#sometimes the fun bits don’t quite outweigh that for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucytara · 3 years

Note

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt.

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

#Anonymous #bumbleby #rwby fic prompts #rwby fic

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years

Note

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

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9tzuyu · 3 years

Text

children of tragedy (rewrite)

note: heyo, rewriting an old fic of mine. i hope to be able to rewrite all 5 chapters quickly. if you guys don’t like it, i won’t continue because its kinda dark and idk i feel like no ones gonna like it anyways. please leave feedback though, im on my knees begging for validation. also sorry if its ooc, please forgive me.

++ sorry the beginning reveals how rusty my writing is </3

(*** i wrote this as as a fem reader fic because it worked easier with how i wrote things.)

+ please remember that this is purely a way to get out my own feelings/struggles in a healthy way. also i’m sure this works better as a ship fic, but someone asked for this version so yeah :).

** mistakes are mine im too tired and lazy to proofread right now.

warnings: talk of alcohol abuse, slight mention of domestic abuse.

🏷 @peggycarter-steverogers

ch.2 | ch.3

[love, fragility, and the memories that eat us alive.]

meeting wanda changed everything for you. she wasn't like anyone you’d ever known. she was always kind, never quick to lose her temper or scream and yell at you for things you couldn't possibly control. she was warm, tender with everything she did.

your relationship with her was very new to you. it was much different in comparison to your past experiences — and you weren't quite sure what to think of it. there was no doubt that you appreciated her and everything she did for you, but you were still waiting for her to snap. it was almost like a need burning throughout your body. being able to grasp the idea that someone could ever really, truly be gentle with you was out of the question. in turn, you’d push all of her buttons, hoping that she would get mad enough and get it over with.

no one could really fault you for it. the steady stream of abuse was the nearly the entirety of your life, both physical and mental.

lately wanda was having to pick you up from wherever she could find you, most of the time in the alleyways of of bars you’d been kicked from.

once you were drunk enough (anyone really) you weren’t afraid to say the first thing that came to your mind, offensive or not – which meant it was no surprise when you’d been involved in fights. the alcohol numbed a majority of the pain anyway, so didn’t really make much of a difference to you.

with this happening so many times, you figured wanda would be angry with you – perhaps so angry she would find it within her to hit you. but each and every time wanda brought you home, she made sure you were comfortable before tending to your inuries.

what you didn't know was that being so worried for you all the time, every second of everyday, was beginning to take a toll on her. wanda only wanted to fix you, but you were making it more than difficult for her to do that.

she knew very little about your past, simply because you didn't like talking about it and she didn't want to push. but there was no denying the fact that wanda was curious.

sometimes she would ask questions, only between the soft moments the both of you shared. much to her dismay, most of her curiosities were turned down. on the rare occasions you shared brighter memories of your childhood, wanda would bookmark them in the back of her head.

no harm would ever come from her, but you didn’t know that. at least not right now.

too many times had your exes used the trust you’d so politely given against you. to be fair with wanda though, you shared only the brightest parts of your childhood. they were very seldom, but the ones you could remember were the ones you enjoyed talking about the most.

despite her limited knowledge, it wasn’t hard for her to tell that you’d already been hurt plenty of times before. apart from the fact that wanda was overall truly a good person, it made her even more gentle with you than she’d ever been with anyone before.

on top of that, wanda wasn’t stupid. she picked up on every little flinch you tried to hide, or the times you had to ask her if it was okay if you could do something on your own free will, and she definitely didn’t forget about the countless times you berated yourself over small, humanly mistakes. a frown never failed to decorate her face when these things happened.

wanda tried her hardest to make it known how much she loved you, and how she would never intentionally hurt you. she never once lifted a hand on you or raised her voice in the slightest, even when she felt like she’d met a breaking point.

the last few weeks seemed to be putting more stress on her than usual. the gashes on your body seemed to be cutting deeper and the bruises on your jaw and rib cage were beginning to turn a darker shade of indigo as each fight became more aggressive. your knuckles had been swollen, irritated to the point your hands trembled when your palms were held open.

you completely missed how drastically wanda’s mood had changed. she became quiet, seemingly lost in thought most of the time until she needed to take care of you. she grew tired, a purple tint claiming a spot below the lip of her eyes. fifteen pounds of weight had shredded from her body and her head grew dizzy every time she stood up. none of that mattered to wanda though, you were her number one priority.

alcohol was the biggest issue in the way. if wanda could get you to stop drinking for just one night she might be able to reason with you.

the brunette knew that was out of the question though, because she knew no matter how many times she told or expressed her love for you, you wouldn’t stop until you wanted to, not when she wanted you to.

you never allowed yourself to be vulnerable around her, so she never knew how you truly felt about the things going wrong in your life. there was an unbearable amount of pain when it came to confronting what you tried so hard to push away. the idea of allowing yourself to heal, to mourn the things taken away from you caused a lump in the back of your throat. living in denial was the easiest way to cope - that was as long as you could bear the damage it created.

(and whether wanda knew it or not, knowing that you were causing her so much misery was the worst feeling you’d ever faced. all she had ever given you was love and in return she was met with destruction.)

so once again you found yourself walking alone, a slight stagger between steps. it was cold, each breath exhaled from your lips could be seen vaporizing into the air. every movement ripped what balance you thought you’d gained right out from underneath you. the feeling of numbness in your fingertips brought your attention away from the fact that you didn’t know where you were.

the buildings all looked familiar, but everything was hazy. being drunk wasn’t always the fun everyone bragged about. too tired to carry on, you found yourself slumped in the back of an alleyway next to a dirty garbage bin. it reeked of sour, expired food, but you’d given up on caring about anything else other than trying to drink yourself numb.

your mind began to wander. flashes of early mornings with wanda’s hands wrapped around your waist, breath tickling the back of your neck while the sun began to rise started filling your thoughts. the warm feeling wanda gave you outweighed every bad emotion you could possibly think of.

but as you stared at the ground beneath your feet things began to spiral. your throat contracted, the guilt you tried so hard to swallow began clawing its way out of your body.

(and holy fuck you could not deal with this right now.)

you curled your head between your legs in an attempt to shield yourself away from something that was born from the inside.

it was too much.

without a chance to stop what was happening, your stomach began heaving. a mix of bile and alcohol drooled from your mouth as you continued to vomit.

you missed the sound of footsteps coming from behind you. the feeling of a hand on your shoulder caused you to jerk back, slamming your back into the brick wall.

“hey, hey, it’s me. you’re okay. it’s just me, wanda.” she cooed.

through teary eyes, you looked up at the woman in front of you.

she’s your girlfriend.

(but you weren’t sure that you deserved to call her that after everything you’ve put her through.)

“what are you doing here?” your voice wavered as you wiped your mouth free of excess vomit. you sniffled backing away from her.

she tilted her head, desperate to read what your eyes would give away. “i’m here to bring you back home. can you stand up for me?” you shook your head. you were too exhausted and dizzy from the alcohol to even think about standing.

“that’s okay,” she whispered. “here, i’m going to pick you up, okay? wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my hips.”

“mkay.” your speech was still slurred, but at that point all wanda cared about was getting you home safe.

you didn’t remember the ride home or wanda carrying you out of the car to lay you on the couch. by the time she got the supplies she needed to wrap and tend to your wounds, you were completely passed out.

when you woke up you were greeted with a glass of water and an over the counter pain medication. you swallowed the pills and moved to set the glass on the coffee table, but wanda beat you to it and took it out of your hands. she smiled down at you, taking a seat next to you. she tucked your hair behind your ears, giving your face one last gentle stroke.

thats when you noticed her eyes were red.

you immediately sat up, crossing your legs and moved closer to her. you’d hoped to comfort her somehow, but the shake of her head broke sonething inside you.

you bit your lip, anxiety shooting throughout your body. she sensed your nervousness and took your hands in hers, rubbing circles on the outside of your wrist with her thumbs.

“i love you, you know that. at least i hope you do,” she let out a soft laugh. “but i can’t keep doing this.”

your heart dropped, and you could feel the all too familiar feeling of guilt building its way back up. you tried to speak, but wanda cut you off.

“i need you to hear this.”

when you didn’t respond she took the opportunity to continue saying what she needed to get out.

“i have exhausted myself to a breaking point. i can’t keep worrying about you every single night you’re gone. i can’t be there every time you need saving. i’m losing myself.”

she paused to check and see how you were handling her words. for once you weren’t shutting down. you were genuinely trying to process what she was trying to say.

(and she was so proud of you for that. she almost considered giving you another chance. but she knew for the better, she couldn’t do that. not to you, not to her.)

“i’ve packed your things. you can leave tomorrow morning if you wish, i don’t mind having you for another meal or two.”

she squeezed your hands and got up from the couch, allowing you to take in what she said. it was in that moment when you realized that even when she’d finally drawn the line, had enough, she didn’t yell at you. she wasn’t angry, she was just sad.

you were chasing after something that wasn’t there, and it never would be there.

and now you were able to register just how much you’d fucked up the one good thing in your life.

#wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction

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milkacchan · 4 years

Text

Request for anon: Hi! Could you write hcs for poly bakusquad with a quirkless reader who has a serious independent streak but has recently been a target for villain attacks and got injured, but refuses to rely on anyone and tries to ignore their pain and take care of everyone else, please?

This is gonna be a little angsty

• First- it annoyed bakugou that you, someone /quirkless/ made it into the hero class

• On pure fucking spite and anger alone

• You didn't even particularly want to get in to UA

• It was just something you chose to prove someone wrong about

• and it fucking aggravated him- more than aggravated him

• Inspired Deku though, he hated that even more

• and he isn't surebhow- but he ended up talking to you and suddenly you're part of his friend group and he's /okay/ with that

• that irks him too.

• and a lot of things are uncovered when y'all are friendly w eachother

• and they learn pretty fucking fast about your independent streak

• and when you all started dating (crazy how they managed that) they thought it might go away- only it didn't.

• You never asked for help, regardless of what it was- you'd handle it on your own.

• You got hurt during training? Don't worry about it, I'm fine.

• Failed a test? You'd disappear for a few days to study and retake it.

• Didn't know what you were doing in a particular subject? You'd teach it to yourself.

• Aizawa had heard the words 'help' ONCE and he was limited to the help you'd allow him to give you .

• You trained your ass off everyday, you worked hard in school, you took no shit- it was obvious you felt like you had something to prove.

• Bakugou felt like he was a partial reason for that and it made him feel like shit.

• He wasn't exactly the kindest to you when classes started in first year.

• But he was concerned.

• They were all concerned.

• recently, you'd been stressed out. They could tell, even if you weren't giving them signs.

• On top of that, you'd become a big target for villains and no one knew why.

• it seemed like both you and midoryia were a magnet for assholes in masks

• And they tried talking to you about it, they do.

• Denki brings it up, he's holding your hand, Kirishima is threading his fingers through your hair and Seros behind you, holding your waist. Mina is in between your legs, resting her head on your chest and bakugou is at the end of the bed.

• And Denki asks if you need help- whether its coping with it- or dealing with it while its happening- or trying to figure out /why/ they're attacking you

• and you blow him off "it doesn't matter, i'll deal with it if it happens again."

"It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when." Bakugou glares.

"Okay, then when it happens again, I'll deal with it."

"That's fucking stupid," he growls.

Kami squeezes your hand gently. "Maybe we should have a plan-" he glares at Bakugou.

"I was fine last time. Don't do this."

"Do what? Offer fucking help?" Bakugou snaps and Mina cringes. She grips your shirt. She knows what's going to happen, she knows you're going to stomp off to think- it could be a few hours or it could be days. Sometimes, if she held something on you, you'd stay. She hoped this was the case.

"Your fucking pity." You seeth. "I don't need it. I can take care of myself."

"Baby we didn't-" kiri starts but you're already sliding off the bed.

"Babe," Sero looks at you. "please come talk about it,"

You say nothing, and let the door close behind you.

"Fuck." Mina sighs

• Its 2 days.

• 2 days before you resurface, calm and collected, like nothing happened.

• but you're busy- you're training harder. Much harder, you're pushing yourself past your limits and its obvious

• they were already impressed. Theg already knew you could take care of yourself. Why couldn't you see that?

• you push and push and push

• and they don't see as much of you

• when they do see you at the end of the night, you always look exhausted

• and you put on the same fucking front each time

• you smile and laugh and kiss them goodnight but they can see you're in pain

• they don't even get a chance to talk about it with you

• because the next thing they know

• theyre in another attack and youre in the center of it

• You're fighting and you're holding him off but you aren't going to last much longer

• You were tired from the day before- you hadn't gotten proper sleep- and he was strong

• It's all kind of a blur, really, you're thrown a lot, youre bleeding

• he had you by the neck at the end, you were clawing at his hands and he was laughing

• your mates weren't exactly in the best shape either- after all, the attack had happened in the middle of the night

• A strong kick to the center of his nose seemed to do the trick. There was a sickening crack and his hand loosened and he fell back.

• When you regained youre senses you froze- he wasn't breathing.

• you /killed/ him.

• Your stomach churned and suddenly all the pain you felt increased ten fold.

• You scrambled to stand up, Mina was the first one you saw and you fell to your knees in front of her, cupping her cheeks. "Baby? Baby you okay?"

"M fine, but you're not, that's a lot of blood." She looked up at you her eyes wide. "Baby that's a lot-"

"I'm okay, I promise."

• She wanted to yell and scream and you, she wanted to hit you and telling to just accept help but you'd already stood up, moving to look around for the others.

• Denki was next, you met him with a hug and a short but desperate kiss. "You okay?" You whisper, brushing your thumb over his bruised cheek. Mina was behind you now, gently brushing her fingers through the blondes hair, but she stepped away when she saw Kiri and Bakugou.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he smiked softly.

"Eiji? Katsu?" You mumbled.

"They're okay, they're fine. You don't look so good though."

"M- M okay.." you mutter. Youre tired now. Standing here is nice. You're dizzy- Ashido was right. That was a lot of blood.

Your eyes close and your weight falls.

"Hey- Hey- Jesus! Guys! Katsuki! I don't- I can't tell if she's breathing-"

• You wake up in the hospital 2 days later.

• Mina's in the bed with you, hand thrown gently over your thighs. Sero and Denki are on the left side, heads down, eye's closed and arms over your shin.

• Kiris got your left hand in his, another hand in Minas hip.

• Bakugous on the right side, arms crossed and head down.

• and youre confused because why the fuck are you here?

• what happened?

• you miss Katsukis voice next to you when it all comes back

• and you can't help but scramble to sit up and suddenly you can't breathe

• youre not sure how long you zoned out, but when you finally get back, there's two nurses

• ones replacing and IV bag

• and the other is checking your tempature, you think.

• theres another needle stick in your arm but you can't pay mind to it right now.

• the warmth around you was gone and you desperately wanted it back.

• they weren't in the room anymore

• and when the nurses cleared the room, the tears spilled over.

• your brought your hands to cover your face and your head fell back.

• five minutes? 10 minures? Later there was a gentle tap on your shoulder

• it was ashido

• your arms were around in her seconds

• "You okay?" She whispered as the others took their spots around the bed.

"No," you shook your head. "I killed him- and and I could've gotten you guys hurt because I didn't listen," your breathing had started to get faster again.

"Hey, it's okay. Just breathe," she soothes, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

"I can't- I- fuck /help me/-" you gasp out

• It takes awhile, but they managed to calm you down.

• Ashido just holds you, she lets you cry, and Kiri reminds you that you're okay

• they do most of the comforting usually

• when you're breath has finally started to even out, and you can feel the pain again, you know you'll be asleep soon from the pain meds.

"How bad was it?" You whisper, hands still gripling Minas shirt.

"Bad." Katsuki spoke. "You stopped breathing when we got you here."

Sero rubbed his face. "You needed a blood transfusion. They weren't entirely sure how it was going to end."

"You were...you were just standing in my arms and then you weren't moving. And then you weren't answering-" denki breathed. "There was blood everywhere."

"What about you guys?"

"Can you just stop?" Katsuki groaned. "Can you just let us worry about /you/? Let us help. Don't ask about us. You almost /died/ and your only fucking thought is us. Why?" He was crying, head down, hands gripping his pants.

"He's got a point. It's okay to ask for help," kirishima whispers. "So why don't you?"

• you're quiet for a few moments.

• do you go into detail.

• or do you dodge the question.

• ultimately, the fear of losing them outweighed any shame you would have felt

• "its hard not having a quirk." You mumble, eyes down. "Quirks are practically currency. And power is highly valued. I don't have that. I don't have any of that. I'm in a constant risk of being replaced and if I ask for help, they know I'm weak. I can't ask for help."

• And they all feel their hearts shatter a little bit.

• Bakugou had poked fun at you for quite some time in first year for not having a quirk.

• and Denki wasn't much better- neither was Sero. They'd make jokes about how fast you'd drop out.

• Bakugou would break a little bit, reminding you that you weren't weak. You still being alive was proof of that.

• and slowly

• slowly you get accustomed to ask for help.

• its not necessarily with words- sometimes they ask and you just nod

• or you ask in your own way.

• youre independent streak remains- but its not as bad.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #my hero academia #poly bakusquad #bakusquad #poly bakusquad x reader #mina ashido #mina x reader #sero hanta #sero #sero x reader #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

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vanchlo · 3 years

Text

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff? / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1

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A chill had descended over the moor, cold enough to make the hardiest cat shiver. The waving grass and heather was quickly becoming stiff, brittle, and brown, weighed down with a shell of ice. When dawn broke, it revealed a thin downy layer of dazzling white draped around the WindClan camp. The first snow that had stuck that leafbare. It set the warriors on edge, but the kits took no notice, instead choosing to be distracted by the new world of sparkling white around them.

Long tendrils of grass were weaved around the cozy entrance into the WindClan nursery. Two dark brown tom kits with their kitten fluff puffed around them had already gone streaking out of the small den dug into the base of a hillside, with their mother quick to follow suit.

Tallkit remained behind, sitting alone inside the dimly lit nursery, impatiently shifting from side to side as tiny white flakes of snow danced in the air outside the warm burrow. Well, not completely alone. His mother was curled up behind him, but she was so soundly and quietly asleep, Tallkit felt he may as well be alone. Palebird was usually tired this time of day, but her kit was having trouble curling back up. Quietly as his wobbly paws would allow, he stepped tentatively over Palebird’s tail and padded closer to the den entrance. His thin black and white fur was ruffled and sticking up at funny angles but he couldn’t be bothered to smooth it down. Peeking outside, he had to flatten his large ears so they didn’t scrape against the grassy tendrils hanging down over the entrance, which were quickly turning into sharp icicles.

The world was so much different looking then the last time he’d ventured out, and his wide amber eyes narrowed against the bright glare of snow. His denmates Shrewkit and Briarkit were already out of view exploring the far side of camp, but although Tallkit looked after their tracks with longing to follow them, he had made a promise to stay close by until his father returned. A promise he was now starting to regret as his paws itched to dart across the expanse of camp and stretch his cramped legs. But as he caught sight of the sun's placement at nearly the highest point in the sky, a bright circle behind the misty white cloud cover, he knew he couldn’t go off running around the camp now. They’d be back any moment, and then Sandstone would come to fetch him. Until then, he just had to entertain himself somehow. As a kit born to be a tunneler, he probably wouldn’t be good at Shrewkit’s racing games anyway. It didn’t make the waiting any less boring, or the quiet of the nursery any less lonely in the meantime. Tallkit looked back to his mother, who slept with her back to him, a small pale white and black patched ball hidden deep amongst the soft mossy bedding. He thought about waking her and asking if she wanted to play, but Palebird wouldn’t want to be disturbed.

Despite his best efforts, Tallkit’s determination to keep his promise was quickly outweighed by his restless impatience. Surely he could step just outside, if he didn’t go too far. The positive side of being alone more often was that Tallkit was used to playing games by himself.

When he set his paws in the snow, he couldn’t stop the squeak of surprise as the cold hit him. The soft white cold went half way up his legs, and he backed up again closer to the nursery entrance where it had been padded down. But the uncomfortable cold aside, Tallkit looked around him in wonder at the dazzling brightness around him. When he had finally adjusted to the light, a soft fluttering object in the corner of his vision caught his eye. A familiar tattered red-brown chaffinch feather flitted invitingly in the cold wind, hooked onto a tangle of moor grass sticking out of the snow.

“You brought it back to me!” he purred, leaping after it. It was unmistakably the same feather he’d found the morning before. Brackenwing had asked him to put it back outside when he wouldn’t settle down to sleep, but now it danced playfully up and down, sparkling with flecks of frozen dew and the way it moved in the gentle breeze let Tallkit imagine it was being batted by an invisible paw.

Tallkit grasped it in his teeth. “Ok, try and catch me!” he squeaked to no one before bouncing away, clumsily sinking into the snow with each step in the divots where it was unexpectedly deep. When he fumbled, a soft breeze pulled the feather from his mouth and he turned to hook it again in his tiny claws, batting it to the side to an unseen waiting paw. He was so absorbed in his game he hardly noticed the soft brown lump he’d trodden over.

“Tallkit?” a stern but gentle voice said, “Should you be out without your mother in this weather?”

He turned to meet the molly’s soft blue eyes, looking at him with curiosity and amusement. Her cream and brown fur was a little damp with melted snow, and fluffed up against the cold. He’d nearly tripped over her crooked hind leg, which was stretched out limply in the grass.

“Hi Lilywhisker” he ducked his head “I wasn’t going to go far.”

She blinked at the feather under his paw “Who were you talking to just now?”

“I was talking to Finchkit.” Tallkit replied simply.

She frowned and looked at him with a mixture of concern and confusion. “Finchkit? Who’s Finchkit?”

“My littermate.” He mewed.

“You...don’t have a littermate, do you?”

Tallkit batted absentmindedly at the feather pinned under his paws.

“Well, I did, she's just not here now. But I went to see Fennelpelt before, and he told me stories about StarClan--the cats that live in the lights in the sky when it gets dark. He said all the cats who aren’t here anymore live up there in the sky and they come down and watch over us, even if we can’t see them. Finchkit comes down and plays with me. She’s invisible, but Fennelpelt says it’s just like that. This is her favorite toy, she brought it back after I lost it yesterday.” He eagerly lifted up the tattered feather in his mouth for her to see.

Lilywhisker blinked “Oh! Oh I see…”

“Finchkit said hello to you!”

Lilywhisker twitched her whiskers as if she were considering her words, but then she simply smiled softly and replied, “Well, hello to her as well.”

“Tallkit! Hey, you’ve come out!” Tallkit turned to see his nursery mates bounding towards him. Briarkit, a red-brown tabby with dark stripes curled around his face, waved his short fluffy tail in greeting as he trotted up in front of him, flecks of white dotting his ruddy fur.

“Well would you look at that!” Came the second voice as Shrewkit skidded to a stop, kicking snow into Tallkit’s face and making him sneeze. He was a shorter tom with messy dark brown fur and a wild mischievous spark in his kitten-blue eyes, “The nursery mouse has finally come out of hiding!”

“I’m not a mouse!” Tallkit tried to growl, but his voice squeaked.

Shrewkit snorted.

Briarkit shoved his brother. “Don’t be mean!”

“I’m not being mean.” Shrewkit retorted, rolling his eyes.

Tallkit tried to pounce at him, but he couldn’t manage to bound over the snow like the bigger kits without tripping. A wrong pawstep into the snow, and he found himself buried in a drift. He tried to sneeze as icy water got into his nose, and mewled in frustration as he flailed for a way out. Tiny teeth at his scruff made him squeak in alarm, and he immediately flattened his ears in embarrassment. Tallkit wished he didn’t squeak so much when he spoke, Shrewkit always made fun of him. He could hear him laughing now.

Briarkit was pawing snow off of his head. “Are you ok Tallkit?” The question was concerning but Tallkit could hear he was stifling a purr of laughter.

“He got lost in a mouse length of snow.” Shrewkit scoffed.

“I was just trying to take a short cut,” Tallkit said, followed by another sneeze.

“Shouldn’t you have been able to tunnel out of that like a worm?” Shrewkit continued “You don’t have to be as fast as moor runners, but you tunnelers ought to be good at that!”

“I could have if I got the chance!”

“Settle down Shrewkit,” Lilywhisker scolded, as she pulled Tallkit closer to lick the snow from his pelt. “I don’t want to have to talk to your mother again about prodding Tallkit.”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Shrewkit mewed indignantly.

Tallkit grumbled to himself, “At least Finchkit doesn’t make fun of me.”

“Who’s Finchkit?” Shrewkit had heard him,

“You know, the other one.” Briarkit whispered, “Tallkit’s told us about her before.”

“Oh, the dead one.”

Lilywhisker hissed, “For StarClan’s sake Shrewkit! Don’t speak like that.”

“What!?” he cried “That’s what mother told us!”

Tallkit sniffed, “Just because she’s dead now doesn’t mean she can’t still be around. That’s what StarClan is, right Lilywhisker?”

Lilywhisker blinked at him and got that look again like she didn’t quite know what she wanted to say. “Well, yes, StarClan cats are still with us in a way, but it’s complicated.”

“Hawkheart sees StarClan cats,” Briarkit pointed out eagerly, “and he said sometimes clan cats see things from StarClan, because we’re special and we listen better than other cats. I thought I saw a StarClan cat once too-”

“No you just had a weird dream,” Shrewkit scoffed, “That’s not the same as seeing a StarClan cat in broad daylight.”

“Well I don’t actually see her…” Tallkit mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, “I just feel like she’s here anyway. Why wouldn’t my littermate want to play with me?”

“I’m sure Finchkit is watching over you and your mother, Tallkit.” Lilywhisker said gently. But she didn’t sound like she really understood, it sounded like she just said what she thought he wanted to hear. Grown up cats always thought he couldn’t notice.

“You can come play with us too,” Briarkit offered. “We have less cats since Mistmouse’s kits are so close to their apprentice ceremony. Mother says Fallowkit and Fawnkit are too big to play with us. She’s looking for them now”

“Oh speaking of those furballs…” Lilywhisker sighed and stood up on her three good legs. “I’d better go help Brackenwing gather them up before Whitetooth finds them first and bites their noses off. You three go back inside if you start feeling cold, especially you Tallkit.”

When she’d limped away, Shrewkit leaned in and whispered, “I actually know where Fallowkit and Fawnkit are. They’re hiding out in the long grass behind the warriors' den. Fawnkit said they were going to pull a prank on Cloudrunner. Want to go watch?”

“I can’t go anywhere,’ Tallkit said. “I’m waiting for my father to come back.”

Shrewkit gave an exasperated groan, “Again? That’s always your excuse! Is he going to get mad at you if you have fun? Sandstone gets mad about everything.”

“That’s not true,” Tallkit said defensively, “He just doesn’t like you, because you’re a mouse-brain.”

Shrewkit promptly shoved Tallkit right back into the snow drift he’d just clambered out of.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that Shrewkit!” Brackenwing’s voice called out. The tall earthy brown tabby queen was there in an instant to lift Tallkit back out of the snow pile, who immediately spit cold water pointedly into Shrewkit’s face.

Brackenwing gave Shrewkit a stern look as she set the now very damp Tallkit down. “I can’t take my eyes off you two for a moment!”

Tallkit suppressed a shiver as a cold breeze blew through camp and quickly ducked back inside the nursery as Brackenwing scolded her son. He perked his ears at the faint stirring from the back of the nursery and saw the white tipped outline of his mothers ears as she groggily lifted her head. Tallkit forgot about his chill and damp fur and trotted up to her with an excited bounce in his step.

“Mother,” he mewed, “it’s snowing for the first time today, come and see!”

Her tired pale eyes blinked slowly, as they focused blearily on her kit. “Tallkit, sweetheart, I’ve only just shut my eyes, why would you want to go out now?”

“Nu-uh the sun's up now, see? It’s been up for ages.”

She blinked again at the milky white daylight pouring into the nursery entrance, clearly surprised to see it. “So it is…” she murmured. Palebird flinched and hissed when Tallkit went to nuzzle her chin. “Tallkit! You’re soaking wet!”

“Sorry,” he said, quickly stepping back.

“Oh Palebird are you up, dear?” Brackenwing poked her head inside “I hope my little one's scuffling didn’t wake you.”

“No it’s alright Brackenwing, I promised to be up by now,” she stiffly stretched out her legs and yawned again. “Tallkit didn’t sneak outside alone did he?”

“Shrewkit and Briarkit are big enough to go out in the cold I thought that meant I could too.” Tallkit argued.

“Briarkit and Shrewkit are more than a moon older than you, Tallkit.” Palebird pointed out, her voice still thick and heavy with sleep. She still sounded as if she were still half dreaming.

Brackenwing purred down at the little scrap of fur. “Tallkit will be alright, it’s much warmer during the day, and the snow has been melting fast since the sun came up. Besides, me or Lilywhisker are always around to look after him too.”

Palebird shifted uncomfortably and looked down, as if she were ashamed. “I don’t want to ask that of you both so often”

“It’s nothing to worry about love, that’s why we’re all here after all. You should stretch your legs with me for a while.” Brackenwing purred.

“I won’t get in any trouble, promise.” Tallkit pleaded.

Palebird looked doubtfully at her small kit, who tried to stand tall on shivering twig thin legs. “Alright but...You don’t want to be out too long, and stay where the snow padded down or melted. You remember what Hawkheart said about the cold not being good for you.”

Tallkit nodded, keeping his irritation at the mention of the medicine cat to himself. Hawkheart had been to visit him plenty of times. When Tallkit woke up racked with coughing fits that frightened his mother, the bad tempered old tom always came in and made him swallow bitter leaves. It was hard to like Hawkheart, and Tallkit didn’t think Hawkheart liked him much either, but he’d been very firm that Tallkit needed to stay in as much as he could. Something about ‘bad luck having so many kits born in the cold.’ He hadn’t been out of the nursery very often until recently.

“You know, father’s patrol is coming back soon,” Tallkit mewed hopefully to his mother. “You could come out and meet him with me?”

Palebird gazed out for a minute, still looking distant. “You go on ahead, Tallkit. I’ll catch up later.”

Tallkit swallowed his disappointment and didn’t press further. Maybe she didn’t want to sit still in the cold snow. It was certainly true that none of the warriors were as excited about it as he and the other kits were. Briarkit and Shrewkit had already run off again when he got back outside. Remembering what his mother said, he didn’t stray more than a few steps from the entrance, but to his immense relief, before the boredom could set in again he heard heavy pawsteps making their way down the slope into the camp, and a familiar booming voice loudly announcing their arrival. They were back at last!

Sandstone was a big and very intimidating tom, at least the other kits thought so. He had a wide noble face, broad well muscled shoulders, and patchy scars through his short pelt as testaments both to past battles and seasons of hard tunnel work. He radiated confidence and surety, and every cat around him felt it. Tallkit couldn’t imagine a more impressive warrior existing in all of the clans, and he was beyond proud to be his kit.

He saw his father plowed through the frosty grass with his tunneler patrol following close behind him as always. Sunlight lit his pale ginger fur in brilliant gold, almost glowing where melted snowdrops clung to him. Tallkit leaped to his paws, hardly able to contain his excitement as he bounded towards him.

Sandstone stopped his conversation with a large stocky gray-and-white tom when he heard his kit, and his dark amber eyes smiled warmly at him.

“Well look who it is! If it isn’t Tallkit, out and about on his own already?” He purred as he trotted forward to meet his son. Tallkit bumped his head on Sandstone’s legs as his father pressed his muzzle briefly to his in greeting, a warm purr in his throat that rumbled throughout Tallkit’s small body. He forgot the cold in an instant when he greeted him, as if Sandstone had finally brought newleaf warmth back with him.

“Hope it’s not too cold out for the little scamp.” The big tom beside his father meowed in concern.

“I-I’m not cold.” Tallkit insisted through chattering teeth.

“‘Course you're not cold! Takes more than a little leaf-bare chill to keep my son down.” Sandstone playfully ruffled Tallkit’s ears with his big paw. “So Tallkit, now that we all have the moment, it’s about time I formally introduced you to your future tunnel-mates!”

Sandstone talked of them all often enough, but Tallkit was confined to the nursery so often he’d never seen them up close. His father’s two companions were, like Sandstone, similarly stocky and broad. Muscles were visible beneath their dusty pelts from moons of working their forelegs to steadily carve out the burrows and tunnels that crossed under WindClan territory, a stark contrast compared to many of their sleeker and leaner moor-runner clanmates.

Sandstone gestured to the dark gray molly and big gray-and-white tom in turn. “That there’s Plumclaw, and here of course is Woollycloud!”

Tallkit dipped his head respectfully as he had been taught to do, but ended up getting kicked up snow in his nose.. Plumclaw he knew was his father’s old apprentice, who he often praised for her bravery, and Woollycloud his lifelong tunneling partner. The big tom was one of the best tunnelers in the clan. Except for my father of course. Tallkit thought to himself. Standing right next to them, Tallkit felt suddenly rather self conscious of his own scrawny, lanky frame, accentuated more than usual by his wet fur plastered to his sides.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you young one,” Woollycloud purred. “I hope to work with you in the near future. Your father tells me you’ve already got the makings of a great tunneler!”

Tallkit perked up a bit at the praise, and Sandstone nudged him playfully. “And he’ll grow bigger and tougher than ever, won’t you Tallkit?” he leaned down to speak softer to him, like he was telling a secret. “Between us, I’ve got plans to make sure Woollycloud here gets chosen as your mentor someday.”

Tallkit looked up wide eyed at the stout tom. He was bigger than any cat he’d seen, even bigger than his father and Hawkheart, but his face was so kind and sincere as he smiled down at him that Tallkit didn’t find him scary at all.

“If it all works out, I’ll greatly look forward to it!” Woollycloud said.

Tallkit felt a rush of excitement. His apprentice ceremony felt so far off, but his paws were itching with anticipation. “Can’t I start being an apprentice now?” He asked.

Plumclaw purred loudly in laughter “You’re nowhere near six moons, kit! We all had to wait our turn.”

Woollycloud nodded in agreement. “All good things to those who are patient, little one. Your time will come before you know it.”

The two cats then turned and started towards the prey heap.

Sandstone nudged him. “Your enthusiasm is just another sign of what a great tunneler you're going to be. In fact, I’d say you’re right. You may not be a full apprentice, but no time at all like the present to start learning.” He paused for a moment and looked around “Where’s your mother at? Did she come out with you?”

“She just woke up.” Tallkit replied, “I think Brackenwing said they were going to go out for a walk soon.”

He looked towards the nursery with an unreadable expression and then gave a dismissive flick of his tail. “I see...Ah, I suppose it can’t be helped. Well, follow me then Tallkit. You’ve got a lot to learn today.”

chapter list / previous / next

#FRU1 #chapter 1 #chapter 1 was the *bane* of my existence i have rewritten 3-4 times and i still want to rewrite it again #not enough to actually do that bc im TIRED but omg #chapter 1 and chapter 47 were the worst to write

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lordkambe · 4 years

Note

I loved your ukai fic ❤️😍 maybe I can request a smutty HC ukai and the reader getting it on inside the store 😏😏

🚬 character, fandom, type of reader: keishin ukai, haikyuu!!, woman reader

🚬 genre, rating: nsfw, 18+ only.

🚬 themes, triggers: explicit descriptions, slight degradation, f and m oral, public sex, daddy!ukai, ukai calling y/n babygirl 👀

🎠 author’s note: coach big dick is back in town. i got a little carried away with this one 😭 but i hope it meets your expectations 💕 thanks for requesting from me !

After work and late into the evening you swung by the convenience store before heading home. Ukai had informed you that he was taking the late shift at the shop today and you thought it would be fun to surprise him. With both your busy schedules it was hard to find time for the two of you to spend together. The two of you were aware of this so it didn’t place a strain in your relationship, however it did disrupt your libido quite a bit.

Without a doubt Ukai and yourself shared a healthy sex life but because of the overwhelming amount of work the both of you had to conquer, your tiredness outweighed anything else. During those lonesome nights you kept yourself company with a toy, your fingers, sometimes even the shower head. You’d sent Ukai teasing pictures of yourself even lewd voicemails. It was fun but you weren’t in the mood for it anymore, you were restless --- you need his touch and that was something you were after while approaching the shop.

Unfolding the sun visor you gave yourself a quick touch up in the mirror even going as far as pulling your shirt down to tease your cleavage alongside the lace of your bra. With a final touch up of running your fingers through your hair, you exited your car and entered the convenience store. Given that it was late the store was empty, Ukai was sitting at the register with his feet up reading this week's Jump magazine, around him was a pool of smoke from his cigarette. With light footsteps you approached the register and leaned forward. You coughed to make your presence known and Ukai instantly lowered his magazine and in front of his eyes was not only the sight of your devious expression but your pronounced cleavage.

“Hey babe.” You greeted him nonchalantly. Ukai leaned back in his seat to enjoy the view. The cigarette dragged from his mouth and he exhaled a puff of smoke. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Y/N?” He chuckled and put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

You sat yourself upon the register and leaned forward to place a kiss on Ukai’s lips. Your hands reached over to the Jump magazine but Ukai was quick to snatch it from you. “Hey!” You leaned in closer towards him to grab the magazine and while you did the neckline of your shirt lowered to further reveal your lace bra. He was doing it on purpose so you decided to take things a step further and hop over the register. Now you were seated on Ukai’s lap and your breasts were only inches from his face. Ukai threw the magazine behind him and grabbed your wrist.

He lowered your wrist before letting go of it. Both of his arms wrapped around your waist and he looked at you. “Okay, jokes aside. What are you doing here?” He asked, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. You shrugged, “I just wanted to visit you.” You pouted. “I’m tired of going to sleep and you’re not there and walking up and you’re not there either.” Ukai laughed. “It’s not funny! I’m serious.” You slapped his shoulder playfully. “You mean you miss fucking me.” Ukai corrected. He wasn’t wrong.

“So you don’t miss fucking me?” You snapped back pressing your finger onto the middle of his chest. Ukai shook his head, “I don’t like to think about it but you’re making it hard for me right now, Y/N?”

“Making what hard?” You asked him coyly. The empty store is painted with your and Ukai’s laughter. The two of you joined lips, the kiss was gentle but fueled with other intentions. It quickly escalated to the two of you fighting your tongues together. You adjusted yourself on Ukai’s lap now straddling him. You felt Ukai guide his hands down your back before grabbing your ass firmly. He pushed your figure closer towards his own and you parted your lips from his, “should we head home quickly?” You asked.

Ukai nearly whined, “--- fuck no. it’s after midnight nobody’s coming.” There’s hesitation in your face and Ukai is quick to read it. He lifted you off his lap and you watched him walk quickly to the front door. He locked the entrance and flipped the open sign to close. He returned to you. “Nobody’s coming, Y/N.” He cupped both of your cheeks and you placed your hands atop of his. You nodded feeling much safer with Ukai’s reassurance.

Ukai pressed your figure against the edge of the counter. “Now, where were we?” He said before joining his lips with yours. The kiss was fueled with so much passion as if you hadn’t felt his lips against yours in years. Ukai parted his lips from yours to kiss alongside your jawline. He met your ear and gently blew in it. The sensation caused you to shudder in pleasure. His soft kisses trailed from your jawline, ear, and down to your neck. His hands that were once resting on the register counter were now fumbling with the end of your shirt. You assisted Ukai in removing the fabric over your head and throwing it elsewhere.

With your lace bra exposed Ukai takes a second to appreciate the view. With both his hands he fondled your breasts all while placing gentle kisses across your neck and chest. Ukai knew all the right places to get you going. He was gentle in some places but much more fervent in others. It was the hidden places like your chest where he left love marks and bites.

You liked to admire them in the mirror the morning after. They were like little mementos Ukai left for you to remember who your body belonged to. With his knee Ukai opened your legs and your own hands reached down to the button of your pants to undo them. Without pulling them down entirely, Ukai slipped his hands between your pants and the fabric of your panties. He pressed his middle finger against your clothed clit and gently motioned his finger upward. Not only did it elicit a whine from you it caused your back to arch.

“It’s not like you to get wet that fast, Y/N.” Ukai noted. “Were you thinking about this before you came?”

The pressure he had on your clit increased. “You saw how I was dressed, Ukai.” You began your response with shuddered breaths. “Of course I was. I thought about you the night before too. I was touching myself last night thinking of your cock inside me.”

It was embarrassing to admit but Ukai enjoyed it when you showed him your perverted side. “Really?” He asked but he wasn’t looking for an answer. He leaned in close to whisper in your ear, “you like daddy’s cock in your pussy, babygirl? Huh, how about daddy’s fingers?”

The motions he placed on your clit increased and both your hands gripped against the edge of the counter. “Fuck yes.” You whined out with your legs opening wider. Ukai lowered his frame and while doing so he slid your pants down. You stood there at the counter in only just your bra and panties.

He hooked his finger under your panties and pushed them to the side. He admired your pussy for a moment before entering his middle finger inside you without warning. The sensation of his finger inside you forced your body to arch towards him.

“My babygirl is so wet for me.” He praised you but he removed his finger and the emptiness you felt because of it was torture.

He did make it up to you by placing a kiss on your folds before penetrating your pussy with his tongue. Your hand fell atop of his head and the room was now littered with your soft whimpers. “Don’t be shy,” Ukai encouraged. “Be lewd for daddy.”

After his words he picked up the pace with his tongue. He lapped against you with vigor and strengthened your ecstasy by penetrating your pussy with his finger once more. He sucked and licked on your clit till your knees buckled and your hips began to shake. The sensation was euphoric that you couldn’t help but to unleash the lewd sounds from within you. The quiet room was now overflowing with the sounds of your pleasure and Ukai enjoyed every moment of it.

But before you could reach your climax Ukai stopped. He stopped his movements entirely and rose to his feet. He stepped backward and looked at your fucked out figure against the counter. “Now anytime you come here this is all you’re going to remember, me eating you out like the whore you are.”

He reached for a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Once the cigarette was lit he sat down at his chair and you stood across from him confused at the turn of events. You didn’t expect that after weeks of blue balls Ukai would be teasing you. You watched him as he smoked his cigarette, he was sitting with his legs open wide and you could clearly see his hardened cock hiding under the thin fabric of his track pants.

“Come here, on your knees.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

You did as instructed but quickly took initiative by removing Ukai’s pants along with his boxers. His hardened cock stood upright and the glorious length was already dripping with his precum, “be a good girl” he told you.

You gripped his length with your dominant hand, the touch alone caused Ukai to grunt in pleasure. Your tongue then ran across his shaft but stopped at the tip. You looked at him with lust filled eyes and began to lick the tip, Ukai took a drag from his cigarette as he watched your head lower to welcome him into your mouth completely. You felt him in the back of your throat but you quickly adjusted to his length. Your head began to move up and down in slow movements before finally you picked up the speed. Ukai threw his head back, his mouth opened slightly enough for a string of curse words to fall from his lips. They were then replaced with his moans ranging from gentle whimpers to manly grunts.

You removed his length from your mouth to gasp for air but before you could return to your action Ukai instructed you to stand. He put down his cigarette before placing his hands on your hips, “my babygirl is so fucking sexy” he mumbled with his lips attached to your stomach stomach. Ukai looked up at you, “come ride daddy’s cock like a good little whore.”

He didn’t need to ask twice your pussy was dripping for him. After removing your panties you aligned your entrance with Ukai’s throbbing cock. He rubbed the tip of it against your folds for a few moments to watch you twitch. You then welcomed him inside you fully and the feeling of his cock deep inside you caused your eyes to roll. He took off your bra and you removed his shirt. He placed sloppy kisses on your chest and sucked on one of your nipples before finally instructing you to move your hips up and down his length. You pressed your hands against his chest and rode his cock giving him as much pleasure as you could. Then you rolled your hips against his and grinded against his length in order to feel him touch against the spot you craved for him to be.

“Oh my god, Y/N.” Ukai groaned out. “You like that daddy?” You asked him. “Is my pussy good enough for daddy?” You moaned loudly, cutely --- it drove Ukai insane. “Fuck -- yes.” Ukai grunted out he held your body tightly and stood.

You wrapped your legs around his waist for extra security. Now at the register Ukai laid your frame against the counter top. He removed your legs from your waist. “Open your legs wider, daddy wants to go deep inside you.” You do as instructed and you’re glad you did. Ukai was hitting perfectly against your g-spot. His thrusts moved perfectly and your harmonious moans proved the both of you were in a state of unspeakable euphoria.

Ukai started to run his index finger on your clit, “such a good slut. Let daddy hear your voice.”

From within your throat you allowed a moan to rip through your chest. Your own moans were far from the cute whimpers you entertained with him before. They were guttural as you reached closer and closer to your climax. Your eagerness caused your hips to move into his. The two of you were thrusting into each other and the sensation caused Ukai to moan loudly alongside you.

“I--I’m so close. Fuck Ukai. Please, holy shit.” You looked at him with tears forming in your eyes. Ukai leaned in towards you and cradled your head. The two of you shared a kiss. “I’m almost there, Y/N.” He assured you. With a few extra thrusts the two of you released. The sounds of your moans mixed with Ukai’s. The two of you came down from your highs. Ukai removed himself from inside you and emptiness caused a gentle whimper to leave your lips. You lay on top of the counter as Ukai wiped you and himself clean.

You arched yourself up with your elbows and with whatever strength you had left you hopped off the counter and began searching for your missing clothing. As you did you noticed Ukai escape into the back. “Where are you going?” You asked. Ukai peaked his head from the backroom,

“making a copy of the CCTV footage and then deleting it from the harddrive.” Your jaw unhinged and you picked up the Jump magazine from earlier. You threw it at Ukai and he regrettably dodged it. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I’m just getting some water.”

“You better be.” You threatened.

#ukai x reader #ukai smut #ukai x y/n #hq x reader #hq smut #uk.#hq.#tm.#nsfw.

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inventors-fair · 2 years

Text

Subtle Touches: Two-Word Flavor Commentary

Maybe it’s because this prompt led to some vague cards. Maybe there could have been examples. But for some reason, this week felt a little off to me. I think next time we get together, I should get myself a more mechanically straightforward contest. When is ‘we?’ You and I. It’s been quite a week in general, honestly.

The one thing I need to keep in mind is that I can’t take it out on y’all. Let’s start with the highlights and the drawbacks, though.

Firstly, everyone was dedicated to the prompt, and there were no qualms there. I think with this kind of specificity, there wasn’t much wiggle room, and that was fitting for what we were working with. The bends still fulfilled exactly what was required of them, and that was nice! Secondly, the art direction and little sketches people did were phenomenal. I love seeing, hearing, and parsing the expressions of what you see on your cards, and getting from the imagination to understanding is fun for me. Thirdly, I’ll say this much: people are flexing their modern sensibilities here. Seriously, there’s some interesting design space that I greatly appreciated that we wouldn’t have seen two, three years ago. It’s cool!

The major nitpick for this contest, or at least where I feel there could have been improvement, is the general punchiness of the cards. There were some cards that were definitely enjoyable, but the question of whether they were tight enough for that two-word hold together at the end was negligible. This is, unfortunately, entirely subjective. I might have writing experience, but my opinion when outweighed by the crowd doesn’t mean a lot, and expressing the nuances of something that didn’t quite grip me sometimes feels difficult at times. The older I get, the more I want to say exactly what I mean, and the harder it is to find the right words to say it. I guess that’s all that flavor text and storywriting is, though.

Cards marked “(JUDGE PICK)” are cards that have one or more specific aspects I’d like to praise, and whose choices I would encourage people to emulate or observe for future contests.

Tally ho.

@abzanhero — Mother of Temperance

I think this is a great way to work with white’s lifegain/card draw. The modern era has pushed things a little bit, but hey, I’m a mono-white commander player sometimes, so I can’t complain too much. I feel that there’s a bit too much gain here, though, especially with some of the vigilant tribal. If you’re a deck that’s in the Soul Sisters route, then playing this with tokens will net you an amount of life that’s hard to pass through every turn. Elspeth and Ajani do this too as a plus, with Alert Heelbonder only doing vigilant creatures, and I think as a stall tactic it’s a little easy to exploit. In limited, this would be pretty miserable to play against if you have any defense whatsoever. Testing would prove, but it feels exploitably frustrating.

If you’ve noticed no flavor mentions, that’s because I don’t feel there’s much to talk about. It’s a quote without quotation marks, and I can’t justify its addition here. As a mood for art direction, it’s serviceable, but I don’t feel any sense that it elevates the card. As the focus of this contest, that’s a pretty rough strike. What sense can be conveyed by the text that isn’t already present? That’s where the strength of flavor lies. I don’t get that sense with this choice.

@bread-into-toast — Shatterskull Route (JUDGE PICK)

Just to get the good out of the way: your sketchy art skills are fantastic at conveying an above-average mood for your cards. The Zendikari goblin, the name, the ability of having landfall literally making the land fall, the fact that the creature is perhaps unintentionally making a pun (how smart are Zendikari goblins?)—all that is amazing and I could wax about it.

I won’t inflate my rage to an exaggerated degree, but I’ll just say that I’m more disappointed than usual at the templating nitpicks because the rest of this card is so good. “Shatterskull Route deals 4 damage to target creature or planeswalker.” is the way burn spells have been templated for two decades and I’m not sure why this keeps coming up in entries from time to time. It’s a minor frustration, sure. Does it stop the idea from functioning? No. But it feels like something that needs to be caught so early in drafts, and it’s glaringly obvious. I want to say again that everything in general with this card could have made it a winner. Getting that last polish is so important though. Honestly I’m a little mad that nobody mentioned it in the workshop. I would have, but, judging. Is that something that people would be okay with in the future, if a judge sees a templating error? Or should they stay their hands? Open for discussion.

@decayingbooks — Rafters Skulker

“Catar,” huh. Lol it’s fine, I got you, cathar just tried to correct to “catheter” when I made a spelling error just now. Niche words. Anyway. Mechanically this card’s super up my alley. I feel the MH vibe even without the set symbol, with kicker on Innistrad and all that, but a little bit of combat aggravation on a flash zombie? Yeah, checks out, pushed for uncommon, but this isn’t going to break any formats. I really like your art direction as well, with the uncomfortable addition of my mind’s eye giving some blur to the foreground and a light shining a fiery glow on the zombie’s gaping mouth. Cool cool!

And you know what, fine, you’re not the only one who went for this exact reference in your flavor text, as you can see from a later submission. Personally, I’m a little ech about having pop culture references as puns, but there’s plenty of that in Magic already. I think. I guess it’s the fact that it’s… Maybe it’s the fact that the flavor of the card would be more effective if the cathar was totally unaware of the zombie, and them saying that there’s a clever ghoul there takes away from the flash of this card with relies on the unawareness and surprise. Well, I guess the creature enters, and THEN your opponent (the cathar stand-in) sees the ghoul, but I don’t buy it entirely. I guess I just don’t feel the same way with the intended emotional response. Pop culture references intrinsically distract from emotional stakes present in the world. I’d rather this card have edged into the creepy factor and less into memetic resonance.

@deg99 — Aven Gagglefletcher (JUDGE PICK)

I am ashamed that I just got this now. Aven Gaggle__er better be a thing going forward. Okay, I’ll admit, this took me way too long and I should have gotten it before, but I’m going to blame it on my bad mood. Which is still my fault. Wow. For those of you who are reading this and don’t get it, which I estimate to be one person, it’s the enemy who is shouting the flavor text (I assume) and they’re telling their comrades to duck, because a duck (the Gagglefletcher) is shooting them with an arrow.

There are two small things I would change about this card. Firstly, I feel that it’s not immediately apparent that the enemy is the one saying the flavor text without the camera work specifying, and that’s just me being stupid, and hell, I might still not have that correct; I’m second-guessing everything at the moment. But maybe a perspective from the enemy lines could help. Where is this battlefield where a bird archer might come in handy and have an enemy who can articulate in something besides honks? Ooh, are they shooting angels… I’m getting sidetracks. Secondly, the ETB could read, “you may have ~ deal 3 damage to target” etc. to make it just a tiny bit clearer. Still, this is a monumentally more clever card than I initially gave it credit for.

@dimestoretajic — Indecisive Mage

I believe this card doesn’t mesh on a fundamental level. Conceptually, I understand the mood. The execution, unfortunately, feels like it reflects the design process. What I DO like is the flavor text itself, and it could have worked on a much simpler card. Another thing I like is what you did with the abilities, where you took a blueness-multi feel and applied that to each ability. How would I have improved this card? Simplification. UW makes a token once per turn as a sorcery. UB makes unblockable. UR loots. UG puts a counter, maybe on an untapped creature. There, none of this clutter.

And it is cluttered, exceptionally so. The issue isn’t that you succeeded in making an indecisive mage; the issue is that the card lacks cohesion, direction, and elegance. It succeeded in mood and concept. There is a time and a place to have mechanical mashups, like on the __ling cards or intentionally MH-like sets. Honestly I do get where the abilities are trying to come together but it feels like you’re trying to reinvent the Trading Post. Take a step back.

@fractured-infinity — Brawlstar (JUDGE PICK)

I understand where you’re going with the abilities. Consider: “XXG: Until end of turn, ~ gets +X/+X and gains “T: Brawlstar fights target creature you don’t control.” Activate only as a sorcery.” The only difference is that it would allow the fight to happen during combat if you do it in your precombat main phase, but is that so bad considering what the card would be doing already? The memory issues later in the turn might be a problem, but man, that wording is… Something about it feels clunky even though I know it’s perfectly worded—well, except for “it’s” needing to be in the place of “it is.” I get it, I don’t hate it, but I don’t really like it either, but I definitely like the card. Argh! This is a personal issue, I think. To do exactly what you want this card to do it has to stay like this, but to stay like this is has to look weird.

I think I need to just let it go and accept that this is a good rare bear. I do like the mood and the flavor text, simple as it is. The reliance on the direction to make the mood is necessary, because, well, the text isn’t exceptionally exciting, and it doesn’t need to be, and that’s all okay. The excitement comes from the fact that it’s not by itself—it adds to the image of a fighter who’s tough and ready and bloody, and that makes the flavor text go from a common phrase to a meaningful quote. That’s the third kind of text that makes for awesome submissions. The first is humor in puns/jokes, the second is sincere epic subversion, and the third is this: recontextualizing English tropes. Good on you. I think writing about these cards is definitely adding to the previously short list of judge picks.

@helloijustreadyourpost — Deepwater Looter

I love your art direction here. I can one-hundred-percent picture what’s going on in the image. I do wish I had better art skills to give life to these images, but alas, I am but a man who sometimes writes. Anyway. This card feels weird. It’s niche, but understandable. I don’t know know exactly what you used for templating but I can’t find anything better. I think I’m averse to it because you’re trying to do specific stuff to prevent powerful corner cases from happening when in fact I don’t feel you need to worry about it. Why can’t its equip abilities be activated? Because Deepwater Looter is selfish? I get it, but like, mechanically, there doesn’t seem to be a massive need for that to exist, and I think stealing the dagger is flavorfully expressed enough that you don’t have to worry about the niche details.

As for the flavor and the flavor text, well, like I said, the expression is there, and the text feels like it could be doing more work. I just don’t get a sense of something being added here. It’s kind of cute, I’ll give you that. I know there are plenty of ladies on Tumblr who would fall in love with the pirate mer-thief. I really do love the expression and effort you put in to ensuring that the art direction tells a story. The covertness of that is somewhat deflated by the text doing so little while feeling that it does so much. The over-specificity of the card combined with the unearned quippiness is frustrating to me. Conceptually and directionally, great.

@hiygamer — Goblin Gourmet

So, I like this card a lot, and it’s… Here’s the thing about the contest that’s been getting me. It’s not about you specifically, but it’s sort of about this card, and I haven’t said it much, but it applies to a few cards in general including some previous ones. Sometimes, the flavor text needs to be more than two words. Arguably, that’s most of the time. Here, I want to get a little more sense of what’s in the food—yes, I am asking—or what the status of the kitchen is, or how this damage differs from something like Arms Dealer who also has a pretty vague methodology of hurting things. With only two words, the two words need to add a twist that the rest of the card doesn’t add already, or that creates a reaction that’s above and beyond what’s already presented.

The response to “Don’t ask” is “I wasn’t going to” because, yeah, we know it’s gross, and actually, we already know what’s going into the food because it’s being sacrificed. So what does it actually add? Unfortunately, not much. It’s humorous, but in a… I don’t want to call it “Whedon-y,” that’s an insult I never want to make about someone’s writing; but it’s a quip that feels insubstantial. This card is fantastic (although I’d make it 2 damage and/or sorcery speed because WOW in the right shell this is an insane limited card, even in a mediocre shell) and I want more out of the text. So this might not have been the best card for this contest, or this text might not have been the best for this direction. Either way, the elements are there and getting into a place of substance is difficult. Card’s deec.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes — Covering Fire

“Choose a creature you control that isn’t attacking or blocking. It deals damage equal to its power to target blocking or blocked creature an opponent controls.” There you go. The only difference is that the first creature isn’t removed from combat. And why would it need to be removed from combat, honestly? I don’t understand why this needed to be worded the way it was at all to do something that mechanically makes zero changes to the flavor. Or why couldn’t it just be a Bite to an attacking or blocking creature, or untap something? Like, untap a creature and remove it, then it deals damage to a creature you don’t control… I don’t know, anything simpler at all. I’m really trying to be diplomatic about this, so let me back up for a second.

I like the art direction, and porcupinefolk are awesome. I get the conflict. I get what the card mechanically is trying to go for. All those are strong. What remains is that the ability is worded in a way that is so convoluted that it’s borderline nonsensical. The flavor text should be in quotes, and I have no idea why it isn’t, because it’s clearly being spoken. A last sticking point is that the name… Well, that’s not really what covering fire is, is it? This card depicts a rescue of sorts, presumably lethal towards the aggressor. And covering fire is a defensive tactic that has nothing to do with this particular situation. What were these choices that you made? I feel completely disconnected from the intent. Simplicity matters.

@jsands84 — Sicklefoot Ambusher

I want to compare to a card like Iroas’s Champion. There are better cards, but let’s look at the straight up 1AB multicolor uncommon. This card is strictly better in almost every way, and I feel that either I’m overestimating modern sensibility as far as double strike goes, or if this card really is that far pushed. A 3/1 with just double strike would have made this fantastic, and then the only qualms I could give would be about the flavor choices. The idea of a flashing dinosaur with another dinosaur as a distraction is great, and hey, as a top-down Jurassic Park inspired design, I get it!

The fact that it’s a still from the movie’s storyboard (Lowery is cool, fwiw) with a quote from the movie makes this card feel more derivative than you probably intended. My inner, stupider issue with this being an action shot with a quote that’s a pause in the action is…smaller, but the POINT is: this probably wasn’t the best place for this quote, and honestly, the fact that it’s an idiom these days doesn’t take away from how entrenched the line “Clever girl” (lowercase ‘g!’) is with the Jurassic Park franchise. A flashing dinosaur could have been awesome and to some degrees it still is. Pump the card down and MTG the vibe and you’ll have something much more serviceable.

@kamoegoi — Challenge-Glass Pretender

God, I FINALLY found Oracle precedent. So, let’s take a look at Akron Legionnaire! Aside from being the only one defending Ohio, it’s got text that would make your Pretender give your clone the ability: “Except for this permanent and permanents that share a name with it, creatures can’t attack or block.” I am 99% sure. Is there something I’m missing? I don’t think so, but this is a weird card, and aside from being not-exactly-exploitable with Mutavault shenanigans and aside from being kind of a pain for aggro decks, this card’s pretty cool! It’s a limited jerk for sure. What if you copy something with defender? What if you temporarily donate something, clone it here, then gain control of it again? Maybe it’s me thinking of the meanest possible aspects but as someone who would definitely exploit this card, it actually feels very evil. Maybe if it forced attacks, but that would be a lot of text. Would it?

I think the concerns for power level and limited fun-ness make me slightly warier of this card than I should be. It’s not going to break anything, that’s for sure. It would make Commander games a bit of a slog if you can protect it and then Maze the thing you cloned. There are ways around, but man. In a vacuum I really want to like this card a lot more than I do. Flavorfully, I haven’t touched on it, but it’s fantastic if a bit lengthy in the name. The FT does exactly what it’s supposed to do, and even makes it a touch personal, doesn’t it? That’s all well and good. Combat restrictions might be tight, but bringing across this feeling of locking down the game feels even tighter. I love control, though, so I might warm up to this when the eventual IF cube comes around.

@macaroni-and-squeez — Theer, Unknown Dodger

So here’s the deal: let’s start with two tiny word changes, one in that “Theer can’t be blocked” instead of “cannot,” and one with “You may play that card for as long as” etc. That’s about it on that front. This card’s pretty straightforward as far as mechanics go and it’s a solid blue Commander and limited card with excellent theft capability that protects itself as much as illusions can, exceptionally so. I like that a lot. The art direction feels cheeky and I’m envisioning something a little more epic in my head from this illustration, and that’s all well and good.

The flavor text invokes an emotion I have a hard time describing while being constructive. The short version is that it’s not strong. Is this Theer being self-referentially cheeky, or the guard forgetting about this thief, somehow? It feels like you started with this idea for a flavor text entirely reliant on the name being a resonant pun and worked backwards, and to be blunt, it’s not resonant whatsoever. One letter is reversed from “there” to make a name that doesn’t sound or feel good in the mouth. I don’t know what to do with it, really. I’m sure that it took an amount of effort to find something that could work in the parameters you set out for yourself, but those parameters resulted in a card that’s blunt in itself to the point of detracting from the goodness of its relatively simple design.

@misterstingyjack — Willing Volunteer

Oi, hold on. If he’s saying “pick me,” why is the art depicting him already ready to be sacrificed? It feels as though the text should reflect the moment before, or what he would be saying as he’s about to be offed, like, “at last” or “for [demon]!” or whatever. I do like the awkwardly dark inherent humor in the direction. I also really like this ability, and sacrificing fun makes those things all the more powerful. I feel as though this could be uncommon, even with the weirdness of copying tokens, because the corner cases to make this work are already specific enough for this not to warp a limited environment, and copying things is already more uncommon than rare these days. Or I might just be overthinking it.

Is there a second paragraph’s worth of commentary here? Shoot, uh… Yeah, what the heck. Art things! Right, that’s the major sticking point for me. Again, love the mood, weird as it is. I guess if I had to change something besides the above mentioned issues, I’d say that the name and flavor text are again a little too obvious. The art direction and the ability already makes the name humorous, so that much is covered, right? So the flavor text going back to the name is a nice sandwiching, but it’s a bit too much bread, if you catch my drift. What don’t we get from the rest of the card that the FT can add? All the same, there’s good work being done.

@morbidlyqueerious — Epiphany Cascade

This is a quickie favor so I’ll go through and explain what I can as if this was a card in the workshop. Is that fair? Alright. Let’s talk about it.

Besides being only a storm enabler, I feel that this card’s middle ability doesn’t need to be worded the way it is. It could just have “Whenever you play a card this turn, exiled the top two cards of your library. Until end of turn, you may play those cards.” I would honestly drop the ETB and just make it on casting spells, but that’s me. The thing is, this is still just a late-game stormer with a lot of impulsivity, so does it need to be lands too? I’d bump it to rare. As for the flavor text, it might be fine, but it’s bordering on generic. What is it enhancing? I like the epic feeling of cascading into more and more spells and cards, but yeah, we know knowledge burns, and I don’t understand what it’s adding to. Burning away the library? I don’t feel that it’s doing anything new for the card.

@nicolbolas96 — Disdain

I can’t really fault this card for being strictly better. I mean, Disallow is a thing. One mana for split second above Counterspell is a bit iffy but there’s only so far you can go stretching the argument of what’s healthy for a format. The three mana is a sticking point for people interested in older formats. For something more like Commander, it’s awesome, but that’s besides the point. I don’t think that mechanically this card is doing anything above and beyond, but not all cards have to do that if the flavor is right, and I don’t mind this card’s mechanics for existing.

Flavorfully, it’s dry. Disdain as a concept is highbrow, dismissive, condescending, and the flavor text’s exclamation point, while perhaps mocking, is invested in retaliatory responses from the opponents, which conceptually, disdain doesn’t cover. This makes a lot more sense in my head. Basically, the feelings of the name and flavor are at odds, and the mechanics aren’t helping either case. I do like split second and the potential mockery of the flavor text, but that’s not disdainful, and that turns the name on its head. Without any context in the art/direction/world, trying to imagine that connective tissue is unreliable at best. Maybe you knew what you were going for, but the presentation doesn’t show me that way of thinking.

@nine-effing-hells — First Contact // Last Resort

I find this naming convention fascinating, and you know what, as a proponent of odd names in MTG cards, X to Y worked for Aftermath but it doesn’t necessarily have to be that way, just like the split cards from Ravnica and whatnot. If you’ll recall, aftermath cards didn’t have flavor text, though. And there’s a reason for that—things get squishy. I think that this card is honestly great mechanically, and evokes MH feels without going too far into odd territory. I also don’t feel that this card really should have been the final go. I wouldn’t have minded this as some kind of flavorful mDFC if you had been able to go from side to side with something almost alien, y’know?

…was this card about alien things? Like, I’m trying to imagine a way in which someone is saying hello and goodbye, with it being a first contact, and… What the heck is the story of this card, actually? This is more confusing the more I think about it. I would be able to more clearly understand this without the flavor text, and that’s a major strike against it, honestly. I do love the names, and the mechanics, and all those other weird parts of the card. The story is seriously bugging me now. Why would you say “Goodbye” during your last resort? Hm. I think this card could have used a lot of conceptual revision. All the same, I like that it exists.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff — Storm Fleet Swiper

This card could have potentially been a judge pick on two counts. The first could have been if it untapped the artifact that you gained control of, and that’s a major mechanical oversight that you should keep in mind the next time you make a Threaten effect. Gotta untap. Secondly, why wasn’t this card a goblin? I’m not gonna go off as if you did anything objectively wrong, but the flavor text is pretty shortsighted/immature/impulsive, and if a human said this to me about anything unironically, I’d…well, I wouldn’t judge them, so I guess that’s off the table, but if they were intentionally trying to run this as a joke, I’d think they were trying to hard in the goblincore category. But, if they were a goblin—perfect, carry on, Captain Scrungles.

Yeah, I do want tos ay that this is a good card. And it is. Could use polish but it’s good. I would suggest that for your next card that you take a look at the resonance of MTG’s established feelings regarding types/moods. This is, in my opinion, a goblin card through and through, and also a pirate card, and it’s fun, and I hardly need to imagine the art because I know what the character is doing! They’re swinging down with a maniacal grin grabbing at a jeweled lotus because they’re an enamored pirate goblin thingy. That much is great. As a human character, they’re not resonating with me at the moment.

@partytimesdeluxe — Divine Injunction (JUDGE PICK)

I am in the minority here. Just for transparency’s sake, this card got some positive attention from other mods, and lots of impressed reactions. The flavor text, I will agree, is spot-on, and I do like the direction that the art is going with how ’no’ this card feels as it relates to angels in the game. I can see this being a good limited pick. I can see how this would help some control strategies.

And I don’t like it—and it doesn’t matter whether or not I like it. The reasoning, to get back on track, is because I don’t feel that this is the kind of counterspell that white should be going for, a la Mana Tithe. I truly do not believe we’re there yet. Once more, I am in the minority, and I’d like to hold this up as a card that I fundamentally don’t think is reflective of my judgements but that is far and away popular enough to sway me away. It’s just like ability words, honestly. My disgruntlement is nothing compared to their popularity. This will change, perhaps, in two or three years, with white’s ability to get more tools and different tools, the ability to truly extend into the second color for counterspells of certain types. I think that white could get counters for protection and for reaction to specific cases, not just any spell like how this card works. And I think I’m going to be wrong. So, here’s all that judgment for whatever it’s worth, and we’ll see where it goes in the world.

@picadilly-blue — Scourge of the Sewers

Right, so, fine flavor. This card is fundamentally broken in multiplayer Commander unless your opponents have turn-0/1 interaction. Assuming this card is a $1.00 uncommon at the top end, the deck looks like this, and for about $265.00 you are unstoppable.

Ancient Tomb Lotus Petal Sol Ring Dark Ritual Cabal Ritual Bontu's Monument Oathsworn Vampire Phyrexian Altar 92 Scourge of the Sewers

There are other variations, but yeah, instant Doomsday before the game begins is a rough way to go. I’m not sure where else to go. Maybe, let’s think, where could this card go? A Rat King card that ignores the legend rule and can have, let’s say, up to ten Rat Kings as the commander, would be fun if they could buff each other and whatnot. As it’s printed, it needs revision of some kind, because otherwise—yeah. I want to say again that I love a rat-race feel! I love rats! Let’s get the bases covered first.

@pocketvikings — Final Gamble

Getting into the final stretch of things, I hate to say it, but I’m a little confused by the big gap between the text line and the flavor spacer. Is that a MSE bug? Anyway, the card. Small text change, but the first thing should be “Discard your hand,” and let’s talk about the rest of this card as it relates to cheating things out. There’s nothing wrong with sneaking and showing, but even one card can let you scry into something and make it big. In limited, well, it’s not a great topdeck, but what kind of deck really wants to play this card regardless? Getting a single card off of a gamble isn’t really where you want to be; if you have enough cards in your hand to make this kind of card viable, chances are you’d rather be drawing into more material to help you win the game.

As for the flavor, I don’t hate it, but I would have appreciated some art direction. Let’s take a look at the baseline possibility, that there are a bunch of people sitting around a table and one of them is betting all-in. Obviously that’s kind of boring and probably not what you had in mind. The question is, what about this card suggests otherwise? What’s the context of the figure saying this? Why is this so epic as a mythic spell? I can try to imagine a baseline, but the name, ability, and flavor are all giving me not much to work with for the moment.

@real-aspen-hours — Breaching Charge

Yeah! It’s a creative fulfillment of the prompt, and we can see exactly how it connects to the art and the direction. The charge comes from outside, you’re bringing the party and the party is shrapnel, and there’s a big boom that would make this card amazing in limited and a great sideboard card for whatever formats we’re working with. So that much is all good and commendable. Now let’s talk about polish.

“Vehicle” is surprisingly capitalized in card/oracle text. I don’t know why, but that’s something to ensure you can do. I’m 99% sure that the text should say that “~ deals 3 damage to each creature” instead of all creatures. Lastly, though, I get to stop being good-naturedly-nitpicky and get into the flavor formatting. The text makes sense, but here, you have a quote without quotation marks, and is it small? Yes. Is it insignificant? No. It’s what defines this as being said by someone being hit with a cannon instead of it floating off into the void. Argh! Like I said before in the commentary for a card I can’t immediately recall, the little things become all the more noticeable when their inclusion is supposed to be a primary factor in appearance. It’s like wearing pants. Nobody really cares that other people wear pants—it’s when they’re NOT there that there’s an issue. So yeah, put pants (“”) on your card. Also, “--” creates a “—” for sudden breaks.

@reaperfromtheabyss — Gruesome Decapitation

What’s wrong with a little horrific imagery? Anyway. This card’s silly and I don’t hate it. For this cost, though, I really think it should destroy a creature or planeswalker. There’s not a whole lot of “creatures you control gain menace” in Magic’s history, surprisingly, but all the same there’s a whole lot of destruction and possible decapitation. Maybe. Take a look at Fling from Dark Ascension, y’know? Anyway, that’s not the point. What’s the point here? I know there was something, but… Let’s rewind. Firstly, the mechanics! Drop it to 3BB and/or add the planeswalker addition and you have a slam-dunk card that I wanna draft and see drafted immediately, no question. Sound good? Let’s talk about some weirdness.

I think that your flavor is a little intentionally vague, and I need more specificity. Something like a stomping beast you can put on any world. A goblin, sure, there are loads of goblins. A decapitation? Well, here’s a question: there’s a crowd here, so is this an execution? If it’s an execution, what kind of place is this that sees people watching while the executioner makes a quip? We’re veering into quip territory again, and like, I know that the connection is obvious, but it feels like unearned humor. What changes when you drop the quotation marks and the exclamation points? Then we have just: Heads up. We’re almost in Drill Bit territory there, and like I said, Drill Bit is one of my absolute favorite-designed cards ever. I think veering into the sick and twisted could have significantly improved the mood that your card might initially have been going for. That is, still, just my opinion. Just wait until next summer when I’ll have a degree in condescension, THEN it’ll be fact.

@shakeszx — Eager Pup

We’re back to the raptor problem, and I remember that one—above, like, thirteenish cards? The velociraptor? Anyway. Aggro isn’t there yet, and I don’t think it should be. Two power would have been strong. Three is too much. Pumping the brakes for a better-safe-than-sorry option is better than warping a meta into unfun territory. There’s lots to love about the concept, though, because hey, I do love RG aggro and there’s so many good creatures that I can’t imagine this not having some sort of home. It’s not Innistradian, but maybe on Ravnica or in a core set, someone gets off the leash and hey, we got a card!

This flavor really tells us all we need to know about the art potentially. Heh, had there been one more word allowed for this contest, there could have been a great trinomial with someone trying to control a crazy pup: “Sit! Stay! Please?” Maybe a little chintzy—well, definitely—but the point is that I can see how this card looks just from the parts that aren’t the flavor, and the flavor accentuates the parts we don’t see, and that’s all I wanted from this contest! The parameters of making cards with textual requirements can be vague, but the ideas behind them are solid. This is, indeed, a solid-as-heck idea. Let’s tone down the aggro and see what we got. It’s not quite cute enough for a judge pick, but it’s an honorary favorite as a decent example. Take that for what you will.

@snugz — Joyous Return

Should this card have been GW multicolor? I’m uncertain about how monowhite tutors for creatures, even legendary creatures, without support. Right now, since there’s no limit to X, I don’t think this is in-pie. I could be argued against that, but while white is primary in tutoring for just planeswalkers, the creature part really bugs me. That said, I think that returning it to the battlefield is fine and you can just say “mana value X” instead of “mana value equal to X” and it’s all fine.

The downside is that this card isn’t exciting. There’s a storytelling trope that could be present and could be specific on the right world, but just by itself, everything is safe and expected and the happily ever after sensation is something that I’m struggling to connect with. There’s nothing wrong with happy endings and celebrations, like the ones from Eldraine and Strixhaven. The questions remain: is this card doing anything new? Definitely not from a storytelling perspective, so let’s take the tropes it’s emulating and ask: is it doing those tropes in a way that stands out or gives specific context, meaning, or intrigue? Personally I’m not seeing it. There’s room for it to improve and there are places where that interest can go. For the moment, well, I’m scrambling for a foothold.

@starch255 — Gisa’s Messenger

So the letter begins with the quote, right? Do we see Gisa anywhere in here, maybe as the one throwing the head? Like, are they on opposite sides of a room or something? I’m mildly confused by a lack of framing context and camera work here. I can imagine Geralf working on something when a head is flung through his window, shattering a beaker as it bounces off the table, or maybe it’s flung right into the open rotting torso of one of his corpses. Either way, it’s a tiny bit of a stretch to have the letter’s opener be the quote when the person saying it isn’t around. Or maybe you could have single quotation marks to denote that it’s not an actual person saying it in the scene but rather the letter itself? Either way.

Uh, card’s decent! Hm. Honestly, it’s really good, and I’d now like there to be more toughness-buffing cards from this environment, but there really can’t be that many, can there. Also, is this in black? For creatures and planeswalkers I can imagine this working like that, but is this direct damage in black’s pie? I think if it was life loss then sure but I’m uncertain. Is there that much difference? I don’t know, probably not. Whether or not we’re still in there for black hardly matters in the long run but it matters to me, darn it. Regardless! I think the funny mood is captured pretty basically in the the card, and the direction is hindered slightly by a lack of necessary structural context, at least for my mind’s eye.

Phew. Join us next week when, I’ve been told, something is indeed happening. I know, right? Stop the presses and get your cards ready. Thank you for your entries, and be well!

@abelzumi

#mtg #magic the gathering #custom magic card #two word flavor contest #commentary #general commentary #inventor's fair

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Wish Upon a Night Sky - [Beastars | Various x Reader]

[Female, Sheep Reader | Slow Burn]

Summary:

After calling upon the decision to test the waters between carnivores and herbivores, things at Cherryton Academy turn far more tense than they already were. Unsurprisingly, there are those who poke fun at the decision, both with good and bad reasons at hand. Calling the academy out on such high of a risk's understandable, but mocking carnivores for making friends with their opposites isn't.

Having been sheltered through seventeen years of homeschooling and the rigid rule of never going out at night, you far from expect being allowed to attend there after your eighteenth birthday. Regardless, you don't plan on cowering back. Your want to expose yourself to the real world, meet new people, and live through new experiences outweighs that fear, transforming it into strength.

Act One | Man's Best Friend

[Previous] | [Next]

Already messy files almost end up scattered on the floor, yet you manage to salvage them right on time. Your hands and legs shake just as fast as your heart beats; even breathing is a challenge with how stressed your mind is. Being around a large number of people wasn't the norm in your home; you'd been used to being a close family of six since you were born, and nothing more. Spending time with others beyond relatives was a rarity, as was the idea and agreement of having you study your final year in Cherryton -- far outside the safety of your home. Now that you're eighteen and near to graduating, your family's given you three simple rules to follow: never step out of campus at night, never join acting, and never show daintiness. All three of them emphasize the word 'never'; not a single space for protest or bargain is left in those rules. You knew the consequences of going out at night, as well as the risks of calling forth unwanted attention by choosing not to dress how you were told and letting any sort of bubbly nature out. Being forbidden to join acting was by far the only thing they hadn't explained to you by full.

"Your dorm is through here," Jack says, pointing with his eyes and snout over to a busy hallway.

While the person giving you the tour isn't exactly the type you were warned of before being admitted into this school, he isn't exactly of your type either, but more of a happy medium between the two: a dog. Not quite a carnivore and not quite a herbivore, he's what you learned to be an omnivore -- a kind you were taught to be wary of just as much as a wolf or a lion. Even then, his presence is about as warm and welcoming as sun rays on a cold, winter day, and you find it hard not to smile when he continues to show you around the place. He only ever stops when he sees he's left you far behind, a product of you losing yourself in your thoughts and the new world around you.

His excitement is one you wish you could manifest just as much as him, though the reminder of how you had to behave at this school leads you to brush and bury those ideas away and hold yourself back.

"Are you okay?"

Jack's question paired up with his careful tone help pull you out of your daydreaming. How concerned he looks makes you take note of the expression you're carrying. Oftentimes, you scrunched up your snout and furrowed your brow -- whenever you became lost in thought, mostly. To any outsider like him, it would seem as if though you're bothered by something, so you hurry in your reply, words leaving you in a rush, "I'm okay." Your smile returns as you meet his eyes. "I just… I got caught up with something else."

"Nervous about staying here?"

"About everything, honestly."

He lets out a laugh at that, and his gaze brightens as he motions for you to follow him once more.

Your next destination is what appears to be the rooms you were informed of at the beginning of your visit -- judging by the rows of doors laid around, along with one of them left open, displaying a bunk bed in the background. There's a student by the dresser, combing her fur without so much as bothering to look at you or Jack. She's far too focused on her brushing to acknowledge she's left the room visible to those wandering outside, though -- with her being a wolf -- you assume she's confident in herself. Or you believe so, at the very least, as based on the rumours your parents and every other family member taught you.

You halt when you notice Jack stops right by that door and see him gesture over with his head for you to step inside.

"Is this allowed?" you blurt out, rushing to cover up not a minute after that question leaves your mouth. "O- Oh gosh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright," he says, chuckling. "I know you're homeschooled, so if you have any questions about how things work here, feel free to ask me!" He stops for a moment and seems to recall something along the way. "And you can come over to my place, too, if you need more help with showing you around."

"How bold of you to invite a girl into the boys' dorm, Jack."

A feminine voice comes from behind him, and -- soon after -- the wolf from earlier appears next to the dog. She directs a cheeky grin at him, then a friendlier smile at you. "You're my roommate, aren't you?" she says, nodding her head in the direction of your dorm. "What are you standing there for? I want to get to know you!" She sounds about twice as cheerful as Jack acts. "I was told about your arrival almost three whole months ago, so the wait has been long enough."

"...You're Juno?" you ask, making memory of the list handed over to you just a few hours ago.

She nods, eyes softening. "(Y/N), right? It's... nice to have a herbivore who won't look for a change of dorms the second she sees me."

Already feeling guilty, you can only hope she hadn't heard you earlier ago. It was a known fact you tended to speak without thinking sometimes (if not, most of the time), so you make a mental note out of it and set up a goal to improve on that throughout the rest of the year. You thank Jack and say your goodbyes before following her into the room.

At the sound of the door closing, you breathe a sigh of relief with the knowledge you've made it this far without screwing up too badly. The next thing in mind is to try sparking up some conversation, but only when you make enough mental preparation for it -- aware your thoughts might run haywire and tactless again. "But... Why would they do that? Isn't it normal at this school?"

Juno shows you around the room and stops next to one of the beds, bottom one being the only one out of all the others around to have some of her possessions settled down on it. "It's allowed," she replies and continues with, "And though it's not too uncommon for both carnivores and herbivores to be placed together... Things got a lot more tense after a student's passing." Her ears droop along with her tail, and a hint of gloom clashes with her friendly demeanor. "That's why you're the only other woman in this room, and why I…" Her body shudders as she lets out a breath. "Why I try not to walk alone in the halls anymore." She takes another breath and lets it out with a huff. A hushed swoon then seems to take her over, replacing her sadness about as quickly as her ears go back up. "Although... I guess I wouldn't have met someone wonderful, if some students hadn't cornered me for being a carnivore not long after I arrived here."

The wolf sighs, then faces you with droopy eyelids and a softer smile. "Tell me, (Y/N)... Have you ever fallen in love? It's the most incredible feeling I can describe!" She sits down on the bottom bed, though she scoots aside, leaving you some space next to her. "They say your last year at school's the last chance you have for experiencing an emotion so strong, but I like to believe it will carry on as long as your love is powerful enough for it!"

While you're a bit lost as to what point she's trying to make, you smile and nod along as you wait for her to continue speaking.

After all, having two friends at the beginning of your final school year didn't sound like a bad idea. Hopefully, your lonely days would start to change; your conversation with Jack and your current one with Juno have been -- without much exaggeration -- the most interaction you've had during all your eighteen years of living. Knowing you were finally free to meet as many people as you'd want as well as study over brand-new things and the relationships between both kinds made your worries and doubts more than worthwhile. No matter how often your family and distant acquaintances warned you otherwise, you needed to grow, learn, explore, and see more outside what was taught to you at home.

You hear Juno out until she asks if you have a special someone yourself; the question turns out to be a bit of a difficult one to answer with how little people you knew to this day. So far, the only experience you remember similar to that of having a crush on someone was by reading stories of adventure and challenge when you were younger. All of these were confiscated by your family whenever you gained too many ideas, fell for a character, or whenever a book so much as mentioned the word carnivore between its pages -- in a light aside from that of hostile and negative.

Although it feels like nothing short of wishful thinking, you hope your current circumstances change soon with the new path being offered out to you; in that, you carry a strong and unshakable desire over.

And, who knows?

Maybe one day you'd be able to sneak out and watch the night sky, too -- and with a friend or two by your side, preferably.

"I don't, but…" You trail off to consider her question; overwhelmed by the changes and influenced by her energetic self, you find it hard not to follow along with her. "I wouldn't mind having one -- if that opportunity ever came around!"

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#various x reader #legoshi x reader #legosi x reader #haru x reader #jack x reader #juno x reader #rouis x reader #louis x reader #beastars x reader #female reader #sheep reader #slow burn #romance #mystery #thriller #lgbt #lgbt themes #long fic

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Futures past pt5 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang chats with Su She, and gets reminded of his mission

"I swear, if that shixiong of yours doesn't stop sneering like that every time he sees you, I'm stealing you," Nie Huaisang grumbled as they walked away from the training grounds. “And then da-ge will be happy to have another hard working disciple, and you will be happy to never deal with those stuck up idiots, and I will be happy to have a friend at home!”

Su She rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his lips that pleased Nie Huaisang. He’d figured out pretty quickly that Su She liked being praised, reacting to it like a man lost in the desert who'd found an oasis. It was funny, and a little cute, and Nie Huaisang was only too happy to build up his new friend’s self esteem. When Su She was in a good mood, he was a little more willing to help Nie Huaisang with his homework, at least some of the time. He refused to actually do the work for Nie Huaisang, which was a shame, but just getting help was already something.

And it was help that Nie Huaisang desperately needed.

As weeks passed, it had become quite obvious that he was horrifyingly bad at studying, his grade plummeting down with each new test and surprise quiz. At least he could somewhat manage his homework if Su She or Lan Xichen were helping him, but… but he kept being punished because of his bad grades, meaning he ended up with very little time to spend with either of them. When he went to Lan Xichen’s house, he usually did some homework because that was easier than making conversation, but it didn’t happen that often. As for Su She… well, there were more fun things they could do together, and Nie Huaisang would fail his classes no matter what, so why waste time on something as stupid as homework now it was all obviously in vain?

“What’s the plan today?” Nie Huaisang asked.

"My mother sent me some treats from home and I don't mind sharing," Su She announced. "She figured I'd be sad, since I'm not able to go back for Qingming this year either. The teachers say my attitude isn't good enough yet, and going home might ruin all my progress."

"They're all too hard on you, I swear."

Su She shrugged. He was used to this. From what Nie Huaisang understood, most outer disciples were treated quite harshly until they proved they could be trusted to follow the rules. It might not have been so bad if Su She had been more the side to bend his neck and obey everything like some of the others, but he really had too much pride for a disciple of Gusu Lan. Still, being away from home for Qingming was harsh.

Of course, Nie Huaisang too was stuck in the Cloud Recesses. In his case, that was because the trip would have been too long when he couldn't fly on his sabre, and Lan Qiren had warned Nie Mingjue that it would be bad for his brother to miss any classes due to that. The other Nie disciples had no such problem though, so they'd left and he was currently all alone in the cabin they shared.

Nie Huaisang didn't mind. A little quiet was nice.

“Let’s go to my cabin to have some tea,” Nie Huaisang offered. “We can eat what your mother sent, and I should also still have some sweets, and I don’t mind sharing if it’s with you.”

It was, actually, almost the last of the candies he’d brought from home, and he hadn’t been able to get more. Students were allowed days off to visit the nearby town sometimes, but Nie Huaisang had been denied that privilege on account of his grades. He had thought of going anyway, but so far his fear of Lan Qiren still outweighed his desperate need for something fun. If Su She had been willing to come with him, perhaps… but Su She wasn’t exactly in a great position either, and didn’t want to make his situation worse by purposefully breaking rules, so they were both stuck inside the Cloud Recesses, the most beautiful prison in the world.

But it was a prison with decent company, and Su She agreed to that offer for tea. With just the two of them, they were able to get quite cozy in the Nie cabin. They dropped on the floor all the blankets in the cabin so they could sit in decadent comfort, at least by Cloud Recesses' standards. Half sprawled by the table, they drank the best tea Nie Huaisang had to offer at that moment (he promised, not for the first time, that one day he’d invite Su She to visit the Unclean Realm where he had access to much better leaves), traded treats much sweeter and tastier than anything usually available to eat away from home, and chatted quite freely, knowing there was nobody around to scold them if they got too gossipy.

Su She, who tried so hard to never say anything bad about his fellow disciples where someone might here, ended up spitting a lot of venom on all those other Lan juniors, sparring neither inner nor outer disciples and denouncing their treatment of him as unfair.

“After all,” he spat, “I’m a much better musician than Han Mingzhe and Bao Tong, and my swordsmanship is at least as good as Li Xiaoping, but they don’t get scolded as much. But Bao Tong and Li Xiaoping have parents who are rogue cultivators, and Han Mingzhe’s parents are farmers which is at least honourable, while my father is a merchant, and a rich one at that. Everyone says I just bought my way into cultivation!”

Nie Huaisang frowned, looking down at his currently empty cup. This, he thought, would have been a conversation better accompanied by some wine. Complaining while drinking tea just wasn’t as fun.

“It’s stupid,” he said. “I mean, sure you can buy pills and all, but that wouldn’t take you very far with Gusu Lan’s style, that’s more of a Jin thing.”

Immediately, Su She hunched up his shoulders and looked down, a spot of colour on his cheeks.

“Actually my father tried to get me into Lanling Jin at first,” Su She muttered, sounding ashamed of the confession. “But they didn’t want me because I didn’t know anything about using a sword and they said I was already too old to be taught. Then we tried Gusu Lan, because we’d heard they use music, and I’m good at that. They also said I was a bit old, but they still took me in because they said I might catch up if I worked hard enough. But some of the other juniors still heard about me trying for Lanling Jin, and they’re convinced I must have cheated somehow, and… Well, a merchant’s son, no way I can have gotten here on my own merit, eh? Merchants are all dishonest, right?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced, because he could just imagine the sort of things that Su She might have been accused of. Even his brother’s sect, which tried to reward merit and talent above all else, wasn’t always kind to anyone coming from a merchant’s family. It was a profession with money, but that didn't count all that much when the way they'd gotten that money was through the work of others, not like farmers or scholars who put such high efforts into their respective crafts. Of course, being descended from butchers, the Nie couldn’t exactly look down on others for their origins, and yet…

“Have you told the seniors about this?” he asked Su She.

His friend shrugged and scoffed.

“What for? Most of them agree, or they wouldn’t be so hard on me.”

“Then… what if I told Lan Xichen?” Nie Huaisang offered. “If he says something in your favour, then everyone else will have to be nice to you!”

“Lan gongzi despises me,” Su She muttered. “Sometimes I cross paths with him, and he looks at me like I’m lower than dirt. With everyone else he’s nice, but me… it’s like he hates me, personally. And it’s worse when I’m with you.”

Nie Huaisang's enthusiasm deflated at the reminder.

At least, this confirmed it wasn’t just his imagination. He also thought he had noticed that Lan Xichen appeared to harbour some kind of personal dislike toward Su She, but he couldn’t understand why. By all accounts, Su She had always managed to be perfectly polite around the sect leader’s sons, and while his personality wasn’t the most Lan-like, Nie Huaisang knew his friend had never done anything that cast shame upon his sect. It might have been about Su She’s origins then, but somehow that didn’t sound right either.

Lan Xichen was a little boring, but he put great value on his sect’s rules, and those rules said clearly that people should be judged by their actions, not their origins. Nie Huaisang had copied those damn rules often enough to know that. It really was so odd for Lan Xichen to react like this to Su She, and that made Nie Huaisang want to understand why. Everything else about Lan Xichen was so boring, but this detail made him feel like there might be some personality in the older boy after all.

“I could still ask him to do something,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “He can look the other way if nobody tells him, but I’m a young master of a sect too. I'm not very good at being one, but when I say something, he still had to listen. And if I tell him his father’s disciples are little shits, he’ll have to do something, or all of Gusu Lan will lose face.”

Su She’s expression only turned darker. “It will just make everyone hate me more, even the ones who didn’t care before. Please don’t say anything. I’m just going to work harder, and prove everyone wrong, and when I’m good enough I’ll…” he pinched his lips and dropped his gaze to the table. “They’ll see, they’ll all see. When I’m good enough, I’ll show them all, and everyone will regret that they didn’t respect me.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, and even patted Su She on the shoulder, feeling quite sorry for him. He’d never thought about it before, but the way things were was a little unfair. Su She was so hard working and getting results for his effort, but people treated him like dirt, while Nie Huaisang couldn’t be bothered with anything and would have failed even if he tried, but everyone still felt forced to treat him with a minimum of respect because of his brother.

It really wasn’t fair at all, but all Nie Huaisang could do was stand by Su She and make it clear he saw his friend’s talent, even if everybody else was too damn stupid to notice him.

Nie Huaisang couldn't do anything to help, but he made sure to give Su She the last of his candies, and hoped that counted for something.

It was always too damn quiet in the Cloud Recesses at night, and Nie Huaisang struggled to get used to it. Back home, there was always the noise of something happening somewhere. Disciples who'd decided to continue training after sunset, those on watch duty doing their rounds, servants going about their business... it was a constant reminder that people were around and the world was safe.

In the Cloud Recesses, there was nothing. If not for the snoring coming from one of his companions, Nie Huaisang might as well have been alone in the world.

Nobody was snoring that night. He was alone, and would be for at least two more, until the others returned from seeing their families and honouring their ancestors.

It was annoying enough to be stuck in this lonely quiet place in daylight, when he could at least see people, when he’d been able to pester Su She and feel less alone. Only Su She had long returned to the dorms he shared with other Lan disciples, and Nie Huaisang was alone in this deafening silence.

That was why he couldn’t sleep.

That was why he heard those footsteps coming near his bed, when there shouldn’t have been anyone else in that lonely cabin. It couldn’t be a demon or a ghost, not in the Cloud Recesses, which should have been a comfort. Once, before his father went mad, it would have been.

There were things against which no magical barrier could offer protection.

The footsteps came to a stop near the bed. Nie Huaisang silently shivered under his blanket, biting into his fist to avoid making any sound. If he was quiet, if he pretended not to be there, things would be fine. It had worked whenever his father went into a rage. Back then, as long as Nie Huaisang didn't move, his father seemed not to see him, a trick he'd figured out very quickly and shared with Nie Mingjue.

Maybe it would work here too.

Or maybe not.

Nie Huaisang felt a hand grab his blanket, and all coherent thoughts left him. He shrieked in terror as he leapt out of his bed, nearly falling face first onto the floor but caught at the last moment by strong, slender hands.

“What are you crying like that for?” he heard a strange yet familiar voice huff. “Do you really think anyone would dare attack you here? It’s only me.”

Blinking away a few tears, Nie Huaisang scrambled to stand up while his future self watched him with an unimpressed expression.

“Sorry,” Nie Huaisang muttered, trying to put some order to his night clothes. “I get scared at night sometimes. Well, you’d know. Do… Does it get better?”

“No,” the older man bearing his face said, opening his fan. It was a different one from last time, but just as gorgeous. “It gets worse. I don’t sleep much these days. Haven’t in years. It’s a waste of time anyway.”

Nie Huaisang, who often thought that sleeping was the best part of his day, as long as he didn’t start panicking over nothing, didn’t know what to answer to that. He had a feeling his opinion on the matter wasn’t required anyway.

“So, uh, aside from sleeping, how have you been?” he awkwardly asked. “Anything interesting happened to you? How does time even pass for you? Did you also have to wait for several months, or is it just after the last time we talked for you?”

His future self glared and sharply closed his fan, making Nie Huaisang jump and effectively silencing him.

"How is Lan Xichen?” the man asked. “Have you made progress with him yet?"

"We've talked here and there, but he's always so busy," Nie Huaisang muttered, wringing his hands. “It's really hard to chat with him, you know. And he’s got such boring hobbies, too.”

Not music and painting, those were valid ways to pass time, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion. And sometimes, serious people couldn’t avoid doing some amount of work, so he didn't even begrudge Lan Xichen that either.

But Nie Huaisang hadn’t taken long to realise that whenever they were spending time together, Lan Xichen wasn’t actually doing any sect work. After all, Nie Mingjue had tried to force his little brother to help with those things, so he knew what that looked like. And it wasn't calligraphy either that occupied the older boy, because Nie Huaisang loved that and would have struck a conversation about it if given a chance.

Instead, Lan Xichen had made a hobby of copying books and treaties.

Nie Huaisang had asked, once or twice, if Lan Xichen was trying to learn those texts by heart. The older boy had very awkwardly agreed that he was indeed doing just that, but he hadn’t sounded very convinced. He really was such a poor liar. Lan Xichen was going to be awful at politics if he didn’t learn how to conceal his thoughts. Then again, he wasn’t always like that, was he? With most people he was placid and radiating a sort of empty warmth. It was just around Nie Huaisang that he would get weird, and maybe around Su She as well, as if his disdain was just too great to be contained.

Just as Nie Huaisang was about to ask his older self if he’d ever found out what he and his friend had done to Lan Xichen to be so disliked by him, the man grabbed him by the collar and shook him.

"I thought I'd told you this was essential," his older self hissed, sounding too much like Nie Huaisang's father all of a sudden. "And you’re still only thinking about having fun! Do you want da-ge to die?"

"Of course not!"

"Then get serious about this,” the man ordered, shaking his young self once more before pushing him away with enough force that Nie Huaisang stumbled and nearly fell. “You have to earn Lan Xichen's trust, or he will choose the wrong friend, idiot that he is."

"Well, can't you give me hints?” Nie Huaisang mumbled in a trembling voice, trying again to straighten his clothes in spite of shaking hands. “You've got to know more about him than I do, can't you tell me how I'm supposed to get close to him?"

This, of course, earned him another disdainful glare.

"I don't remember the boy he was," his future self said, "and the man he became was never worth my attention. Figure this out on your own, and be useful for once."

It struck Nie Huaisang as very unfair that his future self was allowed to not have anything to do with Lan Xichen, but wouldn't extend the same kindness to him. It also worried him that the man before him disliked Lan Xichen so much. Nie Huaisang just found the older boy a little boring, but he didn't have any particularly strong opinion about him.

“You can’t do that!” he complained, clenching his fists. “You can’t… I’ve got to be told things! And if you can’t tell me about how to get close to Lan Xichen, then… then at least tell my why it’s important, and why… how does da-ge die, anyway?”

“Murdered, I’ve told you that already.”

Nie Huaisang stumped his foot. “There’s so many ways to murder someone, that doesn’t narrow it down at all! Tell me how, and tell me who…” He trailed off, a horrible suspicion hitting him. “Did… did Lan Xichen…”

Just thinking of it, Nie Huaisang felt a little faint and had to stumble against the closest wall, just to get some support. Whatever he thought of Lan Xichen, that was still his brother’s closest friend, Nie Mingjue's only friend. And besides, Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as a murderer. People changed, certainly, but how could a person have changed that much?

And yet his own future self, standing before him, was proof that such a complete transformation was possible. Nie Huaisang really didn’t see anything of himself in that man, nothing except his aged up face and perhaps a taste for fashion.

“Lan Xichen is too much of a coward,” his older self proclaimed, mouth twisting in disgust. “But he helped the murderer, willingly or not, and sided with him so many times that I’ve never dared come to him with the truth. I wasn’t sure he’d trust me, even with proof. I still have my opinion on that, whatever some others think he'd have done. But you…” he waved his closed fan toward Nie Huaisang. “You might change that. Da-ge’s opinion alone wasn’t enough, but Lan Xichen has no will of his own, he’ll be easily swayed if two people he trusts are denouncing the true nature of the man he protects. That’s all I feel safe telling you at the moment. I don’t trust you not to mess things up if you know too much. You only learned too late to keep your mouth shut.”

It still sounded odd to Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen could ever side against Nie Mingjue. Not long ago, he would have called his older self a liar, because Lan Xichen was boring but honest and just. Now though, having seen how Lan Xichen looked at Su She who had never done him any wrong… maybe it was possible that Lan Xichen would turn into a bad man, since he was clearly capable of being unjust after all.

“I’ll work harder to get close to him,” Nie Huaisang promised, pushing himself away from the wall now that he felt steadier again. “I really will. Maybe I can ask him to help with lessons a little more… I really need it, if I want to pass.”

“You’re not going to pass,” his older self announced. “It’s fine. Da-ge will send you here again, and you’ll meet some useful allies.”

At the news, Nie Huaisang let out a deep, heartfelt sigh. Having to come back in this boring place for another year sounded like torture, even with Su She for company. And then, meeting more people his future self wanted him to befriend… weren’t these people going to be just as boring as Lan Xichen?

While Nie Huaisang despaired, his adult self turned to check on something only he could see, and huffed.

“I’m running out of time. Fine, let’s be quick. Did you bring with you the information I gave you last time about Meng Yao?”

“Yes, I have it.”

Nie Huaisang took a step toward the place he’d stored his qiankun pouch, but his older self stopped him with a gesture.

“That Night Hunt in Yunping should happen fairly soon now. You have to go,” the older man ordered. “One way or another, you have to go. I don’t know when else we’d have such a chance to alter Meng Yao’s fate, and it is vital that he doesn’t enter Lanling Jin. Do whatever you must do, take whatever risk you must take, but make sure Meng Yao cannot join the Jin.”

Nie Huaisang obediently nodded, half spooked by the edge in his older self’s voice whenever he said that Meng Yao’s voice. Hating someone was just too much effort in his opinion, but apparently he’d grow to hate that Meng Yao person. But if that person was fated to play a part in Nie Mingjue’s death… in that case, and that case alone, Nie Huaisang could imagine he’d maybe become enraged enough to do something about it.

“I’ll do my best,” Nie Huaisang promised, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually kill anyone. Murder was messy, and Nie Mingjue would be cross, even if it was to save his life.

“I know what your best is,” his older self snapped. “You’ll have to do better than that. Take care of Meng Yao, get in Lan Xichen’s good graces, and then… then we’ll see,” he mused. “Depending on how well you do that, there might still be a few loose threads to cut. Xue Yang and Su She didn’t need the Jin to make trouble, we might do everyone a service and…”

“What about Su She?” Nie Huaisang cried out, grasping the older man’s wrists.

He was roughly pushed away, and earned a nasty glare for his outburst.

“Don’t mind that yet,” his older self said, straightening his sleeves. “All that matters for now is Meng Yao and Lan Xichen. Focus on them, I’ll explain the rest when the time comes.”

“But that’s…”

“I’ll return in a few months. You’d better have good news for me next time.”

Nie Huaisang launched himself at the older man, wanting to grab him again and force him to explain why he’d mentioned Su She. His hands found only empty air and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees on the hard wooden floor. It hurt, and might even bruise later, but Nie Huaisang didn’t even think to rub them or cry.

He knelt there far too long in that lonely cabin, and wondered what might happen in the future that would cause him to treat Su She as an enemy.

#xisang #nie huaisang #su she #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #baby nhs has a very rough time and needs a hug #well he's not getting one #double time travel

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

Text

The Chase

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Word Count: 4,982

Preview: Despite the fact that you're supposed to have the House of Lamentation all to yourself, Satan shows up in your room with an all-too-familiar charm.

He wants a chase, and you're willing to give it to him.

(This is a follow up to my other Satan fic, “Feline Charms”, so please go read that first if you haven’t!)

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter is also being posted on 6/25/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3

Satan walks into your room one quiet day—a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause from where you’re sitting on your bed, surprised to see him. Last you’d heard, Diavolo had invited the brothers to the castle for dinner. You hadn’t been included in the invitation (something about discussing sensitive Devildom politics over the meal), but it hadn’t bothered you.

For once, you’d have the entire house to yourself, and that thought was exciting. But…

Here Satan is, standing in your doorway, and looking suspiciously happy.

“Did you…not go with your brothers?” you ask, pushing yourself into a seated position, with your legs crossed under you. You stare at him innocently, head cocked to the side.

“I told them I needed to catch up on homework first,” he says, waving his hand uncaringly. “The first hour or so is just mingling anyway. Dinner doesn’t start until late.”

“Ah,” you respond, but you’re still confused. It’s obvious to you that Satan doesn’t have any real homework to do, considering he’s standing in your doorway all mischievous-like. There’s got to be a reason why he’d stayed behind, and come to visit you in particular…

Sighing, you press to your feet and pose with a hand on your hip—eyebrow raising as you stare at him.

“What can I do for you, Satan?”

At that, he grins. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Satan carefully tugs out what looks to be a small keychain. He only holds it only by the silken ribbon, and your eyes narrow in on the all too familiar golden charm dangling at the end.

Immediately, your body goes stiff—explicit memories flashing through your head.

Satan chuckles as he notices your obvious shift in demeanor.

This shouldn’t be a complete surprise to you. After all, you and Satan had spoken on the possibility of once again using the charm to make things a bit more…interesting.

It wasn’t like your normal sex wasn’t fun, or fulfilling, but…you and Satan both had admittedly gotten immense pleasure out of your first (albeit accidental) use of the charm, so why not try once again?

“I managed to adjust the spell so you won’t turn fully into a cat, like last time,” Satan speaks, his foot inching forward. His pace is slow as he approaches you, and you feel your breathing pick up—your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You know that this time, you’re both looking for that bit of resistance you’d shown before—when Satan had been forced to wrestle you into the shower. Except, today, you won’t be running due to a fear of water—you’ll be running to feel the thrill of the chase.

Satan had expressed to you some while ago that he’d admittedly always loved being able to let go and indulge in his Wrath-born tenancies from time to time. And…part of those tendencies typically involved games of cat and mouse.

For as composed as Satan appears to be, he gets twisted pleasure out of stalking his prey—chasing them, letting them work themselves into a frenzy, until finally Satan puts them out of their misery.

…of course, Satan has no intention of killing you.

No, for you, a much more…pleasurable ending awaits.

“Of course, we don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not up for it.”

He lifts his free hand and cups your cheek, dragging you into a soft kiss. That mischievous glint in his eye is gone, replaced with a look of understanding and affection.

You and Satan have only grown closer over the last few weeks, and there’s no way he’ll jeopardize your relationship by forcing you into a scenario when you’re not on board.

A quiet moan builds in your throat, and you raise your hands—cradling his face between your palms. You steal another kiss from him, and your heart begins to race.

You love him so much that sometimes you think you may drown in your affections for him. How can one man make you want to melt, but manage to get you so sexually aroused in the same beat?

Lowering one of your hands from his cheek, you trail your fingers down his chest, and onto his arm. Within moments, your fingers skim against his own. You feel the soft silken fabric holding the charm, and without second thought, reach down to touch the spell-laden metal.

Immediately, your body tingles—and you can sense the magic changing your form. The sensation stops only after a few seconds, and true to his word, this time around you have not turned into a house cat. Instead, you remain human, but with feline characteristics—your ears twitching on your skull, and your tail waving behind you—showing the excitement you’ve been attempting to hide.

“Do I at least get a head start?” you whisper against his lips—smile overtaking you. The Avatar of Wrath chuckles, pressing one final kiss against your mouth.

“10 seconds,” he says.

In a flash, you’ve disappeared—your shoulders brushing together as you dart past him and exit your bedroom. He can hear your footsteps echoing down the hall as you run, and Satan grins to himself. It’s clear you don’t intend to make this easy for him.

As adrenaline begins to flood his veins, his power begins to seep. Horns appear on Satan’s head—his clothes transforming into his demonic outfit, and a green and black tail snakes around his leg.

“3,” he mumbles to himself, turning to face the open door to your room. He rolls his neck side to side—loosening his muscles.

“2.”

Satan takes a deep breath, his ears straining to hear you. You’ve traveled quite far in just a few seconds…perhaps the spell had granted you a tiny boost in speed, as well.

“1.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Satan rushes after you.

You’ve already made it down the staircase and into the dining room by the time Satan is done counting.

While a part of you had admittedly debated slowing your pace so that Satan could find you more easily, that idea had quickly been chucked aside. Satan wants a chase, and, well…to be quite honest, the Avatar of Wrath is a bit scary. At least when he’s like this. (Although you know he would never actually hurt you.)

A wave of power extends throughout the house, and you feel your hair stand on end. Briefly pausing, your cat ears—with heightened senses—swerve around on your head. Somewhere behind you, a stair creaks.

You suck in a sharp breath, gaze quickly darting over your shoulder. How is he already this close??

Hurrying forward, you do your best to tread lightly as you round into the kitchen. You stay low behind the counter tops, a tiny smile tugging at your lips when you suddenly feel foolish for the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. You’re excited, and anxious, and aroused, and—

“Neko-chan~”

The voice is drawn-out—playful—but it still makes your hackles rise.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the demon lurking behind you. You don’t even dare look—simply leap forward and out of Satan’s reach. He grins mirthfully as you turn your head to stare at him--shocked. It’s seriously unfair that he can move so silently.

“I found you,” he says, taking a step forward. In response, you take a step back. The doorway to the hall is still a few feet behind you, and Satan is blocking the entrance back into the dining room. Your best bet would be to stun him, and then run further into the house and hide.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an apple sitting on the counter.

You swipe at it without warning, effectively sending it flying towards Satan’s head. The demon, luckily, is thrown off by the action.

He lifts an arm to save his face from being struck by the fruit, and by the time the apple has bounced off his arm and clattered to the floor, Satan’s eyes only manage to catch the sight of your tail disappearing from the doorframe.

A grin tugs at his lips, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You’re cute when you’re desperate. Too bad your efforts are in vain.

You only make it half way up the hall before a hand wraps around your tail. With a shriek, you tumble off your feet—landing ungracefully on your ass. There’s an amused snort behind you.

“And that’s why I keep my tail close to me.”

You scramble to your hands and knees—knowing that Satan is behind you—but he doesn’t allow you to get away again.

“It’s adorable when the prey doesn’t realize it’s time to give up.”

Satan’s warmth and weight are suddenly on your back. You feel his prominent hard-on against your ass, and pointedly rut back against it—hoping to loosen his hold. However, the action in turn causes him to grip you tighter—his sharp nails digging into one of your breasts through your shirt.

You whimper, but the sound quickly escalates into a pained gasp as Satan’s other hand roots in your hair. He tugs your head back—his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck as punishment for that last, pathetic escape attempt.

“Satan,” you breathe hotly, your tone pleading. Your ass wiggles against his crotch. Despite the small amount of distress you feel towards your current situation, it is vastly outweighed by the arousal pooling your gut. The Avatar of Wrath catching you and pinning you down like this is a huge turn-on.

“Wasn’t much of a chase, in the end,” he mumbles against your ear, and you blink in shock as the world spins. He easily flips you onto your back, and suddenly you’re staring at his devilishly handsome face—his lips pulled into a wide smile, and his blond hair disheveled.

“You should have just told me if you wanted my cock that badly, Y/N.”

You flush red, hand lifting to press against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You prick—I ran with all I had! Maybe if you wanted more of a chase, you should have given me a bigger head s—”

Your words are cut off as his palm presses against your neck—his fingers squeezing tightly around your throat. You’re very much reminded of the first time he’d fucked you--the same ears and tail adorning your body.

“I would watch your mouth, kitty.” You start to go light-headed, and Satan feels you become more pliable beneath him. He drags his knee between your thighs--grinding up against your pelvis, and you whine. “Is that any way for a pet to talk to their master?”

“I-I’m not--,” you attempt to deny his words, but you’re aware that this is a battle you won’t win. You’d said once before that you were the “Avatar of Wrath’s personal little pet”, and he’s taking that very seriously. Especially now that you’re pinned beneath him--cute, fuzzy ears flattened against your hair.

Satan leans in so your faces are mere centimeters apart, and his eyes flick to look at your lips.

“Want to try that again?”

Your body heats up with embarrassment. You will yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m your pet, Satan.”

He smiles at that, and you feel his grip on your neck loosen as he leans down to kiss you. You moan quietly into the kiss—your arms lifting to wrap around him—but the soft moment is over as soon as it begins. The Avatar of Wrath nips his canines against your bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, and his fingers tighten against your throat once more.

“And as my pet, I can do whatever I please, yes?”

His knee is still rubbing up against your pussy, and even though the friction is lessened by your clothing, you’re so riled up at the moment that you swear if he keeps going, you’ll cum soon.

You nod weakly.

“Say it.”

“You can use me however you want.”

Your voice is frantic, and breathless. Satan can see the way your face has started to color from lack of blood flow, so he removes his hand from your neck. Instead, he places a finger at the collar of your shirt—his green nail extending into a point on command. The sharp nail catches the fabric of your shirt and tears it clean up the middle.

Because you’d been expecting to have the house to yourself tonight, you aren’t wearing a bra.

As your tits spill into the open air, Satan’s dick throbs. Immediately, his hand descends upon the soft mounds, giving them a rough squeeze. You whimper--your eyes straying to look at the crotch of Satan’s pants, and the pitched tent is quite obvious.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. Satan notices, his eyes narrowing. He removes his hand from your chest, and instead replaces it with his mouth. As he sucks your tit between his lips—his teeth gently nipping at your hardened nipple—his free hand sneaks beneath the hem of your pants.

His fingers slide between your wet folds, two digits curling into your pussy with little resistance. You writhe beneath him, your hips grinding down against his hand, and he sinks his teeth into your breast as a warning. You’re quick to cease your movements.

“Good girl.”

Satan laps his tongue against your tit—soothing over the indentation of his teeth. Acknowledgement of your good behavior.

You whine, unable to help the miniscule twitching of your body as Satan begins finger fucking you. His pace is frustratingly slow—serving only to rile you up—but you know that if you beg for more, you’ll be punished. Good pets learn to wait, and so shall you.

“Mmm--!” you mewl—your chest arching into Satan’s mouth. He’s taken to biting and sucking against your breasts—leaving you with a pretty pattern of soon-to-be hickies.

“You like it when you have marks, don’t you?” he speaks, voice deep. His emerald eyes flit up to you, and a grin pulls at his lips when he fucks his fingers into you particularly hard—making you gasp.

“That way, whenever you see them, you’ll be reminded of this—,” Satan drags his mouth upward to rest against your throat. His words are hot against your skin as he continues, and you shiver.

“—me, fucking you in the middle of the hallway after a pathetic game of cat and mouse. You’re quite literally the cat out of the two of us, and yet you were caught…”

“Not exactly a fair game when you’re running from a demon,” you shoot back. Satan breathes a laugh, and a moment later, you feel his canines against the column of your throat. He bites down—a cry falling from your lips—and Satan enjoys the way your pussy tightly grips his fingers. Despite the pain laced in your voice, he can feel your walls getting wetter.

“You’re quite mouthy for a pet,” he comments, sitting back a little. There’s a clear impression of his teeth against your neck. Your chest rises and falls quickly—eyes blown wide as you stare at him. Looks like your bratty remarks have finally given way to needy submission.

“How about…,” Satan pulls his fingers from inside of you, watching the way your bottom lip quivers in disappointment. “…you meow for me?”

His two digits—slick with your own arousal—press against your clit and begin rubbing slow, gentle circles. Your skull angles back into the carpet, lips parting in a silent moan, and after a moment your wanton gaze resettles on the demon.

You hesitate, your cheeks getting redder, and Satan grins. He rubs against your clit a bit harder, leaning down to press open mouth kisses to your sternum.

“If you be a good girl and meow, I’ll quit teasing and give you what you want. How’s that sound?”

He mumbles the words against your skin, smiling when he feels your thighs tighten around his hand. It takes a few seconds for you to work up to it, but eventually Satan hears you sigh—giving into your fate.

“N-nyaaa~,” you manage quietly, pitching your voice high, and attempting to come off cute. Your heart is racing against your ribs, embarrassment and arousal clashing as your body continues to heat up.

Satan’s fingers pause against your clit—the blond-haired demon leaning back, and giving you a curious look. It seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Despite his inner amusement at making you meow; his dick is throbbing.

He wants to fuck you into the floor.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he remarks, resting back on his knees as his hands fumble to undo his belt. You watch him with wide eyes, surprised at the desperation that is oozing off of him. A part of you wants to tease him for getting so turned-on from making you meow of all things, but you don’t want to jeopardize your chance at finally having his cock inside of you.

And you need this.

A gasp falls from your mouth as Satan grabs you—his fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants. Since you’re fairly desperate yourself, you lift your rear off the floor, making it easier for him to shuck the clothing off of you.

Now, with your lower half revealed to him, Satan wastes no time in settling between your legs. His pants are already shoved down his thighs—cock weeping and hard.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands a little breathily as his hands find your hips—guiding you against him. The head of his length rubs between your wet folds, flicking against your clit, before finally dragging down to your sopping hole.

You groan pleasantly as he seats himself between your walls—your legs curling around him as his cock stretches you open--filling you so deliciously. Despite the wrath in his nature telling him to be mean, a hint of fondness tugs at his heart--happy to see your satisfaction.

Leaning down, Satan cups your face. He kisses you hotly—his tongue dragging against your own as he swallows each and every pleasurable sound that threatens to escape you.

With his cock sheathed within your heat, he kisses you until your breath is completely stolen away.Then, he leans back--his eyes roaming you from head to toe. Hickies litter your chest, your lips are wet and swollen, and the bite mark on your neck is sure to be there for days. He grins with satisfaction at his work.

“What a good pet,” he comments. His hands find your hips once more, and the soft intimacy of the moment has ended. You’re once again his prey.

“Oh--!” you choke in surprise as Satan suddenly thrusts himself into you—his pace fast and rough right from the get-go. Your fingers tear into the carpet beneath you—desperate for something to hold onto. If it weren’t for the remnants of your torn shirt protecting your back, you’re sure you’d have carpet burn in minutes.

“Ah,” Satan bites out, his heart thundering in his chest as he continues fucking into you. With your legs tightly wrapped around him, it makes it so easy for him to grind your pussy onto his dick—his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your hips as he forces you to meet him in the middle.

Uncalled upon, little whines and pleas begin to drip off your tongue. The chase combined with all of Satan’s teasing has gotten you so worked up that you can already feel arousal pooling heavily in your gut. Each drag of the demon’s cock between your walls inches you closer to your release, and at this rate, you won’t last very long.

“S-Satan, I--,” you open your mouth to warn him, but that’s all you can manage. You can barely form a coherent thought, your eyes glazed over as you stare at him. And Satan loves seeing you like this—falling apart beneath him. All it would take is one final push, and he’s sure that you’d unravel.

“Oh? Are you close already?” he teases, despite full well knowing he’s nearing his breaking point as well. Sweat has started to bead on his brow—the ends of his messy blond hair sticking against his forehead. As much as he could poke fun at you for being so close already, he doesn’t have the right. At this rate, he’ll be pumping you full of his seed within the next few minutes.

You bite your lip at his question and manage to nod your head. Your pussy is throbbing around his length—gripping him tighter with each passing second. You’re drowning in your own arousal.

Whining a little, you lift your arms towards the demon—craving to feel him. He’s already fucked any remaining disobedience out of you, and now all you want is to keep him close as he drills you into the floor.

Luckily, Satan is feeling nice enough to give in. He wraps his arms behind you, hugging you tightly against him as he continues fucking his hips into yours. Wet slapping sounds echo down the hallway, and you moan--your fingers digging into his shoulder blades as you wrap yourself around him.

Satan’s breathing is heavy against your ear, quiet pants and curses puffing against your skin as the two of you rocket towards your climaxes. However—

Brrrring Brrrring~

Satan’s rhythm stutters as he feels his DDD begin vibrating against his lower thigh. He growls.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your head thumps back against the floor in disappointment as Satan untangles himself from around you and wrestles his phone out of his pocket. The screen reads Mammon, and Satan momentarily debates ignoring the call. However, knowing that he’s supposed to be at an important meeting with his brothers and Diavolo currently, he can’t justify doing so.

“What?” he bites in annoyance, connecting the line. Despite also being peeved at the interruption, you find yourself smiling—Mammon’s offended voice reaching your ears as he complains about the rude greeting.

As Satan seethes, you become aware of the fact that his cock is still inside of you. Even though he had picked up the call, he has made a point of keeping himself seated between your warm walls, and the realization has you feeling a little…devious.

“Lucifer is wonderin’ where the hell ya are,” Mammon states after airing his complaints at Satan’s cold greeting. The Avatar of Wrath sighs.

“I’ll be there soon, I’m nearly fin-ished--,” his voice wavers, pitching high in response to your pussy clenching around him.

“You okay, Satan?” Mammon asks curiously as Satan’s narrowed emerald eyes shift down to you. There’s a look of disbelief on his face—had you really just done something so ballsy?—but the anger in his eyes quickly melts into something much more devious.

He leans back a little more—his free hand moving between your legs. Before you can beg him not to, the Avatar of Wrath is quickly rubbing two of his fingers against your aching clit. His motions are swift and damning—a side to side motion that has your eyes rolling back, and your lips parting. A moan threatens to tear out of you, and you hurry to lift your hands and cover your mouth.

A grin tugs at Satan’s lips even as your pussy tightens around his cock once more.

“I’m fine,” he responds after a brief pause, his voice even and put together. It’s a stark contrast to you, who is quite literally writhing beneath him. You cry into your hands—your thighs pressing tightly against Satan’s hips as you attempt to close your legs, but it’s no use.

“…okay then,” Mammon relinquishes, still sounding a little suspicious. “Dinner starts in 30 minutes. Get here by then, alright?”

“I’m sure I’ll finish in time,” Satan replies, now full-out grinning as he watches you squirm. He can feel your pussy pulsating around his length. If he keeps going, there’s no doubt you’ll cum.

“Ya better, or Lucifer will have your ass. Get here soon.”

With that, Mammon ends the call, and Satan doesn’t hesitate in chucking his phone across the floor. It skids to a stop on the carpet a few feet away just as the demon reaches up and tears your hands away from your mouth.

“You bas--,” you start breathlessly, but Satan cuts you off. His mouth crashes against yours—his arms once more wrapping tightly around your torso as he picks up where you’d left off. And all you can do is moan around his tongue—a thick layer of need blotting out your anger and embarrassment.

Once again, the two of you are thrown into the depths of your pleasure. The world disappears from around you. All you know is Satan, and the way he’s making you feel.

“Please,” you beg, fingernails pressing crescents into the skin of his shoulders. You’re so, so close. You could snap at any second.

Satan notes the way your walls grip him—squeezing tighter with every thrust of his cock, and he bites out a curse. He can feel your breasts pressing against his chest—hear each of your breathless pleas and whines. You’re quite literally falling apart in his fingers, and he has never experienced anything more beautiful.

“Cum.”

Permission.

With a strained cry, you hug yourself to him as tight as you can, and cum. Your body convulses beneath him, your pussy milking around his cock, and you feel his muscles tense. He pants harshly—a near whine caught in his throat—and his rhythm finally falters.

Seating himself inside of you, Satan paints your walls with his seed. His chest heaves as he slumps against you—holding you near as your pussy forces every last drop of cum from his length. Taking a deep breath, you reach a hand up to pet through his blond hair.

“Good?” you question tiredly, turning your head to press a kiss to his ear. Satan hums in affirmation, and you shiver as he drags his hips backwards—his length disappearing from inside of you.

“Very,” he assures you, moving to kiss you.

You smile, happy to hear him say so, and then laugh a little. He cocks an eyebrow, leaning back onto his knees so he can fully look at you.

“What?”

“I think you just have a cat fetish,” you tell him, your ears twitching atop your head. “I mean…we could have sex like this without using the charm, you know?”

Satan turns a little red at that, sheepishly tugging a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

“I just…think you look really cute like this, okay?”

It’s clear that now that the Avatar of Wrath has gotten his fill, he’s not feeling so mean anymore.

“Then I’ll be your kitty whenever you want,” you tell him, pressing your palms to the floor as you sit yourself up. Satan immediately reaches forward and cups your cheeks—a fond look in his eyes as he guides you into another kiss.

“That’s a dangerous offer,” he tells you, smiling against your lips. You laugh again, and Satan is sure to pepper you with a few more soft kisses before he grabs your hand and helps you to your feet. The two of you put yourselves back together best you can—Satan reassuring you that he’ll buy you a new shirt when he sees you motion to the now destroyed garment on your top half.

“Have fun at dinner,” you tell him as he bends down to retrieve his discarded phone. The demon rolls his eyes, his horns and tail disappearing into thin air.

“Of course.”

Pausing to hug you and kiss you one last time, Satan then makes his way up the hall and disappears from sight. Once he’s gone, you stretch your arms above your head and turn back towards your room. You could really use a shower.

Later than night—just past 1AM—you’re pulled from your sleep by a dip in your bed. An arm wraps around your waist—a nose nuzzling against your neck—and you murmur quietly.

“Satan?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he shoots back, clearly tired himself. You shake your head “no”, and settle back against the pillow. You feel his fingers lift to pet against the furry ears still lingering atop your scalp, but you can’t be bothered to say anything. The sensation is nice, and it quickly lulls you back to sleep.

“Night,” you mumble, drifting off, and you hear him chuckle.

“Good night.”

In the morning, you wake up safely tucked into Satan’s embrace, and the two of you end up lounging in bed talking for a fair while. You only decide to start the day once your stomach growls, in need of some breakfast.

Exiting your room together (Satan being sure to remind you to cover the bite marks on your neck) the two of you make your way towards the kitchen, but are stopped by a frowning Leviathan.

“What’s up?” you ask, and the otaku motions over his shoulder down the hall.

“Lucifer found some weird stain on the carpet this morning. He’s currently patrolling and is trying to find the culprit.”

At his words, you and Satan freeze. You turn to look at each other—realization shining in your eyes.

You’d both left the scene of your love making without bothering to check if you’d…left a mess.

Well shit.

“Thanks for letting us know, Levi!” you say, grabbing Satan’s wrist and tugging him up the hall.

You need to clean up now.

After all, the last thing you need is Lucifer to start asking about how the stain happened.

#om!#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #satan smut #satan #obey me satan

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cruciology · 4 years

Text

A Good Punishment

summary: a handmaid is given to the King’s dog

“Up or down, milady?” Sansa asked, using her very best impression of what you could only assume was supposed to be yourself as she ran the brush through your hair. She was in a good mood today, which had been rare from her. She really was a sweet girl, much nicer once she trusted you. Now she felt more like a little sister to you, even if you were just her handmaid. She braided your hair back with an expert hand. “When Arya was still little enough to put up with me, she would always let me do her hair,” Sansa explained. “Sometimes, she would still ask me if she was going out to play, if only to get it out of her face.”

Looking at her face in the mirror, you could see the sadness in her eyes. You reached up to pat her hand. “You can do my hair whenever you’d like, my love,” You said with a small smile.

The nice moment was shattered when the door to Sansa’s chambers slammed open. You jumped up from the seat. Whether or not Sansa had given you permission, it probably wasn’t proper to have your Lady tending to you rather than you to her.

“Your Grace,” You curtsied to King Joffrey as he stood in the doorway with a wicked grin. You tried to avoid the gaze of his gargantuan bodyguard, the aptly named Hound. He towered so far over you, you doubted the top of your head would even reach his armpit.

“Still in your chambers this late in the day?” King Joffrey tisked. It wasn’t a crime for Sansa to stay in her room, but that didn’t matter to the King. He just wanted a reason to torture the poor girl.

“My apologies, your Grace,” Sansa said, looking down at the floor. King Joffrey approached her and you tensed, the way you always did when he got too close to Sansa. Nothing good ever came from it. You had comforted her many times after the emotional abuse, tended to her wounds after the physical.

“Don’t let it happen again,” He said. He put his finger under her chin, lifting her face to meet his eyes. She still looked away.

Your eyes darted towards the Hound. You were never quite sure how to feel about him. He had done nothing but follow his King’s commands, but you were more open to him after you had seen him cover a beaten Sansa with his cloak, after she had told you of how he had rescued her. But he was still loyal to the King. You couldn’t blame him for being so, you knew what would likely happen to him if he wasn’t, but that didn’t stop you from being frightened. You didn’t think he would help Sansa if it meant going against the King. And yet, you could swear you saw something behind his normally stoic eyes as he watched the scene before him.

“I’m sorry, your Grace, please forgive me.”

King Joffrey stared at her for a long moment, his hand still on her face. Finally, he patted her cheek, his grin becoming wider. “It’s quite alright. You know, I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

“Your Grace?” Sansa wasn’t stupid. She knew nothing that pleased the King would ever be good for her.

“How about we go for a walk?” King Joffrey said as he bounced on the balls of his feet, a child gearing up to play an awful trick. “Let’s go visit your father.”

Sansa choked back a sob. You clenched your fists tightly. “Please, your Grace,” Sansa begged.

“Oh come now, you don’t want to see your dear old dead traitor father? You don’t think that’d be fun?” King Joffrey asked with sheer glee as he watched the tears stream down Sansa’s face.

“That’s cruel,” You said before you could stop yourself. Suddenly, all eyes were on you. Too late now to take it back you said, “Please don’t make her go out there again, your Grace.”

“You dare order me? And insult me?” King Joffrey said, looking you up and down. “This bastard handmaid thinks she can tell me what to do, can you believe that, Hound?”

The Hound said nothing, just keeping his stance at the door and his eyes on you. You know he had felt bad for Sansa the last time she had had to look upon her father’s decapitated head; Sansa still had his handkerchief.

“I will take my future wife wherever I please,” King Joffrey said. He reached his hand out, grabbing Sansa’s hair tightly in his fist, making her cry out.

Without thinking, you lashed out, striking the King. He struck you back so hard, everything went black.

Stupid. You were stupid. You made everything so much worse, for you and for Sansa. How could you do that to her? In the moment, hitting that evil, nasty little boy felt good, but as you sat in the cell, the other prisoners leering at you, you know it had been foolish. You had no idea how long you had been in here, having awoken just an hour before, but it couldn’t have been long.

You looked up as the cell door opened, the Hound holding the keys and letting King Joffrey enter before him. You could still see a bit of a redness to his cheek where you stung him with your palm. That did make you feel a little better.

“I’ve thought a lot about your punishment,” The King said, his hands behind his back as he stood rigid, staring down at you sitting on the floor. “Assaulting your King. I should have you put to death.” You said nothing. You had nothing to say. “Stand up, bitch.” You did as you were told, your head spinning from the sudden movement. “Take off your dress.”

The Hound’s eyes flashed quickly from the King, to you, and back to where he had been staring off at the wall. You noticed his hand gripped tighter on the cell door.

“You heard me, bitch,” King Joffrey spat.

You untied the cloth around your neck, letting your dress fall to the ground around you, hearing the howls and whistles from the other cells. The King smirked at your naked body. He slowly walked around you, taking you all in. “She’s pretty, isn’t she, Dog?” Joffrey asked.

“Yes,” The Hound said, but he hadn’t actually looked at you, his eyes locked on the wall. The King didn’t seem to notice, still examining you.

“Very good,” The King said, punctuating his statement with a sharp smack to your ass. It shocked you into letting out a little yip. The King stood in front of you again. “Body is very nice, you must have gotten a good feel, bringing her down here.” You were feeling very like a cow waiting for a price. You would rather him just hit you again. “We could give you to Littlefinger. Let you earn your penance.”

You swallowed hard. There weren’t many options for bastard children, especially not bastard children of whores. You didn’t even know who your father was. He could be a nobleman or he could have just been a farmer who happened to have extra coin, your mother hadn’t been able to tell you before she died. You had just narrowly escaped becoming a whore yourself by being sold to the castle as a young girl. It would be almost cosmic to end up at the brothel anyways. Cosmic, but still not an option you wanted.

“What do you think, Hound? She would earn a good sum. You could even have a go at her, if you pay the right price,” King Joffrey said, turning back to his bodyguard. As if he had just been blessed, the King’s grin nearly split his face. “Oh no, I have the perfect idea, the perfect punishment for this bitch. A bitch for the Hound.”

“Your Grace?” The Hound asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the wall to look at King Joffrey.

“You’ll be my dog’s wife,” the King said with venom, his face inches from yours. “I’m going to let the beast tear you up.”

You hadn’t much pictured your wedding, not as a little girl and certainly not in your time as a handmaid. Marriage wasn’t much on your mind. But you certainly never thought it would be like this. The most you had said to your husband had been your wedding vows. The whole thing seemed less like a wedding and more like an elaborate play by a court jester. The King sat watching in delight the whole night as you sat next to your new husband in near silence.

Lady Sansa had finally broken away long enough to sneak to you and give you a hug. “I’m so sorry,” She said, tears choking her voice. You shushed her, patting her cheek.

“No, no, my love,” You said. “I’m alright. Believe me, it could be so much worse.”

The Hound chuckled darkly. You hadn’t heard a word from him since the ceremony, where he had given you a surprisingly soft and chaste kiss in front of the audience after reciting his vows, after promising to protect you. “Could it, though?” He asked behind his wine goblet. “Am I a better option than death?”

Sansa looked only more frightened, but you nodded at her again, showing her you were okay. She scurried back before the King could notice she was gone. “You’re very cryptic.”

“Sorry, love,” The Hound said, draining his goblet. He had quite a bit to drink, but he was a large man. You doubted he was actually drunk. He was just a bit abrasive, from what you had heard. Well, actually, you heard that he was more than abrasive, but you tried to be optimistic.

The crowd around you suddenly broke into chaos. The Hound cursed under his breath and it took you a moment to realize what was happening as you were pulled from your chair and hefted up onto the shoulders of the chanting men. The Bedding Ceremony. You felt your stomach churn. You had nearly forgotten this part.

They carried you through the castle, all the way to the Hound’s chambers, a place just as foreign to you as the man you married. They dropped you onto the bed, still cheering as the left, taking turns clapping the groom on the back as they passed him. He shut the door behind the last drunken party goer, but you could still hear the feast going on behind it. He glanced at you as he locked the door and without thinking, you scooted back on the bed, your back hitting the wall. He barked out a laugh.

“You think you could fight me off?” The Hound asked as he turned around, his eyes not moving from your face. “Love to hear your plan, seeing as I outweigh you by threefold.” You would have backed up further if you weren’t already pressed flush against the wall as he stepped forward. You released a breath when he sat down at the small table. He reached behind him, grabbing a bottle of wine from the shelf on the wall and pulled a gulp straight from the bottle.

You watched him for a long while. He did nothing but drink his wine quietly. You shivered in the brisk chill of the room. You almost asked why the fire place was unlit but you quickly pieced together why he probably didn’t want a fire in his room. He was halfway done with his bottle when you finally spoke, the uncertainty eating at your insides.

“Are you going to-,”

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He cut you off, clearly already knowing what you were going to ask. You were thrown off by his question and you didn’t answer. He shook his head. “Thought not. I’m not in the business of fucking girls who don’t want to be fucked.”

“I’m not a little girl,” You defended, annoyed. Sure, he had to be at least fifteen years your senior, but you weren’t a child.

“I don’t fuck women who don’t want to be fucked either, wife or not,” He said. “Just go to bed, why don’t you?”

Knowing you were safe from him, you stood up from the bed. He glanced up at you, barely taller than him even seated, but didn’t say anything. You sat down in the other chair across from him and you had a feeling no one else had sat there before. The chambers had a very solitary feeling. They smelled very strongly of him, of wood and leather. You realized you had never been in any danger. You should have known that from the moment he refused to look at your naked body in the cell.

“May I?” You asked, pointing towards the bottle. He handed it to you, careful to not even graze your skin. You took a long sip, the strong wine burning your throat as it went down.

“Careful, love,” He said. “It’s strong.”

“You can touch me, you know,” You said. You felt your cheeks burn pink when you realized how that may have sounded. “I just mean, you don’t have to be afraid to touch me,” You pointed to his hand. “We have to share a bed now, after all. It’s okay.”

“Not afraid,” He said, grabbing the bottle back to take another swig.

“Okay,” You said. He offered the bottle back to you and you took another drink. You hadn’t eaten much at the ceremony and you could already feel a warmth spread to your fingers. It was welcome in the cold of the room. You handed it back, but this time, you made sure your hand brushed his. He pulled back as if you had burnt him, not even taking the bottle. You smirked. “Afraid,” You said.

“I’m not afraid of you,” He said.

“Then why pull away?” You asked. He didn’t answer. You scooted your chair closer to his and placed your hand over his. You had noticed earlier, when the septon wrapped the ribbon around your clasped hands, how much bigger his was. You could put both hands over his one and still not cover all of it. He didn’t pull away this time. “See, not so bad,” You said with a smile. You felt like you were approaching a feral dog, using a calming voice and kind face to get it to trust you. He really was appropriately named.

“Not so bad,” He repeated, looking at your hand on his. He finished the whole bottle, setting it empty on the table. After a long moment he said, “Never had a woman touch me that wasn’t being paid.”

“Really?” You asked. He laughed with no humor behind it.

“The King made you marry me because I’m such a horrible beast that he knows being my wife would be a worse punishment than being beheaded or sold to a brothel and you ask ‘really’? You think a woman would come anywhere near my cock if she wasn’t a whore getting ample compensation?”

You looked him over. He was frightening, sure, but that was mostly due to sheer size of him, and the reputation. The half of his face that wasn’t burnt was good looking. “I don’t think it’s that unbelievable. You’re a handsome man.”

He laughed, this time with a bit of mirth. “Oh, at least my wife’s funny.”

“I’m not joking,” You said.

“You could get a much more handsome man than me, love, looking like you do.” Your cheeks burned pink. You liked that he thought you were pretty. You liked that you were still touching his hand. You liked that he let you.

“So you paid for it?” You asked.

“Like I said, a woman needs ample compensation,” He said. He nodded to you. “Or the threat of death.”

“Your first time was with a whore?”

“All my times were with whores.”

“What was that like?”

The Hound laughed. “I was eighteen, she had to have been nearly fifty. She was the only one brave enough to come near me.”

You stood up, finally taking your hand away from his. The wine may have given you a little push but you knew exactly what you were doing as you sat yourself on his lap. He tensed up, but he held his arm around your back, his hand touching your outer thigh. You liked it there. “Am I brave?” You asked.

“You’re stupid,” He said. “Anyone brave is just as stupid. You shouldn’t have hit the King.”

“You’re his bodyguard, you didn’t stop me,” You said.

“I wanted to hit him too,” He admitted.

“My first time was with some boy from Flea Bottom. It was...very quick,” You said. He had told you his story, you thought you should give yours. “Sorry, your wife’s virtue has already been taken.”

“Sorry your husband is a monster.”

You reached your hand up, reaching for the scarred half of his face. He grabbed your wrist, but gently. You touched your fingertips to the burned flesh. It felt rough, like his hands, but some spots were smooth, stretched tight. You slid your hand down to his beard, turning his face towards yours. Your lips were just a breath away from his. “Ask me again.”

“What?”

“Ask me again.”

After a long moment he said, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“I do.” You pressed your lips to his. This kiss felt very different from the one at the ceremony. You felt his grip on you tighten. He held one arm around your waist while the other pressed along your spine, his hand holding the back of your head. You twisted your fingers in his hair. You pulled back slightly, taking a sharp breath. “Come on, Hound.”

He growled, standing up and lifting you like you weighed nothing at all. He laid you on the bed, careful not to put any of his weight onto you as he held himself above you, but you still felt like he surrounded you. You liked it. You felt safe. You wanted more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your wedding gown falling around your thighs. You tried to pull him closer.

“Not trying to crush you, love,” He said as he kissed your neck.

“Please, I want to feel you,” You begged. He groaned, finally pressing into you, but still holding himself up on his elbows. You could feel his hardness pressed against you through the cloth between you. You rolled your hips into him, trying to feel more of his length. He hissed out a breath, one of his hands going to your hips to hold them down.

“Take this fucking thing off,” He said, taking a fist full of your dress.

You slid out from under him, standing before him as he sat up on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots as he watched you. You undid some of the buttons but others were out of your reach. You turned your back to him and let him help you with the rest. He stood behind you, looming over you as he pushed the dress off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. This was much more pleasant than being exposed in the dungeon. You could feel the heat between your thighs burn almost painfully and your nipples tightened from both cold and arousal.

You turned back around, grabbing the edge of his shirt. He took the hint and pulled it off. His chest was so broad and covered in thick, dark hair. You pressed your hand against him, pushing him back to the bed. Unlike before, his eyes were trained on your body, as if he were a blind man who could see nothing but you.

“Fuck,” He said quietly, his hands on your hips. He kissed your stomach first, then your breasts, taking a nipple between his teeth, making you arch your back towards him.

“Hound,” You moaned, your hands finding his hair again. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, forcing you to sit on his lap again. You could feel the rigid edge of his cock under his pants and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against it, making him hiss out your name.

He gathered you in one arm, flipping you around to lay you on the bed again. He kissed your neck roughly, his teeth scraping your skin. He wedged himself between your legs, spreading you wide beneath him. His large hand found its way to your center, placing his palm against you. He groaned into your neck as he felt how wet you were for him. “You’re fucking dripping, love.” He dipped a finger inside of you slowly. “I want to hear you say my name. My real name.”

He pulled his finger out, only to push it back in with a second, making you gasp. “Sandor,” You said as he thrust his hand against you. “Sandor, please, don’t stop.”

“Are you going to come for me, love?” He whispered into your ear as his thumb found your clit. You nodded, unable to say anything else. His rough fingers felt so good rubbing you from the inside out.

Without warning, he pulled his hand away, you felt suddenly empty. You watched as he brought the hand to his mouth, sucking you off of his fingers. You felt another surge of arousal course through you when he groaned as he tasted you.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet.” He grabbed you by the waist, flipping you over again so that he was underneath you, laying on the bed, and you hovered over his chest on your knees. “I need to taste more of your sweet cunt, love.”

You gasped as he planted his hands on your ass, his fingers digging in as he guided you over his mouth. His beard scratched at your thighs deliciously as he devoured you. His tongue lapped at your pussy, letting you ride his face. Your thighs clenched as you got closer to your end. He squeezed your ass tighter until finally, “Fuck, Sandor,” You cried out as you came, thighs quaking.

You sat back on his chest, catching your breath. He laid his hands against your thighs, watching you from below.

“No one’s ever done that to me before,” You said.

“They missed out,” He said. “Never tasted anything so good.”

You moved to lay on top of him, letting him wrap his arms around you. You kissed him again, tasting yourself on his lips. “You going to get your pants off or do I have to do that myself?” You asked.

“You still want me to fuck you?” He asked, seeming surprised. You laughed slightly.

“Is your cock still hard?”

He groaned, shifting under you. “Don’t talk like that, it makes me want to throw you down and take you rough.” He slapped your bare ass, making you yelp in surprise. You wanted him to do it again.

“Maybe I want to be taken rough,” You said. You dragged your teeth against his ear lobe, making him squeeze tighter to you. “I want to feel your hard cock fill me up.”

You let out a surprised giggle as he flipped you suddenly onto your back. He kissed you roughly as he fumbled with his pants. He didn’t even take them all the way off, instead pushing them halfway down his thighs. You caught a glimpse of his whole length and you tried not to gasp but failed. You’d heard girls talk about men with above average equipment but you had trouble believing any could be as big as his.

“We don’t have to,” He said, mistaking your gasp as something else. You kissed him again, spreading your legs beneath him and letting him press against you. You could feel his tip at your entrance. You rolled your hips, pushing it in a little farther and making him groan. He held your hip down, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, love, it’s not going to be gentle,” He warned.

“Don’t be gentle.”

With one long thrust he was fully inside you and you let out an involuntary scream of pleasure. He clapped his hand over your mouth, snapping his hips again. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt every inch of him. It bordered on pain, how much he stretched you, but it felt so good your eyes watered. He grunted as he pounded into you, finally replacing his hand with his mouth over yours, kissing you sloppily. Your hands clawed at his back, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“You feel so fucking good,” He groaned out as he thrust into you. “I’m not going to last.”

He moved his hand between your bodies. You cried out again as his thumb found your clit again. “Sandor, please.”

“Are you going to come, love?” The Hound said, his thrusts slowing slightly as he kept his rhythm on your clit. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Please,” You begged. “I’m going to come.”

He picked up his pace, your thighs shaking as you felt yourself go over the edge, his name coming out like a chant. He moved his hand away, steadying himself on the bed as his thrusts got wilder, until finally a quick shudder went through him as he emptied himself deep inside you. You only felt his weight for a moment before he pulled himself out as he rolled off of you onto his back, breathing hard. You turned on your side, curling close to his warm, hairy body. He wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer. He pulled the blanket over you both, his eyes already closed.

“Pretty good,” You said, resting your head on his chest as he rubbed your arm absently. “As far as punishments go, I suppose.”

He gave you another sharp spank, making you laugh. “Go to sleep, or I’ll punish you again.”

#fanfiction #game of thrones #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #the hound #the hound x reader #smut #game of thrones fanfiction #GOT fanfiction #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones reader insert #reader insert smut

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twstdreams · 3 years

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Can I get sorted into a dorm please? I love learning and can get a bit obsessive when it comes to topics I enjoy like history, science and culinary. I’m also fun loving but according to my friends I can get a bit malicious at times since I do love to tease people. I seem quiet and hard to approach and some even say I seem vain when they first meet me(doesn’t help that I tend to dress elegantly even in a casual scene) but once you get to know me I’m extremely talkative, helpful and friendly. For real though I can talk for hours non stop once I’m given a topic.Though as my personality type is entp I’m not the best at listening to authority, can be painfully blunt and enjoy a good debate but I have tact and know when to keep my mouth shut for the most part especially since I care about my image(that and I’m not a fan of having enemies). I can get discouraged when I do something wrong, be it getting a bad grade or unintentionally hurting someone's feelings too much causing me to sulk around and be a bit petty.I get along well with people who are loyal and stick to their guns as well as open minded people but I get bored quickly if someones too sensitive or has their ideas easily swayed. If it helps, my Hogwarts house is ravenclaw.

The shape of thy soul is ... Diasomnia!

Why you fit in this dorm:

The students of this dorm exceed in general magic, so your love for science is probably a similar equivalent! In a dorm famed for having unusual inhabitants, your obsessive tendencies towards learning topics you like aren’t even considered weird.

Your elegant fashion style is welcomed because Diasomnia was founded on the elegance of the Witch of Thorns!

Hard to approach is practically the brand of Diasomnia, along with gifted students, through the eyes of the rest of NRC. Therefore, you’ll fit right in and most likely find yourself sitting at the exclusive cafeteria table with your dormmates. You and Lilia insist Diasomnia, and yourselves, are more welcoming than the rumours say but not all will be swayed or have the guts to discover the truth for themselves.

Your malicious side might even pail to some of your dormmates since most people are scared of even accidentally angering your fellow Diasomnia students. Hopefully, you won’t have to find out who’s scarier when enraged!

Within the dorm, your talkative and friendly personality will be embraced! People appreciate it when you participate in game nights or join the soap opera marathons. If you ever use your culinary interest to create some snacks, your dormmates would be open to trying some! Just don’t leave them next to Lilia’s or else everyone might avoid it to prevent accidentally grabbing some of the vice dorm leader’s abominations

Being bold enough to debate and bluntly state opinions in combination with having enough tact to know when to stop is key because while there are many opportunities for interesting conversation, there are definitely some dorm members with flaring tempers too! Those rumours did start from somewhere after all because Diasomnia members can’t be dealt with normal means

Your dorm life:

If your culinary passion ever leans towards cold sweets, Malleus is definitely up to taste testing any ice creams you concoct! Custard-based ones, sorbets, frozen yogurt, some swirled with other desserts inside, the possibilities are endless. He might even be open to helping you during the process when he has free time once the two of you get closer

Lilia’s best subject is magical history so you have a great conversation partner for this topic! He has tons of stories, but it’s up to you to discern if any are woven with lies to play a trick on you. Lilia is especially knowledgeable about trends of various time periods so if you’re ever interested, he probably has great insight!

Your teasing and sociable nature might mean you get to join Lilia when pulling little friendly pranks, but you’re just as likely to be on the receiving end! If you can master the skill, the dorm might end up seeing both you and Lilia pop in while floating upside down. You only do this with those you are friends with or wish to befriend though, being conscientious of your image means you won’t be surprising anyone that’s not already used to you

No worries, you’re hardly the only person in this dorm that goes on tangents about their favourite subject. It ends up being quite common that you exchange info dumps with Sebek or Malleus! Sebek will rave about Malleus or Malleus will explain subcategories of gargoyles along with their history. Once they're finished, you go off about your current interest. It’s mutually beneficial and tends to occur over tea time so everyone has refreshments to sip between excited rambles.

Silver and Sebek fit the bill of people who stick to their ideals! Sebek especially would never waver in his trust and high opinion of Malleus. Silver still faithfully guards Malleus, though he’s not quite as loud about it as his fellow guard. To Silver’s credit, he would adjust his opinion as new information comes in while also observing others and applying lessons where applicable.

Lilia and Malleus can be quite open-minded, especially Lilia who is more practiced when socializing with others. Malleus does try to understand others, but his temper and pettiness sometimes get in the way. However, they’re not so sensitive that they can’t debate with others or get fussed when opinions differ.

Keeping this in mind, you won’t get bored! Your dormmates are loyal, stick to their ideals, but some are open-minded as well.

Another possible dorm: Pomefiore

At Pomefiore, each student carries a unique sense of beauty. Therefore, your elegant style regardless of the occasion is embraced! The beautiful Queen was elegant and fair, so emulating her is considered a good thing. You can even get tips and swap information about favourite brands with your fellow dormmates

Your love for science will flourish at Pomefiore, especially any interest in chemistry or biology, because this dorm has its own lab! Your interest in culinary skills and cuisine might even intersect when creating poisons and trying to reverse any visual effects or unpleasant tastes.

Appearing vain isn’t even considered odd at this dorm, rather people take pride in beauty! It’s important to take care of your appearance and this dorm demonstrates the power that stems from beauty.

If you want to challenge authority, you’re most certainly allowed to request to duel Vil, but you’ll have to deal with the fallout of failing too! The weak obey the strong at NRC so if you lose, you’ll have to listen and no amount of being petty or sulking will spare you

Being aware of your image and how you are perceived is considered a good trait at Pomefiore. In addition, tact is encouraged, so you’ll fit right in with your dormmates!

You may not find people loyal to others, but many are striving to be loyal to themselves while living by their own ideals and beliefs. This is a dorm where people demand duels and throw gloves when they feel disrespected. There’s most likely enough at Pomefiore to prevent you from feeling bored!

Dorms to avoid:

Ignihyde

Your sociable characteristics are not going to flourish at Ignihyde. Forget hard to approach, your dormmates go out of their way to avoid spotlight, attention, speeches, interacting with strangers excessively, they’re one of the dorms that are hardest to befriend.

The land of introverts is not a walk in the park for an extrovert. While you could definitely find others with obsessive or intense interests and people who go on about their likes, people here can definitely be sensitive. Also, long interactions can be quite draining as well, so you might not find any talkative dormmates either.

It’s a pretty private dorm which might not be conducive to your teasing tendencies or talkative and friendly nature. Given that you have enough tact to not pursue topics and make enemies, you’d definitely survive in this dorm. The many avid gamers may also bring you joy but ultimately, even if you’re a Ravenclaw, this dorm is probably not your idea of a fun time.

Heartslabyul

Issues with listening to authority figures? You’re probably gonna get collared by Riddle. Perhaps not as quick as Deuce and Ace, but you’re going to end up with some magic free days whether you like it or not

Furthermore, you enjoy debating but there is no room for it when it comes to the Queen of Heart’s rules, which may frustrate you especially when you’re someone who gets along with the open-minded. You’d have to keep silent quite a bit. There’s no question that they’re sticking to their ideals, but since they’re forced on you as well it can end up suffocating.

On the other hand, your sociable nature and culinary inclinations mean that you could enjoy it too! From teatime to taking care of the animals, there are lots of opportunities to hang out and talk. You’d probably never get a bad grade either if under Riddle’s tutelage. The real question is if it’s enough to outweigh the oppressive and severe rules

#twst dorms #twst dorm #dorm sorting #thank you for being so patient #hope you like it #commisionwork

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tooruluv · 4 years

Text

Tooru Oikawa x F!Reader ( part 2 )

❝ my love for him is much like winter, a skeleton for the world to see. too bad he never liked the cold. ❞

description: being the neighbor and lifelong best friend of tooru oikawa definitely had it’s perks. you were never an outcast, always had a seat at lunch, got into volleyball games for free. the problem was, however, that being in love with him outweighed those perks. you would never tell him that, though, even if it hurt like hell.

genre: best friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love, fluff if you squint hard enough

word count: 2,029

warnings/notes: the “party scene” so mentions of alcohol, underage drinking, weed, getting high, and some mentions of sex, mentions of throwing up, strong language (per usual), lots of angst, i based a lot of the experience on american high school simply because it’s easier for me to write

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Now, the exact day you fell in love with your best friend didn’t exist. There was no specific day, no specific realization, no “I had a dream about him”, no sudden “I see him in a different light”. It was a messy timeline of a million things, a mixture of waiting and wanting compiled together into what you determined to be love.

“How long have you been in love with him, anyway?” Iwaizumi asked you one evening.

It was after volleyball practice, and the two of you were sitting on your bedroom floor. He was leaning his back against your bed, one leg bent at the knee, his practice jersey still on, moonlight dancing off of his skin.

You would be lying if you denied his attractiveness (Like, c’mon, have you seen him? Seriously, there must be something in the volleyball water.. anyway..). You just never viewed him as anything other than a friend, a good one.

You were laying beside him, legs propped up on your bed and your head on the floor.

“I don’t know.” you told him honestly.

It was at that exact moment that you realized something else: you never openly admitted your love for Tooru Oikawa. Not once had the words slipped past your lips, to yourself or to someone else. The longest secret kept, in your opinion.

“I guess it all kind of mixes together, in the end.” you explained, deciding that the ceiling is the most interesting thing to look at. “Do you remember, when we were kids, and we were playing outside? And I brought that tub thing of peanuts?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“And ‘Kawa called me stupid for bringing it because it wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t peanut butter and why have peanuts when they weren’t spreadable?” Iwaizumi finished with a small laugh.

“Yeah. I think that was one moment that I was like “oh”. He even threw them at me.”

The two of you sat in silence for what felt like half an hour. It was a comfortable silence, one of processed memories and fondness.

“He does still call you nut.” Iwaizumi spoke into silence. You smiled.

“I should beat your ass! You scared the shit out of me!”

You were walking out of class when hands clasped around your sides. Your immediate reaction was one of both terror and putting your guard up, which ended up with you jumping and going to punch whoever just attacked. Luckily, it happened to be the tall, brown-haired volleyball captain.

“You’re cute.” he walked with you.

“What do you want from me, ‘Kawa?” you asked, pausing in the hallway in front of your next class.

“What could you possibly mean? I can’t just scare the shit out of my best friend?”

This fucker.

“You can scare me until I pee.” You crossed your arms, looking into his eyes. He always seemed to stand too close to you. “But you never call me cute unless you need something from me.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about. You are very cute. The cutest.”

You squinted up at him, trying to see through his lies. He smirked.

“Soooo… there is something I want to ask you. Completely irrelevant from me calling you cute. That would have nothing to do with this request. Have I mentioned that you look good in the uniform? It really…”

“You’re a dork. Ask.”

“Do you still talk to that one guy from across town? The guy you buy alc from?”

“You want me to buy alcohol for the party.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He pursed his lips. “Yes, I can get it. Now get to class before you’re late.”

Oikawa smiled, eyes squinting and tongue between his teeth. “You’re the best!” he exclaimed as he picked you up in a hug.

You watched as he jogged down the hall.

You knew your way around. It was a gift you had: the ability to just talk up anyone and find a way to get what you’re looking for. You knew people all over Japan, to be honest, that could help you in basically any way. It had been that way since you were younger.

The first time you ever bought alcohol is when you were thirteen. And it wasn’t even for drinking. You and your friends (when you had a million friends and not two) wanted to play spin the bottle and figured it would look cooler if you were to use an actual “drink”. You gave it to your mom as a gift after.

Since then, you had bought drinks for various things. Parties, get togethers. It was only when Oikawa’s older brother wasn’t able to get it for you guys, of course.

This was one of those times.

There was this little shop a little ways away (in Torono, to be specific) that never ever ID’d anyone. You would always go there to buy since you found it at thirteen, to the point that you and the owner were on first name bases. Sometimes you would have actual conversations, if he was in the mood. Sometimes you barely spoke, but he would still bag the bottles for you.

His eyes only lifted from what he was reading for a moment to catch yours as you entered the Sakanoshita Store. You were already by the alcohol.

“You’re still not of age, kid.” he spoke through the cigarette.

“You’re still smoking.” you joked. You placed like ten bottles on the counter. “I thought you were going to try and stop. Health and all.”

“I know you’re not talking to me about health, you little alcoholic.” he sat up, running a hand up his hair to fix his headband. “Just give me the money before someone comes in.”

The exchange was fast, per usual, and you were leaving with a black bag of fun. “Thank you, my darling Keishin!”

“Get out of my store. Don’t die.”

And he was back to reading, cigarette still hanging from his lip.

The volleyball tournament ended the exact way Oikawa thought it would: wins. So, that meant that the party was already in full swing before the sun was down. You were moving between crowds, cup in hand.

It was not a secret that you were Oikawa’s, and (by association) the rest of the volleyball team’s, best friend. You sat with them at lunch, you interacted in the hallways, you let some of the boys copy your homework. It was quite obvious. That was the main reason so many people approached you. Their main goal was popularity through the most popular and successful sports team at the school. You didn’t mind.

It was when the girls would come up to you asking you to put in a good word for them to Oikawa that you had to put on a fake smile and say “yeah!” or “of course, I’ll give him your number!”. They never made it past your memory.

“What do you think?” The man of the hour asked from his position beside you. You were watching the party from the kitchen, the already drunk laughs and conversations blurred into a single volume. “How much cleaning do you think we’ll have to endure?”

“Ah, definitely hours.” You took a sip from your cup. You offered him your cup, knowing whatever’s in his cup is nonalcoholic. “You might as well live a little. Take a guzzle, you earned it.”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“But you’ll get high.”

“That I will do.” He took a sip of his cup. Maybe he put his drink in a red solo cup to look like he’s drinking, or maybe he just did it because it was better than drinking out of an actual juice box. You didn’t bother him with it. “Speaking of getting so high I forget everything around me, I gotta find Hanamaki.”

“Have fun!”

“Without you? Unlikely.” he joked. Your stomach turned.

You didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or the love.

“Technically, you’ve kissed Oikawa.” Iwaizumi told you as you both sat in the corner. You were both definitely tipsy, but not quite drunk yet.

You scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

Tooru Oikawa has kissed you, sure, but never once had it been on the lips. He had left kisses on your forehead, cheeks, temple, top of your head. Even one time on your hand. But never lip to lip. And Iwaizumi bringing it up out of nowhere made your cheeks heat up. You blamed whatever was in your cup.

“We played spin the bottle before. I kissed both Oikawa and you. And by contact, your lips were also on his.”

“You are a shitstain in my underwear, Iwa.”

“Ah yes, that was the most ladylike sentence I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”

“Dance with me!” you pulled Oikawa with you to the dance floor. It was freshman year, and both of your families were invited to a wedding. It was some woman your moms were friends with, you don’t remember.

But he agreed, and let you drag him along as you danced. The songs were fun and fast, and a majority of the reception guests were dancing their hearts away on the floor.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” he told you that day, in the midst of the summer sun.

That was one of those moments. Those blurred moments you wished you could record to memory as the beginning of your love for him.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You told him, but your mind screamed you’re beautiful too.

The night was something between a blur and random scenes mashed together. Several drinks later (why did the vodka taste like water?) and hits from multiple joints, you were staring in tunnel vision.

You remember a snippet here, a minute there. You danced with Iwa for a bit, before he went to do something. You hung out with some people on the couches for a bit, and there was definitely a lot of laughing. You remember laughing.

What were you doing again?

Oh yeah, you were trying to find Oikawa. You didn’t know what exactly you wanted so desperately to tell him. You figured your drunken mind would find out what you wanted when you found him.

Scanning the crowds, you couldn’t find the boy. The house wasn’t that huge, he had to be somewhere. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him at all since he went to get high with some of the boys.

Finally catching a glimpse of him, you smiled to yourself. You were going to do it. Maybe today, maybe at some trashy party Oikawa threw, would be the day you would tell him you were in love with him. Maybe not. You didn’t really know. You just knew that you missed him and needed, desperately, to talk to him. Hear his voice.

Maybe you were pretty drunk, mind drifting away.

And he just happened to be your anchor.

Everything was moving around you. In slow motion or way too fast, you couldn’t really tell. That was, until everything froze at once.

Oikawa was standing in the far corner of the party, with someone else. He had his tongue down her throat, lips chasing hers in some passionate dance you only wished you knew what felt like.

You only stood there as he groped her, and her hands in his hair. You didn’t recognize her at all. But he was unmistakable. Even with his hair sweaty and in front of his face, he was undeniable.

You were going to throw up.

You had to find Iwaizumi.

“Takahiro Hanamaki!” You waved to the man. He immediately caught your eye and came to you.

“What’s up? Oh, shit you’re drunk.” He helped as you nearly stumbled. His arm stayed under your armpit as he stood in front of you.

“Have you seen Iwa? Need to talk to him. Best friend emergency.”

“I thought Tooru was your best friend.” Hanamaki looked behind you, eyes scanning over the people for you. You almost threw up on the spot at the sound of his name.

There was a huge difference in hearing about Oikawa’s girls and hearing about who was in his bed, and seeing it with your own eyes. It made you sick to your stomach. You lost all breath, all feeling in your body. You didn’t know to be mad or jealous or upset. You decided that you were going to be all three.

“The last time I talked to Iwa, he went that way. He might be throwing up somewhere or something.”

“Okay, thanks my little wing spiker. My little outside hitter. My stoner boy.” you pinched his cheek.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked before letting you go. “You look like you were crying.”

Were you? Did you cry? You didn’t think you did. But it was definitely a possibility as you have been trying not to do just that for the past ten minutes.

“I don’t know, I think I’m just red from being crossed. I can’t even see straight. Ha ha.”

Hanamaki didn’t press it further, but he did give you a smile and hand you a water bottle. You liked being friends with the team.

The volleyball team were always the nicest towards you. They greeted you with smiles whenever they would come across you in the hallway, always made sure you had a smile on your face.

They all knew, too. It wasn’t hard to see how out of the entire team, Oikawa had you wrapped around his finger. (Unintentionally, of course). They tried to get him to notice. “She looks good today, right, Oikawa?” or “It’s Saturday, don’t you have plans?”. Not that their efforts helped.

Maybe one day Oikawa will know too.

You found Iwaizumi in a closet near the stairs. The party was still in full effect, but it was quiet near there. The only problem was that he was not alone, and was, in fact, preoccupied with someone's tongue down his throat.

“I swear to everything that is holy, I am so sick of finding people like this.” you sighed. “The second time today and I’m going to seriously vomit all over the place. I’m not kidding.”

Iwaizumi gasped, pulling away from whoever he was with. It wasn’t until they were both apart that you realized who it was.

“Matsukawa?”

You got pulled into the closet, the door slamming behind you.

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