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hyuckswoman · 3 days

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mark being jealous

« Remind me where you’re going again? » your boyfriend says. you were trying your best to contain your irritation as you probably told him like fifteen times already.

« Mark, you know where I’m going, why do you keep asking me? » you answer getting up from the couch where you guys were sitting watching a movie as you needed to get ready

« just to make sure that you were really going to your high school reunion where the guy you spent your whole high school years being in love with is also there, only handsomer and richer and also just really into you. » your boyfriend says as you sigh.

Yes, your unrequited high school crush was going to be there, yes, he had a glow up, yes he asked you out not long ago so he is into you. But all of that did not matter, you were sure Mark was the absolute love of your life. It frustrated you that he did not understand that whether your old crush was there or not did not matter. you were only going there in hopes to rekindle friendships that you’re grown out of during the past few years

« look, instead of spending your whole evening overthinking what I could possibly be doing there just come with me? I’ve already offered you to come, hell mark I want you to come! I don’t understand why you refuse to tag along but complain about god knows what I might be doing with some random guy I haven’t thought of in years » you say. you probably asked him ten times already over the past two days if he wanted to come but he kept on saying no for some reason

« I don’t wanna be the only guy not from your high school there, I don’t want to feel like the odd one out. » your boyfriend says, is that why he didn’t want to come??

« Mark, literally everybody that’s in a relationship is bringing their partner, which I thought I’d do too because I also want to show you off, like yea that’s my man not yours stay mad you know? » you reply as you hear your boyfriend sigh out of relief « no go get ready I don’t want to be late, I’ll tell you all you need to know about everyone on the way. » you say as mark heads upstairs to get ready whilst cheering because you guys were going to be gossiping

« oh my god y/nnnnnn it’s been a while how are you?? you look so good oh my god definitely had a glow up there » of course. it was typical of meghan (don’t ask just coming up with random names) to give you passive aggressive comments like those, you quickly look at your boyfriend who just gives you a weird look in return « meghan, yea it’s been a while are you still with that one boyfriend of yours or was he also not the one? » you ask. good thing you had grown a backbone throughout the years. it was kind of funny seeing the confusion leave your boyfriend’s face after you said her name, you had mentioned meghan during the debrief and how she wasn’t always the nicest.

« hi y/n, hi Mark it’s great to see you guys, y/n you look as good as I had remembered, Mark I like your shoes. » your old crush, jack (again, random names sorry) says

« oh thanks, Mark helped me get ready that’s why I look extra good, it’s cause he made this outfit with love. » you say in a lighthearted tone. you wanted jack to understand his place as well as give Mark reassurance but you wanted to do that without animosity. I mean you guys just got there.

as you were getting up to refill your cup you looked at Mark smiling at how he was getting along with some people you only recall positive memories of. it was nice seeing your boyfriend mix with the people that represent your childhood. it makes it feel like he’s always been there, and it’s always been Mark and you against the world.

« you look happy » you hear a voice say, as you turn around you see jack (you presumed he also went to refill his cup)

« M am. so much » you reply smiling to yourself knowing damn well that the man who’s currently chatting with your past is the reason for this happiness

« I’m sorry by the way, if I made you feel uneasy, I swear that when I asked you out I didn’t know you were in a relationship. Had I known, I would’ve never asked, I’m not like that you know » he says, you can see him fidgeting awaiting your response

« Honestly it’s no biggie, when I turned you down you were really respectful about it, there’s nothing to blame your behaviour was impeccable, I mean it » you say as you hear him sigh out of relief

« what do you want to drink? I assume you were heading here to fill your cup « he says reaching his hand out for you to give him your cup

« honestly, whatever you’re drinking is fine » you say as you’re handing out your cup

« what have you been to? we haven’t talked in ages » you say trying to make conversation (plus you were genuinely curious as to what he’s been up to)

« I went to law school and graduated early so I’m actually a full-time lawyer at Kirkland & Ellis, it’s been… stressful but fun so far » he answers

« holy shit Kirkland & Ellis?? did you graduate from Harvard?? how the fuck did you get in such a big firm » you ask, this was no small achievement

« Stanford, actually yea I couldn’t believe it either when I got the acceptance letter » he says, you could see him get shy at the praises you were throwing at him

« woah Stanford okay my bad.. righttt I remember now you graduated high school early, oh my god remember when ryan got so mad at you because his girlfriend was really into you so he poured dirty mop water all over you?? that was crazy » you say laughing. you still remember it as if it happened yesterday, it was THE drama of the whole year, people were gossiping non-stop

« dude don’t remind me I had to ride the bus and I stank so bad.. the smell was foul and when I came home my mom yelled at me so much I wanted to die of embarrassment » he says as you guys are both laughing slowly heading back to the group of people (and your man, of course)

You were all smiles and giggles being happy that the situation with jack was sorted out, and you were excited to reassure Mark that he had nothing to worry about because jack was a good man who won’t ever cross your boundaries. That excitement was cut short when you sat back down next to Mark who seemed… off? he wasn’t smiling. And honestly, it looked as if he was pissed but he couldn’t be because there was no reason to…right?

« Mark, jack graduated from Stanford can you believe it?? he even works at like the biggest law firm ever, isn’t it cool? » you say hoping to ease the tension

« yea. that’s cool. congrats » Mark says as jack looks at you and you look back apologetically, why was he acting like that?

« Hey, is something wrong? Did I piss you off or something» you whisper in your boyfriend’s ear

« no. we’re fine. I’m fine » Mark says not even looking at you. Oh. You definitely pissed him off. you decided to sit back and shut up, you didn’t want to piss him off more. what the fuck did you do to piss him off in the first place though?

A couple of hours later, you decided it was time to leave, even though you were having fun Mark wasn’t and you didn’t want him to stay like this. you also hoped you could talk to him if you guys were alone because you still couldn’t figure out why he had been acting so cold with you. if you were completely honest it hurt your feelings and also kind of humiliated you having your boyfriend act like this in front of so many people (that you hadn’t seen in a long time too) when you were gushing about him the whole evening

You guys were on the highway when you decided to break the silence « Alright Mark, what’s up with you? What did I do » you ask facing him

« I don’t know why don’t you ask jack? » your boyfriend says

« huh? What is that supposed to mean? » you say

« I don’t know, I think I might be referring to you laughing your ass off with him in the kitchen or to his fingers lingering on yours for too long as you were handing your cup or even to the ‘Mark jack is so much smarter and richer and he’s so impressive woah’ but I might not be referring to that at all too, who knows man, maybe jack? »

« first of all, don’t talk to me as if I’m stupid. Second of all, just so you know we were talking about how happy you make me and he apologized for asking me out when I’m in a relationship. but you obviously couldn’t know because you preferred to act like a dick towards me basically showing everyone how unhappy you were to not only be here but be with me, but yea you’re right maybe I’ll ask jack » you say turning your back to him facing the window.

you couldn’t believe him. Sure, he was allowed to feel jealous but acting like an ass even though you’ve done nothing to anger him? you were upset at how he treated you

« fuck, you should’ve told me earlier now jack is going to think I’m the biggest asshole ever, I went up to him before he left and basically told him to fuck off » you hear your boyfriend say. Man, he was worried about jack right now??? no fucking way

« right because it makes so much sense to be worried about what a man, that you won’t ever see again by the way, might think of you. » you say hoping the sarcasm is enough to make him realize how stupidly he’s acting right now

« I’m sorry » he answers to which you only reply ok, he was pissing you off

as you guys were coming in the house, Mark decided to break the silence again « I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to project whatever I was feeling onto you » he says

« I understand Mark. The issue doesn’t lie in the fact that you were jealous it’s because of the tone you take whenever you explain to me whatever I did to piss you off. I’m not a child, I’m also not stupid. We’re both grown adults and you have to respect me a little more because hearing your condescending tone pisses me off. I really don’t care if you’re jealous, that’s a boundary I’ll have to respect in the future because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but our relationship will only work if you put in efforts as well. except of course, if you don’t want it to work » you say.

During the rest of the car trip you had calmed down. you thought about the whole thing and decided to just explain your feelings because even though it kinda was a recurring argument, you reminded yourself that despite how perfect he is, Mark is a man, and he forgets.

« I know and I’m sorry. I know I say this every time but I really mean it, I promise I’ll work on my issues with jealousy because man, it gets so bad, like tonight, you weren’t doing anything and I got pissed. so I’m sorry. And I’ll watch my tone. I know I have an issue with communicating my feelings when I’m mad and so I use that tone for it to hurt less but you don’t deserve this. And it’s a personal issue I need to fix instead of putting it onto you. I’m really sorry. I understand if you want me to sleep on the couch for tonight » you boyfriend says apologetically.

You had planned to stay mad at him for like an extra two hours but how could you with this?? It was kind of annoying how he could persuade you so easily. You basically didn’t have any choice but to forgive him right now. It sucked to be in a relationship with a good man.

« Mark I forgive you, it’s really no big deal just watch your tone. Also don’t think I’ll forget tho, when this happens again I’ll beat you up » you say warning him. Yes, you were forgiving him this time but you meant it when you’ll say you’ll beat him up if it happens again, because, it’s kinda crazy the audacity this man has.

« it won’t happen again though, I swear I’ll really work on myself. Soooooo… no couch for me tonight? » your boyfriend asks you while coming closer

« no couch for you tonight. » you answer whilst being engulfed in a hug coming from said man.

Maybe forgiving him was extra easy because you like him so much. Either way, it felt good to be okay with the love of your life.

#mark x y/n #mark lee drabbles #mark x you #mark angst #mark x reader #mark fluff #mark imagines #mark lee #nct mark #nct

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cb97percent · 2 days

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「Screw It」 · Chapter 1

HIS NAIL POLISH ➥ He's the only guy at a frat party that's hauled ass before scoring, and it makes you all kinds of sus.

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

➥ Installment of The Red Lights Chronicles

⚠ — (Cyber)bullying upon dissolved friendship (see masterlist for more)

And that’s a wrap! Thank you for joining me throughout this series. I’m very grateful for the epic support you’ve shown these past few months. Stay tuned for the next one! Love you! xxx — 🌶️ Oni

Then you scheduled the post to be shared at 6 p.m.

Here’s the thing: Nobody really wants to lead a double life, but you had no choice because your freshman year of college had taught you an invaluable lesson.

Trust no bitch.

On the move-in day, you stood in front of your dorm room door, hands clammy as shit, anticipating what kind of a person was waiting for you inside. According to every coming-of-age movie you ever watched, this was supposed to be your best friend forever. You pushed the door open with your heart beating in your throat, and there she was.

Gorgeous girl, stereotypically blonde (because you’d seen Mean Girls), fashion sense and makeup game on point, former cheer captain hell-bent on joining the campus sorority for some reason.

“Hi, I’m Tanya!”

You were mad at yourself for internally assuming things about her that first moment because she turned out to be one of the nicest people you ever met.

Your first couple of months as roommates were indeed disgustingly reminiscent of those cheesy movies but in a good way. You would tutor her for the Econ class. She would insist on trying some makeup looks on you and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You would stay up all night to confide in each other.

Cute, right?

During one of those nights, Tanya bashfully admitted to you that she wanted to marry her high school boyfriend because ‘Oh my god, he’s so dreamy and protective and respects me so much, you know?’

“Did you guys… do it?” you finally asked her, and immediate mutual shrieking followed the question.

“Well, not technically,” she responded, trying to suppress her grin, “I mean, we did pretty much everything else but that. We’re going to wait till we get married.”

As much as you wanted to believe in the purity of the pact, a small part of you wished good luck with the delusions. It kinda beat the purpose when you were already doing other things, no? So ‘having sex’ was about a penetrative act only?

Nevertheless, it was none of your business. Wishing the best for Tanya and her prince charming, you kept your mouth shut.

“Well? Did you?” she nudged you right after with a knowing smile.

“Did I what?”

“Swipe your V-card?”

“Uh… Yeah.”

“Oh my GOD!” she clutched her metaphorical pearls while banging on the mattress, “How come I don’t know you have a boyfriend? Who is it?!”

“That’s because I don’t,” you explained with a smile you managed to pass as natural, “It was some dude at the Sigma Kappa mixer some weeks ago.”

“Oh,” her face suddenly fell, and she caressed your hand with her thumb, “I’m so sorry, honey.”

Ever found yourself in one of those interactions that was loaded with assumptions?

Exactly.

You could see pity in her eyes as if you were talking about the love of your life ditching you right after popping your cherry. You burst out laughing to disperse the mood that became abruptly solemn.

“Why? I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“Oh, sorry, I meant… I’m not judging of course, but… It was… Some nobody.”

Fucking god, what would that even sound like if she was indeed judging? Good for you for keeping your mouth shut, huh?

“I don’t load that much meaning into things like this,” you smiled and reached for your laptop, “Don’t worry about it.”

The only thing heard in that smothering awkward silence was the sound of your fingers hitting the keyboard a tinge aggressively. She was apologetic for sure, desperately trying to find something to change the topic.

“You spend an awful lot of time in front of your computer with your Docs open,” she squinted her eyes mischievously, “What’s up with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, tell me!” she basically tackled you in your bed.

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I said no.”

“Tell me.”

“Tanya—”

“TELL ME!”

“OKAY, JUST— I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Well, doing it was one thing. Up until that moment, you never thought this could have been a matter of embarrassment. If anything, you thought you were proud of it.

But how to actually verbalize this to your best friend, though?

She was looking at you expectantly, waiting for the answer on the tip of your tongue. You took a deep breath and finally got it off your chest while playing with your blanket.

“I uh… I may be… on occasion… writing… steamy stories… here and there.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” her eyes became gigantic in excitement, “Can I please please please read one?”

“Tanya…”

“PLEAAASE?”

The begging immediately turned into a tickle fight you were losing. The only people you were sharing these with were strangers on the internet, and it was only possible because you didn’t know these people. There was no chance of you running into them in the dormitory hallway or anything and getting mortified out of your mind.

But it was your best friend in question.

“Oh my god, FINE!” you eventually caved and handed her your laptop, “But this is strictly between us, okay?”

She enthusiastically nodded and dove in headfirst into the webpage you had open in front of her. This was the first time you were revealing that state secret of yours, and not only that, you were actively watching someone react to it in real time.

Oh, the nerves. The nerves were so real as if some Harlequin editor was reading this, and you were almost scared to look in her direction.

But contrary to your drastic expectations, she was squealing and kicking her feet.

“Does that mean… you like it?”

“I know this is just words but, excuse my French, I’m so wet right now.”

You chortled at her choice of words, and a cozy feeling of relief spread throughout your chest.

“Thank you, T,” you hugged your pillow tighter, “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

She looked at you with an endeared smile on her face. What better source of motivation than having the stamp of approval of your best friend after all, right?

Until one day…

“I’ll be right out, babe. You guys hang out for a little bit, okay?”

Tanya invited the infamous waiting-until-marriage boyfriend to your room as she finished getting ready, and just one look at him was enough for you to go ‘I don’t approve’. Asher. Douche general, my-father-is-a-lawyer-sounding-ass name, but you were nothing but cordial to him. The second Tanya disappeared into the bathroom, however, his fangs came out.

“Damn, T didn’t tell me she was rooming with a total babe.”

“I don’t think you’re being very respectful here, my guy,” you shot him an extremely annoyed ‘Excuse you?’ look, “Neither to me nor to your girlfriend.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just harmless flirting,” he flashed a shit-eating grin, “Just take the compliment.”

He had admitted he was flirting with you with his whole chest just like that. Was Tanya aware of what kind of a dick this guy was? Or was love really that blind?

“Have a good rest of your life,” you saluted him with two of your fingers on your forehead, “See you never.”

You went about your day as if this uncomfortable exchange never happened and you were surely going to forget all about it when you were shitfaced at a party later that very night. But when shit started going sideways, it had a way of mutating into a perpendicular angle, then going straight south.

“Hey, you!”

You were looking at the view in front of you to make the absolute best sense of it, but it was nothing more than a Picasso painting.

Asher was surrounded by a bunch of girls, his arm wrapped around the one on his left as she was caressing his thighs. He wasn’t fazed the tiniest bit noticing you there and didn’t even attempt to fix his posture.

“Where’s Tanya?” you asked him maliciously.

“Her room probably,” he shrugged, “This is not really her scene.”

Not her scene? Had he fucking asked her perhaps?

“Does she know you’re here?” you continued with your interrogation.

“Stop being a buzzkill, will you?” he stood up and walked away into the darkness with the thigh-caresser. Like there was absolutely nothing going on to make a fuss about.

The dilemma. Oh, the dilemma of it all. Were you going to tell your best friend in the whole wide world about this, or were you going to stay out of it? The socially awkward part of you wanted to shut the fuck up, but the ride-or-die friend part of you…

That part of you was what caused the roof to collapse right on top of your head.

“Listen, T, I gotta tell you something.”

“What’s up, love?”

Then you reported everything you saw that night and waited for her response, but she was eerily silent with vacant eyes. Of course she would be. You could only imagine what kind of a shock this must have been. Not only getting cheated on by your high school sweetheart, but in such a nonchalant manner at that…

“Are you okay, sweetie?” you held her hands in yours.

You were waiting for her to break down crying any second now, but instead, Tanya gave you a blizzard look and finally opened her mouth.

“I understand you’ve been single for a long time, but this doesn’t suit you,” she pulled her hands away, “I thought we were friends.”

“What–What’s that supposed to mean?” you furrowed your brows in confusion, “You think I’m lying?”

“Please. Be graceful.”

What?

Nothing you said after that moment mattered. Your relationship with Tanya immediately went sour. She didn’t talk to you, nor did she want to listen to your attempts to fix things.

Not once.

“T, this is getting fucking ridiculous. Why are you staying away from me?”

“Because you still haven’t done the one thing I’ve been expecting.”

“Please,” you got on your knees in front of her and squeezed her hands, “Tell me.”

“Are you ready to apologize?”

She could have asked for anything. Anything, really. ‘Bring me the Holy Grail.’ ‘Part the campus lake in half.’

But apologize?

“For what?” you asked her, genuinely hoping for a legitimate reason behind it that just didn’t occur to you, “I didn’t do anything to apologize for.”

“For spreading lies about my boyfriend, why else?” she derisively snorted.

You were simply exasperated at this point.

“What LIES?! I was there and I told you what I’ve seen!”

“Okay. I’ll take it as a no,” she stood up and left the room to god knows where.

But it didn’t stop there.

You weren’t necessarily a social butterfly. You had even jokingly said that your dorm was under a rock here and there, but if something reached you, it meant the good majority of the campus already knew about it.

“I heard she fucked half the Sigma Kappa guys.”

What else could you be besides being bewildered?

Even if that was true, so what? Everybody was entitled to do as they pleased, and so were you. Yet the reasoning wasn’t enough to stop the mutating whispers about you.

“She’s a frigid snob.”

“What a pretentious bitch.”

“Nerd. She can’t get any so she writes about it.”

“She writes about it because she’s a slut. Loose pants…”

Ignoring people in real life was actually easier. You could put on headphones and go about your day with zero obligation to hear what was being talked about around you.

You wished from the bottom of your heart that the same was true online.

You started getting anonymous hate messages in your blog inbox all of a sudden, the content of which was way too intimate to be some stranger on the internet. You knew exactly who this was telling you how much you sucked, how horrible your writing was, what a miserable person you were, and telling you to do unspeakable things to make yourself disappear. In the one space you considered safe and sacred.

What was supposed to be your happy place.

One afternoon, you reached your absolute limit and barged into her side of the room.

“Why are you doing this?” you barely managed to utter through your sobs, “What did I ever do to you?”

Tanya looked at you with eyes completely devoid of sympathy and dipped her brush in the maroon nail polish as dark as her soul.

“Sucks when the one thing that makes you happy gets ruined, doesn’t it?” she kept painting her nails as if all was fine and well with the universe, “Now you know how it feels.”

You felt something irreversibly crack within your soul.

In a momentary lapse of sanity, you opened your laptop, deactivated everything, and stormed out to ask for a room change just to headbutt some dude that just happened to walk past your door.

“Watch it, fucker!” you yelled at the faceless guy with black nail polish for no reason at all.

You could give a rat’s ass about clichés, really.

In the fall of your sophomore year, you clad yourself in a leather jacket, black jeans, imma-stomp-on-your-life combat boots, said ‘How about no?’ to human interaction and swore to keep to yourself.

But the feeling of unfairness was eating you alive.

You had two options: You could either get as low as one bitch, OR…

You could lean into it and confuse the fuck out of people.

From this point on, it wasn’t on you if some mindless fool didn’t double-check the facts. They could continue living their lives feeling like absolute idiots for believing in caricature-level outrageous rumors because…

Well…

“Is it true you’re moonlighting as a stripper?”

“Yes.”

“You could get expelled for that!”

Seriously. Whose fault was this at this point? You didn’t even know whether to laugh at it or give the extremely gullible person in front of you a big hug.

“Why don’t you invite the disciplinary committee to the club on Saturday? My treat.”

As soon as you talked back, however, the colors would change. People did not like realizing they were in the wrong.

“No need for bitching. You could have just said no.”

“And you could have just not been a cunt, but here we are,” you would rightfully retort, “Instead of complaining about my manners, think about how normal it is to walk up to people and ask if they are stripping like you’re asking the time.”

Disappointment tended to bring on the blues, and everybody needed something to deal with it. You didn’t feel like writing at all anymore because of the memories it brought back, so you figured you could entrust your tumultuous feelings to lines instead. Like a little form of therapy. Just rough sketches of silhouettes. Maybe random hand gestures. Close-up body parts…

Then one day you decided to color one. Then shade one. Then you added a couple of panels. Then wrote dialogues. It became two pages. Three pages.

Before you knew it, they were full-fledged stories. And it was in your junior year that you decided to give it another shot.

People find their tribes in a lot of places. You finally found yours, too.

People who never once saw you and didn’t even know who you were ended up being the kindest human beings to ever exist. Instead of calling you a slut, they chose to call you an artist. They called themselves your fans. And they enjoyed your creations and showed their support in various shapes and forms, your absolute favorite being the caps lock yelling.

Maybe everything happened for a reason after all. If it weren’t for your clash with Tanya, you wouldn’t have ended up in this place. It by no means legitimized the horrendous behavior you had to endure, of course, but still…

It made things a bit easier to digest.

By the time you were a senior, things were going pretty much the way you always imagined them to be. There was no way to prevent the rotten apples here and there, but they didn’t spoil the whole bunch for you. You had your beloved mod bassboostedjiscake to repel them, after all.

Meanwhile, your ‘irl’ connections were more focused on feeding your one true passion now. You didn’t make friends; you found yourself research subjects to turn into stories. No chance of disappointment and everybody went home happy.

You scheduled the finale of the latest series you had been running for the past six months to be shared at 6 p.m. It was time to plan for a new story now, and you knew exactly where to go for some inspiration.

At your last Sigma Kappa mixer as an undergraduate.

“There. Right there!”

You didn’t even remember the name of this guy. Maybe you hadn’t even asked; it was a blur. All that mattered was that he was eating your pussy like a rabid animal in some closet you shoved him into, and he was doing a fantastic job at it.

“God, you taste fucking amazing,” he loudly slurped on your clit as you came all over his mouth, “Turn around.”

He slid into you so easily, then went on to absolutely drill you against the wall you were holding onto for dear life, spewing profanities into your ear, and groping your breasts as he spilled inside you with animalistic groans. You bit into that one last kiss you stole from him and exited that claustrophobic space.

Tonight was supposed to be all about vibehunting, huh?

Whoops.

You made your way downstairs and straight to the bar to get a much-needed refreshment from Minho. The second he saw Hyunjin coming into the room behind you, an impressed smile adorned his face.

“You fucking trapped Hwang?”

“Who?”

“The dude in red,” he pointed at him currently being sandwiched by two girls on a couch.

“Oh. Yeah,” you leisurely confirmed, “He gives great head. You can tell your friends. Long Island Iced Tea, please.”

As he proceeded to prepare your drink with an approving look, you grabbed your phone to check your notifications, and it immediately made you beam. Much more brightly than the bombastic sex you just had was supposed to make you.

ONI PSAHSJDFSJDFSJ Where can I order a Jay in real life this man is my JAYSUS

I cried my eyes out in the last scene. My therapist will be sending you the bills.

Anonymous asked: More NSFW art for Corey+Jesse? 👉👈 -🦭

You replied to all of those comments one by one with heartfelt gratitude, then hit Answer on the ask.

You know it 👍 #🦭 anon

Once Minho placed your drink in front of you, you took a huge sip and started watching people and their interactions. For real this time. Everything seemed to be going in its usual flow. Guys rizzing up girls. Girls trying to sell themselves short. Guys dancing with guys. Girls making out with girls.

Then something to your right piqued your interest.

A guy and a girl sitting on a couch alone. You had never seen this girl before, but the dude seemed oddly familiar—you just couldn’t figure out from where for the life of you. All you could focus on was his black nail polish. You slurped on your straw and observed the awkward interaction unfolding before your eyes.

His rizz game was definitely strong. It didn’t even have to be; he was very good looking, but the conversation was stale. She was telling him about some gym she was going to and how her pilates instructor was ‘oh my god, like, throwing her back out’. He was listening like he was interested in it. They were clearly about to make out.

Then all of a sudden…

“OKAY, I’m gonna go.”

It even caught you by surprise, let alone the girl looking at him like a deer in headlights. Since when did anybody under this roof walk away without scoring? That was considered the most cardinal blasphemy.

“Psst, cat dude,” you immediately leaned into the bar top, “I need intelligence about the runaway Samoyed over there.”

Minho looked up and spotted the man making his way towards the exit. Instead of answering, he heaved a very deep sigh.

“This is becoming way too frequent,” he put the glass in his hand on the bar top a bit too harshly, “My price just went up.”

“Again?!”

“You should have thought about that before telling me your aunt was the baking goddess at the mall,” he shrugged, “I want one of those fluffy cheesecakes in addition to my regular six-pack pudding.”

“You’re gonna get fucking diabetes at this rate but fine,” you agreed with impatient eyes, “The dude with the black nail polish. Why did he pronounce that as ‘Aurkay’ just now? Is he an import?”

Instead of being his insufferable self, Minho broke into a huge grin like he was watching a hilarious skit.

“Yes, hot-ass surfer land, but I think you could have concluded that by yourself,” he smugly raised his brows, “What do you really wanna know?”

“He was two seconds away from making out with that girl, but all of a sudden he bounced.”

“Not even slightly in your league,” he almost wheezed, which was quite literally offensive for you.

“You’re saying I can’t bed him?”

“No, woman. The guy’s terminally single.”

That was simply bullshit. If you looked like that, there wouldn’t be a single person you laid your eyes on and didn’t fuck. Minho must have been fucking with you for some reason you weren’t able to decode.

“That’s one hot piece of ass. He could get anybody he wants in this room,” you downed your glass and slammed it in front of him for a refill, “How come he’s not hitting that every fucking Tuesday?”

“Technically I’m not allowed to talk about it, but I’ll let you have a guess,” he manifested a pinkish orange liquid out of thin air and placed it in front of you. You almost spit it out the second it touched your tongue.

“The fuck, man, this doesn’t have any alcohol in it!”

“Didn’t you ask for a virgin cocktail?”

“No?!”

He raised his brows at you knowingly, waiting for it to finally dawn on you. After five seconds of processing time, you smiled to yourself.

“Oh, is that so?”

«TO BE CONTINUED»

AUTHOR'S NOTE

We have been talking about The Red Lights Chronicles with @straywrds forever. And I mean forever. We have discussed it in gazillion different formats — drabbles, one shots, interactives, swaps... but at the very end, things have a way of shaping themselves. What fundamentally mattered was that this was supposed to be an emotive collaboration with my favorite writer. Writing in a way that excited us, about things we were inspired by, yearning for, things that hurt us very deeply so that we could maybe heal a little. For ourselves in the first place. Everything else was noise.

At least it was supposed to be.

Some decisions I've made inadvertently affected her as well, and a part of me always sizzled because of that. I tend to take some things as signs from [insert source of power], and I'd like to believe the one I received for this was apt.

Today, I'm here with the very first shade of my Chronicles palette, a passion project long time in the making. Without paying any mind to the noise. It makes me happy just to put it out there.

Here's a story I've written. Enjoy!

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

#bang chan smut #bang chan scenarios #bang chan imagines #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #skz smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you

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neverevan · 2 days

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bucks soot covered face coming out has three possibilities:

1. they were kissing for so long buck almost forgot why they were there, so when he realized he just turned around, grabbed tommy’s hand and ran to the room. so tommy didn’t see it to comment on it.

2. tommy pointed it out and buck went “what a hilarious way to come out, mark me up more my beast of a man”

3. like you said, they tried to wipe it, it just made it worse (since it’s covering like half of bucks face, how would a heavy kiss do that?) and buck just went fuck it, this is how i come out i guess.

but tommy seeing it and not saying anything is so unlikely cause we’ve been shown, he’s hella considerate towards buck. he’s very sweet, wanting to take it slow, not pressure him, etc, etc. people do be reaching to make my man (tommy) toxic, wild.

tbh I think he might've rubbed his face into Tommy's like a cat and that's why it looks so messy lmao

but yeah, no chance in hell that Tommy saw and said nothing. the closest scenario I can imagine is him trying to say something, but Buck being the eager puppy that he is just tugging him along because he "already kept him too long" and not letting Tommy get a word in edgewise lmao

but yeah people don't even need an excuse to hate Tommy, they just make shit up when... the thing is, you can just not like the character and leave it at that, you know?

you don't have to come up with outlandish theories and spend time to post about a character/ship you don't like, you can just mute the tag, shut up about it and let other people have fun. of course that'd require people to not be miserable cunts and well... this is still tumblr dot com, after all.

welp, at least it's not twitter, I guess.

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #911 #911 abc #ask #anon #my stuff

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 2 days

Note

🎉 Congrats on the 1k followers! 🎉

For a possible fic promt:

D, 🎸, 🤣🥵, 🎀

Thank you so much, here's some horny crack for you! 🥰🥳

A little tied up

Rated: E

Words: 995

Tags: Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Established relationship; Awkward sexual situations; Idiots in love; Very slight knife kink

Eddie thought he knew what pain was.

Being chomped on by a flock of feral demon bats while fully conscious is an experience he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. And trust him, he has a lot of enemies, what with half the town still convinced he’s a devil-worshiping, cheerleader-murdering psychopath.

Eddie also thought he knew humiliation.

Hell, he needed help peeing in those first few weeks in the hospital. His dick has been touched by more people than he is comfortable admitting - and isn’t that something for a chronically bitchless, triple-senior D&D nerd?

Point is, if anyone had asked before today, Eddie would’ve boldly claimed there was nothing in the pain and humiliation department strong enough to make him even bat an eyelash.

Turns out he was wrong.

“Fuuuck,” he whines, hands white-knuckling the bedsheets. His head, heavy from craning his neck, thuds back into the pillow. “What the hell is taking so long? Take it off, take it off, take it-”

“I’m trying, okay?” Steve snaps. He has stopped laughing, which … okay, Eddie appreciates he’s taking this seriously, but he absolutely does not like that brow furrow. That's Steve Harrington's trademark ‘we're royally fucked but I'm gonna keep it together to not freak anyone out’ brow furrow. “The damn knot won't come loose.”

He tugs at said knot as if to demonstrate, and Eddie almost jerks off the bed as a jolt of pain zaps from the base of his cock all the way up his spine.

“Jesus fuck, be careful!” he barks, but Steve stays unimpressed.

“Hold still,” he scolds, voice deep and stern. One large hand grips Eddie’s knee and pushes his thighs further apart. It's very close to how Eddie envisioned this going, and his cock gives a treacherous little twitch. “Don't know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“I told you,” Eddie hisses through another bout of pain. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.”

Steve gives him a look.

“So you put a bow around your dick.”

Eddie can practically feel himself blushing, but he’s okay with that. Any blood that’s not in his tortured dick is good blood.

Steve is still staring at him like he’s wondering if the bat rabies did fuck with his head after all. Eddie slaps his hands in front of his face and groans.

“I thought it would be fun,” he whines.

It was fun, at first. Steve’s dumb, surprised face when he entered the bedroom to find Eddie clad in nothing but the ribbon adorning his cock in a snug little bow. The way Steve’s pupils blew wide and fuzzy, the punched-out little growl as he crashed their lips together. The way he all but threw Eddie down onto the bed, smothering him with his own body, cock already hard and straining against the confines of his jeans.

It was fun, and fantastic, and so, so, very hot.

Until it wasn’t.

Because, see, Eddie is a moron. A moron who didn’t account for the fact that the male sexual organ tends to swell when aroused, turning a ribbon that sat nice and snug two minutes ago into a hellish torture device - shiny satin clenching like a vice around his sensitive base. He can feel his heartbeat throb in his tip. He thinks there’s some pubes caught under the knot. Jesus.

When he peers out from between his fingers, Steve is still looking at him with that exasperated expression.

“Okay,” Eddie relents. “I admit it wasn’t my best plan. Now … Any ideas on how to get us out of this mess?”

“Us?” The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch. “I’m not the one who’s strangulating their own dick, dude.”

Eddie groans. “Stevie, please! I’m scared it’ll fall off if we wait any longer, I’m not even kidding. You don’t want my dick to fall off, do you?”

Steve actually has the decency to look mildly panicked.

“No! No, of course not. I just dunno what to-”

He trails off and pinches his nose, lips moving in silent thought. Then, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like fuck this and jumps off the bed. Eddie gawks at him as he starts rummaging through his clothes.

“What are you-” he starts to say, but then the light catches on the item Steve has just pulled from his pocket, and the words wheeze to a stop.

Steve flicks open his pocket knife, kneeling back on the bed. His face is stony with determination.

“It's no use,” he says. “I'm gonna cut it off.”

“The fuck?” Eddie squawks, skittering backwards on his ass until the headboard stops him. “You're not cutting off my dick!”

Steve stares at him.

Eddie stares back.

“Oooh,” he breathes. “You mean the bow.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “No shit, genius,” he teases, but his voice is fond. “Why would I cut off your dick? I still need it. Now stop squirming.”

It's weirdly thrilling, the cold bite of the blade sliding between his skin and the ribbon. Eddie swallows past the bundle of nerves in his throat and forces himself to stay very still.

There's a tug, and a sharp flash of pain as the ribbon pulls taut, and then-

“Gotcha,” Steve cheers, dangling the ribbon in the air like some kind of prize.

Eddie sags back into the sheets. “Fuck, finally.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, chucking the bow and the knife aside so that he can bracket Eddie with his arms and lean in for a kiss. “What do we learn from this? No more ribbons.”

One of his hands slips between them, starting to pump Eddie’s still sensitive cock with gentle pressure.

“No more ribbons,” Eddie agrees around a moan. “But we may have to talk about the knife again.”

And if Steve’s grip gets a little more harsh at that, his kisses a little more hungry? Well, it looks like they'll have some fun after all.

More celebration ficlets

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #hype's 1k follower ficlets

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scoonsaliciousupdates · 2 days

Text

3.2 Major

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex, Bucky's past, people judging Bucky based on said past.

Word Count: 1.2k

Previously On...: Lily and Bucky went out to brunch, and she made her feelings about you known.

A/N: Eh, another part. Why not?

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

You dragged yourself into the WarZone’s flagship storefront in Midtown a few hours later than normal for a Saturday, but you’d wanted to get a couple of extra hours of sleep after Bucky had left this morning. You honestly couldn’t believe you had been up all night having mind blowing sex with a man you had just met.

Your first thought upon waking up that morning was that he had left in the early pre-dawn hours, but those fears were cast aside as soon as you registered the weight of his arm around your midsection, tucking you against him. Then, you were hit with the concern that he was going to think you were just an easy lay and decide he never wanted to see you again, but to your immense surprise, he’d asked you to have dinner with him that same night. You’d have to be a fucking idiot to have said no.

“Uh oh, someone’s tardy,” said your office assistant, Zadie, as you finally made your way into work. “You’re lucky the boss isn’t here to see you show up late, Major.” She grinned at you, and you stuck your tongue out at her. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Zade,” you said, picking up the pile of mail that had been placed on your desk and beginning to sort through it. “Good thing the boss and I are tight; I think she’ll let it slide.”

“Oh, look who decided to finally show up,” came the voice of the location’s manager, Rand, as he came out of one of the rage rooms. He turned to Zadie. “Either you or I had the audacity to come in three hours late, we wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend and longtime employee. “Yeah, well, come back at me when it’s your name signing the paychecks, okay, Rand?”

“Relax,” he said, “we’re just giving you shit for the fun of it. So what’s the deal? You have a hot date last night or something?”

“I thought you said you were going out to get drinks with Natasha?” Zadie asked.

You slid down into your desk chair, wiggling your mouse to wake up your computer. “I did,” you told her. “Wait,” said Rand, coming over to sit on the edge of your desk. “Like, Natasha Romanoff, our hottest customer? That Natasha?”

“That would be her,” you said, not really paying him much attention as you navigated to your work emails and took a sip of the coffee you’d brought with you to keep yourself awake.

“Oh. My. God,” Rand said, beaming at you. “Major, did you hook up with an Avenger last night?!”

You choked on the sip you’d just taken. “How in the hell did you figure that out, Rand?!” you asked, astonished.

“You had sex with the Black Widow?!” Zadie exclaimed. “Major, that is amazing! How was she? Oh my god, I bet she was fantastic!” Your friend sighed. “She looks like she knows what to do with her tongue.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to get a word in edgewise. “I did not have sex with Natasha,” you clarified when the two finally let you talk. They looked at you expectantly. “I had sex with Bucky Barnes,” you confessed, hiding your face in your hands to hide your grin and your blush.

Zadie and Rand stared at you silently, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. “What?” you asked them,

after the silence had stretched on a little too long.

“You fucked the Winter Soldier?” Rand asked eventually in a monotone. “Do you have a death wish, or are you fucking insane?”

“Major, did you not follow his trial?” Zadie asked you. “It was all over the news, like, four and a half years ago.”

You swallowed and shook your head. You most certainly had not followed his trial; you’d been a little preoccupied getting divorced and hadn’t been in a frame of mind to be paying much attention to the media.

“He was convicted for, like, a bunch of murders and crimes against humanity and shit,” Zadie said.

You felt your heart plunge into your stomach. Of course, the first guy you really connected with since your divorce, who had blown your mind with his bedroom skills, was a convicted murderer. Of fucking course.

But then a thought hit you– “If he was convicted for all that,” you said, thinking it over, “how is he not in prison? I mean, he’s a friend of Nat’s; fuck, he’s best buddies with Captain Freaking America; and Steve Rogers doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to just casually chill with serial killers.”

“He got a Presidential pardon,” Rand explained. “There were supposedly extenuating circumstances. But, I mean, it was just sex. It’s not like you’re gonna start dating the man or anything, right?”

You stayed silent, avoiding looking Rand in the eye.

“Right, Major?” he asked you pointedly. “Just say ‘Of course I would not date the convicted felon, Rand. I value the preservation of my life’.”

“You said there were extenuating circumstances,” you responded. “What were they?”

“What, is his dick, like, magic or something?” Zadie asked, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Among other things,” you answered sheepishly.

Rand threw his hands up in the air. “For fuck’s sake,” he shouted. “It’s like she wants to be a Dateline episode!”

“I just don’t want to pass judgment without knowing all the facts,” you told him. “Or giving him a chance to explain himself.” They both looked at you skeptically. “Guys, he just… He just doesn’t seem like that kind of person! He’s an Avenger, for crying out loud! Tasked with saving the world! Do you really think they’d let him join them if he was a dangerous criminal? Seriously?”

Zadie and Rand exchanged a glance, as if silently communicating that you’d lost your mind.

“You know what?” you asked, exasperated. “It’s my life. If I want to go out with him, I’m gonna go out with him, and you guys just have to accept that.”

“We’re just tryna look out for you, boss,” Zadie said softly. “It worries us.”

You felt your annoyance with them dampen somewhat. “I appreciate that, guys. But I’m a grown ass adult with combat training. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but he’s–” Rand began, but you interrupted him. “I’m done talking about it, Rand,” you said pointedly. “Now, Zadie, I need you to contact the Queens branch and tell them to add the name ‘Peter Parker’ to our VIP list, no charge.”

Zadie nodded and moved to pick up the phone.

“And Rand,” you said, turning back to face him, “if I do decide that I want to start dating Bucky, that’ll mean you might see him around here. You don’t have to go out of your way to be friends with him, or even be around him, but if your paths do cross, I ask that you remain civil, please.”

Rand nodded. “If you can guarantee he won’t murder me,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head dismissively. You were going to have to dig in to Bucky’s history to find out exactly what he’d been convicted for, and what, exactly, these “mitigating circumstances” had been.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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twost3ps · 2 days

Text

Lucifur is gonna be in a pit of a pinch....

A sneak peek into more of my Scott Pilgrim au!!!

Still tweaking their designs but this is what I've got so far!!! This is a sketch and not final >>>>:(

But let's goooo I just need to choose one more character >>:3 to make the 7

I've gotten a few suggestions so far:

Alastor- it would be funny. Just so funny. And it makes Lucfir question when and how. it's brilliant. Idk how their dynamic would work for this one. Or when really but I'd still consider it o3o

Alastors mom- same as alastor, it's funny. And then it also let's me make lucifur fight Alastor so instead of a 1v1 it's a 2v1. Alastors mom is super scary :)

Valentino- not a lot of history, but it makes the roster start off easy. Possible hilarious character interaction. For one, easy win and second, fast punching bag. Still thinking about the dynamic, but for sure Adam and him have a rocky relationship which let to him to further solidify his hate in sinners and how irredeemable they were also some platonic holydust excuse

Dumah -angel of vindication, and I'm making him Azraels twin brother. He and Azrael will have similar scenarios. When they picked up Adam from earth, he kinda found them kinda hot. Both are ruthless and do share a similar sentiment about sinner, Dumah more so because he's the one judging them. He def hates Luficur and thinks he's pathetic and is not taking his job- the one God so graciously gave him- seriously at all. Even after the fight, Dumah would still not respect Lucifur all that much

Satan- assuming that they meant Satan, as the sin of wrath, makes Luci question again how Adam was able to do this this whole time. Adam got with him, like Mammon, by chance during an extermination. I don't think any of the sins actually care for the exterminations- they're not their people. Why should they? It implied that Lucifur didn't either until Charlie expressed her desire for redemption. Satan liked Adam's wrath and fighting spirit. Thought his weapon was cool too. He could feel all the anger and hate in Adam and was intrigued. Adam thought Satan was really cool too. Also pretty hot and both kinda get off on how much rage they have and their destructiveness.

Still considering:

St. Peter- guys. It's funny. Promise. It's the 'he was a punk, he did ballet' and Lucifur is surprised how they even got together in the first place. He's watching them and wondering what pulled them together. Peter is just glad to see that Adam is actually alive and not dead once he's brought into fight. Lucifur thinks it's gonna be easy before St peter reveals that he's actually a UNIT. Adam and St Peter got together because Adam was sent to train him to gaurd the gate. Yes, Peter is there to let ppl in, but he was also placed there as a surprising first line of defense. They train and ig one thing led to another over time and they got together. So when Luci fight him, he's very shocked at how capable St peter is

Lute- again, I still think that they have a funny father and daughter dynamic but then a saw malaierba's tags and it opened my eyes a bit and made me reconsider putting her on the roster. Adam was Lute's experiment relationship. Dated for like a week, at best, before Lute said "nah I'm gay" and it felt weird for both of them cuz they really just saw eachother as family. Lute is mad protective toward Adam and the fuel of believing that Lucifur is the reason Adam is in hell makes her all just a bit (very) more feral

Depending who I choose will moved them up or down the roster but eyyeyey

Im still open to suggestions!! I might retract the limits I said before just in case.

If I still can't choose, I'll open a poll or something :p

Next post will prob be about the background of everyone else on the roster so far o3o

#scott pilgrim au #drafts #myart #hazbin hotel adam #helluva boss mammon #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel raphael #hazbin hotel gabriel #micheal hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #adamsapple #guitarhero #guitaramp #raphaelxadam #deadlyguitar #edenapple #mammon x adam #im spam posting cuz im goimg to br crazy busy the ret of the week :')#hazbin hotel azrael

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 day

Note

AITA for getting angry with my aunt for being uncomfortable with me doing things to show affection to my girlfriend in front of my family at the dinner table?

Could this post be tagged 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ anon so I can find it more easily? Thank you!

(Possible homophobia and transphobia trigger warning)

I (transmasc enby) and my mom went over to my aunt's house for dinner, because family from far away was in town at her place and I wanted to see them. My girlfriend (who lives with me because she moved from far away and we're also very serious about our relationship) came along despite dealing with a headache and neck pain at the time because she wanted to meet the family from out of town (she'd already met my mom and the aunt hosting the dinner before).

At some point after dinner my girlfriend's head and neck pain were really starting to bother her, so she asked for some migraine meds and for me to massage her neck and head to try and ease the discomfort. We didn't leave the dinner table because we were still trying to be part of the conversation, although ultimately she did go lay down on the couch for a bit because it was getting to be too much. Girlfriend and I were kinda stuck because we rode over with my mom.

The next day, aunt bothered my mom a lot and insisted that she let us know how "uncomfortable" we made "everyone". No elaboration whatsoever but she really pushed about it to the point that my mom felt forced to convey the message. Essentially aunt wanted her to tell us that anything besides hand holding was not okay and we made everyone upset, but did not elaborate on what we did wrong. This made my girlfriend cry, and it made me furious (for the record, the next time I spent time with this side of the family all we did was hold hands and aunt still looked at the two of us with disgust so 🤷).

I reached out to her to 1) let her know she was either going to have to tolerate our relationship or cut us off; and 2) try to confirm exactly what it was we did wrong that night so we don't do it again. She told me my girlfriend and I were being inappropriate at her kitchen table because I was rubbing her head and neck, and that we should have either dealt with it where nobody else had to see or gone home (once again, we rode over with my mom so going home wasn't really an option). She insisted it wasn't about us being a queer couple but given that she believes gay people go to hell and has said transphobic things in the past I'm doubtful she's being truthful.

I told her that was such a stupid thing to be weird about, that maybe she should ask questions instead of being immediately judgemental, that it's unfair to ask someone to leave when they're dealing with chronic pain, and that it was hypocritical of her to be weirded out by that when the family was making inappropriate jokes at the table earlier and that was apparently just fine. I admit I also used the opportunity to air out a couple other grievances I had such as: the time she yelled at me for something I didn't do and said very mean things to me because of it at a time where I was not in a good place mentally (she refuses to apologize for this), and her deliberately deadnaming me and using the wrong pronouns to refer to me. I told her if she can't respect me and my girlfriend then I would like if she didn't talk to me anymore. Thankfully she's at least been respecting my wishes in this regard.

Evidently she got very upset about it because she said something to another aunt, who then got angry with me and refused to listen to me, telling me I should just apologize if I made someone uncomfortable (but that's a story for another AITA).

Am I the asshole?

#aita #am i the asshole

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winwintea · 2 days

Text

secure that card! 07. the world of the elite and broke, i guess

Chenle was a little worried about how you’d react to the party. If Renjun’s observations were correct, mingling in parties did not seem up your alley at all.

Standing upon the terrace in dejun’s extremely lavish penthouse, Chenle was currently engaged in conversation with Eri Uchinaga, one of Yizhuo’s friends. Although he was half paying attention to what she had to say, nodding or humming in approval whenever prompted to respond. Dejun had invited so many people, it was hard to hear anyone or anything anyways.

Before Eri could figure out that he wasn’t really paying attention to their conversation. Yizhuo suddenly sneaked up behind him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Someone’s finally here to see you.” She whispered in his ear, ignoring Eri’s widening mouth. Chenle rolled his eyes, and pushed Yizhuo away from his face.

“Sorry Eri, I’m taking Chenle away for a while, rich kid things you know?” Yizhuo turned to look at Eri, grabbing onto Chenle’s arm for dramatic effect.

Eri’s eyes had a glint of enjoyment, almost like she was smirking and imagining things on her own. “That’s fine yi, have fun.” Eri gave them both a sideways grin and a thumbs up, and turned off in another direction. her giggles could be heard even through the noisy crowd.

Chenle shook Yizhuo’s hands off of his arms, side eyeing her. “What was that for?”

“Relax. Eri knows we aren’t together, there’s no way in hell I’d get back with you. I just wanted to annoy you. Did it work?” She teased him. Although Yizhuo and Chenle’s relationship was an interesting one to outsiders, they both had been friends since they were children having been the son and daughter of two of the most influential men in China.

“Yes, very much so.” Chenle replied grimly.

They walked down the steps, , as Yizhuo led him to a sectional couch in the corner. And there you were. You were happily chatting away with Minghao, but he noticed your friends seemed to be less relaxed than you were. He recognized the guy who he had delivered the gifts to the other day, Riku, as you called him. Sitting right next to Riku, was a guy who kept shooting daggers at Dejun, which made Chenle crack a smile. Sitting very close to you on your opposite side, was a red-haired guy who seemed to be observing the whole situation carefully. This must be Ricky. Chenle took note of his outfit, noticing that his shoes and watch appeared to be name brand items. How surprising? Whoever this Ricky was, Chenle wondered why he would place himself in your friend group.

You finally took notice of Yizhuo and Chenle entering, and you gave Chenle a grin, “Chenle! Come meet my friends.” Motioning to the seat next to you on the couch, Chenle felt all eyes burn on him as he walked over to the seat, both from his own friends as well as yours. Although somehow you seemed oblivious to it all. “This is Ricky. That’s Haechan. And that’s Riku.” You pointed to each person individually as you spoke.

“Hey. I’m Chenle.” He shook hands with each of your friends, and he could feel Dejun and Minhao internally mocking him in their heads.

“Man, it’s so tense in here.” Dejun interjected, “Seriously, I mean, we’re here to fucking party! Bring out the drinks!”

—————

It had been about an hour into the party, and everyone seemed more relaxed than when they had started. Dejun had suggested that Chenle show you around his flat, since Dejun was busy entertaining guests. (and it also gave him an excuse to get to know you better of course…)

At first it was so awkward as Ricky had wanted to tag along with you two, but eventually you noticed how awkward it was with Ricky around, and he quietly left you and Chenle alone.

“Do you have a problem with Ricky?” You asked him curiously, noticing how much more relaxed Chenle had become once Ricky had left.

“Oh no it’s not…” He started shaking his head slowly, “No it’s not me, it’s him I think…” He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “You didn’t notice how he was glaring daggers at me the whole time?”

“Ricky?” Your eyes lit up in shock, “He was doing that?” After seeing him nod in response you can’t help but roll your eyes a little, “I’ll tell him to stop, that’s quite immature of him.”

Your conversation was suddenly interrupted by a voice behind, “Would you two care for a drink?” As you both turned to face the stranger, you were met face-to-face with a tall and slender looking male.

You both promptly shook your head, “Aah- no thanks, I don’t drink.” Chenle responded.

“Neither do I, sorry.” You added after him.

The stranger's eyes lit up and his face curved into a smile, “Good because I don’t have any drinks on me. I just wanted an excuse to talk to the both of you.”

“What?” You were more surprised than Chenle was, “Why me- I mean, why us?”

“Why, you’re the talk of the party of course. The name’s Ten. Ten Lee.” He held out a hand, and Chenle promptly took it and shook it. “Dejun has told me lots about you Chenle Zhong.”

Chenle suddenly found himself feeling very concerned, “Uh, And who are you exactly? What department are you from?”

“Oh no, I don’t go to your school. I graduated last year. Dejun usually invites me because I can get a hold of all sorts of things.” He winked as he spoke the last word, his eyes twinkling. “I have many connections you see.”

“That sounds ominous…” Chenle began, “So how long have you known Dejun?”

“Oh ages… he and I we go way back… see I even knew him before he came to this school-“

“Do you know what happened between him and Song Yuqi?” You suddenly interjected into the conversation.

Ten only looked at you, his smile never breaking, “Damn girl, you get straight to the point don’t you?” he didn’t seem surprised at all, “I was expecting you to ask me about that actually. We’re talking about your roommate, correct?”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Relax sweetheart. I told you, I have many connections.” He patted your shoulders before continuing, “Yes, Well I can’t spoil the surprise for you two… but there is more than what both of them are letting on. There's definitely a lot of miscommunication.” Chenle was about to open his mouth, but Ten quickly placed his fingers over Chenle’s lips, “And before you ask me why I knew this and didn’t say a word to both of them, mind you it’s not my place or business to do so.”

That seemed to shut the two of you up, but you and Chenle locked eyes with each other and seemed to understand what each other was thinking.

“Well I’ll leave you two to it. Here’s my number if you ever need anything.” Ten placed a business card in your hands, “Specifically you, since I owe you a big one.” And without elaborating further, proceeded to leave you two alone with one another yet again.

Chenle cocked a brow, “Owe you a big one?”

“I have no clue what he’s talking about, I have never met him in my life.” You responded huffily, as confused as he was.

Suddenly your phone buzzed, and Chenle watched you read over texts. Your eyes widened as you read through them, and then your phone started ringing. “Sorry, I need to-“

“It’s okay, I understand. Take your time.”

While he waited around in the area for you to finish the phone call, he couldn’t help but hear the distress in your voice, as you responded to the other person on the phone.

When you returned, you looked absolutely panic stricken, “Chenle, I’m so sorry. It’s Yuqi… she… left our group chat suddenly and said some crazy things… I think she’s having a breakdown…I-“

“It’s okay. I understand.” He tried to give you a smile, but wasn’t sure if he was actually happy about it either. “I’ll give you a ride back if you want. That way the others can still enjoy themselves for the time being.”

This seemed to uplift your spirits a bit, and you cracked a small, but still pleasant smile. “Thank you so much Chenle.”

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SUMMARY ▸ zhong chenle is the owner of many cards. a black card? he owns that. he even has a stanford student id card. the one card he doesn’t own though? a green card. and if chenle plays his cards right, he just may be able to secure one by wooing you. or it could all fall through… who knows?

TAG LIST ▸ @marvelahsobx @lyvhie @odxrilove @jkslvsnella @aquaphoenixz @wonnieluv @acidwon @syatchy @sleepyvic @grassbutneo @chcnlcs @taeeflwrr @hibernatinghamster @jaeimjaemin @gukuwii @slayhaechan @yyangj3lly @seunghancore @clean-soap

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bitethedevil · 3 days

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A Portrait of A Cambion

Link to this fic on AO3

Summary: Raphael rejects his icky mortal feelings for Tav because he remembers what happens when one is distracted by matters of the heart. He reminisces about a woman who taught him how to paint and who stole his non-existent heart over a thousand years ago.

(This is essentially a sort of 'origin story' headcanon that I ended up writing into a fic because people were asking about my dark headcanon that Raphael has experienced love before, but Mephistopheles took it from him. It ended up as a fic because I had a very specific image in my head of how Raphael fell in love for the first time and how he lost that love. Also cambions don't have a heart. Source?: Pulled it out of my ass.) TW: Mention of Death, Blood, Abusive Relationship with Parent (although that should almost be a given with Mephistopheles in the tags)

Another nightmare about Tav. This time it had not been about her and her fellow adventurers besting him. Instead, he had dreamt about her dying a cruel death.

He shouldn’t care and he didn’t, but his mind was sabotaging him and in the midst of the dream, he had felt fear for her. It shook Raphael awake from his nightly meditation and made him sit up in his bed.

He rubbed his eyes and sneered at that disgusting mortal feeling that still lingered in his chest. He had to remind himself that she was no more than a means to an end.

He could not afford such distractions, especially now when the crown was so close…

Raphael’s eyes drifted to the right-hand portrait in his boudoir, the one where he hid his safe behind.

There it was again. That stabbing feeling in his chest. He could not even remember the face of the painter that had made the portrait, but looking at that painting was just the reminder he needed: Distractions will cost you dearly.

It was over a thousand years ago that he had met her. It was before he had even laid his eyes on the Crown of Karsus and witnessed Netheril’s fall. He was still perfecting his art when it came to soul collecting. Back then he mainly went after the most desperate of the desperate and this girl could not have been more perfect.

Her name was Lucienna and she lived in Westgate, a city known for its history with criminal organizations and piracy. The young human woman had managed to make herself quite unpopular with the group of mercenaries that ruled the city then.

She was on the run with two of Westgate’s best killers at her heels when Raphael unceremoniously whisked her away to the Hells. Back then he still lived in Cania under his father’s rule.

The young woman took in her new surroundings while she tried to catch her breath. She looked up at Raphael who was still in his human form.

“Where am I?” she wheezed, out of breath. “And thank you, I suppose.”

“The Eighth Layer of the Hells,” Raphael explained smoothly. He found no reason to pretend when her contract was already as good as signed with the circumstances, she found herself in.

“…Oh,” she said a bit too calmly for Raphael’s liking and nodded.

“Quite a mess you’ve found yourself in, dear,” Raphael said with a smile. “Was it worth it? The protesting, I mean?”

Lucienna narrowed her green eyes at him.

He had done his research. The whole reason that she was on the hitlist of the mercenary government of Westgate, was all because of some posters, she had made and plastered around the city. They criticized the government and called the population to protest.

“It was actually worth it, yes,” she said with defensiveness in her voice. “And I’d do it again.”

She crossed her arms and looked at him. Raphael looked her up and down with a smile on his face.

“I saw your work before they were all taken down and burned,” Raphael said. “You are clearly talented. As a great admirer of the arts, it would pain me to see someone with so much to offer the world dead in a ditch somewhere. Which is why I have a proposal for you…”

“Whatever you are selling, I don’t want any,” she said and interrupted his sales-pitch. “Who are you anyway?”

“Oh, do forgive my manners. I am Raphael,” he said with a bow and in a flash of fire he was in his cambion form. “Very much at your service.”

Her eyes widened for a moment at the reveal of his true nature, but she quickly gathered herself.

“I mean…” she said. “I suppose I could have guessed since you said we were in the Hells, but…”

She looked him up and down, studying his form for a moment before looking back at his smug face.

“I still stand by what I said,” she said stubbornly. “Especially if my soul is the price.”

Raphael’s smirk faltered. He had been so certain that this would have been an easy deal.

“Perhaps you don’t grasp the severity of your situation,” Raphael said with a dramatic hand gesture. “I can make this whole mess disappear if you simply sign my contract. If you do not, I will simply send you back to the exact spot I found you to be hunted for sport by the best killers Westgate has to offer.”

She nodded slowly.

“I’ll take my chances,” she said with a shrug.

Raphael’s brow furrowed. That was not what he wanted to hear.

“Suit yourself,” Raphael said with a sneer and snapped his fingers to send her back to where she came from.

If the little idiot so desperately wanted to walk into her own grave, Raphael would not stop her. However, it did infuriate him that she did not even seem the least bit interested in even hearing his offer. If she did, by some miracle, survive, she could be certain that Raphael was not done with her.

Raphael followed her movements through the city closely. Luck seemed to be on her side because she did eventually make it out of the city in one piece. He tracked her to a house in the middle of nowhere out on the countryside. He kept an eye on her little hiding spot for a couple of weeks before approaching her.

He manifested in a room where a small fortune in painting supplies laid scattered everywhere. There were paintings leaning up against every wall. His person of interest sat in the middle of the room. She looked up from the canvas she was working on and jumped at his presence.

“Are you ready to accept my kind offer or do you intend to hide here for the rest of your days?” Raphael asked with a smile.

“Shhh,” she hushed and put a finger to her lips. “Please, lower your voice. My father might hear you.”

She was bold, he would give her that. Raphael huffed in annoyance but complied.

“Well?” he asked in a more hushed voice.

“I’m perfectly content here, thank you,” she said while her focus returned to the painting she was working on.

Raphael could not believe what he was hearing.

“Please correct me if I misunderstand,” Raphael said. “You would run from the very city that you have been fighting to protect from tyranny, to stay here? You are aware that the mercenaries of Westgate do not forget a face and that you getting out of the city does not mean that you are safe?”

“I understand just fine,” she said calmly. “I did what I could, and it wasn’t enough. I know I’m not safe but that doesn’t mean I want to hand over my soul to you...No offense, of course.”

Her stubbornness was getting on his nerves. Perhaps, it would just be easier to leave her alone, as it seemed he was getting nowhere with her. She was a hopeless case.

“Raphael, was it?” she asked and looked at him.

Raphael nodded with a tired look in his eyes.

“I had a feeling that you would be back, so I have something for you, Raphael,” she said and got up from her chair. “If you don’t like it, I won’t take offense.”

Raphael’s brow furrowed as he watched her go pick up a painting. This was new.

She picked up the canvas that was almost as big as her and turned it around so he could see it. His eyes softened, despite himself.

It was a painting of him in his cambion form, painted in shades of orange. He was wearing armor and was holding a flame in one hand in the painting. He looked imposing yet regal. It was beautifully done.

“The likeness isn’t perfect,” she said with a shrug. “But I also only ever met you that one time, so…”

Raphael blinked and tried to hide how impressed he was with her work.

“Why did you do this?” he asked and looked at her.

“My little trip to the Hells was long enough for the people chasing me to lose my trail,” she explained. “So, if it hadn’t been for you, I probably would be dead.”

His eyes drifted back to the painting.

“Besides, I’ve never seen a devil before,” she said. “I thought you looked quite impressive, so I guess I got inspired. You did say that you were an ‘admirer of the arts’, so I thought it could be compensation for saving my life.”

He was flattered, even though he would never admit it. He could not remember ever receiving a gift willingly from a mortal like this.

“Do you like it?” she asked softly, as if she was half-expecting a ‘no’.

“It’s beautiful,” he said with a nod. “You are quite talented, like I said when we first met.”

“It’s yours, if you want it,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you,” he said briefly, smiling back at her. He snapped his fingers and teleported the painting to a safe location in his house.

They were quiet for a moment. For once, Raphael was not sure what to say. There was no more business to talk about, but it also felt wrong to simply leave after receiving such a gift. It was Lucienna that ended up breaking the silence.

“So, do you paint?” she asked.

“No, I do not,” he answered and cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it is one of the few things that I have never sat down to properly learn. Although, I do see the appeal and I certainly do appreciate the art.”

“Do you want to learn?” she asked. “I’ve taught students before, you know…”

Although the idea of some mortal teaching him anything did not fill him with joy, he was tempted. Perhaps he could gain her trust and make her sign his deal anyway, as he had already wasted too much time on her. It also gave him an opportunity to study this odd mortal who did not seem to fear him.

“Hm,” he hummed in thought. “Yes, why not?”

They kept meeting in her father’s basement as Lucienna taught him how to paint. Raphael started enjoying the sessions. There was something about it. It brought him a sense of peace to paint. He did not mind the compliments to his progress either. She was good at teaching him without ever being condescending.

“You’re a natural at this, you know,” she said, leaning on his shoulder as she watched him work. “The only note I have is to work on the colors. This part isn’t actually red. It’s brown.”

She pointed to the bowl of fruit on the table.

“Are you telling me that red apples are not red?” Raphael said with a chuckle.

She smiled as she mixed some colors onto a piece of paper and held it next to the apple.

“That’s because you use your head too much and not your eyes,” she said. “This is painting. Not writing.”

Raphael huffed. She was right, of course. He could see when she held the paper next to it.

Whenever he practiced at home, it was always the same motif: her. He was determined to eventually pay her back for the gift she gave him. He noticed that Lucienna’s hair was not red either, but rather nuances of brown, orange, and gold. Her eyes were also not entirely green, but rather shades of brown, green and yellow.

Somewhere along the way, the contract was brought up more as an excuse to be in her presence, rather than him actually wanting her soul. In the end it was not brought up at all. Raphael knew that she was too stubborn to sign it anyway, and perhaps she was right: perhaps she was truly safe in this peaceful little haven away from everything.

He enjoyed her company, though he loathed to admit it. The way she would lean on his shoulder when she was watching him work. The way that she looked almost insane when she was deep in concentration, with a paintbrush in her mouth or stuck in her hair as she painted like her life depended on it. The way that they could be in each other’s presence for hours without even saying a word to each other.

He knew that she liked him, but for some reason he did not want to exploit it in the same way he had done with earlier clients. It would have been all too easy to manipulate her into a deal by playing on her feelings, yet he never did.

Lucienna became an indulgence. Someone to take him far way from the endless clients and the toiling for his ungrateful father. Away from all the devils in the Hells that loathed him and away from all the mortals that feared him. Just for a moment.

It was the day when he finally decided to give her the portrait that he had painted of her that their relationship furthered into unknown territory for Raphael.

After he had made endless excuses about him not being as talented as her, he had shown her the painting that he had been working endlessly on from home. Her face brightened up and she pulled him into a kiss. After the initial shock, he wrapped his arms around her and melted into it.

Raphael was far from new to the concept of sex, although those below the Archdevils were not supposed to indulge in such things. The difference was that most of his sexual experiences had been with the incubi and succubi of his father’s palace, or rehearsed manipulation tactics he had used to lure clients. Both of which were exceptions that were acceptable for a devil of his lower rank.

This was new and most definitely forbidden, because this bordered on that awfully mortal feeling: love. Sex with her was so different from the almost theatrical performance of the incubi and succubi that he had been with during his longer visits to his father. Raphael also found no desire to put on a rehearsed performance himself.

Sex with Lucienna was clumsy and imperfect in a highly intoxicating way. They got completely lost in each other and nothing else mattered in that moment. It was heated and passionate, but in such a genuine way that it took Raphael’s breath away.

When they were done, Lucienna rested her head on his chest. Raphael was brushing his fingers through her hair when he suddenly felt her tense up a bit.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Your heartbeat…” she said and pressed her ear to his chest again. “You don’t have one…”

Raphael chuckled and smiled.

“I don’t have a heart, dear,” he explained. “It works differently for devils.”

“Hm,” she said and nuzzled her head against his chest. “Maybe you don’t have a literal heart, but you won’t convince me that you don’t at least have one metaphorically.”

“Oh, how dare you?” Raphael chided jokingly. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Mm…you can’t fool me,” she said and smiled. “It is slightly unsettling though…To not hear anything when you expect to.”

“I’m sure,” he said, tracing the soft skin of her arms with his fingers.

She got off his chest to lay down on her back. She patted her chest with a hand, inviting him to lay down on it.

“Here, listen to mine,” she said with a smile.

Raphael hesitated. The vulnerability of such an act did not sit well with him, but he had quickly found that he had a hard time denying this woman of anything.

He put his head on her chest and listened to her heartbeat. She held him close and rested her chin on his head. It would have looked comical for an outsider to see this much bigger man being held by this small woman, but Raphael found that he did not care.

He would never admit it to anyone, but he felt safe. Loved even. Perhaps, for the first time in his long life. There was a feeling, a flutter, in the place where his heart would have been, had he been a mortal man. They fell asleep like that together.

When he finally returned to his house in Cania in the morning, it was difficult to wipe the smile from his face. He could not stop thinking about her. He sat down to write, to try and clear his mind and record this feeling of happiness that he had not tasted for years.

“Mephistopheles missed you last night,” a voice said.

Raphael looked up to find one of Mephistopheles’s warlocks leaned against the wall, watching him. Raphael had forgotten everything about the meeting that he had promised to attend.

“Care to explain?” the warlock asked.

“I was working, Lestor,” Raphael replied coldly.

“All night? What a dutiful boy you are,” Lestor said with that shit-eating grin that Raphael had gotten so used to seeing.

It took everything to not lose his temper and tear the warlock apart for having the nerve to call him ‘boy’. Raphael knew the consequences if he did. Mephistopheles enjoyed sending mortal warlocks to spy on his son, simply to remind Raphael that he was not even worth sending another devil for.

“There were complications,” Raphael said through gritted teeth. “Please, do send Mephistopheles my deepest apologies.”

“Complications, eh?” Lestor said with a knowing smile that made Raphael slightly paranoid. “I will make sure to tell him how deeply sorry you are. Remember that you are needed at the palace these next couple of days. Whatever ‘work’ you have can wait.”

Lestor left his house. Raphael’s paranoia grew when he was left alone. Lestor couldn’t have known, could he? He had been so careful, and no one knew where she lived…

There was nothing that Raphael could do about it now. He had to get through the next couple of days before he could return to her, or he would feel his father’s wrath.

Five days later, Raphael finally had time for himself, and he decided to visit the woman who had occupied his mind ever since he returned to the Hells.

The first sign that something was wrong was that the door to the house stood open. Lucienna’s father was a paranoid man who always locked his doors.

Not two steps into the house, was the old man that he had only spoken to a couple of times during his visits. He laid sprawled on the floor, ripped apart and covered in his own blood.

Raphael’s blood in his veins turned to ice, as he saw the sigil of the mercenaries of Westgate smeared in blood on the wall.

“No…” Raphael mumbled to himself and ran to the basement.

There she was. A paintbrush in her hair, exactly where she always put them when she was focused on working. Her green eyes, that weren’t really green, stared emptily up into the ceiling above her.

“No…no…” Raphael said and fell to his knees beside her.

He leaned his head down to her chest. He knew there was no way she would be alive with the way she had been torn apart, but he had to check. The comforting pitter-patter of her heart that he had fallen asleep to just five days earlier, was gone. Raphael cried for the first time in a millennium.

“I told you…you stubborn woman…” he said angrily and brushed his fingers gently through her red hair. “You weren’t safe…”

He held her in his arms while he sobbed. He was spiraling. The emotional walls that he had used hundreds of years to build up had crashed down around him, and for a moment he was experiencing a millennium worth of pure mortal grief and sadness all at once.

He looked at her. At all the paintings that were stacked around him. He noticed that the portrait he had given her had already been hung up on the wall, and it sent a sharp pain through his chest where his heart would have been.

His eyes finally locked unto the sigil that was painted with blood on the wall, with the words under it: “Westgate does not forget”. His sadness slowly boiled into anger. Anger overtook every ounce of his being when he heard a familiar grating voice behind him:

“Mephistopheles wants to talk to you, boy,” Lestor said.

He could practically hear the smug smile in the warlock’s voice. That little shit had known, and he had informed Westgate of her whereabouts. Something in Raphael snapped.

Raphael spent that afternoon doing unspeakable things to his father’s warlock. When he was done, he burned the whole house down. He burned the all the paintings in there, the mangled corpse of Lestor, Lucienna’s father, and Lucienna, the one woman who ever loved him. A part of Raphael burned away in that fire as well. If he could, he would happily have burned down to ash with them. He felt dead inside as he returned to Cania to face his father.

“You spit in my face by not showing up to our meetings and now you arrive late yet again. I sent Lestor to collect you five hours ago. Where is he?” Mephistopheles voice boomed throughout the throne room.

“Lestor is dead,” Raphael answered.

“Dead?” Mephistopheles asked in a dangerously low voice and leaned forward on his frozen throne. “Why? Because he did his job and informed me that you were too busy fucking mortals instead of doing your job of collecting their souls?”

Raphael inhaled slowly, trying to calm the rage inside him.

“I promise you, son,” Mephistopheles said the word ‘son’ as if it was a joke to him. “Fucking mortal women isn’t worth the headache. It’s how you end up with useless fucking half-breed bastards like you.”

Raphael swallowed hard and looked at the ground, as the devils in his father’s court snickered and laughed at him.

“You have high thoughts about yourself,” Mephistopheles said. “But let me remind you that you are not even close to a rank where you are entitled to stick your cock in anything or to keep consorts! Those privileges are reserved for Archdevils exclusively, which you are not. The only reason you are alive, is because I see use for you. I will not tolerate you getting distracted from your purpose. You work for me! Is that clear?”

Raphael hated that his father could still make him flinch, just by yelling at him. He nodded.

“Yes, my lord,” Raphael said quietly, still grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Good, my boy,” Mephistopheles said with a smile that would make anyone uncomfortable.

Raphael bowed his head and turned to leave.

“One last thing,” Mephistopheles called out. “I have a gift for my little would-be lordling.”

Raphael took a deep breath and turned around. Whatever this was, it could not be good. Mephistopheles smirked at him and snapped his fingers. Someone entered the throne room and Raphael’s closed his eyes in embarrassment at the sight.

One of his father’s incubi that Raphael had slept with during one of his visits to the palace, walked through the door. They were wearing Raphael’s form. They sauntered into the room, wearing skimpy leather clothing.

The throne room was filled with roaring laughter. Even Mephistopheles was laughing from his frozen throne.

“A fitting consort for you, wouldn’t you say, boy?” Mephistopheles chuckled. “Since you only ever seem to think about yourself. Their name is Haarlep. Give it a few nights with them and you won’t even remember that little mortal bitch you seemed so obsessed with.”

Rage was threatening to overtake him. He wanted to kill every last laughing devil in the room. He wanted to give his father the most excruciating death he could think of. Raphael also knew that he was no match for any of them. He had to bide his time, and that time would come someday. He would make sure of it.

“What do you say then?” Mephistopheles said, looking down on him from his throne.

Raphael looked at the incubus with disdain and then at his father. Raphael wanted to say many things in that moment: That he would one day take his father’s throne. That Mephistopheles would one day cower at the feet of his son. That he did not care if he had to wait millennium after millennium for him to finally get his revenge.

Raphael took a deep breath and bit his tongue, though it took everything in him to do so.

“Thank you, my lord,” Raphael said through gritted teeth.

“Good boy,” Mephistopheles said with a smile. “Now get out of my sight. I hope you have learned something from this.”

Raphael was sitting in his bed, looking at the right-hand painting in his boudoir. The painting that Lucienna had gifted him all those years ago. He had spent so much money throughout the years on getting it carefully restored.

He couldn’t remember her face anymore, but he could remember all those colors he studied when he looked at her. Her red hair, that was not red, but rather nuances of brown, orange, and gold. Her eyes that were not entirely green, but rather shades of brown, green and yellow. He heard the sound of her heartbeat in his mind each time he went to rest.

When he looked at Tav, that stubborn whelp, he sometimes found himself wondering what her heartbeat sounded like. Wondering which colors he would use if he were to paint her hair and her eyes. And there it was again that flutter where his heart would have been if he had one. Lucienna’s words echoed in his mind.

“Maybe you don’t have a literal heart, but you won’t convince me that you don’t at least have one metaphorically.”

No. He didn’t and he couldn’t. That part of him was dead and gone and it would remain that way. Raphael shook his head and crushed that feeling in his chest. No more distractions. Not when he was so close to the crown. Not when he was so close to finally getting his revenge.

#writing #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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kitkat238984 · 21 hours

Text

I Bid This Bitch Goodbye

Summary: As Tony Khan's niece and junior producer, you were placed in charge of an auction event where fans can win a date with their favourite wrestlers.

But when you spy a face that has caused you nothing but trouble, you are determined to bring this bitch to the ground.

Notes: I meant to post this yesterday but oh well. Happy late birthday, Hook.

4339 words.

There was nothing particularly special about you. You were just an ordinary woman with an ordinary life, ordinary parents, and an ordinary education. You supposed the fact that your uncle-in-law happened to be a billionaire made you a little less ordinary than some others, but you never let it get to your head. Whilst in highschool you refused to let anyone know that were in close connections to such major businessmen in the sports industry. They would have flipped.

The friends you made were genuine and you were thankful for that… but unfortunately the enemies you made were also genuine. Right bitches they were.

You did try to make a living for yourself at first by working in a gas station, however, you weren’t really going anywhere with minimum wage, and the offer to work with your uncle in his new wrestling company was always on the table sooooo why not? A little career push never hurt anyone.

You were now a junior producer, learning the backstage roles that made up the AEW family that you were so warmly welcomed into with open arms. Everyone seemed to like you there and you gained many friends in your first few months, Hook being one of the wrestlers you’d grown especially close with, originally getting along because of your similar ages, and now you acted as if you’d been friends since childhood.

Of course, like any good childhood friend, he loved to mess with you and tease you, for example whenever you’re tasked to call him to the ring he thinks it’s a funny idea to go wandering around backstage, forcing you to go on a wild goose chase trying to find him.

—

“I need to start keeping an air tag on you”.

“Or maybe you should start being good at your job?”

“I’d actually be able to do my job if you weren’t constantly playing hide and go seek”.

—

Such a child…

Or how about the few times he snatched the clipboard straight out of your hands and held it above his head where you couldn’t reach?

—

“Just give it back. I need to get back to work”.

“No one’s stopping you from working”.

“There very clearly is someone stopping me”.

—

What a dick…

But! Today, he would regret all those times where he’d taken advantage of your job and made you look like a fool. He would be at your complete mercy and like hell would you take any pity on him; you were going to have your own back on this guy and he was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy watching it. Just like any good wrestling match.

You walked through the hall with a proud smile glued to your face, looking forward to seeing the faces of over-adoring wrestling fans, full of hope that they can outbid everyone else for a date with some of the most favourite wrestlers AEW had to offer.

As the organiser, you were one of the first people to arrive, only a couple of other producers and stagehands present who were setting up chairs - which were most likely to be discarded once they were in such close proximity to the wrestlers.

Oh, revenge was sweet indeed. You made this happen, Y/N. You’re an absolute genius.

When you proposed the idea of a charity fundraiser to your good ol’ uncle Tony about auctioning off dates with the wrestlers - not only to boost good publicity, but to give something to young children who had dreams of wrestling professionally - he immediately fell in love with the idea and told you to start making plans and secure some good people for the event.

Those wrestlers needed to be put to good use anyway. You knew they were good for something.

“Hey, have we got enough chairs for everyone?” you asked one of your colleagues who was setting up the seating.

“Uhh I think so. If not, only a few people will have to stand”.

You hum in response and start setting up the microphone and speakers before your sound guy arrives to take over. You’d hoped he would arrive soon because you had no fucking clue what you were doing. You were just tired of walking around watching everyone else do stuff.

Whilst playing with the buttons of the soundboard, a loud, ear-piercing boom echoed through the hall, accompanied by a few pained cries you’d caused people.

Oh, the cringe.

You practically threw the microphone down and stepped away from the area you were working on.

Best to leave it to the professionals.

“Good idea. Deafen us so we can’t hear the screaming superfans later”.

You turned to the sound of Hook’s voice to see him at the very end of the hall having just walked through the door. Just your luck for him to walk in as you embarrass yourself. But your luck was about to get better.

“Thank you”, you replied genuinely, watching his figure moving in your direction. “You’ll need it when they’re screaming in your ears all night. Probably in more ways than one knowing your record”.

He laughed softly and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as he stood only a few feet away from you.

“Hah you got me there, huh? A manwhore? Is that what you women call ‘em?”

You shot him a warm, patronising smile. “Only behind your back”. You quickly changed your mind. “Oh who am I kidding? I call you that to your face”.

You brushed past him, abandoning your post at the soundboard to help finish setting up the chairs, Hook closely following behind like a loyal puppy with his owner.

“Nah I wouldn’t do that. Not with a fan, at least”.

“Why’s that, fuckboy?” You joked.

“Very funny”, he responded, rolling his eyes. “I’d feel like I'm taking advantage of their love and adoration for me or something like that. Not that I’d blame them of course”.

You immediately stopped what you were doing and sent him a raised eyebrow. Like you’d believe that story. In the time you had known him, Hook had numerous women hanging off his arm (and that was only from what you had seen on social nights out with work), and sometimes those numerous women would be on one occasion. You were grateful you didn’t share the same hotel with him. Those were sounds you most definitely did not want to hear.

He seemed to have noticed the scepticism written on your face and spoke before you had a chance to reply. “You don’t believe me?”, he asked in subtle disbelief. “I can be a gentleman, you know?”

“You? A gentleman? I bet you’ve never even dated a girl before. I’ve only ever seen you walk out of bars with these ‘female friends’ of yours”. Despite ultimately joking, your teasing did have some truth behind it. For the four years you’d known him, you had never known this man to go out on a single actual date like to a restaurant or the movies or something cheesy like that.

It didn’t bother you, of course. Or at least that’s what you kept on telling yourself. You had no reason to be jealous; you didn’t even like him in that way nor had you ever thought about him romantically. That was partially true until this moment.

Sure you appreciated him, just the same as you appreciated all your hot friends. You work in the wrestling industry full of strong, sweaty, fit guys and girls. What did you expect?

Fine! You admitted Hook was easy on the eyes. So what? It’s not like you’d ever wondered what those perfectly sculptured muscles he so proudly displays in the ring yet modestly covers underneath his hoodie felt like. And it never once crossed your mind what was so addictive about running your hands through his tousled hair as you’d seen him among all the women do repeatedly.

Nope. None of that. Not. At. All…

…

It couldn’t be that soft, right?

Stop those intrusive thoughts, Y/N! It would never happen anyway.

“You’ll see one day”, he defended, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m just trying to have fun whilst I’m still young. I’m not rushing life like you seem to be doing”.

You sensed that you may have struck a nerve with the harsh tones in his voice as he looked at you expectedly, although you quickly felt awkward, a little ashamed of yourself for criticising his early life choices and perhaps taking your jokes a little too far.

A big apology would have to wait, though, as there was so much shit to be done before the event started and it would have been unfair if you weren’t pulling your weight enough. After all, this was your chance to show your uncle that you had what it takes to progress in the company.

Temporarily moving the problems with Hook to the back of your mind, you opened your mouth to speak a quick ‘sorry’ with the intention of making it up to him later like buying him a drink or something. However, another voice from only a few feet away echoed through the spacious hall.

“Hey, who’s been messing with this setup?”

Your sound guy must have come in without you noticing because you whipped your head around to see his face scrunched up with such confusion and frustration. You winced and turned away, pretending you didn’t know anything. Perhaps there was time for one long, drawn out apology.

Never had you been more relieved to be made fun of, hearing the sound of a snicker from a certain hooded figure standing before you to which you smiled lightheartedly in response. You should have known he wouldn’t stay mad at you for long.

What seemed like what was meant to be the end of the conversation clearly wasn’t because Hook still insisted on standing opposite you, staring and twitching his nose as if something was bothering him.

“What do you want?” You asked, not wasting any time and getting back to setting up chairs.

“What makes you think I want something?”

“Oh I’m sorry. Don’t you?” Sarcasm was basically your second language.

Hook was silent for a few seconds, allowing yourself to secretly smirk whilst your back was turned away from him. Just wait for it.

“Okay yeah I do want something”. Bingo. You were right as always. “I need you to bid for me”.

You scoffed into a breathy laugh. He couldn’t be serious, right? That’s like straight up asking you on a date without actually saying it and with a lot more complications than there needed to be. He continued.

“I’d give you the money back, I swear. I just really really don’t want to date a fan who’s desperate enough to be here to win a date with me. It’ll be chaos”.

As much as you questioned the cruel wording, you understood where his point was coming from. The entry fee in itself was five-hundred dollars and these people would have had to have been glued to their screen, waiting for the tickets to go on sale. On top of that, they wouldn’t even guarantee a date because they’d still have to bid a ridiculous amount of money in the auction.

You’d love to help him but you already had your sweet sweet revenge all planned out.

“Ooo it’s sooooo nice that you’re willing to give all that money to charity, and I’d hate seeing you at the mercy of some overbearing girl - or guy for that matter - buuut no. I’m not going to bid for you. It’d be wrong of me since, if you haven’t noticed, I’m running the whole thing”.

Hook’s silence spoke volume as he now knew exactly how you felt about him being in this auction.

“Bitch…” he muttered, turning to the side.

Gasp!

“What was that?” you asked sternly, finally facing him, not having stopped setting up the chairs until now.

“I said I… need to talk to Mitch”. He pointed to one of the guys on the other side of the room and pretended to approach him.

You sighed before calling out whilst he was still within a few feet away, “His name is Thomas”.

“Then I need to talk to Thomas, bitch”.

“Oh just fuck off”. The conversation ended with you indignantly laughing at his teenager-y antics.

—

Every single chair that you among others had placed had someone sat in it - well, they were all allocated, at least. One crazed fan that caught your eye was standing, of course, violently shaking the person next to her who you really hoped was her friend and not some stranger she was using as a human cocktail shaker.

It was show time. Honestly, you had no other job than to make sure everything was in check, ensuring that the auction went as you had envisioned. No introduction was needed as Tony Shiavone (who was way too happy to be the announcer for a change) went straight to it, announcing the first wrestler up for grabs, and you were quite content standing off to the side where you could watch the whole show as well as watching the crowd.

“Coming in from St. Marks Place, he’s cold-hearted, he’s definitely handsome, and the girls go crazy for him”.

Ha ha! Although it was the first auction, this was definitely the main event in your opinion. The one you had been looking forward to the most.

“Weighing in at 202 pounds, he currently holds the championship for the best single life. He’s Hoooooooooook!”

If the pool of merchandise wasn’t enough to figure out exactly how big of fans these people were, the screaming made it all too obvious. You hardly heard his song playing due to a mix of the yelling and the (hopefully temporary) deafness it caused you.

Seeing Hook walk on stage as just himself without the aloof persona he puts on was strange to say the least. It felt as though all these people got to experience a side to him that only you had the pleasure of seeing, which you knew was absolutely ludicrous because you weren’t the only person in his life. Perhaps it was the fact that these ‘people’ were the women who were about to pay a ridiculous amount of money at a chance for his heart.

Was this what jealousy felt like?

No, of course not. You had no reason to be jealous. You were about to relish in the suffering he was about to endure by one of these fans.

But what if the date… went well? What if he actually started a relationship with that woman? What would that mean for the two of you?

You desperately tried to shake your head out of those thoughts. He said he wouldn’t romantically involve himself with a fan anyway.

…but what if-? No! Shut up, Y/N!

Hook’s eyes immediately met yours, eyebrows raising as if to say ‘wish me luck’, to which you smirked in a reply, reminding yourself that this whole event was meant to be enjoyable for you.

“And we’ll start the bidding at three-hundred dollars. Oh straight in with the three-hundred”.

The bids came in so fast that you could hardly comprehend how many bidding paddles were flying up in the air until they began to slow down as the price continued to rise to those outrageous prices you were waiting to hear.

“Two-thousand dollars to the woman in the front here. Is there a twenty-one-hundred here?”

The higher the bids came in, the fewer women that were left standing, eventually cutting it down to just two, and then to one, and boy were they desperate.

“That’s five-thousand dollars to the woman at the front going once”.

Pause. You peered at the lucky lady who had won the date with Hook and what came into your view could have made your body implode from how badly your blood was boiling.

“Going twice”.

Pause. It couldn’t be her, could it? But that long golden blonde hair and sharp facial features were completely undeniable.

“Aaand-”

“Five-thousand one-hundred!” Your voice spoke out before you even had time to think, your glare not having left the woman who stood on the front row. Her disgusting victorious smile returned her natural hideous jealous scowl you’d known for years which whipped in your direction as probably many other heads, including Hook’s, did - not that you were paying any attention to anyone else now that the woman who had been harassing you for almost two years was here in front of you.

You were lucky you hadn’t spoken to the audience yet because you feared what kind of backlash you and the company would have received if anyone knew you - an organiser - started bidding in their own event.

“Two-hundred!” Her voice fought back to which you quickly retaliated with a hundred dollars more. Like hell was this bitch going to get what she wanted.

You knew Petra from highschool. She was one of those who thought she and her friends were oh so much better than you because of how much makeup they wore and how trendy their new Prada outfit was. She even bragged about her grades from time to time. After all, she did a lot of grinding on hard work to achieve those.

“Six thousand!”

Where the hell was she getting this money from?

You presumed she was rich all these years, but not ‘I’m gonna buy myself a famous boyfriend’ rich.

“Seven!” You on the other hand had no reason to worry about money. One huge benefit of working in your uncle’s business was the generous pay. Uncle Tony really did not hold out when it came to paying his staff.

You could see Hook’s perplexed look from beneath his hoodie directed at you, most likely wondering why you had such the change of heart, but you couldn’t let your focus drift away from the burden sitting on the front row. She must pay.

After you graduated and All Elite Wrestling had taken off, word had gotten out that you were Tony Khan’s niece, so when you mistakenly decided to post on Instagram about your new job there, the number of private messages you had received from people you had hardly spoken to in the past came flooding in, asking if you could get them tickets, or arrange a meet and greet with their favourites.

You’d decided to ignore all of them, however, there was one who was painfully persistent that you eventually had to tell them to shut the fuck up because it was never gonna happen. That person was, of course, Petra. Every week or so it was all ‘Can you set me up with Hook?’, ‘Oh my god isn’t Hook just the hottest?’, and ‘Can’t you do this for me after all you put me through in high school?’

Who the hell did she think she was? A princess? Not everything isn’t her fault.

You didn’t fail to notice the slight panic in her widened eyes after you raised the price by another thousand dollars.

Where’s daddy’s allowance now, bitch?

She hesitantly gestured to Shiavone to up the bid another hundred, however, now you knew she was running short of money, you felt you could wrap this up pretty swiftly.

“Eight-thousand dollars”, you said with a smirk. You were definitely going over your limit and you’d probably have to budget your shopping for a couple of months, but boy would it be worth it in the end to see that smug face wiped clean off.

“Nine-thousand dollars!” How many sugar daddies does this girl have? She probably knows she can leave and suck someone’s dick for another 1k.

No matter how she got the money, you knew you had more.

“Ten–thousand dollars!” The murmurs and Petra’s silence spoke all. You saw her visibly gulp and glance around the floor in disbelief. She wasn’t going to find another two thousand dollars on the floor so you really did not know what she could have been looking around for. She lost her pride a long time ago and she sure as hell wasn’t going to find it here.

“And the date with Hook goes to uhh… the lady over there for ten-thousand dollars!”

You sent Tony a small, thankful smile for not telling everyone who you were, and you were quite surprised that Petra hadn’t said anything appalling yet given she too knew that you had to have had a part in this event. She’d even begged you for weeks in advance if you could rig the event for her. In hindsight, you really shouldn’t have been at all shocked to see her here.

One of the backstage crew gestured for you to follow them to which you obliged, leaving the noise of disappointed groans behind you. One glance at Hook before you disappeared behind the curtain told you that this situation was just as awkward for him as it was now for you.

Your mind scoured for a suitable justification as to why you might have spoken up when you did.

You could say it was for charity? Those unfortunate kids were about to be bathed in riches and opportunities with the amount of money being thrown at them.

Not having any faith in your poor, disingenuous excuse, and seeing Hook making his way towards you, you decided that perhaps it would be better if you simply told him the truth. It was a valid reason after all. You wanted Hook to suffer for all the teasing he had done to you in the past but you didn’t want to torture him to death.

“Is that why you decided to work here?”

You stared at him with a puzzled look and he continued.

“Because you’re a secret superfan?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed and whilst waiting for an actual response to come to your mind, another half laugh, half scoff filled the silence, making his claim seem like the truth. You had not joined the AEW team because you were a Hook superfan (because you weren’t), but over the years of working alongside him in the background, you had naturally become one of his biggest fans.

“Yeah, you wish”. You regretted the poor excuse for a comeback as soon as it left your lips.

“Sooo are you gonna tell me why you just bid for me or are you gonna stand there all awkward?” He asked after a long hesitation.

Yep. The truth is better than an obvious lie.

“I knew the other woman from high school and trust me when I tell you that I was doing you a favour. She’s a slut. A tart. A whore if you will. I swear in God’s name if I ever see her again I will-”

“Alright alright I get it. You can tell me more on our date”.

You were glad Tyler decided to interrupt you there as you hadn’t even realised your hands clawing at thin air as if choking the very woman you hadn’t been able to get out of your life since you started working here. She had caused nothing but distractions and…

Wait, what?

“Date?”

Hook chuckled at your doe eyes. “You won fair and square, right?”

“Well yeah but I didn’t realise that– I didn’t think– I thought you wouldn’t– okay, a date sounds great”.

“Are you sure? I didn’t think you’d want to date a ‘fuckboy’ like me”.

Ah shit. Yeah you forgot about that. Well you supposed now would be a better time than any for an apology.

“Look I really am sorry for that. I was–”

“It doesn’t matter. You weren’t completely wrong. But I won’t be like that with you. How about tonight?”

You sent a warm smile of relief. Perhaps you had just been in denial all this time because you were suddenly super excited for this date with this good-looking, hilarious, kind friend of yours.

“Sounds perfect. It’ll probably be late, though. I have to help clean up”.

“I’ll wait, don’t worry”.

He edged past you and left you with your heart feeling like it was about to burst out of your chest and with butterflies hitting every inch of your stomach lining. The shaky breath you let out was quickly sucked back in when two hands gripped your hips and pulled your body close to theirs.

“I like it when you're nervous around me. Cocky didn’t suit you”, Hook muttered in your ear. Every part of you tingled now and you felt you could hardly move.

That would’ve been awkward if it wasn’t Hook.

You managed to turn your body, watching him make his way to the back door, looking like he was walking down a fashion runway or something.

Before he could reach for the handle, you called out to him, not letting him get away with the comment you had just realised he made.

“You’re still going to pay me back, though, right?”

He turned with a smirk and without saying anything, stuck both his middle fingers up at you before leaving the building.

Smug bastard…

You spent the remainder of the day with a gigantic grin plastered upon your face. You hadn’t dared show yourself on stage as the organiser after your little showdown with Petra, and you had hoped that all of those people out there would never figure out who you were either.

Perhaps she would leave you alone now after that whole ordeal, knowing that she lost and would finally be able to accept that she will never be able to get to Hook through you. You had to give her some credit, however, because without her, some other girl would have won and you would never have been given this date opportunity.

Instead, you would probably be eating ice cream in bed in pure jealousy rather than savouring the humiliation you had originally wished upon your date.

Your date… Ah! Exciting! This ten grand had better be worth it.

THE END.

Bonus: A few private messages! (I had no idea what I was doing)

Message #1

Message #2

Message #3 (Blurry schmurry. It's fine)

End notes: I would like to apologise for being naive. I thought it was cool that Chris and Hook were teaming, especially since I saw Chris Jericho's band in Feb (which was great btw) and I got overexcited at their collaboration. I scold myself everyday since he pushed Taz and took the belt.

#hook aew #hook x reader #aew #aew fanfiction #hook x you #hook x y/n #hook fanfiction #hook imagine #all elite wrestling #reader insert #fem reader

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 hours

Note

Here's a fun (modern au) one: full hc for the M6's airport/airplane flight experience >:3

The Arcana HCs: M6 at the airport

~ loosely referencing this old ask arcana post from the nix hydra era - @themushroomgoesyeet hope you like this friend! I had so much fun writing it!! ^.^ ~

Julian

Does Julian love the concept of flying through the air as a mode of transportation, travel, and adventure in general? Sure!

Does that mean he does well with it? Not at all

Major flight anxiety and will cope with it to varying degrees of healthy depending on who he's with and what his options are

If you're the sort of person to pack soothing gummies and noise cancelling headphones with pre-downloaded guided meditation tracks and some sleep meds, he'll be all over them

If you're the sort of person who doesn't mind a drink or two before a flight just to soothe the nerves - well - he won't say no to that, either. Just make sure he's sober by the time you land, so he doesn't take a ride on the luggage carousel out of relief

Can and will grip your hand during take off and landing and then apologize when it briefly cuts off your blood circulation

Always offers to put up at least three people's luggage for them in the overhead bins and drops at least one on his head

Asra

They are one of those very weird people who think airplanes, airports, and any public area of transportation are relaxing

He's in tie-dye loungewear, a neck pillow, crocs, fuzzy socks, hair pushed out of his face with a sleeping mask-turned-headband, a rolling duffle bag dragged by one hand and a snack in the other

They are v i b i n g

Misses flights way less than you would expect him to, mostly because he's so familiar with all the major airports at this point that he has boarding just in time down to a fine science

And when they do miss a flight, it turns into an extended chillout session because they know all the best hangout spots there

His capacity to fall asleep anywhere, anytime works in his favor on cramped flights beautifully

They've started a new tradition with you of looking through all the available in-flight entertainment and picking what promises to be the cringiest movie, just to make you laugh with their commentary

Nadia

Her usual reason for flying is business, which is exactly how she approaches the entire traveling process

Her luggage is all one elegant, efficient set (she has bought you a matching one) with personalized tags for ease of spotting

Always purchases business class tickets, refuses to take any chances on missing her special traveling experience and arrives at the airport three hours early as a result

There are multiple reasons for this - first, less stress at security, second, she has one of those fancy passes that gets her into just about any exclusive club lounge in the world

Enjoys the hour or two pampering you in the lounge with nothing else to do more than she does any other part of the travel

Won't hesitate to critique/send back her meal on the airplane if she doesn't like it, tends to load up on sleeping meds for longer flights since the fluctuating air pressure triggers her migraines

Brings an extra skincare routine for you to do during the last hour

Muriel

Look at him. Do you see him? Look at him. Now look at the size of an airplane interior. Look at him again. Now look at the amount of available legroom. Look at him again. HE IS 6'10.

Muriel would prefer almost any form of transportation to flying. It's busy, security makes him move too fast, all the signs and bustle of the airport are hell on his anxiety, and that's before boarding

Always tries to get an aisle seat because that lets him expand into the walkway if he needs to, and so he's less likely to glance out the window and see just how far away the ground is

The ground belongs right here. Under his feet. Not a terrifying drop down through the clouds!!

The airplane experience is sensory hell for him in general, the deafening sound of the engines, the constant vibration, the recycled air, the ways his ears pop, the stiff seats, the armrests -

Really the only way he'll get through this is if he knows there's no other options and if you're next to him as his emotional support

Portia

An airport champion

And it's really not from that much experience. She's traveled enough to know she likes it, but it's still so exciting every time she gets the chance to fly somewhere! Especially with you!!

Has done all of her research ahead of time and is packed for everything. Her massive mom bag has pockets for snacks, documents, meds, chargers, electronics, drinks, travel cushions ...

Does get restless before a flight and will drag you all up and down the terminal to take a look at every single shop and restaurant

The type to start chatting with whoever's in line with her, whether in security lines, bathroom lines, coffee lines, or boarding lines

Will befriend whoever is sitting next to/across from her and spend half the flight getting to know them and trading stories

Will offer to hold any nearby crying baby if said baby's caregiver could clearly use five minutes to use the restroom or eat

Takes so many pictures out the airplane window

Lucio

Traveling is one of those things that he tries (and fails) to hide his excitement around. In his mind, this is something that he as a worldly, well-traveled person should be nonchalant about

He is not nonchalant. He is thrilled to be doing something fairly exciting and to spend a whole day with excuses to be in close quarters with you - and to book a first-class ticket

The only issue is that (if it's left unchecked) his FOMO will prompt him to try to squeeze every single thing to do out of the terminal before he boards the plane, which can end in missing his flight

Massage chairs! You two should definitely get a massage

A massive perfume section! You two should sample five each

Gets extremely impatient during the boarding process and will start grumbling and fidgeting in place when the person in front of him is taking forever to put up their luggage

Laughs loudly enough at the comedy he picks to watch for the whole airplane to hear him

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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triasticalwarlock · 1 day

Text

Things I predict in blood lust/Headcanons:

When everyone is fighting against the Angels, the gang will make y/n remain in the hotel. Not wanting them to get hurt (or taken)

Once Adam realizes where you are, he will go inside the hotel without anyone noticing.

Y/n will meet Adam in the first episode, since in the first special chapter, the summary says that this takes place before the court room episode but y/n has all ready meet all the characters.

I have a feeling that Adam will still die, but he'll come back as a sinner.

And it's only after Adam is a resident at the hotel that the gang will meet y/n's dad. Since he is no doubt in hell.

Adam will make frequent trips down to hell to chill with y/n. Often just cuddling while doing movie marathons (he brings all the snacks, it's the best you ever tasted). And he'll obviously try to get in your pants.

Lucifer will probably follow y/n everywhere, idk, I just think he would.

You know the meme where there's two people fighting in the background but when their friend looks over at them they aren't anymore? That's Lucifer and alastor.

Y/n will see their mother again in heaven at some point.

So, there are warnings in the tags for breeding kinks right? Adam and Lucifer (maybe alastor???).Change my mind

Adam has to look all the way down just to see you, he also picks you up like a wet dog.

All characters will play with your ears.

I see Lucifer and Adam playing with your wings as well. Just lightly folding and opening them. They find how different your wings are in comparison to theirs interesting.

Adam, lute, and Lucifer like giving you some of their feathers.

Adam likes to feed you ribs.

Lucifer will bitch slap anyone who so much happens to look at you wrong.

You are literally so small in comparison to Adam (I mean, you are the second smallest. Beaten by nifty) you literally fit in this dude's hand. He could throw you like a fucking ball, and yell, 'kobi!'

As much as Lucifer loves his tall woman, he also loves the short ones. He loves the way he can just curl up behind you and completely embrace you. You're like a puzzle piece!

You will more than likely go up to heaven with vaggie and Charlie, this one is just another feeling thing.

If you're up in heaven and someone shit talks you? Then Adam and lute are going to make sure that 1, they're going to have therapy for the rest of their life(lives). And 2, beat the shit out of them.

Adam will absolutely play the guitar to you, maybe sing as well. He'll want you to sing along with him.

Will add later!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #blood lust by babygrillbree #blood lust on ao3 #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel angel dusk #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvettle

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ghouly-boiiiii · 2 days

Text

My Name Is Cooper

Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul

If you're looking for some Ghoulcy that's angsty, funny and kinda sweet with Lucy wearing the pants in the relationship, this might be for you!

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Humor, Banter, Femdom

Summary: Follows Lucy and The Ghoul on their journey after the events of Season 1. Lucy has to come to terms with what she’s learned about the company and people she once trusted with her life and the future of the world, and the bounty hunter's rough exterior starts to break down as he begins to see his old self in her.

After coming across an abandoned vault, they decide to spend the night there and take advantage of its remaining amenities. While there, Lucy finds some of Cooper Howard’s old movies… The same movies she grew up watching with her dad. She puts them in, and as she recalls distant memories and struggles to cope with the truth about her father, she comes to another startling realization…

Authors Note: I just wanted to write something with these two. Not sure where it's gonna go, but I've got at least 3-4 chapters in mind, and there will be smut somewhere in there lol. I just think they have an interesting dynamic and much potential for witty banter and an interesting romantic/sexual relationship. Especially with the idea that Lucy may or may not have had a major crush on the actor Mr. Cooper Howard. And that The Ghoul may or may not become an absolute lost puppy for the first woman who looks at him in *that way* after 200 years of being a walking corpse.

It's gonna be an adventure. Let's see where this takes us, y'all. lol

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,016

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers

No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man.

Chapter 1 My Name Is Lucy

“You’re awful quiet there, Vaulty.” The Ghoul said, breaking a long bout of silence as he glanced over his shoulder at his human companion, with Dogmeat faithfully prancing beside him.

Lucy didn’t look up at him. She just stared at the ground, dredging her feet heavily through the sand. Dawn had long passed and the sun was now beating down, but she could barely feel the burn on her cheek as her mind raced with the things she now knew.

“You ain’t said a word since we left Cali… Hell, you ain’t even beggin’ for water.” He joked, trying to prod a response out of her.

“Lucy.” She said simply.

“What now?”

“My name is Lucy.”

“Yeah? I know that… So what?”

“That’s my name…” She looked up at him, her brow slightly furrowed and voice sharp with agitation. “I just thought since we’re gonna be traveling together, maybe you could use it sometime…”

The Ghoul looked over his shoulder again for a moment, grinning slightly. He seemed a bit surprised by her tone, but also somewhat amused. “Hah… well, alright then, Ms. Lucy MacLean.” He said mockingly. “Tell me somethin’. Whaddaya think we gonna find when we finally catch up with that daddy a’ yours?”

The vault dweller felt her jaw clench a little and her brow furrowed more. “Why are you asking me?”

“Oh, I just thought… you been down there in that vault all this time. You ought to know somethin’.”

“Ugh… No! I don’t know shit!” She snapped, raising her head up a bit more. “…In fact… I’m the one who should be asking you the questions!” The girl narrowed her eyes towards him, zeroing in on the back of his wrinkly, bald head. “How do you know my father?”

“Hah… well… that is quite a story.” He said with a snicker. “But I think we best save that for another day.”

“I want answers.” She demanded. “Besides, we’ve got a long way to go, don’t we? Might as well talk...”

“I’m used to travelin’ alone, sweetie… Kinda prefer the peace and quiet, if I’m bein’ honest…”

“Tch…” She scoffed skeptically. “You like peace and quiet… or is that just a nice way of telling me to shut up?”

The Ghoul let out a chuckle. “Nah… If I wanted you to shut up, I’d just shoot ‘cha.”

She blinked, then picked up the pace, jogging up next to him. “Alright then… let’s talk.”

He glanced over at her, then shrugged. “Be my guest.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it before… What do I call you?”

“I ain’t got no name, sweetie.”

“You have to have a name…”

“Not no more, I don’t.”

“Well, I have to call you something...”

“Heh…” He huffed a bit. His voice was casual, but clearly holding back some irritation. “Then you can just call me ‘Asshole’.”

“Come on. Tell me your name.”

“It don’t matter...” He said with a slight scowl. “...The man that name belonged to died a long time ago.”

Lucy stared at him a moment, then looked away, taking several steps before turning back to him. “...What... was he like?”

The Ghoul stopped in his tracks, then leaned to one side a bit and tilted his head before turning to her in exasperation. “I said you could talk. Not ask me a bunch of stupid ass questions.”

“I wanna know…” Lucy said, tilting her head a bit too as she stood her ground. “I wanna know who you were before you became… you know…” She paused as she looked him up and down with a slight sneer. “...this…”

The two-and-a-half century old bounty hunter stared at her a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. His eyes shifted towards the barren wasteland around them where Dogmeat had decided to wonder while she waited for them to continue, then looked back at the young vault dweller. “You wanna know what he was like…?” He finally said, then his eyes moved to the distance ahead of them as he continued to walk. “Well… he was a lot like you…” The Ghoul stated with a scowl. “Naive. Hopeful... Thought the world was a... good place fulla… good people who wanted to do the right thing...” The distain in his voice was palpable.

“You were… like me?” She said, her tone was both surprised and doubtful.

“I told you, Vaulty. I’m you…” He reminded her. “Only difference between us is…”

“Time.” She finished his sentence.

He looked at her a moment, then turned away and said, “That’s right…”

Lucy got quiet again, staring at the ground as they continued to walk.

A period of silence passed between them. The Ghoul found himself glancing over at her a couple times, before asking, “You worried… what this wasteland’s gonna do to ya…?” He said, his tone oddly compassionate. “What it’s gonna turn ya into…”

She quivered a bit, looked up at him, then back down.

“Well… I don’t blame ya. I’d probably feel the same way, lookin’ at me…” He glanced over and smirked at her a bit, but she didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. So he continued. “I hate to tell ya though… It's already started, sweetheart… But I think you already know that…” He grit his teeth together for a moment and sucked in some air between them. “Not much you can do about it, but…” He let out a somber exhale, hesitating a moment before glancing at her again and saying, “You know… it ain’t too late... to go back.”

The girl blinked, then looked up at him with wide eyes. “Go back? To where…?” Her tone was suddenly rather upset. “To the vault? That place? That…” She shook her head. “No! No, there… there’s no way I could go back…!” She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Not after… Not after knowing... what I know now…” She choked back a sob and shook her head. “Just go back…? Back to my old life and pretend… like none of this ever happened? …I can’t.”

“Hmm…” The Ghoul ground his teeth a little. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that…” He took another deep breath. “That's the problem with the truth. Once you got it, you can’t put it back… No matter how bad you might want to.”

She swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat, then looked up at him. “...Why did you let me come with you?”

“Again, with the questions…” He said with an exasperated breath. “We both lookin’ for the same thing, ain’t we?”

“...And why should what I'm looking for matter to you?”

“It don’t. Not really, but… Shit, we goin’ in the same direction.”

Lucy was getting annoyed by how The Ghoul kept running the conversation in circles, but she wasn’t about to give up. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me now… Why don’t you just take me hostage again?”

The old bounty hunter snickered a little. “Well, cause I ain't got no reason to, sweetheart. I don’t just go around tormenting people for the fun of it. What kinda person you think I am, huh?”

“Huh.” She scoffed at him as if she couldn't believe the stupidity of that question. “Well… kind of… not a very good one, if we’re being completely honest.”

“Heh… Well, you’re not wrong about that... But the real question is… if that’s how ya feel, why’d you decide to come with me?”

She looked down, shook her head and shrugged. “As long as you’re not dragging me around with a rope, I think I’d rather take my chances with you than be out here on my own again…”

“Yeah… life’s full of hard decisions, ain’t it?” He turned towards her, lowering his head a little and looking at her from under the brim of his hat. “You know… I underestimated you... Ms. Lucy MacLean. I thought a cushy vault dweller like yourself would be nothin’ more than roach kibble.” He looked forward and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “But… you got somethin’ in ya. Somethin’ that’s drivin’ ya… Maybe it’s that curiosity a’ yours. Maybe a misplaced sense of justice… or… maybe something else. Whatever it is… it gives you that edge. You got that survival instinct… Aw hell, maybe I’m a little curious too…”

“Curious… about what?”

“To see how far you’re willing to take it… before you do go crawling back into that hole.”

She frowned deeply and glared at him. Her voice was quiet and shaky, but firm. “I’m… never going back down there… I don’t care… what happens up here.” Her voice began to waver and crack as she spoke. “I’m never going back… I can’t go back…”

“Yeah…” He nodded approvingly. “Because you don’t take no bullshit. That’s what I like about 'che. I respect that.”

The vault dweller, or rather former vault dweller, huffed a little. “Great… I’ve earned the respect of a murdering monster…” She said sarcastically as she wiped her eyes. “That makes me feel just… so much better…”

“Call me what you want. But like I said… just give it a little time...” He smiled a little as he continued to stride forward. “...And well... to tell you the truth, I guess I feel like I owe you one, you bringing me those vials and all….” He chuckled a little at himself. “What was that you said? Golden rule, motherfucker?”

She smirked a little, feeling justified. “Yeah… but… I... was also the one who... broke them in the first place… so…”

“That’s right, you did.” The Ghoul said playfully. “But then, I suppose I shouldn’t have been using you as bait in a poisoned river.”

“Yeah… Yeah, th-that’s right! You shouldn’t have!” Lucy yelped, suddenly getting animated as she recalled the ordeal. “That was… not very respectable behavior at all, sir!”

“Yeah… rude, huh?”

“Very rude!”

“Down right ungentlemanly.”

“The most ungentlemanly!” She huffed and puffed with righteous indignation. “A-and you know what? You do owe me! Yeah! You owe me big time, mister! You cut off my finger and… and I saved your life! I didn’t have to do that!”

The Ghoul let out an amused laugh. “Oh… I still got your finger.” He said, pausing to wiggle it in front of her.

Lucy squinted in horror as she recognized the out-of-place digit, crudely stitched onto the stump of his missing index finger. Then her eyes got wide as she leaned back, sneering in disgust. “You are… a sick, sick man.”

“What? You want it back?”

“I… found a replacement already… thanks.” She said, holding up her own bluish-gray finger.

“Never let a good body part go to waste, I say.” He said with a grin. “Besides, you did bite one a’ mine off first. Only fair you replace it.”

“Y-you kidnapped me!” She threw the blame back at him.

The Ghoul let out another laugh and Dogmeat barked in excitement. “Ah, Vaulty… it’s gonna be fun havin’ you around, ain’t it?” He said before continuing to walk.

She scoffed as she began to follow, but her voice softened a bit. “Okay… so… so does that mean I don’t have to worry about you cutting off any more of my fingers…? Or… anything else like that?”

“Well… now that depends, don’t it?”

“On what?”

“Whether you plan on bitin’ off any more a’ mine, darlin'.” He said, looking over at her. “Eye for an eye. Finger for a finger. You bite my ass, I bite your ass. Golden rule, motherfucker.”

Lucy scrunched up her face in an attempt to hide that she was trying not to laugh. “I-I… I will do my best…” She said after containing herself a little and raising her head up in a dignified, but also mockingly serious way. “But you know… sometimes… a fellas gotta eat a fella… right?”

The Ghoul laughed heartily, amused at her attempt to match his humor. “Well, in that case… next time I think you better swallow.”

She felt herself crack a smile, then began to laugh as well.

To be continued...

#the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #lucy maclean #fallout prime #ghoulcy #fallout show #fallout series #fallout tv series #vaultghoul #lucy x cooper #the ghoul x lucy #cooper howard x lucy maclean #lucy maclean x cooper howard #fanfiction #my posts #my fanfiction

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thecooler · 2 days

Text

Magnetar

Fandom: Adventure Time

Pairing: Simon/Betty

Additional Tags: POV First Person, POV Second Person, Grief/Mourning, Alternate Universes

Word Count: 3,368

AO3 Mirror

Simon Petrikov

You are a mature student at the University of Ooo. You tell people that you resent the term mature student, because, in your own words, it makes you sound like an “old fart.” People respond by telling you that your whole everything makes you sound like an old fart. Regardless of your linguistic preferences, though, you, Simon Petrikov, are living in a college dorm about thirty years and change after you last expected to be.

It’s just you in the room. Last time you were in dorms, you had this wad of a roommate named David, who left his laundry on your side of the room and ate your ramen packets without asking. You’d often told your fiancée, Betty, about David. She always giggled at the disdainful lilt your voice would take when you said his name— David, like you might say the name of your least favorite grade school teacher, or your weirdest ex. David wasn’t your weirdest ex, though, that was a different guy, though his name was also David, which Betty always had a good laugh over the first time you told her.

Betty is coming over later tonight, after you’re done with classes. You love her very much. You’ve been seeing each other for what feels like forever.

You pull a pair of matched socks out of your drawers and slide them on, then adjust your bow tie. You look in the mirror, and for a moment, you see a flash of blue. You blink, and find it’s just yourself staring back. Your hair’s started to grey. Betty thinks it looks good on you.

Betty Grof

The school library has always been something of a safe haven for me. In elementary school, being weird meant that I didn’t keep friends for long, and the librarians were always terribly fond of me. They’d give me little tasks to do, like wiping down tables with a cloth or putting a book or two back if I was good. I relished in these small favors. I’ve always yearned to be useful.

In high school, I managed to make friends, because high school is when people who are ahead of the game realize that being weird and being cool are basically synonyms. And some people still give you grief, but when you have friends, it’s a hell of a lot easier to ignore those people. I didn’t need to spend time in the library, then, to avoid my own loneliness. But I returned anyway, because I found the scent of books and the old, dusty carpet in my hometown’s old library to be a comfort. When I turned sixteen, the director of the library took pity on me and gave me a job. By the time I made my way to University, I was already well on my way to building myself a decent resume.

I don’t remember how I got this particular gig, and it doesn’t really matter.

All that matters is that in this life, this is the library where I met Simon Petrikov.

He’s inevitable, a cosmic force that I feel myself drawn to in every universe. He was a bit older, when I met him here, in his first semester. He was looking for an old volume from Kant. He’s always stubborn— he paced around for a good hour before he asked me for help. When he did, I looked at him and smiled and said, “Are you saying you kant find it?” and he’d laughed way more than the joke called for. He always laughs like that at my jokes, like he thinks I’m the most brilliant person to ever walk the earth. Like he’s never once looked in a mirror.

Simon Petrikov

Your first class is at eight am and all the way across campus. You often joke about how it’s fine, because you could use the cardio and the regular sleep schedule. But you always end up leaving ten minutes late if no one’s pushing you out the door, and you don’t think you’ve ever once jogged willingly in your life. You walk at a regular pace across campus, and you’ll get there when you get there. You don’t usually miss much in the first five minutes anyway, though you don’t love the glare your professor shoots you when you creak open the old, heavy wood door.

You sit in your usual spot and listen to the lecture, but it all sort of starts to blend together. You’re suddenly quite tired, and you can feel your eyelids drooping when shuffling starts around you. With a start, you realize it’s time to head to your next class. You blink and stand up suddenly, stumbling when vertigo gets the better of you. A young man you don’t recognize rests a steadying hand on your shoulder and says, “Come on, Simon, I’ve got you,” and his blue eyes look rather sad.

He’s young, you think, too young to be here, until he’s not. You blink, and he has a beard and a chest tattoo peeking out from under the collar of his tank top. You swear that wasn’t there before. “Simon?” he says again, his brow furrowing. You don’t remember telling him your name.

You look at this young man, and you find yourself at a loss for words. You recognize in his gaze a familiar sense of prolonged grief. You’ve never met him, but somehow you think you’ve known him your whole life, or at least his.

“Are you okay, man?”

You nod, slowly, and it doesn’t seem to convince him. “Betty’s coming over tonight,” you say, “I must have gotten distracted thinking about it.”

Betty Grof

Once, when we were a lot younger, and before the crown changed everything, Simon and I went hiking together. Usually, when we went on excursions, they were meticulously planned. He had every step of our journey plotted out on a spreadsheet or a numbered list, the creation of which was usually his favorite part of the whole thing. Which wasn’t to say he disliked the excursion— more so that he really liked making lists and spreadsheets.

But we’d gone without this time. I worried it was because I teased him about it, even though he knew it was good-natured, or at least I’m pretty sure he knew. I didn’t think he was actually upset, because Simon always wore his feelings on his sleeve, and when he was worried, he got this crease between his eyebrows. On such occasions, I’d kiss his cheeks until he relented and forgave me, for which I was declared a menace to society. So I don’t know exactly why he decided to forgo the spreadsheet this time, but he refused to make one, even when I tried to nudge him to in the hours before we left.

So we went off into the bush on the outskirts of Seattle, near a farm that some friend of Simon’s owned. We had two backpacks full of trail mix and a sleeping bag, but no tent, because Simon said that he’d been orienteering since he was old enough to walk, and he’d get us out of the bush before we needed to sleep.

Naturally, then, we did not make it out of the forest in time. Instead, we found a nice, open clearing, and we lay down on the grass together and looked at the stars. Simon was fidgeting with his shirt sleeves.

I said, “It’s really okay, Simon. You know I don’t mind a little roughin’ it,” and I waggled my eyebrows. It wasn’t really an innuendo, but I’d never been one to miss an opportunity for a double-entente, no matter how half-baked. I meant it, too. Laying under the stars next to the Simon Petrikov was basically a dream, even after five years of dating. I think it’d been five years. Time is different here, it’s hard to tell. Hard to remember how time moves for mortals.

He turned on his side and he looked at me. Back then, before Evergreen’s crown took root in his mind, his eyes were a deep, thoughtful brown. He said, “You would really tell me when I’ve got a bad idea?”

I turned over and smiled, “Would it stop you if I did?”

And he’d closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and breathed, “No.”

Above, the cosmos shone down, ambivalent to us. It would be hundreds of years yet until we tried to make it ours, and in doing so, fell apart.

Simon Petrikov

You walk to your next class with the unfamiliar old friend. He says he shares the class with you, though you don’t think he seems like the Anthropology type. He pats you on the shoulder and laughs at pretty much everything you say, even when you aren’t making a joke. This feels to you like condescension, but you can’t detect anything other than earnestness in the boy’s face. He looks to be in his early-to-mid twenties, but his eyes are much older.

Your daughter, Marceline, joins you. She has a guitar strapped to her back and you know from experience she isn’t above busting it out in class if she thinks it’ll make the situation funny. Her girlfriend, Bonnie, walks beside her. These are two more people you’ve known for impossibly long, and yet you struggle to pin down any specific memories associated with them. It’s as though your mind is a blank slate, with information slowly being accumulated atop it. Marceline doesn’t look like you, and you don’t think she looks like any of your exes, either. You wonder how the two of you met, then, but you know this is not something you can ask.

She looks back across the hall at you, and you abruptly realize that you’ve stopped walking. You’re staring at her, with her hand in Bonnie’s back pocket, and you feel light— happy. But you don’t have the context for these emotions. Your mind feels like an unorganized mess, as though a cosmic being has reached in and shuffled things around, removed some with the intent to put it back, only she forgot. And now nothing makes sense to you, even things that should be second nature.

Marceline’s brow furrows and her lips tug down into a frown. She presses her palm against the small of Bonnie’s back and whispers something to her, before walking back towards Simon while the other girl makes her way towards class. Somewhere along the way, the boy vanished, like as soon as he was out of your line of sight, he ceased to exist. You tense with the realization that the world around you feels more empty than it ought to be.

Marceline places a hand on your shoulder and meets your eyes. In the reflection of her deep brown irises, you see yourself with ragged white hair, and then one of you blinks, and it’s you again. “Simon,” she says carefully, biting her bottom lip and tapping a finger against your shoulder. She takes what feels like several minutes to decide what she’s going to say, though it can’t be more than thirty seconds.

“Is this about–?”

Betty Grof

There’s a reality where we got the crown (we get it in most of them, one way or another), but it wasn’t you who put it on. Simon took it out and came up behind me and popped it on my head. I remember hearing him say boop and start to laugh, and then the universe exploded around me. This, in my current state, says very little. It’s difficult for me to conceptualize what it would have felt like for my mortal brain, but I think that it was agony. It was, to my best approximation, something like having your skull split open, and then unceremoniously pouring the steaming hot knowledge of the cosmos inside.

Which is to say it was probably about as overwhelming for Simon as it was for me.

But when Simon put on the crown, in that first reality we endured together (for him. There is no first for me, nor a last, they are all as one, but it was the first reality my mortal flesh experiences, and so it is easier to describe it as the first) he only lost me. He thought, at the time, that the madness drove me away, and it took him a thousand years to learn the reality of the situation.

Perhaps it is a mercy, then, that in the reality where I don the crown first, I know immediately what happened to my Simon. The crown slips off my head, and I find him, body entombed in ice, save his head, which lolls lifeless and heavy to one side.

There’s more that happens after that, but I don’t stay long.

Simon Petrikov

Eventually, you’re able to convince Marceline that you’re quite alright, but maybe you could stand to eat soon. The two of you cut class, which makes you momentarily feel like a bit of a wild child. The University has a hall of student-run food outlets, and they vary from quite bad to decent. You are partial to the Greek-themed shop, because the chicken isn’t dry and you’ve always been a fan of tzatziki. You often keep a big tub of it in your fridge, when you aren’t living on campus.

You eat with Marceline, and she tells you that she and Bonnie are doing well, that she thinks Bonnie will graduate at the end of next semester but she’s probably going to take another year. She doesn’t mention what either of them are studying. You think that you should remember that. Why don’t you remember that?

She asks you if you have any plans for tonight, and you tell her you have a date. Something tells you that you shouldn’t mention who it’s with, and she doesn’t pry, but she does give you a look that feels very sad, and you don’t like how it makes you feel.

Betty Grof

Simon always planned what we were going to do. While he did that, I managed time. Those sorts of things tended to get away from him. He’d get all wrapped up in research, in exploring every last inch of our ventures, and suddenly, he’d look up and it’d be night already. I always knew exactly what time it was. I learned to read the stars and the trajectory of the sun when I was young, and I’d always found comfort in the notion that no matter where I was in the world, I’d know when I was.

Now, time bends strangely around me, and there is equally no future to plan nor past to recall. Everything is happening, has happened, and will never happen. It is not something that my mortal mind was born to conceive of, though I suppose I’m well past that now.

I know all our realities, Simon. I know each of our beginnings and our ends. There are worlds where we die with our hands clasped together in the face of nuclear destruction. There are worlds where you go on without me, and others where I go on without you. There are realities where we linger together for decades, until the inevitability of death pulls us slowly and together into her arms. I spend more time than I should ruminating on these realities.

Simon Petrikov

Sometime after lunch, you end up back in your dorm room. You think you like it here, more so than you’ve liked a lot of your apartments. For one thing, you have easy access to a good library, though the University’s fiction section, as is often the case, leaves something to be desired. You have room for an armchair and a nice standing lamp. You often fall asleep in that chair, and your back does not thank you for it.

There will be none of that tonight, though, because again, you have a date.

You already look good— you always look good— but you like to dress up. Betty usually dresses comfortably, though she’ll put on her best if the situation calls for it, but a regular Friday evening date does not. She’ll be here in a sweater and slacks, and you’ll think she’s the most beautiful thing in the universe. You know, at this point, very little about the universe. You think you know quite a bit, but you’re mistaken. It’s better that way. Our mortal brains aren’t designed to comprehend such concepts. I would know.

Regardless of how good you currently look (very), you strip out of your blazer and button-down. Your tie is a clip-on, which you wouldn’t be caught dead with on a date. Betty doesn’t understand why it matters if they basically look the same, and doesn’t seem to get it no matter how many times you emphasize that it’s the principle of the matter. But that’s fine; you’re dressing up for you, and a little bit for Betty, but mostly for you.

In the end, you aren’t ready until two minutes before your date’s supposed to start. You’ve put on another nearly identical button-down which you insist is your nice one, as well as some nice black slacks and a matching suit jacket. Your tie is properly tied and not clipped on, like some sort of amateur. You fiddle with it in the mirror until you hear a knock on the door, right on time.

You glance away, and out of the corner of your eye, you once again see a flash of blue, but it’s gone when you whip your head back around. You inhale deeply, and exhale slowly through your nose.

I knock again.

You answer.

???

We’re in your dorm room. You’re looking at me, in that lovelorn way you always wore on date nights. It’s like warmth found a home in your eyes, like I can see the burning of your heart through them. You invite me inside and tell me you’ve put the kettle on for tea. You got the English breakfast tea I like.

We’re holding hands under the stars. The dewy grass seeps through clothing that’s too thin for the midnight chill as we sleep under the cold and unforgiving night sky. We’ll survive, but our aging bodies won’t thank us, and when we develop colds a week from now, we know who to blame.

We’re old together. Wrinkles tug at your face in a way I think is terribly handsome, but which you often fuss over. Day by day, simple things grow harder, and when your eyesight starts to go, you cup my face in your hands and whisper, “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t see your beautiful face.” I reassure you that you have lived without the sight before and will again, but this doesn’t soothe you. I wish it would.

We’re a thousand years beyond a time we should have ever been allowed to live, and I’m sacrificing my mind to restore yours. I never have a single doubt that you would do the same.

I know now that this is true, I’ve seen it come to fruition, in another life.

The bomb goes off while we lay, hand in hand.

You die cradled in my arms.

We’re in the dorm again, and you’re looking at me with an expression I cannot comprehend. I’ve known you for countless lifetimes, and yet there are still times where you perplex me.

“I don’t know where you end,” I say, and without missing a beat, you return, “I don’t know where I begin.”

Our realities, everything we are, is a web of entanglement from which neither of us can escape, no matter how powerful we become. My end is your beginning, my beginning your end, and everything in between those times, folding in upon each other in an incomprehensible cacophony of misery. I know all, and yet, at times even I struggle to understand it.

You are there, and then you are not.

I can always reach you, in a way, if I so choose. But we will never be as we once were. I know too much now.

Were I capable, I would weep for the loss.

#adventure time #atimers #simon petrikov #betty grof #petrigrof #golbetty #writing tag

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