#i feel like ive never seen a man with not black painted nails

[asterclaw]

hey yo, mfs, how about we start drawing men that don't have black painted nails and long hair as well

#i- #like #literally lmao #don't take this seriously btwwww #i don't have anything against that #cuz i also draw ppl like that #it's just a funni observation lmao #also #i feel like ive never seen a man with not black painted nails

[youwouldntlietopapa]

Little Sunshine - Chapter 2

(Also available on AO3 with poorly translated Italian and Latin poorly translated for you!) +18 MDNI Includes: 2k+ words of smut, Papa IV/Reader, Interrupted solo play, dirty talk, body worship, light sub/dom, oral, vaginal fingering, comfort/gentle play, mutual pining, masturbation, etc. Notes: Shorter chapter this time so you don't have to wait forever. I was aiming for smut, I swear, but I landed closer to cute and feels. There is still smut! Copia just also needs love, okay?

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Not Papa… Copia… It drags up the memory of the first time you saw him. Those vivid red robes in a sea of black. Looking more uncertain in the black paint than you’d ever seen anyone look. That awkward smile and his old moustache. One look and you’d known you were doomed. And now he’s here, promising to take care of you. It feels even better than his fingers working you close to madness.

The toe of his leather shoe pokes between your feet, slowly urging them apart. Spreading you open wider for him. Making your knees shake and lighting an inferno in your soul. Here it may not be Papa but, Satanas, who else could hold such power over you? Partly out of desperation to touch him and partly to keep from collapsing, you reach back to bury your hand in his hair. His mouth hasn’t moved more than a hair’s breadth from your skin since his arm wrapped around you and his hot breath on your shoulder comes almost as hard and fast as your own.

When you tip your face toward his, hearing his name on your lips is all it takes for him to claim your mouth again. The same desperate, eager passion as the first time. Kissing you like it’s all that might sustain him. Your fingers tighten in his hair and he moans deeply, pulling away just enough to gasp for breath. “Cara mia… Satana può avere la mia anima, ma il mio corpo è tuo.” He says with a shaky breath. Fingers slowing their pace enough for you to regain even a modicum of your composure.

Forcing your hand to relax, to gently drag your nails over his scalp, you lean into his kiss. Softer this time, slower. Setting aside the pure, simple, thoughtless lust. Instead, giving him every ounce of passion and care and attention you have felt.

It’s so very easy to get lost in the blinding carnal desire. And so easy to overlook the way your heart swells every time you see the corner of his mouth quirk up from across the room, the way his laugh echoing in the hall has you grinning like a fool, the way the sadness just behind his eyes makes you desperate to hold him tightly and tell him he is perfect, and beautiful, and so very loved. Him, just as he is. Copia.

The sound that flows from him isn’t the same moan. It barely sounds like the same man. Enough to shake you to your core. Like touching something pure and perfect for the first time. Like summer rain on the parched earth. You barely notice his hand has stilled until the other brushes your side. Turning you around to face him. Not Papa, you think again. Copia.

It barely takes a nudge to have him stepping with you, backward to the bed. When the mattress bumps the back of his legs, he reluctantly pulls away from your kiss and sits. Hands never leaving you, exploring every surface, every curve. His mouth delicately following his hands, trailing kissing and soft nibbles that leave you whimpering and struggling to keep still.

“Copia,” you breathe, cupping his cheek, and those mismatched eyes meet yours. “I know, your turn. I won’t argue.” A small cheeky smile and a soft kiss. “Especially now that I know how very good you are with your hands. But will you allow me one tiny concession?”

He looks up at you curiously, almost suspicious. You are a wily one, after all. He’s learned that quickly. “And what tiny concession is that, cara mia?”

Your eyes flick down, trying not to focus on his open trousers or his achingly hard cock demanding all of your attention. But instead the trousers themselves and his perfectly shined shoes. “Will you let me help you out of those clothes, please? That’s all I ask.”

That tiny smile melts your heart. Copia nods, slowly letting you go after a few more lingering kisses. “How can I say no when you ask so sweetly?”

His hips shift to help when you tug the waistband of his trousers down over the swell of his backside. Copia’s eyes glittering when you steal the opportunity to run your hands over his skin, kneading your palms into the muscle. Besides, who could blame you? It’s hard to resist when a cake that looks that good.

Kneeling on the floor is much easier this time. Sitting back on your feet, a little more relaxed. Taking one foot and then the other. Undoing the laces delicately, setting them neatly aside, and tucking his socks into them. The pattern of the fabric and the red lines left by the seams of his shoes stand out starkly against his pale skin.

He chuckles softly when he hears you tutting. “The hazards of the office, tesoro. Long days and too much time on my feet.” His husky groan of pleasure stokes the fire burning in your heart, massaging firmly into his poor tired feet. Even if he gives you a bit of a scolding look and teases with a wag of his finger. “I thought it was just helping me undress, we agreed to. This feels dangerously close to more than that.”

You meet his minor admonishment with those big doe eyes again. Giving him a bit of a pout. “It’s much easier to get your trousers off without your shoes, mio angelo oscuro. And I wouldn’t want you to be distracted by your sore feet when you could be focused on far more pleasurable things.”

Copia shakes his head with a grin. “Una cosa così malvagia che sei.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Your smile mirrors his and you finish easing away the pains of his day. Trousers following quickly to join the rest.

Only then do you crawl up off the floor to straddle his lap. Finally facing him, pressed tightly against his warm skin. His hands splayed on your back, holding you there firmly. Your hands massaging into his shoulders, working out the knots of tension, and down his arms. The wonder and the awe on his face as he watches your are so plain to see, you can feel the blush rising without him saying a word.

“Now,” you purr, rolling your hips against him. “You were going to care for me, this evening? Is that right?”

His hands pull you closer and his mouth is trailing kisses over your skin without hesitation. “Si, cara mia.” He’ll accept no argument and you have none to offer. Combing your fingers gently through his thick brown hair. Moaning softly as he sucks at your nipple, flicking his tongue with expert precision.

His hands shift behind you, bracing your back and cupping your backside with a satisfying squeeze. The muscles of his shoulders flexing under your hands as he lifts and turns, lying you back down onto the bed. In the same place this all started. Staring up at the ceiling, thinking only of him. This time, however, you don’t need to picture his face. He’s right there, in all his glory. The warm glow of the candles dancing on his skin and the soft lines of his face making him look like Le Genie du Mal come to life.

His voice is gentle, a private whisper only for you. “Is this as good as you were picturing earlier, mio angelo?” His kisses follow your neck and along your shoulder.

“No…” You admit, toying with a lock of hair that hangs down over his forehead.

“No?” Copia’s attention snaps back up to your face, looking almost crestfallen.

“No,” You repeat, with the faintest hint of a smile and a shake of your head. “It doesn’t even compare. This… This is better than any silly fantasy could hope to be. Why would I ever, ever want a dream over this? Over you?”

All of the tension goes out of his shoulders and he chuckles softly, giving one hard pink nipple a pinch just enough to get a squeak from you. “Naughty girl, tormenting me so. You scared me.”

You cup his cheek and he leans into the touch. “Forgive me, I tease. I can’t help myself.”

“Oh no. No, no, no.” He bites at your shoulder and begins trailing kisses down your chest. “This just means I will have to repay your wickedness later.”

Pater infra, I hope so. This man has you grinning like a fool again.

Copia covers your chest in kisses, down over your belly. Nuzzling his nose against your skin and exploring every inch with his hands. Every little sound of pleasure from him like a gift. Watching how the muscles of his back flex and move as he explores is almost too much to bare. When his mouth presses into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, there is a part of you that is just a little sad. The part that remembers his moustache and the hours spent thinking about how it would tickle just there. But whatever is missed from a fantasy is more than made up for by reality.

His fingers slide over your clit, agonisingly slow, as he nibbles teasingly at your thigh. One firm hand holding your leg in place. Pressing your hips closer to his fingers, trying to get more, only encourages him to pull away a little further. Even from your position, you can see the teasing smirk. Encouraging this man’s mischievous streak may be your undoing yet.

Copia looks up at you, a wicked glint in his pale eye when the candle light catches it. “You did ask me to bless you, Sorella.” He purrs.

His fingers leave you, despite a whimpered protest, two raised and slick from his teasing. He reaches up and marks your belly with a cross, speaking in a tone you know all to well from his sermons. “In nomine Patris obscuri…” Another just above your public bone. “…et Filii…” And finally, he licks his lips, sliding his fingers over you again in a cross. “…et Spiritus Profani.”

Before you can even make a sound, his fingers press in deeply, curling up and sending a jolt along your spine. He kisses along the crease of your hip, savouring your moan while his thumb circles your clit languidly. When you feel him pulling away, it’s almost enough to make you cry. But he holds up his fingers again, slick down to his knuckles. That devious smile playing on his lips. You watch as he licks the taste of you off his fingers and hums with deep satisfaction.

“Nettare degli dei…” He says almost dreamily. Shifting himself a little into a better position, Copia pins your legs open wide and reverently leans into take a taste.

Like he’s been with everything so far, he begins slowly. Giving you time to adjust, and letting the tension build. His tongue proves not to be any less skilled than his fingers, his nose bumping against your sweet spot as he drags the flat of his tongue over you. The moan he gives is almost obscene, hips grinding into the bed, grip tightening on your legs. When his tongue presses inside, you bury your hand in his hair again.

No matter how sternly you command your legs to give in to his grip, they shake and squirm as his tongue works you harder and faster. Your hips won’t comply either, pressing back against him, eager for more. For all of him. You’d tell him as much, but the only sounds you can manage are a series of increasingly needy moans.

“Co… Copia…” You manage to gasp, writhing under him and gripping the bedding until you’re certain it will tear. “Satanas… Please… I’m… I….”

He pulls away slowly, looking up at you with hungry eyes. One hand releases your leg and the marks left by his grip ache deliciously. It’s a brief reprieve as his hand picks up where his tongue left off. Copia’s chin is practically dripping, any trace of the black lip paint he wore is long gone. “You want me to release you, cara mia?”

“P-please…” The whimper is desperate. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Can’t what, dolcezza?”

Every ounce of concentration not dedicated to slipping over the edge just yet is needed for three simple words. “I can’t… wait.”

He chuckles softly, licking his lips still slick from his ministrations. “Ah, I see.” He settles back down kissing just over your pubic bone and nuzzling his nose against your skin. “In that case, bellissimo angelo, it would be cruel to keep you in torment… Cum for me.”

Copia’s generous lips catch your clit almost daintily. As if you weren’t close enough. As if his order wasn’t one you were eager to comply with. The gentlest sucking and the quick flicking of his tongue has your back arching off of the bed like one possessed. Your voice catches in your throat and your breath along with it. While the inferno he sparked explodes and consumes you until you wonder if this may be the actual death of you. The cry that finally breaks loose is like nothing anyone has ever gotten from you before. The waves crash against the shore and slowly, finally recede, leaving you gasping for breath on the bed.

It must be only moments, though time has lost all meaning, before he’s tactfully cleaned his face and climbs up to look at you. More than a little pride in that smile. His hair is a tousled mane that wreathes his face, the work of your own hands. When he kisses you, you can still taste yourself on his tongue, sending another shock wave through your core. And another when you feel him stiff and wanting, pressed against stomach.

“Copia…” Somehow both the simplest and most complex prayer you know, said with such reverence and care. You cup his flushed cheek and kiss him again. Slowly, deeply, passionately.“Tu sei perfetto… Non Papa, non Emerito, nemmeno Cardinale... Copia. Bella, dolce, divertente, meravigliosa, perfetta... Copia.”

His blush only deepens and for a long moment, he searches your face. That sadness you’ve seen behind his eyes looks out at you again. Wanting to believe the words but holding back.

“Voglio te. Solo tu. Tutti voi. Per favore. Ti prego.” Your hands slide around, kneading into the muscles of his back, holding him close. Kissing him once more, one soft, simple kiss. Whispering as if someone might catch you both and staring back into that uncertain gaze. “Il mio cuore, la mia anima... sono tuoi. Copia.”

The look on his face is hard to read. For half a second you worry you’ve said the wrong thing. An apology is already half formed. Such a fool to be so terribly forward. To think so much of yourself. He doesn’t need to assurances of some no-

His arms wrap around you, pulling you tightly to himself. Kissing you with such ardent desire it makes your head spin. Breaking away only just enough to look at you in wonder. “Che posto strano per trovare un angelo.”

If it were anyone else, at any other time, you’d believe it was only a line. But from him, just then, hearing the tone of his voice… nothing has ever sounded so sweet and sincere.

You kiss along his jaw, nibbling at his earlobe. “Do you want me?”

His forehead presses into your shoulder. “Desperately.”

“Then, please, take me.”

#Papa Emeritus IV x Reader #Copia x fem!reader #Papa Emeritus IV fanfiction #copia fanfiction #smutty smut #MDNI #minors dni

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 1) Z

This is probably going to be the hardest to shove the MC into to be honest. But I think my premise is good, but let me know what you think!

MC sat on the edge of a mossy cliff that was covered in scrubby, grey grass. Rocks were patched with bright orange lichen that were splashed on like paint. The sea was blue with fresh melt water from the ice caps that defrosted, a pale blue that didn’t quite reflect the sky. You learned that it was the minerals from the earth that gave the sea this unique color. The breeze caressed your dark hair and drew it across your face.

You’re back in Black Swan Bay in midsummer. You feel that it should be night, but like the winter months were dark with the sun never rising, in summer, the sun never set and the sky was always bright. Most people would never understand how a place like this could be so familiar when for them it was like living on an alien planet, but for you, even though the sky was always brilliant in the summer, you could tell the time of day by the level of light in the sky, a technique acquired by someone who grew up with exposure to an eternal day.

You’re not alone. Boots crunched in the pea gravel and approached. They were black, and lined with fur and half covered with a long, black fur lined coat worn by a young man a few years younger than you. He sat down, stretching one leg in front of him and resting one arm on his knee.

He had dark hair like you, but his eyes were a bright gold in his pale face. You always thought they were beautiful eyes, but now you understood what they meant. He had dragon blood flowing in his veins. He turned to look at you.

You remembered him being reclusive, not talking to you much unless it was to exchange witty banter. He was relaxed, always smiling cryptically, never bothered by the nurses or the rules, but never really getting into any trouble either. He knew your name when you met despite never having met you before. He reached up and brushed your hair back with one gloved hand to tuck it behind your ear.

Your expression goes deadpan. “I’m not dead, am I, Z.”

The golden eyed boy’s expression reflects surprise and then breaks into a hearty laugh. He covers his face with one hand while you watch him try to get control of himself, a warm feeling spreading in your chest that teases a smile out of you. 

Z finally stopped laughing and sighed wistfully, looking out over the ocean. “I missed you.”

He turned to you again with a look that was affectionate but calculating, like he was holding in a secret but barely. “No, you’re not dead.”

Your smile fades and you turn back to the ocean. “Why not?”

Z reached to one side of him and lifted a thick book in black leather. On the cover, a golden cross was embossed on it, but the cross didn’t look like a crucifix. Instead, it appeared to be on fire, with the flames appearing to be like a dragon’s wings. Z lifted the golden ribbon that marked a spot near the beginning.

He read from the book, his voice rose over the wind and the crashing waves. “And in very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power…”

“You’re doing this?” 

Z clapped the book shut and it vanished in a haze of golden dust. “I can’t explain everything. The pieces are not in place yet and it won’t make any sense to you. You won’t understand until the very end. That said, I can’t do everything. You had a very close call. So I wanted to warn you not to be too reckless.”

You sit up straight. “You’re alive? Where are you, Z?”

“I am alive but… Like I said, you won’t understand. Just be more careful. Alright?” He’s staring at you seriously. Back in Black Swan Bay, most people ignored his existence, but you felt he was calling you, drawing you to him for some unknown reason. At times, he would just appear next to you, like he was following you around like a ghost. And now you feel lost in those eyes once again in this strange dream world.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Promises are meaningless.” He shook his head. “Just do it.”

You nod again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“One more, hurry.”

“Why me of all people? Why not Renata or Vera? Or Anton or...”

“Because you were the strongest … second to Renata.” The world started to go dark, like a curtain was falling over the sea, the rocks and the grass. The wind grew still and you felt a bit stuffy and tired. Soon all you could see were those golden eyes.

“And well… you make me laugh.”

You relax into the darkness and for a moment your mind goes blank. But then your mind revives again. “...was that a Roger Rabbit reference?”

“Dammit, MC! Wake up!” He says in a harsh whisper.

Your eyes open wide. Lu Mingfei - not Z - is leaning over your head, appearing upside down in your view, arms on either side of your face. You blink wearily. “Mingfei?” Your voice is hoarse coming out a dry and scratchy throat. 

He puts one finger to your lips. “Shhh… You’ve got to stay quiet. No one knows you’re here!” He’s wearing very fancy clothes, the type of suits you see in photos of weddings and official events from magazines that depict life in Moscow. A black suit, a button down shirt with a stiff collar. Diamond studded earrings were in his ears. His hair was swept back and gelled. "If you keep moaning like that you'll get discovered! The walls are very thin and if you’re discovered we’ll be in BIG trouble!" Lu Mingfei was indeed keeping his whisper very quiet.

You’re surrounded by walls on all sides of you, made of dark wood paneling and covered by shelving from floor to ceiling. Your bed takes up the rest of the space. In fact, Mingfei is leaning over you like this because he can’t squeeze his legs between the narrow space between the bed and those shelves. As you look up at him, you can’t help but notice Mingfei’s resemblance to Z. Perhaps if Z had grown older and been able to eat more, he would have grown as tall as Mingfei.

You examine the curve of his eyes and the lift of his nose and squint. You didn’t notice this before because Mingfei does look different, he talks differently, and he acts differently. He doesn’t give off Z’s mysterious, mischievous, and dangerous aura. Z always looked like he had something up his sleeve. It could be good or bad and you didn’t know until you had it in your hand. The way he talked made you want to know however.

Lu Mingfei always looked fearful, reactionary and caught off guard. If Z was the prankster, Lu Mingfei was the pranked. So it was no wonder that you never noticed the physical similarities between someone so different until you woke up from one face to another face.

He sighed, hanging his head. When he looked up again, deep concern was reflected in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I seriously thought you were a goner.. If we hadn’t been picked up and taken somewhere they had a nice kit, you probably would have died out there on the street.”

He lifted your hand. A clear IV tube was running from it to a bag of fluid hanging from a hook nailed into one of the shelves. “Where am I?”

“I.. '' Lu Mingfei’s lips pulled down and he looked ill. “Ugh. It’s better you see for yourself. I don't even know how to begin.”

“Caesar?”

“Oh, he’s fine. And so is Senpai. I’m the one suffering here!” He whispered, casting his eyes to one side bitterly. 

He held a clean cloth to your hand, and removed the IV and bandaged it. “I’ll give you the rundown of the situation because we’re seriously up a creek. The Hydras are labeling us as dangerous foreign terrorists, gangsters, and everything else under the sun. They’re running the news to look out for us 24/7. If we show our faces anywhere we are absolutely doomed. They have the whole country after us. We can’t use any credit cards, we’ve lost contact with the college and as soon as we try to get into contact with them, Kaguya is on us like a ton of bricks.”

Ton of bricks. The phrase reminds you of the fact that you managed to get a bootleg copy of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit'' and watched it over and over on a TV hidden in a shed. If you could get your chores done quickly, you could watch the movie there without being noticed. “Mingfei… have you ever seen ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ Do you like it?”

“What? Are you feverish?” He put one hand to your forehead. “Please try to focus! This is important! None of us can touch the network because we’re traceable. Except you!”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re the only one of us with zero internet presence. You’ve never had so much as an email. Almost all the information on you is held by EVA and not even Kaguya can breach her system so you’re more likely to be able to log in and find some way to contact the College without getting caught, so we need you to stay safe. Got it?”

“Yes, Senpai. I understand.” You nod. Z’s warning to you in a dream seemed even more relevant now. He was protecting you by some form of mystic way, but the danger now was so great that even he had to warn you to be careful. 

Mingfei stared at your deferential response in shock. “Are you sure you’re alright? I expected you to sneer at me.”

“It’s just… you remind me of someone else just now.” You whisper, you lower your eyes. “I’m sorry if I made trouble with you. I had to do it. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

Mingfei took a deep breath. “We’re all grateful for you too, MC. So don’t worry about anything. Senpai told the boss about what you did in the Trieste. He owes you twice now. There’s no way he’d rat you out in the reports. You’re fine with everyone, okay?”

“Even Zihang?”

“Zihang doesn’t take anything personal.”

There’s a stiff knock on a door beyond the closet. “Little Sakura! You’re needed on the floor!”

Mingfei turned around, his voice squeaking loudly. “Coming!”  He turned back to you. “Okay, can you walk?”

He helped you up out of bed. You were wearing a thin nightgown and your feet were a bit wobbly but you could stand on your own. 

“Good, Caesar prepped some clothes for you, but I suggest you stay down here for now. I have to go back to work.”

“Work?”

More knocking. “Little Sakura?”

“Why are they calling you that?” You whisper. 

Lu Mingfei growled low. “Why is my life so terrible all the time? I don’t know!” He returned his eyes to you. “Stay here okay? The Boss will be back once his shift is over.”

He hurried out of the closet. You notice he’s wearing some sort of shiny loafers. The type worn without socks. 

You hear a sliding door open and then shut and then the murmur of a television. Once you were sure everything was quiet, save the very muffled beat of music somewhere above the ceiling, you venture out. 

You peer out from the closet into what looked like a bathroom with wood paneled walls and a tiled floor. Three barrels with metal bottoms were suspended over wood fired stoves. A shower was in one corner. The TV in the other corner was on, likely to mask any noise you might have made while you were unconscious. A woman was sitting behind a desk, speaking Japanese, dressed in smart business attire. It looked like a newsreel of the destruction of Chizuru -- the wrecked streets, the firetrucks and the body bags. 

You start to think maybe you overdid things a bit. Your eyes scan over the date. You’ve been out cold for 3 whole days.

On top of the TV was a small comb that looked to be made of real ivory and adorned with a blue jeweled flower. Underneath was an envelope with your name on it. Inside the envelope was a note. “I hope the offer of lessons over sake still stands.”

You smile. Of course it did.

Hanging behind the TV was another cheongsam, this time, silver and blue with embroidery of flowers. There’s also fishnet stockings and a pair of blue heels. You take the dress off the rack and step into the shower. Once you were dressed you listened hard to the sounds outside the hall and heard footsteps. 

Another knock. And there’s a shouted warning before the door slides open. A short old woman is holding a mop and walks by you as you press yourself to the wall. She’s pulling a pile of logs on a cart. Her ears are stuffed with earbuds and she’s so focused on her work that she walks right by you on the way to the rack where the wood for the stove is held. 

Heart racing, you dash out the door.

Outside is a European style promenade, completely different decor, but with the same level of luxury. The floor was covered with golden teak wood. The walls were covered with paintings of naked young people drawing water from a well. The ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers, one after another.

“Wow.” You whisper.

At the end of the corridor was an elevator with wooden doors inlaid with swirling bronze motifs of ferns. You’re supposed to stay put, but so much for that! You probably couldn’t be seen out in the hall! You pressed the only button available on the elevator - Up - and school your face cool to pretend you belong there.

Already a story is in your head, you’re an heiress to a fabulous estate. You’re orphaned at a young age and just gained your freedom to escape your stuffy household! As the elevator rises, the sound of the bassline of the music gets stronger and stronger.

Your mind is still writing your backstory when the wooden doors part and you’re hit by the bass line full force. The heat from hundreds of bouncing and gyrating bodies rushes into the elevator. Right in front of you, a man is holding up a flute of that golden sparkling liquor - Champagne. His shirt has puffy sleeves and open to reveal dark curly hairs on his muscular chest. He’s surrounded by three women in colorful half masks who are climbing on him, grabbing his hands to get at the champagne. They were all wearing skin tight, sleeveless, low cut dresses and dangerously high stiletto heels that made your demure blue cheongsam look like a formal maid’s outfit in comparison.

“Ladies! Ladies! One at a time!” He’s shouting with a brilliant smile. One of the girls bares her teeth as if she were trying to bite him and you move away.

A crowd of people, women outnumbering men 10 to 1, were all dancing in front of a brightly lit stage that was smoking with dry-ice that poured over the edge.

The elevator doors start to close and you slip out, looking for Lu Mingfei - that is, Little Sakura. Everywhere is more of the same. There’s a circular couch where drunk women were reclining over another man while holding out money for passing waiters who seem to know what it meant. They took the cash from their delicate painted fingers and passed them another bottle of liquor in exchange. All of the women turned, shook and then uncorked the bottle, spraying the Champagne in the air! It all fell in a shower while they laughed and squealed with glee!

You take a breath. You were going to stand out like a sore thumb unless you did something right now. The beat of the music was jarring your rib cage but people were bouncing to it while shouting on the stage. “Ukyo! Ukyo! Ukyo!”

You had no idea what Ukyo meant so you do the same all the while looking for any sign of Mingfei in this scene and realizing he might not even be on this floor.

“Who wants glitter?!” Someone shouts next to you. A man with a bowl of silver glitter holds it up while people stuff money in his low cut shirt and press their hands into the bowl to turn around and smash it into the sweaty chest of another man, leaving their marks on him. Your mind makes a leap to a story you heard about human and animal sacrifices in Satanism and wondering if that was what was going to happen next.

You also realize you don’t have any money. Your voice is trained by terrible punishment to be quiet so you can only let out a weak little “Woo..” and “Yay… Ukyou” while your eyes search the crowd.

What happened next was that the music suddenly ended and the sound of a Asian music, something you might hear played in a period drama, replaced it. Rather than being subdued, the crowd flooded the quiet with screams so loud your ears rattled and you had to fight to keep your hands from covering them and stand out as an outsider. 

The curtain opened and there stood a lone figure on the stage. The lights all went out, leaving a single spotlight descending to illuminate him. He’s in a white cloak with flowy sleeves, with a blue hakama and long hair that covers half his face. Cherry blossoms blow from an unseen fan, fluttering his sleeves in the wind.

#Dragon Raja

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//the fourth spring. miya atsumu//

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: kshfkekhs sorry for this being ungodly late in the day oops

PART I. II. III. IV.

Spring is the season of new life.  Baby birds chirp in harmony as baby bunnies hop amongst the newly budding flowers.  Everything is filled with a new wave of joy now that snow has melted away and the air has begun to warm.  There were smiling faces in every direction and laughter danced on the wind along with the fresh pink cherry blossoms.  Atsumu had never seen a more beautiful day, but maybe his mind was clouded with the anticipation to finally see you, to finally hold you in his arms, and share that first kiss as a married couple.  

It had been a long year of planning and shopping, tasting cakes with various fillings and icings, trying on suits and dresses and making dozens of phone calls to every florist in the city because it seemed like no one would have white hydrangeas in time for the big day.  But it was all about to be worth it.  He had stood by your side for three springs now and he couldn’t think of a better way to bring in this new spring than with you by his side, bearing his last name, silver bands tying you together.  

Miya Atsumu had always believed that he would be much older and much further into his twenties when he decided to start being serious about his relationships and start actually looking for someone to spend his life with rather than just someone to have a good time with on the weekends.  But all of those springs ago, you had taken him by surprise, showing him a whole new side of himself that he never wanted to let go.  You had made him laugh and blush unlike anyone ever had and, even after all this time, his heart would still beat a little faster every morning when he would wake up to you sleeping peacefully next to him, hair tousled in a way that somehow only made you look more ethereal in the morning sunlight.  Every time he placed a kiss to your temple right before he left for his morning run and heard the soft little whine as your sleep met a slight disturbance, it felt like his day was started off in the right direction.  When each groggy, “I love you, princess,” was returned with a sleepily slurred, “I love you too, ‘mu,” he swore that he had never felt happier.  You really were his everything: his sun, his moon, his night, and his day.  He had found you, his cherry blossom that drifted so elegantly on the breeze, in a field of wildflowers, never wanting to let you go another spring without you.

He reaches up to fix his collar for what felt like the thirtieth time that hour, hands shaking with nerves unlike any he’s ever felt before.  His groomsmen were dressed to the nines, straightening black ties, tying shoes, all preparing for Atsumu’s final walk as a bachelor.  He kept checking his phone, watching as the minutes ticked away, letting his lips slip into a smile every time his screen would light up to show you smiling back at him from his lock screen. 

A buzz and a soft chime come along with a new notification.

1 new message from: Princess

are you done getting ready?

He quickly typed out a short reply of affirmation, watching as those three dots appeared shortly after his message.  The chime signifying another new message. 

1 new message from: Princess

think the boys will let you escape for five minutes?? i miss you :((

He didn’t need to be told twice, fingers moving over letters with a meeting place, telling the others that he wanted to get a little bit of fresh air before they were all being stuffed into cars to make the trip to the park where it all began four springs ago.  Atsumu ducked out of the hotel room that was serving as their dressing room for the morning, his pace quickening as he moved down the hallway towards the elevator.  He had never wanted to see you more than he did right now.  It had only been a few hours since the two of you had parted ways this morning, but there was nothing that he wanted to do more than hear your voice right now and watch the way your face scrunches up when you giggle.

You were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen and he couldn’t help but let out a low whistle before letting his smile take over his face.  Hair pinned perfectly, no strand out of place, lips painted with the prettiest shade of pink he had ever seen.  His eyes were locked on you and he would be okay with never looking at anything else ever again.  Atsumu could only laugh as you rolled your eyes at him, nevertheless standing from your seat to let him pull you into his arms, securing your body against his chest.  

“You’re so gorgeous, princess,” he whispered, letting you pull away from him only so you could wrap your arms around his neck as his hands melted down from your back to hold onto your waist, thumbs making small circles against the fabric of one of his button-up shirts that you had borrowed to save your hair and makeup from the tragedy of getting ruined from a normal shirt.  It still had whiffs of his cologne on the collar that was now mixed with the daintiness of your perfume.  

Your fingers ran through the dark roots at the nape of his neck, nails creating that tingly sensation that always sent shivers through his spine.  He probably looked so stupid, standing there with a goofy smile on his face, but if they were getting to marry you, he was sure that they wouldn’t be able to hide their smiles either.  These past years had been the happiest years of his life.  He was living his dream, playing volleyball amongst life-long friends, getting to spend every waking moment doing what he loved.  He really didn’t think that it could get better, but he was pleasantly surprised at how addicted he had become to your kisses, to the sound of your voice, and how every single aspect of you became almost essential to his day-to-day happiness.  Miya Atsumu never expected to fall in love so hard and so fast, but each time spring rolled back around and a new year by your side began, he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into that vast ocean, not a single desire to swim back to the shore ever crossing his mind.  

 His face nestled into the crook of your neck, his ose grazing gently against your skin as he moved slightly to place a short kiss on the exposed skin.  His smile never faded as he continued moving his hands over your sides, letting you play with those short strands of hair.  “I can’t believe I get to marry you, princess,” he whispered, the feeling of his breath against your skin tugging the edges of your lips into a gentle smile, that sense of familiarity easing whatever pre-wedding jitters had been bouncing around inside your head.  

“Hey, ‘mu?” You whisper, pulling his face away from your body so that you could look him in the eyes.  His brown eyes scanned your face, searching for any signs of fear or regret, letting his shoulders relax when he found nothing but the typical shine of contentment in your eyes.  “I’m really happy to be with you.  I can’t think of another man that I’d rather spend the rest of my life with or another last name that I would rather take.”

Spring had become Atsumu’s favorite season over the past four years.  He used to hate every second of it.  It brought allergies and bugs and too much rain for his liking.  But, now spring was the season filled with cherry blossoms that sprinkled down onto you, forming crowns of pink that contrasted so beautifully against your hair.  It was the season of first kisses from the love of his life and midnight allergies that brought you to him in a moment's notice.  Spring was for tearful acceptances of proposals and for secret meetings between two young lovers, but most importantly, it was filled with “I do”s and vows of a never-ending love and devotion to one another, a binding kiss shared between a couple that never would have expected spring to have so much beauty hidden behind the flowers.  It was for that pretty pink lipstick to be transferred onto a new husband’s lips as he leaned in to steal a second kiss from his new wife.

{Taglist: @moncymonce​ @nicka-nell​ @celosiiaa​ @lovinnoya​ @kuronekomama​}

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #atsumu miya #atsumu #miya #miya twins #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya x reader #x reader #imagines #hq #hq!! #hq x reader

[lux-has-too-many-fos]

🌈🌈🌈 for whoever you'd like to share, please!~

Okay okay okay

Imma just... Do all my Brawl Stars f/o's :)))

Belle

Pansexual, Aromantic and Transfem

Tbh thats just me projecting and the fact that she just has massive pan vibes. Idk how to explain them lol

Also shes canonically a single mom, that always talks about her son, but never about the parents

Sounds like a "I thought I had fallen in love but then I realized I had just forced myself to do so due to amatonormativity and I had to end the relationship cuz it was just not good for me, but they didnt take it well and I had to run away"

Or maybe thats just me lol

Byron

Aromantic and Homosexual

Like

Look at this man

Does he look "Straight" to you? Does his super exagerated theatre kid wannabe voicelines sound "Straight", to you?

He litteraly has the aro flag in his color palette like kxkdkskks

Also, He has a white ring, Aka an Aro ring, has spent most of his life traveling along, and loves reptails and anphibians (Aka frogs)

DOES HE SOUND STRAIGHT, OR WORSE (J), ALLO TO YOU?

Anyways

Piper

Aromantic Lesbian

You see, Piper had a role in the game where she was a "Heartbreaker". Men came in hoardes to try and "conquer" her, but she always ended up rejecting them

That doesnt sound very straight or allo to me sis

Bo

Queer

I just think he doesnt really care. That kind of stuff is trivial to him, so he just uses the most comfortable and broad label he found. And hes pretty happy like this!

Brock

Transmasc, Pansexual and Demiromantic

The trans part is almost canon at this point. His old design used to be a girl (He was called "Rocket girl* on his concept art) but he ended up being a man

So I took him with my filthy trans hand :)

The pan part? Again, just the vibes :D

About the demi part, again, he is currently living with two robots, only has friends, and shows very little interest in other people in general

Not very allo to me, no sir

Jacky

Agender, Aromantic and Asexual

She just doesnt care

She can say and do anything, and never cares for what others may think. And she just seems so happy and free

And thats how the aro label made me feel to some extent

So to me, that freedom translates to "I dont feel it, so I dont care about it"

Shes just doesnt care about Gender, or romanticism, or Sex. And thats how she is so happy and free

Well that got personal

8bit

Aromantic, Asexual and Agender

Its called projecting sweaty :)))

Rosa

Lesbian Demigirl or Pansexual Demigirl

Its just that she was released in Lesbian Visibility Day, and for some reason I associate demigirls with Nature?

The Pan part is me projecting again lol

Nita

Aromantic and Asexual

Again, spent most of her life with just her family and some animals. Never showed any urge to go find anyone else. That does not sound allo in any way

Crow

Aromantic Asexual

He has many lines and moments where he reffers to his friend (Or his crew) as the most important part of his life. For fucks sakes he lives with them, and the only moments we se him smiling is when he is with them.

That aint very allo of you Crow

Bull

Biromantic Asexual

The vibes are strong on this one

Plus im 99% sure he paint his nails black, and thats just Bi Ace culture

Bibi

Homoromantic Asexual Demigirl

Do I have to say anything else?

Emz

Bisexual Demiromantic

For the demi part its just me projecting

But for the Bi part

CMON

My beautifull wife, aka Tara

Bisexual Aromantic and Bigender

I feel like the only way I can truly feel comfortable in a relationship like the one I have with Tara is if I share those parts of me with them, because im still insecure about them.

Ive seen and experienced aro, trans and biphobia so many times, from people Ive concidered friends or family, im just so afraid of finding someone, caring for them that much, and then being so dissappointed.

Also she has the Bi Flag on her color palete

:D

#Lux answers #I dont understand this but I love you🃏 #BULLetproof friendship🐂 #Bubblegum bitch🍬 #Never getting rid of me🗡️ #Hashtag best friends🧠 #Parents in crime🔕 #I wont call you dad🐍 #Whats another kid going to do?🦅 #Little bear paws🐾 #Drilled in my head🦺 #Be my player 2🕹️ #Turning up the boombox!🎚️ #y esta rosa?🌹 #What are manners?🌂

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 22

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-21 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: very sad... like quite sad. Not the saddist I have planned for him, but obviously Lyrem centric because it is sad. Also Memory whump :) and Cancer mention :( 

If you enjoy my work and are reading my stories then please do me a teeny tiny favor and reblog my work! Xx. - Alpaca.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ROOM 111

        Lyrem opened his eyes, exhausted from the effort to stay awake. The nurse released his hand from the man’s shoulder as he remembered what he would be waking up to and Lyrem jolted upright in the navy cloth seat. The waiting room was painted white from top to bottom with just a bit of colour on the walls in the failed attempt for the area to feel welcoming.

        “Sir,” the nurse addressed him. “Your wife is out of surgery now.”

        Lyrem sniffed and stood up, the weight of a clear stone sat in his pocket. On it was etched a symbol of an oddly shaped wheel with three prongs. It was the only thing holding him together-especially now as his legs were fighting him the whole way down the hall. Truthfully, he didn’t want to see her. He was afraid to see her.

        He imagined tubes. Too many tubes. Sticking out of Maria at every direction- smeared with rusty patches of blood- in pain and breathing with difficulty. He’d have to deliver her water, probably; Ask for a nurse to give her more pillows and more pain relief, too. He should have brought flowers- what kind of idiot forgets to bring flowers to his wife’s hospital bed?!

        “Can I speak with the surgeon?” Lyrem stuck out a hand, brushing the forearm of the nurse who would lead him to Maria. “Can I know…”

        He couldn’t finish the question- how much longer she has?

        The nurse paused to nod him a sympathetic smile.

        “The surgeon will be available to speak with you both soon.”

        Lyrem choked back a small breath. Maria was awake? He didn’t think she would be awake. The nurse left him outside the door with the silver numbers 111 beside it. His reflection, nailed to the door jam, played his fear back to him. It reminded him that he couldn’t be afraid. He wouldn’t let her know he was.

        He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes before crossing over the threshold- perhaps it was out of habit. Part of him even wished the Labyrinth might take him instead of Room 111.

        “Oh, who’s this handsome fella?”

        Lyrem’s mouth curled at the edges. Before speaking, he reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small yellow book.

        “His name’s Aurelius.”

        Maria chuckled lightly. The book was set down on the attached table to the bedframe. She didn’t reach for it. Lyrem found his eyes drifting away from hers each time he felt the contact lingered for too long. Her eyes like storm clouds, were once bright and lively. Today, and for many days previous, they had sunken in her growing sickness.

        “Did they tell you anything, yet?” Lyrem asked with his eyes to the geometric carpeted floor. It was badly stained and needed desperate replacing.

        Maria shook her head and closed her eyes. There were tubes just helping the oxygen flow and not much else other than an IV and blood oxygen monitor clipped to her finger. He could hear the laborious breathing though. That was something she didn’t have before she had come in. Before she had said much at all, Lyrem sensed that she was tired.

        “You should keep it,” she said softly, nodding to the book. “I’ve read it a thousand times over. I don’t need it anymore.”

        “Are you trying to tell me you’ve finally achieved enlightenment?”

        “Stop being a goose,” she commanded. “You’d learn a lot from it. Just take it already.”

        Lyrem’s eyes clouded over. Swallowing, he sat down beside her on a simple black chair, and shook his head.

        “No, I don’t need it.”

        Maria sighed. Her eyes disappointed in his condescending and stubborn refusals, though she was not at all surprised by it.

        “Lyrem… we both know what he is going to say”-

        “No, we don’t. We haven’t heard anything from the surgeon yet”-

        “The chance that I recover even with chemo is extremely low”-

        “There are always alternative treatments if it becomes too hard for you”-

        “I know I don’t have much longer”-

        “For fuck sake’s, Maria! Are you really so desperate to get rid of me?!”

        A hush fell through the room. There wasn’t a sound, save the steps of nurses and doctors directing themselves through the halls and the odd traveling visitor. Lyrem’s head fell, his face red with shame…

        “You think that I want to get rid of you?”

        “No, I didn’t mean that.”

        “You think I’d rather die than be by your side, Lyrem?”

        “No, I”-

        “I would never,” her voice shook with an anger hardly seen. Her eyes burned with tears of betrayal and what Lyrem would have only seen as regret if he was ever brave enough to meet her gaze. “Ever tell you that. I would never choose to discard you like that”-

        “Maria, I”-

        “I stood by your side. I was always there for you and I waited for you for ages”-

         “I know, my love. I’m s”-

        “I loved you, Lyrem.”

        “I’m so sorry, Maria.”

        Loved.

        He waited, holding his breath, but Maria was finished speaking. In fact, she didn’t even notice how she had placed that single letter at the end of the word that meant so much. He had noticed it immediately. He rubbed the palm of his hand down his face and stood up.

        “Where is that goddamn surgeon?!”

        Lyrem stepped out of the room, only to find himself face to face with a doctor- or who he assumed to be one. She was tall, dark skinned and donned a long white coat. Her hands clasped in front of her, as if she had expected him to appear there.

        “Lyrem Nomadus?”

        Startled by the sudden contact, he straightened against the door jam and nodded in confirmation. His striped button up shirt billowed out slightly and was left partially untucked; the last evidence that a man of his position had given up. Stepping out of the way, he allowed the woman into the room.

        Maria had already drifted into an exhausted sleep in the time that he had left for the door and returned to his chair. She deserved the rest. Reaching out, he held Maria’s hand. Her skin was rough and dry from the cold, unfeeling hospital where she had been staying for some time. There was a small bottle of lotion near the headboard. He took some in his hands and began to massage hers tenderly as she slept; almost placing him into a calming, meditative trance. It smelled of lilacs.

        “Stage four,” the woman said simply.

        “Yes, we know,” Lyrem said robotically. “You’re not the doctor we spoke with before she went under. Where is he?”

        “He was on his way, but became distracted with more …important patients.”

        With a fire in his eyes, Lyrem snapped.

        “My wife is the most important patient in this fucking building!”

        “You’re quite a mouthy one, aren’t you?”

        He huffed, and returned to attending Maria, concerned that his voice had woken her, he became still. The woman in the white coat closed the door gently and with a keen eye she studied Lyrem as he cradled his wife’s hand and placed a gentle kiss at the tips of her fingers.

        “May I ask you a personal question, Lyrem?”

        “What do you want to know?” He said tiredly.

        “What is your definition of true love?”

        He looked up, furrowing his brows.

        “Excuse me?”

        “What is it? True love, to you?”

        Lyrem shifted in his seat, and thought for a couple moments. The inkling that this person was more than a doctor, or a surgeon for that matter, was quite clear.

        “It’s something that is meant to be. It’s destiny, and it’s perfect.”

        The woman hummed. “That is very cute. I hope you don’t mind me saying.”

        “And may I ask the same question of you?” Lyrem posed indignantly. He lowered Maria’s hand to her side again. His eyes became more steeled. Serious.

        The woman grinned and approached and danced her fingers along the bedspread. Her eyes continued to linger on him as she explained herself.

        “True love…” she began. “To me… Exists and does not exist…

                 At the same time.

        Everyone loves in a thousand different ways every single day.

                 And yet we do not count a thought, a touch, a kiss, as acts of true love?

        What is any type of love, if not true?

                 If love is not true… Is it truly love?”

        “Forget I asked,” Lyrem grumbled a sigh.

        She giggled, like someone was tickling a feather against the back of her neck.

        “What is so funny to you?”

        “Oh, well,” she started. “I can feel your friend…the fiend. He’s trying to visit us now.” She lowered her voice to a playful whisper. “He can’t. I won’t let him interrupt.”

        Lyrem nodded and stood up from his chair. Pulling out a pale yellow, cloudy stone from his pocket, he held it up. She regarded it with a nod.

        “You’ve made yourself a moonstone. That is quite the feat.” she acknowledged. “All to summon little old me?”

        Lyrem’s grip tightened on the stone. So, she was Hekate. She finally showed up. Only took her four bloody weeks. Maria had done a lot of suffering in that time.

        “Yes.” He confirmed. Suspicious, more than hopeful, Lyrem placed it back into his pocket.  “And I would like to make a deal with you”-

                                                 . . . . . . . .

        “No!” The voice shouted through the darkness, the deeper one. “Where is it?!”

        “Oh, for goodness sake’s Hades!” Persephone hollered. “Maybe it has nothing to do with Maria? Maybe his call was somewhere else. We’ll find it eventually; we just have to keep searching.”

        “Hades!” Lyrem shouted. Once again, he was awoken into darkness from a deep memory. “Persephone! You both stop this charade right, bloody now!”

        “Oh great, now he knows we’re here.”

        Lyrem scoffed, his hands reaching his hips, he screamed right back once again. How dare they sift through his memories like old photos in a box, pulling him in and out of all the moments he wanted nothing more than to forget.

        “You utter fools! I knew I would arrive here! I knew you’d both be waiting! And I absolutely despise this attempt at torture! It’s boring! It’s… It’s… aggravating. Just let me die, already!”

        “I’m very sorry poor thing,” Persephone piped up, “But it’s really not meant to be torture for your little soul. We’re simply… looking for something”-

        “I don’t care what you’re looking for. Get out of my min”-

                                                   . . . . . . . .

        He was in a room.

        The backroom.

        Maria sat at the table with her small, thin, and wrinkled hands folded neatly. She only ever saw the back room once in her life and this was it. She had hardly looked around. Mystics was her pride and joy, but she wouldn’t be able to have it. Not anymore.

        A bejeweled and bloody knife sat beside her hands.

        “There’s enough money in your account for you to live happily. You’ll never have to worry about a thing,” Lyrem said as he sat across from her at the table.

        “I never wanted to break your heart.” She spoke softly.

        He should have noticed it earlier; the small changes in her voice when she spoke to him, the softness in her eyes that had grown calloused; the unfeeling nature of her hand in his. It wasn’t the sickness that had brought it on. This had been the nature of their love for a long, lonely time.

        “My heart’s fine,” he said coldly.

        Perspectives had changed since she had survived her battle with cancer. Maria loved him well for many years, but her life with him was over now. Lyrem saw that now too- he was just too afraid to admit it.

        After Hekate’s deal, and Maria had been miraculously healed in a way that doctors would study for years to come. She had reconnected with an old friend through the ordeal when Lyrem was away, searching for ways to keep her alive. The friend was one who had divorced his wife and was now living in Cuba, retired and carefree. Phillip had a lovely beach house, with a dock, and a yacht, and one of those jacuzzi tubs that Maria could never get enough of when she found herself in a nice hotel.

        “Give me your hand,” he requested, holding his own out for her to take one last time.

        The hand she offered had been scarred many times over and rarely had her wound ever been re-opened on purpose. Occasionally, Maria would see something she was not supposed to or know something that could have dire consequences for Lyrem if it ever was released into the world. It was safer if her memories were simply removed.

        This time, he wanted to erase himself.

        Everything they had ever done, he wanted it gone. He ushered her out the back door as her escort. Their final words had been shared. A cab would pick her up outside of Mystics in a few minutes to take her to the airport with a pair of packed yellow suitcases.

        “Memorias vim ex”-

        “Wait,” she stopped him, and stared up at his aged features. She wondered if she would still see him as handsome as he was now when her memories of him were gone. “I still… I care about you, Lyrem. Please, take care of yourself. Promise me.”

        Any softness left in his eyes immediately hardened. He told himself he didn’t care what she had left to say. She had wasted enough of her life with him already. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

        “Memorias vim extermina.”

        The cut on her hand healed itself thoroughly, fusing the skin together to leave not much more than a thin red welt on her palm. She turned back toward the street. The only thing on her mind now, was where to wait for her cab.

        He stepped into the back room, as silently as possible, just in time for Hades to bring him back into his present situation with a well fueled rage.

        “If you hedonistic cretins don’t stop what you’re doing, right now, I”-

        “You poor mortal man,” the deep voice claimed. “You still bear my mark, don’t you?”

        There was a dim blue glow. Finally, something for Lyrem to address properly.

        “Yes,” he spoke through gritted teeth, nearly pulling his hair out at the madness that was threatening to overtake him. Instead, his hand hovered over a spot on the upper left of his chest, mindful of the brand that Hades had blessed him with many years ago. “Quite frankly, it’s been a thorn in my side for decades.”

        “A simple reminder of what you owe me.” Hades corrected him, stepping out of the light. His towering figure loomed over Lyrem. Hades snapped his fingers, bringing more light into the cavernous realm. Deep bluish hues overtook them both, painting Hades’ stark white beard with a cobalt glow.

        “Your essence, your memories, everything you are,” Hades spoke; his voice echoed through the deep, dark gloom, “belongs to me.”

#Lyrem #greek gods #hades #persephone #whump #memory whump #whumpblr #Mystics by alpaca #writeblr #writers of tumblr #original work #urban fantasy #fantasy #fantasy writing #original fantasy #fantasy fiction #fantasy story #fiction #original fic #alpaca ocs #whump blog #whump community #writing #writers on tumblr #fiction writer #reading community #readers of tumblr #readers #avid readers #gore

[sailorbellewrites]

Fools Rush In... I

characters — yoongi x reader (ft. members of bts and other original characters)

summary — min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

inspiration —  fools rush in (1997 rom-com starring salma hayek and matthew perry)

information — a drabble series loosely based on the 1997 movie fools rush in. drabbles not posted in any linear order and written as a creative writing outlet.

warnings — mentions of sex work; age-difference; light sugar daddy themes; smut (in some drabbles) ; light angst.

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI

I — arrival.

Yoongi fucked up.

Or at least that’s what he thinks as he stares at you standing in the middle of his living room, five tattered and mismatched suitcases standing by your side. You look out of place in his high rise, both in appearance and comfort. You fidget with the edge of the Burberry coat he got you in New York City, when you stood in Times Square shivering your ass off because you didn’t own clothes for the weather. “Las Vegas,” you insisted as he dragged you into the store the next morning, “doesn’t get this cold, but I’m fine. I don’t need it!” However, you didn’t put up much of a fight when he told you to pick anything in the store because he wasn’t going to have his vacation ruined by you catching hypothermia, nor did you bat an eyelid when the sales clerk read the price and Yoongi swiped his card.

Getting married was never in the cards for Yoongi. He spent most of life staunchly focused on work, building a music production company from the ground up almost entirely on his own. His keen eye for detail and smart business sense made him a quick success, but he never slowed down for fear that it would all fall apart. He didn’t have time to date anyone seriously—though, no one in his industry really did. He didn’t mind though. Yoongi was content with being alone.

Until he met you.

“So… where should I put all this?” You start, waving a manicured hand at your luggage. Your nails are white, as Yoongi had requested when you messaged him asking for his opinion on a color. He loved the color on you, a stark difference from the black leather lingerie set you were wearing when he met you. He had swiped that set from your bedroom and destroyed it two months ago, though you didn’t know that.

“Spare room. You must be tired.” You don’t verbally respond to his words, instead nodding your head and looking down at your shoes. They were the sneakers he sent you as a gift for your birthday, custom painted with the words SUGA BABY on the tongue so that everyone at the club knew who they belonged to (and in turn, who you belonged to). He still had the video you sent  unboxing them saved on his phone, watching it in between stressful meetings. You looked so much happier in that video than you did now, so much brighter and taking up so much more space. You looked small and dull now. Yoongi hated it. Walking over to you, he placed both hands on your shoulders and squeezed them lightly, feeling you tense up. “Hey.”

“Hi.” 

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“It just… your apartment is very… big.” He could see that you wanted to say more, words sitting on the edge of your tongue that you refused to let out. It was unlike you, to keep quiet when you had something to say. He still remembers that time in Tokyo when you brazenly asked if there was a sex shop nearby your hotel because you wanted to look at specialty condoms in front of that poor concierge. The man turned a bright shade of red, though you didn’t apologize even when Yoongi berated you in the taxi for your lack of shame. “Oh who cares about shame when Sailor Moon condoms exist?” He remembers you saying in response, before sticking your tongue out at him and laughing when he did the same to you. 

“Did you expect something different?” Yoongi found himself asking, genuinely curious.

“Maybe… smaller?”

“You know how much money I have.” Yoongi started, confusion at your words evident in his voice. His hands dropped to your waist and you automatically took a step towards him.

“I do.”

“And you’ve traveled with me before. You have seen the places I choose to stay.”

“I have.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just… you’ve seen what my place looked like.” You mumbled. Yoongi had, remembering the small cream colored building you called a home. You shared the small house with another dancer known as Rocki Rotten that regarded him as a sex obsessed creep. Your room was painted a hideous salmon color and seemed to always be five degrees hotter than the rest of the house, but you didn’t mind it at all. You called it quaint. Yoongi called it a travesty.

“Did you expect my apartment to look like your house?”

“No!” You let out quickly, voice rising although your eyes stayed trained on the floor. “I just… feel like I’m gonna mess something up or break something. I’m not… I don’t belong in a place like this.”

Yoongi frowned, pulling you closer to him until you were chest to chest. He lightly rested a hand under your chin and tilted your head up until you were both making eye contact. “Baby,” he started, letting out a gentle breath when he saw you smile at the pet name. You were such a sucker for pet names. “You are my wife. Anywhere I am is where you belong. Don’t ever believe anything different.”

“Okay.” You responded quietly, though Yoongi knew he won this battle when you wrapped your arms around him tightly, tension slowly leaving your body.

“Let’s get you in bed yeah? We can get you settled in the morning.”

#bts scenarios #suga scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi #suga #drabbles #sailor belle writes

[wander-yet-wonder]

‘Portrait of a Young Man’

Historical Transtalia fic Characters: Aph England, Aph America

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884995

Pairings: None Rating: All Audiences Warnings: Historical transphobia Summary:  The portrait of the nation gets taken to adorn the halls of the royal palace. The way one is portrayed however begs questions of identity and self image to become pressed to the surface for all to scrutinize. Minerva, can't stomach her portrait and would rather be portrayed as 'Arthur'. What is the empire built on? What should it be represented as? Setting: 1780's post americam revolution but during the colonial era.

The Grecian helmet sat heavy on Minerva's head and she shivered. The almost see-through peplos she'd been put in didn't provide her any shelter from the wind that seemed to have little to no regard for the walls of the royal academy, better equipped at evoking the classical past than at keeping out the cold. She was almost grateful for the dead lion draped at her feet meant to be a live one in the portrait that was currently being taken of her because if she shuffled her feet underneath it at least she could feel a bit warmer.

After what seemed like an eternity she was allowed to move. And immediately wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to inspect the work done. It was even worse than she feared. Doe eyed she stared over the sea and the deplorable wretch had drawn her with the peplos slipping of her shoulders to expose her breasts. Tell-tale storm clouds passed over her face. The painter winced because she was known to be tempestuous. "What is that." She pointed to the exposed bosom. It didn't sound like a question. "I emphasized you as a nurturing mother, kind and gentle to all her colonies." "This is wrong." "Pardon?" "This is wrong! This!? This is not your country!" She's shouting in a most unbecoming way.

The poor painter protests: "but I worked for hours- this is some of my best-" "I don't care if you're sir Joshua Reynolds himself! We're having a do-over. AND YOU DO AS I COMMAND!" He nods afraid his painting might end up smashed over his head if he pressed on. "Everyone get out I need to think" The man gathers his canvas and painting and scurries out, gesturing at his assistents and fellow societymen to follow, leaving his nation breathing loudly through flared nostrils with balled fists alone in the room.

The next day a small company is gathered at Kenwood house in Hampstead where Britain is currently resident. There’s excited murmuring in the crowd, gossip spreads fast and the spat over the painting is being readily discussed. No one really knows what is to be expected now. When the nation joins their guests in the drawing room however scandalized gasps are elicited from the crowd. They all had expected something but none of them had expected this. “Please, company, join me in the garden where I’ll have my portrait taken.” The murmurs are being uttered unceasingly and everyone is too stupefied to be truly angry or disobey the firm orders Britain administers. In the garden their favourite horse is prepared for them and Britain mounts it and steadies the animal with a loving touch. Finally, the nation turns towards the still murmuring crowd. A stern but calm smile plays on their lips as they speak: “You act like this is an unfamiliar sight. Surely you’ve seen a man in uniform before.” The sumptuous red uniform is of the highest rank and adorned with the silver star, Britain’s long hair is all but hidden under a tricorn hat and here on their horse they command respect and obedience. “This is how the empire was built, so this is how it should be portrayed.” No one in the crowd reacts. “I said that this is how it should be portrayed!” Hurried the painter realizes that this is his cue and sets up the easel. Everyone watches breathless at the portrait being taken and let their tea grow cold and their sandwiched remain untouched.

Everyone has left and the house had gone quiet. Arthur admires his portrait. He hasn’t changed out of his uniform and is alone in the room with the painting as the paint is drying still. He sits still and just stares. The uniform hides his already small chest perfectly. The hat hides his hair and there’s nothing that would insinuate he was not a man. He is not a mother.

“Are you my mother then? If you’re my mother why’re you not a sweet mum! Ollie down the street has a mum who kisses him and always gives him candy almonds.” Arthur sighs softly. That does tug at his heartstrings. Poor child. He takes little Alfred onto his knee. “Listen America, you’re a foundling. A child with only me for a parent. So, I asked myself- what does a child need to grow into a successful man? How do children who only have one parent prosper? Those who only have a doting mother never amount to anything. A man needs a father. A father who’s firm but who’ll guide you onto the right path, makes you work, makes something out of you. So, I wanted you to grow into a successful man, so that’s what I’ll have to be for you.” Alfred seems pensive but unhappy with the answer. “But you’re a woman, aren’t you?” Arthur pauses and grows rigid. “I suppose.” The child folds his arms. “I hate this. I wish I had a mom who gave me candy and kisses my cheeks but instead I have you who makes me learn French verbs.” Arthur feels hurt. Of course, he can’t be a father that Alfred would love. He’s not a mother, but not a father either. He slightly slaps Alfred’s wrist “I should’ve known that this is just about you not wanting to do your exercises!”

Arthur looks at his portrait and smiles. America never fully understood. He’d fought him in uniform. Chastising, but he could never make him behave. He was never father enough for Alfred. Alfred seemed to always have kept on wishing he would be his mother instead. The revolution had been a blow to his confidence, but when he looks at the portrait, he no longer feels that. He feels strong. A man, a ruler, an empire. Someone who commands respect. He still has the other territories overseas, he’s bigger than he’s ever been! On this man the sun never sets. For once he sees himself. Alfred should see this portrait, he'd understand if he'd see this. He wouldn't come back but he'd understand.

The next few days he goes around his house still dressed as a gentleman. He writes his letters with newfound vigour and finds that he’s for once actually listened to. The portrait is picked up, after all it was meant to adorn the palace and will there soon be unveiled. The night of the banquet where he’ll meet with king George IV and the portrait will be donated to the royal collection approaches. Arthur is met with the royal chamberlain who seems put of the moment he enters the house. After the first formalities regarding the banquet are exchanged it becomes apparent why. “Lady Britain, while I have no doubts about your sense of decorum I must still enquire. You don’t intend to keep up this masquerade at the banquet? It would be most improper to appear before the king with your legs for all to see.” Arthur doesn’t fight back too much. He’s very much aware of decorum and complies. “I’ll wear a smart skirt.” It doesn’t matter, the portrait will speak for him.

The banquet is one like Arthur has had many before. He wears something black and modest, not to look like he’s in too frivolous a lady’s skirt. Still he’s anticipating seeing his portrait, the way he truly is, being unveiled and adorning the palace halls. His heart is beating when people flood into the hall for the grand moment. The moment he sees the veiled canvas Arthur’s heart stops. Those are not the dimensions of his painting. Did they cut it to make it fit the hall better? He hopes in vain because a fear is wrapping its clammy hands around his heart. He stands motionless and the words of the speech are just a vague buzzing in his ears. When the curtain drops, he feels like a musket has been driven through his stomach. The doe eyed abomination, with the exposed breasts, meekly holding onto a shield and spear as though caressing them rather than fighting with them. The most alive thing in the painting seems to be the lion that was very much dead when being painted. The nobles exclaim perfectly appropriate adoring cries. Arthur says nothing, he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll lose the roast lamb they are earlier. “Oh! Lady Minerva, you look absolutely lovely. Such a striking portrait.” He remembers decorum with a start and replies with polite gratitude. “Why see! I told my friend Lord Salisbury that underneath that sour demeanour you have the potential to be lovely. Truly Minerva, why don’t you grace us with that smile more often?” Arthur feels himself slip away, like his identity is being pried from his hands. When he smiles back, he’s no longer Arthur. Lady Minerva blushes and shows she has the potential to be lovely. She makes perfect company until the very end of the night.

When all the officials and nobles have left, she finds the steward, fuming absolutely fuming. She clutches his lapels and slams him against the wall. “Where is my portrait!?” She demands to know. “The thing you sent in? It was an affront. Be happy the painter was kind enough to provide us with this one as well so scandal could be avoided.” “Where is it!?” The steward gives her a look and she knows there and then that she’ll never see it again. With shaking hands, she lets him go and steps back. The steward seems a little surprised, he was convinced he’d be at the mercy of one of the Nation’s infamous outbursts. He hadn’t been expected to be let go without her digging her nails into his flesh like she’d done before. Yet here she stands silent and defeated. A demure and weary woman when she turns and leaves in silence. Minerva is silent all the way home. She’s been robbed of something so infinitely important. Not just the portrait. Being Arthur feels far away. Like he’s no longer hers to be. She lays onto her pillow and weeps.

Notes:

This piece was written out of a desire to write a transtalia fic that's not so damn anachronistic. I didn't want to paste the modern trans experience onto a historical period because often one can't do that. Associations with gender and different gender identities and categories have differed profusely trough the era. Writing the personification of a nation that's over 1000 years old as trans is really difficult. Their relationship with gender will have changed multiple times throughout their life as societies attitudes changed. Their age will also have influenced the posibilities for expressing gender identity and expression in general was far more limited. (without them placing themselves outside or on the margins of society by doing so). Arthur is a man, and has always felt more masculine. He can't live that life though and must live as Minerva.

if this had been a human in the 18th century it's more likely that he would've rebelled harder (especially given Arthur's hot headed and volatile personality!) and moved out to a little town house to live as a man. Arthur however, being the personification of England finds himself in the situation that his life is not his own. His position is highly symbolic and limits what he can do. It is in a way similar to kingship and the king being more than an individual human but also being this immortal and symbolic category. Unfortunately it'll take a while before Arthur is free enough to be himself.

This wasn't the fic I thought I'd be writing next but it basically wrote itself. I hope others felt the same need for it's existence.

#aph England #aph America #historical hetalia #transtalia #juliwrites

[only-kiwi]

Demons IV

i know this took ages and i don’t even like this chapter that much but i’ve had a few days off work and tried finishing this for you. i love you guys thank you for being patient with me 💘

TW: mentions of self harm, depression, eating disorder, use of drugs, swearing, age gap (19/24)

Billie really didn’t want to go to this party. Not even a little bit. She had bad experiences with them, but she tried not to think about it. The only people that know what really went down were herself, Willow, and her parents. Not even Jacob knew. Not even 18 months ago, Billie was at every party she should find. Even though she didn’t have many friends, Willow did, and they loved to party. However, it all got out of hand when someone started bringing drugs. It started with cigarettes (she’s being forced to quit). Then weed, which wasn’t that big of a deal to anymore. But Billie had enough of just being high, and she decided that she needed more. That’s where the cocaine and heroine came in.

It was fine at first, she could control it. It was all a bit of fun. But back then, Billie’s depression was the worst it had ever been and she couldn’t seem to forget about it. That’s how she ended in the hospital with a heroine overdose.

It wasn’t like she tried to overdose or anything - at that point it had been about six months since her last attempt and everyone thought she was doing fine.

Usually, when parents find out their kids are doing drugs, they get angry. But with Billie in the hospital, so close to death, her parents felt hopeless and all they wanted to do was help.

Today was the first time Billie was going to another party since. She was nervous as fuck but she figured that Harry’s friends were responsible and there would probably only be alcohol and a bit of weed. Also, Harry would be with her the whole time. If anything got bad, Billie would just ask to leave or tell him what’s going on. It didn’t help that Billie wasn’t having the best couple of days. Ever since she left Harry’s that morning she’d been filled with anxiety and it just hadn’t gone away. All she could think about was the kiss and what it meant or if it even meant anything at all. Her mind was fucked. It wasn’t the type of anxiety where she got shaky and couldn’t breathe. It was the type where he was so zoned out and felt like she wasn’t really there. Like she was dreaming or something. She was good at hiding it, she didn’t tell her parents or Jacob or Harry. It was stupid anyway.

“Billie?” Jacob knocked on his sister’s door. “Are you busy?”

“Trying to pick an outfit, what’s up?”

“Can you paint my right hand?” The young boy muttered and Billie look at his hands. The nails on his left hand were painted black and he had the bottle with him. “I’m shit with my left.”

“Yeah, come sit. When did you start painting them?”

“Tried it the other day and I liked it so I think I’m gonna keep doing it.” He shrugged.

“What about mum and dad? And the kids at school, I know how they can be and-“

“I don’t really care. Painting my nails doesn’t really mean anything, I just like the way it looks. Don’t care about anyone else.”

In that moment, Billie admired her little bother more than she ever admired anyone. She wished she had that mentality, she wished she didn’t care about what anyone thought about her. She wished she was like Jacob. Suddenly, Billie’s door opened and more half a second both their hearts stopped thinking it was their parents. But it was just Harry.

“Hi, your mum let me in.” He smiled. “Hey, Jacob. Nice nails. We match.”

Looking up, Billie saw that Harry’s nails were painted black and they only made him more attractive. Billie almost couldn’t breathe. Why the fuck was he so hot?!

“Thanks, are you two going somewhere?”

“It’s his friend, Niall’s, birthday. We’re going to his party.”

“You? A party?”

“That’s what I said!” Billie laughed as she finished up her brother’s nails. “Alright, get out, I have to get ready.”

With that, Jacob left, and Billie was left alone with Harry. She couldn’t help but feel awkward. Does she mention the kiss? Ignore it? She just didn’t know. She decided to not say anything until Harry did so she could save herself the embarrassment.

“Help me pick an outfit?” She asked Harry, pointing to her wardrobe. He smiled slightly and nodded.

****

Harry and Billie pulled up outside the massive house and she already felt intimidated. This house was bigger than Harry’s and she didn’t know what to do with herself. Breath, Billie.

“You okay?” Harry asked as he took off his seatbelt.

“Mhm,” she nodded, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope.”

Billie let the smoke fill her lungs and she felt less anxious in seconds, but that didn’t mean she was ready to go inside. She was scared of what people would think of her, if Harry had told them about her. Or maybe she was scared they would have drugs there. She didn’t know if she would be able to handle it.

Once she’d finished her cigarette she took in a deep breath and tried to relax. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Walking into the house, Billie felt like walking right back out. There were literally hundreds of people there. Hundreds. Harry noticed how nervous Billie was and grabbed her hand, squeezing it slightly and giving her a smile.

“Harry! Good to see you, man!” Harry’s very drunk friend greeted him. The Irish accent was enough for Billie to know that it was Niall. “You brought a friend?!”

“Niall, this is Billie. Billie, Niall.” He introduced them, and Billie have the drunk man a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Billie shouted over the music. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks, love! There’s drinks and shit in the kitchen, help yourselves.” Niall said before spotting another friend and walking off.

They walked to the kitchen and Billie needed a drink. She wasn’t planning on getting drunk but she needed something to loosen her up a bit. Billie couldn’t remember the last time she got drunk, and she didn’t want to. Harry handed her a vodka lemonade, and she took a sip from the red solo cup.

“You know, all this plastic isn’t good for the planet.” Billie pointed to all the cups in the kitchen and Harry playfully rolled his eyes.

“Are you one of them planet-saving-cruelty-free-vegans?”

“So what if I was?”

“I think that’s pretty cool.”

“Well I’m not vegan, I’m vegetarian but all the other stuff applies. It’s something that everyone should care about, it’s just common sense.” Billie explained. It was a random conversation but she wondered why they’d never spoke about it before because she’s sure she must have mentioned it.

Before Harry could get a word out, someone called his name. “Oh, my God. What’s it been, H? Like, two years?”

Harry’s discomfort was clear, but Billie sipped her drink and stayed quiet. “Hi, Kendall.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is Billie.”

Billie tried her best to remain calm but Kendall was absolutely beautiful - she was a model after all. Billie had seen her on magazines, in ads and on billboards. Everywhere. She didn’t know Harry knew her, but she wasn’t really surprised.

“So, how long have you been together for?”

“We’re just friends,” Billie and Harry both said at the same time, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Weren’t we ‘just friends’ for a whole year.” The model taunted, raising her eyebrow.

“That was your choice, not mine.” Harry picked at his black nails, he was starting to get anxious. So, Billie decided to step in.

“It was lovely meeting you, Kendall. Hopefully we run into each other again tonight. But H wanted to introduce me to a couple of people, didn’t you?” She out of her best fake nice voice, knowing she sounded bitchy. Billie wasn’t a bad person, but that sure as hell made her feel good. She took Harry’s hand, making sure Kendall saw, before walking to what she assumed to be the living room.

She regretted it immediately. The place was filled with drugs. Not just weed - she didn’t mind that. But there was cocaine all over the tables and people injecting themselves with heroine. Billie felt sick and it was just because she’d barely eaten.

“What the fuck?” She mumbled, mostly to herself.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “Don’t worry, I don’t do any of this shit.”

“That’s not the point, H. You said this was a party not a fucking crack house. And what was with that Kendall?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here alone. And she’s apparently still mad that I broke up with her.” Harry huffed. “She can fuck off though, she’s such a bitch.”

“Yeah, it shows.” Billie muttered, but Harry heard anyway and laughed. “Can we go outside?”

Harry nodded and lead Billie to the garden, which was luckily empty. They sat on the chair and Billie pulled out yet another cigarette. “It’s not even been twenty minutes.” Harry pointed out. “Thought you were gonna quit?”

“Yeah, well I’m stressed.”

“Because I brought you here?”

“I wouldn’t have come if I knew there was gonna be drugs.” Billie sipped her drink. “I can’t be around that shit.”

“Did something happen?” Billie debated telling him. She didn’t want him to think of her as some messed up drug addict. She wanted a fresh start, not to keep bringing up the past, but she figured that Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“A lot happened.” She shook her head, trying not to go into a negative mindset. “It was around a year and a half ago, after my eighteenth. Long story short, my depression was the worst it had ever been and I went to loads of parties and shit. I fell in with the wrong people and started taking drugs to make myself feel better.”

“Oh, my God.” Harry whispered. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you. We can leave right now. I’ll tell Niall-“

Billie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the back door opened. Kendall and a few others came stumbling out of the house. Harry saw Billie roll her eyes, and had to hold back his laugh. He didn’t care much for Kendall anymore, they hadn’t spoken in years and their relationship was nothing special. They fucked on and off for a year before Harry caught feelings and Kendall decided to end it.

“Harry! Billie!” She practically screamed before sitting with them. “Come join the fun!”

“We’ve got the good stuff!” Another really pretty, model looking girl said, before pulling out a bag of white powder. Billie instantly tensed up. Harry’s eyes darted to her straight away, he could feel the anxiety coming off of her.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Billie whispered to Harry, starting to get up from her seat.

“On the left as soon as you walk upstairs.” He told her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be ok,” the younger girl promised, “I won’t be long.

Harry was concerned but nodded anyway. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to be around all these drugs after overdosing from them. He wondered if she was tempted to take any, or if she just didn’t feel comfortable. Hopefully, it was the latter. But he simply didn’t know.

Billie was panicking in the bathroom. She wanted to go home. She wanted to ask Harry if they could leave but she didn’t want to take him away from his other friends. It was just so hard being around all those drugs. She remembered how they made her feel - she wanted to feel like that again. She wanted to feel free and calm.

All she could hear was a muffled Travis Scott and the voices in her head. Why is this happening right now? They hadn’t come in days - the voices. Yeah, she was anxious but now it’s all hitting her. It was like in the movies where there’s an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Only there were devils on both Billie’s shoulders and they were dragging her down.

Billie looked up in the mirror and ran her hands through her hair. “No,” she tried shaking the voices out of her head, “no, no, no.”

The poor girl felt like she was drowning, like she couldn’t breathe anymore. Fuck. She tried digging into her pockets for her phone so she could call Harry, only to realise she left it with him “Fuck!”

The room was spinning. Billie tried gripping onto the counter but she accidentally knocked something off. Her eyes followed it to the ground. A bag of white powder. It was like it was put there for her - like it was waiting. She picked it up and looked at it. Her brain telling her so many different things.

Without thinking, she opened the bad. She didn’t know why she did it, she just... did. Her mind was all over the place. What’s one little sniff, right? Maybe she’ll feel better. All the had to do was control herself so it won’t end up like last time. Yeah. One sniff. Just to take edge off.

She dipped her finger into the bag and brought it up to her nose. She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly the entire bag was gone. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t the plan! If only it kicked in quicker, she wouldn’t have taken so much.

“Come on, Billie, get your shit together.” She told herself, using her shaky hands to pick up the bag and throw it away. “He can’t find out.”

Billie knew it would take at least ten minutes to kick in, and she didn’t know how she would act after. Usually, she’s be dancing on tables and screaming lyrics at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t even feel good this time. Just anxious. She can’t remember why she ever enjoyed this.

“Billie? Are you ok?” She heard Harry’s voice and panicked again. He would definitely be able to tell. “You’ve been in there for a while.”

“Yeah, I’m okay!” The younger girl called back before checking if her nose was clean. “Give me a sec.”

Her vision was already getting blurry, she could barely walked straight. But she had to fake it. Opening the bathroom door, she saw Harry standing there. He looked a lot better than she remembered and she’d only been gone half an hour. Her sex drive was insane when she was high.

“Everything good?” Harry asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Yeah, perfect. Why wouldn’t it be?” She tried standing still, but she must have looked crazy.

“You were gone for ages, I just-“

“Oh, no need to worry.” She patted his chest and he stood there dumbfounded. “I could really use another drink! Let’s take shots!”

“Shots? I can’t, I’m driving. And there’s no way I’m taking you home drunk.”

“God, you’re such a dad.” Billie rolled her eyes, and stumbled passed him. “Let’s have some fun, H!”

“Billie,” Harry pursed his lips, slightly tugging at her wrist. “Did you take something?”

“What,” she hiccuped, “makes you think I took something?”

“I’m not stupid, what did you take?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“There was a bag in the bathroom.” Billie muttered, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry raised his voice. “You had a go at me for bringing you here when all you were gonna do is take whatever the fuck was lying around?! God, Billie. You’re so stupid!”

She knows he’d been drinking a bit, she wanted to blame his reaction on that. But he can’t have been that drunk because like he said, he was driving. She felt herself begin to panic, he’d never spoken to her like that before.

“I-I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “It was right there and they wouldn’t leave me alone I-“

“They?”

“The fucking voices, Harry! They never go away and they kept telling me to do it, I just wanted them to stop.” Her voice started strong but cracked towards the end. Billie had been doing fairly well, but of course, these things sneak up on her at the worst times.

That’s when Harry knew it was more than an act of rebellion or an adrenaline chase. Billie was really sick. She had no control, and it killed him. He felt bad for yelling, it wasn’t her fault.

“I’m sorry for yelling, I’m just worried about you.” Billie nodded, she didn’t really know what to say. “I’m gonna take you home. You need to sleep this off.”

“No, I’m not going home.” She folded her arms and stomped her foot, stumbling slightly as she did so.

“God, you’re such a child.” Harry groaned.

“You weren’t saying that when your tongue was down my throat but ok.” Bullied huffed, and Harry raised his brow.

“Right, that’s enough. We’re leaving.” Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“Fuck’s sake, Harold!” She practically screamed in frustration. “I don’t want to-“

“Am I interrupting something?” Kendall. Again. God, Billie wanted to punch her. She always showed up whenever she and Harry were alone and she hated it.

“No-“

“Yes-“

“Billie,”

“No! She’s annoying.” Billie shrugged before turning to Kendall. “Harry doesn’t want anything to do with you. Just... go away.”

Harry stayed silent. Billie wasn’t wrong, he just wasn’t happy with her approach. He knew it was the drugs, but for some reason he was growing annoyed. “Come on, B. Let’s go.” He whispered, not daring to look up at Kendall as they walked away. “I’m taking you home.” He told her once they got into the car.

“Take me back to yours.”

“Why?”

“Can’t really walk into my house high of my tits, can I?” Billie huffed. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

****

Harry silently opened the door for Billie and they entered his home. They hadn’t spoken a word since they left Niall’s because Harry didn’t really know what to say and Billie had a splitting headache. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget she ever relapsed. She knew she would wake up feeling worse, hating herself and wanting to die. She really fucked up.

The drugs had worn off now. Billie remembered that being her least favourite part of taking them. They wore off way too quickly. She just felt really shitty now. Maybe it would have been fine if Harry wasn’t so annoyed with her. She knows she shouldn’t have taken them but why was he so upset with her?

The first thing Harry did when he was in the bedroom was take his shirt off and throw it to the side. The first thing Billie did was pick it up so she could wear it to bed. She usually wore his shirts when she stayed round, and she wasn’t up for asking for a fresh one. She didn’t say another word as she began to turned to walk about of his room.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, sounding embarrassingly desperate.

“Going to the spare room?”

He hesitated for half a second before his head got the best of him.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #one direction #harry styles fluff #solo harry

[jflashandclash]

Traitors of Olympus IV: Fall of the Sun

Thirty-Five: Maari

Stairs: The Real Villain in This Series

 Warning: Exposure to twelve-year-old psychopath and his antic imminent. Some mature themes.

           Merry learned a useful tip when hunting down wary Pax boys: follow the candy wrappers.

           She wondered if all Pax boys were as tidy as little Hurricane Katrinas. From what little she remembered of their house, she guessed each Pax room had its own private cleaning crew, and that certainly wasn’t to the benefit of the boys.

           Merry didn’t find the candy wrappers immediately. There was too much foot traffic around St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

           The white, gothic structure seemed designed to make Merry, who already felt pretty small, feel microscopic. With the sharpness of the cathedral’s many pinnacles, jutting to the sky like a knife rack, and the ominous, narrow windows, like those in a jail cell, Merry understood why cathedrals were often used in horror movies. If this thing were put on its side, it could be an intimidating battering ram.

           When Merry walked in, she was dizzied by the number of tourists, the brilliant lighting, and the gold and marble walls. One woman—a tour guide or an usher, Merry didn’t know—gave Merry a violently reproachful look, pointing to Merry’s jacket then making a cutting motion.

           Merry wasn’t sure what she meant, until she registered the lyrics,

           “And if you want a doctor,

           I’ll examine every inch of you.

           If you want a driver,

           Climb inside.

           Or, if you want to take me for a ride—“

           Merry sheepishly turned off her jacket’s music, guessing the Cathedral didn’t like to party Michael Buble style. She gave the woman a careless grin. 

          The times she’d spent the night at Kally’s house, Kally always offered to take Merry to service—or was it called Mass? The Kassands’ church met up in a local middle school’s cafeteria. Merry wondered how those humble parishioners would feel about this church’s hubris.

That was back when Merry was sad she could never tell Kally that Merry’s father was actually Dionysus. Merry frowned. Now, Kally was attending a party that someone else was throwing at Dionysus’ house, one Merry really hoped Kally would survive with little more than a sober hangover.

           My Teddy Bear and Kallybae will take care of each other, Merry assured herself. Kallybae can keep the Paxbaby in-line, and Calex can shoot Alabaster if anything bad happens.[1]

           Organ music replaced Merry’s jazz. People were filing into the massive doors and, she realized for a surreal moment that it was the weekend.

           Merry did everything she could to dodge around the uncomfortable holiness of the place, excusing herself and improvising several stories to dodge around Mass…. staff? Is that what they were called?

           One man, someone who crossed himself as he came into the Cathedral, gave her a compassionate smile and Merry realized that she probably looked like a homeless person with how dirty she was.

           Some confused wanderings, lots of blatant lies, and many Jesuses later, Merry found some back stairs that seemed off limits from the everyday chap.

           The real demigod killer: stairs.

           With a groan, Merry started up. No elevators in the house of God.[2]

           For the first half of the climb, Merry twitched to reactivate her jacket. Children of Dionysus: not designed for stealth missions. The glory of the church disappeared to dark walls. All she had for sound was the hallow echo of Mass happening a few floors below, and the reverberation of her footsteps.

           The second half started fun, (as much as climbing stairs could start fun) but made her choke up. There was graffiti all over the stairwells. Some of it was carved into the walls, some of it was painted. Much of it was dated to the 1920’s, with people claiming fame to graffiting a famous cathedral. One depicted two towers in white, one on fire, with the words, “2001” Bad Year. Never forget.

           Merry frowned and took a break at the next window. Below, she could see Atlas, holding the world up, at least a hundred or two hundred feet below.  He looked small.

           If viewed from the right angle, Merry theorized Atlas might look like he was challenging God with a capital G, saying he’d been here first, and no matter what the big man did, he’d preserver after. He might even heft his world at the Cathedral, just to see if he could topple it.

           Bells chimed, making the whole tower shudder.

           Merry covered her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. She knew the Cathedral’s bells went off at noon. She’d heard them in town before, but she’d never been so close.

           While the bells sang, someone seemed to pull a curtain over the window.

           At first, Merry thought there was a massive cloud, or maybe an airplane off course. But the darkness didn’t go away. Atlas had disappeared with the lack of street lamps on. Windows glowed ominously on the streets of New York. Some street lamps began to flicker.

           Merry’s stomach twisted.

           From what Percy said, Eris would come back “when the sun comes down.” Merry’s mind blazed through all the elements—of Hemera’s kidnapping, the reports of Nyx being upset, Eris wanting the Golden Net to capture a goddess.

           The attack must have started.

           As fast as she could, Merry ran up the stairs.

           By the time Merry found the trail of candy wrappers, dodged around some bell ringers, and made it to the landing where the candy wrappers lead (more stairs continued upward), she didn’t hop onto the landing with her shoulders confidently back, her hands on her hips, and a smile on her lips, like the Indian Wonder Woman she wanted to be.

           She almost collapsed on it.

           No amount of training could have prepared her for those stairs. She wished Dionysus had a bikini setting on her parka. Her sweat made her clothing cold and wet, and she knew—though on fire now—once her body temperature regulated, the world would be freezing.

           A child’s giggle made Merry choke back her gasps.

           She stumbled forward, unprepared to immediately confront Hiro and Percy’s little sister.

           The room was smaller and far more intimate than she’d been ready for. The jury-rigged baby roller coaster—a mash up of ropes strung across a buttress in the ceiling—dangled an empty crib out a shattered window.

           Merry frowned at the colorful glass still littering the floor. She wondered if Hiro had made one of his little talisman bubbles to contain the sound and if he was as skilled as his siblings with the Mist to conceal his hideout.

           There was a giant mirror against one wall. Well, Merry knew it wasn’t a mirror. It reflected an image of Camp Half-Blood, of Percy sitting on a throne with a light-up, neon sign above his head, grinding his nails into the chair’s armrests, moving his mouth in a noiseless scream at something happening beyond the mirror’s edge. His features looked ghastly in the queer mix of lighting.

           Merry forgot that they’d soundproofed Hiro’s mirror, so Hiro and Lapis couldn’t eavesdrop on their meeting. She almost wished they hadn’t, so she knew what was going on.

           Overall, she was happier they had.

           She needed to keep her mind on the task at hand.

           There was the twelve-year-old boy with Asiatic features, darted suspenders, a burgundy button down, long, flowing black hair, and a revolver wedged in either shoulder holster. He held both of the baby’s hands, keeping her upright as though the baby walked on her own. Hiro was slightly hunched as he inched their way across the room. The baby giggled with delight at the game.

           When he noticed Merry walk in, Hiro moved the baby’s hands in a wave. His smile twisted from one of wonder to one of devilish delight.    

           “You know, you don’t need to live this life of crime and kidnapping,” Merry reminded him between gasps. “You drop the threats, and you could make a great Hiro the Babysitting Hero, LLC.”

           She wanted to have more time to plan and collect herself. This would have been better if she seemed calm.

           Between the darkness outside, the camp’s timer being cut in a quarter, and the likelihood of peril for her friends there, she felt a tiny bit stressed.

           When Merry managed to stand up taller, putting her hands on her hips, she towered over Hiro. He would have looked like a cute Pax baby if she didn’t know that he was a tiny, evil thing.

           Hiro whisked the baby up. He danced her over to the crib, gently set her down, and rolled the crib a foot inside the window.

           The movement caught Percy’s attention. His mouth moved. Merry tried not to notice how the son of Poseidon was begging her to act. To remotely focus on the problem at hand, she’d have to convince herself Mr. Water Muffin wasn’t able to see them.

           When Merry tried to take another slow step forward, Hiro withdrew one pistol, aimed it at the baby, and held up a hand in a “stop” motion.

           Merry froze. “Sorry there, honey buns. I didn’t mean to give you the heebie jeebies. See? I’m little ol’ me. I’m not a rough and tough meanie. I’m a pacifist that doesn’t even kill mosquitoes. I bear no weapons.”

           Hiro’s eyes seemed to flash. His grin turned crooked and—for an instant—he looked like a younger version of Pax. Well, maybe the anime version.

           Hiro holstered his gun again. He pointed to her, then shook his vest with the other hand. He mimed removing his vest.

           “Oh, my parka?” Merry asked, innocently. Her ragged breath almost clogged in her throat. Her jacket was her one defense. She’d never looked at it as a weapon, but—if Hiro had and Lapis had been watching their movements, or seen the video of how she’d made the Heroic Handsomes of Olympus dance—he knew better.

           Merry gingerly took off her jacket, hoping he couldn’t see how much she was trembling. She had to look calm. Remembering all the times her adoptive father had lost it, she had to keep him calm until she was ready. She wasn’t ready yet.

           Merry tossed her parka into the hallway. She still wore an inverted SPQR shirt and a pair of jeans.

           When she tried to take another step forward, Hiro held his hand up again.

           Merry paused. She forced another careless smile. “What now, sugar plum?”

           Hiro reached up with one hand to pick up the corner of his button down shirt and shake it.

           Merry stared at him. There was a major flaw in her plan: the whole not speaking ASL. Maybe Hiro wouldn’t mind if they paused to phone a friend for translation.

           When Hiro made the same motion again, his expression impatient, Merry felt her mouth move to form the “oh” shape.

           Although she towered over Hiro by at least a foot, Merry felt as small as when she’d entered the church.

           He made another motion, putting one hand flat in front of him, and miming grabbing from it and throwing it away. He grabbed the collar of his shirt again, shaking it.

           Merry swallowed. “Well, don’t you demand a lot?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake and hoping she wasn’t about to look like a total moron due to misunderstanding him.          

           Slowly, Merry pulled her SPQR shirt up. She paused to make sure she understood Hiro’s command.

           His lips twitched. He redid the “toss away” motion.

           Merry took her shirt off the rest of the way and tossed it into the hall beside her parka. She forced herself not to cross her hands in front of herself or to cover her Lane Bryant bra. She immediately regretted wishing for a bikini version of her parka. Drafty bell towers in New York winter: not a warm place for an un-dress rehearsal.

           Hiro burst into giggles. He covered his mouth with one hand and slapped his knee with the other. His dark hair spilled forward. The locks covered the darts lining his suspenders and the guns, so Merry could pretend this was a horrible prank from one of Nikhil’s friends, not demands from a budding psychopath. She’d caught Nikhil’s friends watching her change once and then assured some nasty rumor warfare the next day to teach basic human decency. Merry assumed Nikhil found out as well, since those friends had some busted lips and black eyes.

           She felt nauseous to remember Hiro was even younger than Nikhil’s friends.

           “See? No place to hide weapons, sugar plum,” she hummed, trying to keep her smile.

           Hiro wiped tears from his eyes. When he looked up at her, those dark spheres glistened with playful glee. He put his hand flat against his legs, then moved them up to grip his belt. Then he made the same “toss away” motion.  

           Merry felt her chin jut to one side. This one was a little demon. “Alright. Full dis-clothes-sure. That’s it, though,” Merry said, her voice cracking against her will. “I’m not so clever as to hide weapons anywhere else.”

           She just hoped, in all the time that Hiro and Lapis had spent spying on their group, they never noticed she did, in fact, use her chest as a cell phone pocket, though it was currently in her back pocket.

           Merry tried to look calm as she unlaced her boots, set them to the side. Even the smiling Hello Kitties on her socks looked worried. She undid her jeans, shimmied out of them, and then tossed them with her parka and shirt.

           Her trembles became uncontrollable. From fear, humiliation, or the icy draft coming in the window, she wasn’t sure, but some nice internal heating or—again—a Leo Valdez or Calex to keep her warm—that’s what she would ask her Christian friends for Christmas this year. That and the whole world peace thing to actually happen.

           Yesterday, when they had to flip their SPQR shirts inside out to hide the logo from the monsters inhabiting club HMM, she was pleased to have on one of her flashy, jazzy bras. Calex had been carrying her and she knew it drove the poor Brit bonkers. Merry knew that she had made a son of Eros blush. That was one way she hoped she could convey the, I may not be ready for kissies and cuddles, but I do trust you more than the average homo sapien.

           Now, she wished she were wearing the set of underwear that she kept at her dad’s house, simple and conservative. Not that it ever made a difference, she thought. Her step father was never rainbows and kittens for Merry no matter what she wore.

           Hiro had burst into giggles again. He motioned her inside before skipping over to the mirror.

           Merry forgot Percy could see them.

           The son of Poseidon looked furious. His mouth moved to shout at Hiro. His eyes darted from them back to the camp.

           Hiro tapped the top of the mirror twice and the screen turned into a reflection, showing the twinkling eyes of a demented twelve-year-old and a sixteen-year-old Indian girl, mostly naked, shivering, whose smile was so stiff, it could have belonged to a Bharatanatyam doll.

           Judging by Hiro’s reactions, that’s what the child thought of her: he was allowed to play with the world for the first time without familial or adult intervention and wanted a new toy.

           To swallow her panic, Merry reviewed her plan. Step one: get the baby to the most remote, safest part of the room. Keep Hiro calm.

           “Hiro, can we keep the baby in the room while Auntie Merry is here? Wouldn’t want her catching a cold while we’re having all our fun, now would we?” she asked, trying to sound lackadaisical. She didn’t want Hiro to think she cared too much about Percy’s little sister. If Hiro was developing the acute narcissism that she suspected, then that would make him jealous. “And, so she doesn’t get in the way of any of our games? I want all my focus to be on you.”

           Hiro thought about this for a minute, then nodded his head vigorously. He wheeled the crib further into the room, to the end of its pulley, closer to the exit.

           Then, the younger boy skipped over to Merry’s side, grabbed her arm, and tugged her closer to the window, where he had a pizza box, baby food, puzzle, and some other games set on a spare altar.

           Good to be away from the baby. Bad to be closer to the window. Merry’s shivers became uncontrollable. Step two: try this the easy-peasy way.

           “Alrighty, tiny, fierce one,” she said. “I like your puzzle. You like, jaguars, eh?”

           The puzzle had a black jaguar depicted with its cub.

           Hiro nodded his head, putting another piece into the corner.

           Merry bobbed her head approvingly. Her mind filtered through jazz songs to keep calm. She ached for her parka or a boom[3] box. She’d even settle for elevator Muzak. Augh. “You know, it looks like you’ve made quite a pickle. You got the tiny Jackson all bundled up. It seems like you like her though, right? Or, at least playing with her?”

           Hiro nodded his head again. He fished inside the pizza box, revealing some pepperoni slices.

           “You wouldn’t want to hurt her though, would you?” she asked.

           Hiro shrugged, withdrawing two slices. Merry wished she knew ASL. Or telepathy. Though, really, telepathy might just disturb her right now.

           “What makes you want to do this then?” she asked gently. She struggled to remember what Lapis had called Pax and Axel. “Is it because of Ajaxapax and Tufted Ears? I heard you were pretty mad at your big brothers. They were meanies to leave you with your father, weren’t they?”

           Hiro slowed in his movements. His cheerful expression soured. He frowned up at her. In an uncertain motion, he nodded his head.

           Hiro offered her a slice of pepperoni pizza.

           “Thank you, sugar plum, but I only eat veggies. No meat for me. Though, that was considerate and lovely of you,” she said, trying to make her smile sweet.

           Hiro shrugged, putting one piece down. He munched the other, eyeing her suspiciously.

           “No one trusts a vegetarian,” she remembered her little brother teasing.

           Merry shook the memory off. This little one was nothing like her brother. “There are other ways to get their attention, you know. Lots of other alternatives and some fun ones—”

           There were lots of alternatives she’d brainstormed on the way over. She wanted to suggest some pranks—Paxes seemed to love pranks. Lots of ways to end this peacefully, so Hiro could skip out of here with her, she could convince Percy not to murder the twelve-year-old, they could send Hiro home to Grandma Chiich for some solid, Mayan scolding, and they could set Hiro up for some major rehabilitative therapy. They could piece the broken Pax family together into a ball of furry mischief.

           Merry never got to say any of her suggestions.

           Hiro withdrew his handgun and pistol-whipped her across the face.

 Thanks for reading!!! We have one more encounter with this psychotic little shit. Tune in next week for Merry’s chapter: Things are NOT Fun and Fancy Free.

[1] Yea, I super forgot that Merry doesn’t know that Calex isn’t with Kally anymore. She’ll definitely destroy him psychologically for that later.

[2] False. Lots of Cathedrals have elevators nowadays.

[3] First accidentally wrote, “Bomb box,” then “boob box,” and finally caught it correctly the third time. -.-

#Heroes of Olympus #Traitors of Olympus #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #fanfiction #Merry #Hiro #Percy #(sort of) #Don't worry #Merry girl will stay strong <3

[atmilliways]

👻 Nathan!

Okay, so I started with this non-human prompt meme, picked up most of Part I of this from a random prompt that passed by on my dash somewhere to get me started, and drew some ideas for Part III from @spys-art-blog‘s thoughts about godklok stuff. It DOES include Nathan talking to a ghost. It’s also a little like that thing that happened in fourth season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer when suddenly Dawn is there, and always has been, and technically that’s new but she’s been retconned into everyone’s memories so no one questions it. 

~

I. Because One Day You May Be Called

It would forever baffle Charles as to how quickly things could go wrong. One minute he was driving along the familiar route between the office and home. The next, he was spinning out of control towards the concrete barrier at the end of the bridge, barely able to glimpse the truck that had decimated the right side of his car. In the short time it took for his hands to let go of the wheel and his car to reach the barrier, he’d managed to bang his head on something and gain a nice little cut along the side of his face. 

Then the car hit the barrier. The sudden stop made him imagine the entire world halting on its axis, his stomach lurching and his head spinning even faster now that he was no longer in motion with it. Groaning, he blindly reached out for some kind of surface, only then realizing his glasses had been flung from his face. The blurry interior of the car made him more disoriented, but he managed to locate the window and look up.

A dark shape was rushing towards him, too large to be a person. The truck, his mind supplied simply. The implications of what that rapidly approaching shape meant only clicked when it was a few feet away and he only had enough time to take a sharp breath in understanding.

II. To Meet The Mighty Gods

At first, it came as a shock when he regained consciousness. Okay, Charles thought, so I’m not dead. He felt as though he was floating, which he supposed meant he was safe in a hospital bed, wrapped in a soothing cocoon of pain medication, with medical attention only a call button press away. The second and far more lasting shock came when he opened his eyes. 

He actually was floating, cushioned by thin air about ten feet above the scene of the crash. What little he could see of the passenger car left little hope that the body inside was still intact, and yet, when he touched the numb skin of his cheek, there was red on his apparently solid fingertips. How could he bleed if he was already dead?

Everything was eerily silent. 

And he felt watched. The clusterfuck of snarled traffic rapidly lost his interest as the feeling intensified, as though eyes were boring into him from several different directions at once, pinning him in place. 

Charles whipped his head around, half expecting to see… what? There was nothing. Just a sweeping view of ocean, glittering and blue and deep. The freeway had been built atop steep cliffs, and from where he hovered it seemed that one impatient shrug of the earth was all it would take to tumble the entire ribbon of asphalt and cars into the churning water. Golds, oranges, and reds bled into everything from the setting sun, painting everything but the pale sliver of rising moon with brilliant light. There was no wind, at least where Charles was. 

He’d driven home this way hundreds of times. Thousands. Yet, as he hung in the air above his mortal remains, he couldn’t remember ever taking a single moment to appreciate the view. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered. 

IT IS. 

He hadn’t realized that he hadn’t been breathing before. Funny what the lack of breath catching in sudden terror could tell you. And had he been straining his eyes looking for whatever was watching him, or did the glints of reddish light catching on the ocean waves form the vague shape of a man? 

A man that seemed more real and more imaginary the longer he stared, far away and right there at the same time. Not a man — there was no way, it was too impossible. Whatever it was, it looked down at the wrecked vehicles below with an air of passive satisfaction. 

Then it turned it’s terrible gaze upon Charles with decidedly less passivity. Shadows fell across its face like long dark hair, or long strings of seaweed swaying in the current below the water’s surface, and that, Charles knew, was what had been watching him. 

It bared it’s shark teeth at him and asked, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? 

Charles opened his mouth, closed it, looked down at the rapidly drying blood on his fingers. “I, ah… I used to be someone,” he mumbled. “Now I’m dead.“ 

YOU ARE NOTHING. 

He found himself nodding. No family. No wife or kids, not even a girlfriend. Not even a pet. Riding a desk in a dead-end job that he’d had since graduating college with a degree in law that he’d never bothered to use, and was too apathetic to leave for anything better. There was no one to miss him, no way to claim that he’d made any sort of positive impression on the world before leaving it. Or even a negative one, for that matter. Nothing. 

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. 

WOULD YOU CHOSE TO BE MORE? 

Charles felt his heart leap at the suggestion, and that seemed to be answer enough. The apparition narrowed its glowing red eyes. It seemed pleased. 

SO BE IT. 

And suddenly there was wind, twisting and writhing around him like a bed of snakes, as though it had always been there but had been holding still, awaiting orders. The earth flew towards him and the sea rose up, the sun and moon grew huge in the sky, and Charles passed unto utter blackness as reality reknitted itself around him. 

III. Deep Within The Ocean

The ghost stood in the center of a cavernous office. Somewhere in the gloom above there were elaborate chandeliers, but most of the lightbulbs were broken and the only light of the setting sun came in weak streams between the boards nailed up over broken windows. It was deathly still, and the air tasted of ash and dust. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing there, or how he knew he was a ghost. The longer he stood there the more he felt as though it was where he belonged. It was a nagging, annoying feeling, as though he had just been about to do something very important but forgotten what it was. Or… hadn’t been told yet?

A sudden crash behind him made him flinch, but just barely. 

“CHARLES,” someone roared. A man, very gravelly-voiced and very, very drunk. The ghost was distantly impressed that amidst all that stumbling he was still managing to keep his feet. “CHARLES, it’s me, NATHAN. Where… where the fuck…!” 

His dark green eyes fell on the ghost, who felt the impact as a full body jolt because he hadn’t expected to be seen. Apparently the man, Nathan, hadn’t exactly expected to see him either because he swayed to a stop. With one hand — the other still had a tight grip on a bottle of tequila — Nathan pushed long hair out of his face and squinted uncertainly. 

“Charles. Is that… You’re here?” Nathan looked up at the ceiling as though the broken chandeliers could offer some sort of explanation, then at his feet, then at his bottle, which he took a swig from. That seemed to strengthen his grasp on the situation. “I mean… You. Are here. Good.” He swayed. “I’ve got… There’s… fuckin’ problems.” 

“I see,” the ghost replied, and cleared his throat. “Please, have a seat.” The hand gesture toward the big dust felt perfectly natural, though the ghost hadn’t previously paid much mind to the furniture before that moment. So did walking around the dominating piece of furniture and taking a seat, ignoring, for the moment, that there was a dust cover on the large wingback chair and he sank into it slightly without so much as a crinkle or rustle of fabric. 

Nathan trailed after him. Both of the chairs in front of the desks were on their sides, as though the same impact of whatever had blown the now shuttered windows in had knocked them over as well. He gamely put his bottle down and spent a minute clumsily righting one, then dropped into it with a huff and squinted again. 

“What was I talking about?” 

The ghost folded his hands before him on the dusty wooden surface. “I believe you mentioned having problems.” 

Nathan’s dower expression brightened a fraction as he remembered. “Fuck, yeah…” Then his face fell. “It’s all fucked up. All the… money, and… You… We’re broke.” 

He retrieved his bottle and sipped from it, shoulders slumped and looking older than the ghost thought he should — not that the ghost knew what his age actually was. But there was a dawning familiarity building up in the back of his mind, like a favorite, nearly forgotten tune just in the edge of hearing. 

“It’s hard,” Nathan confided, slumping further towards the desk. “It’s really… hard without you. I don’t know how to do this shit. Press releases and financial… fuckin’… bullshit…” 

Yes, the ghost thought, I remember this. Did he, though? Or had the information just arrived his head? He couldn’t remember. Absently, he adjusted his glasses and rubbed his fingertips against the side of his face, tracing a scar that ran from cheekbone to jaw. 

It didn’t matter. There was a job to do, and he was the best man for it. 

“I’m sure we can sort this out,” Charles said firmly. “Walk me through it.” 

IV. And If You’re Not Prepared

Air slammed into his lungs, accompanied by the sting of pins and needles in… well, everything. 

Charles remembered reading once that many bodily functions — digestion, for example — were quite painful, but the human nervous system was wired to tell the conscious mind to ignore it. For a moment, he felt every cubic inch of his body, and could ignore none of it. 

When the feeling passed and the echoes of his hoarse screams died away, Charles tried to sit up and was gently pushed back down. 

“Be still,” a soothing, age-worn voice told him. “The Gods of the Klok have restored you, but at great cost. It will be some time before you are truly whole again.” 

Charles allowed himself to fall back into the soft bed, secretly relieved. “What happened,” he croaked. 

“They have chosen you to be their champion, and made it so that it has always been so,” the old man told him solemnly. 

He remembered the ocean and broken glass. 

“You are the Dead Man.” 

He remembered talking to something that looked like Nathan, and then remembering who Nathan was after the fact, because… because…

“In time, you will forget that it was any other way.” 

V. Your Soul Will Not Be Spared

Thousands of leagues away, in a dragon-shaped mansion hovering miles above sea level, Nathan Explosion woke with his cheek resting on a puddle of tequila-drool. He lifted his head and immediately regretted it. 

“Dood, wake up!” Pickles was shaking his shoulder. “Don’t know what you’re doin’ in’ere anyway, it’s still a disaster area in this wing…” 

“Wha…?” Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like they were about two sizes to large for his head, and tried to focus on where ‘in here’ was. 

He had been… What had he been doing? 

There had been drinking, obviously. And then he’d wandered around, pacing down up and down the halls until he’d arrived at their manager’s office. 

“I was. Uh. Talking to Charles about… money?” he guessed. As he said it, the memory solidified somewhat in his head. “Yeah. Money.” 

Pickles’ stopped shaking his arm and frowned. “Nat’n, that’s impossible. Ofdensen’s d… He hamburger timed. Remember?” 

“But I…” Nathan froze halfway towards wiping the gross spit off his face. He’d just gotten so used to Charles being there all those years that he’d stormed in blind drunk and… passed out and dreamed the whole thing, apparently, because the man was dead. They’d had a funeral pyre and everything; there was no way what he remembered could have actually happened. 

Unless it was a ghost, Nathan thought despondently. But what were the chances of that? 

While he was still mulling that over, Pickles sighed and shook his head. “Dood, ya really gotta lay off the tequila. Now c’mon, this place ain’t gonna remodel itself. I think I’ve almost got the hang of that circular saw thing…”

#metalocalypse #godklok #charles foster offdensen #nathan explosion #my fic #my fanfiction #my fanfic

[mystarsforanempire]

excerpt from the chains we break for @firstofsakaar

“Oh, Apollo,” chides Dionysus, and Steve feels one of his hands against his shoulder as he looks over the bench Steve is sitting on, looking at his brother. Dionysus’ hand is broad and calloused all over, worked hard working on grapevines. “It’s so early – are you really going to sing for us already?”

“No,” Apollo says. “Loki is.” Steve glances up to Dionysus, whose eyes are wide with surprise, his wine-stained lips parted, and as Loki slides to sit beside Apollo, gently taking the lyre in his lap, he leans in.

“Is he serious?” Dionysus asks quietly. “Can he— Can Loki sing?”

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“He’s never sung before.”

“He has,” Steve says. “He’s good.” Dionysus hops over the bench and sits next to Steve, frowning at him. His dark brows are furrowed, and he examines Steve with obvious curiosity, his hands loosely between his thighs.

“You, you’re… Ooh, you’re something.” He gestures to Steve’s hand. “May I?” Steve hesitates, but then he offers it, and Dionysus takes it in his own, turning it over so that he can examine Steve’s palm. Smiling, he drags one finger up the length of Steve’s palm, through the centre. “You know what this line is called? You know palmistry?”

“No,” Steve says. Hasn’t he had enough of divination from Apollo? But— Dionysus isn’t a figure of divining, even. What does he know about it?

“It’s common not to have a line here at all – this is the fate line. Fate lines, in your case – you’ve got two.” He taps the base of the two lines that run through the centre of his palm, and then he smiles, dazzlingly bright. He has tattoos all over the brawny flesh of his arms, depicting slowly shifting grape leaves that seem to move on his skin, like they’re being shifted by some invisible wind. “But you know something really interesting?”

“What?”

“You’re growing a third one.” Steve stares down at his hand, and he looks at the two parallel creases in his palm, at the way they drag over the skin there. Frowning, he looks from his palm to Dionysus, who is grinning. “Just kidding,” he says sweetly, and he releases Steve’s hand. There’s something frozen in Dionysus’ deep eyes, just for a moment, and then it fades away, replaced by apparent warmth.

Loki is sitting with the lyre neatly upon his lap, allowing it to rest in toward his shoulder. When they’d been travelling a few weeks back, with Hel – on Rigel IV, maybe – Loki had played a harp one night, playing a long and mournful melody before giving the harp over to Hel. She’d played a wonderful tune, all interlocking melodies and harmonies…

The lyre is so much smaller. Loki’s slender fingers look good against the gold-painted wood and the fine, golden strings, and he looks… At ease. Steve smiles to see him so relaxed, even as people turn to look at him, scrutiny landing on his features. He can hear people murmuring in surprise, a few people expressing uncertainty that Loki even knows how to play, but then Loki’s hands are moving slow upon the strings, and music fills the air, sweet and slow and full of easy melody.

The circle of bare floor in front of Loki, around which the benches are arranged in a rough semi-circle, is suddenly bathed in light, and Steve’s mouth falls open as the illusion forms in the air. It’s beautiful, a garden of thick, luscious green, flowers blooming from bushes and trees and vines heavy with fruit, and Steve can even smell it – smell the flowers on the air, smell the pollen that tickles his nose.

All eyes go to Loki, and he smiles as he begins to sing. His voice is low and soft, but there’s a richness to it, a deepness that comes from low in his chest and rings with resonance throughout the room, and Steve can feel his breath catch in his throat.

“Heavy and hard is the heart of the king, King of iron, king of steel, The heart of a king who loves everything Like the hammer loves the nail…”

There is a figure in the middle of the garden, tall and dark in colour –the garden is made up of magic-vibrant greens and bright colours, yellows and whites and pinks, but he is made in deep, dark grey, his himation brushing against the ground. Where it touches the illusion’s floor, it leaves a trail of dead grass, and Steve hears Dionysus sigh softly beside him, reaching out and running his fingers through the seiðr gathered on the air, and it sticks to his fingers.

“But the heart of a man is a simple one Small and soft, flesh and blood And all that it loves is a woman A woman is all that it loves

And Hades is king of the scythe and the sword He covers the world in the colour of rust He scrapes the sky and scars the earth And he comes down heavy and hard on us…”

The illusion-Hades is staring, his black eyes focused on a figure of Persephone that blooms into being, golden-skinned and smiling where she cups flowers in her hands, and where she moves over the grass, in parody of Hades’ step, flowers bloom. It’s beautiful, the way the illusion forms, the vision of it swimming slightly before Steve’s vision, and he glances around the room. Zeus and Hera are standing together, Hera leaning against Zeus’ side as she watches the beautiful shift of the illusion on the air; Aristaeus and Asclepius stand together, their children standing about them and watching with them; Hermes has a sour expression on his face…

Apollo’s eyes are on Loki. He looks right past the illusion, and his gaze settles on Loki’s face, occasionally flitting down to his hands. It’s a strange focus, unnaturally concentrated, and Steve feels the godliness in his stance and in the shape of his eyes, even from across the room.

The strong, thin line of Hades’ lips shifts, and they part in genuine awe.

“But even that hardest of hearts unhardened Suddenly, when he saw her there Persephone in her mother’s garden The sun on her shoulders, the wind in her hair…”

The real Persephone is enchanted, standing just inches away from her magical double, and Steven can see how young Persephone is in the illusion – she looks like she’s into her mid to late twenties, her skin unlined, and she looks at the flowers she reaches for as if they’re the most precious things she’s ever seen.

“The smell of the flowers she held in her hand And the pollen that fell from her fingertips—”

Steve’s mouth drops open at the way the pollen drips in golden dust from the dream-Persephone’s artful fingers, and he realises that Plouton has come inside. He stands in the doorway of the Pantheon Hall, his mouth ajar. There is such feeling in Loki’s voice, such warmth and sweet love, and Steve can feel the pound of his heart in his chest, his mouth dry, to hear Loki sing with so much feeling.

“And suddenly Hades was only a man With the taste of nectar upon his lips Singing la la la la la la la—”

Loki nods to Apollo, and he sings back the response, his voice lilting and ethereal, the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever heard, and Steve watches Apollo’s uncertain smile as he and Loki sing back and forth to one another, until they trail off into harmony, then silence.

Nobody claps.

Everyone stares at Loki as the illusion fades into seiðr-thick dust, and after a few seconds of the staring, Loki’s confident, easy smile falters. He shifts the lyre on his knee, a little anxiety creeping into his expression, and Steve can see the apple of his throat bob under the skin.

“Could you always play?” demands a young woman with deep brown eyes and a cascade of dark hair (“Hedone,” Loki explains later, “She’s a daughter of Eros – from her comes the concept of hedonism.”), and she is effortlessly beautiful, constellations of freckles forming on the golden brown of her skin. “Could you always play, just like that, and the— The illusions too?” Loki nods. “You monster,” she says. “You have deprived us all.” It is said so frankly that for a second, Steve can see Loki’s face fall even further, but then he sees the shift, the understanding, the way his lips quirk slow into a smile—

And the spell is broken.

Apollo is laughing as he drags Loki into his lap, grabbing at his hip and cupping his jaw and pressing a kiss onto his chin; people are noticing that Plouton – after how long, how many millennia? – is inside the Pantheon Hall, standing behind Persephone with his hands around her waist; people are laughing together, talking, and it’s more than affection for Loki now. There’s something else. Respect, maybe, or something bigger than that, even.

Steve glances to Dionysus, who has tears in his eyes, and he puts his hand on Dionysus’ shoulder. Dionysus laughs shakily, and he reaches up, dabbing at his eyes with two broad, strong fingers, exhaling. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Dionysus asks him, and it isn’t a challenge, isn’t a declaration of something – Steve can’t quite get the rhythm of it, but the gods are different with each other than they would be with mortals. They’re not just people, they’re forces of nature, all existing together at once… It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees softly. “He is.”

#t; ooc #don't read this it's so gay #unless ur ren #ren deserves the gay #she has earned it #the song is epic iii from hadestown and if u don't know it..... u should go forth and listen bc it's so fkn good

[withinthescripts]

Season 2 Cassette 2: Ulster Museum (1973)

[tape recorder turns on]

Welcome to the Ulster Museum in Belfast. I’m the director of collections, Mary Breathnach. As we enter the new decade of the 1970’s, we face many changes to the art world. Many national borders have fallen away, our world joining together in economic and political unity, but as history changes before our eyes, so does it stay the same.

The Ulster Museum, part of the collected museums of Western Europa, is proud to present “Red Love – the Passion of Claudia Atieno”, sponsored by the Harmon Family Trust. These are Atieno’s most popular works, many from the mid-1960’s when her career was at its height. “Sunshine Afternoon”, “Still Life with Tomato Plant and Sword”, and even a recently discovered repainting of “Still Life with Cat”. It’s been some months since anyone has seen Atieno. Some have even claimed her absence is sinister, that she is missing, that she may even be dead, a long and brilliant career possibly cut short at its peak. While we feel it’s best to refrain from sensationalist speculation, we are also loath to promise more art, when we cannot be sure there is more to come.

Thank you for choosing to take our audio cassette tour. Your audio guide today will be Roimata Mangakāhia, herself an esteemed artist and friend to Atieno. The audio tour begins at the south entrance of art gallery 3. The tour follows a counter-clockwise pattern around the exhibit. Each piece with an accompanying audio lecture will be noted with a blue star on the numbered title card, and there will be at one on the recording to indicate where you might pause the cassette before moving on to the next work.

Please enjoy your visit to Ulster Museum and the exhibit “Red Love”.

[bell chimes]

Painting 101: “Still Life with Tomato Plant and Sword”, by Claudia Atieno, oil on canvas, 1962.

It is one of her most discussed and debated works, and it’s one of the collection of paintings that shifted her career from successful artist to celebrity. As much a celebrity as a painter can be while still alive, of course. The painting sold at Sotheby’s in 1969 for nearly one million pounds, and is on loan to this exhibit.

Many critics admire the gentle and crafty hand at work here. Notice the thin strokes of orange and pink, creating the sunny glare on the tomato. Atiano nearly exposes the texture of the canvas with such thin passes of the brush. It looks almost like watercolors, rather than oil, and it is shallower than the rest of her painting.

Lean closely to the left side to see this remarkable detail. What is exposed? What is vulnerable?

You’ll notice that the titular sword is not visible here. But just past the trellis in the tomato plant you can see a nearly empty garden. The grass is mangy and uneven. But what appears is a large blotch of unusable dirt is actually a mound. The sword of this work’s title has been buried in the garden.

This painting premiered at the Berkshire Museum where Atieno was living at the time, as a resident artist in the former United States. Atieno’s home now is in Cornwall. It’s a large house somewhere along the road to disrepair. Sitting alone on an island, some distance from the mainland.

My first few visits to Cornwall, Claudia and I had tea at a café called Joyeuse, named for Charlemange’s sword. We were served sandwiches and scones and in the back, there was a small garden with sparse grass, and a small, insipid vegetable plot. The tomato plant was the only thing that grew well there, but often the squirrels stole them just as they reached maturity. The owner of Joyeuse, a petite-figured man named Jennifer, who wore square-rimmed glasses and wool leggings, hung his handmade replica of the eponymous sword just above the doorway to the garden area in the back. He had used a wood base and aluminium veneer. It was pulled slightly from the sheath which was emblazened with large jewels that hardly seemed real at all, but were stunning and smart in their own right.

In this painting, look closely at the upturned soil in the garden. Imagine Charlemange’s sword! [whispering] Imagine it now buried in the garden in this painting. Examine the uninspired tomato vines, their drooping and bare stalks fully revealed. But impossibly beautiful in Atieno’s rendition. How will you be remembered?

Atieno does not expect viewers to know about the now defunct Joyeuse café in Cornwall in Western  Europa, but she certainly expects viewers to understand that if the title says there is a sword in the painting, then there. is. a sword in the painting, and it is your job to find it.

The garden at Joyeuse and even the sword to which it refers were clear influences on Atieno’s seminal masterpiece, and the longer I have looked at this painting, the more I wonder if the sword -is- buried in the ground, an underlined tribute to our post-reckoning international order of peace or perhaps – knowing Atieno’s wry sense of humor and love of subtle symbolic critiques, perhaps the sword has been dug up.

Look closely at the mound of dirt. The arch of the bound could suggest a burial of weaponry. But in the oblong black patch toward the top, I see the suggestion of a hole rather than a heap. The sword. is. missing. And Atieno does not know where it is. Perhaps the viewer themselves holds it?

Do you? Do you hold the sword?

[bell chimes]

Painting 102: “Marketplace Summer Afternoon”, 1965.

A painting of a crowded food market. Notice the almost boneless limbs on the merchants. The apple cart vendor in the lower right has an arced elbow that never quite reaches a point, her knees are nearly S-shaped. You can see the ocean over the tents in the background. Many books refer to this scene as St Ives. This is likely Plymouth.

I recognize that view from my brief time living near there. But perhaps I’m wrong. This is why we make art, to help us remember more beautifully, not more clearly.

[bell chimes]

Painting 103: “Stapler”, 1968.  

It is a painting of a black Swingline stapler on a black background. The audacity of this painting irritated many older artists, as it looks like a poorly lit photo in an office supply catalog.

Look closely at the black of the stapler and the black of the background. Is all darkness the same? How absent is light, in the absence of light?

Atieno on the surface is displaying her technical skills. It is photographic quality in every way. It looks – like almost an advertisement here on the Ulster Museum wall. Perhaps Atieno was making a commentary on the commentary of the pop art movement. But most likely she’s simply showing off her technique. She was quite prolific in her art, and they’re all good works, as you can see here in Belfast. But in her mind, mastery of form was mastery of art. But in my mind, an artist can always do more.

In Cornwall, there were cliffs overlooking the sea. At high tide, I would take off my clothes and dive the ten meters’ drop. I encouraged Claudia to dive with me, but she couldn’t do it. These beautiful cliffs, along an endless cool sea, a scene she could paint and did, but not one she could truly explore. For fear of what? Not heights. She did not flinch at bending over the ledge. Not water, either; she swam regularly, when she could walk down to the shore.

I always wanted her to jump, to plunge. To risk pain or embarrassment, to feel bodily the glory of this rare nature. To paint something truly epic, busy, tall, complex, masterful. To make more astonishing what was already astonishing. To freefall into the vastness that contains both wilderness and tranquility.

But when eyes were on Claudia, she demurred. She believed in frightful conspiracies and intimidated power brokers of the new society. But when the world looked at her for commentary, she sometimes just wanted to paint staplers.

There’s been so much talk about Atieno recently, so much speculation. People say she’s disappeared. [scoffs] This seems ridiculous to me. Artists are reclusive sometimes. We need to be, the world is our inspiration, sure, but also our most dangerous distraction. It is more likely her so-called disappearance is not a disappearance at all but an absence, a hiatus, a time spent away from the pressures of celebrity, to rethink her artistry.

Look closely at the Swingline logo in the painting. What does it mean to be convinced to buy something?

[bell chimes] [tape recorder turns off] [ads] [tape recorder turns on]

Painting 104: “Fingers together”, 1967.

Atieno here has painted a self-portrait of sorts with her sometimes partner Pavel Zubov, a lesser known sculptor she had met in 1965 in St Petersburg. The painting shows two sets of fingers intertwined. The simple contrast in skin tones and the smooth lines of each knuckle create a crosshatch pattern that strikes the eye even from 50 meters away.

Look at the fingers. Can you tell which fingers are the woman’s and which are the man’s? In your mind – what signifies a male finger versus a female finger? Are race and skin color connected?

In Pavel’s skin you can see subtle indications of veins, the pulse one can feel in physical contact with another. Notice the soft brushwork, creating an almost gauzy effect. The natural inclination is to assume gentle love, young love even, giving the plump smoothness of each finger. Although given this was 1967, Atieno might be giving herself too much credit to paint herself with such supple skin. I would also caution you not to be accept too much naïve love in this painting. This work is a popular poster to be hung in university dormatories. Its brash idealism is hiding something harsher.

Look closely at Atieno’s nails. Short, chewed down, an indication of stress. Zubov’s are keenly manicured, almost sharpened. His little finger is out of view. Some writers have suggested that she deliberately did not paint it as a symbol of the child they lost only two months before birth. At best, that is a weak symbolic gesture for the immense tragedy of a miscarried child. [angrily] At worst, it is a lie conceived by hack writers trying to sell papers, as Atieno never carried Zubov’s child. The little finger is not missing. It is hidden from view at this angle, a symbol yes, but of Zubov’s opacity in love. He had many partners.

This should have been fine, their relationship was polyamorous, as were all of Atieno’s relationships. But even with permission, Zubov felt the need to conceal. He convinced each lover that was monogamous, hiding each from each.

I lived with Claudia for a time. It is large, that house. And often full of people, Claudia obviously and Zubov most of the time. They were passionate. Sometimes both naked in front of me, sometimes leaving their bedroom door open. I admired their free spirit, their ability to confront each other with ideas and personal jabs and even great gulping kisses. It was clear that others who lived in the house from time to time were unused to this passionate couple. In that house, the borders between friendship and otherwise were blurred. I can personally attest to this. Lack of transparency to Atieno was equal to deception. If you did not say how you felt to her, whether it was about her art, herself, someone else, or even what kind of tea you would like that afternoon, she believed you to be hiding something. She likewise would be completely honest with you. And as Zubov never brought any other sexual partners to the he house as Atieno did, she suspected he was hiding something. And she was right.

Look again at the intertwining fingers in the painting. Is Atieno being completely honest with you? Are you being honest with anyone?

[bell chimes]

Painting 105: “Sunshine Afternoon”, 1968.

One of Atieno’s lesser known works, Zubov found it in his basement two years ago. It is a painting of sunlight slicing through grey clouds over what is presumably the Celtic Sea. The water in this picture is choppy. Look – at - the choppy water.

[bell chimes]

Painting 106: “Self-Portrait with Cat”, 1972, unfinished.

This painting was recently discovered by Zubov in his home. Atieno already had a painting called “Self-Portrait with Cat”, despite claiming never to have had a cat. I asked her about this painting once or twice, and she was completely unwilling to discuss it. I got the sense she simply did not like this work, but yet here is another version of the same picture. In what you can see of her face, she’s making the same facial expression as in the original: a wry smile, her eyes fixated to something distant, but her face is older, as is the cat’s. Its eyes and neck sagging. The light coming in the window is orange. A sunset.

Look closely at her eyes. Are those the eyes of a woman holding a cat she does not own? Whose cat is it? Look at where the brush strokes end in this unfinished work.

Why would she paint this painting again?

Zubov eventually admitted to having four other lovers, but he refused to tell any of them about the others. He only told Atieno because, as he said, he loved her more. He added, “I would leave them for you, Claudia. I would leave them for you.” But she threw a salad fork at him. And she said she couldn’t love him back, if he did not love the  rest of the world as equals. While I believe this sentiment is suffocatingly idealistic, I understood that Atieno saw Zubov’s deception as a lack of respect for himself and the other men and women he was seeing. He priced comfort over truth, and Atieno could not abide that.

Over the few years I knew Claudia, we grew close. Which is to say we were with each other often, and intensely. Claudia fought and argued with me. She sometimes called me names, but as long as I said how I felt, we could work through our disagreements and convince each other of [whispering] almost anything. We talked of her ending her relationship with Pavel. Sometimes she threw things. Sometimes I couldn’t speak for fear of crying in front of her. Eventually it was thought that Pavel should not come back, our conversations were so full of passion, honesty, intimacy. [chuckles] I still wonder who thought this thought first.

Perhaps it was Claudia’s idea, all along.

She ordered Pavel to leave, and he returned. She ordered him to leave again, and he returned, although later than before. After the third command to leave her alone, he seemed not to return at all. But every so often Claudia would receive parcels with no return address. These boxes would contain a single piece of an animal: a tooth from a fox, or large rodent. An ear cut off a rabbit. And one time a field mouse, cut in half at the torso, and all of its blood drained. I urged Claudia to call authorities, but she said Pavel always sent her studies of new sculptures he was working on.

Atieno began this redux painting “Self-Portrait with Cat”, featuring Atieno in her wicker chair on her enclosed patio, the cliffs below her. On her lap, the calico cat. Behind Atieno in the self-portrait along the cliffs, there is a small figure near the ledge. As she did not finish this painting, it’s difficult to say her intention with this rough blotch. Most assume it is a tree, but I have been in that home many days, and there is no tree there. It is a human, or at least a man. I do not know who the man is or what he wants or intends.

This painting is unfinished because Atieno disappeared. Rather, she left her Cornwall home without taking it with her, and left no forwarding address.

[whispering] I do not think she has disappeared. I don’t think she’s done anything so dramatic.

Claudia was last seen at her home in Cornwall in October 1972. Pavel arrived while Claudia was at the market. I answered the door. Pavel and I nodded at each other, but otherwise did not communicate. I left that afternoon to give a lecture at the rebuilt Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, and I-I’ve not seen Claudia since.

I don’t want to imply Pavel in her disappearance, nor give into suspicions that she is dead. I think, or hope, or some word like that, some word like that, that she’s back home near (Dedoma), or in a commune in Halifax or perhaps in another cottage by the sea, wanting us to wait for her next work. Something the profilic artist rarely required of us. [wistfully] Wanting to challenge and provoke and amaze us.

I think that. I hope that. I something something that. [tape recorder turns off]

Within the Wires is written by Jeffrey Cranor and Janina Matthewson and performed by Rima Te Wiata, with original music by Mary Epworth. Find more of Mary’s music at maryepworth.com. The voice of Mary Breathnach was Sarah Maria Griffin.

And please rate and review Within the Wires on Appel podcasts and tell your friends about our immersive little show. Also you can get Within the Wires T-shirts and posters at withinthewires.com Within the Wires is a production of Night Vale Presents. Check out our other podcasts, like Welcome to Night Vale and Alice Isn’t Dead and The Orbiting Human Cirucs of the Air and Convesatioins with People who Hate Me, and coming this month, a brand new podcast from Joseph Fink and John Darnielle called I Only Listen to the Mountain Goats, and a brand new fiction podcast called It Makes a Sound.

OK, our time is done. It’s you time now. Time to stop by the museum gift shop. Grab yourself a souvenir book of paintings about potato canons. Pick up a poster featuring a vulture in a tuxedo. And buy a commemorative vase made out of baby back ribs.

#within the wires #season 2 #season 2 cassette 2 #ulster museum #sorry for being tardy

[sassiperere]

Sex Tape

Title: Sex Tape Pairing: Akira Kurusu/Ryuji Sakamoto Rating: M (implied sexual content) Word Count: 3712 Summary: futaba gets a hold of some compromising information and it all goes downhill from there (chatfic)

Fucking i dont even REMEMBER how we got to this conversation in the pegoryu discord server BUT WE DID and we semi rpd this whole thing at 11pm all the way through midnight and i was writing this thing based on that conversation at like 2 am so im actually very embarrassed but anyway enjoy this fucking chaos of a fanfic

READ IT ON AO3

GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

MEMBERS: Capable Leader™, -` RYUJI ´-, ANN~, Yusuke K., Makoto, [hacker voice].

TODAY 00:47 AM

[hacker voice]: Gee, futaba, what do you do with all your amazing hacking skills?

[hacker voice]: I leak government secrets, destroy anonymous organizations and hack into my old neopets account because I forgot the password and I wanted to feel nostalgic

Makoto: What’s that?

[hacker voice]: children’s website. You had to adopt a “neopet” and raise it kinda like a Tamagotchi. It had some really fun features like games and events and shit. It really kept me entertained when I was younger

[hacker voice]: comfort site, if you will.

Makoto: Sounds nice!

Capable Leader™: you played that? I thought it was really boring when I tried

[hacker voice]: with all due respect wtf is wrong with you?

Capable Leader™: I dunno, all the neopets looked kinda ugly…

[hacker voice]: you have a dick with tentacles as a persona and you’re calling neopets ugly????

Capable Leader™: I never said Mara was pretty

[hacker voice]: point taken

[hacker voice]: but like my point is

[hacker voice]: kacheeks

Capable Leader™: They were kinda cute but I abandoned one for a soy sauce or whatever was that dragon one

[hacker voice]: that’s it

[hacker voice]: that’s where I draw the line

[hacker voice]: you’re dead to me

[hacker voice]: I’m leaking your nudes

Capable Leader™: WTF?? HOW DO YOU HAVE THEM?? I DON’T EVEN HIDE THEM IN MY PHONE ANYMORE??

[hacker voice]: oh my god you actually have nudes?

Capable Leader™: oh…

Capable Leader™: woops…

ANN~: knew it

ANN~: @ -` RYUJI ´- pay the fuck up

-` RYUJI ´-: wtf? WTF??? WTF AKIRA???

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE NUDES??

-` RYUJI ´-: ARE THEY YOURS OR LIKE NUDES YOU RECEIVED?

Capable Leader™: Listen

[hacker voice]: update I got them

Capable Leader™: do you really?

[hacker voice]: four of them were taken on the same day cause your nails were painted black and the other two are from a different angle and your underwear has paw prints on it

Capable Leader™: fuck.

-` RYUJI ´-: FOR REAL??

Makoto: Excuse me what kind of nonsense is going on right now?

[hacker voice]: I hacked into Akira’s PC and got his super secret dick pix

Makoto: I expected better from both of you

ANN~: Guys I’m heer im just slaughging so hard I cant se

-` RYUJI ´-: WHY DO YOU HAVE THESE?? WHO ARE YOU SENDING THEM TO??

Capable Leader™: does it matter who I send my genitals to?

-` RYUJI ´-: UH YEAH?? I CAN’T BE THE ONLY ONE WORRIED ABOUT THIS CAN I??

Yusuke K.: What seems to be the matter?

-` RYUJI ´-: AKIRAS BEEN SENDING NUDES TO STRANGERS AND FUTABA GOT THEM

Yusuke K.: Akira I did not know you had nude portraits of yourself

Yusuke K.: You should have informed me. I would gladly appraise them.

Yusuke K.: I would love to paint you too, if you so desire. I’m sure your form is marvelous to capture on canvas.

-` RYUJI ´-: dude…

ANN~: I FEEL BAD THAT IM LAUGHING

Makoto: @Yusuke K. it’s really not what you think…

[hacker voice]: ryuji are you

[hacker voice]: jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeealous?

 PRIVATE MESSAGE: the blonde fuckboy one

the blonde fuckboy one: yo futaba

the blonde fuckboy one: do you actually for real have akiras dick there?

You: YOU ARE I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS

the blonde fuckboy one: stfu

You: yeah I do have akira’s nudes for real, here I’ll send you a sneaky preview as proof

You sent AKIRA_NUDE_1_CENSOR.jpeg

the blonde fuckboy one: oh my god

You: interested in the full, uncensored ver? For a mere fee of 400y you can have it

the blonde fuckboy one: no wtf im not gonna do that to my bro akira

the blonde fuckboy one: but how big is he

You: im speechless

the blonde fuckboy one: is he bigger than me?

You: dunno need material to compare

the blonde fuckboy one: ok

the blonde fuckboy one: wait

the blonde fuckboy one: youre gonna threaten to leak mine too fuck you

You: worth a shot

 PRIVATE MESSAGE: Emo Bob Ross

Emo Bob Ross: Hello, Futaba, I am interested in Akira’s nude portraits. Are you perhaps offering them?

Emo Bob Ross: Ryuji did say Akira was sending them off to strangers so I would imagine he has no quarrel with me evaluating it.

Emo Bob Ross: Should I pick them up at Leblanc?

You: I don’t even know where to start

Emo Bob Ross: Any of them would be fine. It would be difficult to take multiple ones to the dorms regardless.

You: I feel bad now

Emo Bob Ross: ?

You: yusuke… you should go to bed…

You: you’re typing a lot please don’t make this into an art rant thing

Emo Bob Ross: Futaba must I explain once again that nude portraits have no perverted undertones and are about the portrayal of the human being stripped of all it’s factors back down to it’s core, thus revealing it’s innermost self? The true self. The self an artist so desperately seeks to represent and very few up to this date have been successful. My eternal search for the perfect and realest form has me in need of diverse- both physically and spiritually – models that are willing to bare their very souls to me. I am not looking at this experience as a lustful, carnal desire. I would never dare take advantage of someone who has been brave enough to let me gaze upon their being so intimately for the sake of art. We have been through this. I have been through this with several people, in actuality, I’m starting to get a little tired of explaining this over and over again but for the sake of deconstruction of societal standards that block my advancement in the unexplored road to artistic perfection I will gladly do so.

You: holy shit

You: im sorry yusuke but its 1 am im just skimming through this

You: the thing is not that I doubt your passion to your study of the arts

You: the thing is that what I have… is not art…

Emo Bob Ross: I’ll be the judge of that

Emo Bob Ross: Not to offend you but I have a trained eye

You: you know what

You: do you have 400y? For that much you can have the digital copy. Physical copy is gonna be at least 600 depending on the material

Emo Bob Ross: I’m low on cash but I’ll keep you in mind if I manage to rake in the money.

 GROUP NAME: ✨ PHANTOM THIEVES ✨

[hacker voice]: @Capable Leader™ lets make a deal

[hacker voice]: give me a copy of every nude you make willingly and I wont leak these

Capable Leader™: why tf would I do that

[hacker voice]: cause your dick is magical and I’ll split the spoils 20/80

Makoto: Stop this at once. There’s no way this deal is good news. Akira knows this.

Capable Leader™: I demand at LEAST 50/50

Makoto: AKIRA

[hacker voice]: I deserve more?? I’m doing ALL the work?

Capable Leader™: It’s MY dick??

-` RYUJI ´-: he’s right tho… the dick is like 90% of a man’s identity…

ANN~: Whats the other 10%?

-` RYUJI ´-: the balls

ANN~: I’m sorry I asked

[hacker voice] 40/60 is the MAX im willing to go and that’s me being GENEROUS because I recognize you have magic juju dick pix that already fished in two possible buyers

[hacker voice]: and also youre my friend and I love you

-` RYUJI ´-: I never said I’d buy it???

[hacker voice]: sigh

Capable Leader™: Ryuji…

-` RYUJI ´-: UH

Capable Leader™: Bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: I MEAN

Capable Leader™: If you wanted my nudes…

-` RYUJI ´-: I ALSO ENVER SAID I ASKED FUTABA FOR THEM DON’T GET THE WRONG IDEA

Capable Leader™: You just had to ask…

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WERE BIGGER THAN ME THAT’S A MAN THING

-` RYUJI ´-: wait really

ANN~: omfg

Makoto: I feel like this conversation is about to get very intimate

Yusuke K.: I would like to request permission to ask for your nudes as well, Akira

Capable Leader™: oh

Capable Leader™: well that’s a surprising turn of events

Yusuke K.: I fail to see how that surprises you considering you know how I am a fan of the erotica genre and it’s artistic disposition to strip a human bare to it’s very core.

-` RYUJI ´-: no dude…

-` RYUJI ´-: like this is not the nude art thing you keep talking about...

-` RYUJI ´-: this is like

Capable Leader™: (implying I’m not art)

[hacker voice]: touché

-` RYUJI ´-: a dick pic

-` RYUJI ´-: like its just a picture of his dick taken with his phone camera that’s it

Yusuke K.: Well, anything can be art! Art is subjective! I would like to evaluate the photograph!

-` RYUJI ´-: LISTEN MAN, AKIRA DIDN’T TAKE THAT PICTURE TO BE ARTSY, TRUST ME.

Makoto: Yusuke I strongly advise against this

Makoto: If anyone online offers to send you “a nude” please do not accept it…

Yusuke K.: It does intrigue me why anyone would simply want a picture of someone else’s genitalia when you could get the full view…

Makoto: remain intrigued

Makoto: not everything in life needs to be understood

Capable Leader™: Hey Futaba, I accept payment in Ryuji’s nudes as well

[hacker voice]: the contract has been sealed

-` RYUJI ´-: WTF AKIRA

-` RYUJI ´-: I DIDN’T CONSENT TO THIS

Capable Leader™: Come on, Ryuji… my bro…

Capable Leader™: This is just a bro thing…

Capable Leader™: Whomst amongst us never seen their best bro’s dick?

Capable Leader™: You’re my best bro, Ryuji… I wanna get to know every part of you…

Makoto: this is a public chat

[hacker voice]: gross

Capable Leader™: The very deep and intimate connection between two bros is nothing to hide, Makoto…

ANN~: You should hang out and deepen your bond

[hacker voice]: don’t think I don’t know what youre doing ann, that’s cheating

ANN~: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: If you wanted MY nudes bro…

-` RYUJI ´-: you could have just asked, bro….

Makoto: I can’t believe this is a thing that is happening right now

ANN~: ive turned off the TV this group chat is too lit for me to take my eyes off it

Makoto: it’s 2 am we should prepare to bed

Capable Leader™: [MESSAGE DELETED]

[hacker voice]: FUCK

ANN~: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS IM RAKING IT IN TONIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

ANN~: WAIT WHAT

Capable Leader™: what? I didn’t delete that?

ANN~: FUTABA THATS CHEATING!!

[hacker voice]: YOU CHEATED FIRST! YOU INSTIGATED HIM!

ANN~: I INSTIGATED THE IDEA BUT NOT WHO WOULD BE SAYING IT???

[hacker voice]: HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ANN~: SAY IT AGAIN AKIRA

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´- come over

[hacker voice]: I hate that im partially to blame for this

-` RYUJI ´-: woah akira

ANN~: no bitch no matter how this conversation went it would end the same way cause im ALWAYS RIGHT

ANN~: I’m making it rain Monday morning. I’m taking Shiho to that fancy cake place she wanted to go.

-` RYUJI ´-: isn’t it kinda late for that??

Capable Leader™: I’m alone and Boss doesn’t open shop tomorrow

Capable Leader™: I can show you the goods myself

Capable Leader™: You know?

-` RYUJI ´-: SDSDMX,X CM SALÇ DAÇSD

-` RYUJI ´-: DID YOUJUST BOOTY CALL ME??

Capable Leader™ sent MAYBESO.gif

-` RYUJI ´-: BRO

Makoto: Gross innuendos publicly aside: finally

Makoto: It was getting frustrating seeing you two obviously pinning on each other

[hacker voice]: and don’t even talk about the baton passes…

Capable Leader™: I mean he hasn’t accepted yet…

ANN~: oh he will

ANN~: he better

-` RYUJI ´-: why should you decide

ANN~: cause as your best friend I know whats best for you and I know for a damn fact you will not get a better score than akira

-` RYUJI ´-: thanks I love you too

ANN~: FUCKING LOOK AT HIM! HE’S OFFERING HIMSELF ON A SILVER PLATTER!

-` RYUJI ´-: THIS IS REALLY AWKWARD FOR ME MAN…

ANN~: don’t embarrass yourself in front of your crush like that

Capable Leader™: I like when they get shy

ANN~: oh my god youre such a slut

Capable Leader™: ;)

-` RYUJI ´-: bro…

ANN~: WHAT ARE YOU DOING STILL IN THE CHATROOM GO ANSWER THE GOD DAMNED BOOTY CALL ALREADY

-` RYUJI ´-: IM REALLY NERVOUS OK

ANN~: RYUJI YOU USELESS BISEXUAL

-` RYUJI ´-: GDI

Capable Leader™: you don’t have to come for real it was just a joke

ANN~:  wait really?

Capable Leader™: @ -` RYUJI ´-

Capable Leader™: wait is he actually coming??

[hacker voice]: yeah he left 5 mins I traced his phone rn

Capable Leader™: oh fuck…..

ANN~: was it actually a joke??

Capable Leader™: No I just didn’t think I’d actually get this far??

ANN~: YOURE BOTH USELESS BISEXUALS AND I HATE YOU

Yusuke K.: Akira may I join you both? If you’re willing to model for me I will certainly not pass on this opportunity

Makoto: Please don’t.

Capable Leader™: oh my god yusuke

Capable Leader™: not today

Capable Leader™: maybe some other day

Capable Leader™: wink wink

Yusuke K.: I understand. Take all the time you need but please consider my request.

[hacker voice]: I can’t believe Ryuji’s about to get the succ

[hacker voice]: according to my gps ryuji should already be at leblanc??

Capable Leader™: oh he’s here alright. Just nervously prancing in front of my front door.

Capable Leader™: I haven’t called to him yet, let a man be ready

Capable Leader™: (I also don’t know if im fully ready so…)

ANN~: oh grl you got this

ANN~: you’ve been training all your life for this

ANN~: besides its not like hes gonna know the difference between a good bj and a bad bj lol

Capable Leader™: youre right

Capable Leader™: but I also you know, care about him a lot

Capable Leader™: I wanna make this a good experience cause I care about ryuji a lot… like in a very gay way…

ANN~: Aww!! :)

Makoto: I want to take no part in this conversation but that was adorable

ANN~: srsly im talking to ryuji rn on private and hes freaking out cause of the same thing

ANN~: wants it to be really good to you bc he loves you sm and youre so hot and hes already semi just thinking abt you

Capable Leader™: I’m flattered

ANN~: he’s super overwhelmed cause its his first time and with a boy he loves so like admsadsa damn ryuji youre so cute

ANN~: almost makes my cold blooded bitch heart feel something

Capable Leader™: I’ll give him all the time he needs!

ANN~: you should really open the door for him and at least put him inside cause its cold and there was a robbery in your street earlier this week

ANN~: and you know ryuji hell stubbornly stand in front of that store until the sun comes up if hes wallowing in nerves

Capable Leader™: youre right…

Capable Leader™: im gonna go do that…

Capable Leader™: @[hacker voice] if you have any cameras in my room turn them off!

[hacker voice]: for how much?

Capable Leader™: FUTABA, PLEASE.

[hacker voice]: calm down theyre already off. Havent been on since we became friends.

[hacker voice]: just thought youd like to have your fond memories engraved on tape for your enjoyment…

Capable Leader™: …

Capable Leader™: that’s… tempting

Makoto: are you out of your mind??

ANN~: YOU’RE SUCH A SLUT, AKIRA

Makoto: God, you’re hopeless. At least talk it over with Ryuji first.

Capable Leader™: I just did. He’s cool with it.

Makoto: Somehow I feel like this is an oversimplification of the conversation.

Capable Leader™ changed his username to Tapable Leader <3

Tapable Leader <3 changed the group name to AKIRA & RYUJI’S SEX TAPE

Makoto: I’m leaving.

Makoto: Only talk to me when you want to group up from now on.

-` RYUJI ´-: I ONLY AGREED WITH IT IF ONLY ME AND AKIRA GET A COPY!!

-` RYUJI ´-: ITS ONLY FAIR CONSIDERING YOU’RE ALREADY SELLING AKIRA’S NUDES!!

[hacker voice]: I’ll make three copies of the sex tape

[hacker voice]: 600y each

[hacker voice]: first come first serve

[hacker voice]: no reservations

[hacker voice]: you show me the money the tape is yours

[hacker voice]: those are my terms

Tapable Leader <3: even if Ryuji and I get copies there’ll still be one in the wild for someone to buy?

ANN~: isn’t that thrilling tho

ANN~: one other stranger youll never know about can be watching you

ANN~: and if futaba agrees to take down any reuploads of the tape its like your very own secret but like… shared with a stranger… that’s a kink isn’t it??

[hacker voice]: yure right…

Tapable Leader <3: holy shit

Makoto: This is so irresponsible…

[hacker voice]: thought you wanted no part in this?

Makoto: I can’t simply not take part. You guys are worse unsupervised…

Tapable Leader <3: Futaba, it’s a deal if mine and Ryuji’s copies are free of charge

[hacker voice]: fair enough

Tapable Leader <3: nice. We’re going upstairs now.

[hacker voice]: camera’s ready!

ANN~: lmao I cant believe this is actually happening

Makoto: so much for reputable thieves…

Makoto: I swear if this sex tape leaks and we get found out because of it…

Makoto: What’s worse! Akira’s on probation! That will most definitely spell trouble for him depending on who gets their hands on this tape!

ANN~: Guess we have no choice but to buy it ourselves!

Makoto: Or don’t do the sex tape?! At all?!

ANN~: Nothing’s gonna happen, Makoto! Chillax!

ANN~: How can they possibly trace a video of Akira sucking Ryuji off back to the phantom thieves?

ANN~: What kind of evidence even is this?

[hacker voice]: Akira’s jacked??? I didn’t know he worked out that much??

ANN~: he looks really skinny right?

ANN~: did ryuji come with his stupid neon pink and green watermelon bullshit panties?

[hacker voice]: they stopped to talk rn

[hacker voice]: ryujis like flipping

[hacker voice]: asking if akira had done this before

[hacker voice]: apparently akira has sucked “some dicks”

[hacker voice]: AT LEAST TWO ARE FROM HIS CLASS

Makoto: Do you really need to keep us updated?

ANN~: yes

Makoto: sigh

[hacker voice]: @ANN~ ryuji’s wearing the pink underwear

ANN~: god I hate those

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 burn them when youre done

[hacker voice]: I hate doing this. This is just like when you’re watching a movie and there’s a unnecessary kissing scene and the entire scene is like 3 minutes of uncomfortable schlepping kissing noises.

ANN~: yeah that must be pretty awkward

[hacker voice]: it is super awkward. Akira owes me one

[hacker voice]: oh my god

[hacker voice]: ryuji scared the crap outta me he legit screamed right now

[hacker voice]: I don’t even need mics for this ryuji’s so loud

ANN~: whaaat? Ryuji? Loud?? Who would have thought…

-` RYUJI ´-: IM SORRY OK IM REALLY LIVID HERE

ANN~: WTF???? WHAT AR EYOU DOING TEXTING US???

-` RYUJI ´-: IDK WHAT TO DO WITH MY HANDS!!

ANN~: YOURE USELESS. I CANT BELIEVE YOU.

Tapable Leader <3: you can pull my hair, its fine

ANN~: HOW ARE YOU TEXTING EVEN??

Makoto: It’s been a while since we got an update.

[hacker voice]: do you want em?

Makoto: No, I simply worry how long this is lasting.

[hacker voice]: it’s gotten to a really graphic point. I’m not even watching anymore, its really really awkward… if you want the full juice you’ll have to buy the tape!

[hacker voice]: oh theyre done

[hacker voice]: they just threw the dirty clothes on the floor and went straight to sleep

[hacker voice]: orgasming must be really tiring…

ANN~: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- CONGRATS ON THE SECS!! We’re all really happy for you!! You guys deserve each other, really! If anyone says otherwise I’ll punch them!

Makoto: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- regardless of how reckless and utterly stupid this whole thing was, I’m genuinely glad you guys worked it out and are finally being honest with each other. It was awfully unhealthy for the team dynamic to watch you two dance around the issue of your attraction so, congratulations!

[hacker voice]: @Tapable Leader <3 @-` RYUJI ´- im not as good with expressing things as the other girls but im also happy I somehow brought you two together. Don’t worry I wont actually sell the sex tapes to anyone btw

[hacker voice]: (or will i)

ANN~: omfg

[hacker voice]: Yusuke’s typing a lot im concerned

Yusuke K.: I did not fully grasp the concept of what was truly going on in this chat tonight but after extensive research and questioning Ann on certain topics I now understand. Futaba’s attempts at prostituting Akira have somehow led into a nuptial encounter between Akira and Ryuji, the kind of which both parties have been secretly interested in for a long time. I also congratulate you both in your achievement for the act of intimacy born from fondness and admiration is one of the truest forms of adoration our kind have come across. I only wish for more of these enjoyable moments and if any of you would be so kind as to model for me the most beautiful sensation of your endless love I would be very thankful.

[hacker voice]: holy shit

[hacker voice]: just looking at this is making my eyes heavy

[hacker voice]: im going to sleep folks

ANN~: same

ANN~: we have to wake up before ryuji and akira to surprise them at leblanc

ANN~: we’ll bring a congrats on the sex cake

[hacker voice]: I’m in

Makoto: guess it won’t hurt to check on them

Yusuke K.: I would love to discuss this over some cake!

ANN~: deal, then! Good night, thieves <3

-` RYUJI ´-: you fuckers are gonna see some dicks

ANN~: that’s the plan dapper dan

ANN~: now go to bed!

thx for your time i hope you enjoyed it ideas that we did in the rp and i couldnt find a way to put here: > futaba leaks the nudes on the phan site > mishima warns akira of the thing and says he has a nice package > akira gets arrested for publicly posting pornography and akechi recognized him by the dick > "whats wrong with a little dick pic" "its not little" > makoto buys a copy of the akira/ryuji sex tape and resells it at school > mishima buys a copy

#pegoryu #akiji #p5 #persona 5 #akira kurusu #takamaki ann #niijima makoto #yusuke kitagawa #akira/ryuji #futaba sakura #sassi do the write

[darrycurtises]

hey fam, do all of the aesthetic asks

thanks sun goddess ily

Flower Crown: when did you last sing to yourself

yesterday bc i always sing in the car, i think it was me putting “starman” “here comes the sun” and “ticket to the moon” on repeat the whole way home

Fairy Lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

i’d like to know what the world will be like in like a century bc i worry about the world i hope she’ll be ok

Daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life

well i’m a seventeen yr old and not even one of the cool ones that compete in the olympics so its either like UH starting college @ 16 or being published in an official writing anthology

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to your mind, recent or otherwise?

last year when i went to busch gardens w my sister n my mom and i got to hold a penguin named Turkey ON MY LAP i have pictures to document this (i was chubbier back then tho no judgment)

Matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you’re now living?

yeah i wouldn’t be fucking living in florida and going to school id be using whatever money i could to travel overseas, and then i’d go on a big crosscountry roadtrip 

Black Nail Polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

not an official one, just vague “i’d like to do x someday” things

Moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

yes absolutely

Stars: when did you last cry in front of another person?

last week i went to a funeral and i cried so much they got a picture w me sobbing in the background

Plants: pick a person to stargaze with you, and explain why you picked them

my best friend tomas probably because he’s the only person who wouldnt make fun of me for stargazing

Converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them?

BITVH NO LMAO I DONT EVEN TALK TO MY FRIENDS !!

Lace: when was your last three am conversation with someone, and who were they to you?

again, tomas, my best friend. about 4 days ago?

Handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one more person, what would you say and to whom?

oh man i dont even know

Cactus: opinion on brown eyes?

i have them and i love them. got my brown eyed angels all over the place. i know like three people w not-brown eyes 

Sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally

Oil Paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far?

[Redacted]

Overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars?

id get new cars for my sister and mom bc theirs are v old like ten minutes to start and cough like a smoker old, and id pay my mom’s house off, pay off my sister’s student loans, deposit a lot to my grandma who’s living in an expensive nursing home, donate 2 houston, put away more for my college, lots of stuff

Combat Boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way?

Yes and yes

Winged Eyeliner: write a hundred letter word to your twelve year old self

I don’t need 100 words I just need to tell her to shut up, stop eating so much, try being friends w the girls you don’t like, they were actually nice, you’re not as funny as you think you are save your words for later and think before you speak. Also, thanks for attaching our self worth to our school performance, this isn’t sarcastic, its turning out really well for scholarships

Pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel?

Leaning more towards pastel, but honestly the most accurate thing would be primary colors/

Tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain.

I like them but not on me

Piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not?

I usually do a quick face for school, but if im in the mood then I like to do the most just because im a teenager and im living in a time of really weird fashion and this is the only time in my life where I’ll be ballsy enough and free enough to buy and wear green eyeshadow. You think that’ll fly when im 30 w a 9-5 job? I think not. Lemme get it outta my system now, while I have ~~~being a teenager~~~ to blame it on

Bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

This is gonna sound really depressing but I don’t believe in love bc of the avett brothers song “January wedding. He was so in love with her when he wrote it and for years I was like “this is love theyre so in love” and then bam we get the true sadness album and January wedding gets followed by “divorce separation blues.” Who can be that in love with someone and then just. Stop. I don’t get it, love isn’t real.

Messy Bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them.

This is too much pressure

Cry Baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

Ive seen the avett brothers 3 times and they were amazing every single time, just wowowow I got the “fuck it,  im standing up and singing” mood. Ive also seen boston and foreigner, which were also fun, but mostly bc of the 50 yr old stoners in the crowds.

Grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

My papa, and I’d like it to say [classified] and maybe I’d like him to say [redacted].

Space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised?

I have a permanent set up at the kitchen table from august thru may, and its perpetually in disarry.

White Bed Sheets: what is your night time routine?

Face mask, hair care, moisturizer, vanilla tea, set up the coffee maker for the next morning, pack my book bag, pray, bed.

Old Books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know?

I’d like my mom not to know that she’s kind of annoying to watch movies w (it’d break her heart shes so sensitive aw) and id like my dad not to know where I live

Beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why?

I have dyed my hair I went red for a bit but now its brown. Id never do anything that require I bleach it bc I love myself and wont do that to my head

Eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?

Id take my mom, sister, my friends [classified], [classified], and [classified] to new york w me so we can do horrible cheesy touristy stuff, and then I’d have them go w me on a cross country roadtrip

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them.

If I tell u my wish it wont come true

Painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up.

Its gonna be this year’s ive already perfected the make up im gonna be a mime and its amazing

Lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

Literally nothing ive never gotten high bc it seems uhhh not fun, but ive gotten a lil drunk before (I don’t like to drink bc it makes my head hurt and it’s a lot of calories) but I get sad id be a sad drunk so I just cried.

Thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars?

Anything thatd harm a person/animal. Never kill, never maim. If u handed me a gun and said “shoot a deer ill give you a million dollars” I couldn’t do it. If I had to break someones arm for a million dollars I couldn’t do it.

Storms: you on only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why?

Song, bc I love people, ill just listen to a podcast while I run I guess

Love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realize you’re in love.

Not really, only a little bit of an “I’d like to love them” sort of thing

Clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair?

Im a girl and id never rock short hair bc I don’t have the jaw for it, and I like my long hair to make my jaw look sharper

Coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone?

I just get iced black tea bc starbucks coffee is ass, and id trust my mom. Not my sister or my friends bc theyd get me sugar in my tea instead of unsweet w honey

Marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

The things my life has revolved around for years lmao my loved ones and school

#if you cant tell im a fucking loser #im doing notes right now #its friday night im doing notes i should be out #but no im in and im writing notes and theyre beautiful ill post then on my studyblr #also a bonus for how fucking lame i am: i have a separate studyblr and langblr #ask #answered