#the one day I genuinely accidentally came across people talking about a fic of mine on multiple sites had given me brainrot

[annabelle--cane]

my love for naming my fics after common phrases vs my nosiness and occasional practice of searching the names of my fics on social media sites and only to get hundreds of unrelated results

#*scrolls for fifteen minutes* oh hey that's about me! *scrolls for twenty more minutes* oh hey that's about me! *scrolls f #marina marvels at life #the one day I genuinely accidentally came across people talking about a fic of mine on multiple sites had given me brainrot #now I have to check every so often... just in case someone is saying nice things again in a place where I wouldn't see.... In Case...

[workofthediesel]

Something with marcia + sarah being friends/Literally Just Nice To Each Other For Once (or smth angsty w marcia,, maybe both) combined

fic requests are open! send me an ask!

Sarah sat in her sitting room, her hands clenched awkwardly in her lap. She was used to having people over for tea—back when the kids were still kids, Sally Mullin would be over once a week for a cup and some gossip, and even now they kept up the tradition, moving from her cluttered room in the Ramblings to her equally cluttered sitting room in the Palace. But it wasn;t the familiar and friendly Sally sat across from Sarah now; it was none other than Madam Marcia Overstrand.

Marcia was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Sarah was. She was holding one of Sarah’s old mugs in her hands--like everything in the sitting room, the mug was something the Heaps had brought with them from their old life in the Ramblings. It was old and chipped, but Sarah was too sentimental to let it go.

Silence was thick between them, neither one of them knowing what to say. They were only here on Septimus’s request. After he’d heard about the disaster that had led to Sarah getting trapped in the Palace in the middle of the Darke Domaine, he had insisted they learn how to at least be civil to each other. He didn’t want his own family--and here he’d hurriedly added “and Marcia,” almost as if he was correcting himself--constantly at odds with each other.

Sarah had been indignant at first. The argument had had nothing to do with her. It was all Macia’s fault for barging in and barking orders without explaining anything. But Septimus quickly shot her down, telling her that Marcia had been trying to explain, and that while Marcia may have to learn how to talk to people better, Sarah had to learn how to listen. Sarah didn’t have a come back for that and she shut her mouth, listening in stunned silence as Septimus told her that Marcia would be over for tea the next afternoon and he expected them to both at least try to get along.

So here they were now, crammed into Sarah’s tiny sitting room, waiting until Marcia finished her tea so she could leave. They’d tell Septimus that the afternoon was a success and then they’d never have to do it again.

A loud quack from behind the couch shattered the silence in the room. Ethel waddled out from where she’d been napping and made a beeline for Sarah’s feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sarah scooped her up and pulled her into her lap, wrapping her arms around her.

“I see that duck is still as enamored with you as ever,” Marcia said. They were the first words either of them had spoken since she’d arrived.

“Her name is Ethel,” Sarah told her snappily.

“Right, Ethel. Of course,” Marcia said. “I remember that now.” The silence resumed for a few moments, and Sarah hoped that that meant it would be the end of the conversation, but Marcia continued, “Did you make that coat for her yourself?”

“Of course I did!” Sarah said, arranging Ethel to be more comfortable in her lap. “The poor dear doesn’t have any feathers, how else is she supposed to keep warm?”

Marcia nodded, taking another moment to choose her words. “It’s very… dedicated of you to take such good care of her.”

“Hmph. Well, someone has to do it. She can’t just be left to fend for herself.”

“Of course not,” Marcia agreed. Sarah suspected that she was thinking that it might have been better off for everyone if Ethel had been left to fend for herself in the Darke Domaine, but she at least had the sense not to mention it. Instead, she changed the subject. “Where’s Silas?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Out somewhere looking for those silly game pieces of his.”

“Ah, yes,” Marcia said knowingly. “The Counters.”

“That game has completely taken over his life--and mine, too,” Sarah complained. “It’s all he ever talks about anymore.”

“It’s a rather childish game,” Marcia said. “Fitting, I suppose, that he likes it so much, but I can’t imagine there’s that much to talk about.”

Sarah shook her head. “You’d be wrong about that. Every conversation with him now turns into how he’s wondering where all those pieces slipped off to, how they’re doing, if they’ve gone completely feral or if he might be able to get them back. On top of that, he has all these big plans for creating a Castle Counter-Feet League and hosting all these competitions at the Palace. He’s even been writing books about the wretched thing.”

“Books?” Marcia echoed, sounding shocked.

“Well, pamphlets, I suppose. All about strategies and tips for training and how to build your set. He spends all his spare time working on them. I think he hopes to get them properly published. Even I don’t know how many he’s written.”

There were a few seconds when Marcia didn’t know how to respond. Eventually she settled on, “Well, at least he’s passionate about something.”

“Yes,” Sarah agreed reluctantly, “I suppose it’s better than him sitting around like a lump on a log, but couldn’t he have gotten passionate about something useful? If he’d had this much dedication to his studies years ago, he would have been the ExtraOrdinary Wizard.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Sarah bit her tongue. For a second she had forgotten who she was talking to. She was sure Marcia was about to blow up on her, and Septimus would be so disappointed in her for failing him on his plan. She was wondering if she should apologize just to smooth things over--and if that would even work--but Marcia was already talking.

“He didn’t give up his Apprenticeship because he didn’t care about it,” she said. “He gave it up for you. You and the boys.”

“I know he felt bad about spending so much time at work,” Sarah said, “but if he put his mind to it like he does to this game, he could have--”

“No,” Marcia cut her off, shaking her head. “It wasn’t about the time he spent away from home. At least, not entirely. Alther told me that he backed out of his Apprenticeship because he was starting his Darke Week?”

“Darke Week?”

“It’s something unique to ExtraOrdinary Apprenticeships. The ExtraOrdinary Wizard needs to have a much better knowledge of the Darke than Ordinary Wizards do, so during their Apprenticeships, they spend quite a bit of time studying the Darke. It all adds up to a big project with the Apprentice undertaking some Darke task to prove they can responsibly and safely incorporate some of the Darke into their studies. It’s a very big deal in ExtraOrdinary Apprenticeships. Anyway, Alther told me that Silas gave up his Apprenticeship when they got to the lessons about the Darke. At first I thought it was because he was too afraid of the Darke to continue, but Alther told me it was because of you and the boys at home.”

“Me?” Sarah echoed.

Marcia nodded. “He was so worried that something Darke might follow him home, and he didn’t want to risk putting you and the boys in danger.”

“Oh,” Sarah said after a few moments. She didn’t know how else to respond. She’d never held Silas giving up his ExtraOrdinary Apprenticeship against him, but she did privately think that if he had just put in a little more effort, they could have been a lot better off than they were. Not that she was ever unhappy with him in the Ramblings, but life there wasn’t exactly easy with seven kids and just one salary. But knowing that him stepping down from his Apprenticeship wasn’t him being lazy but was a move to keep his family safe…

Marcia was watching her quietly. “Did he really never tell you?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. The Darke Week isn’t really something ExtraOrdinary Apprentices are supposed to talk about.”

“Will Septimus have to do this Darke Week?” Sarah asked nervously.

“He’s already done it. And passed with flying colors, I should add. Not that I ever expected anything different.”

Sarah nodded in agreement. Septimus truly had skill like no other when it came to his Magyk.

They slipped back into silence for a minute before Marcia set her mug down on the table and stood up. “I should be going now,” she said briskly. “Thank you for the tea, Sarah, it was lovely.”

“Of course.” Sarah stood as well to show Marcia to the door. “Thank you for coming, I had a wonderful time as well.” The words were routinely polite, but Sarah was surprised to find that they weren’t entirely untrue.

Marcia carefully picked her way across the sitting room to the door Sarah was holding open for her, watching the floor to make sure she didn’t accidentally step in any of the piles of duck poo that were laying about. When she made it to the safety of the hallway she picked up her usual speed, her cloak billowing out behind her as she made her way down the hall.

Sarah stood watching her from the doorway. Before Marcia could turn the corner and disappear completely, Sarah called out to her on impulse. “Marcia?”

Marcia stopped, turning back to Sarah. The impatient expression Sarah would have expected to see on her face was nowhere to be found.

Sarah felt a little unsure about was she was about to say, but she said it anyway. “Simon’s wedding is coming up. I’m sure you already knew that because Septimus will need the day off to attend, but… It would mean a lot to us if you came as well.”

The shock that initially crossed Marcia’s features was, perhaps, deserved. She and the Heaps had never quite seen eye-to-eye, and it wasn’t a secret that any event of theirs she attended was because of how important she was to Septimus. But the wedding was Simon’s special day, and no one had discussed whether or not to invite Marcia. But Sarah knew that inviting Marcia was the right thing to do. Septimus would want her there, Simon would want her there, and surprisingly, Sarah found out that she wanted her there.

In just a second, Marcia schooled her features back into an impassive mask. “It would be my pleasure,” she said evenly, but Sarah could hear the notes of genuine happiness that were trying to sneak through into her voice.

With that, Marcia turned on her heel and strode off down the hall, fighting to keep a smile at bay. Behind her, in the sitting room, Sarah was doing the same.

#septimus heap #sh #sh fanfic #sarah heap #marcia overstrand #magyk #thanks for the ask! #anon tag

[still-a-morosexual-help]

OBEY ME! LESSON 46 DETAILED SUMMARY + THEORIES

This lesson’s got two locked chapters that I can’t unlock :’)

D takes them to the casino where they meet Mammon in the Lamp event outfit. When he laughs and tells them that they must have forgotten who he is if they think they can take the money MC ignores all of this to ask him wtf he’s wearing. Mammon blushes and tells them that they have no right to criticize what he’s wearing considering what they’re wearing. Then he says also Lucifer wtf happened to you!? He laughs and teases Lucifer about getting shrunk and how he could accidentally step on him and kill him rn or how Beel might eat him as a snack. I saw someone say that Mammon was a little shit who was also BabyTM and like Yess!??? I love when we get to see more of the asshole side of him specially when we already know how soft he is. Man’s an onion :’) Beel says he wouldn’t do that unless Lucifer hid inside a piece of cake and Beel swallowed him whole without realising. Lucifer, off screen: “You’d better realise I was there!” And Like??? That’s the point Lucifer wants to argue? Not the fact that he wouldn’t hide inside a cake? Mammon says whatever and that he’ll take Lucifer from them so he can have fun with his new toy anyway RIP to Mammon who dies after this lesson. “Mammon, Avatar of Greed, Appears”- gonna have Pokemon Battles from now on, I can’t believe this what this dating sim has evolved into :D Mammon uses wind to lift Lucifer up and bring him towards him. MC has a flashback to the previous night and commands Beel who transforms into a demon and whose body starts moving on its own, Beel then cancels out Mammon’s spell and uses a wind spell to send Mammon flying. Beel transforms back to his human form and is shocked by what happened. Solomon says MC did a good job commanding Beel though they weren’t able to draw out all his powers. They get the armour, which Beel thinks is too flashy but MC tells him it looks great which he is happy about. D tells them about a rumour of Satan attacking a town up north.

As they walk through the woods Lucifer talks about how much he’s gonna love beating the shit outta Mammon when he’s back to normal and waves MC off when they ask him to go easy on Mammon. Beel says that Lucifer used to be a lot nicer to Mammon in the celestial realm and how the two of them would team up to go argue with Raphael. Solomon asks if it was Diavolo who got Lucifer to change and what exactly Lucifer had to do to reach the status they now enjoy in the Devildom. Beel seems shocked at this and ask Lucifer if it’s true. He says he doesn’t remember. There’s growling & they’re suddenly surrounded by ghosts. Solomon: Oh yeah lol this is called the Black Phantom Forest. Everyone else: WHY the FUCK didn’t you say so before!? They run from the ghosts and set up camp beside a lake, MC & Beel talk. Beel says how they’ve all changed from their time in the Celestial Realm and he can’t remember when he stopped resisting the urge to constantly eat. But how somethings are still the same and how the brothers have always been together and how they always will be. He brings up the three things the butcher said to maintain a long relationship and how even though they may sometimes falter at the “respect each other” part when it comes down to it the brothers have all three things with each other (Not me sobbing like a baby. It’s the found family trope for me guys). Beel says how he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to fight Belphie if they meet him in the game and how he has so many people who he loves that he doesn’t know who to put first and that he knows many people would kill to have that kinda problem and that as both an angel and a demon he’s being lucky to have the people he loves. MC gets to hold his hand, lean on his shoulder or say nothing and guys I love Beel so much he’s just so pure god. Okay so theory part: I 100% believe (& it’s implied in canon and in the chats too) and the main reason Lucifer is so mean to Mammon now is because he’s scared if he doesn’t discipline him then Diavolo will and he’ll end up with another Lilith situation. That being said I NEED to know how Lucifer came across Mammon in the celestial realm and what he said to make Mammon so loyal to him. PLS om! Give me the boys backstory? I like to think Lucifer raised Mammon the same way Simeon is raising Luke and that’s why you can see some of Lucifer’s traits in Mammon whenever he becomes serious about something and why Mammon sometimes slips up and calls Lucifer “Dad” and why Lucifer becomes so happy about it. I also think the others would have been older than Mammon was when he first met Lucifer, when they eventually joined the family which is why they share far less traits with Lucifer and why (as far as we know) none of them have called Lucifer ‘dad”. If this is true it also brings up a real interesting dynamic between Satan and Mammon that would be useful when writing fics. You know a little deeply buried resentment and envy about Lucifer having been more of a father figure to Mammon than to the person who is technically his actual son, and since we know for a fact that right after arriving in the Devildom Lucifer starts going through an existential crisis and Mammon’s the one who steps up to look after the others I 100% believe Mammon’s the one who did most of the work in raising a newly created Satan and who taught him how to control his anger so well (cause lets be real it definitely couldn’t be any of the others) which also gives backstory to Satan’s “do you think Mammon’s actually the most decent of us” homescreen comment and more importantly adds spice to the relationship dynamic you can work with in fics.

When they wake up Beel is thankful that they didn’t get eaten. Solomon: not like you would have noticed with all the fun you had *wink wink* Lucifer: wtf Solomon:*WINK WINK* Me: bro they were just talking…  they find out game time and real world time pass differently and come across a treasure chest in the middle of their path. Solomon: Lets open it! :D Lucifer: Expect that’s definitely a trap… Solomon: Exactly! Which is why we should open it! :D MC: Lets open it! :D Lucifer: Why is the entire human species so fucking stupid!? Why were you created without any self preservation!? Who approved this!?  They find medicine, a warding bottle and cat ears. …They put Lucifer into the bottle and Lucifer’s really going through it in this huh. But opening the chest pulls up an inescapable battle with the final boss, and Satan pops up fully immersed in the villain role with an evil laugh and everything. Luci asks MC to use something from the chest and they use the cat ears and Lucifer’s disappointed when they actually work. But it only deals 222 damage to Satan’s 870k HP. Satan paralyses them all and steals bottled lucifer and calls Belphie to finish the others off. I can’t remember if I mentioned this before but how did the brothers know that Lucifer was gonna be mini before they even got home, it would’ve had to be quite a bit in advance for them to so perfectly set up everything… And you know Solomon was really determined to open that chest (I mean so was MC but the whole of season 1 was establishing that their curiosity was gonna get them killed) so…

MC tells Belphie they don’t want to fight him and Belphie says he doesn’t want to fight either but at the same time Satan agreed to give him mine lucifer for a whole day if he defeats them. Beel’s still reluctant and Belphie says Beel doesn’t have to worry cause Belphie isn’t the same small/weak person that Beel always had to protect (and holy shit I need more info on this too?). Beel eventually agrees and says that Belphie’s strong, he tells MC that they weren’t able to use his entire power against Mammon cause he was holding himself back unconsciously but that he was ready now. MC makes Beel do a bunch of wind attacks and they defeat Belphie who’s impressed. Beel says that the magic was actually MC doing it not him (even though he was the one that executed it). Belphie says he’ll join their party if MC promises him that he’ll be allowed to poke at mini luci. MC tells him there’s a damned line and he’ll have to wait his turn. Solomon wonders if MC should be going around giving the right to annoy lucifer to others but also he wants that right too. Even though Lucifer was kidnapped since he’s still in the bottle he’ll be protected so MC’s test is still ongoing. Odd that there was a bottle that would protect Lucifer should he get kidnapped in the chest that was a trap… look we all know Solomon is shady enough that he’s probably behind this right?

During dinner at a tavern the twins are sickeningly soft with each other and Solomon watches them with a smile. For the night the twins end up sharing a room with each other, with Mc and Solomon alone together. In the middle of the night MC wakes up to Solomon still up and looking sad. They ask him what’s up. He says despite how much they walked he still isn’t tired and that seeing the twins together made him lonely. Seeing how much they love and care and understand each other and how they were always together made him wish he had something similar but how when you didn’t age it was difficult to from lasting bonds like that in the human world. MC tells him that all of them care about him and he says he hopes so. Solomon: Lol just the two of us in a room in a game, wouldn’t it be crazy if we made out? MC can either kiss him or kinda stare awkwardly. If they choose the second he apologises for suddenly putting them on the spot and says he won’t try anything else. So this might be kinda an unpopular opinion and I’m genuinely really happy that the side characters are getting more screen time and development because I desperately needed that but I’m not really onboard the romancing option with them? I’m happy they’ve got their own cards now and I love the devilgram stories and romance options in them but I don’t think it makes sense in the context of the main storyline? Barbatos has almost no interaction with MC and though they haven’t shown it yet it’d be weird if he was suddenly into MC. Diavolo spent 2 whole seasons simping over Lucifer why is MC suddenly an option? Besides Diavolo always seems so lonely and I really want him and MC to be really good friends, I want Diavolo to have a friendship where there isn’t some condition that hangs over it like there is with his relationship with Barbatos and Lucifer. The same goes with Solomon. I just want him to have a good solid friendship where there isn’t expectations or power between them. He also initially only seems interested in MC for their power and as a way to train them and eventually genuinely softens up to them, Just the request to kiss seemed outta nowhere? I don’t know why but with Simeon he seems above crushes? I always imagine him seeing MC as another cute kid Lucifer picked up (despite MC being an adult) and having a sort of soft indulgent attitude towards them. I don’t know I think I just want MC to have some friends who aren’t trying to sleep with them.

Solomon is extremely chipper the next morning and Belphie grumpily makes a comment about him having fun and sdfjdvnsjdokd they just talked. Belphie uses his magic to teleport them to Satan’s castle and Beel asked why he couldn’t do that the previous night, Belphie says grumpily cause then Solomon would have missed out on the fun and Solomon agrees and THEY JUST TALKED!? Satan has managed to transform Lucifer into wolf Lucifer and is shaking his bottle hard enough to make Luci wanna puke while Lucifer asks him to stop. MC tells satan to stop and he tells them they won’t be able to defeat him cause they skipped right to the boss battle without taking the long route and levelling up. MC says they’re not gonna fight him cause this whole thing is fucking stupid. Satan says it’s not cause he’s having fun. MC gives him one of their free therapy sessions about how important the bonds between he and his brothers are and how they don’t care more about helping the brothers all get along than some stupid star. Beel comes out spitting facts, saying they all know that Satan actually cares about Lucifer and how that embarrasses him and how he needs to stop hiding it by lashing out. And how Lucifer needs to get his shit together and be honest with satan. That he needs to tell Satan that Lucifer knows he’s his own demon and a really good demon at that. Lucifer says FYI but I never said you weren’t your own great person and Satan blushes and says that unless he wants to look childish he has no option but to accept the olive branch. He tosses Luci to MC. Belphie complains about having stupid older brothers and Solomon says he’s disappointed in Satan and reveals himself as the true secret final boss and FUCK YEAH! I CALLED THAT SHIT! Kinda – I thought he might have just given them a heads up about Luci’s condition. On a different note, Satan needs serious therapy. They all do tbh.

Solomon congratulates MC on what they’ve done so far but says they still haven’t accessed Beel’s full potential and that he’ll give his ‘adorable apprentice’ one more shit at it. Solomon summons Asmo who complains about how long he was made to wait and how he nearly gave up and went to the spa and that no one likes a selfish man. Solomon tells Asmo that he can tell him all this after they get back to the real world and I genuinely want the backstory of how they met and just more about their relationship. At Solomon’s command Asmo uses charm and paralyses Beel and at MC’s Beel uses another wind attack. Asmo says he’s never seen beel do something of this calibre before and he seems more powerful, even more than he was in the celestial realm, Asmo yells at Solomon for just standing and seeming impressed instead of helping him. There’s a bright white light.

Back home with everything back to normal Beel, Lucifer and MC are hanging out by the pool. Lucifer is in an unexpectedly good mood and MC has earned a star, which glows slightly from its place on the symbol etched to the back of their hand. Inside Solomon is feeding the other brothers as punishment. Mammon is sobbing his heart out and Levi is out cold (possibly dead). Satan is given Levi’s remaining share of food and Asmo is in tears. Belphie had made a run for it the second they got home and is nowhere to be found. Solomon talks about how nice Lucifer actually is and how he really loves his brothers cause he just made Solomon make them dinner instead of punishing any of them…. Love that the canonical reason why none of these demons tell Solomon about his food and allow themselves to get tortured is cause they don’t wanna be rude and hurt his feelings. And he thought no one cared about him. If that isn’t love I dunno what is. Beel and MC take a walk while Lucifer sits by the pool and in his words basks in “their screams of agony” While blushing beel says he’s grateful for what happened and how that star is proof that they got closer. Mc can either thank him or say that the star belongs to him. I think they kiss after the second option? For the first Beel says MC’s the one who did the work of drawing out his power. Over the echoing screams from inside Beel asks if they feel like they forgot something and ndfjkfjkdjfefjkn THEY FORGOT DIAVOLO I’M!!!!???? poor baby

#my posts #my theories #obey me spoilers #obey me! #obey me #swd obey me #shall we date? obey me! #obey me shall we date

[zabiume]

Ur doin' it wrong, other people are supposed to write *you* things for your birthday! But as long as you are taking prompts, I am dying to know how Rukia and Renji's date went from "for the woman who has everything."

I had nothing else to DO, but I am still gushing over the ChadIshi fic you wrote for me, so there’s that. Anyway, here’s the kind-of sequel piece to ‘for the woman who has everything,’ a fic I wrote for Rukia’s birthday. Hope you like it! | Read on AO3

Rukia fidgeted once, then twice, then reminded herself that she did not fidget and promptly sat up straight again. She had worn the Dress, and she supposed it did look rather good on her, the split second she’d taken to take a ‘mirror selfie’ and sent it to Orihime (‘you look supergalactic!!!!!!!’ -- had been the reply, a stark contrast to Ichigo’s ‘nice’). 

She got her bonus confirmation when Renji’s eyes had gone misty in honestly very embarrassing appreciation and muttered, “You look pretty, Rukia,” in that stupid soft voice of his.

Rukia had honestly not spent a lot of her life caring about pretty-- or what that even meant. There was the kind of pretty noblewomen were--put-together and well-manicured for painstaking hours only to make a fifteen minute appearance at a gathering somewhere. There was the kind of pretty that came from running around in the dirt, cheeks flushed with the exhaustion and exhilaration of life. Then there was the kind of pretty Renji was, in that clumsy way of his where he was trying too hard not to accidentally wipe his eyeliner away with his too-big thumbs.

Rukia suddenly averted her gaze and took a sip of water. No, she didn’t think about ‘pretty’ much. Tough, functional, capable-- these were more goal-oriented and easier to achieve. Pretty was too big a thing to fit into one conventional box.

“I think I want to try a mozza-rella cheese pizza,” Renji said, peering down at the menu in heightened interest. “What’s that?”

Rukia’s gaze snapped sharply away from the deep vee of his shirt and back to the question at hand. Yes, she was paying attention. What was Renji talking about, again?

“Cheese!” she blurted matter-of-factly, then clasped her hands together in a total and authoritative Kuchiki Calmness. “It’s a dish where you bake dough and add a bunch of cheese and tomato sauce on it. It’s really good!”

“Does it really go with pineapples?” Renji asked, playing along as he pointed at a box a few scant centimeters below the original.

Rukia made a face. “If you’re Inoue, maybe.” Then, she turned around to gaze at her surroundings contemplatively. The place they’d picked out was a fairly popular World of the Living-styled pub. As far as the food went, they tried their best, really, but the beer was good and she knew Renji did like a good beer. She turned back to Renji to assess whether he was enjoying himself. “Do you wanna split one? A mozzarella cheese pizza?”

“Sure,” Renji said easily, handing back the menu to her. For a second, they just stared at each other. Not in the magical, world-shattering way where there was soft lighting and poignant violin music playing in the background like the romcoms Chad and Orihime watched together. They just...stared. Suddenly, Rukia felt this knot in her belly tightening because this was Renji and they were on a date and suddenly that felt all too real.

“Rukia?” Renji asked, leaning forward in a really concerned way. The lighting of the pub bounced off the sleek lens of his aviators, where they were tucked over his collar. He’d brought his aviators out for this. This was serious.

“Sorry, Renji,” she said, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She didn’t do this very often, the whole going out to dinner with a date thing. She’d fooled around a little -- all bored little nobles did -- but dinner meant things were serious. She didn’t want to put him out or make him feel like she wasn’t that into it though, so she looked into his eyes very seriously and confessed, “I just feel a bit weird.” She searched his face to see how poorly he’d take it but he grinned.

“Is that it?” he asked, sounding relieved. “I thought you wanted to order more food but you were holdin’ back because I ordered so little.”

Rukia’s gaze narrowed. “Why did you order so little?”

Renji glanced around sheepishly, before whispering. “All these nerves are making me feel a bit gassy if m’being honest.”

She let out a short, joyous bark of a laugh, feeling all the bundle of nerves in her belly slowly start to loosen up. “We’re gonna need more to eat,” she pointed out, before sliding the menu back towards herself again. When the waiter wandered over to their table, they topped up the pizza with two more (one with extra pineapples ala Renji’s curiosity and Rukia’s disgust) and made a point to ask for the beers, for them to keep it coming.

As the night got steadier, the sweat on her palms slowly started to become just that. Sweat. Condensation on glass. There was no added weight to it, no association with the pesky thoughts in her brain. It was a summer night out with her best friend after all and she felt her shoulders loosen up with the relief of it.

“So,” Renji said, taking a sip of his beer. “What were you weirded out by, earlier?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Rukia replied slowly, “It’s just. We’ve never done this before and I guess I was just...one foot in, one foot out about the whole thing ‘cause I didn’t want to fuck this up and make tonight awful or whatever.”

Renji scoffed and--just as she knew he would--he said, “You don’t gotta worry about that. It’s just me.”

“But that’s why it’s important,” she protested, turning more indignantly red when he grinned further, “It’s you and you’re such a big dolt you wouldn’t tell me if you’re genuinely not having fun.”

“Riiiight,” Renji trailed, his grin now full-spread across his face. “I’m definitely the suffer-in-silence type, you got me down to the T, for sure.” He chuckled when Rukia huffed, knocking the back of his hand against hers. “C’mon. You know me. I’d have told ya fifteen minutes in if this wasn’t doing anything for me.”

She exhaled, because as annoying as Renji was being about it, he was right. “Fine, you got me there,” she mumbled, then added, “Still weird, though.”

Renji scoffed, reaching out between them for this thirtieth slice of pizza that night. Or maybe just his third. Rukia had been too busy staring at his hands to take note of the actual number. 

“It’s not weird,” Renji said, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about your day, c’mon. Walk me through it.” 

“We-ell, Sentaro and Kiyone got into a fight about whether or not ambiguousness was a word today,” she said, pulling a long string of cheese between her teeth. “They wouldn’t stop calling each other with different testimonials about it and I ended up giving him the afternoon off so he could personally go up to her and settle it out.”

Renji let out a big gust of a breath. “Things sure are busy down there.” 

Rukia shook her head. “What about you? What did Brother boss you around about today?” 

“One of your cousins wanted to talk to him about some weekend getaway at an onsen in District 6,” he explained, with an eye roll. “Your brother asked me to get rid of him, and I did, but I also ended up getting invited so…” He flexed his biceps. “So you might get to see these bad boys again, a lot sooner than you think.”

Rukia scoffed, bonking him on the back of his hand on her way to pick up a napkin. “If you want me to see you again at all, you’ll do what’s good for you and put those away.” 

Renji wiggled his left eyebrow playfully. For a second, they just stared at each other. In the magical, world-shattering way where she could have sworn there was soft lighting and poignant violin music playing in the background like the romcoms Chad and Orihime watched together. Suddenly, Rukia felt this knot in her belly turn all fluttery because this was Renji and they were on a date and suddenly that felt all too real. And it didn’t feel bad at all. 

“Whatcha thinkin’?” Renji asked lazily, leaning back in his chair in a post-dinner haze.

“I’m thinkin’” she said, mimicking him, “that if you race me back to mine,” she flexed her own biceps, “you might get to see these bad boys again, a lot sooner than you think.”

Renji’s mouth went dry. 

It suddenly became imperative to settle the bill. 

#sorry this is so short im having a Poor writing week #anyway here are rukia's biceps pls and thank you #renruki #myfic #Zabiume's Birthday Round-Up

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Musically Inclined (SpicyHoneyMustard, lemon)

Summary: Red isn't supposed to wake up with his Judge missing from his bed, thanks. Guess he should do something about that.

Tags: SpicyHoneyMustard, Fontcest, Fellcest, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Established Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LEMONY GOODNESS!!

Sequel to:

Showtime

Secret Garden

A Judicious Amount of Effort

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was too fucking early in the am to be awake.

Even Edge was still asleep, and he always got up about half-past the asscrack of dawn to go for a run. The space in the bed between them that Rus usually occupied was empty and had been for long enough that they’d drifted closer, practically cuddling together. Red didn’t have a problem with that, exactly, hell, his bro was toasty at night, their own personal bedwarmer. Except that Rus was supposed to be there. Not off getting into shit on his own.

Little brat was slippery as an eel when he wanted to be and he’d slithered off fuck knew when, damn him. Red was always reluctantly impressed whenever he made one of his escapes, but damn it, one of these days he was going to turn their lanky little brat over his fucking knee. The point of them being around was to keep his bony ass safe, not because he and Edge felt like crawling up it.

Well. Not all the time.

Luckily, Red knew a trick or two of his own. He managed to escape from Sir Clings-A-Lot over there and wasn’t Edge gonna be pissed when he woke up alone? That was a problem for Future Red to deal with, Right Now Red had a brat to find.

It was kinda a relief and a disappointment that he didn’t have to go far.

Their living quarters were expansive, as they fucking well should be for the Judge and his Chosen. Large, airy rooms with plenty of wide sofas and squashy chairs, perfect for napping and cuddling, and scotch-guarded within an inch of their lives for any time they needed to handle their Official Duties. A television with all the best tech hooked up, movies and games, everything anyone needed for electronic entertainment. There was a well-equipped kitchen that Edge usually put to good use. Not only because his high HP made checking the ingredient for any tampering a cinch, but if Red and Rus were stuck cooking, they’d be living on frozen waffles and pop tarts. A bathroom with a hot tub big enough for a double orgy if Red wasn’t more inclined to ripping body parts off anyone who even gave Rus a nudge, much less tried to get a peek at what he was hiding under those flowy robes.

The only thing it didn’t have were many windows. No skylights, no big ol’ panes of glass to let in all the golden sunshine. There were plenty of overhead lamps to make up for it, it wasn’t a lack of light that was the problem for their honey. Their suite only had one picture window, complete with a window seat and that was where Rus was sitting, a burning cigarette held between two fingers.

He looked alright, considering he’d given a Judgement yesterday. No lingering shadows beneath his sockets, his magic glowing softly, healthily, in his joints. Rus was only wearing a tank top and a pair of pajama pants that prolly belonged to Edge from the way they were sagging off him, willowy thing that he was. Bare, bony feet sticking out of the too-short legs and from the way his toes were starting to curl, they were cold. No wonder, the curtains were drawn back and one of the windowpanes was cracked open, wide enough for Rus to tap the ash outside.

Rus didn't smoke often these days. Said all the Monsters out there looking up to him didn't like the idea of an avatar of the Angel carrying around a pack of Marlboro's. Far as Red was concerned, they didn't know what they were missing, and he was just fine with that. Rus smoked like there was only one thing he knew what to do with his mouth and the way his tongue curled behind his teeth, mouth pursing as he blew out a cloud of pale smoke was its own form of divinity.

Red climbed up to sit across from him, stretching out his much shorter legs alongside Rus's so that his foot was pressed lightly to the inside of one femur. He held out his hand and Rus handed over the pack wordlessly, offering the lighter when Red shook one out.

He made a show of lighting it first, inhaling a drag of hot smoke and breathing it out with, "ain't supposed to be over here alone, sweets."

Rus shrugged, but his mouth thinned, teeth tightening around the filter. "i'm fine."

Wasn't even close to the point and Rus knew it. Red let it drop, this time. The glass was bulletproof and if a sniper could manage to bend a bullet enough to hit Rus in the brain pan through the narrow, opened pane, then having an entire fleet of guards around wouldn't make much difference.

They smoked together in silence, watching as the paling darkness slowly brightened, the sun climbing back over the horizon. Red could still remember seeing his first sunrise, standing cliffside along with the other lower guard, his brother at his side as he watched all those unknown colors as they streaked across the sky. Didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching ‘em.

He wondered where Rus was in those days. Rus didn’t talk much about before he was a Judge other than saying flatly that he was nobody. Couldn’t be that simple, though. The Queen knew him back then, had to be some kind of story there.

But then, Red had his own reasons for not thinking much about the old days, a fact that came out and bit him on the coccyx when Rus chose to speak again.

"do you remember when we were kids?" Rus said, softly. His face was turned towards the window, pale eye lights watching the bright disk of the sun as it crested. "before we came to the surface?” He shook his head with a soft laugh. “remember all the trouble we used to get into with grillby in those days, we’re lucky we got out alive."

Red took a steadying drag off his cigarette, ignored the painful lurch in his soul as he breathed it out. "yeah, i remember. wasn't you, though, honey."

He didn’t know how to decipher the little smile that curved Rus’s mouth, secretive as Mona Lisa’s twin brother.

Usually, Red could get a pretty good read on people, but eh, most people weren’t a Judge, now were they. Those pale eye lights didn’t gutter out, his voice was only his own, only Rus as he said, "it was, a little. a part of me, anyway. do you ever wish you’d had a chance for him to choose you instead of me?"

Yeah, that was a land mine question wasn’t it, and Red had a foot firmly on top.

Red loved Rus and didn't have a problem telling him. He'd whisper it against the side of his skull, breathe it into his mouth, spell it with his tongue against his cunt, shout it at a fucking press conference if that was what needed to be done. It was the truth and he wasn't gonna deny Rus for anything. But some things weren't up for discussion and some answers shouldn’t ever hit air.

"don't," Red said gently. His ciggie was burned almost to the filter and he took another drag anyway, tasted bitter, burning cellulose. “don't do any good to think about the past, anyway."

"heh, i spend half my life living in the past." But Rus sat up straighter, tamped out the butt into the ashtray and that unpleasantly unreadable look turned to one that Red knew all too well, playfully mischievous. "now is pretty good time to be in, though. you want me to suck you off?"

His cock surged to form before Rus even finished the last word and Red was already kicking off his shorts. "you ever need to ask?"

There was something about seeing Rus on his knees. He lived in symbiosis with the Judge, he was an avatar for the Angel herself. And yet here he was, kneeling before Red as if he was something to revere, not some thug who managed to wrangle a place in the guard, tricked and tripped his way up the ladder until it came time for a Choosing.

Both Rus’s hands were on Red’s femurs, holding them apart as his thumbs stroking the insides absently, but that wasn’t the real show. His face, now, that was where it was. Sockets closed, his expression one of the purest bliss while he sucked luxuriously, worshiping Red with his mouth, fuck. Like an obscene sheath around his cock, soft and plush, lined with velvety golden magic and his formed tongue curled around the shaft, the tip teasing at the head.

Rus hadn’t always been so good at this; once he’d been a flustered virgin, not knowing how to ask for what he needed and more than a little desperate not to take anything they weren’t willing to offer. He and Edge spent a good amount of time diligently training that out of him. Gone were the days of accidental teeth scrapes and awkward choking, one time even a genuine bite from a nervous beginner. Nowadays Rus went down like an expert and Red could only bite back a groan and let the student take over as the master, watching greedily.

Gorgeous bastard. There wasn’t a thing in the entire fucking world Red wouldn’t give Rus, no dust he wouldn’t grind into his hands for the chance to watch this, the slow glide of his dick in and out of Rus’s mouth, crimson ectoflesh glistening wetly between thrusts and a thin rill of that golden saliva trailing down Rus’s chin.

Fucking gorgeous was what he was and Red wiped away that thread of wetness with his thumb, raised it up to lick it clean, filling his mouth with the taste of Rus’s sweetness.

Barely, Rus’s sockets slit open, pale eye lights flicking up to watch Red’s face and he wondered vaguely at what Rus saw there. Whatever it was, he liked it, humming appreciatively, and the vibration made Red gasp, knees jackknifing against Rus’s grip, trying to clutch against his skull as Red hunched over him.

“you little shit,” Red groaned out and fuck, he could feel that chuckle, didn’t do him no favors when it came to stamina, neither. Didn’t have much as it was and none at all against this brat’s teasing.

He heard the footsteps before Rus did, but that was his job, even when he was balls-deep into his Judge’s throat. His brother came around the corner, fucking finally some back up. Still in his own pajamas, black silk of course, pretentious fucker, but he froze at the sight of them, his eye lights flaring.

Maybe it was Edge’s indrawn breath Rus heard, maybe the clatter of his phalanges as they clenched into fists. Whatever it was, he paused, sockets widening as he started to pull off, and nope, that wasn’t on the agenda. Red set a hand on the back of his skull and pushed hard, forced him back down until he was swallowing desperately against the pressure of a cockhead against the back of his throat.

That little move got him a scowl from Edge that Red met with a smirk. He wasn’t hurting Rus none and if his bro wanted to stop him, all he needed to do was come on over and join the fun.

From the way his hands were jerking at the ties of his pants, that was pretty much the idea.

Red let Rus strain a minute longer, his breaths coming in frantic little puffs through his nasal cavity, fingers clenched tight in the window seat cushion. Then he let up and Rus drew back enough to glare up a Red, those pretty, pale eye lights tinging towards gold that was as bright as the sunlight filtering through the window. Heh, didn’t escape his notice that Rus didn’t pull off completely and the curling flex of his tongue made for one hell of a distraction. Red stroked a hand across Rus’s skull apologetically, taking care with his sharpened fingertips as he murmured, "don’t move, sweetheart.”

He didn’t, kneeling obediently still and his sockets went wide as Edge’s hands settled on his pelvis, gently drawing him up until it was nicely positioned with Rus’s hands braced on the floor for balance. His loose pajama pants were tugged easily down to his knees and Red couldn’t get a good angle to see what his bro was doing, but when Rus made a high, startled sound, the fresh vibration around his cock made Red groan, trying not to come right then.

He could hear the slick sound of his brother's fingers moving. No surprise there, Rus was probably already soaking wet, the inside of his femurs painted with it and his clit swollen and sensitive to even the lightest touch. Kid had to get fucked, that was simply part of who he was. What made it even better was that he fucking loved it, wasn’t any virgin left to their sweet little Judge these days, but a hot, lovely blush still flooded his cheekbones as Edge fingered him, whispering encouragingly, “That’s it, love, you’re so wet, so perfect. Relax now, let me in.”

Rus’s hips were shifting, flexing, trying to ride whatever rhythm those fingers were following, senseless little sounds gurgling in his cock-filled throat turning to whimpers of dismay when they withdrew.

“hang on, honey,” Red told him breathlessly, fucking hell, he was getting too close, they needed to hurry it up or this spitroast was gonna turn into a duet. “hang on, let him get his cock in you.” The shush of Rus’s knees was loud against the rug as he spread his femurs as wide as he could with those loose pajama pants of his still tangled around his legs.

"Shift up, love," Edge murmured. His cock was out now, Edge stroking himself generously until deep crimson pre-cum gleamed at the tip. All ready to fill their honey up and it was worth watched Edge's face as he lined up and sank into him, fuck yeah. Made for a hell of a show the way his expression tightened, mouth falling open, sockets squeezing shut and revealing more than his bro probably realized. It was good to see, some resentful little part of Red glad that he wasn’t the only one utterly absorbed by this brat.

Rus’s rhythm got lost somewhere in the middle, his mouth going slack around Red’s shaft. That was okay, couldn’t blame him for being a lil’ distracted with his bro filling him to the brim with dick. The angle wasn’t a good one for Red to get a peek, but it was a sight he’d seen before, his bro was packing a formidable piece and he went in deep, their pelvises clacking together on the first hard thrust.

Rus wasn’t even sucking anymore, tears and drool running down his face in thin, golden streaks but Red didn’t mind taking over. He gripped Rus’s jaw in both hands to hold his head steady on his wobbly neck as Red fucked that pretty face, rode the soft, plush tongue that wound around his shaft.

So fucking worth it, Rus struggling to take him, trying to follow along, but he and Edge were running the show now. Fucking was like making a song, the slick sound of Edge’s cock moving in that tight pussy matched to the messy slurps of Rus struggling to swallow Red down, with a chorus of Rus whimpering and pleading in gurgling cries. All those harsh, obscene noises building up into a shatteringly vulgar crescendo.

There was a choice to be made, face or swallow, and Red grunted out a curse as he pushed in deep, holding Rus’s head down as he came down his formed throat with a hot spill of burning seed. Some part of Rus must’ve liked that, the taste of cum or the rough handling, ‘cause he shuddered and came too, his groans sweet and muffled, as guttural thick in his throat as the cum he was swallowing down.

Distantly, Red could hear Edge groaning, too, probably decorating their pretty honey’s cunt and thighs with his own shade of crimson, but right then, it was all white-hot sensation and losing himself, losing little pieces of himself to Rus the way he always did.

S’alright. Rus already had a pretty firm hold on his soul. May as well let him keep the rest.

-finis-

Read the Next Chapter

#fontcest #keelywolfe #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #underswap papyrus #underswap #underfell #lemony goodness #papcest #spicyhoney #honeymustard #spicyhoneymustard #bodyguard au

[komkommertijd]

Are you sometimes jealous of other fic writers? Just genuinely curious

This is such an interesting question honestly, thank you for asking!

I think it’s quite difficult to answer this one because obviously I always compare myself and my achievements to the ones of other people. I’m a competitive person so it just comes naturally that I compare myself to other individuals to motivate myself to keep going and improving. 

Of course, I sometimes have moments of “I want what they have”, but that’s not just the case with other writers but occurs in all kinds of situations in my life. In this case, it’s more about admiring their skill than how famous they are or whatever because that’s really not what writing is about in the end and it’s not why I write either. It’s something I’ve always loved doing and no matter whether it’s five or 100 people reading it, I’ll always do it for myself first, because it’s something I want to do. I mean, I do get happy whenever I receive kudos and comments and it’s great to see when a work of mine does well, but essentially that’s really not what it’s about. Take Perth Traumatic Stress Disorder as an example - it has no comments, barely any kudos and not even 100 hits (to be fair, it’s not about a popular pairing) but I’m still pleased with the way it turned out and I regularly think about it when I listen to the song it was inspired by. I’m past the point of looking at numbers because not only do they not matter but looking at them and letting it influence me is stupid and toxic. My writing experience isn’t worse because I don’t get 50 comments and however many hits on the stuff I publish.

I don’t want to call it being jealous, but sometimes I just stare into the void of my bedroom at 1 am and I think about what I would give to write as well as some authors I came across on the web that day. It’s more of a pang of sadness that comes with the knowledge of “I’m not as good as them” or “I will never be as good as them” I guess. As I said, I mainly do this for myself so how good or bad my stuff turns out isn’t something I should compare to what others manage to pull off and I know that it will only result in sadness and being ashamed of what I do, which is really not the goddamn point of a hobby I pursue for comfort. I shouldn’t stress about things like that. They don’t matter because I still have people who enjoy what I write, who encourage me to keep going, and who support what I do, no matter how much better someone else might be. 

(I kinda started crying here so apologies should the next part not make any sense?)

Especially lately I’ve read some comments that weren’t exactly about me, but which still made me think and kind of hurt in a way, despite not being explicitly directed at me. I know that they shouldn’t and that it’s childish to let that affect me but it really made me question what I do and whether what I do is good enough to be considered something worth reading by people who actually know how to pull that off, who know how to write and use words better than I can. It stressed me out and made me reconsider the way I approach those things. It’s okay if not all of my stories blow up the way Baby I’ll Rule did - I just accidentally got lucky with that one and I’m well aware of that. It’s okay if I don’t see big names commenting on my fics or even reading my stuff in the first place, we’re all human and everyone has their own preferences, it doesn’t mean shit if some people don’t read what I put out there. Not everything I write is excellent and amazing and does well, I don’t have that kind of popularity and I know that and it’s okay.

There is no need to be jealous because I know that every other writer works just as hard, if not harder, as I do. I know that they put just as much effort into what they write. They started at the same point where I started in November and they’ve continuously worked their asses off to get where they are now. I don’t feel the need to be jealous of their achievements because I know that it takes time and that hard work and dedication pays off. They’re talented, they’re all so fucking talented and they write on a level that I can’t even fathom to reach. There’s no use being jealous because they’re all so nice and humble and amazing, and they’re just as supportive as everyone else. There’s no use being jealous, so I just keep working on myself and I try to improve with everything I write, whether it works or not is an entirely different question, so that I eventually feel like it pays off. And that’s not measured in the amount of kudos or how many people follow me on Tumblr but in how pleased I am with my own work and the things I can move in other people with what I do. I had readers who never wrote comments before commenting on my work because they enjoyed it so much, I’ve gotten messages from readers who don’t even know anything about F1 and still enjoyed my fics and I receive so much love on here, I don’t need hundreds of kudos if I have the three people who support me encouraging me, I am grateful for that.

So yeah, I get “jealous”, although not really, of how fricking talented and amazing some other writers are and how skilled they are at things I can’t get right but I do not feel like negative thinking should have a too big impact on what I do. Of course, there are people like @3303andmore @verstappened or @totovolff who are just lightyears ahead of me with how good their fics are but I can appreciate that and enjoy reading their work without talking badly about my own stuff in comparison. I can look up to and admire those people without feeling bad about my own skills and I think that’s an important thing I’ve learned. Comparing yourself to others can be helpful sometimes but it won’t make you happy in the long run.

I keep working and, hopefully, improving at my own pace and I have so much time to do that and I just hope that I might someday get a little closer to the level of perfection, although there’s no such thing as being perfect, that other people can reach. I enjoy reading their stuff and letting it motivate me to work harder but I can also enjoy reading my own things once in a while and I enjoy talking about my ideas, no matter how genius or not they are compared to what other writers come up with. I think ultimately I am the only person who has to be happy with what I write and that’s the standard I try to go by.

I am very, very grateful for the things I’ve achieved with my work so far and I appreciate every single reader so much, no matter whether they leave kudos or comments or just add another number to the hit count. It means so much to me that I can share my thoughts and feelings with the world through what I write and I am more than thankful for every kind of support along the way. It’s better to focus on the things I have and to be grateful for them rather than being jealous of things others have, right?

I hope this answers your question, thank you for bearing with me even if it’s quite long and probably doesn’t make too much sense. I appreciate it 💛

#answered #anon #this is longer than expected i'm sorry skfsjfhs #i cried twice while proofreading it :') #anyway be positive about your own shit! it's great shit! #much to think about #writing #long post

[randaccidents]

Breaking and Entering

Ah the first week of school! The easiest way to drain all your writing juices. Stuffs gonna slow down from here and not like 3 fics a week like what I was doing, but I’m unlikely (cause I never finish promises) to stop now cause I have like *leans over to check* about 10 WIP fics I wanna write with new ideas every week soooooo...

Right the fic! Its a fic! Yayy I wrote things. The dialogue might come off as clunky cause school punched me in the guts while I was trying to write that.

Shadow People AU from the wondrous mind of @mine-sara-sp

TW: toxic thoughts, self-harm, self-blame, description and talk of that loneliness that seeps into your chest and hooks in deep and never ever wants to let go making you doubt your actions

Crypt broke into someone’s base and left with the real treasure and a no-no word gets thought.

The pickaxe shatters in his hands. Mechanically, he replaces it with another, adding to his internal count. That was the fifth iron pick he’s broken thus far. Another 3 to break before he had to surface and go to the shadow meetup. The thought of that made the hole in his chest feel twice as large, and he swung his pick hard enough that the shattered rock flew in large chunks around him.

It wasn’t that he was feeling lonely or left out. He had friends. He had 3D, and Phas, and TFC, and Abyss, and the grey stone that surrounded him on all sides. He had a pick in hand, a reason to keep chipping away at stone walls all day. He was fine!

...and he was a big old fool, to continue to believe that lie.

Collecting another pile of coal, he silently wondered if this was what the other shadows saw of him. A useless lump of black, easily replaced by better sources of fuel and light, cast aside like it was nothing. Bitterly, he broke the next block of stone, left hand holding onto the coal piece. Now he had only one use, like the coal he held - to ensure that 3D remained happy and unbothered by the venom of the other shadows, just like how the coal was only useful for torches that lit up the few blocks surrounding it. Ugly, practical, no use in the canvas of almost every build.

So deep into his bitterness, it came as a surprise when he broke through into a cavernous room. This wasn’t the first time he had broken into another person’s base, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He guessed that he should check whose base this was and its size before he closed the hole he made in the wall, if only so that he wouldn’t accidentally break into it again.

Stepping through the hole, the first thing he noticed was just how large and sprawling the whole build was. This was going to be a pain to dig around, he could just feel it. Looking around, he took note of the many scattered blocks of precious ores lying around the room. This hermit seemed to be very rich. He would guess Jevin, but the slime wasn’t disorganised with his ores. Maybe Scar? The build of the room didn’t quite hold enough details to pin it to the hermit though. Looking around, he felt the beginnings of anxiety rise up his throat as he fully registered the scale of the room, how open it felt to stand under its ceiling. Picking a random hallway, he ducked into it and began counting how many blocks wide this end of the build was.

Walking down the large hallway, Crypt peered into every room he came across, curiosity overriding his earlier anxieties and bitterness. It’s been a long while since he had broken into someone’s base, although that was mostly because he heard this season was all about building up the overworld. Feeling the loneliness of being left out beginning to choke up his insides, he quickly ducked into the nearest room, slipping past the door in search of a distraction.

To his surprise, he found a room full of greenery and wildlife, parrots and bunnies and wolves and other animals lazing about the room. Looking up revealed a glass covered ceiling, redstone lamps shining through coloured glass to give everything a pleasant blue tint. Light humming music drifted through the room, backlit by the sound of water flowing through the room. Crypt took another step into the room, entranced. The room was expertly put together, a feeling of openness enmeshed with closeness in a dizzying mix of comfort he never thought he could feel in such an open room. Leaning against a nearby hand-crafted tree, Crypt closed his eyes. The room felt so isolated, cut off from the world around, that he couldn’t help but feel at peace. Despite all that, some small part of him was still counting the seconds, waiting for the moment he was meant to surface from the underground and meet up with 3D. He might have time to be alone now, but he’s meant to be easy to deal with, so he counts the seconds in his head instead of in the durability of his pickaxe.

Once he’s mentally reached two iron pickaxes left, he pushed himself off the tree. Stretching, he looked out wistfully over the garden room. This had been a great place to relax after his exhaustingly painful thoughts, but he still had to count the size and shape of the whole base. Turning away, he headed for the entrance.

And came face to face with two identical shadows, frozen in the doorway staring at him. He similarly froze, caught like a sheep eyed by wolves.

One of the two shadows seemed to snap himself out of it first. He came walking forward, holding out a hand to Crypt. “Hi, Crypt right? I don’t think we really got to meet properly considering what happened the last time we saw each other. I’m Cavalier! Welcome to the Hoard!”

Crypt looked down at the hand offered to him. Noting down the purple-and-yellow feathered wristband the shadow - Cavalier - wore, he added another identifiable shadow to his mental list of those he knew as he grasped the hand in a warm shake. Who else was new here that he had never met? Who else did he meet and never remember? Swallowing the sudden surge of bitterness, he gave Cavalier a warm smile. “Yes, I’m Crypt. I don’t quite remember where I met you first, but you are a very kind shadow.”

He could sense the moment when he messed up, feel the sudden tension run a rod straight through Cavalier into his grasp. “I’m not a kind shadow.” whispered Cavalier, his eyes averted and refusing to meet his.

Well, he couldn’t have any of that. No matter how toxic this line of thinking was, only he was allowed to feel sad in any form. He squeezed the hand he held lightly. “Cavalier, I may not know who you were or what you have done before I met you, but you have yet to drive me out of what is clearly your house, instead welcoming me for visiting. You are kind.”

“And so are you Crypt, to comfort Cavalier so quickly.”

The voice might have sounded like Cavalier’s, but it didn’t fool Crypt. Meeting Paladin’s eyes, he offered up a fragile smile. “Hello Paladin. Speaking of which, I may have broken into your area by accident. Is it alright for me to measure the size of this Hoard of yours?”

Paladin looked up at the ceiling in thought. Crypt felt Cavalier let go of his hand, the shadow moving to lean against Paladin to whisper into his ear, and felt a stab of jealousy that he quickly buried. No, he wasn't jealous of their bond, not at all.

"There might be a few problems with that actually," Paladin began, holding up his hand as they began to list out his reasons. "Firstly, the Hoard kinda twists and turns a lot, branching out in many directions. Secondly, I’m pretty sure that Keloid and Avarice intend to keep expanding the Hoard. Third, I kind of have a forge in here that may or may not expand. So it’s going to be difficult for you to really measure something that’s going to keep expanding.”

Crypt sighed dejectedly. This direction would be blocked off to him then. Reminding himself that he was meant to be easy to handle, he steeled his heart and gave them as careless a wave as he could. “It’s no matter. I can always tunnel another direction.” The durability counted steadily downwards in his mind. He turned and began walking towards the doorway, throwing a final comment over his shoulder. “I’ll show myself out. Sorry to break in.”

“Wait!” A hand grabbed his arm, bringing him to a gentle halt. He turned, raising an eyebrow at Cavalier. The shadow fidgeted under his gaze, suddenly uncertain of himself. "Uhm, since we didn't really meet before, a-and I don't know when we'll meet again, do you want to join us for a bit? Just to chat? You don't have to if you're busy, I understand!"

Looking at Cavalier was a mistake. Crypt questioned how anyone could say no to Cavalier. Sighing good-naturedly, he moved to a tree behind Cavalier, patting his helmet as he passed. Sliding to a sitting position, he smiled up at the stunned duo. "Well? I don't have a season you know."

Cavalier was quick to rectify that problem, practically throwing himself to the floor before Crypt, to the amusement of the other two in the room. Stomach down on the floor, he interlaced his fingers in a peak, resting his head upon it. Paladin leaned himself against Cavalier's side, amusement written across his face. Cavalier spoke up, not pausing for a single faux-breath. "What do you normally do? I don't see you around much, but you're from last season so you must have done something, right?"

Crypt smiled down at the excited shadow. Having someone be curious about him, wanting to know about him, was something new and foreign and oh so lovely. With warmth bubbling through his chest, he began to answer.

"You're right, I am from last season. But normally…"

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

Paladin was mid-rant about the difficulties of smelting emerald into workable tools when Crypt's mental timer went off, snapping the last pickaxe in twain. It was time to meet up with 3D for the shadow meetup. He found that he didn't want to leave, comfortable in his surroundings and the people around him, who were genuinely interested in what he had to say. But he had a job to do.

With a small grunt of effort, he pushed himself to his feet, cutting off Paladin's rant. "Crypt, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned. The tone of voice made Crypt shake his head wistfully. Ah, to feel concern for him not borne of pity. He hefted the pickaxe he still held in his right hand. "It's about time for the shadow meetup. I have to meet with 3D, and I suggest you two prepare to leave too, or you might be late. See you fellas around soon."

Turning, he headed straight for the exit, only for a whisper of words to stop him in his tracks. "We haven't been in weeks, not since the first time Cav went…"

Whipping around, Crypt regarded the two shadows before him. Paladin was glaring at the ground, face severe. Beside him, Cavalier had managed to sit up, his face reflecting pained memories. Something dropped in the pit of his stomach. He could just comfort them, he knew, but part of him screamed to, for once, know what had happened. He asked the dreaded question, voice as gentle as he could without sounding like pity. He out of every shadow would know that pity helped no one. "What happened the first time?"

Cavalier's hand moved to clutch his wrist, tightening around the wristband that lay there as he looked away. "You know the one you shouted at?" Paladin asked.

He flinched. Oh, so it was his fault. He really shouldn't have tried to connect to the loop. Paladin looked up at him, face softening. "It wasn't you. You saved him actually. Coda was going to destroy his wristband."

"I fail to see the problem."

Paladin tilted his head at Cavalier, directing his attention. He could see Cavalier's fingers tighten, cutting holes into his arm. He wanted to comfort the shadow who had been so happy just minutes ago, yet he could tell that if he moved from his spot, neither of them would tell him what had happened.

And he was so tired of not knowing what had happened.

"You know Puzzler?" At his nod, Cavalier continued, fingers digging further. "He gave those who served him gifts. I was one of them. All the gifts were supposed to be destroyed after the war, but I kept mine. It's… important. To me." Cavalier turned his gaze to his wristband. "They didn't like that."

He found himself wanting to know more, to understand this part of the war no one wanted to talk about. But he could also see when his questioning would only cause grief. Moving to kneel before the knights, he gently began to pry Cavalier's fingers open. "Is that why you said you weren't kind? Because of what you did in the past?"

Cavalier's small nod, his guilty body language, reminded him so much of 3D. He patted the shadow's hand as he pried open the final finger. "But you're trying to be better now, to repair relations with them, and that's proof enough that you are kind."

Another hand pressed over theirs, making Crypt lift his head. Paladin was still looking away from them, but the shake of his hands spoke for him. Crypt squeezed his hand, prompting a sigh. "Trying works for him.” he whispered, voice choked and bitter. “Me? Two seasons later and only one new family member to show for it. I don’t think anyone notices if I’m even there. Makes it that much harder to be there for him. So we don't go anymore."

He heard the loneliness, the pained longing to be part of a community in Paladin's voice. It was a pain that he was well versed in. Some part of him guiltily rejoiced, he didn't expect to find someone else who understood, but it was overshadowed by his friends’ - could he call them friends? He decided that he would. - hurt. Gently, he pressed their combined hands to his forehead. “I understand,” he murmured, pushing himself to encompass all of his sincerity in his limited words. “It hurts, when no one cares enough to know if you’re even there anymore, or ask where you went. It’s a hole in your chest, something that doesn’t fill up because no one truthfully takes you seriously." He squeezed gently, ignoring the insistent sound of shattering iron in his head. "But you're not alone. You have each other, and from what I know those vexed shadows care too. Being in the loop is not the best, in all honesty. No one really cares about how little old Crypt feels anyway."

"But I- we do." came the soft whisper from his left, from the hand with purple and yellow wrapped around its wrist. The hand leading towards blue didn't respond, shifting as if to pull away. Crypt held on tight, lifting his head to meet their gazes. Paladin was quick to break off, looking away guiltily even as Cavalier held his gaze. Normally, this would have hurt more, reopened the hole in his chest. But after their conversations, after them both listening attentively to him rant about stones without judgement, their tones of concern and desire to be with him, he instead felt immense sadness that they couldn't see that they cared, and were kind.

Was this what Abyss meant when he said he was blind?

Paladin was still turned away from him. How could he comfort someone who wasn't even looking? A small memory poked at the back of his mind, and he let it guide him. Twisting his body slightly, he leaned forward to rest against Paladin's side, just as Phas always did with him. He thinks that it was a form of comfort. He knows that Paladin and Cavalier enjoyed touch, always reaching for a hand to hold. He hopes that this wasn't the wrong choice, feeling the knight tense up at his touch.

Then, Paladin relaxed, leaning into him in return. Crypt felt another presence press hesitantly against his back. He shifted slightly, allowing the presence to slot in among them, softly and gently cradled against his being. It was… warmth, something sliding in to fill a gap in his chest.

Paladin shifted slightly, poking him in the side. “Didn’t you say you had to go to the shadow meetup?”

… fuck.

He jumped out of the comfortable pile of shadows and headed for the door, grabbing his pickaxe as words stumbled out of his mouth. “I have to go so sorry it was nice meeting you two.”

Twin voices vocalised their goodbyes as he turned the corner and ran down the hallway. A voice snaked its way along the walls, carrying a question. “Will you come back and visit again?”

He blinked, seeing his shadow fly across the walls and keep pace with him, a perfect replica of his body. Shaking his head good-naturedly, he gave his shadow a grin and a thumbs up. Turning another corner, he left his unnaturally formed shadow behind, the shape buzzing excitedly as it zoomed back down the hall.

Bursting into the large cavern from earlier, Crypt quickly located the hole he had made and dove in, rushing to make up for lost time. It wasn’t until he hit the first branch in the passageway that he stopped, a problem suddenly before him.

He’d promised he would visit. He wanted to visit. But he didn’t have anything to mark the route to the Hoard. Rummaging through his inventory, he came across the pile of coal he had mined earlier. Bingo. Pulling out the dusty sticks TFC had summoned him with, he jerry-rigged a few torches together, striking the coal against shards of stone. Placing the torch down, he spared a second to admire his ingenuity before the mental striking of broken pickaxes sent him careening down the strip mine, torches lighting up every branch, something forgotten given new use.

#shadow people au #crypt #paladin #cavalier #me? writing from a perspective that isn't knights? more likely than you think #this was meant to be comfort but then the hurty held me at gunpoint #but its ties well #sorry if its messy school is a bitch #aight trigger tags time #toxic thoughts #self-harm #self-blame #extreme loneliness #sad bois in general too #my writing #I give these boys more friends

[itsmyusualphannie]

school rivalries (or not)

Title: school rivalries (or not) (ao3) Beta: @sudden-sky​ (patchworklove on ao3) Word Count: 4.4k Rating: T Warnings: Guns (sort of) Summary: how PJ took over the school - aka the mostly-crack fic where PJ becomes a high school gang boss because Dan and Phil are too busy making out in dark theatre rooms to do their jobs Author Notes: i wrote this in a 4-hour coffee-fueled haze in the middle of the night so you definitely need to read it. also happy anniversaryyyyy to our favourite idoottsss (ಥ﹏ಥ)

The kid stared wide-eyed at PJ for a good ten minutes before PJ finally gave in. He waved away the henchmen hovering behind him as he had been devouring his lunch, then he reluctantly motioned the kid forward. He was tiny, PJ noted, although he couldn’t be much younger than PJ. They were both in Year 11, after all.

The kid’s blond hair even seemed to bristle attentively when he hurriedly sat at the table across from PJ, his eyes even wider now that he had been acknowledged. “Hi,” he said in a partial squeak, then coughed and tried again. “Um. Hi.”

PJ glanced him up and down and sighed deeply. The kid did have potential - Louise wouldn’t have recommended him for no reason. “Hey. Tyler, is it?”

If possible, the blond’s eyes grew even wider at the realization that PJ, overlord and ruler of the biggest gang in school, knew his name. His voice definitely squeaked this time. “Yes?”

PJ glanced down at his unsatisfactory meal of mashed taters and gravy, then mournfully took another bite. It was too bad he had decided to eat the same thing as his minions - it wouldn’t do to lord over them, after all. It was the little things that counted. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Tyler nodded hastily. “My family moved in the middle of the school year, so I just started here a few days ago.”

“You got in with the right people at school here pretty quickly,” PJ noted and chewed on some more taters. They really were just flavourless mush. The gravy didn’t help much.

“I…?” Tyler hesitated. “I helped run a group at my other school.”

“Hmm,” said PJ. He swallowed the bite of food and frowned at his empty bottle of water. It took only a flick of his finger to summon one of the minions inconspicuously drifting nearby, a whisper into her ear, a dash across the room and a dash back, and he had another bottle of water. He tipped it in thanks and then took a few gulps from it. “Good stuff. So, Tyler, what is it you think you can do for me? Why do you want to join?”

“Well,” Tyler ventured, “you always need more members.”

PJ waved a dismissive hand. “Irrelevant. Everyone at school wants to join me, ever since the main ones melded to create mine. Subservience costs little. I want something…” and here he leaned forward, and let his gaze become piercing as it met Tyler’s, “...unique.”

“Ah,” chirped Tyler, but there was a ring of white around his irises.

PJ sat back and smiled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have bothered even trying to talk to me if you weren’t prepared.”

“I...am,” said Tyler, and squared his shoulders. “I have prepared. I mean, I do have something I think you need.”

“Do tell.”

Tyler took a deep breath. “Well, I haven’t been here long enough to take full stock of the entire situation, but from what I’ve seen, I think I’ve discovered what’s most in-demand. The item that’s hardest to get, yet constantly confiscated by teachers. It’s not cheap, either.”

PJ felt a bubble of grudging respect rise up his chest, not at Tyler’s observation skills, but at his shift from a nervous wreck to a still-nervous-but-fully-prepared-to-bargain wreck. He thumped his palm against his chest a few times to disperse the bubble. “Ah, have you now? Impressive, I suppose. Anyone could find that out, though. You’d just have to come across a gang battle.”

Tyler’s lips fell open a little at “gang battle,” but he pressed on. “It’s not just that. You see, my dad’s the manager of that new store downtown. And…” here he paused for effect, “he’s asked me to work there after school.”

PJ could feel a reluctant smile making its way across his face. This...this, he could work with. “Hmm, I see. What’s your discount?”

“Fifty percent.”

Nodding slowly, PJ thought carefully about the veiled proposition. “I like your style, kid. We might be able to hammer something out.”

Tyler looked a bit offended at the moniker but seemed to shrug it off as he leaned intently toward PJ. “First,” he said in a whisper, “before we decide on any details, I want to know something first.”

PJ took a sip from his water bottle and raised an amused eyebrow. The only people who were close enough to overhear anything from this conversation were his most trusted minions, but he doubted Tyler would say anything that important anyway. “Yes?”

“Well, two things,” Tyler amended. He hesitated, then ploughed ahead. “Is it true that your older sister married Phil Lester’s older brother?”

PJ’s other eyebrow rose. “Yes. Well, they’re engaged. What of it?”

If possible, Tyler leaned even closer. The side of the table had to be cutting into his stomach at this point, PJ mused, and these lunchroom tables weren’t all that comfortable to even look at, much lean intently against.

“How did you become head of this school-wide clique? I’ve heard a few whispers about Phil Lester and Dan Howell, the previous heads of rivals cliques here. How did you get control from them?”

“Ah. I see.” PJ smiled now, a genuine one pulled forth by the sincerity of Tyler’s questions. He supposed, from an outsider’s perspective, it was strange. “That’s easy to tell. You see, their followers abandoned them all at once. It was devastating for them, truly.”

Tyler seemed more confused. “But...they don’t seem bothered. They seem,” he considered the word for a few moments, then admitted, “happy. Like they don’t even care that they entirely lost their cliques.”

“Just say gangs,” PJ said dismissively. “It doesn’t matter, in any case, we’re the only real gang at this school now. We only fight against other schools at this point.” He regarded his water bottle, his brows furrowing, and then they smoothed out as he laughed quietly. “You see, since Phil’s practically my brother-in-law now, I can’t exactly abandon him - imagine the family dinners! And Dan just comes along with that.”

“But…” Tyler looked frustrated. “On my very first day, when Louise started talking to me, she said that Dan and Phil were like the rival overlords of the entire school and you started out as Phil’s right-hand man. How did you…? And how did they end up now like…” He made an indecent gesture, and PJ laughed loudly now. One of his hench people stood up in alarm, but he waved them down.

“Ah, Tyler. You’re so new here, but I can tell that you’re clever. What do you suppose happened? They were rivals, but now they’re not, and their rival gangs have abandoned them.”

“I guess…” Gaze uncertain, Tyler hazarded, “They made up, and their followers didn’t like it, so they left them?”

“More like made out!” PJ chortled and slapped the table in his burst of amusement. He had been right, the table was not comfortable. “God, okay. I guess I should just tell you what happened.”

Tyler shifted in anticipation, his eyes hungry with eagerness. PJ approved. This kid would probably make a great informant, the way he devoured information like this. It would be better that he heard this story from PJ, though, since there was no knowing what others might tell him.

“The rivalry started the first time Dan and Phil laid eyes on each other when Phil accidentally tripped Dan so Dan punched him in the face. Their friends, and then followers, flocked around them both through the following years, all agreeably despising those on the opposing side. Their groups grew and grew until someone initiated the first battle, and it was war from then on. We kept it on the down-low, though, to avoid the teachers. It was beautiful, back then.

“Then came their downfall.”

~~~

“You’re dead, Liguori,” came a hiss from behind PJ as he settled into his desk.

PJ cast an innocent smile over his shoulder, which only widened when he caught sight of his classmate’s limp blonde-and-pink curls and her furious expression. “Oh, hullo, Louise. I didn’t see you when I walked in. How are you?”

A putrid scent drifted toward him when she spoke. “You set the bomb in my locker, you dick, you know perfectly well how I am.”

Delicately waving his hand in front of his face, PJ blinked slowly. “Dear me, I believe you need to take a shower.”

“Fuck y - ” she started, but didn’t get to finish as their instructor entered the room.

“Good afternoon,” the teacher chirped as he set his bag on the desk.

“Good afternoon,” a few students obediently droned back.

PJ used the time while the teacher set up to check his phone for messages. He typed out a few brief replies to fellow members’ inquiries about the meeting this afternoon, then opened his chat with Phil and sent a quick “U were right, she went by her locker right b4 class. smells gr8 in here. slight regrets lol”

The door thudded against the wall as another student walked in. PJ’s head snapped up, immediately attentive. He always noticed when this student was late.

“Good afternoon, Dan,” said their teacher, a little terse, as he always was when someone walked in after him.

PJ had never known it was possible for someone’s eye roll to be loud, but Dan’s practically screamed at their teacher as he crossed the room and dropped into the desk beside PJ. He scowled when he caught PJ glancing at him and lifted two fingers in a succinct gesture.

PJ shrugged and went back to his phone. Phil had replied with a “lol wb dan” so PJ typed out “just walked in. looks his usual mad af self but nothing. did u not get him?”

There was no reply. PJ frowned down at his phone until the teacher began lecturing and he had to tuck it away.

~~~

“I’m here!” announced PJ as he threw open the door to Phil’s room. He had let himself in through the back door, received a cheery wave from Phil’s mum, and trotted upstairs. The other gang members wouldn’t here for at least another thirty minutes, and judging by the rich chocolate scent wafting throughout the house, Phil’s mum was making cookies for everyone. PJ sometimes wondered if Kathryn knew that Phil was literally running a gang at school with dozens of members.

“Hrnh,” said Phil into his pillow, a muffled reply to PJ’s exuberant greeting. He was lying facedown on his bed, the spread crumpled around him. PJ sighed deeply upon seeing him.

“Phil. Come on, we need to have a pre-meeting before everyone else gets here.” The bed sank beneath him as he sat next to Phil and patted him comfortingly on the back. “It’s okay, I know you’re upset because you didn’t get Dan this afternoon as we planned. We can plan something else today. Want another gang battle? Those always cheer you up.”

Phil tore himself from PJ’s pats with a ferocity that almost shocked PJ. Almost.

“I don’t want a battle,” Phil snapped, throwing himself off the bed and pacing by the window. He looked distraught, and it was unsettling. PJ blinked at him.

“Well,” said PJ. “What do you want?”

Phil stopped pacing and turned toward PJ. His eyes were drawn, tired. He dropped back onto the bed, his hands covering his face. “Are you ever...tired of the same old thing, year after year? Do you ever want to just...stop?”

PJ carefully considered Phil’s words. He wasn’t quite sure what Phil was talking about, but as Phil’s right-hand man and best friend, he had to think long and hard before answering. Whatever Phil was talking about, it seemed to be important. Maybe he meant the pranks. It was tiresome coming up with unique ways to trick Dan or Louise, Dan’s right-hand woman, or any of Dan’s other numerous followers, but they were just filler activities between the main battles. The big gang battles were the main events and what everyone in the gangs looked forward to.

“Get tired of what?” PJ finally asked, cautiously.

“God,” said Phil, and drew a hand across his face. His eyes looked hooded when they reappeared. “I don’t know,” he eventually said. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Exams are coming up,” PJ offered sympathetically.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just stress. Let’s just...let’s just plan for the next ambush attack.” Phil laughed, but it was a little too shrill, a little too throwaway.

PJ resolved to watch him carefully from then on.

~~~

“Of course,” said PJ, “that was just when Phil brought up his doubts to me. I’m sure he’d been thinking about it for a long while before that. He was sort of right, though.” He shook his head regretfully. “I was so naive back then. All I could think about were pranks and gang battles.” 

Waving a hand in demonstration, he gestured to the chattering students around them. “Look at them all eating their lunches. They never really know what’s going on around them. They never really know what we supply until they need something.” 

He took another sip of his drink. “Only a week after Phil had that outburst, there was a huge warning sign that I should have noticed. But I was oblivious, utterly dedicated to Phil. I didn’t see anything until it was too late.”

Tyler listened intently.

~~~

“in position?” PJ texted.

He waited a few moments, and then the group chat flashed with message after message. “Ready here” “we’re set” “in position!”

Pleased, PJ closed out the app and dialled Phil. He raised the phone to his ear, waiting only a moment before Phil picked up.

“You ready?”

Phil’s voice was tinny on the other end. “Uh, yeah. I can’t see you, but I’m across the street behind the hedges.”

“You said they’d be crossing in about five minutes?”

A pause. “Yeah,” said Phil.

“Great! We’re all ready.” PJ hung up and laughed under his breath, sliding the phone into his pocket. They had been planning this ambush attack for almost a week, and it was a relief to finally put it into action. Phil had still seemed hesitant after his outburst, but PJ had been relieved to see him throw himself into the planning with his usual vigour.

This ambush had been a little less difficult than usual - Phil apparently had a mysterious informant somewhere in Dan’s gang and was so careful to hide their identity that even PJ didn’t know who they were. PJ only knew that Dan had his bi-monthly gang meetings somewhere around here, but now thanks to this informant, Phil had learned that this was the route they took. The group obviously switched it up every few months, but this time PJ had a feeling that they would get lucky. After all, yesterday one of Dan’s lackeys had smugly sidled past PJ in the hall and dropped a slug down his shirt. Revenge would be sweet.

A few minutes passed in silence, PJ’s phone still and quiet in his pocket. Then another few passed. PJ’s thighs began to cramp in his crouched position, so he shifted a bit until he was more comfortable. A bird chirped somewhere across the street.

PJ’s phone buzzed. He yanked it out with urgent fingers, but it was just a message from his sister about her date last night. He swiped it away with a roll of his eyes, then pursed his lips thoughtfully and opened up the group chat.

“any sight?”

Rapid negative responses filled the screen. PJ frowned and glanced at the phone’s clock. It was only a few minutes after Phil’s time estimate, but even that was strange. Phil was rarely wrong.

“heard anything from your spy?” he sent to Phil. A long minute passed before he received a simple “no” as a response.

“Goddamnit,” he said aloud and then continued waiting.

It took another twenty minutes, with aching thighs and impatient shuffling, before PJ gave up. He huffed loudly as he stood from behind his stout bush, then called down the street, “Come on out, everyone!”

A disgruntled group emerged from an open garage, another from the cars parked along the side of the road, and further down the street, a few more people. A few moments passed before Phil also stood, his expression downcast as he surveyed his despondent followers.

PJ crossed the street in a dozen quick strides, clapping his friend on the back. “Don’t look so dejected, it happens,” he muttered, then raised his voice so everyone else could hear, “It’s a bust, sorry everyone! We got some bad information. Come on, let’s go to the coffee shop next to the library and re-plan!” He then hastily turned to Phil. “Is that okay?”

“What?” Phil had been glancing at his phone. He slid it back into his pocket with a nonchalant shrug. “Um, yeah. Let’s go.”

PJ eyed him with a frown but obediently fell in behind him as they all started down the street toward downtown. They could make another plan, a better plan. Phil would be fine.

~~~

“Yeah, at that point I was lying to myself,” PJ mused. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself, much less to anyone else.”

“Did you ever confront him?” Tyler asked.

A burst of air wheezed forth from PJ as he laughed helplessly. It took a few long moments before he was able to regain his breath. “God, oh my - god. Yeah, but no. It’s more like I was slapped in the face with it. And it happened only two weeks later.”

~~~

“I need volunteers,” said PJ’s art teacher. He received approximately zero volunteers, and in fact, no acknowledgement that he had even spoken.

“PJ!” barked the instructor. PJ hastily closed his textbook over the phone which he had been using to type out another message that would be ignored by Phil.

“Yes?” he began in an overly sweet tone, but was drowned out by the teacher’s announcement of, “...and Louise! Both of you, come up here.”

PJ and Louise exchanged the appropriate sneers as they reluctantly joined their teacher at the front of the room. He handed them each a massive poster board and stepped back, dusting his hands with a satisfied expression. PJ determinedly did not stagger under the weight of the board when he noticed Louise hoisting it with ease.

“Excellent,” said the teacher. “Take these to the theatre room, if you will. It’s just down the hall, so it shouldn’t take long at all. I expect you back in less than five minutes.”

PJ and Louise jostled each other as they left the room.

“Just down the hall,” PJ could hear Louise mocking as they trudged down the empty hall. “We do know where the theatre room is, we’re not incompetent. Five minutes.”

PJ felt a rush of comradery but ruthlessly quelled it. It would not do to joke around with Dan’s right-hand woman, no matter how much they mutually disliked their art teacher or how accurate her mockery was.

They reached the theatre room in only a minute. PJ managed to fumble for the handle and shoulder the door open, while Louise haughtily stood to the side and allowed him to struggle. PJ attempted to kick it shut as he ducked through, but she was right behind him and shoved him aside with her shoulder so she could get in.

It was dark inside, and PJ was tempted to just dump the poster board on the floor and be done with it, but instead, he leaned it against the wall as he scrabbled for the light switch. The overhead lights flared on and PJ blinked against the sudden change.

“Oh,” said Louise, behind him, and the single word was such a blatant mixture of shock and horror that PJ felt obliged to turn and see what she was reacting to.

“Oh,” he said, instantly regretting turning, and then he hurled the poster board in his hands at the sight before him. It fell only a few feet from PJ and thumped sadly against the floor. “Are you kidding me?” hissed PJ.

“Um,” said Dan and Phil in unison. They looked mortified and had every right to be. Phil was already hastily doing up his shirt and Dan was adjusting his trousers.

“You absolute wankers,” PJ snapped, then emphasized, “fucking prats.”

Louise’s hands were on her hips and PJ felt a kinship in their mutual glares at the couple still awkwardly sprawled against the costume wardrobe. “I can’t believe you,” she said, her tone outraged. “You…?” and she trailed off, choked with rage.

“Look,” said Phil, hands outstretched and gaze earnest. “We meant to - ”

“What?” PJ shrilled. “Were you going to tell us when you invited us to the wedding? You prick, how long has this been going on?”

“I. Four months, but - !”

“Months,” said Louise, strangled.

“So!” said PJ. “This is why you’ve been acting shifty lately. You thought...you thought it’d be totally okay to just, I don’t know, keep pitting your loyal subjects against each other while staying out of the crossfire?”

“You didn’t think to maybe tell us that there wasn’t a point in fighting each other since the bosses are making out in a dark theatre room?” Louise had dropped her hands but they were flexing in rage.

“It’s not like that!” Dan blurted. “We just wanted to - we didn’t want to fight anymore.”

Phil tilted his chin up defiantly and added, “We had a meeting a few months back and decided to tone down the gang stuff. Then it just...led to this.”

PJ was fairly sure his face was purple if it even vaguely resembled Louise’s. He took a few deep breaths to make sure oxygen was getting everywhere it needed to reach. “And you. Didn’t think. To tell us.”

“We were going to!” Phil insisted. “We were just...trying to think of the best way to say it. Everyone was so into it - it’s not like anyone ever got hurt, they were just pranks and a few fights here and there.”

“Just pranks,” said Louise, in so low a voice that even PJ felt a tremble of fear. Dan didn’t quiver under her glare though, just reached out and defiantly linked his hand with Phil’s.

“I wasn’t really doing anything, anyway,” Phil concluded, and waved his free hand at PJ. “You were planning everything, I was just there as a head figure. You don’t need me. You don’t need us.”

“We’re out,” Dan said resolutely.

Louise picked up her board and heaved it across the room. It got a few feet further than PJ’s before it landed heavily, a suspicious cracking noise breaking the silence. “Right,” she said, her chest heaving.

“Right,” PJ repeated. He took a deep breath and reached down to tug up the left leg of his trousers. He retrieved the slender weapon from his ankle holster, then levelled it at Dan and Phil and fired it. Once. Twice.

PJ and Louise stood there for a few long moments, then they glanced at each other and, in unison, turned and left the room. PJ spitefully switched off the light again. They walked back to their classroom in a horrible silence but stopped before going inside.

“Well,” said Louise. “That’s that.”

They looked at each other.

“Ready to take over for Dan?” said PJ.

Louise thought about it. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so. I’m better suited at behind-the-scenes work. Will you take over for Phil?”

PJ also thought about it. “No,” he echoed, and then smiled. “I have a better idea.”

~~~

“You shot them?” Tyler’s voice was almost high enough to call forth a pack of dogs.

PJ hoisted his leg up onto the chair beside him and tugged up his trousers, taking out the gun. He handed it to Tyler, whose hands trembled as he took it.

“Oh,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah,” said PJ, and took it back. “It’s just a water gun. I sprayed them in the face, though. They probably needed it after all that making out. The water guns are our biggest seller, you know, since they’re what we use to fight other school gangs.”

“So that’s how it all started?” asked Tyler, sounding awed.

PJ put the water gun back, then took a bite of his cold potatoes and chewed them slowly, mournful once more at the taste. “That’s how it all started. It was easy to get everyone together once they knew Dan and Phil had dumped all of us and Louise backed me as the new leader. Phil got what he wanted, though. The pranks and the fighting stopped and we went on to bigger and better things, such as smuggling and counterfeiting. Water guns and roasted peanuts are our most popular products right now.”

“And I can get anything you want from a toy store,” said Tyler.

PJ clapped him on the shoulder. What a great kid he had here. He had a feeling Tyler would do amazing things. “And you can get anything we want from a toy store.”

The bell rang. Students rushed from the room as they headed to class, and within seconds, more students escaping their classes entered the room. Some of PJ’s hench people left and were replaced by others as they got their food and subtly arranged themselves in a staggered perimeter around PJ’s table. Both PJ and Tyler stayed seated - PJ because he was uninterested in history class and his decrepit teacher wouldn’t notice if he never arrived, and Tyler because this was his free period.

The doors at the far end of the room thudded open and PJ glanced toward them. With the usual dramatic flair, Dan and Phil strode into the room, their power couple aura emanating throughout it. Heads turned and chatter dwindled as they crossed the room toward PJ and his new lackey.

PJ just watched coolly until they sat on either side of Tyler, trapping him across from PJ. He looked terrified.

“Dan,” said PJ, tone icy. “Phil.”

“PJ,” they said in unison, extraordinarily creepy.

PJ stared at them both, jaw stiff, for a few more long moments before he cracked and released a laugh that bubbled up from his chest. Dan and Phil both broke at the same time, Dan throwing his head back as he chortled and Phil giggling helplessly into one hand.

“Oh god,” PJ finally said, wiping his eyes. “Wow.” He reached across the table to pat Tyler’s hand. “It’s okay kid, you can relax. We’re all cool. It’s just an initiation thing, they like to scare the new guys and make sure they’re fine to join. They might not be the big bosses anymore but they still have the moves.”

Tyler slumped in his seat, visibly relieved, but his eyes were still tight around the edges. “I’m going to regret joining this, aren’t I?” he asked, resigned.

PJ smiled. “Yeah, probably.”

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #phanfic crack #mostly crack #phandom fic fests bingo 2019 #phandom bingo 2019 #guns #gun tw #gangs au #highschool au #feat. pj liguori; tyler oakley; louise pentland

[darling-archeron]

Going Home

Aka the holiday fic I never posted. Feyre is stranded in the airport on Christmas Eve, but luckily she runs into a familiar face. Modern AU, Feysand.

Everything was falling apart. 

I could feel the weight pressing on my chest as my eyes started burning with tears I refused to let fall.

This is fine this is fine. Breathe.

I tried to take calming breaths as I hurried through the airport, not sure where I was going.

The breakup and subsequent loss of my job had been bad to begin with. 

Then, Nesta and Elain had decided not to come to California since Dad’s health issues prevented him from joining them. At least, that was what Elain had said. Nesta probably hadn’t wanted to come in the first place.

So I had decided to fly to them last minute. The overpriced plane ticket cost money I couldn’t spare, but it would be worth it if I could see my friends and family in New York for the first time in ages.

The flight had a two-hour layover in Illinois, which shouldn’t have been a problem. Until the Illinois-New York flight was cancelled, leaving me hopelessly stranded in the Chicago airport. Even worse, on Christmas Eve.

After the initial panic, I had pulled myself together and rescheduled my flight for 3:30 tomorrow. But after the plane ticket, I definitely didn’t have enough money for a hotel stay unless I wanted to fall more behind on my student loan payments. Not an option.

I didn’t know anyone in the city, which left me with...what? Sleeping in the airport all night? 

Just then, my phone buzzed.

Nesta: Elain just told me you lost your job at Springfield.

Damn it. I had sworn her to secrecy after she had accidentally found out, but it was only a matter of time before my middle sister had let something slip. I had been hoping to keep it quiet until after Christmas. Nesta meant well, but she’d be badgering me about the details, about what I had done wrong, about why it had happened. It was easier to pretend I hadn’t been let go for unsavory reasons.

I was so tired, and the tears had finally spilled over. And somehow, I had ended up in the food court, standing there like an idiot. Exhausted, I sat down on the nearest bench, about to place my head in my hands when -

“Feyre?”

My head shot up at the familiar voice. In front of me stood a tall, dark-haired man I hadn’t seen in over a year.

“Rhysand?” My voice came out thick, my nose clogged up from the crying.

Of course. Of course I would run into Rhysand Noctis here, having a breakdown halfway between a Jimmy-Johns and a Taco Bell. Despite just getting off a flight, he looked strikingly handsome in black jeamss and a t-shirt. And as always, his hair didn’t have a strand out of place.

He laughed. “You don’t see me for a year and you call me Rhysand? I thought you would have known me better than that, darling.” 

The return of the old nickname was enough to bring the hint of a smile to my lips. We had known each other well in high school after he had ended up tutoring me when my English grades fell embarrassingly low. Though I hated him at first, we had gradually grown close. After high school, both of us attended colleges in California, making it easier to hang out occasionally – until these last few months, when we had lost touch.

I stood up, wiping my eyes in an attempt to look like I hadn’t spent the day travelling and on the verge of a breakdown. Rhys was frowning a bit, clearly wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

Concern lined Rhys’s face. “Travelling for the holidays?”

I nodded. “Yeah. My flight’s been cancelled, and the next one doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon.” I fished for something to say, some menial question or the small talk I had always been so awful at. “What about you - how have you been?”

He gave a half-shrug, pivoting the handle of his luggage as he talked. “It’s been a long year. But everything has improved now that I’ve stumbled across you again, Feyre darling.”

I rolled my eyes. “Flirt.”

Just then, my phone buzzed again, and I fished it out of my pocket. Elain this time.

Elain: Dad’s really disappointed that you can’t make it tonight. ): Where r u staying?

My middle sister’s well-meaning words somehow set something off in me. I had disappointed Dad once again, I didn’t have a place to stay….

I started to cry again – louder, this time, definitely enough to make people stare. I had never been one who was able to cry prettily. I felt myself sink back down onto the bench.

Rhys immediately sat down next to me, our knees only a few inches apart.

“What’s wrong, Feyre?”

I didn’t respond, trying to focus on my breathing, but too lost to do so.

“Is there something I can do, someone I can call to help?” My eyes weren’t focusing, my head was bowed. Concern coated his voice, but I shook my head, I couldn’t breathe –

“Feyre.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “Breathe.” Pure command, no room for argument. But my mind found anchor in his voice, and I shuddered, heaving great, even breaths from the depths of my lungs.

“Do you need to talk about it?” I had spent so long keeping it all inside, and the first rule of that was never to cry in public.

Rule number two was to deny anything was wrong. 

I had already broken both of those, and just talking about what had happened…it sounded more appealing than I was willing to admit.

”It’s just….a lot of crap. I went through a breakup, lost my job, and now I don’t have enough money for a decent hotel stay because I spent all of it on this flight. My family and I…. we went through a rough patch. I didn’t speak to them for a while. And just when we were closer to making things right…” My hands balled up, fingernails snagging on the fabric of my black leggings.

Rhys was silent for a moment. I studied his face, noticing his eyes were filled with more emotion than I was used to from him. And below them telltale dark circles.

His hand hovered above my shoulder, as if wanting to comfort me but not wanting to invade my space. 

“Come stay with me tonight.”

I looked up at him in surprise, ready to reject the offer. 

“I’m staying at my cousin Morrigan’s. You remember her, right?”

“Yes.” She had always been friendly towards me, and I had ended up crashing at her house once when things got bad at mine. Though I suspected that at times, her home life was worse than mine. 

But I wasn’t going to interfere in a family affair. “That’s ridiculous, Rhys. Mor and I haven’t seen each other in years, and I’m not going to barge in on your holiday. It’s a kind offer, but I’ll find some other place to stay.”

Rhys furrowed his brow, persisting. “Mor adores you, Feyre. I promise you wouldn’t be interrupting. Or if you’re not comfortable with it, I could loan you some cash. To get a hotel for the night.”

Interesting. His offer was genuine – I could read it in his words and in his unusually open face. But I wasn’t putting myself in more debt, even with someone like Rhys. And a hotel would still mean an empty room, filled with only the sounds of a microwave dinner and a bad movie in the background.

I had spent too many Christmases like that.

Staying at Mor’s sounded nice. And it was only for one night. “Alright, I’ll stay at Mor’s. But only if she’s okay with it. No showing up with me with no warning.”

A grin spread across his face, violet eyes bright and true.  “I’ll call her right now.”

He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, dialing her number. Mor answered almost immediately, and I listened as he explained my situation. Only the barest details, that my flight had been cancelled and I needed a place to crash. When Rhys told her that he had invited me to stay, I could hear her shriek of excitement from where I was standing.

It made me feel a little better about the whole thing, and I could feel a flutter of excitement in my belly at the prospect of seeing Mor again. 

The cousins chatted for a few more minutes, and I responded to Elain, letting her know I was staying with some friends. Nesta’s text I left alone, for now. It would be better to just discuss it face-to-face.

By the time we had left the airport and found a taxi, twenty minutes had passed. The weather was gradually worsening and the car wound up taking several detours to avoid closed roads and accidents. 

“So, what is Mor doing in Chicago?” I asked, watching the blur of buildings go by through the window. “I thought she was planning on college in New York?” Her father had been pushing for her to attend a prestigious private school.

“Her family was planning on her going there. Things got…complicated.” Rhysand’s tone was dark, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of that particular story. “She’s in her last year at the University of Chicago now.” 

We sat in comfortable silence for a minute before I piped up again.

“What’s the rest of the crew up to now?” I asked. “I’ve lost touch with everyone.”

The question seemed to raise his spirits. “Cassian is still in the army – he isn’t able to be home for Christmas this year. Az just got promoted at the tech security company he works for. He’s flying in from New York to be at Mor’s tomorrow, actually. Amren is still working as a lawyer. She’s actually in Chicago as well, though it’s hard to say if she’ll drop in. You know how she is.”

I nodded, a faint smile on my lips. They had all been Rhys’s friends more than mine, but there were days when I was still surprised by how much I could miss their quips and banter. 

“And you? What have you kept yourself so busy with?”

Rhys shrugged. “I’ve been working in the California office for Illyria Tech.” He said slowly, naming the multi-million dollar company his father held a high position in. “Dad’s been pushing for me to come back home and work in the headquarters. Convinced I can get a better job there. But even though California hasn’t been easy –“ He furrowed his eyebrows. “I can’t bring myself to go back permanently – not yet. But I’m staying at Mor’s for a few days and then going home for New Year’s.” He paused. “I’ve been talking almost this whole ride. Tell me one thing about your year.” 

I nodded. “I know what you mean – about going home. My Dad thinks that us not fighting anymore means that I’m ready to swallow my pride and come home, that California was too big of a venture into the unknown for me. It’s true I needed to get out of LA for a while…. but I have to go back.” Heaven only knew there were certain places I still wouldn’t go back to in LA. The restaurant he had always taken me to. The parking lot across from the Macy’s where he had hit me for the first time and then apologized a thousand times afterwards. And I hated the smell of roses.

“For what it’s worth…I’m sorry about your breakup.” His voice was soft, as if he had known what I was thinking about.

“Don’t be. I’m glad it’s over.”

Rhys didn’t say anything, and I looked over to see him staring out of the window of the taxi. His sharp profile against the snowy windowpane would have made a stunning painting. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, when the taxi lurched to a halt in front of a small apartment building.

Despite his protests, I insisted we split the cost of the taxi. It was the least I could do.

The weather was beginning to get bad, wind whipping my hair out of its plait and snow stinging my skin as I hauled my suitcase up into the apartment building and into the elevator. 

Mor opened the door on Rhys’s first knock, squealing and throwing her arms around him. No sooner had she stepped away from her embrace with him then I found myself wrapped up in a hug tight enough to suck the air out of my lungs.

“Feyre! I’m so glad you and Rhys ran into each other!” She exclaimed. “Come in, come in.” She hustled me past her cousin, ignoring my protests as she pushed a mug of hot cocoa into my hands and urged me to sit down on the couch. “Rhys can put your bags in my guest room.” Mor said, shushing my protests.

“I’m expecting a mug of cocoa as payment for my services!” He called from the other room, voice sounding lighter than before. 

Mor rolled her eyes, plopping down next to me. “If he’s cold, it’s his own damn fault for not bringing a decent coat.”

Though I had felt exhausted earlier, the three of us talked for hours, the chatter blocking out the wind's howl. Anytime my fumbling words would send the conversation to an awkward halt, Rhys or Mor would pick it back up as if nothing had happened. As the posters and souvenirs around the room proved, Mor had practically been around the world and had endless stories about her travels that kept the conversation flowing long past midnight. I even surprised myself whenever I would let out a croak of laughter at something they said or did. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed.

At some point Mor brought went into the kitchen to get more wine, and I found myself alone on the couch with Rhys.

“Thank you – for inviting me here.” I said softly, looking him in the eye.

“Of course. You didn’t think I would let you spend Christmas stranded in an airport, did you, Feyre darling?” 

I smiled at that, wondering for the first time if my heart wasn’t as irreparably shattered as I had thought. “Merry Christmas, Rhys.”

#feysand #acotar #feysand fic #a court of thorns and roses #rhys #feyre #my writing #kat's writing #kate's writing #mine #acomaf #acowar

[xukunstellation]

Fantasy Fest Series: Demon of Mine || Bu Fan [Demon!AU]

Credit to @buyuefan for the gif, which sparked inspiration for this fic!

Title: Demon of Mine Pairing: Reader x Bufan Genre: Witch!AU + Demon!AU + fluff  Word Count: 2,202 words Summary: Magic can be tricky, especially when you accidentally summon a demon into your home.

A/N: My first fic in the Fantasy Fest series! At the time of me writing up this fic, demon!au is currently in the lead in the poll. Who else better to play the role of a demon that Bufan himself? Also, a disclaimer: everything is pretty much more or less fictional. I made up a few things as far as summoning demons go and I also didn’t want anyone to get any ideas, lol. Everything is under the cut because this is the longest fic i’ve ever written I think, oof. Enjoy demon!Bufan! 

Warning: mild cursing, brief mention of blood

ya’ll asked for demon!au

so i gotchu boo

you come from a family of witches 

magic has ran through your family blood line for generations, dating back to the early 1400s

contrary to popular belief, your family did not practice black magic or served the Devil

instead your family used magical skills in order to heal others, even opening an apothecary as a family business

all throughout your life, you loved learning about the functions of different types of herbs and ingredients and using that knowledge to create all types of potions and concoctions 

you also had an affinity for spell-casting and charms

every so often, your parents would go on business trips and travel across realms, bringing back new knowledge of spells and potions that you had never heard of 

sometimes they were gone for months or, rarely, a year

it did feel strange being on your own for long periods of time, but you grew accustomed to it

it also meant you were left in charge of running the apothecary, which you were all too eager for

as you flipped to a page in one of your many ancient potion-books to find the cure for nightshade rash for one of your clients, you scanned the ingredient list and saw that one of the ingredients was virtually illegible due to the fact that the ink was rubbed away over time 

“damn. how am I supposed to make this potion now?” you sighed. “guess i’ll have to ask grandma.”

after closing up the shop so that no customers wandered in, you headed to the back room. shelves lined the walls and were filled with all sorts of magical ingredients, all neatly organized according to their use. the soft sound of the fire crackling under the fireplace and the bubbling of the cauldron hanging above it filled the room. books and papers written in latin littered the tables and floor messily, the aftermath of your charms studying session from earlier

with a flick of your wrist, the books and papers levitated and swirled in the air for a moment before tidying themselves into organized stacks. another flick of your wrist, everything including the furniture moved on their own and cleared the center of the floor

“hm... what was the spell that mom used?” you said to yourself.

you had never summoned your deceased grandmother before, let alone any spirit for that matter. usually it was your mother who did the spirit contacting

looking through a spell book, you stopped at one particular spell and figured this was what you were looking for 

how to summon a loved one

according to the spell, all you had to do was draw a magic circle, provide a drop of blood and say a simple incantation. the circle will automatically summon the one you love, which you figured was your grandmother in this case

sounds easy enough

oh boy were you in for a surprise

you carefully used a piece of white chalk to carefully replicate the image  of a large summoning circle, carefully sketching intricate patterns as you go. facing the fireplace, you slowly inhaled and exhaled, a stream of wind leaving your mouth and extinguishing the flames, turning the room almost pitch black. with that said, you lit a few candles around the circle. gently running your index finger over the other, a small incision appeared. tilting your finger, you let a drop of blood fall into the circle. it was time to start the ritual.

closing your eyes, you channeled all of your energy to your core and began reciting the spell incantation. feeling the magic run through your veins, you felt the air pick up and stir around you, creating a vortex at the center of the circle. shadows danced along the walls to the sound of your chanting that grew in volume with each repetition. the once tiny golden flames were now a roaring, brilliant amethyst. 

your words came to a halt as you finished reciting the spell. the room around you also fell into a complete silence. opening your eyes, you were prepared to greet the spirit of your grandmother

except it wasn’t a spirit

hell (no pun intended) it wasn’t even your grandmother

floating in a fog of purple smoke above the summoning circle was a massive male figure around 6′3′’. his hair was a blood crimson, mirroring his glowing eyes beneath his closed lids. aside from wearing slightly loose black pants and a long trench coat, he was completely shirtless 

(you were lowkey checking out his abs ooh la la)

but what caught you the most off guard was the lilac tint of his skin, the onyx curled horns above his head, deadly talons instead of fingernails, and the powerful presence of obsidian wings that were tattered and torn at the edges and looked at least twice your size

“oh shit i just summoned a demon”

at the sound of your voice, the demon’s eyes snapped open and glared at you with what you believe was murderous intent

fuck

you were going to die tonight 

you were a healer, not a fighter rip you

just as the demon made a move to step out of circle, the spell broke. the magic that kept him afloat disappeared in a flash

causing him to plant face first onto your wooden floor

“....pfffft-”

you knew you probably shouldn’t have found the idea of a potentially dangerous demon in your home funny, but you couldn’t stopped laughing at how someone so scary looking could be so clumsy

meanwhile the demon only winced in pain as he stood back up and rubbed his face before shooting you a look of disbelief

most people would faint, pee their pants, cry, or at least scream in fear at the sight of him

but here you are laughing at him

who tf were you?

“are you done?” he deadpanned after watching you laugh at him for three minutes straight

wiping away a stray tear, you barely managed to settle down and responded, “y-yeah i think i’m good. are you?”

“peachy”

you felt the need to laugh again... until you realized that the spell you used was meant to summon:

a loved one

and it summoned this random demon 

wtf was that supposed to mean

“wait, who the hell are you?” you interrogated

“my name is bufan. i’m a formidable demon of the Underworld!” his loud, deep ass voice boomed before leaning down his height to make eye contact with you

you felt your heart flutter a bit at how close he was

“that’s uh... nice...”

“just... nice....?”

“yeah....”

awkward silence

“so who are you and why did you summon me?” bufan questioned, raising a dark eyebrow at you

“oh! i’m (y/n). i kind of summoned you by accident,” you sheepishly admitted

“how do you accidentally summon a demon?”

“how do you accidentally trip and fall while getting summoned?”

“....”

damn you got him there

“anyway,” you coughed, “all i wanted to do was summon the spirit of my dead grandmother, not a demon. i’m not even sure why the spell summoned you in the first place. not to be rude or anything but can you go back to where you came from? I'm really busy and need to talk to my grandmother so i can start this cure already”

"i can't unless you give me your first born child"

“....say what now”

you gaped at his serious poker face before slowly watching it contort into a shit-eating grin. then he broke into a boisterous laughing fit that shook the whole room with its intensity

you pouted when you realized he was pulling your leg. “this is payback for earlier, isn’t it?”

he calmed himself down to a few chuckles, “i was just trying to break the ice. it’s not every day i get summoned to a cute little witch’s home”

you nearly forgot how much of a smooth talker demons were

blood rushed to your cheeks at his words

definitely not because he called you cute

(it definitely is)

“but i’m telling the truth when i say i can’t exactly go back. that’s not how this spell works. i’m already bounded to you by blood”

you wondered what he meant by ‘not how the spell works’

“the spell book doesn’t say anything about it either,” you sighed. “i guess that means you’re stuck with me for the time being- hey! be careful with that!”

you snatched a bottle of naga venom from bufan who already was snooping around at all of the magical ingredients and things around him

“you’re awfully calm. aren't you afraid i'll take your soul or something?" he says

"bold of you to assume I have a soul"

you were joking of course and he, being a demon, could sense that you indeed did have a soul and grinned at you

“just... try and behave yourself, ok?”

“i’ll be on my best behavior”

bufan was not on his best behavior

you should have known never to trust a demon smh

having bufan around was like taking care of three year old child

he’s constantly asking you questions every time you’re trying to make potions and just genuinely trying to annoy you

“(y/n), what’s that?”

“dragon’s breath”

“and that?”

“alicorn tears”

“this empty jar says teeth. who’s teeth?”

“it’s about to be yours in a second after i punch you in the jaw if you don’t stfu”

“are all you humans so snippy?”

“oh my god”

“more like oh my lucifer amirite”

you were a unicorn’s hair away from hexing him jfc

for someone so big, he was also extremely sneaky and sly

he’s always trying to play pranks on you and using his powers to his advantage

such as using his invisibility to randomly pop in front of you or poke your sides or face when you were doing something

or hiding your phone and other necessities all over the house and sending you on an entire scavenger hunt

despite his childish tendencies, bufan was also quite reliable 

for some reason, he grew to be protective of you although he knew you could protect yourself with your own powers

whenever you traveled home alone at night, he insisted on flying you home on his broad back

which you secretly loved bc flying with bufan was always fun since he would always make it feel like a roller coaster ride by flying in loops and various speeds

there were times where bufan even acted like a mother figure which was both intriguing and terrifying

“(y/n), did you eat yet?”

“no i don’t have any time to-”

*proceeds to make eight different types of meals for you*

in addition, he always had liver medicine on hand and you have no idea how or why???

whenever you were having a bad day, he never hesitated to listen to your problems even if they didn’t apply to him as a demon

over the next few months of bufan living with you, your once quiet and uneventful home was now constantly filled with laughter, annoyed yells, and bustle. you found yourself noticeably happier

but a part of you always wondered if your happiness was only one sided

“bufan,” you called out to him one day while fiddling with your wand

he made a grunting sound from the couch that was situated a few feet from you, indicating that he heard you and was listening

“do you regret being summoned by me?” you nervously asked

no answer

feeling your heart drop when he failed to respond, you assumed the worse and laughed quietly to hide the sadness in your heart

“it’s okay if you do. i wont hold it against you,” you nodded timidly

hearing his footsteps approach you, you faintly remember hearing your wand drop onto the floor before he pulled you close to him

you’ve never felt so tiny oml

“what makes you think i regret being here?” he questioned, clearly confused as to why you were suddenly bringing this up

you shrugged, “i don’t know... i mean, you were kind of forced to. do you miss being on your own?”

“do you?”

it took you a moment to quietly reply, “i’ve gotten used to feeling alone, so if you wanted to leave, i would let you”

bufan could hear the loneliness that lingered at the edge of your words. little did you know, he already knew how much you meant to him from the very first day he met you. there was no way it was an accident. he pulled you tighter to him before kissing the top of your head

“silly little witch. who says i’m going anywhere?”

you tilted your head up at him in surprise, “you’re saying that if you had the chance to leave, you wouldn’t take it?”

“you couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to”

and you swear that that was the moment you knew you had fallen for a demon

maybe performing that spell wasn’t a mistake after all

perhaps the universe knew that bufan was meant to be your loved one

because there was no better feeling than always coming home to a certain demon of yours

#idol producer #idol producer imagines #idol producer scenarios #idol producer writing #oner #oner imagines #oner scenarios #oner bufan #bu fan #bu fan imagine #bu fan scenario #bufan #bufan scenario #bufan imagine #qin #bc221 #91% #91% scenarios #91% imagines #cpop #cpop imagines #cpop scenarios

[revasnaslan]

Never My Stepping Stone

the title comes from this song, which was a suggestion from my beta :3

happy @planceday!!

link to ao3 | beta’d by @voxiferous

Summary: Pidge just wants to finish her Gen Ed requirements in one piece - is that so much to ask? Fortunately her good friend Lance is there to help her when she has a little mishap at the pottery studio. Her good friend Lance who she kinda, sorta, maybe has a crush on...

Mosaic Class AU | Plance Day Fic 2 of 2

Gen Ed sucked.

Pidge had found that all the interesting classes for a given subject never fulfilled the requirements they needed to. In an attempt to avoid having to deal with Gen Ed, Pidge had been putting off taking several classes for a couple of semesters now. However, with the spring semester of her junior year looming over her head, she had finally acknowledged that she needed to take the art classes that were required for her degree.

That was how she had ended up in an afternoon mosaics class. While Pidge had never really thought of herself as an artsy person, it wasn’t a difficult class. The professor was pretty chill, and he didn’t even care if they came in during their scheduled class period. So long as they were prepared for critiques, they were allowed to continue working on their projects outside of class hours.

Her reluctance to take the class was abated by the fact that she knew several people in her class. Keith, for instance, was a recent transfer from the nearby community college. While he was rarely actually in class, he was always prepared for the critiques. Hunk was her neighbor from across the hall. They frequently had study group together, due to being in many of the same classes. And then there was Hunk’s roommate, Lance. He frequently joined their study group, even though he was in a completely different major—political science to Pidge’s computer science and Hunk’s engineering. He had actually been the one to suggest the mosaics class to Pidge, one time when they had been pulling an all-nighter to get a final paper of his edited.

Now, Pidge wasn’t above admitting to herself that she might’ve… sort of… had a tiny crush on Lance—not that he ever seemed to notice. They were close friends, of course, but she had noticed that how he acted around someone he was actively pursuing seemed to be very different from how he interacted with her. For one thing, he never flirted with her—which she was not complaining about. However, he also seemed to drop the majority of his boastful act when he was around her—most of it was just joking, and never in an attempt to impress her. He was even considerate, asking her when she would be taking extra hours in the studio to work on her projects, so he accompanied her more often than not.

Her current project was a stepping stone she intended to give to her mother once it was completed. She had designed it so that it looked like a forward-facing lioness head, except the lioness was green, rather than tan. After spending nearly a month and a half putting the tiles into place—in between working on multiple other projects and essays—today was the day she would finally be grouting her project. However, the color tile she had chosen for the lioness head made choosing a grout color difficult. They didn’t have a wide variety of colors available and while she could have ordered green grout, she had felt it unnecessary. Eventually, she had settled on black. Lance had actually been the one to inspire the design choice, as he had made an offhand comment about how choosing black grout could make her project appear similar to stained glass.

The critique for this project would be during their next class, a week away, but she really did need to finish grouting it. Lance had been kind enough to offer to keep her company, so they had met up at the studio following their afternoon classes. She sat at one end of the table, working her project, while Lance sat a couple of seats away, cleaning up the work he had already done on his.

Of course, in her haste to leave her dorm that morning, she had forgotten her grouting gloves. Normally, the professor was very strict about having them, but seeing as the professor wasn’t there and Lance wouldn’t snitch on her, Pidge had been grouting with her bare hands. For the first hour, everything had been fine, and she had almost finished the entire project. Then, as she ran her hand over the edge of the stepping stone, she felt a sharp pain as a piece of tile slashed her palm.

She immediately cursed, drawing her hand back to look at the cut. The tile had drawn blood and she hissed as she tried to see how bad it actually was. Before she could do anything, however, Lance was immediately at her side, taking her hand in his so that he could examine the cut.

“This is why you’re supposed to wear gloves,” Lance said.

Pidge frowned at him. “Well, I forgot mine today,” she grumbled, annoyed in part because she had forgotten her gloves, but also because Lance was now chastising her for it. The cut didn’t even really hurt that badly. She was sure she had been in much worse pain when she was younger and scraped her knee after falling off her bike.

“That’s no excuse,” Lance tutted, gently taking hold of her wrist before he led her over to the sink in the back of the studio. “Just don’t start panicking,” he said as he turned on the faucet and started testing it on his own fingers first.

She gave a half-hearted scoff. “I’m not panicking.”

Lance laughed, as he brought her hand under the stream of water and began helping her wash out the cut. “Sure, you aren’t. Cuz I’m here.”

Pidge’s palm stung as the warm water hit it, but now that she was looking at it, the cut certainly wasn’t worth a trip to the on-campus clinic. While her palm was bleeding, it was not profuse, and the cut wasn’t as deep as she had originally thought it was. Still, she hissed as Lance began helping her wash out the cut. He did most of the work himself, and while his motions were slightly rough, he was taking care to keep lingering grout and dirt from getting into the cut. He seemed to be trying to keep her calm—even though she was calm—by talking. She was only half listening, but she caught bits and pieces about him being inspired by her stepping stone project to do his own.

“Except I would have made the lion blue, of course—blue is the superior color!”

She very nearly snapped at him, not because he was rambling, but because she wanted to tell him that she could handle it. However, there was something so genuine and thoughtful about his actions that she stopped herself and remained silent. It was only then that Pidge fully grasped the situation she had landed herself in by accidentally slicing her palm open on a shard of tile. She now stood in very close proximity to the guy she had been harboring something of a crush on for the last few months. Now she could feel her cheeks burning. She did manage to say a couple of words back to him, but they came out unbearably shaky—which Lance then misinterpreted as her being nervous about the cut, rather than their proximity.

Once Lance finished washing out her cut, Pidge watched as he began digging through the first aid kit that hung on the wall. He fished out a tube of Neosporin and a bandage, wrapping her palm up and fastening the bandage in place. Lance knew what he was doing, even if he had probably overdone it just a touch. A Band-Aid would have been sufficient.

“There we go!” Lance said, smiling brightly at her. “Good as new! I think I did a pretty good job!”

“Thanks, Lance,” Pidge said quietly, retracting her hand. It still stung a little bit, but she was sure that would fade in time. She wasn’t so sure that her burning face would go away anytime soon, though.

“No problem, Pidge,” Lance said as he turned his attention back to the sink and begin wiping water off the counter. “My mom taught me first aid, so you got quality service!”

Pidge bit back a retort, but she did snort softly in amusement. Really, she should just ask him out for… a coffee or something, and hope for the best. The only reason that she had never done so before was because she felt it didn’t really matter—she was perfectly happy having Lance as a friend. A coffee date was innocent enough, right? She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before nudging Lance in the side. He turned his head to look at her, almost immediately asking what was wrong.

“Would you like to go out for coffee later?” Pidge managed, speaking much more quickly than she had meant to.

Lance tilted his head to the side, appearing confused. “You don’t need to buy me coffee, Pidge,” he assured her. “It was just a little cut. It’s not like I dragged you out of a burning building—of course, I totally would, but this was—”

“No—no,” Pidge cut him off. Her brow furrowed in annoyance and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I meant—I meant as a date?” she tried to elaborate, and cursed herself for stuttering as much as she did. Why was she so nervous about this of all things, when she had a fifteen page paper and a presentation due in two days?

Being asked out on a date by Pidge seemed to take Lance by surprise. His cheeks tinged pink, but he fell silent, and said nothing back to her. It was startling to see Lance so quiet, and Pidge felt her heart leap into her throat. The longer the silence went on, the more overwhelming the situation became, and the more Pidge just wanted to excuse herself and run away like some kind of coward.

“You don’t have to say yes,” Pidge finally said, breaking the silence. She averted her gaze to the ground, clutching her hand to her chest, cheeks going even redder than they had been before. “But I figured I’d ask since—since I kind of like you, and if you don’t want to, then—”

“Wait, wait—” Lance said quickly, cutting her off. Carefully, he reached out to place his hands on her shoulders. “I would love to, okay?” he insisted. He seemed to be struggling to contain himself, grinning and looking ready to jump for joy.

“I mean I know I’m a catch—”

Pidge snorted, rolling her eyes. “You’re a braggart—”

“A braggart you just asked out!” Lance said, grinning at her. “So, no take backs!”

Pidge couldn’t contain her laugh. “When do you want to go?”

“Right after we clean up around here,” Lance insisted. “Are you done for the day?”

Pidge looked back to where her stepping stone sat, almost entirely grouted. The bucket she had mixed the grout in was almost empty, so it wouldn’t be much of a waste to get rid of the last of it. She just needed to clean up her station and put her project back. She could come back in a day or two in order to finish up before the critique period.

“Yeah, we just need to clean up,” she said.

“Allow me,” Lance said, “Since your hand is injured.”

“It’s just a little cut—”

“Shh—” Lance said, wagging a finger at her. “You are gravely injured—what kind of person would I be if I made you clean in your state? Please, I insist.”

Pidge sighed and shook her head. “Alright… you win, but I’ll pay for the coffee.”

Lance agreed to that before he turned away to start cleaning. As soon as his back was turned, Pidge looked down at her bandaged hand. She flexed it a little and was unable to contain her grin.

#plance #pidge (voltron) #lance (voltron) #voltron #planceday #rev's writing again #based in part on a true story #because i actually did slice my hand open on a piece of tile during my mosaic class #and a cute boy actually did help me tend to it #sadly he already had a girlfriend so i was out of luck xd #makes for a cute plance fic tho