind of happiness this fool of a book offered could be taken away. The kind he was seeking for could not. “Thanks,” he said, low. “But don’t get your hopes up. See you after breakfast.” And he turned and walked away.

The flip of pages behind him were like a sigh.

Larson chose, with full intent, not to look back.

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #malevolent au #surrogate series #surrogate fic #surrogate malevolent #wallace larson #parker yang #sunny | yellow #arthur lester #john doe malevolent

[vennilavee]

NECTAR

pairing: bartender sukuna x chubby reader (no curses au)

summary: it takes purple, blue and pink lights and your elusive neighbor, sukuna, for you to come out of the funk you're in. or, sukuna is your not so new attractive but harsh neighbor in your apartment building. you've taken a liking to showing up to his bar. he thinks you're annoying, the way you burst into the doors of his bar as if you own the place (you don't, he does). then, he finds himself looking forward to your sudden appearances. what changed?

warnings: alcohol, cursing, naoya makes an appearance, feelings of insecurity/questioning self worth, smut (spitting, some dirty talk, penetrative sex, kissing); this is an 18+ story

word count: 7.5k

a/n: can be read as a prequel to LOVE TALK, but can also be read as a standalone. enjoy!

Ryomen Sukuna is relatively new to the apartment building. He’d been saving up to move to a newer place, a place with amenities in a city-esque kind of feel, for the last few years. In between ensuring that his younger brother Yuuji was taken care of, and tirelessly working two jobs to support the both of them… He’d finally made it.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him. Besides, he thinks he’s earned a few ounces of luxury, considering the life he’s lived.

Yuuji’s in his third year at university and currently living with his best friend, Fushiguro Megumi. It’s the first time in his entire thirty-something years of life that Sukuna has truly, fully been alone.

It’s still taking some adjusting to, but he thinks he’s enjoying it. He’s already located his favorite bakery, close to his bar. The couple who owns it has his morning order memo​​rized, complete with hot tea or coffee and fresh bread or melonpan. He’s not usually one for sweets, but he could always go for a matcha melonpan.

It takes a few months (nearly the better part of a year) for him to truly settle in, for him to begrudgingly think of the Fushiguros as family rather than his brother’s friend’s family. He ventures into Toji’s boxing ring with beers and wings at least bi-weekly, and he seems to always have leftovers from Fushiguro-san in his fridge.

Fushiguro-san always mischievously asks if he’s dating anyone or if there are any friends she can set him up with. She seems to always know that he’s lying through his teeth whenever he rolls his eyes and gives her a blunt ‘no’.

The truth is, there is someone who’s gotten under his skin, and it’s one of his pesky neighbors. You live on his floor, just across the hallway. Despite being his neighbor, the first time he had met you was when you had stumbled into his bar with two of your friends.

You’d already been drinking with Utahime and Shoko, as evidenced by your loud giggles and slightly slurred speech. When you approach the bar with both arms tightly wrapped around your friends, Sukuna catches a glimpse of your midriff.

“Hi! Can we-” you gasp, “Hey! You just moved into my building! You’re my neighbor-”

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed,” Sukuna deadpans, setting aside three glasses for you and your friends. Despite growing up in it, he hates excessive noise and each sound that comes out of your mouth just grates him further. It takes all of his thin patience to keep from snapping at you. You’re still a customer.

“Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it,” you mutter under your breath before giving him your drink order. And precisely after that, you’d flipped him off (with Shoko’s encouragement and Utahime’s disapproval).

Sukuna rolls his eyes. He has a feeling he’ll be doing that quite a bit around you.

From then on, you’d somehow wormed your way into his life. You showed up at his bar, sometimes alone and sometimes with your friends. You didn’t talk much to him, but he caught you looking in his direction more than once. 

You know when you’re wanted, after all.

Sukuna only just started nodding at you in acknowledgement on the floor of your apartment or on the unfortunate instance that you were both caught on the elevator together.

You’ve both come such a far cry from then. From Sukuna’s piercing glares in your direction to him texting you when your rowdy neighbors are causing a ruckus at 2 AM on a Wednesday night. He hates unnecessary noise and you’ve quickly picked up on that. If there is anything you both share common ground over, it’s loud neighbors. In between this time, it’s become a habit that you both take your recycling out the same day and time of the week (on Thursdays) and spend the walk complaining about how loud your floor and your upstairs neighbors can be.

He shouldn’t be so surprised when he starts to reluctantly look forward to you showing up at his bar to hang out with him. Sukuna doesn’t understand why you choose to spend your free evenings at the Kings and Curses. You always stand in the same spot, your favorite spot by the corner of the bartop where you can people-watch. And it’s Sukuna’s favorite spot, too, because your chest nearly always spills out of your shirt whenever you lean over to speak to him. 

You had scoffed at him when he’d asked why you spent so much time at his bar-

“What, I can’t spend time with my favorite neighbor?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were obsessed with me.”

“Yup, you caught me…” you reply with a heavy roll of your eyes.

Sukuna isn’t used to anyone waiting for his company and in truth, it was a hard adjustment for him to just take a minute and breathe. Living in the moment is a foreign concept to him- he’s used to thinking weeks, months, years into the future. But now that Yuuji is settled in college, now that Sukuna knows he’s happy, healthy and with a good head on his shoulders.

Well. Yuuji’s always been an impulsive kid, but at least Megumi’s around to balance him out. Maybe. But Sukuna’s convinced that Megumi is just as chaotic as Yuuji is. He’s just more composed about it.

People have come and gone but Sukuna has never made it a priority to sink his hands into the ground and build a foundation with healthy roots. Yuuji has always been his priority and sometimes he still struggles to let him go completely. To allow him to make his own mistakes and have his own success stories.

The struggles of having a ten year age gap with your younger sibling.

Sukuna is an intensely private person, never sharing more than he needs to with anyone. But of course with you and the curious way you barrage him with questions…how can he not share with you bits and pieces of his past? His answers are only several words, maybe a sentence at most. And usually end with him halfway insulting you, but it still makes you laugh.

He thinks the turning point of his reluctant, barely there fondness for you may have been a random Thursday you had walked into his bar. 

You’d clearly come here straight from work, your pristine business blazer squarely hugging your shoulders and your grey pants hugging your hips. Despite your composed appearance, your shoulders are hunched over and your lips are drawn into a thin line. It’s clear you’ve had a rough day, irritation bubbling in your dark eyes.

“The usual?” Sukuna asks in amusement. His only reply is a melodramatic groan from you.

You muster the strength to lift yourself onto the barstool and lean back tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. Work has been rough this week- so many meetings, negotiations and things to do. On top of that, you had to deliver some less than positive feedback to one of your employees, and they didn’t take it well. Your own manager had been on your ass about one of your projects and none of your team members seemed to consider it a priority. 

Honestly, you had intended to head to the gym to blow off some steam. But then your mother called you and lectured you again about not calling or visiting enough. And then about checking in on your younger brother more often. You couldn’t hold your tongue this time, and you told her that it was her job to parent him. 

To which she let out an offended gasp, and before she could lecture you more about how rude you were being, you told her you had to go. You promptly hung up on her.

Today was not the day. After that phone call with your mother, you changed directions and headed to Kings and Curses for their happy hour special. You hoped Sukuna would be working today. At least he could keep you silent company while you sulked. He’s not a man of many words and you like that about him.

“Thanks,” you mutter when he slides your drink in front of you, “Is this when you tell me it’s on the house because you see how disheveled and you take pity on my poor ass?”

“Does it look like I run a charity house here?” Sukuna scoffs, “But I made your drink a double. You look like you could use it.”

“Wow, thanks,” you mumble sarcastically, “Tell me I look like a hot mess without telling me I look like a hot mess.”

“You said it, not me.”

After the fourth heavy sigh in as many minutes and with loosened lips, you decide to open your mouth. “Hey, you have a brother right?”

“Yeah,” Sukuna says simply.

“You ever feel like you spent most of your life looking after him, when he’s on his own, you don’t know who you are outside of that?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you suspiciously. He says nothing, instead letting you ramble about your parents and your brother, how your parents can’t seem to get through to him and now that responsibility falls on you. How you feel like you took on the parental role without you really wanting it and now that you’re older and trying to figure out how you fit into this great, big world, you feel clueless. You feel like you’re in your early twenties rather than your thirties when it comes to self-discovery.

Behind and backwards. You feel as if you’re falling behind and walking backwards at the same time.

“It’s selfish,” you shrug, “I know it is. It’s the duty that comes with being an older sibling, or whatever. But he has to learn on his own, too. How to live.”

Sukuna is silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “My grandfather raised us,” he says abruptly, his eyes piercing. Before you can trip over a response, he cuts you off. “He died when Yuuji was fifteen. It’s just been me and him ever since, but I had to make sure he was better off than either of us were.”

“It comes with the territory,” he says stubbornly, “But now that he’s in college, he doesn’t need me anymore. At least not as much. He’s doing his thing and I’m…”

You hear his unspoken words, his agreement with you on the tip of your tongue. Offering him an understanding smile, you raise your glass to him.

“Cheers to us, for being everything but ourselves.”

Sukuna snorts but drinks with you anyway.

As time passes and the seasons shift from spring to summer, Sukuna comes up on his one year anniversary of living in this apartment building. And in that time, you’ve pushed your way into his life as a constant with your sweet eyes and barbed tongue.

Sukuna senses the tension in your gait, gathered and knotted at shoulders, the moment he catches a glance at you walking through the hall to your apartment. Your bottom lip is pulled into your mouth by your teeth and your eyes are unfocused, maybe a little glassy.

He doesn’t mean to stare (really, he does) but you look so sexy in your outfit, especially the way your legs fill out your jeans.

You don’t seem to realize he’s gazing at you like this until he calls your name. You turn your head quickly, hoops dangling and dancing against your jaw. It’s the last thing you wanted, to be seen like this when you had gotten stood up for a date.

But of course, fate has other plans for you.

“You’re back early,” Sukuna says gruffly, leaning against the doorframe.

“Were you waiting up for me? You really shouldn’t have,” you mutter, deflecting his pointed statement.

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” he scoffs, “Date didn’t go well?”

“...Yeah. Something like that,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

“Something like what?” he narrows his own eyes, “Did he do-”

“He didn’t do anything,” you snap, finally looking him right in the face, “That’s the fucking problem. Naoya didn’t even…show up.”

The silence is deafening and Sukuna watches as your eyes well up with unshed, humiliated tears. Your heart aches, embarrassment coloring your chest at the prospect that someone, anyone would dare take pity on you. You say nothing as you walk away from him and dejectedly immerse yourself in the shadows of your apartment.

Sukuna waits exactly fifteen minutes before incessantly knocking at your door. He won’t have this, he won’t have you moping and sulking over some boy who doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as you. Much less take you out on something as sacred as a date.

He hears your groan from the other side of the door. Surely, you’re sulking under layers of blankets and watching trashy television, as you do whenever you’re sad.

Your eyes widen when you see him and he knows he looks good. Tight black jeans and his muscles bulging out of his tight black shirt paired with a single silver chain, tiny silver hoops and black studs in his ears.

Ignoring the sudden dryness of your throat, you snap at him- “What the fuck do you want? Leave me alone, Sukuna-”

“Shut up and stop moping, you look fuckin’ stupid when you whine,” Sukuna says sharply, ignoring your affronted gasp, “Go get dressed. Now.”

“Excuse me? Get dressed for what?” you fire back at him, “I’m already in pajamas, I’m not fucking changing just because you barged in here-”

“I’m taking you out. You had a shitty date, right? Let’s go,” Sukuna says gruffly and your irritation almost instantly fizzles out.

“Fine, but I’m not wearing any make-up,” you mutter, “Take me as I am.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, now go sit on the couch and don’t touch anything,” you say, welcoming him inside and disappearing into your bedroom.

“You have ten minutes,” he reminds you, quite loudly, “Don’t take fucking forever.”

Sukuna has always been good company and you’ll begrudgingly admit it if anyone asks. You’ve loosened up with him as you sip on your third cocktail of the night and share appetizers with him in your booth at the corner of the restaurant.

The faint purple, blue and pink lights that shift from minute to minute make him look like he’s glowing. He looks good, he’s always looked good- since the moment you spotted him in your apartment building all those months ago.

You swallow your drink down, nearly chugging a third of it in one go and shrink into your seat. Pulling your oversized bomber jacket over your torso, you stuff a hand into your pocket harshly. It’s your safety net.

You subtly try to make yourself smaller, however you might.

…

As a bartender (and a bar owner) himself, Sukuna takes personal offense to when his drinks are watered down. Which is why he’s at the bar, glaring at the bartender and ready to cause a scene. If not for your tiny hands (well, tiny in comparison to his) wrapped around his bicep, he already would have caused a scene.

You’re tapping your feet to the song playing on the speakers and humming under your breath. He’d already told you it was annoying, that you were clingy but you had only glared at him. And he had rolled his eyes but left you be.

After all, he can still see slight sadness tinting your eyes.

“Hey,” Sukuna snaps loudly at the bartender after finally getting her attention, “You call this a fucking drink? It’s got more juice than anything else. Who taught you to make drinks? Toji? Amateur-”

The bartender glares right back at Sukuna before the heat in her gaze simmers almost instantly when she recognizes who he is. 

You know that Sukuna somehow seems to know everyone in the city, but it startles you how quickly the woman starts to make new drinks for you both. Before she can even pour an ounce of liquid into a new glass, Sukuna is already making his way behind the bar.

“Wait, you can’t be back here! Hey-”

“Take it up with Fushiguro,” Sukuna mutters, “Tell him I’m doing him a fucking favor.”

You allow yourself to get comfortable on one of the sleek, burgundy bar stools. The bartender stomps away, surely to tell her boss that his friend-slash-rival has just usurped her spot at her very own bar.

It pulls a laugh from your lips.

“Something funny?” His voice rumbles, and despite the bass of the music in your ears, you’re able to hear him clearly.

“Toji’s gonna beat your ass,” you reply in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah right,” Sukuna scoffs, “He’s gone soft, with that wife of his. And his son-”

“You mean Fushiguro-san? His wife that he’s been married to for nearly twenty years and Megumi, who’s your brother’s best friend? Weren’t you just saying how good her homemade food is-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, as if you’ve spilled an unknowable secret. Though, perhaps you had- the man behind the bar with tattoos on nearly every inch of his skin, his broad chest and his back has gone soft because of his brother’s best friend’s mother’s home cooking.

You laugh again.

“Toji is a modern day feminist, you should take some notes from him instead of pushing his bartenders around, you absolute heathen-”

“Shut up and drink this,” Sukuna replies and pushes a drink close to you, “It’ll help with your shitty heartbreak.”

“I am not heartbroken-”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“What are you, a love doctor now?” you roll your eyes and take a long sip of the drink he had slid to you. It tastes better than your last drink- far more flavorful and rich. It tastes like the answer to your insecurities lies at the bottom of the glass. 

“No, I am a man and a man can tell when a beautiful woman is in the unfortunate presence of boys.”

You say nothing to him, ignoring his heated gaze. You tell yourself you don’t care for his opinion. Sukuna has seen Naoya leave your apartment on the rare occasion and you pretend that you hadn’t seen his not so subtle glare in your general direction.

“How poetic of you,” you scoff and throw back your drink in another long sip, “Make me another.”

…

“You can either drink about it or you can say something about the stupid boy who fucked you over,” Sukuna says bluntly, “But you’re a lightweight so pick your poison.”

Despite the throbbing ache in your heart (maybe it was more so your ego), your lips pull apart into a smile. Your eyes are dark and wide, nearly shimmering purple as the lights wash over you. You look at him with curiously parted lips as your smile drops into something fond. Sukuna almost falters at the soft look on your face and pulls away from your gaze to down half of his drink in one single chug.

“There’s not much to say,” you shrug, leaning over the table, “I got ghosted, it happens-”

“Ghosted? What, is he twenty-one? His balls haven’t dropped enough to tell you to your face that he’s not interested?”

You wince visibly, but at least Sukuna is straightforward.

“You know I was seeing Naoya and…he stood me up but sent me a text that he wasn’t looking for anything serious,” you say in air quotes and heavily roll your eyes, “And then I saw him at the same place with some other girl…”

You shrug and lean back into the booth, wishing it would swallow you alive. Instead you meet Sukuna’s eyes and are vaguely intrigued by the irritation in his darkened eyes.

“I mean, I think he was embarrassed to be seen with me. He said it in so many words, and the girl he was with is like, the opposite of how I look. He’s an asshole, he thinks he deserves the most beautiful girl to wait on him hand and foot just because he has fucking frosted tips. And you know what, it would look good on him if he wasn’t such a dick.”

Sukuna’s chest burns when you speak as if you are not affected. As if he can’t tell that your eyes are still puffy and a little red. As if he can’t tell that your heart hurts, that you’re caving into yourself bit by bit. It sickens him, makes that burn flare like wildfire, that you would allow yourself to be defined by this boy. That you carve yourself into smaller and smaller bits to allow for ease of consumption. You would dare to lessen yourself, to think less of yourself because of this boy.

“Well,” Sukuna says finally, “Your taste in men is questionable, to say the least. I mean  Zenin Naoya? Don’t know what else you were expecting, sweetheart.”

You laugh in surprise, your smile bright and loose as if his words set something free inside of you. It’s not about the boy, after all. It’s about the principle of it- it’s the unspoken promise you are replaceable, unwanted, something to be hidden just because of how you look. You are a woman made of steel and honey, deserving of reverence by gods at your feet.

Naoya was no match for you anyway.

The first time Sukuna had seen you in the well lit hallway of your apartment floor, he had done a double take. 

He’s never done a double take, not for anyone. But you had earned one from him. 

You hadn’t seen him, too engrossed in the conversation you were having on the phone. Presumably a friend, from the way you laugh loudly, your smile illuminating the pretty planes of your face and the glow of your cheeks.

It’s a similar look to the one you wear on your face as you stumble through the streets of the city in a tipsy haze. Sukuna’s only seen you like this a handful of times, all of them a result of a night out with your friends.

And then there was the one time when you had clearly not been in your right state of mind at nearly 3 AM, loudly stomping through the halls of the apartment building (or so he recalls)-

Sukuna is awoken from his deep slumber, the sheets warm and toasty around him as his heart races to identify the source of noise. He rubs his eyes and listens to the sound of keys jingling at his door and frustrated groans on the other side of it. 

Well, if he’s being robbed, they could have at least waited until his REM cycle was completed.

Sleep is washed away from his eyes completely, instead replaced with alertness. Well as much alertness as is possible at 3 AM. He’s not particularly concerned even if he’s being robbed. He could probably take them, anyway.

He’s just irritated that his precious sleep is ruined. If there’s one thing in his life that should not be trifled with, it’s his sleep.

Surprise colors your face, surely mirroring his own, when Sukuna swings the door open ready to give you a mouthful about bothering him. He’s a little amused to see your brow furrow and you cross your arms over your chest. He tries and fails not to stare. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” you accuse him, even going so far as to point a finger to his chest. Your dark eyes are slick with the evidence of your drinking.

“Your apartment? Are you stupid?” Sukuna says easily, and you gasp. It’s all very dramatic in his opinion. You blink up at him in confusion and sway on your feet, steadying yourself on the doorframe. You can’t help but stare at him, your handsome, rugged and rough neighbor standing in front of you with his pink pajama shorts with little black cats on them.

You try to focus on the conversation rather than the way his black sleep shirt clings to his torso.

“I’m not stupid, you asshole-”

“No, you’re just drunk. Close enough, if you fucking ask me-”

“Go away, I want to sleep.”

“Your apartment is there,” Sukuna points down the hall, “This is mine. Do I need to show you how to read numbers?”

You glare at him, your eyes unfocusing comically to read the number on the door behind him. Sukuna even does you a favor and ducks his head so you don’t have to crane your neck. A surprised gasp leaves your lips and you cover your mouth with your hand.

Sukuna snorts. “Told ya so. Drunk ass.”

Before you can scold him for being so rude in your drunken state, he tells you to get out because you’re ruining his beauty sleep and all but slams the door in your face. You huff, stomping your way over to your apartment and not feeling the slightest bit foolish.

You don’t notice him cracking the door just an inch to make sure that you make it safely into your home.

You walk shoulder and shoulder with him (well, you try to walk. It feels more like a light jog to match his strides. He told you to quit lagging behind when you yelled at him to wait up for you. What a gentleman) through the bustling streets of Tokyo. Your voice somehow doesn’t get drowned out by all of the noise and sounds and Sukuna irritatingly finds himself easily listening to you chatter on about the new izakaya next to the train station and that it apparently has the best gyoza and beer you’ve ever had in your thirty-something years of life.

“And who made you the leading authority on gyoza and beer?” Sukuna scoffs. To his surprise you laugh, your head tipping back to the stars as your eyes close in mirth. Sukuna can see laugh lines at the corner of your eyes only when you smile, and he hates that he notices this detail of you.

He rolls his eyes. Whether it’s at you or at himself remains to be determined.

“Well, maybe you should come with me and judge for yourself sometime,” you muse, voice low and syrupy. Sukuna doesn’t even shrug you off when you wrap an arm around his bicep. Instead, he gets a pleasant waft of your warm perfume. Your dark eyes are fixed on him, curiosity painted in the corners of your irises. “I know you’d love free food, beer, and the opportunity to critique-”

“You asking me out on a date?” Sukuna snorts, ready to protest.

“Would that be so bad? You wouldn’t stand me up would you? Wouldn’t leave me alone, all dressed up and waiting by myself,” you croon, tugging on his arm and pulling him to a stop on the middle of the sidewalk. Sukuna swallows, narrowing his eyes at you as a snarky comment begins to form itself on his tongue. But you look at him with those sweet eyes, your hand boldly ghosting over his chest (not quite touching him) and a small smile playing on your painted lips. “You wouldn’t do that to me…”

He’s entranced by you for a moment, taken by the way your chest rises and falls and the glossiness of your lips. He’s not immune to a beautiful woman, and he’s man enough to admit that. 

But still. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, “Get off me, you drunk ass. I can smell your gross fucking breath from here.”

Your peals of laughter echo in his ears as he stomps away from you. But you catch up to him and wrap an arm around his bicep again and he doesn’t push you away. 

“If you’re gonna need me to walk your stupid ass back home, then don’t walk so fucking slowly.”

The alcohol still ebbs and flows in your bloodstream, making you feel a lot more bolder than you normally might. The thought of your date ghosting you without a second thought seems so minor now, as you stand in the elevator with Sukuna. You make no attempt to mask your ogling. Your neighbor has always been ruggedly handsome and loudly brash, and over the last few months you had quietly quelled your budding crush into nothingness. Or so you thought.

He’s wary of your gaze but he is struggling to keep you at arm’s length. Sukuna unwraps your hand from his arm, gruffly telling you that “you’re perfectly capable of using your two working legs” and that he wasn’t your “fucking walker”. In truth, he wants nothing more than to part your lips with his and taste your lip gloss on his tongue. He’s kept you far from his inner orbit on purpose, knowing that you fully have the capability to burst your way through his carefully curated life and make yourself part of it.

So when you bat your eyelashes at Sukuna and ask him if he wants to join you for a nightcap and some food, he should say no. 

Instead, he finds himself nodding and following you into your apartment. He’s been here a handful of times (to borrow laundry detergent a few times, and the one time your package was delivered to him accidentally, and when you had hosted a potluck for the floor. He didn’t join until the last thirty minutes and brought store-bought dessert, but at least he showed up. The happy surprise on your face had been worth it). 

You head to the bathroom, giving yourself a pep talk as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The after effects of alcohol still remain in your system, you know it. But it’s just enough liquid courage. 

You come out of your bedroom without your denim jacket on, only wearing your jeans and your tank top. With your heart pounding in your ears and your best bedroom eyes, you pour out a glass of wine for both Sukuna and yourself.

He swallows, eyes carefully tracking the purposeful swing of your hips from his spot on your green velvet couch. You sit close to him and hand him the glass of wine. He tries his best not to imagine what your thighs around his head would feel like, but he is only a man.

“Thanks for hanging out with me tonight,” you breathe, pulling your dark eyes up to meet his, “I had fun.”

Your chest brushes against his arm and Sukuna doesn’t have the self-control to avoid shamelessly ogling you. With glossy eyes and glossier lips, you lean into him further as if you’re trying to soak up his heat.

“It was better than hearing you fucking mope around all night, I guess,” he replies, pulling a chuckle from you. 

“You guess,” you hum, “How lucky for me.”

You don’t let go of his gaze as you sip on your glass of your wine. You only allow a few sips to pass your lips before setting it to the coffee table and somehow moving even closer to him.

Sukuna’s dark, seemingly red eyes narrow at you suspiciously. But he doesn’t stop you or the way you unravel and unwrap him with nothing but your sticky, heated eyes. He’s always had a small soft spot for you. After all, he wouldn’t take just any sad soul out to cheer them up. The scent of your warm cologne curls around him, nearly drawing his nose towards your neck.

He holds himself back, but he gasps audibly when you press your lips to his hastily. Sukuna can still taste the cocktail from hours ago on your lips, and as much as he wants to lick the roof of your mouth and watch your eyes flutter closed…

He pulls away.

“Don’t kiss me after you’ve been drinking,” Sukuna chastises you gruffly, squeezing your cheeks and allowing for his thumb to brush over your bottom lip, “Don’t be a coward. Do you have the balls to kiss me when you’re sober, too?”

And with that, Sukuna leaves you alone in your apartment and tries to push your dazed eyes out of his mind as his heavy footsteps echo in your brain as he sees himself out.

It wasn’t a complete rejection, was it? Sukuna had kissed you back, as incredibly brief as the press of his lips was. You can nearly taste the feel of his chapped lips against yours if you think hard enough. It was airy and barely there, barely even an imprint on your lips. 

But still. It was enough for you to mull over it for nearly twelve hours. You are many things, but you’re no coward. You’d spun the events of the previous night over and over in your mind until you could recall every little detail- the way his piercings glinted in the dim light of the bar, the way Sukuna would bite and bark at you but still have an ounce of softness in the corner of his dark eyes…

With a sigh, you fall back on your bed with an unceremonious thump and stare up at the ceiling. You could either wallow and consider all of the what ifs, or-

Or you could march out of your apartment and straight to Sukuna’s and make good on his words to you. To ‘kiss him when you were sober, too’.

Your mind is made up in half a second and you ignore the erratic rattling in your chest as you make your way out of your comfort zone.

It feels like deja vu when Sukuna hears impatient knocking at his front door. It’s most likely you (you’re the only one with the audacity to bother him before nine AM on a weekend). He contemplates not answering the door and continuing his day of relaxation (complete with a burgundy silk robe).

But then he hears your irritated voice, “How long are you going to leave me hanging, Sukuna?”

When he swings the door open, he’s greeted with a scowl on your face and your arms crossed over your chest. The handsome smirk and peek of his abnormally sharp canines nearly sends you over the edge as you stare him down with heat in your eyes.

“I’m no coward,” you glare at him, “And I’m sober now.”

“Oh, is that so? Good for you,” Sukuna says dismissively while simultaneously pulling you into the threshold of his apartment by your forearm. Your heart pounds in your ears as your face heats up, but still you stand your ground.

“I-I have the balls to kiss you when I’m sober,” you mutter softly but you still shoot him a glare.

Sukuna hums, lazily appraising you from his spot against the wall. He’s waiting for your move, completely allowing you to drive the direction of this interruption to this morning. You’re incredibly frustrating in every sense of the word- Sukuna can’t pinpoint the exact time that you had wormed your way into his life, into his thoughts. Leaving him reluctantly desiring you, eager for the evenings when you’d barge into his bar without a care in the world. As if his steely glare and barbed tongue just made you want his company even more.

Your bottom lip is tucked under your teeth, one of the things you do when you’re thinking. But it doesn’t stay tucked for long, when you push yourself off of the balls of your feet and take a few strides towards Sukuna. Strength radiates off of him, tucked away under the folds of his silk robe. You’re itching to touch him, to allow for the drag of your nails down his chest. To trace the lines and swirls of his tattoos with your tongue.

The impatient press of your lips to his is familiar, in a dreamlike sort of way. Sukuna wastes no time in deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue through the seam of your lips just as eagerly. He kisses you in the way he wanted to kiss you last night, your belly flipping up and down when he grips your waist tightly.

The bittersweet taste of his coffee blooms in your mouth as he devours you with only one swipe of his tongue. Sukuna guides your movements, walking you towards the couch in between kisses. He barely allows for you to catch your breath as your heart pounds in your throat, only for him to seize you once more.

He roughly pulls you into his lap, barely wasting a second in tugging you into his chest to kiss you once more. Sukuna doesn’t allow for you to even try to exert any amount of force in trying to push him back into the sofa cushions. He maneuvers you with big, rough hands on your waist, only to squeeze and not-so-lightly smack your ass when you try to kiss him.

You moan into his mouth and his cock jumps against your clothed pussy. You take what you want, your nails slow over his chest as you trace the outline of his looming body. 

Sukuna always wants you like this, your thighs spilling out of his tight grip as you rock into him. Your hips clumsily knock into his as if you’re trying to mold into the curvature of his corded muscles. He pushes under your t-shirt to press against your waist with thick fingers, finally feeling your heated skin under his fingertips.

You shiver into his mouth as his touch traces up your spine lightly before kissing him again. Sukuna loses himself in your spit-slicked mouth, in your soft sighs and whines, in the way you fumble your fingers in his hair and tug lightly.

When Sukuna finally pulls away, his chest heaves when he takes in your bitten lips and your hazy eyes. You’ve always been easy to read to him. You never back down from a challenge but you like when he takes charge. He doesn’t allow himself to go too far, his lips only a breath away from you. You groan as his hands roam up your shirt roughly, squeezing and softening as he explores the terrain that is your body.

You push into him, hands tiny against his chest, as you try to coax him into another kiss, then another, then another. Sukuna teases you, only allowing you a second over him before seizing the moment and dropping his lips to your neck, just under your ear. His robe loosens in your grip, leaving his tanned chest open for you to ogle with hooded eyes. 

“Oh,” you mumble in surprise, “Sukuna…” you’re not shy about the noises he pulls from you with each pass of his lips on the column of your neck. He hums into your skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses on you and you lean further into him.

“Look what the cat dragged in this morning,” he teases you, shooting you a glare, “Couldn’t get enough, huh?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, shoving his shoulder, “I had a point to prove.”

“What a brave, brave girl,” Sukuna sneers.

“I must be, to start my morning with you,” you shoot right back at him and Sukuna cuts your laughter off with a sharp kiss and a smack to your ass.

It’s the middle of the summer afternoon and the air in Sukuna’s apartment is sticky. Not from the summer heat, though. Sukuna would be damned before allowing even a single particle of the heat enter his apartment. 

Sukuna has you flat on your back as the balmy air floats over you like a hazy cloud and he pushes himself in and out of you in perfect rhythm with your moans. He’s already had you on the floor, on your side, on your belly… Sweat lines his brow as you desperately cling to him with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, eager for him to kiss you until you can’t breathe. His robe has been tossed to the side, somewhere close to his couch and you’re certain your panties are in the same general vicinity.

Sukuna holds his kiss over you, instead nipping your neck and making his way down your chest. He takes his time with you, wanting to draw out every sigh and whine from your throat. But you’re an impatient thing and you’re loud about it.

“Do something, Sukuna,” you complain, “Fucking move-”

“What, my dick isn’t enough for you?” he says with gritted teeth, “Greedy girl.”

You roll your hips into his for relief and he presses a hand on your belly to still your movements. He just wants to feel you for a second and he blankets himself over you once more to quiet your complaints with a kiss. Your body aches deliciously when he stretches you out once again, your wetness coating his cock with a sound that hardly even makes your cheeks flush anymore.

Your thighs are a mess, the remnants of both your cum, his cum and sweat mixed on your skin. It’s dirty but he makes you feel so good as your toes curl in pleasure and your heart hums in delight. He makes you feel utterly desirable as he pushes in and out of you with his hand in yours. Sukuna makes you feel beautiful as his lips press against your chest, unintentionally leaving marks there.

And when you open your mouth when he asks you to, the gruff purr of ‘good girl’ that comes out of his lips nearly makes you cum as he spits into your mouth and seals it with a kiss.

“I think you broke me,” you say hoarsely with your eyes closed as you sprawl out on his bed and try to catch your breath. 

“Your pussy broke?” Sukuna says and you swat his shoulder.

“You love this broken pussy,” you hum, “You love this broken pussy so much that you’ll get gyoza and beer with me tomorrow.”

“Speaking things into existence doesn’t always work,” Sukuna replies.

“Are you saying you don’t want to go on a date with me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I’m not putting anything in your mouth, other than this broken pussy-”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Sukuna groans and tosses a hand over your waist to pull you under him. He shuts you up with another series of kisses, your protests melting away into moans of his name.

You spend the next few hours rolling around in his bed (which you refuse to admit is more comfortable than yours), mainly with his lips on yours and with him lazily thrusting into you. His grey sheets are cool to the touch against your warmed skin. Sukuna lightly bites on your earlobe as he mumbles to you how good you’ve been to him, how good you feel around him, how pretty you are. Your belly flips with his words and you’re unable to convey how he makes your blood burn, instead kissing him sloppily. And hoping he understands you.

To your surprise, he even brings you water and a snack afterwards. What a gentleman. Before Sukuna knows it, he’s watching you doze off in his bed and doesn’t have the energy to tell you to move.

***********

You rub your eyes tiredly, trying to make sense of your surroundings. A soft breath caresses your cheek as you try to settle against an unfamiliar pillow. You try to chase the source of this new, odd warmth with your legs and wrap yourself to cocoon yourself in the warmth. The sun is beginning to set, and then you remember where you are. Ah yes… you’d come to Sukuna’s apartment to make a statement and ended up with your legs bent at the knees. 

Your body aches deliciously, soreness settling in but you’ve never been so blissful in your life. You stretch and accidentally shove your hand into Sukuna’s face and he abruptly moves the arm that was cradling you close to his chest to his face.

He groans loudly and rubs his cheek before blearily opening his eyes. Surprise colors his eyes and it immediately sets you on edge, clearly he wasn’t expecting you to stay-

“You’re still here?”

“Where the hell else was I supposed to go?” you say indignantly, itching to pinch him. 

“Don’t you have your own bed? Literally down the hall?”

This time you really do pinch him in the side and roll your eyes before gathering your things to dress yourself and leave. You try your best not to be annoyed with him for kicking you out in not so many words, but you can’t help but laugh at how so like him this is. 

“I still need a proper apartment tour. This isn’t the end of this,” you say, vaguely threatening him with a finger to his chest.

“Is that a threat?”

“Sure is, sweetheart.” 

And with that you exit Sukuna’s apartment with a small smile on your face and a purposeful sway to your hips. You’ll give him something to remember you by, after all.

tags: @kentobean @aeanya

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #wow am i bad at summaries or what sdlkjfsldkf

[randomwriteronline]

Lian? Jealous? Psh.

Of course he was jealous.

Jealous of that darn Diamond Clan warden twat.

Of that Melli.

Who did he think he was, going around like that, handing out Aguav Berries like it was no big deal...

He could almost hear him -- oh, hello, how are you, how is your booklet thing going? Here, I battled some of those huge crowds of Pokémon and got you some extremely rare Berries. What? It must have been a hassle? Oh, you don’t have to worry, it really wasn’t any problem at all for me, (and he’d flip his stupid long shiny hair) I’m so good at Pokémon battles after all...

The young warden dug even more furiously into the ground.

He was gonna show him.

-

“Mistress Calaba, I need your elucidation.”

“That’s warden to you.”

“Warden Calaba, I need your elucidation.”

“On what, pray tell?”

Melli pointed a little further down, towards the muddy lands. Specifically, he pointed her to the pale pink dot which had brown eyes staring right into him with an incomprehensible wrath.

Calaba narrowed her eyes to look better: “That’s young Lian,” she said.

“Yes - what is his problem?” Melli asked.

She just cocked her eyebrow at him, about to demand further explanations, when a louder voice interrupted her.

“Melli! Have you seriously picked a fight with a child Sabi’s age this time?” Adaman shouted at the warden most known for his not particularly stellar manners as he stomped his way to the two wardens at the edge of the settlement as he was wont to do.

At the accusation, the taller man rose his hand in self-defense: “I have done nothing this time!” he rebuked, “I was not even aware of that kid’s existence until he walked over and started glaring daggers at me!”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Adaman!!”

Calaba ignored them completely, focusing back on the young warden still trudging through the hip-high muddy waters as if looking for something, eyes fixed with impossible fury on the tallest bickering adult.

Hm.

The Clan leader would have had her hands full with this.

-

“It’s ‘cause he’s a dirty thief!”

Huh!

Alright!

“That is... A really heavy accusation,” Irida said very slowly after a long and concerned inhale. “What has he stolen, exactly?”

The shade of Lian’s wide hat sharpened his already vitriol-full eyes as they narrowed into positively wrathful slits: “He knows what he’s doing,” he only hissed through gritted teeth.

“Yes, he most definitely does - but I also need to know what exactly he has stolen, or have some proof shown of that, because in the case we accused him and there turned out to be... Problems...” and she trailed off, not wanting to imply that this single act could have fucked up the whole peace treaty they had going - because it very likely would not have, but this was Melli, and from what she had heard he was quick to form an everlasting grudge at the drop of a hat.

Whatever the warden understood from her lack of words, it worked into getting him to consider opening up.

He crossed his arms tight, looking and kicking at the ground as his mouth twisted into an unsure grimace, muttering something barely intelligible to himself in a sort of grumbling whine, debating with himself if he should have talked.

“You’re not gonna tell anybody?” he finally mumbled.

Irida reassured him with a solemn nod.

She watched as Lian inched a little closer, asking her wordlessly to lean down a little -- was that... Was that blush? On his cheeks?

“He’s trying to steal my ...”

“What?” the Clan leader asked, because that last word was whispered so quietly she had legitimately no heard it.

“He’s stealing my crush!”

His what.

“What?”

“You know ‘em! You saw him trying!”

“I - Lian, you’re saying he’s trying to--”

“He gave ‘em all those Aguav Berries!” the boy insisted, nearly in tears. “Just to impress ‘em!”

Ah.

Ok.

So Lian (10-years-old, in the midst of as intense an infatuation as a child could be having) was under the impression that Melli (28-years-old, desperately trying to make up for his horrid behaviour whilst keeping his pompous facade at all costs if Mai could be trusted - and she could) was actively pursuing the survey corps kid (15-years-old, very likely blissfully unaware of the supposed love tug-of-war they were right at the center of), possibly for the sole reason of spiting the young warden.

Irida (17-years-old, very awake but feeling as if suddenly the energy had been sapped out of her) inhaled deeply and exhaled just as slowly, trying not to slam her bracelets directly into her forehead in the hopes of knocking herself out.

-

A formal apology was written out to Melli, not explaining anything.

Nothing was written out to the survey corps kid, because Lian ate the letter after staring at it for five minutes and got a horrible stomach ache from the rather toxic ink for a couple days.

Said kid showed up in the Alabaster Icelands with a bottle of medicine for him and wished him a speedy recovery.

Despite the nausea, Lian seemed a lot happier.

And a lot more flustered.

#pokémon #warden lian #warden melli #warden calaba #pokemon adaman #pokemon irida #pokemon legends arceus #random writing #kids having puppy crushes is a weakness of mine it seems #anyways may i offer you an absolutely wrathful kiddo in these trying times

[alexandermanes]

hi. hello, if you haven’t seen good omens’ last season (and you want to) you can sit this one out (or come back to it later i don’t know)

are they gone? good. so

*lights up a metaphorical cigarette* how are we feeling about that finale, huh?

well, i certainly do have thoughts about it.

let’s start with the elephant in the room shall we? was it in character for them to act like they did in the last 10 minutes? yes

let’s start with crowley. upon hearing the earth-shattering news that he and aziraphale might have not been communicating properly in the last six thousand years, what does he do? he thinks about it and flips out a little, cue to the rash little confession that was rudely (not really!) interrupted. and evidently, it’s par for the course that it was interrupted by the worst possible news he could have ever received. (well…)

because really, who could have thought that aziraphale would refuse to run away with him again? who would've thought aziraphale would choose heaven again? actually, at any other opportunity aziraphale might've not (i’m pretty sure) refused his proposal. but crowley's timing couldn’t have been worse. anyways, it hits the nail on the head of their issues.

because faced with an opportunity he couldn’t miss, of course, aziraphale chose what he believed was the right thing, though, as usual, his overall well-being came in second. and to even ask crowley to go to heaven with him, to restore heaven and be restored as angel is such naivety. such naivety of aziraphale to think crowley would accept that, regardless of his feelings towards aziraphale himself. which is pretty much in character. crowley doesn’t believe it to be possible: to restore heaven, to make it better. and what’s more is that he feels as though he was wronged (he was) and isn't willing to forgive and forget (he shouldn’t be, not in this case). where aziraphale is all about being good and doing good, crowley is all about self preservation.

where aziraphale is all about seing the best in everyone, crowley would doubt his own shadow if possible. so, that means that he can't ask crowley to put (blind or otherwise) faith in the place that cast him down for asking questions (!!!). but if aziraphale was even to have considered crowley could put his personal feelings towards heaven aside in the name of doing the right thing, crowley wouldn't. he didn't.

because crowley doesn't owe heaven a thing. more than that, he doesn't trust the angels in charge. he doesn't need them, neither does aziraphale. he'd said it as much.

but to aziraphale this is isn't about needing heaven necessarily, it's about what heaven should stand for. the metatron puts all sorts of ideas in his head about making a difference and, fundamentally, i refuse to believe that this is him striving for power, since never in six thousand years has he shown any interest in leading or climbing up the celestial business ladder.

so improving heaven it is. besides kindess and positivity, aziraphale cares about his comfort. he really does care about humans and the earth (he wouldn't have bothered with stopping the armageddon otherwise) but, he also likes the comfort and simple pleasures that the planet provides. he doesn't strike me as the kind of guy that would overthrow gabriel, or the metatron, for that matter, just so that he can rule over heaven and earth (and possibly hell). he wants to help, even if does inconvenience him a bit. which comes back to the issue: crowley doesn't see things the same way he does. crowley cares about the earth and the humans that inhabit it, that much is obvious, but he does care a lot more about himself. more accurately, he cares about keeping himself alive and preferably out of harm's way. the whole issue with gabriel shows us that much. it's also fair to point out that maybe he was more than a little insistent about keeping gabriel away from them since it was gabriel that showed up on aziraphale's doorway naked and devoid of any memories, and not any other angel who hadn't told aziraphale!crowley to shut-up-and-die-already.

he is also self-aware enough that he knows his feelings towards aziraphale aren't purely platonic. so, faced with the possibility that he had wasted time in not telling aziraphale how he really feels, he also wants to be away from anything that might, at best, be nuisance and, at worst, put them in danger. “we're a team, a group. a group of the two of us, and we've spent our existence pretending we aren't"

to me it also indicates that, not only is he conscious about his feelings towards aziraphale, he believes aziraphale might reciprocate them (which he does, though, based on solid evidence, i.e his living experience, crowley isn't 100% confident about it). and, even though, he is heaving and terrified of being vulnerable (and rejected!), crowley, in a very i-better-say-my-piece-now-or-i'll-forever-be-silent way makes his little speech. bravely so.

"just be an us. you and me. what do you say?"

this is mostly stream of conscioussness, so i forgot to mention that despite being all about self-preservation, crowley makes a very generous exception for aziraphale. he will do the impossible as long as he can keep aziraphale safe. it goes without saying that he won't do or let anything jeopardize the precious, peaceful, fragile existence he had carved out for himself, unless he has to.

"come with me. to heaven, i'll run it, you'll be my second in command", says aziraphale it makes me insane that this rift that is spreading now in their relationship isn't due to any emotional confusion (not in any way that matters); this is about them operating in a different framework and not being able to translate it to the other one. crowley wants to be safe and run away with aziraphale, aziraphale wants to do good and have crowley by his side. neither of them is willing to give that up. and even if i think crowley is in the right, that heaven can't be fixed and it's not up to aziraphale to fix it, if they talked, if they communicated this wouldn't be such a huge issue.

"you can't leave this bookshop", you can't leave me

"oh, crowley. nothing lasts forever", it's time for a change, will you come with me?

"no. no, i suppose it doesn't", so much for being honest about my feelings and what i want

(crowley putting his sunglasses back on, hiding his eyes that are beacon of emotion was such a powerful move btw) where aziraphale had hope, crowley's withered and died.

"crowley, come back! come to heaven, work with me. we can be together."

now, this part kills me because aziraphale says it with such hope, it's hard for me to even think of it as being a temptation (even if it sounds like one). it's clear that aziraphale isn't rejecting crowley as a romantic prospect, but he is rejecting his proposal. and, as stated before, crowley isn't interested in his either.

"angels. doing good."

the first time i watched this scene it felt like a punch to the gut. it felt like that probably because i'd heard it the same way crowley did: i want you, but only if you're something other than what you are. because you see, even if crowley was restored as an angel, he would still be fundamentally crowley, but he wouldn't be a demon. nevertheless, being a demon is also a fundamental part of who he is. i-don't-know-how-many-thousands-of-years since the fall and six thousand years living as a demon, of course it's part of who he is. plus, crowley sees himself as irredeemable, and theoretically, in the eyes of god and the angels, he is. there's no saving him, and even if there was, he wouldn't be interested in it.

but in saying that, aziraphale hadn't meant he would only want crowley if he wasn't a demon. he meant that being an angel would make crowley happy. if we are to believe that they had met when both were still angels, having witnessed crowley's delight in helping create the universe, he thought being an angel made him happy. he already knows with bone-deep certainty that crowley is good, he has witnessed it for thousands of years. therefore, 1 + 1 = 2: crowley being an angel in heaven with aziraphale would make him happy again. heaven could be a good place again with the both of them restoring it side by side.

"i need you!"

there's so much to unpack there, i don't think i have the ability to make it justice.

crowley's hesitance also is so interesting. for all intents and purposes he has already rejected aziraphale's proposal, so why does he linger? if you ask me, it's almost like he is either waiting for aziraphale to convince him into acquiescence, or he hopes aziraphale will change his mind. how, you ask me? i don't know.

"i don't think you understand what i'm offering you", i'm offering you my love, a chance at doing the right thing, i'm offering you happiness again

"i understand. and i understand a whole lot better than you do." you can't fix something that can't be fixed.

"then, there's nothing more to say"

and the irony is: there were so many things left unsaid that needed to be said. and yet...

"you idiot, we could've been us."

and that's the thing, isn't it? crowley doesn't need themto be in any way other than what they are. well, with the added tones of romance and wine-and-dining, of course. but, he just wants them to be, together. outside of the restraints of heaven and hell.

god, and the kiss. the awful, dreaded kiss that i saw from a mile away. it was so revolting and visceral in its suplication. it was beautiful, it was horrible. i think it's a work of art, i hate it so much. crowley grappling aziraphale by his lapels, aziraphale not knowing whether to bring him closer or push him away, the sheer duration of the kiss, the devastation in their eyes afterwards... jesus christ.

the kiss was done out of sheer desperation on crowley's part, and i don't really know what was going through his head tbh. i don't know if he thought the kiss was supposed to mend the rift they essentially created between themselves or if it was his well-if-it's-my-last-chance-to-do-it moment. i'm leaning towards the first option though; crowley thought the kiss might've convinced aziraphale to change his mind, but instead...

"i forgive you", a final temptation you have applied on me.

"don't bother", i gues we don't want the same things after all.

i don't think holy water or hellfire could've burned them this much.

and then: aziraphale hesitates and for a singular moment there i was convinced he was going after crowley and apologize, confess. but then, of course, he didn't.

it's funny, i didn't think a man could have made so many facial expressions in the span of ten seconds (devastation, hurt, anger, sorrow, sobriety) and yet, michael sheen is a master at his craft. well, after all was said and done (literally), crowley still waited, aziraphale still hesitated. our very own orpheus and eurydice.

what a tragedy. in conclusion, i'm unwell.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #shut up izzy

[give-soup-please]

How about the narrator with a reader that either tries to get him to go to therapy or is a therapist themselves?

Narrator with a reader who wants him to see a therapist (platonic?)

The narrator is shocked. Shocked, I tell you.

I really don’t see how someone could convince him quickly. This would be a multi month project at the minimum. The narrator is stubborn, and egotistical, and while many of us appreciate him for it, these elements would make it hard for him to admit that he needs help.

He’s astounded that you have the audacity to ask him to see someone. So what if he has abandonment issues, self destructive tendencies, perfectionism issues, an ego the size of a galaxy, attachment issues… Oh dear. 

He’s the last person to admit that he needs help. He’ll make any excuse at all to avoid even considering it.

“Even if I wanted to - which I don't - do you see any therapist's offices in here? Any yellow pages to flip through and call them up? It's not as if I can just will one into being, making a human mind is grueling, reader."

“Narrator, it’s okay if you’re anxious or upset about asking for help. Really, there’s nothing wrong with feeling how you’re feeling.” You say, trying to provide comfort. 

“I’m not anxious at all!” He says, lying. 

He’s worried, really worried when you won’t give up on the subject. Is he- Is he not good enough for you as he is? Why are you trying to change him?

He tries so hard to not take it personally, but he inevitably does. Unless you snap him out of those sorts of thoughts early, he’s going to be upset. 

“Well. I don’t need this. I’ll take my company elsewhere, to someone who won’t ask for something so difficult. Goodbye, reader.”

He stews over his feelings for a few days, before rushing back to your side. Maybe his feelings got hurt, but he’d rather have you hurt him repeatedly than be alone- and suddenly he has a clue of how serious his situation is.

Maybe… Maybe he does need help. 

He’s in the throes of angst for a while before actually reaching out to contact someone who can help.

Finding a therapist who can work with a disembodied voice is difficult, but eventually he settles on someone. Finding someone who accepts his insurance- that’s another matter entirely.

He’s petulant and sassy every time he leaves for an appointment. “Well. I’m off to become a better person. Do try and keep up, reader.”

You celebrate every little milestone he makes, and something in him softens. 

Actual, permanent fixes take years of hard work and mental re-wiring. And with the narrator’s memory problems, it may take the rest of his life. But that’s okay. Healing isn’t linear, and there is no finish line.

You are welcome to try and get him into a therapist’s office, but you’d better be more stubborn than he is. This is not an easy task, and should not be undertaken lightly. 

(A/N - Therapy and certain kinds of relationships don’t mix. There’s nothing wrong with dating or being friends with a therapist, but they should not be doing therapy on you at the same time. It literally goes against their code of ethics. Career and friendships really need to be separate in this context. And with how the narrator is, it’s not a hole you’d want to get sucked into. You think he’s prone to unhealthy dynamics now, being his friend/partner and therapist would probably destroy you.)  

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #headcanon #answered ask #tsp #stanley parable #narrator #tsp narrator x reader #could be read as platonic or romantic

[starlitangels]

The High School Years

@darlin-collins Here’s the thing I mentioned I should write in that little exchange we had! 4.3k words I gave Guy a last name and I gave him a last name that I thought was funny because it’s meta

—

Freshman Year

“Now, this is what’s considered a ‘plot hole,’ but it’s important to bear in mind that when it comes to fictional narratives, nothing is ever going to be a perfectly-constructed story. There are always going to be holes. Just like there are in real life.”

Guy snickered and leaned over to Geordi. “That’s what she said,” he muttered.

Geordi rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the snort.

Mrs. Hensler narrowed her eyes. “Guy Erikson, if you don’t stop, I’m going to have to separate you and Geordi.”

Guy curled his shoulders forward. “Sorry, Mrs. Hensler,” he said.

The English teacher sighed and turned back to the board. “However,” she continued lecturing, “This isn’t exactly a plot hole if you know what to look for. So, your main assignment for class today is to use the critical thinking skills we’ve gained from our readings this year and work with your table and figure out how that hole is not actually a hole at all.”

Guy sputtered and dissolved into a fit of giggles. Which made Geordi start laughing at him.

Mrs. Hensler sighed. “Guy. Geordi. Opposite corners of the room,” she said, pointing to each of them and then their new seat in turn. Geordi didn’t complain as he scooped up his binder and backpack and moved to the table in the back corner of the room. Guy lolled his head back with a dramatic sigh before going to the table directly in front of Mrs. Hensler’s desk. Which only ever had one other occupant.

“Hi,” he said, dropping into the seat across the circular table from them. “I’m Guy.”

They grunted.

Mrs. Hensler eyed Guy with annoyance in her face, before turning back to the room. “You have until the last ten minutes of class to work on this with your table. Then we’ll present your findings,” she announced, and went to sit at her desk.

—

I pulled a piece of paper out of my binder and a pen, ignoring the newcomer to my table completely as I flipped open our book.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the newcomer said. He wasn’t tall—compared to me, anyway—and he was skinny and blond.

“Nope,” I replied.

“I’m Guy,” he repeated.

“Said that already.”

“Yeah. And you didn’t give me your name. So I’m giving you mine again,” he said. He put a lot of excessive inflection into his words. “And I’m gonna keep giving you mine until you give me yours.”

I blinked at my paper, reining in my temper, and grunted. I wasn’t stupid. I knew why Hensler put him at my table. No one ever sat near me. I was quiet. I tended to be grumpy. A lot of my classmates found me intimidating. Especially considering I was tall and muscular for a high schooler. I was one of the people that even the jarheaded jocks knew better than to mess with.

“C’mooon,” Guy groaned. “You can at least give me your name.”

“I take it you don’t pay attention during roll call?”

He puckered his lips, pretending to think. “No.”

I grunted again. “Didn’t think so.”

Scribbling some notes from where I’d put a sticky note as a bookmark in my book, I continued to ignore the intruder at my table.

“Have I seen you somewhere before? I mean, besides just this class?” he asked.

“We’ve gone to the same school since middle school.” I made another note on my lined piece of paper. “We just don’t run with the same crowd.”

“Do you run with any crowd at all?”

I growled in frustration and slammed my pen down on the table. “Do you ever shut up? I’m trying to get this assignment done. I don’t need a social visit distracting me.”

“I meeeaaannn… we’re supposed to be working together.” He gave me a bounce of his eyebrow. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Hey, if you don’t wanna be my friend, that’s fine. I get it,” he said, voice going higher-pitched—and cracking like he hadn’t finished puberty yet (wouldn’t surprise me). “But we are supposed to work together.”

“Hm.” I flipped a few pages and made some more notes.

“Have I offended you or are you always like this?”

“Always.”

“Why?”

“Easier.”

Guy sighed dramatically, throwing his head back, and leaned back in his chair. “This is like talking to a brick wall!” he complained.

“Then stop talking and read,” I snapped.

Guy lowered his head to look at me out of the corner of my eye. “I still don’t know your name.”

“Great.”

“If you don’t give it to me I’m gonna start calling you a nickname.”

“That’d certainly be a first. No one calls me anything.”

He put his elbows on the table and braced his chin in both hands, lips puckered again in thought. I glanced up, briefly met his eyes, and then looked back down at my piece of paper. His eyes were a greenish-blue and framed with long, dark gold lashes.

And I hated my teenage hormones for the way my heart stuttered when I met his eyes. Why is he cute? I thought grumpily.

He giggled.

“What?” I grumbled. “What are you smiling at?”

“We’re gonna be friends,” he declared.

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t want to be friends with me. I’m no fun.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

“I think you’re fun!”

I shot him a look with narrowed eyes. “You literally just said talking to me was like talking to a brick wall.”

“Well… yeah. But I think you’re gonna be soft and sweet on the inside!”

I full-on glared at him. “Try me, Erikson,” I snapped.

He raised a brow. “At least let me buy you dinner first.”

I slammed my pen down again. “That’s it,” I growled. “Say something like that again, and you’ll be going to the nurse’s office with a concussion.”

Guy just winked.

I had to commend his audacity, if nothing else.

“Anyway, we’re totally gonna be friends.”

I rolled my eyes. “Get reading,” I ordered.

“Tell me your name first.”

I snorted. “I’ll tell you when you earn it.”

“Fiiine.” He hunched over his book.

I started to write my notes in blissful silence, ignoring the light chatter of the other groups. My table was usually empty, so table activities tended to just be me. Unless a teacher was particularly mean and made me join another table.

After a moment, my pen stilled on my page. “Hey,” I said softly. Guy looked up. “Wh… why…” I huffed in frustration. I’d never been great with talking to people. “This is an honors class. I’ve graded your quizzes before. You do well. You talk with big words and you usually use them correctly. So why do you act like such an idiot?”

Guy gaped at me, like he hadn’t realized I was paying attention. To be honest, I hadn’t meant to. It was just a recurring pattern I’d noticed.

He shut his mouth and shrugged. “Being serious and mature is boring,” he said.

“Maybe there’s something to be admired in that,” I said to myself.

If Guy heard me, he didn’t respond.

—

Sophomore Year

I stood in the back of the auditorium, leaned against the wall with my arms crossed. Assemblies were stupid and I hated them.

A blond head of messy hair sidled up beside me. “Psst!” Guy hissed, looking up at me. “Bored?”

“Unbelievably.”

He held a hand out. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I know a way to make you un-bored.” He grinned mischievously at me. “C’mon!”

I planted my hand on top of his. “Fine,” I grumbled.

Snickering like a gremlin, Guy dragged me to one of the side-doors to the auditorium. He waited and peeked around to check for nosy teachers and then opened the door. We both slipped through.

We ran down the abandoned hallway and out the door to the music wing, spilling us out into the parking lot. “Heh-heh-heh!” Guy exclaimed. “They never watch the band room doors!”

He pulled me along to a beat-up red sedan. “Come on! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” He bounced excitedly as he fumbled with a set of keys, jammed one in the passenger door lock, and unlocked the car. He opened the door for me and waved me in.

“Where are we going?”

“Ice creeeaaam!” He shut the door and ran around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

I snorted. “The last thing you need is more sugar, Erikson.”

“I know. But it’s delicious.”

I snorted as I sorted through my backpack. I swore under my breath. “I don’t have my wallet. A friend picked me up this morning so I didn’t think to bring it.”

Guy blew a raspberry. “Don’t worry about it. I’m buying.”

“Erikson—”

“What? It was my idea! I should be buying.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

He shrugged. “Too bad.”

“Have you even had your license long enough for you to have friends in the car? You have to have had it for six months if there isn’t someone over twenty-one in the passenger seat.”

“I’ve had it for six months as of last week,” Guy informed me matter-of-factly. Still grinning like a madman.

He drove us to the diner up the road from West Dahlia High and hopped out. 

“Don’t get out! I’m getting your door,” he said as I froze with my hand on the handle. I rolled my eyes and got out of the car on my own. “Awww. C’moon! I was gonna be a gentleman! Why must you spoil my chivalry?”

“Stop being dramatic and get in the diner,” I snapped, waving him toward the doors.

He held his hand out for me, that mischievous look on his face.

I took it with a dramatic sigh and let him drag me inside.

We ordered and found a small corner table to sit and eat our ice cream at.

Guy talked with his hands and always had a smile on his face. He was exuberant and funny, never taking my attitude personally.

Last year, he’d declared that we’d be friends. This year, I was begrudgingly accepting to myself that we were.

Especially when he gesticulated so wildly that he knocked his cup of ice cream over, spilling the melted goop gathering at the bottom all over the table. He swore and scrambled to clean it up, apologizing profusely to the staff. I just watched, keeping my spoon firmly in my mouth to hide my smile.

He was still cute, and I still hated myself for thinking so.

—

Junior Year

Guy stared shamelessly at me, slack-jawed, as I pulled into the parking stall next to his and swung my leg off my motorcycle while killing the engine. “Since when do you have your motorcycle license?”

I pulled my helmet off and snorted. “Got it over the summer. Been saving up for a bike since I was thirteen. Always knew I wanted one.”

Guy blinked several times. “I think watching you get off that thing is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Erikson.”

“No, no. I’m serious. Dead serious. That was hot.”

“Get in the school before you say something even stupider.” I tucked my keys in my pocket and clipped my helmet to my backpack strap before marching toward the school entrance.

Guy stumbled after me after a moment, tripping on his own toes. He was getting taller, but still shorter than me.

I slung an arm around his shoulders and yanked him to my side, giving him a noogie. “You ever gonna fill out or are you gonna have twig limbs forever?” I asked, smirking while Guy tried—and failed—to get out of my grip.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he protested. “I am what’s called a late bloomer. So I'm going to look young for a long time. You’ll be jealous when we’re fifty and I still look thirty!”

I snorted. “No. When we’re fifty, I will still look thirty. You will look like you’re twelve, at this rate.”

“You are so mean!”

I just laughed and let him go in order to open the door to the school. I let him pass through it first before ducking inside myself.

“Okay, but seriously,” Guy said, not sounding serious at all, “why are you so resistant to me acknowledging how hot you were getting off that bike?”

With an exaggerated eye-roll, I pulled the leather motorcycle jacket that I’d also recently bought off as we went to our lockers and didn’t reply, just putting my combination in and opening the door. I hung the jacket up on one of the coat hooks inside, my helmet on the other. In the corner of my eye, Guy was actually trying to be subtle for once as his eyes slowly traveled up my body and he looked away when I started to turn toward him to shut my locker door. But as I looked away, he resumed right where he left off.

“Did you grow even more over the summer?” he complained.

I laughed and leaned against the lockers. “Guy, we established two years ago that you’re never gonna get taller than me.”

He pouted dramatically. “I might!”

I snorted. “You won’t.” I licked and bit my lower lip, ignoring Guy looking me up and down again. “So how was your summer? Enjoy your time back in Maine with your… aunt and uncle, was it?”

“Yeah. It was fun. Missed the group and all the dumb stuff we get up to but I liked hanging out with my family for a couple months. Next summer they wanna take me to New York. A last hurrah before my senior year of high school.”

“Sounds fun.” I nodded.

He gestured for me to follow him with a wave as the warning bell rang. “C’mon. Walk me to class.”

“Why?”

“Becaaauuussseee! You’re my best friend and your class is close to miiinnne!”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Fine. Today only since it’s the first day of school. After that, you’ll have to get lost by yourself.”

“I’m not gonna get lost! I spent two whole years here!”

“And I still get texts from you every couple weeks, ‘Heeelp! I’m by room three-oh-two and don’t know how to get back to the band room!’ like a child.” My Guy impression was pretty good after two years.

He sighed. “Pleeease?”

“I’m already walking with you, moron.”

He perked up. “Yay!”

The day crawled by, and at the end of it, I was leaning against my bike in the parking lot, waiting for Guy to get to his sedan.

“Get on,” I said, holding out my spare helmet that had been tucked in the under-seat storage compartment. “We’re going for a ride.”

“Uh… I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” He took the helmet anyway.

“Scared, Erikson?” I swung my leg over the bike, noting Guy’s eyes quickly sweep the length of my leg as I did so.

“No! I’m… apprehensive.”

“Which is another way of saying you’re scared. Hop on.”

Guy put his backpack—and mine—in the passenger seat of his sedan and very carefully climbed onto the back of my bike. “Wh… where are the handles for me? Under the seat?” He clicked the helmet into place.

“Sure but they suck. Geordi tried ‘em and about fell off last week before you got back from Maine. Put your arms around my waist and hold on tight.”

Apparently, Guy didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his arms around me as I turned over the engine.

I pulled my helmet on, put up the kickstand, and back-walked out of the parking stall.

“Hold on, Erikson!” I called.

“What? Wh-why-AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

I laughed as I tore out of the parking lot and down the road. Guy’s grip around my waist tightened to the point where it almost distracted me. But I managed to keep my focus on the road and driving.

We went around the neighborhood, not going for too far or for too long. Guy slowly relaxed enough to stop screaming directly in my ear, and actually started laughing. I smiled behind the tinted visor of my helmet. He was so cute. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face or anything—I couldn’t imagine how insufferable he’d get if I did—but I could think it if I wanted.

Guy’s arms, twiggy and skinny though they were, were stronger than I expected. But there was comfort in having them around my waist. Guy Erikson was the only person who was gentle with me all the time. Including my family. He never shouted. He never got violent. He’d rather give me a hug than a friendly punch to the shoulder. He was the only one who saw past the rough-and-tough exterior I put on like armor. He wasn’t intimidated by or scared of me ever.

And I more than appreciated him for it.

I stopped in the hills outside of Dahlia on the north side of town. It looked out over the whole city. “Hey Erikson. Check it out,” I said, killing the engine and hitting the kickstand into place with my foot but not yet leaning the bike on it.

Guy took in the view. “Wow,” he said, yanking the helmet off. “This is beautiful.”

His eyes flicked over to me on the last word. I pretended not to notice.

The same way I pretended I wasn’t looking at him instead of the view as we both dismounted the bike. Dorky, nerdy beanpole who I could throw over my shoulder like nothing—who had somehow become my best friend. The first friend I’d really made in years. The only one who stuck around. Who thought I was worth spending time with. Geordi had been added to the list not long after by proximity, but Guy was the first. He was the only person I wanted to share things with. Good news and bad, I always thought of telling Guy first. 

All summer, he greeted me with a “good morning” text. And even if we didn’t send a single other text to each other all day, I’d still get a “goodnight” before he went to bed.

I swallowed down all the words I wanted to say. The ones bubbling up in my throat. I like you, Guy. More than I’ve ever liked anyone else. Please stay in my life forever. In whatever form that takes. Now wasn’t the time. It never seemed like it was the time.

“C’mon, Erikson. Let’s get you back to your car so your parents don’t flip about where you’ve been.”

“I mean. If you follow me home…” He put his tongue between his teeth as he grinned. “We can show them why I was home late!”

“If you want.”

“Will your parents care?”

I leveled a look at him and he shut his mouth. “My parents would neither care nor notice if I vanished for a week until the school called them to say I had three unexcused absences,” I grumbled.

“Okay. Theeennn… let’s go!”

I smirked and climbed back on the bike. Smirking a little to myself at the way Guy’s eyes focused quite squarely on my backside as I swung my leg over it. “Get on, you pervert,” I teased.

“What if I’d rather get you off?” he asked suggestively.

“Do you want me to leave you out here in the middle of nowhere so the forest ghosts can come get you?”

“There are no forest ghosts, you goof,” Guy joked as he climbed on behind me.

“There are too,” I retorted sarcastically, not actually believing my own words. “That house like a mile back from here is totally haunted.”

“Just because it’s kinda overgrown doesn’t mean it’s haunted.”

“They say the guy who disappeared the day Surge broke when we were kids over at Wonder World lives there,” I teased.

Guy just snorted. “Yeah right.”

“You know I’m just messing with you, Erikson.”

“I know.”

“Ready to go?”

“Ready!”

I gunned the engine and we tore down the road back toward Dahlia.

—

Senior Year

“Honeeey! I’m hooome!” Guy called as he threw open the door to my parents’ house. I jolted and jumped up from where I’d been sitting on the floor in my bedroom, running out of the room and thanking the whims of the universe for my parents not being home.

“Since when are you back from New York?!” I shouted as I ran for the stairs.

When I reached the top of them, I froze, looking down at the entrance hall.

Guy had finally filled out. He was still skinny and a couple inches shorter than me, but his shoulders were broader and he actually had muscles. His favorite T-shirt was stretched tighter across his chest than it had ever been and I couldn’t help but stare for a moment at the lines of strain in the fabric.

I shook myself out of it and bolted down the stairs. Nearly tackling him with the force of the impact when I slammed him into a hug. I buried my face into where his shoulder met his neck and fought back tears.

“You’re home,” I said softly.

“Awww. Did you miss me?” he teased.

I shoved him away from me. “Never mind. Go back to New York.”

“Nooo… don’t push me away—I miiiiissed you! Ihaven’tseenyouforthreemooonths! Pleeease?”

He held his arms out and wiggled his fingers.

I sighed and went back to hugging him. “Fine. You train wreck.”

“Excited for school to start next week? Our last year!”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He nuzzled his face against the side of my head. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I grumbled.

“Wanna go get some pizza?”

I took a deep breath. “... Sure.”

“Great! I’m driving. And then you’re gonna stay the night at my place.”

“Why?”

“How long have you been upstairs in your room?”

“Shut up.”

“Your family’s fighting again, aren’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“No. But you’re my best friend. And if that means dragging you away from a bad day, then that’s what I’m gonna do. Now come on. I’m hungry and I want pizza. Specifically, I want pizza with you.”

I let him drag me outside and to his beat-up red sedan. He opened the door for me as he always did before getting in himself.

“So,” he said as he turned over the engine. “I had a lot of time to think while I was in New York.”

“That sounds bad for you,” I said flatly.

“Shut up!” he protested even as he laughed. “As I was saying. I did a lot of thinking. And…” He cleared his throat, waiting at the bottom of the driveway for the road to be clear. “And… and, uh…”

“What is it, Erikson?” I prompted, as surly as usual.

“I missed you, okay?” Guy exclaimed.

“We’ve established that. Back in the house.”

“No. I… I mean… dammit. Just. Come here.” Keeping the car stationary at the bottom of the driveway, he let go of the wheel, grabbed me, pulled me closer to him—

And planted a full kiss on my mouth.

I’d never understood the rom-com teen movie junk about feeling or seeing fireworks when someone kissed you—

Until right then, as the whole universe seemed to click into place. Like the answer to every internal conflict I had was resolved in an instant.

Still, as Guy pulled back, my eyes were wide in surprise.

“Look, I know you don’t feel the same about me. You’ve said before that you’re not really the type to fall in love and I know that—but I’ve liked you for years and I couldn’t stop thinking about you all summer and there was this moment when I was on the ferry with my aunt and uncle and cousins and we were going to the Statue of Liberty where I just really wanted to have you with me, holding my hand and I just—mmph!”

I cut him off by dragging him into another kiss, shoving one hand into his thick blond hair and twisting my fingers around his waves.

After a moment, he sighed and leaned into it.

“I… I really like you too, Guy,” I whispered breathlessly, barely brushing his lips with mine. “And I missed you so much while you were gone. It was way too quiet here without you.” I kissed him again.

He blinked at me. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me by just my first name.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled.

“Do we… wanna skip the pizza and just go straight to my parents’ place?” Guy asked.

As if in response, my stomach grumbled.

“Never mind then,” Guy decided. “We’re getting pizza first.”

He righted himself in the driver’s seat—looking a little dazed—swallowed, and finally was able to turn onto the road.

I slouched down in my seat. “What… what does this make us?” I asked quietly.

“Well… I was hoping it meant I get to introduce myself as your boyfriend now.”

“Okay,” I agreed. Maybe a little too quickly.

“Wait—really?!” He perked up, lighting up like a chandelier.

I sighed in exasperation. “Just… don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t! You won’t! I’m gonna be the best boyfriend ever!”

Impulsively, I leaned across the front seat bench and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. He squeaked and turned bright red. “I’m glad you’re home, Guy.”

He shot me a quick look, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Glad to be home, uhhh… honey!”

“We’ll have to workshop your pet names later, you moron,” I muttered.

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Guy #Redacted Honey #Redacted Pizza Guy #Honey #Guy #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

[esoteric-mantra-stuff]

Mercurius Trismagistus (A Starry Night tale)

Happy UC anniversary everybody! Here's a little fic to celebrate the occasion. I hope you all enjoy. Special Thanks to Oski Farouche for making this year so special.

You don’t really get the new arrival to your camp. Big and brooding looking with that nasty scar over his eye, but fairly shy and not particularly brilliant. Aster seems to stick to his side like gum, which is strange considering he was the one who got snatched by this man in the first place. The gray pup always seemed to you like the one with the most sense, at least out of your two brothers, yet you couldn’t make heads or tails out of his behavior. Was there something about this man you weren’t seeing? To you he seems just as dirty as any other wanderer of the Lands Between. Like he hasn’t seen a bath in years and he took a nasty fall face first down a cliff. His armor seems… fancy at least, though you couldn’t imagine royalty taking such poor care of his appearance. About a week ago he began slowly wandering out of his tent more and more to sit by the campfire. His towering body and familiar shade of gray fur makes you think of an oversized version of Aster. He’s got the decency to greet you and Briar at least, but the brown pup merely wandered away, distrustful of the strange man. Finally something you can agree on.

Aster came by shortly after and sat next to him, pulling out a deck of playing cards. Mum went to check on her traps, so it’s just the three of you. You try to ignore the sound of cards being shuffled as you get back to your book, carefully going over each letter, sounding them out in your head. According to Uncle Rogier, you might be able to read some big girl books soon if you keep practicing. You hope that’s the case, there’s only so many times you can read about this red riding hood girl before getting bored. The wolf always loses and the girl always wins. Maybe in some versions the wolf should eat the girl? It would at least be something different. “In this game, both sides play a card in our hands and the card of the highest value wins. We have four standard suits: Cups, Swords, Wands and Coins, numbered one through ten, then four high ranking cards per each suit: The king, queen, knight and jack.” You hear your brother explain to the man. “Then there’s the major arcana, those are 22 cards, going from The Magician to The World, plus The Fool which is used as a wildcard and duplicates one of the cards used for summoning in your hand.” Aster is describing a game Uncle Rogier taught him how to play called Dominion. You’ve played a couple of times, but Aster has taken to the game far more than you or Briar.

“At the beginning of your turn you draw 5 cards. The objective is to be able to play the biggest possible card to win against mine. For example, say you want to play the King of Swords. That card is worth 14 points, meaning you’d need at most three cards to sum up 14 exactly to play it. The only exceptions are the one and two of every suit which can be played for free. In the case of Major Arcana, at most two cards are needed, but they trump any minor arcana.” The smaller wolf continues his explanation, seemingly unaware of how loud he’s being to anyone trying to read. The larger wolf seems mesme-... mes-... umm, really interested in it, his ears are pointed forward and he nods along as your brother flips over cards and shows them to him. “You can also choose to discard up to 3 of your cards and draw new ones, but only once per hand. Also if all the cards in play have the same suit, then you have a bonus equal to the amount of cards of that suit, of which you can add to your total if you need it. Did you get all that?” The scarred wolf nods, staring at the cards intently. “I think I do. I’ll probably learn better once we get to playing.” Aster smiles at the man, who’s tail you can see wagging in turn.

You hear the cards being shuffled and it becomes clear that you won't get any more reading done by sitting here. You’re about to get up and look for somewhere quieter when Aster calls out to you. “Oh, Viola. Would you like to come play cards with us? We’re just starting.” Both pairs of eyes, lavender and periwinkle, stare at you. Aster really looks like he wants you to join, but the older wolf seems a bit shy. “Oh! Umm….” You're caught off guard. Reading has been kinda boring so far, so maybe playing cards would be better, though you’re still a little doubtful about the other player. “O-Okay… but just a couple of rounds.” You say, trying to sound uninterested and mysterious. Aster giggles, happy to have another player. “Okay, yay!” You sit between the two, picking up your freshly dealt cards. “First to 3 wins then.” Aster says, picking up his own.

In your hand you have: The ace of swords, The 3 of coins, The queen of coins, The Empress (3) and Judgment (20). A pretty good hand. As of now you can play The Empress with the cards on your hand (if you counted correctly, which you’re pretty sure you did). You discard your ace, and draw a new card. A 6 of swords. Lame. You set your Empress down along with her two sacrifices and look at the other players over. The larger wolf and the smaller one both seem to tilt their ears as they think, pivoting them in every direction as if to catch the thoughts in the wind. It seems to be a shared tic between the two. According to mum, this man; Blaidd; is your father, but you think she’s probably mistaken. He’s so rough looking and your mother is not much better, so then how did you happen? Briar you can believe and Aster at least shares his fur color, but in your case it must be a mistake. Maybe you were switched up at birth? The man places his cards down, then Aster does the same. “Now… Showdown!” You flip the cards as soon as your brother says those words. In Aster’s hand, he played Justice (8) by sacrificing an 8 of wands and in Blaidd’s hand, he played The Chariot (7) by sacrificing the 2 of cups and the 3 of cups. “Oh, I won!” Aster says after carefully counting each hand with his fingers, taking the played cards aside and shuffling the rest into the deck again. You pout at the loss, but then stop yourself. It’s unladylike to be a sore loser.

“Did you get how it’s played, dad?” Aster asks, and you do a double take. He’s calling him dad?! “I think I do, thank you.” Blaidd says, shuffling the deck and handing you your cards. You try not to overthink it, but maybe there is something to him if Aster is calling him dad already. He makes brief eye contact with you and you feel like he wants to say something, but he retreats back behind his cards. You tilt your head. Maybe it would be easier if you were the one to approach him, but for now you’ll concentrate on the game.

This round you have: A 4 of cups, a 7 of swords, an 8 of swords, The Hierophant (5) and The Hanged Man (12). You can play the Hanged Man as is, so you discard the 4 and 8 and draw two new cards. The Fool (0) and a 2 of cups. You place your Hanged Man along with The Hierophant and the 7 down. You turn to look at the other two players again. Aster is busy thinking of his next play, squinting at the cards as he sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth. He’s pretty deep in thought. Blaidd had already put his cards down however. The silence between you is awkward, he keeps occasionally glancing your way, before looking away. It would be unladylike of you to not break the ice, wouldn’t it? “Umm… you’re Blaidd, right? I’m sorry for not introducing myself properly, but my name is Viola.” You say, trying to put him at ease. Blaidd’s eyes land back on you, his ears prick up. “Oh yes, that’s… I’m Blaidd. I didn’t… I didn’t think you wanted to chat, so I didn’t say anything before. It’s nice to meet you.” It’s an awkward introduction, but you think he’s relieved that you’re not giving him the silent treatment. For all his brutishness, there’s something very polite about him too. He’s definitely very interesting.

This time you have: The 6 of swords, the 6 of cups, The Magician (1), The Lovers(6) and Temperance (14). You discard your Magician for a different card, the 7 of cups. With this you play Temperance along with your 6 of cups. To your right Aster is trading some cards in his hand. Blaidd is done already too. Maybe this would be a good chance to ask something you’ve been wondering about for a while. “Why did you take Aster away?” You ask, only to receive a sputtering reaction from the larger wolf. Grown ups are so silly sometimes. Aster stops his counting to answer the question for the incapacitated wolf. “We went to slay a pair of fingers past a long cave. I think they needed a special bone knife to do it, so the blue lady asked dad to take me there.” You suppose that makes sense, only there’s something still bothering you. ”Umm, but then why didn’t mum come along? You know we’re not allowed to talk to strangers or go anywhere without telling her.” You ask, Aster furrows his brow. “Because mum and dad were still fighting, and dad was just doing what the blue lady told him to.” Blaidd, who had regained his composure at this point, spoke up. “It’s… It’s complicated.” He said, drawing your and your brother’s attention. “It wasn’t right of me to take Aster away without permission. Your mother and I were not on the best of terms until recently… even now there’s some stuff we haven’t talked about. At the time I thought I was doing the right thing….” His eyes look downcast, the remorse is clear on his face. “Now I’ve come to realize I made a mistake… lots of mistakes….” He stares at you, a quiet look of determination in his eyes. “That’s what I’m hoping to correct… not being here, hurting people I love… all of those things, I want to make them right.” He offers you a kind smile, and for a moment you see the noble heart your mother talked about. “Hopefully you’ll allow me to make amends with you too….” You stare into his eyes, the striking Lavender color is the same as yours. “I guess adults make mistakes too….” You say, more to yourself than him. “Fine… If you’re making it up to me, you can start by telling me more about yourself.” He smiles, it’s a little contagious because you’re inclined to smile too.

“Now… Showdown!” Aster says. Blaidd played The Tower (16) with the king of coins and The High Priestess (2), Your brother played Strength (11) with a 10 of swords and an ace of cups. Blaidd helps Aster count the cards once it’s clear he doesn’t have enough fingers to sum them up. “Yay! You won!” Aster says, to which Blaidd nods. While he rounds up the cards in silence, you can tell he’s happy. It’s your turn to be the dealer. “Mum said we can go fishing later, I can show you my favorite pond.” Aster says to the larger wolf. You’re only half listening as you’re trying not to mess up your counting. “Ah… do you really want to go out today? Is your mother okay with you going out so late?” Blaidd responds, suddenly sounding uncomfortable. You remember that Aster was taken late at night, he went to the pond that time too. “She’s been fussing over me so much.” Aster pouts. “I’m safe now, I’m not a baby….” Blaidd shakes his head, and you have to agree. Mum is pretty well justified in being worried.

The game continues, now with more lively conversation amongst the three of you. Blaidd tells you of his life so far, how he’s a shadow born into a noble family (You KNEW you had to be secretly a princess.), how he had been at the service of Ranni the witch until recently, how he was now planning on helping your mother become Elden Lord, eventually all the Major arcana were played and the game ended with Blaidd as the victor. Briar approached, hoping to join in for the next round upon seeing how friendly everyone was being.

In secret later Aster would confess to you that he’d been cheating to make the game last longer, hoping you and Blaidd would talk. While you’re impressed by his ingenuity, you have to wonder how he did it without being able to count.

[eldritchlittleblackdragon]

Alice van Zieks in The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles, Part 2

(Or What Happens to Her During and Post-Canon)

Part Two of Five! Images Made with this Picrew (playing around with what Alice’s hair might look like undone vs her normal way of braiding it/tying it back).

Part One can be found here, and covers Alice in Cases 1 and 2 of The Great Ace Attorney: Adventures (DGS1). This post will cover Alice’s presence in cases 3 and 4 of the same game. I’ll also cover case 2 of the second game (The Great Ace Attorney 2: Resolve) since it happens chronologically in between case 4 and 5 of the first game, and finally, I’ll get to some... very interesting events that happen during the interim between that case and the final case of the first game.  *excited wiggling* That said, there are some bits I don’t have as well worked out so I don’t go into much details about them/note when parts are still very, very hazy as far as specifics goes.

Obligatory spoiler warning for the cases discussed. (1-3, 1-4, 2-2, maybe a little bit of 1-5, but really more just context of when that case happens relative to the other events)

Tagging: @curiousobsession101, @wittythreads, @oblivionmobile, @scarlettjskipper, @angeaxil, @possiblythreefourthspeahen

(I missed tagging some folks in the last part of the summary, apologies for that! Although if you’d prefer not to be tagged please let me know. On the flip side, do let me know if you do!)

Quick Author’s Note: I don’t like Magnus McGilded as a character personally. Not because he’s a bad person! That’s the point of his character. My issues is the dude is such a blatant negative Irish stereotype which... rubbed me the wrong way considering where and when the game is set and how the game handles his character in light of that. So I maybe... took some liberties. Just a little bit. Also him being the only Irish character isn’t totally part of the reason I made Alice Half-Irish and made the fact she’s half-Irish a semi-important detail for her character. Aside from the fact I’m also, like Alice, an American of largely Irish descent. Nope.

Previously...

Alice successfully made it to Great Britain, but experienced a great tragedy while at sea. Her best friend and beloved, Kazuma Asogi, was killed in an accident. And as a result, her other best friend, Ryunosuke Naruhodo, took his place in the exchange program, determined to carry on Kazuma’s legacy by studying law in Britain. For the remainder of the voyage, Alice assisted Susato in training Ryunosuke. And after initially walling herself off, Alice opened up and grieved with her friends over the loss of Kazuma.

When they arrived at their destination, they parted ways for the time being, and Alice went to meet up with her friend Agnes Ward, who she would be staying with while settling the matter of her divorce with her husband. However, she was only given time to drop off her things when she was told some starling news. Her husband, Lord Barok van Zieks, had come out of retirement and was working as a Prosecutor again.

And he was to serve in a trial that very day.

While Alice wasn’t emotionally prepared just yet to meet Barok again for the first time in years, she was curious how he was after all this time, and how much he’d changed if at all. Determining that they could make it to the trial in time if they left immediately, Alice and Agnes hailed a carriage and were soon off again.

Alice proceeded to obscure her face (Author’s note: I’m thinking either her mantle has a big hood she can put up or she has a mask or some sort of veil she can wear over her face?). She was in London again. Regardless of whether she wanted her husband to recognize her in the crowd or not, she was still Lady van Zieks. ‘The Bride of the Reaper’. And thus she had a target on her back. It was better to keep herself concealed when in and around the courthouse.

Alice and Agnes arrived at the Old Bailey with barely any time to spare, and made their way into the public gallery inside the courtroom, on the defense’s side.

And now, we switch to the present!

---------

The Trial of Magnus McGilded

Alice’s eyes briefly flit about the courtroom before they fall on a familiar figure at the Prosecutor’s bench. Her breathing catches at the sight of him. Instinctively, she takes a step back to slightly obscure herself more in the crowd.

After all these years, she’s finally laid eyes on her husband again. She can feel her anger, her hurt starting to bubble up to the surface. But there’s also something else. She finds it hard to look elsewhere now that she’s looking at him. She feels warm and maybe even a little light-headed, but strangely not in an unpleasant way. 

But she’s not given time to examine that feeling, as soon all the players are about to be assembled. Apparently the defendant is a philanthropist by the name of Magnus McGilded, supposedly an Irishman. Although according to Agnes, there’s debate among the Irish community if the man is really Irish. There are rumors he’s actually an absentee English landlord of Irish land who pretends to be Irish for publicity’s sake. And he may not be the do-gooder he seems either, some say. He’s well liked among London’s general populace. But there are certain pockets who have reason to believe the image he presents to others is a front.

Well, perhaps this trial would bring light to that situation, Alice thinks. If McGilded is what others think him to be or not. She certainly finds herself feeling wary, of the man and the situation.

But then, Alice is given quite the shock when she see’s who McGilded’s defense attorney is.

It can’t be! She thinks.

Ryunosuke!?

Indeed, standing at the defense’s bench alongside McGilded are Ryunosuke and Susato. But when did... how did this happen? Alice can feel panic running up her spine. There’s no way that Ryunosuke is ready to face her husband in a trial. Even with Susato helping him.

Barok is going to tear him to smithereens, she thinks.

She wants to jump in and put a stop to this, demand another defense attorney is found. But she knows rationally she can’t do that. And as she starts to lean forward, Agnes puts a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Alice?”

“That’s my friend down there. That I came in with.” she whispers back. “I don’t know what he’s doing here! Last I heard he was going to meet with...”

...Lord Chief Justice Stronghart. Alice’s interactions with him haven’t been many. But he always made her strangely wary. There was something about him that felt... Oppressive. Exacting. Pernicious. Did he have something to do with this?

He must have. She couldn’t see how else Ryunosuke could have ended up here. It couldn’t have been random happenstance.

But then, what was Stronghart playing at by pitting him and Barok against one another?

All she can do was watch the trial, and hope whatever happens, Ryunosuke would be alright.

From here until the end of the trial, not much is different from canon in terms of the trial itself. Alice is an observer in the audience, and reacts to the various happenings. She cheers Ryunosuke and Susato on in her mind. She’s internally celebrates when Ryunosuke does well and feels frustrated and worried when he stumbles into a blunder. She feels anger when her husband makes race insults against her friend, or when he deems fit to throw glassware around (especially if he throws it into the gallery).

He hasn’t changed at all, she thinks. In fact, she might even judge that he’s gotten worse over time. And this makes her worried. If this was a sign of how he’s been faring since she left, it was very worrisome indeed.

Barok...

But there’s one way in which he seems to be the same that puts her at ease somewhat. He’s still good at his job, and he’s still willing to pursue whatever the truth may be even to the detriment of his own case. He still has his honor, his principles.

It’s still him. Even if the edges around him are sharper now. More cutting.

Alice finds herself feeling sympathy for Gina when she enters the picture (and creates the smokescreen that allows her to plant evidence for McGilded), and is worried for her. It seems like the poor girl has had a rough life, and it seems she had a rough night on the night of the murder. But is she strictly telling the truth? And if not, why not?

Eventually, Ryunosuke manages to scrape through the trial and obtain a Not Guilty Verdict, even pulling on obscure laws and procedure to do so. But Alice is worried. She strongly suspects some of the evidence was planted and McGilded may in fact be guilty of the murder he’s been accused of. And if Ryunosuke’s remarks at the end are any indication, he suspects that as well.

Poor Ryunosuke. Only a day in London and he was already thrown into the midst of vipers. She needs to check on him now that the trial had concluded, she determines. He can’t be in a good state after all of this.

 Alice makes her way to Ryunosuke and Susato in the defense’s antechamber. They haven’t left yet, but McGilded has gone on his way at this point. (To his doom.) She reveals herself, and checks in on the two of them. Ryunosuke is feeling pretty shaken up. Alice tries to reassure and comfort him, but it only seems to do so much. More than anything he’s exhausted.

He remarks on the fact he didn’t expect to meet her husband so soon, if at all. Certainly not like this.

“I hope you don’t take offense. But Alice, your husband is terrifying.”

“I can’t blame you for thinking that in your case. I’m sorry you had a front row seat to some of his worse behavior. I wish I could have done something to help.” That causes her to have an idea. But it also prompts her to make a note for later. She wouldn’t take him insulting her friend lightly. But for now, may there is something she can do to help. “Where are you staying? Perhaps I can come see you later and the three of us can share a meal somewhere.”

This is when she finds out that her friends have no place to stay. And they’ll have no place to sleep just for the night if they don’t leave soon.

Alice tries to implore her friend Agnes to let them stay with her as well. But Agnes regretfully tells her there’s no more room. They only have the one guest room. They could possibly accommodate Susato staying as well, but there’s no way it would be appropriate for Ryunosuke to share a room with the two of them.

...Alice doubted Susato would want to leave Ryunosuke to fend for himself. She certainly wouldn’t leave him to that. 

They thank the two of them kindly, but they will find something. Alice regretfully nods and wishes them well. Susato says that she would still be more than happy for the two of them to visit with Alice tomorrow, if she’s amenable.

Of course, Alice is more than happy for that.

Alice thinks perhaps she’ll have a busy day tomorrow. Because not only might she be meeting with them, but there’s someone else she wants to visit.

A certain little girl whose been missing her ‘Auntie.’

As she goes to leave the courthouse however, she catches the eye of someone, hearing a voice familiar to her.

“Excuse me!”

She halts and turns around. Catching up to her and Agnes is a kindly looking older gentleman. One she knows very well, and hasn’t seen in some time.

“Harker?”

Her husband’s valet, Harker has managed to determine who she is. But how did he recognize her with her face covered?  In a hushed voice, he approaches her, looking around to see he’s not drawn attention.

“Lady Alice? Can it be?” he asks her.

Her eyes scan around before she leans in slightly to reply.

“How did you know?”

“God be good! It really is you.” he replies. “I’ve seen you wear that attire before going out before. It was only the once and it was years ago now, though. I was worried I was mistaken, but I was so sure I wasn’t, I...” he stops. “It’s good to see you, my lady.”

“You’re... you’re happy to see me?”

He then frowns and looks solemn. “You think I wouldn’t be?” he shakes his head. “I suppose you would worry the troubles between you and his lordship have colored perception of you. I can’t speak for anyone among the family’s staff but myself. But, it was a shame to see you go, and I truly am glad to see you returned.” He pauses. “Are you here to see your husband? I can escort you to the Prosecutor’s office...”

“ It... it heartens me to know you still think so well of me. But, I’m afraid I must decline your offer, Harker. I’m... not able to meet with Lord van Zieks just yet. I actually have to leave soon.”

“Oh... I see. Are you sure?” he asks. “I could perhaps bring him a message instead?”

Alice thinks for a moment, but then decides to take him up on that offer.

“Yes. Tell him I’ve arrived safely in London.”

 Harker nods. “Yes, my lady. Can you tell me where you’re staying? That way he can send a reply to the proper address...”

Alice hesitates before replying. “I don’t know if it would be safe to say. London still isn’t the safest place for me right now, and especially around the Old Bailey, I’m at great risk. But... I will send word in the near future so we can arrange a meeting. Thank you, Harker. Truly, I appreciate it.”

“O-oh. Of course. I will tell him, my lady. I hope...” he pauses. “Whatever happens, I wish you well. It’s good to see you back.”

He then leaves, and Alice returns to the Ward’s residence with Agnes, having dinner with them and having a lively discussion with the two children, Pavise and Aegis. She goes to bed, full of worry about what the future may hold.

Things are certainly off to tense start.

The First Natsume Case

Alice has breakfast with Agnes and her family before going to visit 221B Baker Street, the home of her friend Sherlock Holmes and his ward, Iris Watson. Iris is home, and is absolutely thrilled to see her ‘Auntie’ returned from overseas. She practically pulls Alice into their home, and immediately offers her tea. She desperately wants to know how Alice has been, how the voyage was, how her first night back in London was, and she just can’t wait to tell her about all the things she’s been up to!

Sherlock shows up briefly, but apologizes, for he can’t stay. It seems there is a case afoot. Before she can question him about it, Sherlock is out the door and on his way. Alice gives a frustrated huff before turning her attention back to Iris. Alice talks to her a little bit about her life in Japan. She finds herself hesitant to talk about the voyage, which catches Iris’s attention, and she admits that a friend she made while in Japan died while on the ship which she found very upsetting.

Iris admits to her that Sherlock told her about that part of things. She’s very sorry for what happened to her friend, and it must still be hard on her still. Alice admits that it is. But she’s trying to put one foot forward every day, and tend to the needs of the living as much as she can. An Irony, she thinks, when she’s trained to help the recently departed.

The conversation shifts to talking about Iris’s inventions and what has been going on in the Holmes household, as well as questioning what Holmes’ business was that somehow lead him to be on the same ship as her. Iris finds herself at a bit of a loss. She said that she thinks there was something about a case that interested Holmes overseas but he strangely never told her the details. And she admits it bothers her a bit. She wonders if it truly had something to do with a case even.

Curious.

Iris and Alice visit for quite a while, discuss a wide array of topics from Iris’s books to some happenings in London to herbal tea blends. Eventually, Alice is surprised when she hears someone come in the door. Initially she thinks it’s Holmes and responds accordingly.

“Oh good, you’re back Holmes! Iris was just telling me all about-”

“Alice!? You’re here!”

She recognizes the voice. But not as Holmes.

“Susato?”

She looks up to see Ryunosuke and Susato there, looking at her with pleasant surprise. Ryunosuke expresses a measure of relief at seeing a familiar and friendly face.

“I’m grateful to see you both. Did you two find lodgings for the night? How are you both feeling?”

They chat for a bit about the events of the previous night and what they did for shelter (staying in a fancy hotel) before Iris enters into the conversation.

“Auntie? Are these you’re other friends who you were traveling with?” “Yes! Indeed Iris. Let me introduce you.”

Iris is introduced to Susato and Ryunosuke and vice versa, and she explains how she has something of a familial relationship to Iris since Holmes asked her to be a study companion some years ago when she was still living in London.

Eventually, the topic turns to more serious matters. It seems not even a day has gone by and Ryunosuke is already on another case. Thankfully not a murder this time. But the situation is grave. A Japanese exchange student, Soseki Natsume, is accused of assaulting a woman on the street with a knife.

Alice can already feel herself growing tense. A Japanese defendant will face prejudice from the courts. But it only gets worse from there.

“You’ll never guess who the Prosecution is.”

The color leaves Alice’s face.

“Barok is the Prosecutor?” she questions him. “But... he usually only takes on high profile cases. The most grave of offenses. Is there some sort of complication that makes this case more serious?”

Ryunosuke has a theory. He suspects that her husband has deviated from his usual preference... because he expects to face off against him specifically again in the courtroom.

Alice resists the urge to grit her teeth.

“Well, if that’s how it’s going to be...” she pauses. “You’re still new to this. You can of course ask Susato about much about what you’ll need to know for when you’re in court. But, If you require any counsel on how to proceed in preparing for your case, let me know. I can offer some thoughts on looking for evidence if you find yourself struggling in that regard.”

Her husband has a decade of experience plus a formal education in law over him. Ryunosuke is talented in the courtroom, and the previous days proceedings did well to remind her of that. But he still lacks experience. Having a little extra help couldn’t hurt.

Eventually, things start to move into how things proceed in canon during the investigation portion of the first Natsume case. But, Alice becomes an additional person for Ryunosuke to talk to about topics pertaining to the case, as well as pertaining to her husband. She also is a source of support for Ryunosuke, helping him get his resolve back to believe in his client.

At one point Ryunosuke asks her if she’s spoken with her husband yet. She hasn’t, but suspects she will soon. She plans on sending word soon on arranging a meeting to discuss his opposition to the divorce, and begin the painful process of trying to persuade him to change his mind on opposing her. Although she suspects at the same time, he’ll very much be trying to persuade her to change her mind and stay married to him. She doesn’t say it aloud, but she also suspects he may even try to convince her not to leave this time.

To stay with him. But she can’t, she asserts. There’s no going back.

Eventually, Ryunosuke has done all he can, and Alice takes him and Susato to a small out of the way cafe near the University to have something to eat (on her tab). It serves as a calm interlude for the three of them. She assures Ryunosuke that unless something comes up, she’ll be back at the Old Bailey tomorrow watch from the Gallery as before.

“I have faith in you, Ryunosuke. And if Kazuma were here, he would say the same. We all believe in you.”

He thanks her for her support.

And so, they go their separate ways, and then the next day, having yet to hear from her husband about a meeting, she makes her way to the Old Bailey, but alone this time (with her face once again obscured).

As with the previous case, not much changes about the actual case for the most part. And Alice’s part for most of the trial is much the same, observing and internally reacting to what happens.

There is a point in the case that catches her attention. Her husband shows mercy to the witness who is a recently wed patrolman who tampered with evidence in order to spend more time with his new bride. Something in the way he responds to the situation gives her pause. There’s something subtly sentimental that makes her wonder if memories of her are playing on his mind when he responds to the situation as he does.

Does he still love her after all this time? Is that why he won’t let her go? At times she had wondered how he must feel about her now after their time apart. When she received word of him opposing the divorce, she wasn’t certain what his motivations might be.

But, apart of her had thought it would have made sense if he hated her now. It would make things easier if he did. It would make things far more difficult if he didn’t.

She also worries about Mr. Garrideb because of the treatment he received from his wife on the night of the incident. And she becomes incensed at how his wife’s behavior led to the victim in the case becoming injured. She finds her abusive behavior towards her husband, and the fallout of it completely abhorrent. And she’s extremely grateful that Mr. Natsume is cleared of the charges.

But she has to wonder. How could Mr. Garrideb stay with his wife when she treated him so badly? When her actions hurt the people around him? What sort of mindset must he be in to make that kind of choice? She doesn’t blame him by any means.What his wife did wasn’t in any way his fault. But she also doesn’t understand.

After the conclusion of the case however, is when events become interesting.

Alice goes to leave the courtroom, finding herself curiously circling around closer to the Prosecution’s side before doing so. She watches Barok for a moment before turning to leave. But as she does so, she is unaware that she’s inadvertently drawn attention to herself.

She takes her leave of the courthouse, taking a way that’s less frequented by others that she learned to use back when she lived in London. Unfortunately the entrance is near the Prosecution’s antechamber, so she knows there’s a chance she’ll run into Barok.

It makes her wonder again what will happen when the two of them finally meet.

She makes her way for the door, when she hears a very distinctive pair of footsteps behind her. The sound of metal clinking, of heavy steps that add a weight to the atmosphere of the room with their sound.

Iron-heeled wellington boots.

There’s only one person whose footsteps those could be.

Her hand reaches for the door but then stops. She hesitates. What if she’s mistaken? She feels a hand on her arm, and turns around.

“Pray, forgive my-”

And there he is in front of her, his hand lingering for a moment as he stares at her, rendered speechless for a moment.

“Alice,” he speaks at last, uttering her name softly. “So it was you. I thought I recognized you amidst those in the gallery.” He lets go of her, his brow creasing, his lips turned in a look of worry.

Alice tries to appear determined. Her eyes trail from where his hand had been on her arm to his face. Up close, she can see that three years have added intensity to his features. He looks embattled to her, which would certainly be an apt description of him to be sure, she thinks.

“So you did,” she replies, “Barok, I...” She inhales, trying to keep herself calm. “I didn’t expect us crossing paths again so soon. At least, not here.” Was that what she wanted to say?

“I certainly wouldn’t have thought to see you here of all places, either.” he replies. He then pauses a moment. “Have you been well, Alice? Are you doing well to keep safe?”

She doesn’t expect such a gentle response from him to seeing her. He should be angry, shouldn’t he? But that was what she thought on the day she left London, too. And it was much the same then. When she expected anger, she had instead received a pained tenderness.

She stumbles over her words a bit before telling him that she’s been alright for the most part. It wasn’t an easy journey back to London, but she made the journey overseas safely.  She’s in good physical health.  She’s been careful about where she goes and has been mindful not to draw attention to herself. She hides her face in places where it might be unsafe for someone to recognize her such as the Old Bailey. And she’s been keeping up with her skills to defend herself should she need to.

He nods, expressing approval of her diligence. Although he still seems worried about her.

He asks her how long she plans to stay in London. She finds herself a bit perplexed by the question. Surely he can safely assume she’ll only be staying however long it takes to settle the matter of the divorce, regardless of whatever the outcome may be. But then again, for all he knows she might have other business in London that he’s not privy to.

Or maybe he’s trying to determine how long he has before ... she quiets the thought and answers him as best she can.

“I... I don’t know for certain how long. I suspect a few weeks at the very least.”

He looks away for only a moment, as though he’s not certain how to react to that information. “I see.” He then looks back at her. “Is there perhaps anything I can do for you? Anything you require?”

“I... No. Nothing at the moment.”

His expression and posture indicate slight disappointment. “Very well. If there is anything, you need only call upon me.”

Alice nods. A silence hangs in the air as neither one of them seems sure what to say to the other. But then she bows her head slightly and thanks him. “I appreciate your offer. I will let you know if there is anything I need.”

“Good.” he pauses. “Then, I won’t keep you.” He looks as though he wishes to say more. “Alice...” His words fail him. “I hope London treats you well. For however long you are here.”

“Thank you,” she replies simply, “Until we meet again, my lord husband.”

It’s clear her choice of words affects him, but how she cannot say.

She takes her leave, and eventually checks in with Ryunosuke and Susato to congratulate then on the case (having run into them again on the way back to the Ward’s residence). She receives news that Sherlock has generously offered for them to stay with him, and they’ll be with him for the time being. Alice is grateful to hear they have found lodgings, and that now they have a stable address at which she can find them. She is also extremely grateful to her friend, Sherlock, for being the one to extend his home to Ryunosuke and Susato. She would do well to thank him, she thinks.

And at least that will be one less thing worrying her.

The Second Natsume Case

Alice has been invited to the Holmes’ residence to have breakfast with everyone, and enjoys a meal with her friends (Holmes, Iris, Ryunosuke, and Susato). Holmes informs everyone that the victim of the Natsume case, Olive Green, has awakened from being unconscious and is currently residing still in the hospital. He requests Ryunosuke and Susato to go visit her with him, and Alice requests that she be allowed to come along as well to see how she is faring.

She accompanies them during Green’s visit and speaks to her a little, expressing relief that she is alright. When Green mentions she’s an artist Alice becomes interested, asking her what kind of art she does. She mentions she does a lot of sketch work as a hobby and deeply admires those who want to make art their life’s work. Green is a bit bowled over by this, and tells Alice that she is too kind.

They speak to her a bit more about herself and what she’d been told about the incident, when a police officer comes in with some startling news. It seems that perhaps there may be yet more trouble for Ryunosuke’s previous client, Soseki Natsume.

Unfortunately, Alice has particular matters to attend to that day. So she has to part ways from her friends for the time being, but she tells them not to hesitate to come and find her if they need any assistance regarding the case. They do eventually take her up on that offer, having more questions regarding her husband and specifically the ‘curse’ attached to him. Alice asserts her belief that in spite of what the public things, she thinks he doesn’t actually have anything to do with the deaths. Her theory is that someone else might be using her husband’s cases to select targets, victims perhaps that nobody would feel bad about if they ended up dead. But something about it feels too simple. Yet it’s the only thing she’s come up with so far that makes any sense.

Ryunosuke asks if she’s certain her husband isn’t the one committing the murders. She has heard this question from others time and time again, and she feels instinctively offended by the suggestion. But, she also understands it’s a fair question for her friend to ask, especially when he barely knows anything about her husband. She explains he has a solid alibi. But more than that, she knows him well. He is many things. But he is no murderer. And she is grimly firm about that point.

He then asks if she has any idea regarding his hatred towards Japanese people. She doesn’t know. He wasn’t keen to tell her that information originally. She wasn’t even entirely certain there was a personal reason given the fact his type of bigotry is supported by people’s attitudes and prejudices in Great Britain. And yet... some of the things he said to her all those years ago made her think there was some sort of personal aspect to it. But what?

And, she thinks to herself, if it was personal, could that mean it was possible for him to eventually see reason and uproot that hatred in himself?

But she had learned the hard way that it’s up to people to change themselves. She couldn’t change him, no matter how hard she’d tried.

Eventually, once again, Ryunosuke and Susato have done all they can to prepare. And once again, the next day, the trial is underway. This time around, Natsume has been accusing of poisoning his housemate. Thankfully the victim survived, but now they’re accusing Natsume of being the person responsible. This will be an uphill battle to be sure.

This time, Alice watches the trial from the Prosecution’s side, albeit not especially close to the Prosecution bench. From a different angle, she can glean something of a different perspective, she thinks.  The trial is tense, and eventually developments require matters to be suspended for the day.

She checks in on her friends, who have some more investigating to do to prepare for when things resume tomorrow. She wishes them well, and once again offers to be available should they need help.

She returns back to the Ward’s residence, not yet having received word back from her husband. He’s probably busy himself with his own preparations, she thinks.

But then later that day, a courier delivers a letter to her. Her husband would like to see her, and can met with her at her earliest convenience once the current trial has concluded. She prepares to send a reply back, considering before requesting to meet three days from tomorrow.

That should be enough time to prepare, she thinks. Both physically and emotionally.

The Next Day, the trial resumes, and runs its course to its conclusion. Natsume is found not guilty once again. It turns out the culprit is in fact the victim from the prior case, having been on a quest to seek revenge for her dead fiance, who was killed by the victim of the current case. Alice finds herself reflecting on her feelings. She understands the pain and despair over losing someone you love so much. She can even understand being angry at them, the instinct to lash out. But, as sympathetic as Green’s plight is, she cannot condone attempting to take another life as the answer. At least however, her fiance’s killer will now face consequences for his actions.

Alice lingers behind for a bit, seeing Ryunosuke, Susato, and her husband have stayed behind while everyone else leaves. She feels nervous about this circumstances, and opts to watch from behind her husband, ready to step in should he start attacking or disparaging her friends. Instead however, the conversation takes a turn she doesn’t quite expect, and is in fact... quite revealing.

She receives confirmation that her husband’s behavior is in fact personally motivated. That he was betrayed by someone he once considered a close friend. And that friend was Japanese. Though he deigns not to go into further detail than that. It offers some clarity for her, and yet the information leaves her with more questions than answers.

Eventually her husband takes his leave, but not before acknowledging that he was fully aware of her presence during the interaction. After he leaves, she goes over to her friends, and congratulates them for their victory, and offers an apology for what prejudice and poor treatment they and Mr. Natsume have suffered while here in Britain, particularly during the last two trials. Ryunosuke admits that it’s been rough, and frustrating to say the least. But, at least in her husband’s case, he can’t help but wonder now what the exact chain of events was to lead to how things are now. Who was this friend of his?

Alice would like to know that as well. She admits she finds herself frustrated by that information. For more reasons than not knowing the whole of it. But, the way Barok spoke of it seemed to indicate he may reveal that information in time.

Perhaps there is more for her and her husband to discuss than she initially anticipated.

Alice wishes them well and goes on her way, having a rather uneventful evening.

The next day, she receives a reply back from Barok, agreeing to her suggestion for a time to meet. Arrangements will be made for her to meet him at the Van Zieks’ family’s London manner, and to get there without drawing undue attention to herself.

The place she once called home. She finds herself a little nervous about that arrangement. But, it’s also one of the safest places for the two of them to meet. She agrees to the meeting.

Alice later has tea at the Holmes’ residence with Ryunosuke and Susato (Iris and Holmes occupied at the moment), and discusses the last case with her friends. It came up during the trial that the victim had a stash of riches, and she can’t help but wonder what the police found.

Ryunosuke suddenly straightens his posture, looking more alert as though an idea has suddenly occurred to him. He then tells her only one item was found: a jeweled dog collar with a strange ‘B’ emblem. It almost looked like a coat of arms. Alice raises an eyebrow. She asks to confirm that was indeed what they saw.

“It’s just... I think I may have seen something like that somewhere, but... I can’t remember where or under what circumstances. Perhaps while interacting with one of the other noble houses? It could be an item that belongs to one of them.”

Ryunosuke tells her the collar had blood on it, and that the item was immediately taken into police custody. Inspector Gregson was particularly hasty about it too.

Curious.

Perhaps Gregson knows who it belongs to? But if he was so hasty to take it away, he may not want to share who. The question would be then... why?

“Be careful, Ryunosuke. There’s a lot of rot and scandal hidden within London. And a lot of people want to keep it hidden. And will go to great lengths to do so. Even putting pressure on law enforcement.”

But a jeweled collar with a ‘B’ emblem... where did it sound vaguely familiar to her? Where did she last see such a thing?

“I would say that goes for you as well. You have to go to more trouble than most people to stay safe in London.”

“Point taken, dear friend. Let us both tread carefully then. But let us not shy away from the darkness either. I have a feeling that... that perhaps this is the beginning of more things to come. And we’ll face them, together.”

In Between The Natsume Cases and Gina Lestrade’s Case

-A More Proper (but tense) Reunion

[This part is kind of hazy at the moment. But, eventually Alice and Barok have their first meeting at their London manor. Tea and food is prepared for her, such that is particularly to her taste. Barok tries to use the conversation to glean how her time in Japan has been, where she is emotionally, how her time in Britain has been thus far, however short a stay it’s been yet.

She presses him on why he opposes the divorce, and he turns it around to ask why she wants a divorce in the first place. She’s reticent about giving him the full story (she doesn’t mention her main motivation was falling in love with someone else and wanting to be with them), but admits she was persuaded to pursue the idea after initially being reluctant on the matter. But ultimately, she asserts, she thinks it’s the right decision.

Barok isn’t very accepting of her answer. He believes her, but he also knows her well. Is she so sure? If it really was a matter of being persuaded, he asks her stop and think about whatever it is the other party has to gain from it. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she was talked into something she ultimately wasn’t keen on for someone else’s benefit. At the very least, this is a very serious decision she should take more time in considering.

Now, Barok is in part saying this to try and stall matters (although he does mean it honestly as well, if she is being pressured, persuaded, she should take the time to consider if that what she really wants to do). The more time she mulls things over, the more of a chance he has to win her back, he thinks. She interprets this as him being patronizing, however, and tells him she has considered it (which she has, quite a bit).

“Have you really? I would advise you to consider it more, then.” And from there, he flat out refuses to have any discussion of divorce until she has.

This angers Alice, and she tells him to stop treating her like a child who can’t possibly be sure of her own decisions. He rebuts that he has done nothing of the sort. In fact, he’s trying to give her the space to in fact be certain her decisions are her own, and not someone else’s.

Things are tense for a bit, but things take a turn when he shifts to a softer tone, trying to show Alice that he bears her no ill will. In fact, he has missed her, terribly. He asks after her because he loves her, he asserts. And ultimately, that is why he can’t simply agree to the divorce. He cannot cut all ties so easily. Not without certainty that this is her unwavering course.

She relents, and says she’ll give it some time (though she’s certain in the moment she’s already made up her mind, but perhaps some extra time to think and prepare might in fact be needed and helpful). However, she tells him she doesn’t plan on staying in London in the long term, and her plan is to eventually return to Tokyo.

Barok acknowledges this. Internally, he realizes he can’t stall her for too long. He needs to do more than stall. He needs to be active if he wants to suceed in winning her over again.He does wonder if more is at play here than simple persuasion, but perhaps whether there is more going on will reveal itself in time. Even if it is just as she says... that worries him.]

-An Offer from The Devil

About a week and a half after the second Natsume case has concluded, Alice receives a telegram from Lord Chief Justice Stronghart, requesting to meet with her in his office. Alice feels her nerves begin to flare up. What does Stronghart want from her? Is this about her husband?

She eats breakfast and hails a carriage to see him, making sure to make it with enough time to center herself before meeting with him. She enters his chambers, and sees him ahead, conferring with a woman she doesn’t recognize. They seem to be having a rather tense discussion if the tone of their voices is any indication. Eventually, the conversation ceases however and attention turns to her.

Lord Stronghart greets her, welcoming her back to London and commending her on her punctuality. He then proceeds to question her about her studies, particularly what she did with her education while in Japan. She tells him that she picked up her education in Tokyo more or less where she left off in her studies at the University of London (and earlier Brighthart University, when she still lived in America). She had mostly completed her education and training, but still had to complete the last leg of her residency before being certified as a medical examiner.

He nods and looks at his companion for a moment. He then proceeds to chat with her a bit about Forensic Science, how he hopes to incorporate it more into police investigations in Great Britain, and make it an intergral part of the legal system. Alice finds herself growing increasingly suspicious as to what the nature of this meeting truly is. Eventually, Stronghart’s companion helps to redirect him after he seems to be going off on something of a ranty tangent.

Stronghart introduces Doctor Courtney Sithe, Chief Medical Examiner and the head of a new initiative of his, the Forensic Investigation Team. For a moment, Alice can’t help but be a little bit in awe. She’d heard stories of Scotland Yard’s first female coroner. But to actually meet her!

Although her cold affect tempers Alice’s starstruck status, bringing her back down to a more even and levelheaded state of mind. In fact, it may even seem like Dr. Sithe is distrusting of her. Why is that?

Stronghart goes onto say that he is working with Sithe to create a sort of sub team that will be handling more lower level cases, but will occasionally provide additional man-power to the main forensic team. And that is where he comes out with the purpose of his calling her here. He wishes to extend an invitation to her to join this sub-team as its main pathologist, while reporting to Dr. Sithe as her supervisor. Alice tells him she hasn’t completed her residency training this means she’s not certified, and she was planning on returning to Japan in the near future. Stronghart considers this. This may not be a problem as working with the team could fill in the necessary requirement. He would need to speak with the University of London and Imperial Yumei University, but he believes it can be done.

Alice finds herself briefly in shock. The chance to work with Scotland Yard as a coroner is literally right in front of her, practically presented on a silver platter. She is immediately tempted by the offer. But, something doesn’t feel quite right. This is Stronghart whose offering, and if what happened with Ryunosuke when they first arrived is any indication, she should definitely be wary of offers from him. There’s also Dr. Sithe’s mood about the whole matter. But there is another matter as well. Part of her conflict with her husband was over his objection to her desiring to join Scotland Yard, over his refusal to allow such a thing. She’s legally separated from him and can certainly accept the offer of her own accord. But, would he be able to have sway over whether she was able to remain? Would Stronghart withdraw the offer if her husband complained?

She expresses that it is a tempting offer. But she is not so sure he husband would approve of it. Stronghart dismisses her concern, citing that for the past seventeen years or so married woman have had the power to discuss business arrangements of their own accord. Besides, she’s legally separated from him now, isn’t she?And in the process of trying to obtain a divorce no less. He has no opinion on that matter, he assures her. He only cares about having a competent coroner on his team, and she is an ideal fit for the position.

Alice is startled for a moment, but then sighs. Of course Stronghart would know about that. Alice asks some questions about the position - how soon would she be starting (soonish, the day after tomorrow), what sort of equipment they have to work with, workload, etc. But then she asks about about some other members of the subteam who’ve already been assembled.

As it turns out, there will be another pathologist on the team, working as a sort of secondary head. Dr. Sithe’s daughter, the young protege Maria Gorey. Gorey will be alternating time between the two teams, but Stronghart hopes for Gorey to be spending more time with the secondary team. She’s mostly been trained by her mother, and he thinks she will benefit from working with others in her profession.

Dr. Sithe seems apprehensive about the idea, but doesn’t seem at liberty to object to it. Alice attempts to reassure her by telling her she’s taught and worked with others before in helping someone learn and hone technique (thinking of her time being a tutor/study buddy for Iris and a tutor for Ryunosuke). Plus, this is her specialization. She’s skilled, patient, and meticulous. Dr. Sithe responds a bit more positively to this reassurance, but tells Alice that she will wait and see what happens as things unfold.

A realization hits her. If she agrees to this and things panned out with the two universities, she’d probably be staying in on a more permanent basis.

Was that safe for her? Or wise?

Stronghart tells Alice he has a meeting soon (giving her a quite precise amount of time, in the manner Stronghart often does). Alice grits her teeth and accepts the offer, on the condition that she’s not sure she’ll be staying in Britain long term. She is still intending to return to Japan in the long term. Stronghart says he’ll need her for at least a year, in order for the secondary team to have enough time to prove its success or failure. And who knows? Perhaps she will be persuaded to stay longer. After all, working for Scotland Yard is certainly a prize for anyone in her profession. She goes on asking if there’s any additional preparation that’s needing before she starts. He says all of it can be taken care of on her first day of work.

And so, Alice is recruited as a Coroner for Scotland Yard, and works with a team of Forensic Investigators, particularly Maria Gorey. This team is separate from the main Forensic Investigation Team, and that fact will be important later in the story. (Particularly during the Albert Harebrayne Trial Shhhhhhh)

[Here I come to a bit I don’t have quite worked out in detail yet, but during the next month or so Alice works with the team, getting to know then and Gorey. Alice finds Gorey a bit unsettling and even infuriating at first (although she’s not scared of her like some other folks might be). But, she finds herself relating to her quite a bit. And feeling even envious of her a little. She’s around the age Alice was when she first came to Britain. When she was first persuaded to give up her studies to put herself on the marriage market for her Uncle’s political aims. But Maria is able to continue pursuit of her passion. But Alice made a choice back then. And ultimately, she doesn’t regret it. She wouldn’t have met the people who became important to her now otherwise.

She has a run in with Barok, expecting him to scold her for going against his wishes, or for him to have put in a complaint to try and get her off the team. He has done neither of these things. Her expresses disappointment and heavy worry over her choosing to join Scotland Yard. But, if she’s so insistent on doing so, he will do everything he can to support her and keep her safe while she’s in their employ. He also points out that it’s not her abilities he’s concerned with. He’s seen her study, and has watched her worked a time or two when coming to retrieve her from the University of London. He will absolutely vouch for her skills as a coroner. But he tells her to be wary or anyone and everyone within the judiciary. They cannot be trusted. She acknlowedes the warning. (Barok isn’t happy about this, but at the very least, it means she’ll be staying in London for longer than he initially anticipated. Which he is extremely grateful for.)]

- A Terrible Incident Brings Alice back Home

About two or three weeks before the events that precipitate the trial of Gina Lestrade, something terrible befalls Alice. One night, early in the morning hours, the Ward’s residence is broken into by a burglar. Alice, Agnes, and Agnes’ husband William attempt to stop them, but the burglar turns violent and attack the three. All three of them are injured in the struggle against the burglar, and eventually things become dangerous enough that Alice’s life and that of Agnes is threatened, and she must make the terrible decision to end her attacker’s life in order to perserve her own and that of her friends.

Agnes sustains the most serious injuries, needing to be rushed to the Hospital, with her husband sustaining the least. Alice’s injuries are somewhere in between. [Serious enough that she should be home on rest for a while to recover, but not serious enough to need a hospital right away. Exact injuries will be determined later.] Because the burglar was killed, eventually homicide is called just to confirm aspects of the incident. And as a result, when the police arrive, Gregson is among the group that arrives.

He sees Alice, and is the one to personally question her about the incident, including checking on her condition considering she just, well, killed someone. He also asks her a little bit about her being away and back in London, and the fact she’s staying somewhere other than the Van Zieks manor. Is something going on between you two? There are rumors...

“It’s not your business.”

He doesn’t press further. He goes on to tell her that her husband will be contacted about the matter. She nods and continues to answer questions for a bit. Eventually she’s left alone after receiving some first aid, however, sitting by herself in a bit of a haze.

Barok is called on his phone at the manor, usually reserved for work to inform him of the incident. He’s assured that while his wife is injured, she should be alright with rest. It’s also clear she killed her attacker in self-defense, so there don’t appear to be any concerns there. Still, he can’t help but tear off in a panic to come to her side.

Eventually, he finds her in the corner by herself. He’s not sure at first how to approach her, but tentatively offers her comfort (it’s going to be alright). He even reaches out a hand, and is surprised when she’s not only receptive but leans into the touch. He pauses a moment, before giving her a determined look. She won’t like what he’s about to say. But, it’s now neccessary in his eyes.

“I’m taking you home. You’re not safe here.”

She protests at first, but its a weak protest at best. He pleads with her to let him help. She eventually nods, and he looks her over to check her injuries. He asks if she can stand and walk on her own. She thinks she should be able to. But, her lack of balance and sudden exhaustion prove otherwise. He apologizes and says it will be better if he helps her home.

Leaning on him for support, he walks her to his personal carriage, and the carriage takes them back to the manor.

She stumbles out after him when they arrive, and he sweeps her up, opting to carry her in the rest of the way. He takes her to the guest room across the hall from the master bedroom, thinking she probably won’t want to sleep in her old bed. He tucks her in, undoing and stroking her hair when a maid walks in to ask if he needs help. He says he can handle things for now. But he appreciates the offer.

He makes sure her bandages are adequate, as well as tends to other needs and basically looks after her throughout the night, only really leaving to sleep for short periods of time in the room across. He can hardly sleep, even if her wounds aren’t more serious. But he tries to ensure that Alice rests as much as she can.

And thus, Alice comes to reside in the Van Zieks manor again. It was not where she wanted to be. But, as time advances, she discovers that it may in fact have been the perfect place for her to wind up.

She once called this place home. And for now, perhaps it was home again, in a sense.

Next:

The Trial of Gina Lestrade, between Games, and During the Initial Two cases of the Second Game (Part 3)

The Trial of Albert Harebrayne and The 8 Days of Hell (Part 4)

The Trial of Barok Van Zieks and Post Game Ideas (Part 5)

#any dialogue bits are more rough ideas than anything #i may have wrote the latter 1/3 in a hurry so i might need to do some editing for typos later #also once again this is long! thank goodness for readmores! #alice van zieks #tgaa #tgaa oc #barok van zieks #barok van zieks/oc #kazuma asogi #kazuma asougi #kazuma asogi/oc #kazuma asougi/oc