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#you can tell it's summer because he might only be wearing one coat
dewitty1 · 27 days
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Fic Recs Wrap Up February 2024♡(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*・:.。. .。.:*・゜゚・*☆
where all the veins meet by eight_of_wands  @saxamophone
It’s the summer of 1998. The battle is over, and Voldemort is dead, but Harry still has more questions than answers. Who is he without a piece of Voldemort’s soul in his head? What is he supposed to do now? His friends try to help, but the only thing that can hold his attention—one of the only things that ever has—is Draco Malfoy, out on parole and weirdly hanging around the British Museum. As they keep running into each other, Harry sees that Malfoy is different, and he wonders if he can be someone else, too. Featuring rumpled band shirts, poker games everyone hates, fumbling sex, and a Harry going a little mental over how wands even work. Rec Post
The Secret’s in the Telling by Verayne @veraynes-blog
Draco Malfoy suffers the unthinkable when he is turned into a werewolf. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? Rec Post
Here’s The Pencil, Make It Work by ignatiustrout @6balls
Harry thinks “Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?” is a much simpler question than, “Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don’t, what will you do?” Rec Post
Tapestry by Kbrick @kbrick
In 2017, Harry is on his way to Pansy and Luna’s beach house. He’s a bit terrified of seeing Draco, to be honest. It’s been a while, and then there’s the little matter of Draco having married someone else in the interim. In 2001, Draco is drunk, wearing Pansy’s mother’s ermine coat, and afraid to walk into the Leaky because someone might throw a curse at him. So, of course, he runs into his ex-nemesis and hopeless crush, Harry Potter. This is a love story that isn’t perfect, about two people whose timing is never quite right, and all the moments that come together to make something extraordinarily beautiful anyway. Rec Post
Sense of Doubt by FibromyalGIA
Normalcy is driving Harry insane, and just when he thinks it can’t get any worse, he’s invited to Draco Malfoy’s hearing as a witness. Drama ensues. Rec Post
Canary Creams and New Yellow Paint by dothechachaslide
It’s not Draco’s fault that Potter is seeing things and Scorpius’s campaign to be the Ministry’s Creature Liaison is struggling, it’s not. Draco didn’t ask for Potter to walk into his Ocularistry Clinic in Northern Ireland fifteen years after they last saw each other, demanding to know why the Spectroculars Draco invented malfunctioned while Potter was painting and cost him an eye. Scorpius hadn’t asked for any of that either, though, so when Potter and the rest of Draco’s patients start to see mysterious symbols through their prosthetic eyes, and the resulting blow to Draco’s public reputation drags Scorpius’s campaign through the mud, Draco is determined to fix it. If that means trudging through a boggy moor in search of a fictional species Luna thinks is causing their problems, Draco will just have to pluck up the courage, march in with a team of Gryffindors, and be ready to battle any beast they meet. Even if that beast looks less like the large, bipedal talking toads they find and more like the Ministry of Magic as a whole. Rec Post
Draco’s First Holiday by Meowfoy @resilientkitteh
Draco catches Blaise cheating, breaks up with him and decides to leave his French Villa behind to swap houses with a woman named Hermione and her husband Ron. His relaxing vacation becomes far more interesting when a handsome stranger (Harry) knocks at his door in the middle of the night. They meet and get to know each other, and suddenly Draco feels much better about his decision to leave France behind for Britain. Rec Post
Englishman Extraordinaire by BlueSundayCake  @bluesundaycake
When Draco’s life goes to shit, he gets scammed. Maybe it’s for the best. Who doesn’t love new beginnings? Rec Post
Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノ゚∀゚)ノ━☆゚・*:.。. .。.:*・.*・。゚*:・゚✧
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Mirror Mirror by epiphany_dex
Harry’s new year starts with a bang when he encounters Draco Malfoy at the Ministry Ball.
(Never) Let Me Go by maraudersaffair @maraudersaffair
Harry and Ginny are married, but she abandoned him for her Quidditch career overseas. He is lonely and desperate for love and very interested in sleeping with a man. Then, one night at a party, Draco Malfoy whispers in his ear: Do you want to leave with me? Harry knows he should say no, especially since a scandal would ruin his chance at becoming Head Auror, but Malfoy is entirely too fit to pass up the opportunity.
Another Mind Game by May_May_0_0
Harry’s occlumency reveals his disturbing home life which sets off a chain reaction that cannot be undone. Snape finds himself begrudgingly caring about the bespectacled boy, Harry discovers what it's like to have adults who care, and Hermione finds herself becoming an accidental crime lord. Draco Malfoy is very much along for the ride, in all senses of the word. A ridiculous blend of hilarity and tragedy, Another Mind Game is the multi-faceted fanfiction you didn't know you wanted but will absolutely adore. Featuring a sassy Harry Potter, good friends, and a great deal of sarcasm.
Dragons Don't Know Paradise by teacup_tai @teacup-tai
In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon. This is a story about falling in love online and about facing the reality of death, but above all, this is a story about hope, finding love and acceptance.
( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖
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ominous-auburn-orbs · 4 months
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Yo can you do a oneshot with your human AU where Caine and Kinger are out n about in a cold place and Caine is freezing, but Kinger is one if those people who is just always really warm so Caine just clings onto him to get warmer?
You bet I can, buster!!
You can even have a little bit of Caine angst sprinkled in because if I write literally anything where he doesn't feel emotional turmoil I will simply explode.
Kinger and Caine were out buying groceries. It was winter and everything was freezing, much to Caine's displeasure. Since he'd never experienced any changes in temperature before, weather was pretty horrible for him. He already had on multiple coats, a beanie, two scarves and gloves, yet he still felt the winter air penetrate deep into his bones.
Kinger wasn't having nearly as much trouble. While, yes, the troop had also gone a while without weather, that was more of a psychological adjustment than anything. Their bodies were still more than used to drastic changes in temperature. He was naturally warm, anyway, so he was at an advantage in this particular situation.
The two had just finished getting what they needed and were walking home. Kinger's eyes eventually drifted down to Caine's shivering body. He was holding the bag of groceries tight to his body, as if it might make him warmer.
"Honey, are you still cold? You have so many layers on, it's a miracle you can feel anything through it... I mean, a bad miracle, in this case."
The ringmaster looked to the floor, embarrassed. He didn't want Kinger to worry about him, he already relied on him for too much. He should be stronger than this anyway. Kinger must think he was weak. Useless. And to think he used to be a God, for the most part.
"Caine? I'm sorry, did I word that wrong? If you're cold, you can have my jacket, too."
"Oh goodness no, my love, you mustn't! You need your jacket, you're only wearing the one, after all." He took a deep breath and calmed his voice. He was always a bit too loud when he didn't need to be. "You didn't do anything wrong, I just... overthink a bit too much."
"Hm, alright. If you do need anything, tell me." Kinger placed a hand on Caine's head and affectionately ruffled his hair through the beanie. It felt like he was talking about more than the jacket.
Caine could feel the warmth emanating off of Kinger from the touch, leaving him even colder than before when the man put his hand back to his side. After only a few moments, Caine started to miss the warmth too much to not do anything, so he grabbed onto Kinger's hand and interlocked their fingers, shifting the groceries to his other hand. Kinger glanced down and smiled before aiming his eyes ahead again.
Over the course of their walk back to their apartment, Caine got closer and closer to Kinger, clinging to his arm like a koala to a tree by the time they got home. The pair walked through the door and set down the groceries on the kitchen bench. Kinger held Caine's now far less cold body close.
"So, I take it you like using me as a portable heater?"
"It's very convenient, although I simply can't understand how you can be so warm in weather like this." The ringmaster removed his gloves to touch Kinger's hands properly with his own, making the other man jolt.
"Ah!- your hands are very, very cold!" Both of them laughed, hugging again. "I guess I just got lucky, when it comes to being warm. Well, less so in summer, but you are right about it being convenient. Also, it's cute when you cling onto me like that."
Caine buried his face in Kinger's coat. "I have to keep myself from getting hypothermia somehow. And I like hugging you."
Kinger smiled as Caine nuzzled deeper into his chest. "Believe me, I can tell."
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grey-spark · 2 years
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What if Daddy Longlegs is, in a way, a representation of Sunny's dad?
Sunny is a child, so it's normal he sees him as really tall.
His dad has a fedora. He almost never see him wearing it, but it doesn't mean he never wear it in Sunny's presence.
Kids often see their parents as beings of knowledge. Wich would explain why Daddy Longlegs knows the origin of Headspace.
And we only see visuals details of his dad in the familly picture. Beside that, he's always a shadowy silhouette.
What do you think?
That's a serious possibility. Take a look at this:
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If you add a coat to the rack we see next to the front door, (like I did in this artistic depiction) it almost looks like Daddy LongLegs in the darkness. It make sense he'd be based on a coat rack since that's the object you use when you're preparing to leaving the house.
Now, whether he's Sunny's Dad is a different story. It makes sense on some level. It's his hat, and Sunny Dad left over the Truth, or rather Sunny's unwillingness to face the truth. So to have his dad be the voice leading him out would make sense. But there are some holes, like why is he in Pryfly Forest of all places? If his dad was as nice as LongLegs why would he abandon Sunny? There's also someone else competing to be Sunny's Dad. Okay, while we're on this topic we need to address Jawsum.
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In the lost Library, it says that either Sunny or Hero's Dad was helping build the treehouse. But the way the sentence is structured it (annoyingly) doesn't really specify which. This is relevant because Last Resort is strongly associated with the construction of the treehouse. Which means, Jawsum is either based on Sunny's Dad or Hero's Dad. But I'm not sure which. There are good arguments for both sides. I'm genuinely split.
On one hand, Jawsum is a boisterous back slapper seen wearing cargo shorts just like Hero's Dad. He has a strong connection to Hero. Even seen in a picture with him, that could easily be based on a photo Sunny saw in Hero's house. Also, the Lost Library message leans towards it being Hero's Dad's truck since Hero's name was mentioned last.
On the other hand, Jawsum is based on the poker game and computer given to him by Sunny's Dad. And we also know his dad built all the shelves in Sunny's House; telling us he is a builder. Its also his backyard. And finally:
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It all comes full circle. The hat his dad wears is right next to Jawsum's desk. That might be the smoking gun, but I'm not convinced either way. This leaves us in a messy place. Is Jawsum based on Sunny's Dad? Hero's dad? Both? If so, is his dad also Daddy LongLegs, who also wears a hat and also has "Daddy" in his name? Here is what I can say confidently...
Daddy LongLegs is likely based on a camp counselor from Sunny's trip to Summer Camp.
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The Summer Camp is only mentioned ONCE in a one-off joke comment when Kel is threatening Angel:
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But apparently, its a BIG DEAL to Sunny's subconscious. Not only does Daddy LongLegs look the part of a camp counselor. The rafting activity also reappears in Humphrey. Another area that represents Headspace in microcosm, and the only other character to reference the cycle of blissful ignorance.
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Point being, Summer is a big deal in OMORI. Even the last photos taken in Basil's album are on the last day of Summer, September 22nd. Summer represents the good times they used to have. The head counselor and Daddy LongLegs can be considered the ruler of Summer Camp and by extension, the ruler of Summer itself. One who has a responsibility to bring activities to a close.
Welp. That does it for the Daddy LongLegs post. One of the more interesting characters who can teleport from Headspace and Black Space at will. I like to think he's Humphrey's archnemesis. He's also vaguely based on the Slender Man creepypasta, another artifact of 2014. Sorry for the late response, but hey, at least I got to post it on the 22nd.
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silversiren1101 · 9 months
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For Jesyll: ☮ for a scene about behaving well
[Struck by this idea: what exactly does behaving 'well' mean in the mind of a young ganzi-gnome?]
Her lip worms its way through her sharp teeth, the soft flesh almost always a ragged, chewed, slightly tender mess. It's her thinking habit, and, boy, for a little girl of five summers, does Jesyll has a lot to think about. Her thoughts run as fast as momma's griffin, Danza, can fly, only slowing down when her tiny frame runs out of energy to keep them—and her feet—going, and sleep calls for her to rest up and recharge for more antics on the morrow.
And right now, she's thinking about a horse.
The horse that went into the main hall.
She saw it go in as the other knights arrived, ones wearing different armor than their knights here. They had funny faces on their chest armor, which might have been scary to other kids but certainly did nothing to her. Their armor was also more black than the knights here too, who wore dark metal that shone a deep and pretty green tint in the sun. They looked similar enough though, which told her that they were knights like their knights but not actually their knights—friends, maybe? Another Order, if she'd been paying attention to her lessons correctly.
Anyway, they had arrived just as she was being dragged away to one of said lessons. She watched them ride into the courtyard, and while most of them had put their pretty horses in the stable, one didn't. Its rider rode straight on their horse up the wide stone stairs and into the hall—the selfsame hall she was told not to go into today. At breakfast, Mom and Dad told her they were expecting guests today—other knights—and they would be meeting in the main hall instead of their usual offices, so to please be good and do her lessons and stay out of the hall.
Probably because a horse wouldn't fit in an office?
But why was there a horse in the hall? Why did the horse need to come inside? Horses weren't supposed to come inside! They were supposed to stay in the stables which is where all the other visiting knights' horses went. Why not this one?
The conundrum fills her thoughts, even as her quill works up and down the pages in front of her. It's only midday, so she's brimming with energy, fidgeting constantly. Her feet tap and bounce. Her tail coils all over itself. She bites at her chewed up little lip with teeth too sharp. Still, she's trying to do as she was asked to, despite the letters and numbers on these drills having been learned weeks ago. Roan insists on doing things at exactly the pace and way she said she's always done them, though, saying that Jesyll isn't any more or less special to warrant a change in how she's done things for... for... the little girl tells herself 'a century'. Old Roan certainly looks that age. Older than dad, somehow, and she knows he is actually two centuries at least. She's certainly old enough to be set in her ways! It doesn't matter that Jesyll can already read everything on these papers. It doesn't matter that she can already sum the numbers Roan thinks she's only just learned how to write. She's clever, is what her mom and dad said, which they said as simply as one would talk about the weather as much as it sounded like they were giving a warning—exactly like the weather when someone is telling you to bring a coat or umbrella. They even told all her tutors that she's moving fast and to keep her from getting bored, which all of them have done except for Roan... who's lessons were so boring that even she herself was snoozing at her desk in the corner. All the other knights that tutor her are only ever surprised and happy as Jesyll learns fast and asks questions, eagerly tackling bigger topics and lessons as her gnomish curiosity grow from a fledgling bird to a starving roc. Not Roan, though, who thinks she needs hours just to practice her handwriting; enough time at least to fall asleep despite it being midday!
So Jesyll has been left to her drills, which she blazes through. It's the one major thing she definitely tries not to disappoint her parents on: 'your schooling is everything, wyrmling.' Even though this bores her because of how easy it is, even though it makes her feel a little angry because it's too easy and she is so much cleverer than this. It's why she starts summing the numbers as she goes despite Roan only asking her to copy them—painstakingly—because she's clever and feels the need to remind—and warn—Roan that she is, and her parents will see her papers and see she did all this extra work and hopefully talk to Roan about making things more interesting.
But there's another reason.
The horse.
Jesyll works quickly because she just has to know. A little gnome's curiosity can only be held at bay for so long, and a ganzi gnome's? Even with the sums she chose to do, her quill is set down on her desk before Roan has even had half an hour to nap. She waits a few moments, to see if the old knight wakes. She even clears her little throat, because she wants to be good and ask if she can go out and play in the courtyard now, which is what all her other tutors let her do when she's done with their drills and lessons.
Roan sleeps on.
Jesyll slips out of the room.
Her little feet hardly make a sound—some of the knights have joked about getting her little bells for her shoes or for her tail given how many times she's almost been trampled underfoot. It helps her now, though, as she quietly pads out of the room and down the hall, thoughts of the horse in her mind. She worries not about Roan waking. The old lady knight will see that she did as she was asked—her drills are done and then some, after all—and assume she went out to play. If she has any complaints about it, then Jesyll thinks she should have stayed awake.
Not a shred of guilt or feeling of misdoing clouds her thoughts.
Instead, she thinks of a plan. Her parents told her to stay out of the main hall, but she can't just play without knowing what's going on with the horse. The main hall has plenty of doors into it, though, and she thinks to press her ear to one of them or peep it open a crack to peer in. That's not going into the hall, so she won't get in the way and disobey her parents. Right? Right.
Only, that idea is quashed the second she crosses an intersection in the hallways that lead there. She rounds the corner and her golden eyes land square on the face of a knight—one of theirs, at least—who stands watch afore the door she'd meant to peek through. She doesn't know his name, but still, she comes to a halt beneath his widened then narrowed gaze, a playful warning in them. He tilts his head, asking without words, "and just where are you going, little one?". It tells her that he most certainly won't help her in her plot. The knights never do, unless they've been given permission to. He probably has strict orders not to let little curious ganzi-gnomes past him at all. Still, she doesn't want to slink away with her tail between her legs, acting like she's in trouble when she isn't. She is just walking in her home. The knight instead gets a little wave from her little hand, which he returns with a nod... aimed in the direction of the courtyard.
"Go out and play, Lady Jesyll. You are not to pass through here."
Only a minor setback.
Another plan has already formed in her ever churning mind.
She pads off back down the hall and to the courtyard as implicitly ordered, though not to play.
The sun is high as she steps from the side door into the yard, conveniently very close to exactly where she needs to be. Someone will most certainly yell at her if she's caught, and the answer to that is simple: don't get caught. So long as she doesn't go into the hall and doesn't get caught, then she's done exactly as asked by mom and dad; perfectly logical reasoning concocted by her exceedingly clever and mischievous mind, woefully understimulated today. (A warning, remember, that she is clever.)
Much to her luck, the courtyard is busy with other work. Knights are in the middle of setting up tents. Nice ones. They're of deep black fabric with red trim, and banners on them have what looks like a sun but the points coming from it all look almost like spears. Are they for the visiting knights, wonders? The knights here are black and green, not red. Will they not be staying in the barracks like everyone else? It's strange, but she doesn't focus on it too long.
No, her sights are set to the window overlooking the main hall, reachable from the top of the stables. It's not a terribly difficult climb. At least, it doesn't look like it. She hasn't done it, but with her lightweight and tail, it should be simple enough. She's climbed enough trees and fallen off the walls enough times to not be afraid for better or for worse—most certainly worse, her parents would say. But to her, all she has to do is scamper up there without being seen, look down into the main hall and figure out why they let a horse inside, and then she can actually go and play. She does have a rather important scene to finish with her toys, after all. The Princess still needs to be saved by the dragon from the evil devil king. Or, she can swing her sword (stick) around at the her-sized training dummy Uncle Yaker set up for her on the other side of the yard. It's within view of the guest-knights too, and the urge to show off her prowess for her age and size is a siren song most tempting.
Later.
She slips into the stables quietly, pausing for a moment once inside to make sure no one saw her. No one comes in. The horses don't even make a stir, save for soft curious sounds as they expect sugar cubes or apples. She's snuck in here enough times to give them treats for them to know her by now. Her little hands are empty this time, however, and soon have her scampering into the stable rafters within minutes. She pulls herself up the piled bales of hay and only stops to apologize to one of the horses when some of it flies into their face, promising to bring it a sweet later, though it only snorts and eats at the extra hay in response.
Her tail supports her as she scuttles along the rafters, then to the eaves. It's the hardest part, making it on to the roof, but ever is the resourcefulness of a young ganzi with a prehensile tail and the insatiable curiosity and bravery of a gnome . Her hands and arms get a little bloodied, but what else is new? This is nothing like when she fell off the wall into the roses mom planted around the walls to keep intruders away. Uncle Daeran had to help with that, and it was a good thing he was here at the time. He's not here now though.
She tries not to think what that will mean if she falls from the stable roof she's now crawling across. Or if she falls from the stone wall and window she's quickly approaching. Even keeping a low profile—the knights might be tall, but not even they could see her with how flat she's pressed against the shingles—she reaches it fast. She certainly gets there faster than it would've taken for Roan to wake. The old knight is probably still asleep even as Jesyll's little fingers easily grip the weathered stone blocks that make the wall, so much more easily than an adult human could. Her tail steadies her as she climbs, only about five feet but that's nearly three of her. A fall from this height will hurt but it won't hurt. Not unless she falls completely to the courtyard. That won't happen. The stable roof would catch her first. It's not a possibility in her mind.
Only a few minutes pass before she's gripping the edge of the windowsill. It's a small ledge—clearly, it's a sill—but she is a small girl. Her little body easily huddles against the window as she pulls herself up, taking a few seconds to catch her breath before peering through the glass to finally solve this mystery; or, trying to. The window, so high up, hasn't been cleaned in what she guesses is forever. Probably never. It's splattered with roof drippings, bird droppings, and all sorts of other muck and grime. She can see blurry shapes and movement far down below, and hear muffled voices that definitely sound like her parents and some others. That's all. Certainly not enough to solve her mystery. To any other child, it might've deterred them. She merely spits on the glass and takes a sleeve to it, determined.
And then the window is moving forward.
The very moment she puts any pressure to the glass, it swings open with the loud screech of rust—along with a scream of her own. Hers comes entirely unwittingly, as the only thing she'd been able to balance against gives beneath her.
The world turns into a rapid blur. Wall tumbles over floor over wall over ceiling over wall. Her fall is instant, face-forward, down off the ledge, into the open air. She hears the scream along with other things, though not really: gasps and cries and clopping. Absolute fear grips her, that primal OH NO but nothing more because doesn't have time to think more as she falls. Not even her endlessly sprinting mind and thoughts are faster than gravity itself.
The walls the ceiling the floor the walls—darkness.
Then, she stops.
Not on the floor, no.
In the air.
A pressure grips about her little ribs, and she hears in the dark—eyes having closed instinctually before anticipated impact—relieved sighs and gasps as well as a great breathing, like a large animal. Then a clopping, like hooves, as she feels herself being moved about.
"Oh, gods, Maidrayne... thank you. I... I am so sorry—she should be with her tutor right now."
It's her mother, out of breath, clearly worried.
Then, her father sounds equally so, in his own way.
"Instead, she's climbing the exact window I told you was too easily accessible to an overly curious young gnome, even without the tail."
"And I told you that Roan isn't capable of keeping tabs on her, so I suppose we're both terrible parents today. Dammit..." The curse that follows is muffled. Speaking into a hand? It sounds tired.
Jesyll only hears all of this distantly. It comes through the roar in her ears of the panic and fear and adrenaline of her fall, and only because its her parents. Hearing them in this situation would've filled her with dread: entering the hall was exactly what she'd been trying not to do, and she'd done it in the most dramatic and dangerous was possible. Right now, though, she can't feel anything like dread. She can't even think of what she's done exactly. Her heart is still racing. Her thoughts are all in a disarray. Instead, the sound of her parents makes her want to burst into tears and reach for them, to make the fear go away in the safety of the crooks of their necks and arms.
But a sudden deep, reverberating snort cuts right through all that. It comes from behind her. Right behind her.
"So this is the terror stalking the halls of Citadel Darvhage", a voice deep and gruff, yet definitely feminine, comes from where the snort did; from where the clopping seemed to come from. "I must admit, the resemblance is uncanny. She is the spitting image of you both."
And then Jesyll is being rotated in the hands holding her aloft, the selfsame ones that caught her mid-fall.
"You... you're the horse", she speaks up. Her golden eyes opened seconds ago, and she stares dumbstruck at the person that caught her: the horse that isn't.
A woman, or, rather, the upper-half of a woman with dark, neatly cropped hair, holds her as if she were nothing more than the dolls she herself plays with. Her black eyes regard her curiously, scarred lips pressed together in amusement. Jesyll can't help but stare, everywhere. At the skull armor on her chest, and black plate along the arms holding her up; at the horse body covered in black hair beneath her, and the equally black plate protecting it; at how high up she's being held and why it felt like she hardly fell all that far at all, because this horse-lady is massive. On the ground, Jesyll thinks she wouldn't even come up to her... knee? She doesn't know if horse knees are called knees.
"Oh, hells, I am so, so sorry, Maidrayne. Jesyll is still very young, she doesn't know—" Past the lady, her mom, looks downright mortified as she surges forward. Her scales look almost white overtop the reddened skin of her cheeks, and her violet eyes are wide above her grimace. Back at the table—dragged into the hall because it usually isn't there, now covered with maps—dad pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulder armor clinking from the force of his sigh. The tips of his ears are slightly pink.
"—No insult taken, I assure you." The horse-lady cuts mom off as she seems to be profusely apologizing for, something? Her falling into the hall, probably. Instead, she smiles wide and holds Jesyll aloft higher, as if to get a better look at her. Jesyll only looks back down in kind, too confused and awed by the lady to even be scared anymore—though the trembling doesn't cease. She certainly looks human up top, or maybe half-elf? Her pointed ears make it hard to tell. But she is also unmistakably a horse below.
"She can't be, what, more than eight summers old?", the lady says, directed at her mother now standing next to her. Mom doesn't even come up the horse-lady's human waist with how massive she is. "It's hard to tell with you two-legged folk."
Mom looks... relieved. She shakes off the embarrassment and sighs, crossing her arms. Jesyll can see though from this vantage, where the horse-lady cant, the sign mom's tail is making directly to her: you are very lucky, wyrmling.
"Only five, actually. Young enough to not have a sense of self-preservation, as you can see."
The lady laughs again. Clopping echoes about the halls as she turns, and lowers Jesyll at the same time, delivering her into her mother's arms. Even with her armor on, Jesyll crowds into her neck, that scared part of her still searching for the comfort only a parent could give her from the fall. The smell of armor polish and oil is strong, but not strong enough to completely cover the comforting scent of mom. She breathes deep and presses her face right into the spot where her armor gives way to soft flesh, scale, and feather.
"And for many summers more, I imagine. Also a learned trait in our young."
Her mother laughs, and it's a genuine laugh, which Jesyll can tell. It rumbles against her face through her throat and makes her feel safer.
"Again, I'm terribly sorry, and thank you. She is quite a handful, even as tiny as she is."
"Please." Jesyll turns and watches the lady hold up a hand, waving off the apologies and thanks. "If ever there is a permissible chaos in this world, Lady Arangeir, it would be that of our children."
"'Minovae' is fine, Maidrayne, please." Her mother then shifts, and it's in the way that Jesyll can tell she is now speaking to her. "Speaking of which, Jess, dear, this is Maidrayne Vox. She's from the Order of the Nail, and no, she is not a horse. She is a centaur, which is a person just like an human or ganzi or gnome or elf. Say hello and thank her for catching you."
"...Hello... Thank you... Sorry..." She mumbles. From the way mom said it, calling her a horse was probably the thing she tried to apologize for.
Maidrayne, who Jesyll now knows is not a horse but a centaur, dips into a bow. Her knees lower to the stone floor, like a horse kneeling, and her upper half sweeps into a bow like a two-legged person would. Even so, she still somehow towers above mom and her. Jesyll wonders what it would be like to be that huge. She's only ever been tiny.
"My pleasure. I can only imagine you came to be in this situation because of me, anyway." Something shines in her dark eyes.
How did she know?
Jesyll nods. "I saw you go into the hall and wanted to know..."
"We were going to introduce you at dinner this evening, had you been more patient." Her father's voice sounds from the side, and Jesyll lifts out of mom's neck to see him leaning against the table, arms crossed. His eyes, pale and yellow, no longer gold as hers are now, are narrowed. His scowl is deeper than usual but then he sighs, and the stern anger melts off his face. A gauntlet runs through his silvery purple hair. "I suppose we should ground you, but that will do little. It certainly did little for me at your age. I trust the fall was fearful enough to give you some sense, at least?"
She nods again. A little too vigorously, maybe.
"I see Lictors naturally have soft spots for their daughters", Maidrayne snorts. "Severs is much the same with his three, though he and they know the importance of a good scolding and appropriate punishment."
Dad waves his hand, as if to shoo away the notion. "As do I, just as I know a fruitless endeavor when I see it. Jesyll has learned from this... and, I also know the safest place for a reckless and overly curious young gnome is not locked away, but tucked tight beneath as many eyes as possible. She will be joining us for dinner tonight."
"I'm... not in trouble?" Her little voice pipes up.
Mother laughs. She laughs loud and long. "Oh, no. You are in so much trouble."
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acquariusgb · 4 months
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Billary Fic Drabble advent calendar: Day 5 Day 5: Meeting Family
Bill was nervous as he stepped out of his car and onto the driveway. It was not the first he had found himself in front of this house, but this time it was different. During their pitstop in summer, he had been the new guy who was going to drive their daughter to California and spend time there while now he was the man living with her and in a serious relationship.
He didn't even have the time to knock on the door that it flew open and he saw a figure rushing outside. He immediately recognized the feeling of being in her arms and he put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
"Did you miss me?" He said with a smug tone.
Hillary let go of him and lightly smacked his arm.
"I'm not sure how she could, considering how often she called you." Her brother Tony commented from the doorway "Mum and Dad will have a fit when they see the phone bill."
Hillary rolled her eyes. "It wasn't that bad"
"Oh, it was." Hugh agreed with his brother as he joined them outside.
Bill took his bag from the trunk and then put his arm around Hillary. "Let's go inside." He noticed she wasn't wearing a coat. “It’s cold outside"
Tony chuckled. "You can tell he's a Southerner. This is nothing for us."
Dorothy was waiting for them. “Welcome, Bill.” the older woman greeted him with a smile.
“Thanks for having me over or a couple of days., Mrs. Rodham.”
“Oh, call me Dorothy and it’s really no problem. It gives us the opportunity to get to know the man in our daughter’s life better.” She sent Hillary a mischievous glance.
“You’ll be sleeping in Hugh and Tony’s bedroom.” Hillary’s father said from the doorway. “You two might be living together and sharing a bed but my house, my rules.” He said firmly.
Both Bill and Hillary blushed.
“Dad.”
“Of course, sir.” Bill gulped. The man was so intimidating and Bill wanted to try and win him over.
That evening, after dinner, Bill helped Dorothy to clean up in the kitchen.
“You really don’t need to, honey.” Dorothy told him.
Bill shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m the one doing the cleaning in our house.” He dried the plate Dorothy handed him. “I always joke that Hillary keeps me around because I’m serviceable around the house.” He chuckled.
Dorothy shook her head with a laugh. “That girl… I honestly taught her better.”
“But I love her”
Dorothy looked at him and saw the love in his eyes. That man really adored her daughter and that reassured her,
“Who’s reading this?” A book caught his attention. He ran his hand over a philosophy book laying on the table.
“Oh, it’s just a book I’m reading for my college courses. I know, college? Someone my age. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. There isn’t an age limit for learning. I read this a few years ago.” He flipped through the pages and saw some notes.
Suddenly, they spent the next hour discussing philosophy. That was how Hillary found them when she didn’t see her boyfriend come back from drying the pots.
“Mum, did you kidnap my boyfriend?”
Dorothy jumped on her seat. “Oh gosh, look at the time.” She got up. “It was great talking to you about this, Bill” She lovingly patted his shoulder.
“Me too.”
And they all said their goodnights.
Hillary smiled and sat on his lap. “Well, look at you.” She put her arms around his neck. “Working that Clinton charm on my mother, being all buddy buddy.”
“Don’t worry.” He put his hands on her hips. “You’re the only Rodham woman I’m interested in…” He gently kissed her. “But it was great getting to know who raised the woman I love.”
“I’m glad. I know you were nervous about this.”
“I was but your family is so welcoming.”
“Even my father?” She raised her eyebrow, skeptical.
He chuckled. “Well, he might take more work, but I’ll make him warm up to him, you see…”
“I’m sure.” She rewarded him with another kiss. “How about spending some time together before my father sends us to separate rooms?”
“Sounds great.”
In the next few days, Bill spent time playing cards with her father, watching football matches together with him and her brothers and he was soon officially a member of the family. He even won over her friends. 
On New Year’s Eve, Bill and Hillary greeted the new year together for the first time with a kiss and the promise that they wouldn’t let their relationship slip away because of school and work.
“I think this one’s here to stay.” Dorothy said to her husband as they watched them from afar.
Hugh hummed in agreement. “I guess she could have done a lot worse than a Democrat.”
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licncourt · 1 year
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I can’t stop thinking about what Louis would wear in present day. I feel like he’s all about comfort so I figure… sweatshirts?-but that doesn’t really appeal to his refined sensibility I guess?? Cashmere? Probably? Idk he’s fancy.. But then again wasnt he described as wearing stuff with literal holes in it? He’s an enigma. Lestat is a fashion whore but I also feel like he couldn’t get behind the athleisure trend.
Okay well, we know that Louis is canonically a tight pants-big shirt gay, so at least we have a baseline to work with. And during the TVL reunion Lestat does say his sweater has holes in it, but that doesn't strike me as a general Louis trait, but more of a depression symptom. Clearly he was not doing too great and not super keeping track of time, so he'd probably just kept wearing the same clothes to pieces without noticing until they literally fell apart.
Post-TVL, he might have older clothes than Lestat would ever keep, but he doesn't seem like the type to be okay with being visibly unkempt or ratty as a matter of pride. I tend to imagine him in very basic but elegant clothes that kind of mirror the silhouette of his mortal life or at least build off its principles. Again, big shirts and tight pants, but also high waists, boots, neutrals and jewel tones, equestrian-style details, tailored outerwear, that sort of thing.
His NPC outfit in my head is usually fitted jeans or trousers with ankle boots and either a billowy white poet shirt tucked in (summer edition) or a big, dark colored sweater, sometimes under a calf-length coat (winter edition). I would agree that he goes for quality over quantity, lots of cashmere, wool, leather, silk etc because he wears it until it has to be replaced.
He's probably got a lot of basics in dark, solid colors and overall I think is just giving Ivy League English teacher in a movie meets gay writer meets guy who went to business school and wants you to know. He looks capital h Homosexual but I don't think he knows that so no one tell him.
MODERN modern Louis probably does get into athleisure though. He's got those overpriced matching sweatshirt and jogger sets in earth tones as part of his wellness journey and yoga pants for around the house. So like model off duty athleisure because he's Classy. Who knows, maybe he becomes a big t-shirt and leggings guy once he's happily married and just vibing.
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^ very rough approximation of a couple Louis Fits. Second one needs tighter pants
(Lestat would like SOME athleisure but only because he can be a neon slut)
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vulpes-fennec · 1 year
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Hot Springs Soak (Gwynriel) 🎁
Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).
Just a fluffy scenario of Gwyn and Azriel visiting a hot spring in the winter! Also trying to expand our ACOTAR world beyond the Night Court because there are only so many things you can do in Velaris.
Read: Masterlist | AO3
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The Dawn Court’s hot spring resorts were renowned even among the continental Fae. Powered by the same geothermal energy that fueled the court’s master forges, the hot springs were an especially popular tourist attraction in the winter. Azriel was lucky he managed to book a weekend getaway through one of his contacts at Thesan’s court. 
He winnowed Gwyn to the resort, checking into their cozy room. Gwyn was chattering excitedly as she changed into her bathing suit in the bathroom. “Az, apparently we are supposed to put on these clay masks while we soak! There’s a jar of it in here!” 
“What are the benefits of the clay masks for our skin?” Azriel slipped into black swim shorts and tossed on a heavy jacket. 
“It says…it says the clay will draw out toxins in our skin, and the other minerals will reduce redness,” Gwyn read. “The steam from the hot springs will also unclog our pores.” 
Although he was over 500 years old, Azriel had never soaked in hot springs before. Gwyn, who was an avid reader, always had ideas for things to do around Prythian. Having her push him to try new things was one of the many reasons why Azriel loved his mate so much. 
“I still can’t believe you won’t let me see what your swimsuit looks like,” Azriel complained when Gwyn stepped out of the bathroom. Gwyn wore a flowing skirt and thick coat, and he could not tell for the life of him what she might be wearing. 
“You’ll see in a couple minutes, shadowsinger. Now let’s go!” 
The pair walked in sandals along the cobblestone mountain path. Trees were dusted with snow, craggy lilac peaks rose up ahead of them. The individual hot spring pools were tucked away behind boulders, ensuring the visitors had some privacy. Small rivers of melted water ran down the hill, replenishing the pools with fresh water.
The winter chill was almost unbearable, but Azriel finally located the hot spring assigned to their room. The pool was fairly wide, with carved white steps leading up to it. Slabs of stone lined the edges of a bubbling blue pool. 
Gwyn whistled as Azriel took off his heavy jacket, revealing sculpted pectorals and bronzed abdominal muscles. The shadowsinger folded his arms over his chest petulantly. “Go on, Berdara,” he prompted her, hazel eyes shining. “Let’s see your outfit.” 
Gwyn shrugged her skirt and jacket off. The black swimsuit she’d picked was custom ordered from the Summer Court. According to Cresseida, the one-piece style was trendy once again. The black suit dipped low with a v-cut, with sweeping cutouts that displayed skin despite the modest coverage. Gwyn had to admit: the high waistline and stretchy material made her ass look nice. 
The awe in Azriel’s face as he looked her up and down only boosted Gwyn’s confidence. Water nymphs swam naked, but her upbringing in Sangravah, with long-flowing priestess robes, had her used to more modest clothes. But Gwyn wanted to feel comfortable trying new styles, so a weekend away at the Dawn Court’s hot springs seemed the perfect opportunity for a cute swimsuit. 
“Where’d you buy this?” he breathed, gently fingering the slippery fabric of Gwyn’s swimsuit. “I think we should buy ten more of these.”
“A shop in the Summer Court. It was Cresseida’s recommendation.” 
“I’m going to send Cresseida a thank you note the next time I’m in the Summer Court,” Azriel murmured as his hands snaked down to give Gwyn’s ass a friendly squeeze. “You look amazing, Gwyn.” 
Gwyn beamed. “Thank you, Azriel. I’m glad you like it.”      
Azriel kissed her lightly. “As long as you like it, I’ll be happy. Now come on, I’m getting cold out here.” He’d originally planned to help Gwyn into the hot spring pool by holding her hand, like a courtier. But the water was searing hot, causing the shadowsinger to hiss like a cat. 
“What’s wrong?” Gwyn gasped. 
“It’s hot!” 
“No shit, Az, we’re at a hot spring.” Gwyn glanced at the steaming, whirling pool before them and took a bold step into the pool. Then another. And another.
“Gwynnie, be careful!” Azriel’s wings flapped with trepidation when his mate let out a little squeak of surprise.
“I’m fine! It’s actually not that bad once you get used to it.” Gwyn let out a pleasant sigh once she was neck-deep in the pool. She paddled around the pool in circles. “Come on, Az, join me.” Gwyn held out her hand. 
With support from the priestess, Azriel managed to immerse his entire body, wings and all, into the hot spring. The water was so hot that it almost felt cold. But sure enough, once he got over the initial tingling sensation, the heat soothed to his tired muscles. 
The air steamed with the heavy smell of various minerals as the pair soaked in contented silence. Gwyn occasionally dove down, swimming through the heated water like the water nymph she was. Her coppery red hair floated loose and soft in the water. Azriel was enamored with running his fingers through it. 
“I think the steam will have opened enough of our pores. Here, I’ll go get the clay mask jar.” Gwyn got up out of the pool, walking towards their bench of belongings. Now Azriel was the one who whistled as he admired her swaying, dripping curves. 
“Oh stop it, honey.” Gwyn swatted him playfully as she opened the lid. Azriel peered down at the gray white paste. It looked strange, but at least it smelled nice. Like some floral essence oils were infused with the clay. 
Gwyn and Azriel took turns applying the mask onto each other’s faces, gently tracing the curve of a cheek and smoothing the clay over nose bridges. Gwyn took her time, appreciating the little details of her mate’s face. And Azriel drew little hearts and stars all over Gwyn’s face before properly applying the mask.
“You look good with a clay mask on, shadowsinger.” She kissed him softly on the lips. 
“Better than the raven mask I wear into battle?” Azriel teased. 
“Hmm.” Gwyn tapped her chin contemplatively. “I must say you look better in that one. All edgy and intimidating.” She giggled when Azriel pulled her into his lap.
“Edgy?” Azriel’s voice was indignant. “I am not edgy.” 
“Yes, you are, Az. Fine. You’re broody. How about that?” 
“I’ll take that description,” Azriel conceded. His hands held the Valkyrie close, tracing the edges of swimsuit that exposed her pale skin. 
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Gwyn said after several moments of comfortable silence. “I love this. It’s so hard to be near water during the winter, because it’s so cold. But this is amazing.” 
“It’s an early Solstice present. But there will be more to come.” 
Snow began to fall, the flakes dissolving into steam before they hit the water. But the spymaster and Valkyrie warriors did not mind. Gwyn and Azriel soaked in the hot spring pool, relishing each other’s company, their troubles far, far away. 
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jabbage · 10 months
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onestepbackwards · 2 years
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Spark Anon: for the #self aware AU, in this case, Ingo has noticed that /something/ is off about the code, but hasn’t figured out what. Also, he’s worried because you have suddenly gone silent. That said, have this scrap from reader’s perspective.
It’s been a day and a half and the faint nausea rolling in your tells you that the side effects of missing your daily medicines are starting to kick in. Falling through the tv screen when you got up from the couch to fill your water bottle was not something you were in any way prepared for. You can only thank whatever deity might exist for the fact that you had been dressed in your fleece winter pajamas, slippers and robe as opposed to your summer nightwear. That, and that you’d kept ahold of your water bottle. The bright green paint of the HyrdoFlask was easy to see against the snowbank you’d landed in. The fact that there was a cave with a small hot spring in it nearby was probably all that saved you the first night.
‘Last time I /ever/ leave my character outside a camp during a break,’ you decided fairly quickly. You had wanted to take advantage of the Massive Mass Outbreaks and see if you could find a female alpha Riolu. When Ingo had asked why, you had responded with “why not?” The irony of the fact that said Riolu is currently trying to keep you alive is not lost on you. This morning, you had managed to choke down one of the Aspear berries it gifted you with, the rest sit piled next to you. The Riolu had scurried off again after you had been unable to eat another and hasn’t been back since. The headache that throbs behind your eyes is making it harder to trudge to the front of the cave to fill your bottle with snow, but you don’t dare let yourself get dehydrated on top of everything else.
“Human, you smell of sickness,” the gravelly voice makes your head snap up. The Riolu has returned, and standing next to it is a huge Zoroark, which shifts into a familiar figure, though your brain can’t recall where from. The meaning of its’ words penetrates and you can’t help but give a huff of humorless laughter. “Yeah, thats not surprising,” you rasp. The Riolu barks something and the Zoroark speaks again. “This one-” it gestures to the Riolu, “-wishes to know how to help you. I personally do not care.”
You the think for several moments. ‘Ingo,’ your mind supplies. ‘If anyone can help…’ You swallow hard. “There’s a man, he wears a dark coat and hat. He’s Warden to Lady Sneasler. Do you know who I’m talking about?” Both the Zoroark and the Riolu nod. “Can you get him here?” Your question is almost desperate. The two Pokémon glance at each other for a long moment before the Zoroark sighs. It turns and lopes off, while the Riolu comes in to cuddle up close. You sigh. ‘I hope this works,’ you think blearily. ‘Find me soon, Ingo…’
The tenses are probably a bit screwed up. Oh well. Unfortunately, I have absolutely no idea how to write Ingo’s perspective.
-✨
Oh, this is so good!! I love how you wrote it!! 💕
I love the Alpha Riolu trying to help keep you safe, and protect you!! 🥺🥺🥺 like even if you did fall from the sky, she recognizes you and wants to help!! Even getting a Zoroark to help!! They will have Ingo in no time! Just you wait!! This is so good, thank you for sharing!!
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auxiliarydetective · 9 months
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OC Pride Challenge: Day 22
You can find the challenge here
Today's prompt is Pride/Proud and I decided to use it to write a snippet of Klaus and Kassandra going to a pride parade together, Kass's first pride parade.
When Kassandra turned the corner, Klaus was already there, waiting for her. He smiled widely, a smile that Kassandra recognized immediately. He was high again.
“Kass!” Klaus called out. “Glad you decided to come with me.”
“Dad’s gonna be so mad if he finds out,” Kassandra murmured as Klaus wrapped an arm around her and started leading her off.
“Why? Didn’t you have Mom tell him you’re sick?”
“I did, but-”
“See?”
“You know he’s not gonna accept that.”
“C’mon, you can afford to make him angry just this once. I do it all the time and I’m alright!”
To this, Kassandra bit her tongue to avoid a comment. When he met no resistance, Klaus grabbed her by the hand and pulled her through the back door, out into the summer air. It was a warm day, but not too warm. Just a normal day for June. But today was a special day because today was the city’s pride parade.
“You know, last year I had to go alone,” Klaus reminisced as they walked down the street.
“I know, I waited for you to get back,” Kassandra said. “Did you ever hear from the guy you met there again?”
“Nope. But he was such a good kisser it was almost a crime. - Speaking of crime, you’re still wearing your uniform, aren’t you?”
“I tried to tone it down,” Kassandra murmured. “Do you see a coat of arms? No. I even took off the tie and borrowed some shorter socks from Allison.”
“Oh, right,” Klaus gasped. “You don’t have any other clothes, do you?”
“No, I don’t. The only thing I have diverse sets of is gloves. How do you like these by the way?”
“They’re nice. I love the mesh-iness of it all. Hey, but if you really don’t have any other clothes, you know what that means…”
“What?”
“Sibling shopping trip!” Klaus cheered, hopping up and down.
“Alright, alright. But you know it’ll take me about a week to recover from today with a huge crowd like that. And I can’t promise we’ll find anything I like that’s too far off from what I’m wearing right now. I actually really like dress shirts and pinafores.”
“That’s okay, everyone has their own personal style! Bet we can find something really pretty. A dress or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. Oh, also, we should take Allison with us. I’d really like her opinion, too. And Vanya.”
“Then it’s gonna be a big shopping trip.”
“That’s not a problem for you, is it?”
“No, but sometimes having too many opinions is bad too.”
“I guess you’re right.”
They could hear the parade now, the music and cheers. Kassandra could sense the people, too, their thoughts mixing into each other. So, Klaus opened his bag and pulled out a set of rainbow-colored sweatbands that he put on his wrists. Then, as if he were doing a magic trick, he pulled out a large rainbow flag that he threw around his shoulders. Then, he looked at Kassandra.
“You’re definitely lacking rainbows, Kass,” he declared. “C’mon, this is a pride parade! Dad isn’t here! You get to be proud of who you are!”
“But people might recognize us. We’re still in magazines and we still have these,” Kassandra said sharply, pointing at the tattoo on her arm. She should have covered it up somehow, she thought.
“It’s a huge crowd! No one’s even gonna notice we’re there. - Look, they do facepaint there!”
In the street leading up to the actual parade, a set of stalls was set up like an entrance ritual to the event beyond. People walked up to the stands, offered their faces and walked away with rainbow flags on their cheeks.
“Doesn’t that look fun?” Klaus asked excitedly.
Kassandra just felt the anxiety cooking up in her stomach. The joy coming from the parade was intoxicating yet overwhelming, adding to her nervousness. But Klaus had her hand clutched in his and pulled her onwards to the stalls. They only had to wait in line for a short while until it was their turn. To Kassandra’s surprise, they didn’t even have to pay anything - which was good because Klaus certainly had no money and she’d probably have to buy him enough things. She had brought food and water and he probably had too (and maybe alcohol too, in fact almost definitely), but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t stop for a snack. Also, he had been guishing about the various stalls with pins, flags and other merchandise that he probably also wanted to buy something from - or have something bought for him because it was clear he’d probably never pay her back. But that was okay with Kassandra, at least to some extent. Klaus deserved to be celebrated and that included a gift. Once Klaus had the flag painted on his face, it was Kassandra’s turn. But when the lady behind the stall reached for her face, she pulled back.
“Does this come off?” she asked, gesturing at Klaus’s cheeks.
“Don’t worry,” the lady said with a kind smile. “Just use water and a bit of soap and it’ll come right off.”
That eased Kassandra’s worries at least a little bit. She took a deep breath. “Alright.” Then, she closed her eyes. She felt the lady’s hand on her chin as she held her in place, followed by the facepaint being smudged on her cheeks. First one, then the other.
“There!” Klaus said proudly. “Feeling proud yet?”
“I’ll get there,” Kassandra said, smiling lightly.
“You’ll get there. - Hey, thanks, lady! - C’mon, let’s go.”
With that, he took Kassandra by the hand again and they moved onwards towards the parade. Klaus even managed to get them through the crowd to the front where they could watch the parade easily. As soon as they had settled in, Kassandra’s heart was clutched by absolute awe. What she saw was beautiful. Floats, dancers, people with wide grins on their faces and rainbow flags everywhere. All these people were like her and Klaus… and they were happy! They were out in the streets, loudly proclaiming their sexuality, their love… Was this what pride felt like?
That was when she spotted someone in the crowd of people passing by. It was a man in a tank top with huge letters on them, spelling out FREE DAD HUGS. She stared for a few seconds, then Klaus gave her a little push. The man seemed to notice this as he approached her.
“Go, I’ll save your spot,” Klaus told her.
Kassandra took a deep breath and started walking too, meeting the man halfway. He opened his arms to her and, to her surprise, she fell into them without hesitation, hugging him as tightly as she usually only would her siblings. The man hugged her back just as tightly rubbing her back.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
When they parted, Kassandra noticed she had tears in her eyes, quickly wiping them away.
“It’s alright, you get to cry. Let it out.”
Kassandra couldn’t avoid a chuckle. This was ridiculous. She had just hugged a complete stranger just because of his shirt and now she was crying. But it had felt so comforting that she would do it again and again.
“You’re from the Umbrella Academy, aren’t you?”
As soon as she heard that, Kassandra’s eyes widened. “Uh, yeah,” she stammered. “But we’re not here officially, we’re just-”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” the man interrupted her. “It’s just that it makes it double the reason to be proud of who you are. Anyone should get to be proud of their sexuality. But you especially - it’s not fair that someone who does so much for people feels like they have to be ashamed of their sexuality or not good enough for their dad.”
Kassandra just nodded with a crooked smile on her face, wiping her tears again.
“I want you to remember this, alright?” the man continued. “You’re strong and you have every right to be who you want to be. You’re not just a part of the Academy, you’re your own person, okay?”
“Okay,” Kassandra said shakily but she had a smile plastered on her face.
Now, the man had to keep following the parade, so he had to leave her behind. But in her mind, as she returned to Klaus, as they explored the surroundings, as they returned home, even when she had long since washed off the flags on her cheeks, he stayed.
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thee-morrigan · 10 months
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38-45 for del and felix, pls!
[otp asks]
I, uh, maybe got a little carried away with a couple of these 🤪
38. Who is more sexually experimental? Who's more vanilla?
I feel like they’re pretty evenly matched? I do think that the vast majority of their experimentation involves reading something improbable (or seeing, in case of tv/movies) and trying to figure out if it’s actually a thing people can do. If it does work, it’ll probably be fun, and if it doesn’t, at least it’ll be funny. Either way, they are committed to The Bit.
39. Who would rescue an injured animal and nurse it back to health? What would the other think?
Felix is probably (slightly) more likely to do the rescuing, but Del would probably end up being the one to nurse it back to health…depending on the animal, anyway! I think Del would be more likely to want to enlist help and/or a professional (especially for like, wildlife). Both of them would be invested in helping the animal, though.
40. Who has an insatiable appetite? And what does the other do to help?
Del is a major snacker and loves sour candy, which Felix tends to treat as an opportunity to find a wide variety of candies for her to try. Regrettably, he can’t resist trying them too, resulting in a recent incident involving Warheads. (Felix has since learned that he does not, in fact, like Warheads.)
41. Which one would take their jacket it off and drape over the other one because they were visibly shivering?
Oooh tbh I think this is both of them. I think Del does it first, but then Felix worries that if he has her jacket, then she’ll be cold, and then it turns into a back-and-forth until they decide the compromise is snuggling. Like:
“But won’t you be cold now?” “Probably eventually.” “So you should keep your coat, then.” “But you’re cold now.” “Not that cold.” “You were literally shivering, Fee.” “Yeah, but I’m not shivering now.” “Because you’re wearing my jacket!” “You should take it back anyway.” “Wha—why? Seriously, I’m fine, I’ll tell you if I get too cold. Besides, you’re more sensitive than I am. Just keep it.” “Yeah, but if you take it back then we’ll be forced to cuddle. For warmth. It’s obviously the most fair solution.” “I’m gonna choose to agree with you, but I want you to know it’s mostly because I can’t wait to see how you try to manage simultaneously using me as a human jacket and patrolling for the next hour.”
42. What's their favorite type of weather to enjoy together? (getting snowed in together, watching thunderstorms, etc.)
Summer evenings, when it’s just starting to cool off. Like, just this side past the border of dusk, when it’s well past an hour anyone would consider evening proper, but the sun is still putting up enough of a fight that it’s at least half an hour before anything approaching darkness. They like to see who can spot the most fireflies. (Also: does this count more as weather or just time of day?)
43. Who would give their life for the other without a second thought?
Ultimately, probably both of them. I think it would be more truly “without a second thought” for Del if only because I think Felix would try to figure out an option where they both made it out alive first.
44. Who would dance in the kitchen making dinner? Would the other join in or watch from the doorway?
Oh, absolutely both of them. Would probably also involve gratuitous karaoke using cooking utensils as mics and instruments.
45. Can they fall asleep without the other?
I mean, they can, but they don’t like to. Actually, I think it’s most likely that Felix makes the argument that, because he doesn’t need that much sleep, it makes perfect sense for him to wait for Delaney to be there. And at some point, once they have, like a routine, Del’s cat gets extremely fussy if they’re not both in bed when they’re supposed to be. Which means Del has a tougher time falling asleep without Felix than she might otherwise :)
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number1villainstan · 2 years
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AtLA Analysis: S1E5: The King of Omashu
Intro: Didn’t do one of these on the weekend, and since I went to and left work early I decided I could do it now. I *should* be working to sort out my future housing situation (dumbass past me for buying a contract when I hadn’t sold my current one yet ;-;) but I don’t want to do that so I’m doing this instead. Let’s get started, shall we? And let’s see if I can focus better this time around, since I’m starting at 5:30pm instead of 7:30 pm lol
So, the ‘Previously’ section is all about Aang being the Avatar: showing him in the Avatar state, the declaration on Kyoshi island, the reactions of the monks of different nations, as well as a little bit about the Airbenders being gone. Tying into the later trials and Aang trying to prove himself to Bumi?
Okay, so: The first glimpse of Omashu tells you a few things. Number one, walled city on top of a tall and steep mountain--extremely good for defense, and maybe a sign of earthbending, probably by several hundred (or thousand) benders working in concert, if it wasn’t a natural formation. Those walls holding everything up are definitely some powerful earthbending and serious building. However, despite its strategic location, it doesn’t have a lot of (or any) room to grow size-wise, which will likely make for crowded neighborhoods among the poor and working-class, if not the middle class as well, and possibly a lot of underground housing and businesses.
Sokka: “They have buildings that don’t melt!” This seems...odd, because when Aang wakes up it looks like the South Pole is in the middle of polar summer--sun’s always up, and therefore the air would be hotter, which means that if anything is going to melt it would be then. And yet the village seemed in no danger of any of that when we saw it.
What’s with Katara and Sokka’s coats? They’ve been wearing them for most of the time in these past episodes, and they’re continuing to wear them here. Does that mean they’re still in colder climates? Kyoshi certainly seemed to be a colder place, with the coats the civilians tended to wear and the undeniably thick fabric of the Kyoshi warriors’ dresses.
So Aang’s wearing the wig and mustache as a disguise, but doesn’t bother to change his clothes? ...does he not have any other clothes?
The first appearance of the Cabbage Merchant! Ironically enough, him losing his cabbages isn’t the Gaang’s fault at all, but that of the guards who accuse his cabbages of being rotten.
Lemme just take a moment to be impressed by a) Aang’s impression of an intimidating “old timer” and b) Katara’s immediate memorization and usage of such a long and ridiculous last name with no prep whatsoever. Though the usage of a last name is odd, and might actually weaken their disguise: of all the characters we know, the only ones I can think of with actual family names are the Beifongs, which, if we take that at face value, would imply that the only people with last names are EK nobility. (Zhao is actually a family name, but we don’t get any other name for him in the series.) None of them are dressed in EK colors, and they have no guards with them, which would be probably seen as strange for an upper class family, especially one with an elder and a young woman. Obviously they just made this up on the fly, and it gets them in, but still.
The guard who stops Sokka to tell him to carry “his grandfather’s” bag--is he big on tradition? Does he care a lot about family and filial duties? It’s not a lot of character, but it’s there. (Sokka was also clearly nervous about the disguise, so he must have seen some of its weaknesses too.)
I love how nobody on the other side of the gate reacts to Momo sitting in Aang’s wig, and even the guard who gasps doesn’t say anything. Do they not recognize the flying lemur? How common are flying lemurs and in what habitats? The last episode led me to believe that they only lived in Air Temples, but is that not true? Are the other characters simply mistaking it for a different, local species? Or is it simply that no one cares enough, or thinks it would be awkward to ask?
I wonder what kind of coordination and bureaucracy goes into the mail system.
So, Aang has friends all over the world, right? But he lives at the Air Temples? When did he visit the Earth Kingdom? The Fire Nation? Did he ever visit the Water Tribes? (I think no on that last one.) Who did he have with him, Gyatso or peers his age or any others? Did he go alone?
That ride. Caused. So much chaos. I feel for the overworked mail officials who had to clean up the mess. Also Aang’s mustache and wig are ridiculously stable, apparently. Like glued-onto-his-head, until it’s not. Huh.
I wonder if they’re also going to connect all the damage to the roofing to their crazy ride. What is the green stuff underneath those shingles? What are the roofs made of to withstand that kind of weight and force? I mean, they broke through a stone wall, so why didn’t they break through the roofs?
I get that your entire livelihood was destroyed, Cabbage Merchant, but killing is not the answer here. You’ve got to extort them of all their resources!
Odd justice system you’ve got here in Omashu. Does the king really handle all criminal judgements? That can’t be good for public order, considering just the sheer overwork that would likely put on the man, much less Bumi’s chaotic nature.
...Bumi is actually, literally, biologically 112 years old. He...looks good for his age. And he’s Aang’s last surviving friend, most likely, his only living tie to the past.
So, the ‘refurbished’ chamber has three beds, nice ones it looks like (if angular), hammock-like green hangings (are they decorative or do they serve a purpose? Storage? Actual hammocks?), and green crystal lights. What about the crystal is providing that light? It can’t be fire, that would have run out of oxygen, and it can’t be anything living for the same purpose. And, of course, air vents, because we can’t have our protagonists asphyxiating.
Also: beds in the middle of the room. That has to be an intimidation tactic. Who can sleep in a bed in the middle of the room?
So, the guards managed to take Katara and Sokka without waking Aang up (who slept without a blanket, cultural norms?) despite the fact that he later woke up to the sound of the guard earthbending his wall, which was established to be the only way in or out of the cell. Probably difference in timing and where he is the sleep cycle.
Creeping crystal, aka genamite, aka rock candy apparently? Clearly violating the law of conservation of mass, not to mention the way it glows before it grows, but it still makes me curious as to its physical properties.
On a similar tack, where does the dye come from for these clothes? Water Tribe clothing is a bright blue, Earth Kingdom clothing is green, Air Nomad clothes are mostly yellow with orange accents, and Fire Nation clothing is all dark reds and black. I know the show is employing color coding for these nations for its viewers, but what in-universe explanation would there be for such color coding? The Water Tribe is likely the hardest to explain, since there are no plants around (that we can see) to get dye from and color their clothes. Also, Bumi’s outfit is a purple version of the clothing he was wearing the day before, and where did the makers of that get the purple dye? I believe it’s the only purple clothing we see in the whole series.
Another related note: The color scheme for the scenes in Bumi’s palace and in the cave for the first trial is all dark green and black, not quite threatening but not something that puts you at ease. It really enhances Bumi’s dangerous, off-kilter vibe.
All of these challenges are meant to bring out Aang’s quick thinking and inventiveness. I keep thinking of Toph’s later training, telling him that he has to be stubborn, that ‘there is no other angle,’ while here there are lots of angles and he has to find the one that works. Almost like a clash of philosophies. Bumi’s method, at least, certainly plays to his strengths (and Bumi’s strengths), because inventiveness and quick thinking are some of Aang’s better qualities.
The first challenge--nice aim, Aang. That’s impressive. Airbender skills?
The second challenge--thinking outside the box again, and realizing that of course an insane king would have the nontraditional pet. And yet again, Aang shows that he’ll chase after cute animals without thought to their comfort or safety. It also has a lighter green color scheme then the last several minutes.
I’m not sure we’ll be getting a lot of Sokka or Katara this episode. It’s almost all focused on Aang and King Bumi.
The third challenge: instead of a green color scheme, it’s rusty earthy brownish red. An allusion to the more direct fight that’ll take place? Also, I wonder the histories of the two bladed champions Bumi summons.
(I’ve been getting distracted by listing to “Insane” by Black Gryph0n and Baasik, about Alastor from Hazbin Hotel. A little bit gory for AtLA, but possibly fitting for Bumi lol)
Bumi calls himself ‘the most powerful earthbender you’ll ever see.” Toph’s calling, she wants her title back
The rings on Bumi’s fingers intrigue me. What are the spheres attached to them? What are their purpose? Is it just to show off wealth? If it was, why wouldn’t it be gemstones instead? These just look like little painted clay balls.
The fighting tactics: Aang avoids and evades, and also redirects, using the enemy’s force and attacks against them. Bumi attacks head on, but is clever and inventive about how.
“You only have a few minutes,” Bumi says, despite the fact that their faces are still uncovered, even Sokka’s, who has crystal growing up past his head. Also, Sokka’s Rocky suggestion--is that a genuine suggestion, or is it an attempt to lighten the mood? The others treat it as genuine but who knows?
Aang’s quick to forgive Bumi when he realizes who he is. Possibly because of his easygoing personality, possibly because it’s his last living tie to his past, probably a mixture of both. Honestly, given the context, it’s surprising he isn’t more emotional about this.
This is the first time we hear Ozai’s name, and it’s from Bumi’s mouth.
And the Cabbage Merchant’s cabbages are destroyed for the third time that episode. RIP.
And that’s all of it! Definitely didn’t take as long as the last couple, probably because I had the energy to go through it all in one go. I also think this one is shorter, and I didn’t put everything that went through my head down as I went, so there’s that. Not a lot of Sokka or Katara, as I thought. This was focused on Aang, and on Bumi. I do have some worldbuilding questions about Omashu though. All in all, fun episode!
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sticker-journal · 6 months
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Sticker Ver.1 2019-2020
NAMES WILL BE CHANGED FOR PRIVACY OF THE HUMANS IN THIS STORY.
In the summer of 2019, I was kicked out of a band who shall remain nameless. I wasn't good at guitar and a terrible singer. (I still think that I am lmao) Even my previous soulmate, (who shall remain nameless) would tell me to leave the house because she couldn't stand my playing. I'm sorry.
I was heartbroken and stuck working at a shitty Walmart. I hated that place. I wanted to slash myself with a box cutter and lay down in the isle just so I could go home.
However, I was more determined to start my own band, so I posted everywhere on my social media that I was looking for a drummer and a bassist. Months passed and I found nobody. Until one of my best friends, Jian. introduced me to a man named Pat.
Pat and I met briefly, on Jian's balcony at a gathering, and we smoked cigarettes, drank tea, and spoke to each other about music, humans, babies being trippy, and drugs for about 2 hours. He asked me to move to Seattle with him. I couldn't do it, thats's crazy! He said drugs were really easy to get out there and we could start a band there.
I declined politely, then he moved away to Seattle.
Focused on finding bandmates, I posted flyers that I had created by hand all around town and only got calls from people who... lol let us just say it wouldn't have worked!
Months flew by, suddenly Pat failed miserably by himself in Seattle, then suddenly moved back. He asked me to meet him at a park near his house to drink and play our guitars. He could't smoke pot because he had some mild schizophrenic episodes in the past.
When we played guitar together, it sounded beautiful. I sang along to the riffs I was playing, and he pretended that his guitar was a bass. We created some lyrics on the spot together for fun on an old tune, and we had immediately decided to start a band together.
I jumped up and danced around, and thanked the Universe for blessing me with a bass player and friend!! I laughed and cheered because I was so happy.
Myself and Pat returned to his mom's house and we drank and smoked cigarettes in his backyard. His family had a very nice backyard. I complained "I wonder why I can't find a drummer! Why is it so difficult?" He replied "I know somebody. I have a friend named Rich and he's a GREAT drummer! Let me call him! He might not answer though."
Pat called, Rich answered. Pat asked to meet the next day and Rich accepted.
The following day, we arrived at Rich's door, a well-lived in, loved, but dusty house. We waited, I sat in a chair in anticipation.
Suddenly a man opened the door, he was wearing a long black trench coat, dark sunglasses, and had very long hair. I was a little confused, startled, and mesmerized by his energy all at the same time.
He welcomed us into his home. "WOW! you have big amps? A drum kit! There's mics! There's a couch! And a radio!!" I was so happy and bouncing off the walls, I asked if I could play his kit, and he let me.
Rich went to the bathroom for what felt like forever and returned wearing a tank top and shorts. He showed me his amps and how they worked, I asked him about his life and his musical experience. Pat plugged in his bass, the mics were turned on, and then we started playing.
I began playing a simple chord progression that me and Pat had practiced. The drums kicked in, and oh shit! This was amazing! I was finally, finally jamming with a real band, as the main guitarist! Pat looked at me and mouthed "sing!" but I was way too shy LMAO. We finished the mini jam and then I asked Rich "can I try to sing a song that me and Pat have been working on?"
We started the song "He's back" and I showed him how it goes, I sang the playful lyrics and kept stopping, because I had NO idea how to sing into a mic. I felt very embarrassed, but Pat kept encouraging me to sing. I finished the song with a loud, wild, and unexperienced scream.
I felt super embarrassed but I asked him anyways. "Do you wanna be in our band?" He said yes!
We hung out many times and played and created a set of about 5 songs. We were doing shrooms a lot, and playing music and listening to music too. I was showing them parts of my journals and discussing ideas all the time.
I couldn't figure out a band name! I was trying for months to think of one, but I couldn't nail a name that fit with the music. We tried many names like: The Zebras, Tooth, Bad Luck Bois, Piss and Ass, Elemeno (like the abc song), Scenic Root.
None of it felt right. I just gave up lmao. Then one day while sitting on the couch, with no pre-meditation, no reason, without a plan, like a lightbulb flashing on above my head, the word "Sticker" came out of my mouth. Then I just kept saying Sticker, and then it stuck. That's the band name! They said they liked it too, so I was glad they didn't shoot my idea down. They never shot my ideas down.
2020 rolled around and we were finally about to play our first show! The date was scheduled for March 23rd, 2020. I was so excited. All of us were!
Covid-19 hit, then I lost my job as a Security Officer at a prestigious hotel in Las Vegas. Everyone was stuck inside. I mean, people decided to go out anyways LOL but I chose to lock myself in my room and I definitely had no issues with that! AND collecting unemployment?? LET'S GO!
Meeting with Pat, Rich, my best friend, and my ex-soulmate were my only reasons to go out. I thought, "Wow! Quarantine is a great opportunity to practice hard as fuck and then come out strong when it's over!" I continued to play relentlessly at home until the tip of my pinky would rip off and my fingertips bled.
My dream of becoming an amazing band was crumbling. Pat started introducing me to drugs i've never tried before, such as MDMA, Coke, maybe some of that shit might have been laced with meth, some of it was pure, taking larger amounts of acid, shrooms, alcohol.
I felt alone, all of my friends and loved ones, I was pushing them away without realizing it. All I cared about was getting blasted out of my mind and playing guitar.
Sometimes I would go on 5 day drug binges, alone in my room, playing guitar, watching concerts, playing games, writing, smoking cigarettes and taking long walks here and there.
One night, I had taken acid in my room, but suddenly the trip didn't feel.. fun or comforting. Something had switched in my mind. I looked at a painting on the wall that my Grandmother had passed down to me. It struck a chord, and I looked down at my hands.
I suddenly felt scared, I started panicking. I saw that my body was an explosion of particles and flesh, and it freaked me the fuck out. I stepped outside, and realized I was a human without an umbilical cord. I felt that my halo above my head was faint for a moment, and I started becoming even more scared.
I took deep breathes and lit a cigarette, the sun was rising, and when I smoked the cigarette, I was taken to the place that the tobacco had been planted and grown. I couldn't do anything without seeing the literal creation of everything inside of my mind.
I just kept hitting the cigarette and walked even farther down the road. Once I started walking back down the road, I went back home and laid in my bed. My room was in the back of the house, by the washroom, hidden, the smallest, and farthest away from all of the other rooms in the house. I was staying at a friend's house because their mother saved me after I became homeless at one point in time.
As I started drifting off, I looked at the clock and said to myself, "OH SHIT! I was supposed to take my little cousin to work like I promised! I'm gonna be late!!"
I got into my car, still slightly coming down from the acid and picked her up. We drove to her work, and once I parked I looked at her. I threw the cigarette out of the window and started crying extremely hard.
"I'm so sorry Cousin, I'm so sorry. I can't believe what I have done to myself and my mind. I don't think i'll ever be the same. I can't stop doing drugs and trying to escape reality at any costs. I used to be so kind and smart and energetic. I love you, and I want you to be able to rely on me. I'm gonna stop, I promise. I'm so sorry."
She wasn't mad at me, she didn't look at me differently, she comforted me and supported me and said that she will always love me. She headed into work, and I went back home to sleep.
I took acid again less than a week later, and then after I came down, me and my ex-soulmate decided to visit Arizona to see my father.
By the way. My ex-soulmate had NO idea that I was doing so many drugs. I was keeping secrets from her out of guilt. I'm so sorry.
Anyways, let's rewind just slightly.
During the heavy covid lockdown phase, I was hanging around Pat and Rich, and their semi-large friend group they had sucked me into. We all did drugs together. Everything revolved around drugs and Sticker.
I soon began to notice that we were doing more drugs and "partying" more than band practice. It started to piss me off. Pat started bringing women around more and more. Women came onto us, and all Pat could think about was MDMA, Coke, and having sex with men and women. I became depressed but stuck around, because this was my first band, and I didn't know that there were more possibilities in my future. I thought that this was the only version of Sticker. "Soon we'll stop fucking around and focus on music." Pat never listened to me. He would lie, and skip band practice to go do mdma at a park with women. Rich always canceled band practice.
I started losing all faith in things.
Anyways, a while after my little acid breakdown in front of my cousin, Pat, Rich, and I met at a park to have a band meeting. Pat really wanted to get something off of his chest.
"Our friend, I got really drunk with her, and we had sex. When we woke up the next morning she claimed that she didn't want to do that and was really upset. I thought she wanted to!"
I was pissed. While for a moment I was glad he came forward and had the courage to be honest, but then something didn't feel right. I felt like this was a 3/4th truth, I may be wrong though. I trust my insticts.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you fucking kidding me Pat? We are NOT that kind of band! What the fuck!" I scolded him and we talked more about the situation.
I drove home, and I was so upset. Rich seemed to be upset too. This was my first time experiencing something like this.
A few days later after not talking to anybody, I met with Rich. We decided to go on a hike, we walked together up Lone Mountain. Our goal was to reach the top.
Before our quest, Rich pulled out some type of gel, and said it was an extremely powerful form of THC. He squeezed it out of a syringe type of tool onto my finger, and I rubbed it all over my gums.
We walked, and I became very high. I realized how high I was about halfway up the mountain. We reached the top, and there was a big metal disk at the edge of the cliff.
We were together, Rich was quite a few feet behind me, and I joked "HEY LOOK! It's our record deal!"
Rich responded loudly, "Whoever touches it first, gets the most money!!"
I laughed and rushed for the metal plate, but Rich passed me somehow and touched it first. I was confused at the way he ran past me so quickly.
We sat for a while, and I told him "Look Rich, we can't play with Pat anymore. I don't want to. We need a new bass player. I want to be an inspiration for the humans. I don't to be on some young kid's wall one day holding a cigarette, standing next to a man who only sees people as sex objects, constantly doing drugs, and fucking people for his own pleasure. He infects people with drugs every time they are around him. I don't want this."
"I agree." He said.
We climbed down hiked down the mountain. He drove back with me to a park. We sat down at a park bench table together.
He told me a story about a girl he once dated in high school. Her name was Jenny, and he took a blade and carved a J in his right hand. He still had the scar, the mark. He said "Now I can say, I've always got a J in my hand." Haha, pretty clever I guess.
I asked "Rich, why do you want to be in Sticker? Why did you choose to be in a band with me? Why do you do this?"
Rich then told me "Dennis I want to be in a band with you because I like your songs, I like your voice, and I think we can make money together. We are going to be so Rich. We are going to live off of this music, and I will have everything that I want."
"Is this the only reason why you want to be in a band? Money?" I asked.
"Yeah... of course."
I was turned off. I was sad. As Rich and I began to walk away, he said "Me and you should totally take acid together at my house sometime. I can show you some things and open your mind to stuff that you have never seen before."
Rich was a lot older than me, almost 17 years older. I became slightly frightened without Pat by my side as usual, and I just said "Yeah! Some time..."
I went home, still high from what he gave to me earlier on the mountain. Suddenly, I felt like lightning had struck the top of my head.
I was in a dark red room. One of my best friends was crawling towards me, he had a chain on his neck, he was naked, crawling on all fours. He was panting like a dog. He said "Come on Dennis! Come join us."
I looked up, and I saw Rich sitting at drum kit, shirtless, a ripped and muscular body, laughing hysterically, and chin pointed towards the ceiling. He cocked his head down toward me and stared. His eyes were completely black, pure evil. Pure evil. His hand was down my his crotch, and he was forcing my ex-soulmate down on himself, she couldn't breathe. I saw Pat fluttering around the room with demon wings, an adult face, with a beard, fat cheeks, but the body of an infant. He was acting similar to a cupid. Then, I saw a billboard with Rich's face on it. He was famous, alive, and smiling. He had taken my bright smile, and life. I was dead.
I jolted out of the vision and let out a small scream. I knew this was a message from above. I need to get out. Everything hit me all at once.
I started remembering when me and Rich and Pat hung out all the time and did drugs. They said things to me that I didn't think much of at the time. Pat said something like: "Yeah me and Rich actually share an ancient demon bloodline. We are the lions and you are our lamb, we will sacrifice you. You will be the final one to sit in the chair of music, and all of music will end with you."
I began to panic, I remembered that most musicians who "sold their soul" met the devil and he appeared in all black. The devil offered them everything they wanted and tricked the musicians into accepting his tempting deal. "Those are JUST stories though!! That can't be fucking real. I'm going crazy." Rich had shown me everything the day I met him. He showed me everything, he had all the gear in his house that we needed to record, he had his own practice space in his living room, all the things that amazed me that I didn't know before. I freaked the fuck out.
I was soon being kicked out of my friend's house. I think they knew I was doing a lot of drugs in secret there. I was about to become homeless, and then I told my best friend everything that had happened. We got an apartment together with some friends. I had to beg them to let me stay because I was going to be homeless again. Thank you for helping me.
The first month living there, I was doing drugs still every other day and had a shrooms trip. Shit I needed that one. I saw so many things. I met God. I was blessed. I was shown suffering and torment, and then grace and love. Thank you.
I did drugs one last time, an extremely small amount of MDMA. I felt scared because I saw a terrible vision and felt that I was abusing my beautiful mind again and God was angry. I went back home to my apartment and sat on the ground and cried because I couldn't stop fucking up.
I decided to end the band. I sent a long text to both of them after an entire day of drafting. I told them my morals did not align with them. I don't play music for sex, drugs, fame, or money. I play music because I love music. I play it for myself, the beautiful humans who need it, and God. For everything.
They were pissed.
Then, I broke up with her. I told her the truth about everything. I wanted to be honest with her. For once. I'm so sorry. Goodbye. She hates me now, and I will never blame her. I hope you're happy and loved to the fullest by everyone around you! Thank you.
One day, after crying in the shower and having a panic attack again, I stepped out, and started at myself in the mirror. I hated myself. I hated the old band. I hated everything they put me through.
Then I looked at myself and said "YOU!! FUCK YOU! You did this. It's all YOUR fault! You did this to yourself! You did. Not Pat, Not Rich, but YOU! You made those choices to lie and do drugs. YOU did. You did this to yourself! Stop blaming everyone else!"
That's the day that I grew up.
I crushed my cigarettes, threw them out the door, I didn't do drugs for a long time after that. It was really hard to quit all substances. I locked myself in my room, I played games to comfort myself. I met my cat Misty. She became my best friend, one of my soulmates. I love you Misty, you saved my life. You gave me a reason to live and stay at home.
I didn't play guitar for almost a year. I mean, I picked it up here and there, but I needed to take a break. I never thought I'd start a band ever again. I cried a lot, and I hated myself.
I began to tap into my old self again, no drugs, no smoking, consistently working out and practicing martial arts, I got a good job, and I became stronger within my Mind, Body, and Soul. My friendships and family became stronger, and life started getting better.
I have been scarred from that experience with that band, and to this day, I still struggle with sad thoughts, and fear that they tried to take my soul. I'm not dumb though. I mean maybe a little bit LMAO but not that dumb. I'm getting better though at pushing those thoughts away though. I can do it almost instantly now as soon as they try to attack me.
Anyways, that's Sticker version one for ya!
By the way, listening to old recordings from that band, WE SOUNDED TERRIBLE xD lmaooooo
There's no WAY those mfs were gonna get rich and famous LMAO they were trippin xD
sorry if theres a ton of typos lmao
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neculacycle · 11 months
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Medicine Sword
It passed that Necula finally made good on his claim that he would be done with trouble forever and he tossed Kiriha, sheath and all, into a vast chasm that no one could say had a bottom and from there no odd fate might return her to him. She tumbled and spun many years, long past where the sun could shine. But Kiriha prevailed where other things might snap and wear down, for she was unbreakable, and so she fell till at last a skinny, ancient river with no name swallowed her and carried her along violently thought the deep places of the world, through beds of lava and crushing pressure, thrashed against jagged walls and tossed about in poison water. She wasted in the depths of a magma pool till it's eruption took her upward and spat her into the sky with so much soot and chaos she went down the mountain side in seas of lava that erased everything in their path. But lava cools and becomes like rock, and froze Kirihaa within its grasp for a summer and winter, a prisoner in a land of strange folk called Wastrals.
One day, Little Boy Fat decided to take a wander by the old mountain and fell upon the hilt of a sword, lodged into the old magma flows. Pull as he might with all his weight the magma wouldn't release her. But Fat had a way with words.
I sense something about this sword. I think she's a medicine sword, and those are quite rare, as I've only now invented them and only here found one. If you would give her over to me I'd do good in this world.
The mountain said, Well, Little Fat, you've never lied before. Don't tell anyone I did this, or they'd come all over to ask me things, but I'll do this for you.
And the magma cracked and the sword fell on its side. Fat took it up and waddled on his way just as fast as he might.
Fat said, If you didn't know, my medicine sword doesn't cut. It doesn't kill. I swing it about and I think it makes people feel better, like the notes of a guitar.
The drunk Battertint blinked one eye and the other. His stovepipe hat sank over his girlish face. I've seen things as helpless as you, in the wakes of wars and such.
Don't believe me? Here's some proof.
Here? Hold out your bottle.
He did. Fat swiped off the bottle’s bottom half with one cut, leaving only a hole and a cork clasped in Battertint's hand, which he eyed in slow shock.
Now, said fat, you have nothing to drink and nothing better to do than come along and help me. Can you argue that logic?
I couldn't even begin. Now I've lost everything.
Battertint stood on wobbly legs, wiped himself off, which somehow attracted more dust to his person, and stumbled off after Fat.
Where we off to, fat? I have times to keep.
Fat didn't see, but battertint slipped a drink from his coat pocket and went to work.
To find a great swordsman. You wouldn't know, because this is a medicine sword, but I took your hand off when I broke your bottle.
Battertint inspected his hand and indeed it was still attached, though his nails needed trimming, which the sword made like a ladies fingertips.
Hmm. I shouldn't encourage this but I heard rumours of such a person wandering the fields east of here. They say carrion birds follow this person about and one might think they've stumbled upon the remains of a warzone, but it's the work of one.
Atop a mound of rotting flesh and twisted faces stood a figure, it's back to them. Red thunderclouds rained blood in the distance and the sky about the figure turned grey and black. The figure turned its head to look back at them over it's shoulder and they saw as the clouds briefly parted and the sun hit the figure with heavens rays that she was the most pristine young woman either had ever seen, her eyes dark as night. If this was not a master swordsman no one was.
Come up here to me, she said. And so Fat and Battertint climbed the body mound and the young woman said, Now what would possess a person to do that?
Wield this for me, said fat, and held the sword out to her, which she took.
This old thing?
It's unwieldy.
No, it's very much not but this is no challenge for me, I am death's firstborn.
Then challenge yourself. This is a medicine sword, and he explained about those. The young woman pondered and said, My father will be most displeased, but I suppose life begets death. Very well.
They all climbed down the bodies and the swordswoman, who's name was Mokito, asked, What now, o great lord Fat?
Hmm. All these people. You killed them?
Yes', beamed Mokito, very proud.
Now, bring them all back.
No one can do that. Not even my pa.
You mean to say the best swordswoman, even with a medicine sword, couldn't do it?
Mokito looked at Batgertint, who shrugged. It makes enough sense, he said.
Mokito thought, then began swinging the sword into the bodies, and instead of cutting them up, wounds sealed back together one and then another popped back up, revitalised, and wandered off, quite confused but on the whole relieved.
O my pa will be furious, said Mokito. And Pastor Boothills.
Such a doter, said Battertint.
Along the trail, they met several warriors, each having travelled far to face the awful Mokito. Mokito passed them by with much alarm, looking back at them with a lover's longing. Lord fat wagged his finger.
If you wanna fight so much start thinking like a medicine warrior.
How obscene.
But she did face them, dodging around their blows, all three at once, and stabbed the shadows that lurked behind them, that wiggled and died in the grass, and they felt their bloodlust pass.
Battertint by now thought the business about being death's firstborn was a whole lot of hogwash. But he held his tongue on it, in case he was wrong. Fat swiped a bouquet's worth of flowers while they camped and bashfully thrust it under Mokito's powdered nose. The drunk snorted and ate beans from a can one by one. Mokito stuck the flowers in her hair knot.
You're a Warrior of Another Kind now, said Fat with religious zeal.
Out from the green over theres, a mile past the emerald oasis of the just behind came another village, this one host to plague. The people fell apart in the streets. The three proceeded with their shirts pulled up over their noses.
What's the little lord's plan for this? asked Battertint.
O plague, come on out and face the warrior of the new kind! he said. Mokito cackled. But there came a shuffling man in robes and sandals, who said his name was Plague.
See that? mumbled fat under his shirt. A medicine sword, held by death’s first born. Don't look so surprised, grandfather, it's only your death!
But plague put out his hands. How cruel. If I don't spread, I’ll die. Lord Fat, tell me I am different from a wildcat and you are different from a rabbit, and I'll name you Lord Fat of all the Lands.
Survival of the fittest then, said Mokito, brandishing the sword. She swung at plague, but he leaped up, raising his knees to his chest like a spry youth, and he hopped right into the sword and sang.
Plague sword, plague sword, lady death Fell them all with your last breath Never a father so beaming could be As the father of plague bearers, one two and three!
Get out, demanded Fat, and Mokito wagged the sword to no avail.
Not till I'm safe, said Plague. Bet your good health on it.
Then I'll make you a deal. Even Plague must respect that. I'll find you someplace else, but leave these folk alone now.
And so plague stepped out and shook Fat’s hand.
It's a deal brother, he said. But I'll say when I've found the right spot.
Now, with Plague travelling beside them Fat felt hardly like the leader of any medicine band. He felt lower than dirt. Plague said, Dungeon Wheels will be coming along this way.
The terror of the Wastrals, said Mokito. She was half Wastral after all. Fat. With this sword I could probably fell the Dungeon Wheels from here.
Tears welled in Fat’s eyes. Before he could speak:
Get me in there, said Plague, and I’ll cause all manner of coughs and groans among the tower minions. That'll make life easier around here a long while.
Fat scratched his blonde curls. Coughs and groans sound quite unhealthy. She is a medicine sword.
Fret not, Fat. Grunks and Snargs are too vile to die by plague but they'll be out sick a while.
And I'm the wielder, said Mokito, and a helluva a steal away-person, to boot. I'll climb up there and set Plague loose but tell not my father. He has business with the Dungeon Wheels.
They waited. Dungeon Wheels rolled along, it's highest rafters a topsy turvy sway as it braved the hills of the valley. All wastrels learned early to fear the rolling wood tower. Several unguarded stairways climbed up its wood walls, stopping at doors too high to fathom. From little square windows, the tower minions no doubt peered and plotted, animal brains scheming against the wastrels.
Mokito sprang out as the sun set, crossing the valley like a snake. Using a little grapple, she hooked onto a lower window and had scrambled inside before you could say be careful. Pigs and cows and other ugly crosses of things stalked the passage. Mokito clung to the shadows above, watching. Plague slipped out.
Oh he he! So much work to be done. It'll be ages before I've explored it all. But take me to the mess, where I can really do some damage.
Mokito smirked. She dropped down, rebounding off two waddling snargs and vaulted down the hall, never touching the ground. The blunt of the sword met two more grunks as she zigzagged between them. Nearing a turn in the hall, she halted her blazing advance with an arm and leg, and propelled herself off the wall behind her with the other leg.
Behind his door, Doogie polished his tusks and picked at his snout. A thwacking sounded through the door, like many feet rushing for dinner. He stood, braced the door with his big body, and was about to slide open the little window to see to the other side. If someone big and mean didn't guard the mess hall and kitchens, there'd be a riot of gluttony every day, and Dungeon Wheels would turn to famine and infighting in weeks, as the stores ran dry. Doogie thought himself the most important cog in the machine. It would take a small army of beasties to push him aside when he'd tightened his rock muscles. He did just that, slid open the window and blurted a squeaky groan that meant something like password. A sliver of his assuredness wavered when it seemed a small army was flying, not running, his way.
Several snargs crashed into the door, rocking its hinges, but whatever barred it held fast. Mokito followed like a javelin, her sandal meeting the door just as a lucky snout slid down the wood, and the door sagged inward, exploding violently in showers of wood. Mokito rode it to the floor and springboarded off, spinning into the mess in a crazy midair somersault, sending stacks of filthy dishes and chewed up scraps flying. She vaulted off a mountain of rotted apples and swung up into the dark rafters, as a dozen dozen hateful dungeon monsters collided amid the tables. Plague slipped from the sword.
Be well, said Mokito to plague. My father considers you a brother. I can't say what his business with the tower is, so tread how you will.
Farewell, Mokito. Remember you're as much Wastrel as your father’s daughter.
Plague skipped down and into the kitchens. Two guards spotted him and gave chase, and a madness went up in the tower as the alarms sounded. Mokito left as she came, repelling down the grapple and joined the others.
That's a lot of trouble for a day's work. Sorry, little Fat. Not sure how much medicine we've really done.
Much change came without cutting any folk to ribbons. I think we did well, for what it's worth.
They watched Dungeon Wheels flee over and under the hill and found a nice spot for sandwiches. Fat and Batterint, who at last got into the spirit, planned their next adventure and passed out, their bellies full. Now, night is a paltry little affair in those parts, so imagine the shock of waking up to a terrible dark, the kind which swallows even a campfire as you desperately huddle over the flickers. Fat reached for the medicine sword, to banish the dark, but felt a braided hilt; Mokito stood near but they hardly saw her. The pale fire played awful tricks on her shape. She shushed Fat.
Its that sword.
But a medi-
Mokito tilted her head.
Make it stop, said Fat, eyes wet.
Ok. Hey!
Fat rolled up to the sword and hugged it to his chest. We did well, fer what its worth! Really, a sword must get bored with cutting all the time.
Yes, but she also despairs at the thought of going dull.
Mokito reached for the sword, but Fat held it back gently.
Even swords must choose their way, said Battertink, feeling clearer of mind. Let her go with Mokito now. No one can know her will better.
Lord cried, his rosy cheeks wet with tears, but tried looking brave as he handed over the sword.
Isn't this a good life, to live till you don't?
Mokito smiled. Her fury set the sky bleeding, but her smile lit the dark and raised one's heart.
She likes you. But she is the ocean. You are land.
He said his goodbyes. He hugged Kiriha, though she could say nothing.
Over the hills, a sparrow fell, screaming, said Battertint as Mokito shrank in the distance and Little Lord Fat waved them off wit his kerchief.
Mokito went many miles.
A woman could do much with a thing like you. I could rule the world with a little sword like you, and it would become a strange place. I could break the chains of the sun.
She smelled the blade.
Oh I see. Once people knew I had you, that would be all my life was about, and we can't have that. I do fine alone. I think I'm not your type?
She smiled.
What I'll do is attach a couple lanterns to you. I think the eastern fronts will take you far from here, and who knows?
Kiriha drifted on warm currents, till that land was beyond mountains and trees and the sunset.
Two fellows wearing big bucket hats trolled along, Scraggle with hands in pockets, Banjo strumming his namesake lazily, the same chord over and over. They were on the run again, or rather, the walk.
Ain't that the Master's sword up inna tree? asked Banjo.
Queer sight, innit? Scraggle climbed up, tossed the sword down and hopped after it. Boy'll be worried sick. Maybe he got work for us.
Yuh. Star crossed lovers. Les call on the Master an see if he’s still game.
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rubysharkruby · 3 years
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Lieutenant Edward “little” Little
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peachesandmilktea · 2 years
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Dabi x reader in squid game where Dabi is a masked guy and reader is a player 👀
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Squid Game AU - Masked Guy!Dabi x Player!Reader
Squid Game AU Masterlist
TW: Slight spoilers for the nature of the 5th game, Mentions of Murder and Violence (in the context of the games), Smut.
If the masked guys are all the same, there's one you can't help but recognize, simply because he's always there, watching.
If the masked guys are all the same, there's one you always recognize.
He's one of the more powerful ones. You know that because it's not a circle or a triangle adorning his face, but a square, and you sometimes hear him barking orders to others, nameless workers wearing different shapes that put them below him by the rule of their weird hierarchy.
Circle, triangle, square.
There are not many occasions for staff and players to meet, and yet he seems to take every opportunity to do so, if only, maybe, to get close to you. When someone dies and he comes into the dorm to assess their passing, he makes sure to walk close enough to you that his gloved fingers brush against yours. Another time, his hand discreetly creeps higher until it rests on your ass and tears a quiet yelp from your lips while the players are given their dinner and you're waiting on the side. You can almost hear an amused scoff escape the confines of his mask then.
But he doesn't have a name, doesn't have a face.
Still, he's always watching, whenever he's around, and you start watching him, too. Wondering what kind of expression he's hiding under the black metal, thinking about the color of his eyes. Brown? Green? You have a feeling they might be blue, but you might be wrong. Who knows, after all?
He kills, and kills, and kills, and yet you simply watch.
You feel less like a nameless player, like a random number in a murder game when his gaze is focused on you. And it's nice, in a way, to know that there is still someone who might remember you even if you lose the game. You wonder if he'd be especially careful when wrapping up your corpse.
The very thought is disgusting, and it keeps you awake at night, horror pooling in your gut, fear coating your throat and making it hard to breathe.
"I need to go to the bathroom," you say one night when you can't bear it anymore, knocking on the tall door leading towards the hallway.
Others have struggled with such a demand before you; you've seen it happen a few times. That lady who had to shout and scream for someone to pay attention to her and allow her the permission to go relieve herself.
But not you.
The door opens less than a second later, and he's there.
Watching.
He leads you towards the bathroom, a few corridors away. You expect him to wait for you outside, but instead, he enters right behind you, closing the door before leaning against it, arms crossed in front of his strong chest.
It's as if his demeanor changes then, and you know he's smirking behind his mask.
Dangerous.
"There are no cameras here, angel," he tells you. You've heard his voice before, but this time it's lower, deeper. It brings shivers running down your spine. "I have to be here to make sure you don't try anything stupid."
He says it as if he wished you'd do exactly that. Something stupid.
And of course, that's what you do.
"Can I see your face?" you ask.
Silence fills the room, and you bite your lower lip.
"Since there are no cameras, I thought..."
He doesn't reply. Instead, his gloved hand rises to his face, taking a hold of his mask. Pulling it off, until it falls to the ground with a clang.
He has the prettiest eyes you've ever seen. And you were right, they're blue. The beautiful blue of the sky in summer, of those blueberry sorbets you like, of cold, merciless ice. Strands of black hair fall gracefully in front of his scarred face, and, as expected, a smirk pulls at his lips as he stares at you.
Eyes hungry, famished, devouring everything in their way.
"Like what you see?" he asks and he blinks, the slightest bit surprised, when you nod.
"I do."
Silence hangs over the room once again, only troubled by the sound of water dripping in one of the stalls, somewhere further in the room. The nameless man watches you again, carefully, and it feels weird to be able to really, truly watch him back.
You can't say that you're not enjoying it.
"Come here," he says, in the same tone he uses in the games. Strict, cold, merciless.
But you're not scared when you walk up to him and he raises gloved palms to your cheeks, cradling your face in the same hands he used to kill, kill, and kill again, right before having his underlings wrap up the corpses in pretty present boxes.
You don't think about the dead when he leans towards you to pull you into a burning kiss.
And you don't think about the blood he spilled when his hand slips under your shirt and rises, brushing against your skin until he starts playing with your breasts through the thick fabric of his gloves.
The action tears a surprised moan from you, and he laughs against your lips, mean, cruel, monster of a man and yet so warm and gentle when his tongue slids inside your mouth to toy with yours. It isn't long before he pulls at the hem of your pants until they're lying on the dirty bathroom floor, and he uses both hands then when placing them under your thighs to carry you towards a sink so that he can play with you at will as you sit there, the perfect height for him to feast on your lips.
You don't even notice him stealing your panties, slipping them in the pocket of his uniform to use them later, when you're not around.
For now, you are around, though, and his takes off one of his gloves using his teeth, slowly, never breaking eye contact with you as he does so, delighting in your expression because you know what's coming next.
"You've been feeling lonely in these dorms, haven't you, baby?" he asks, ever so condescending. "Tell me what you need, and I might just give it to you. Anything for our dear players, after all."
You might be a player but he's the one playing with you as his fingers hover over your clit, never touching it, waiting for you to give in.
And you do, you do, you do.
"Please, touch me, S-sir..."
You don't know his name but the title has him go feral and he attacks you, cruel and merciless in the way he makes you come undone under his touch, leaving a trail of kisses along your throat as you cry in pleasure, tears rolling down your cheeks and mind too blurry to mutter anything but please.
"Want you, want your cock, Sir, please, please..."
Maybe it's the despair, maybe it's the loneliness at this point, and you know you shouldn't crave for the very person who murdered every single friend you made in this god-forsaken place, for the very person who wouldn't hesitate to raise a gun to your forehead and shoot, but yet you do, and it's as excruciating as it feels exquisite.
He unzips his red outfit, revealing his strong, scarred chest right beneath, and the fabric falls over his hips until he pulls it down just a bit lower along with his underwear to free his aching cock. It stands proud against his stomach, little pearl of precum on top faintly gleaming in the weak lights of the bathroom, but you don't get to stare for long.
A second later, the tip brushes against your folds, and inside it goes.
It feels huge between your walls, and the man laughs when it tears a muffled scream from your lips. His hand rises to your forehead and he pushes away a strand that stuck to the clammy skin there, his gesture almost kind, gentle.
"I'm going to take real good care of you, number 022," he says, softly kissing the shape of your jaw.
And he does.
His rough strokes inside you have you come undone around him twice more before he paints your walls white, cumming with a low, deep groan that you wouldn't have expected from the cold leader of the Squid Game's Masked Staff.
Later, when you put your sweats back on (without your panties - you can't find them anywhere), he stares at you again, his gaze on you now a familiar feeling that you've come to yearn for.
"Tomorrow's game," he says. "Glass panels. Left, left, right, left, right, right and left again."
You freeze, eyes darting all around the room, searching for cameras, mikes, anything.
"Y-you can't do that. The last people who helped a player got executed."
He laughs, as if the very thought was ridiculous, but he still ruffles your hair, amused like a pet owner laughing at a cute mistake their kitten just made.
"Good that I'm not like the others then, Angel, and you're too pretty to kill. Think of it as another debt, alright? I'll claim it once you win and..."
He leans towards you, menacing, until his breath tickles the skin of your throat as he whispers in your ear.
"It's not money you'll need to pay me back."
-------
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