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swordsandholly · 1 month

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Fancy

Ch 2: Just Be Nice to the Gentlemen, Fancy

Previous | Next | Ao3

NSFW | MDNI

Vampire! Poly 141 x Fem! Plus Size! Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A/N: Y’all are getting updates to two fics in a row bc my Wellbutrin has well and truly kicked in. Say thank you to big pharma or whatever

A week passes. You tucked that wad of cash into your special hiding spot behind the vent above your bed. It still feels like it’s burning a hole through you. You made lists of things everything you could possibly spend it on, how much each item costs individually, how much it might help if you save it. In the end, you decided - rather impulsively - to get all new water filters for your entire apartment. The shower head and both sinks. It eats away most of the cash but you’ve never felt so clean - never realized the amount of sludge sticking to your skin until it wasn’t anymore.

The four men haven’t come back, at least to your knowledge. Most likely they’re done with you after that single meeting. They’ve gone back to Cherry and you’re back to working as a server - having meager tips shoved down the bust of your dress and too rough hands grabbing your inner thighs.

After the gentile treatment you received, though, you feel a bit disgusted. Reminded that they choose to be this way. That vampires aren’t just like that, they aren’t made like that, they choose to treat you - to treat humans - terribly. It makes your gut churn with anger in a way it hasn’t since you were an over-achieving teen sneaking out to attend protests in the lower city square.

It is what it is. Life goes on.

The train lurches on your way to work, as usual. News and advertisements scroll along the screens lining the top of the cabin.

TWO DEAD: LOWER THIRD STREET - BOTH EXSANGUINATED

DISAPPEARANCES CONTINUE TO GROW IN NUMBER IN THE FRENCH QUARTER

ONCE AGAIN THE CITY COUNCIL OVERRULES SUIT FOR HUMAN REPRESENTATIVE CHAIR

UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE FOUND IN JANE DOE

With grit teeth you tear your eyes away. People around you whisper, conspire about what might be going on. As if you all don’t already know what’s happening. As if there isn’t a cancer in this city centuries old.

Nothing is new under the constant night.

Life goes on.

You sigh, quietly checking yourself in the mirror before locking up your things in the employee break room and punching in your time card. Before you can even step foot toward the main floor, a girl with pitch black hair begins charging toward you.

“You!” Cherry stomps up to you, voice cracking with anger. Her platform boots raise her up above your level.

You nearly jump out of your skin, instinctively backing away and against the wall. “W-what -“

“You stole my clients!” She shrieks.

“I- what?”

“Cherry.” The owner warns, appearing behind her. A shadow looming over the two of you. A man ready to grab the scruffs of two warring kittens. A few other girls who just arrived for their shifts stare with wide, nervous eyes.

The last time there was a fight here a girl got her eye stabbed out.

“You took them! They’re my best paying clients and you took them! What did you do, huh? You suck their cocks for free?” Her face is barely an inch from yours and a sharp acrylic nail pokes your chest so harshly you’re surprised it doesn’t break skin.

It’s your turn to fume - face hot and hands balling into fists. “How dare you! I swear to god I-“

“Ladies!” The owner booms, grabbing both your shoulders, effectively putting an end to this little spat before it can escalate further. “Quiet. Our guests will hear you. Cherry, go smoke a cig and cool the fuck off. Fancy, follow me.”

You feel a bit like a child on their way to the principles office as you follow the owner toward the bar, wringing your hands and glancing around wildly. Despite your irritation, fear creeps through every part of you. The other girls are staring - whispering to each other behind perfectly manicured hands.

“I - sir - I really didn’t-“ You stop when that same gold tray is shoved into your hands.

“I don’t care what you did or didn’t do.” He sighs loudly. “They’re requesting you.”

“But I don’t-“

“I. Don’t. Care.” He points at you in much the same fashion as Cherry before him. “Your job is what our guests want you to do. So go do your job”

Your jaw clicks as you shut it. Cherry is glaring absolute fucking daggers at you from the back room, her sparking red dress nearly matching the shade of her face. You can’t blame her. You’re taking her clients, her paycheck, her survival. It makes you feel a bit monstrous, if you’re honest with yourself. There isn’t any time to focus on that too much as you’re ushered to the private booths. There’s no reason for you to give this up, either. If they want you they want you, and it’s their fault for kicking her to the curb.

It’s your survival too, at the end of the day.

It feels eerie to walk down this corridor again. To stand before that heavy curtain again. Your hands don’t shake this time, though. Even with the added tension from your previous interaction they remain steady.

They’re seated the same as before. Simon’s mask is different - a regular balaclava as opposed to the skull. You realize that his eyebrows and lashes are blonde - so strangely soft for such a harsh looking man. They’re all dressed far more casually, it seems. All the way down to Johnny’s sneakers that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe based on the brand. John has traded his suit coat for a simple one with sherpa lining. Kyle braided his hair since last time.

“Evenin’, Fancy.” John smiles warmly. The way it makes your heart flutter is utterly shameful.

“Hello.” You smile, tilting your head and setting down the tray. Same as before. Rinse and repeat. They ordered liquor this time - bourbon, you think. Maybe scotch. Same difference. “You’ve gotten me into trouble.”

“Have we, now?” John drapes an arm over the back of the booth.

“Cherry isn’t exactly happy.” You fake pout as you hand out the glasses. “Thinks I did something salacious to steal you away.”

“How do you know you didn’t?” John gives you a once over. Blue eyes dragging down every curve and angle of your body.

“I suppose I don’t.” You sigh. “Nothing in my right mind, though.”

“Sorry about that, love. It’s for your own good.”

“Right.” The only thing more powerful than plausible deniability is actual deniability. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Can get yer pretty little arse over here.” Johnny grabs you by the waist, setting you down in his lap. You gasp at the sudden motion, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders for balance.

“I think ‘little’ is a bit of a misnomer, there, hun.” You snicker.

“Aye, as it should be.” His hand wanders to pinch your hip.

“You’re a dog, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Och, ye wound me, lass.”

You glance over at Simon briefly, eyes meeting his. He tilts his head forward. Those dark eyes hold no less intensity than before. They take you in like they want to eat you whole. He probably does.

John must signal him - a nod or a curl of finger - because you’re being passed into the center of the booth again and set right up at John’s side. Vampire covens are simple things. Strong hierarchies that are rarely challenged unless a leader falls or fails spectacularly.

Top dog gets the chew toy.

“I like the change of attire.” You smile, tugging at the soft sherpa of his coat.

“Suits not your style?”

“They’re nice… I see so many of them, though.” You lean into his side, letting your head fall back on his shoulder. “Besides, this fits you better, I think. Matches the beard.”

You let your hand venture up to trace along his jaw, reveling in the gentle scratch of his beard. It’s pleasant. Well cared for. You briefly wonder what his budget for beard products is. He leans into the touch. You’ve always wondered how you to feel to them. Is it a gentle warmth or a scorching flame? Either way, they never seem to mind.

“You boys planning on talking business tonight?” You tilt your head.

“Ah, not tonight.” He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to the back of it. “Tonight is purely about rest and relaxation. Need it after the week we’ve had.”

Somehow the other three manage to melt into the background. You might not know much - if anything - about him, but John Price is the type of man to fill a room all on his own. You felt that the first time you saw him.

“I can certainly help with that.” You grin, letting your hand trail up his thigh. You move slowly, waiting to see how he reacts, and go to hook a leg across his lap to straddle him.

To your surprise, he just grabs your waist and sets you back into your seat. “Don’t need to do all that, luv. Just talk with us.”

Part of you wants to laugh. There’s no way guys like this are the lonely, chatty type. But then, as you take in his face, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. Vampires don’t get bags under their eyes or stress lines, but it still shows. Still swirls in their irises so distinctly.

“Wanted to pick your brain about somethin’, actually.” John sighs, taking a slow sip from his drink.

You scoff. “Me?”

“You’re a smart girl.”

“Am I?” You can’t help but laugh. “What, you need help picking out some lingerie for your mistress?”

John rolls his eyes at you. Kyle chuckles behind him. They’re far more quiet than last time. At least, the little bit you remember form last time.

“Our company has had some recent… expansions.” John mulls his words over carefully, which sets of alarm bells in the back of your mind. “We want to take the opportunity to do something for the lower city.”

“Why?” You spit far too honestly - involuntarily dropping the facade of an escort. What are they doing to pull this out of you? Is it compulsion?

Just as John opens his mouth to answer you, a phone rings. Loud and piercing through the tension in the air. Simon sighs loudly and answers, speaking so low you aren’t sure if he’s speaking at all. All eyes are trained on him. Except yours. You look around at the strain in their faces. The dread.

Simon grunts something before hanging up. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” John demands.

“The kind we can’t leave til’ tomorrow.”

There’s a collective groan throughout the room. Johnny looks like he wants to smash the closest thing he could find.

“Fuckin’ hell…Sorry, darling. Looks like we’ll have to resume this another time.” John sighs loudly and takes your hand to help pull you from the booth. He pauses with you off to the side - glancing over his shoulder and nodding to the others as they pass through the curtain before turning back to you. “Can I trouble you for a kiss at least? To tide me over?”

“Always.” Once again, the response is far too automatic for your liking. Then again, there are worse things than happily kissing a good looking man. Even if he is what he is.

John chuckles. It’s low and rich and causes you to lean forward despite yourself. Sometimes you forget just how alluring they’re built to be. Made to draw you in. An angler fish. John leans forward to meet you, still holding your hand in his. His lips are cool, a little rough but also gentle. There’s a hint of almost desperation in the way he pushes closer before who you can only assume is Simon clears his throat.

“Pay for a full night plus tip - as an apology for leaving so suddenly. Take the rest of the night, dove.” John smiles down at you and presses another tied roll of cash into your palm. “Don’t want my favorite girl having to scrape by for tips after we leave. Bad look, that.”

“T-thanks…” You murmur, keeping your eyes locked on him. Almost afraid to look down at the amount in your hand. There’s a heft to it that you both appreciate and are terrified of.

John pats your hand and leans forward to place a rather chaste kiss on your cheek before disappearing out the curtain just like that first time.

You’re not sure how much more unbridled tenderness you can handle.

~~~

It’s not even a full week before they’re back. This time, it’s just Kyle and Johnny who greet you on the other side of the curtain. That fact should relax you - not having to focus your attention on so many men should make it easier. Instead, it feels foreboding after the way they left last time. It makes your shoulders tense.

Why are you worried about John? A little voice in the back of your head questions. Why are you worried about a fucking vamp?

“Hello.” You murmur, setting the usual tray on the table seemingly in slow motion. “Just the two of you today?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Kyle grins. “We’re more than enough company.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You hum, passing out their drinks and sliding into the curved booth to get between them.

“Nothing to cure a shit week like blowin’ off a little steam with a pretty woman.” Kyle tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh. Dogs without their leashes.

You hum. “Work got you down? You had that ‘problem’ last time.”

“Och, aye. Been a right bitch lately.” Johnny groans, tilting his head back and slinging an arm around your shoulders on the back of the booth. “At least we got that one bit sorted.”

“It was your own damn fault.” Kyle scoffs at him.

“Oi. Maybe if you payed attention to who-“

Kyle grabs Johnny’s lips, pinching them shut. “Price said not in front of the girl.”

You glance between them. The last thing you need is to be sat in the middle of a vampire brawl. Goodbye mortal plane if so.

That seems to be enough to get Johnny to drop it, opting to throw back his drink in one fell swoop and scoot in closer to you, strong arm looping around your waist.

Kyle’s hands trace down over your shoulders. “You’re a fuckin’ luxury, baby girl.”

“Can I have a kiss, hen?” Johnny leans close, fingers tracing your jaw.

Your lip quirks up. “Can you afford a kiss? Seeing as I’m such a luxury, apparently.”

It’s Kyle who moves next - pulling you fully into his lap and pushing you further into Johnny. “We can afford much more than that, love.”

The tip of a fang grazes your neck. It’s slow, gentile, not nearly enough to break the skin. Not quite a threat.

A promise.

It’s barely a hair of movement. A slight tilt, a minute lean and your lips press against Johnny’s. His lips are cold but softer than you expected. Your hands find his shoulders, his tongue darts across your lower lip and you part for him. A well memorized dance. Kyle’s hands drag up your hips to rest on your waist, holding you in place between them.

“D’you have any idea how good you smell?” Kyle murmurs in your ear.

“Or taste.” Johnny sighs into your lips. You pull back, snickering and wiping your lipstick off his lips. He has the prettiest, dopiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Come home with us?” Kyle asks, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “We’ll take such good care of you.”

“You just got here.” You murmur.

“An’ now we’re askin’ if ye’d like tae come home with us.” Johnny grins.

You tilt your head back, debating on how to ask about pay. It’s a question that needs to be asked, but a sensitive one at the same time. You don’t want to offend, but you don’t want to end up walking away from their home empty handed. Just as you go to open your mouth and subtly talk rates, you’re cut off.

“How’s 5k sound, lovie?” Kyle murmurs. Are they fucking mind readers?

You pray they don’t notice the way you choke briefly, body tensing for a fraction of a second. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! That’s more than twice what you make in month.

“I’ll take that bewildered stare as a yes.” He laughs, moving a hand from your waist to knead at your hip.

They call a car. You don’t have to explain where you’re going to anyone - being pressed between them is enough. It used to be a little shameful for you to walk out on a man’s arm for the whole club to see. When you were young and not quite so resigned to the state of the world - when you hadn’t quite realized that the only god you should care for is green and made of paper. These days you couldn’t care less. They all know, and they’re all taking part in the same debauchery (or jealous that they can’t afford to.) It’s all goods and services, at the end of the day.

Johnny wastes no time pulling you into his lap as soon as you climb into the car - a massive, black SUV that still smells brand new. At least the seats are soft on your knees as you hover over his lap.

“No, no, full weight on me, bonnie.” He grabs your hips and pushes you to sit on his thighs. “Tha’s it.”

His hand disappears under your skirt, two fingers tracing up your sex through the thin cloth of your underwear. Messily grinding while placing sloppy, open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. You gasp and whine as he presses against your clit. Just enough to tease, always moving away before you can properly grind down on him. Fucking tease. Kyle watches with an appreciative grin lazily spread across his face.

Your eyes widen to saucers as you pull up to the building. One of the biggest residential skyscrapers in the city. A glowing paragon. One of only five you can see at all times from any part of the city. You’re pretty sure, if you could get to the top, that you would be able to point out your apartment. If you could see it through the smog, that is.

Kyle pins you to the wall of the elevator, lips intertwined with yours and a hand twisted in your hair. Yours knot into the material of his coat. He tastes like liquor and something you can’t quite place. Something sweeter than candy and far more satisfying.

You glance over his shoulder at Johnny just as the man readjusts his pants. He grins, keeping his hand there to palm himself as soon as he catches your eye.

Cheeky bastard.

The elevator stops so gently you might have missed it if not for the dinging and the doors parting. Kyle pulls you out into a small foyer while Johnny fumbles for a keycard.

You think you might have a heart attack when they slip you through one of the two massive front doors. It has to take up the entire floor - or at least most of it. There’s a whole pool on the right side of the balcony. An area that looks like a greenhouse mirrors it to the left. Floor to ceiling windows allow you to see the faux stars so clearly up here.

“Do you all live here?” You ask quietly, staring around the massive penthouse.

The decor is simple. Dark, heavy woods and expensive, rich toned fabrics. It doesn’t have that sterile air that so many vampire homes have. It looks lived in. Used. Even with the obviously untouched kitchen. To this day you don’t understand why vampire homes have them at all. A formality, you suppose.

Johnny nods. “Och, aye, but John and Si are… workin’.”

You decide it’s probably smartest not to pry into whatever “work” means. “So, the mice will play while the cats are away?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Kyle nods, a little smirk playing across his face.

You glance away, debating on asking a possibly invasive question. You can’t ever be too careful with the hierarchy of covens. “And John doesn’t mind you… having me first?”

They blink at you for a moment before bursting out laughing. Your face heats. It makes you feel childish, as if you asked a stupid question. It’s not a stupid question. It’s perfectly valid! At least thats what you’ve heard from other working girls…

“Oh, no, doll. He doesn’t care.” Kyle grins and hooks an arm around your shoulders.

“Might be a bit miffed he wasnae here tae join in on the fun but he’s not jealous like tha’.” Johnny mimics him with an arm around your waist as they pull you to the side.

The two exchange a look briefly with grins plastered across their faces before turning you to the right and leading you down a short hallway. A large, wooden door opens into a bedroom that could swallow your apartment whole. The decor is a bit chaotic - clothes lay across the floor leading to the bathroom and two walls are covered from the floor to halfway up with drawings and paintings.

You know what you’re here for but you can’t help wandering over to them and staring. They’re so intricate. Every detail rendered perfectly. Some are from the city, others are from far away places you aren’t sure exist anymore. A few portraits of the boys here and there and some other people you don’t know. A sketch of a man with scars littering his strong face catches your eye.

“Whose are these?” You ask in a hushed whisper, as if speaking too loudly will disrupt them.

“Ah, mine.” Johnny saunters up behind you, hands resting on your broad hips.

“They’re beautiful…” You’ve only seen art like this in the museums you visited in school.

“Could do one of ye. Ye’d make a bonnie portrait.” He murmurs, pressing his cheek to yours.

Your gut reaction is to say yes. Is that how you want to be remembered, though? Just another face only immortalized on some creature’s wall. A nameless face from eras gone by. Would he write your name down? Would they remember you in a hundred years? In fifty years? In ten, even?

You settle on a gentle “Maybe.”

Johnny takes the hint, turning you toward the bed where Kyle is already leaned. “Gonnae tear a hole in my damn pants if we donnae get a move on.”

The bed is huge, to say the least. Circular and outfitted with layers upon layers of soft pillows and probably the highest thread count sheets you’ve ever seen. It’s unmade, the comforter falling halfway off one side of it. Not that you need it for what’s to come.

Johnny kneels behind you as soon as you step between Kyle’s legs where he’s sat on the bed. Deft hands unbuckle the straps of your heels. Little nips and kisses trail up your thighs. Kyle reaches around you and presses his lips to yours - so softly - before carefully pulling down the zipper of your dress.

It’s so easy to let them take charge. To be a doll for them to do as they please. There are worse things in life than being delicately undressed by two handsome (and well paying) men. Their hands are far more gentle than you expected while they strip you, muttering little appreciative hums and compliments so low that you almost miss them. You stand bare before them, letting them take you in. Hands and eyes roaming. Johnny presses a sweet kiss to your cunt before standing, sending a little jolt up your spine.

He grins like he won some game you didn’t even know you were playing.

You turn to carefully peel off Johnny’s shirt. Your lip catches in your teeth as you run your hands over hard muscle and through a layer of thick, downy hair that leads to the waistband of his pants. So distracted by the sight before you that you don’t notice Kyle pressing against your back, locking you between them as they kiss above you. A shiver runs through you as you watch their jaws flex and hands grapple for one another.

Fucking Christ.

Sometimes you forget how good it is to fuck people you’re actually attracted to. Even if they are paying customers the same as the rest.

An unceremonious squeak escapes you when you’re suddenly flung onto the bed. Not hard enough to hurt but enough to bounce until Johnny appears on top of you, fingers pinching at the soft fat on your sides and laving at your neck with a cool tongue. He keeps his teeth out of the way as he moves down your body to take your nipple between his lips. Much appreciated.

“Need a taste, bonnie. Ye smell so good. So sweet.” Johnny whines, kneeling between your legs. You watch him lower himself slowly as Kyle slots in behind you, shirt long forgone and hands tracing up your sides to knead at your breasts.

As much as you want to pout at not getting to see Kyle undress, you can’t focus on much other than Johnny’s mouth diving into you. Your instinct is to close your legs at the sudden onslaught, but Johnny’s hands keep them solidly in place - spread wide and hooked around his arms.

“Fuck.” You gasp, head tilting back onto Kyle’s shoulder. Your hand wanders down, carding through Johnny’s mo-hawk. He places a harsh suck to your clit and your fingers tighten around the hair at the base of his neck involuntarily pushing him further into you.

You expect him to be upset, for a brief moment, that you’ve been too rough with him. Took too much charge. Instead he just keens desperately against you, picking up the pace - devouring you like a man starved.

“C-Christ, Johnny!” You gasp, fingers digging further into his scalp and the sheets.

“He likes it when you’re mean t’him.” Kyle murmurs in your ear. “Got him fuckin’ pussy drunk already.”

You roll your hips down onto his tongue as he flattens it against you, grinding his face into your pussy. He shifts, never breaking contact, and slips two thick fingers inside you. You whine, eyes screwed shut as you ride it out. Kyle grabs your chin, tilting you back into a kiss. All it takes is Johnny curling his fingers to send you toppling over the edge, back arching sharply.

Johnny rears back onto his haunches just as you peel your eyes back open, chin slick and shiny. His hands desperately pull at his belt and fly. “Cannae take it anymore.”

Kyle chuckles, smiling down at you. “You’d think after two centuries he’d learn a little patience.”

You smile back, quip dying in your throat as Johnny grinds his uncut cock between your folds - coating it in your slick. Fuck, he’s thick - punching every bit of air in your lungs as he pushes in.

“So fuckin’ warm.” He moans, brow furrowed and lips parted.

Lord help you, he’s beautiful. Even beyond that statuesque perfection all vampires have, he must have been gorgeous in life. Kyle is too, you realize as you tilt your head back to kiss him. You wonder what they would look like with ruddy cheeks - with faces warm as yours is. If Johnny would blush all the way down to his chest. If they tanned. Burnt. Freckled. Ran warm or cold. All the little differences that come with a beating heart.

All thoughts disappear at once as Johnny rolls his hips into you. You gasp, “Please.”

That’s all he needs, apparently, setting a brutal pace off the bat. Pushing you back into Kyle with every thrust with enough force that your teeth nearly knock together. Kyle’s fingers continue to pluck at your nipples. You can feel his still clothed cock pressing against your back, hips twitching at the brief friction.

“Fuck. Alright.” Kyle grunts, moving from behind you - leaving you flopping back on the bed with your hands fisting the sheets. You can hear his belt coming undone but can’t bring yourself to focus on it with Johnny relentlessly pumping into you. That is until Kyle taps the head of his cock against your lips, kneeling beside you.

He’s pretty. Not as thick as Johnny but perfectly proportioned. He doesn’t even have to ask or press forward, you want it between your lips. Seek it out. It’s cool on your tongue, calming under the relentlessness that is Johnny.

“Been tae long since we had somethin’ so nice an’ soft in our bed.” Johnny whines. As if that fact genuinely pains him.

Kyle hums in agreement, taking his time fucking into your mouth. “That it has.”

He reaches over to grab Johnny by the back of the neck, pulling him until their lips crash together. Johnny’s hands tighten where they hold you and Kyle’s pace picks up.

“Fuck, she likes tha’.” Johnny pulls back just enough to speak. “Clenchin’ down on me.”

All you can manage is a whine in response - body on fire. Every nerve feels like it’s pulsing, the whole of you utterly consumed by them. Johnny lifts your hips off the bed, arching your back so that he can fuck up into you. The new angle leaves you desperately moaning. Practically singing around Kyle’s cock as your climax hits you like a train. Rocking through you and tensing every muscle.

“Thassit, love, doin’ so good f’us.” Kyle cards his fingers through your hair. It’s strangely gentle, considering the way his cock now bullies the back of your throat while Johnny’s ruts against your g-spot. “How’s she feel, Johnny?”

The man in question just babbles incoherently, fingers digging into your wide hips enough that they’ll surely bruise. At least he’s aware enough not to crush you entirely. Kyle chuckles at him, the sound cutting off in a moan as you angle to take him deeper and wrap your hand around the length you can’t take.

“G-gonnae cum.” Johnny stutters, rhythm faltering and becoming more shallow as he approaches the edge. He pulls out with a choked groan, fucking his fist as he spills onto your thigh.

Kyle mercifully pulls away, letting you gasp for air. Your voice will be raw tomorrow, but fuck if it isn’t worth it when you’re getting fucked like that.

Johnny sighs, collapsing on his back. “Gi’ me a minute…”

“Gettin’ old, Johnny?” Kyle quips.

“Feck off.” He grunts, turning to look at you as you catch your breath. You can’t quite interpret the look in his eyes - whatever it may be - before Kyle is lifting you up at the waist.

“C’mere, love.” Kyle pulls you, sitting back on his haunches and turning your back to him. Your legs tremble uselessly, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves you into place. He doesn’t waste time sitting you on his cock. Kyle isn’t as rough as Johnny, taking his time with lifting off and dropping you onto his cock. A slow motion of your hips while his hands squeeze the soft layer over your waist.

“Fuck, Kyle…” You sigh, head lolling against his shoulder.

“Y’like that, baby?” He murmurs, kissing up your shoulder and neck. One hand moves from your waist to travel up the valley of your breasts. It doesn’t quite wrap around your throat, just rests at the base of it - index finger hooking into your necklace.

It’s a leisurely roll of your hips against each other. A break from the brutal pace before. He’s not desperate like Johnny - instead taking his time whispering sweet nothings and dirty words into your ear. Movements slow and easy.

You think, for a moment, that this is the closest you’ve ever been to “making love.”

Then again, maybe you’re just cock drunk.

You don’t notice Johnny getting up until he’s in front of you, hands on your thighs and lips crashing against yours. Already hard and leaking again after only a handful of minutes. Even for a vampire, that’s pretty damn impressive.

“Bonnie, please.” He moans into your mouth. Cool hands take yours and wrap them around his cock, setting a rhythm to match Kyle’s thrusts into you. “Yer fuckin’ perfect.”

It’s overwhelming. Kyle’s hands roam over your body as you bounce on his cock, draping himself over your back and nipping at your ear. Johnny’s tongue continues to explore every part of your mouth as he thrusts desperately into your hands. His fingers slip down to your clit, moving in leisurely circles that have you bucking forward into him.

“Gonna cum f’me, pretty girl?” Kyle groans into your ear. “Chokin’ my fuckin’, cock.”

You whine against Johnny’s lips, eyes screwed shut. He’s close again, pace quickening. His fingers roughly grind against your over sensitive clit. Someone is chanting, begging, and it takes longer than it should to realize it’s you. “Please, please, just - fuck - I can’t - fucking Christ-“

“Thassit, thassit, fuckin’ hell look at y’two.” Kyle pants, bottoming out with every thrust.

You cum with a choked cry, falling forward against Johnny as he coats your hands and moans. Kyle isn’t far behind, painting your back with a pretty, low groan and a jumble of praises for you and Johnny alike.

Your body feels like jelly, limbs trembling and weight leaned entirely against Johnny. He coos at you and soothes down your hair. A strong arm wraps around your shoulders to steady you. Kyle comes back with a warm rag - when he left, you’re not sure - gently wiping you down with a an unfamiliar level of care.

“I can do it.” You reach for the cloth.

“No, no, love.” He says gently, taking your hands and carefully cleaning them off with precision. He stops to rub the back of your hand with his thumb, something unreadable and warm behind his eyes.

“Drink this.” Johnny holds out a glass to you. When did he even get that?

“Tap water?” You frown slightly, looking him up and down.

“What’s wrong with tap?” He snorts. Oh. Right. Upper city.

“Thanks.” You murmur, chugging it greedily. The physical exhaustion begins to creep up your bones, your legs already practically useless. Keeping up with vampires is a young man’s game and you’re just starting to see the signs of aging out. “I better g-“

“Better lay down.” Kyle cuts you off, taking the glass and pushing your shoulders to lay flat on the bed.

You chew your lip. You don’t usually stay at client’s homes overnight. Then again… the sheets seem to envelope you in a cool cocoon. Calming on your too-hot skin and tired muscles. Muscles that do not want to walk all the way to the train depot. Besides, Johnny and Kyle have been so nice. If they want you to spend then night then what’s the harm, right? You’ll just sneak out in the morning.

So, you let them crawl into the bed bracketing you on either side. Johnny’s arm slings over your waist, cool breath puffing against the back of your neck. Kyle lays in front of you, placing small kisses across your face before pulling the comforter over the three of you.

There are worse fates than sleeping with two handsome men on high thread count sheets for a night…

You wake shivering violently. Between the cold air and Johnny and Kyle’s cool skin you feel like an icicle. Your throat burns and you croak out a groan as you try to sit up. Kyle was rougher than you’d realized in the moment. Johnny has your back pinned against his chest with a strong arm thrown around your waist, not even breathing. It’s so easy to forget that they don’t have to. Kyle truly looks like a statue like this. Entirely still, solid as marble and just as perfect.

You sigh, quietly and carefully wiggling your way off the bed. You don’t pay attention to whose clothes you grab - some tshirt that’s more fitted than you’d like but covers enough to get the job done. You hiss at the slight creak of the door. Neither Johnny nor Kyle stir. If they woke up, they don’t react to you padding out to the main house.

That first door across the hall is slightly ajar, a low stream of cool toned light pooling in the floor just below it. Against your better judgement, you stop, looking around before peeking inside. Not that you can make out much other than a large bed with a dark canopy pulled closed around it. The rest of the room looks barren - the only source of light coming from what you assume to be an attached bathroom.

“Lookin’ f’somethin’?” A baritone voice grunts behind you. You squeak quietly, whirling on your heel and coming face to face with Simon. Well, face to chest considering his sheer height.

“Sorry!” You croak, voice still hoarse. “I didn’t mean- I-“

“S’fine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. You hope it’s amusement, at least. “Need somethin’?”

“J-just getting some water.. sorry to bother you-“ You begin backing away, giving him a wide birth as you step toward the kitchen. Even without inhuman strength you fully believe this man could snap you in two.

“Come on, then.” He nods toward the kitchen, stepping in front of you. You nearly protest, but opt to just follow. He already caught you snooping at best - at worst he thinks you were planning to steal. If letting him accompany you keeps you alive and out of trouble with them then you’ll gladly trail behind this behemoth of a man.

You pause by the kitchen island as Simon goes to grab… a mug? You watch him fill an electric kettle and flick it on, digging through the cabinet to produce a small packet. A tea bag labeled Honey Vanilla Chamomile.

“Y-you don’t have to-“

“How’d our boys treat you?” Simon asks as he opens the little packet with deft fingers - oddly precise for the size of them.

“Good.” You blurt, hands wringing as you shift your weight side to side.

“Johnny behave himself?”

“The picture of civility.” You snort. If leaving bruises on your hips from fucking you six ways to Sunday counts as civil.

Simon chuckles but doesn’t say anything else. Just puts together a little mug of tea for you, stirring and steeping perfectly before pushing the thing across the counter. You take it slowly, eyeing him. Waiting for some sort of tell that you shouldn’t drink this. Then another shiver runs down your spine and you grab the warm cup happily.

“Should get a heating system put in…” Simon grumbles under his breath, looking around the apartment. You wonder just how much more he can see than you in the near pitch black environment.

“Why?” You snort. “You don’t need it.”

“You do.”

You blink at him rather stupidly - brain too tired and muddled to make sense of whatever that might mean. Probably just means humans in general. They probably have plenty of women and men over on a regular basis. Even if it is just for the night. Oddly considerate, either way.

“What’s the deal with the mask?” You blurt again, the slight lapse of silence putting you on edge.

Simon just shakes his head. “To ‘ide my face.”

“Booooring!” You boo, throwing out a dramatic thumbs down. To your surprise, you’re not met with annoyance. Just a deep chuckle and another shake of his head. “Thanks for the tea.”

Simon nods and snags the now empty mug from you. You chugged it far faster than you realized. It worked, too. Your voice isn’t as hoarse and your throat doesn’t sting when you swallow.

“I should probably…” You murmur, looking back toward the room where Johnny and Kyle are assumably still sleeping away.

Simon grunts in agreement, following you back to his own door. You don’t know what possesses you to stop beside him. To turn and meet his gaze with far less confidence than you’re used to wielding. You owe him for the tea, though.

“Do you want…uh…” You murmur, glancing into the room behind him.

Simon looks from you to the bed behind him - only to turn back with those smile lines forming in the corners of his eyes once again. “Not tonight, pretty girl. You’ve ‘ad enough.”

You jump involuntarily when his large hand cups your cheek - thumb caressing ever to gently over your cheekbone. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the fact that non-sexual touches are so rare in your life, but either way you find yourself tilting into it. Just a little.

“Sleep well, sweet’eart.” With that he steps into his room, shutting the door with near deathly silence behind him.

Oh.

Okay.

You stare at his closed door for a few seconds too long, a slight furrow in your brow before turning back to Johnny’s room. The two of them haven’t moved much since you left, though Johnny has somehow ended up spread eagle across most of the bed. With some gentle maneuvering you manage to curl up in the crook of his outstretched arm with your head on his chest and back pressed against Kyle’s.

These men are going to be the death of you.

A/N: I wanted to put more into this chapter but I had to draw the line somewhere so it’s going to just have to get pushed to the next one.

Part of me was worried they’re fucking too early but then I remembered I can do what I want🫡

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miraculousdeservesbetter2024 · 7 months

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MAJOR Revelation & Collusion salt/vent incoming:

Look, I’m sorry if I’m misunderstanding something here, but I really dislike these episodes.

Why? To me, it seems like that guy is using Gabriel (the main villain and known terrorist of Miraculous) as the main "mouthpiece" for the fans who have the gall to take up for Chloe or call out her bad character portrayal (“You have a wonderful life, power, wife and a daughter”).

It also feels like the exact same thing when it came to Lila in Revelation, using the whole “Chloe is capable of change” speech for her own advantage, similar to what she tried to do with Marinette in Chameleon with the whole "friendship and not fighting over a boy" speech. It’s like he’s using them both as mouthpieces to represent the fans who still think Chloe can change or has potential.

So basically he's saying "Only psychopaths think that. You should listen to Marinette when she says Chloe is incapable of change because she’s the protagonist, and you shouldn’t listen to Lila and Gabriel when they say that Chloe can change because they’re the antagonists!”.

It’s really frustrating because any other time, we are made to feel sorry for Gabriel despite everything that he’s done, now we shouldn’t listen to him??? This is really disappointing to think about because he’s ruining Marinette's character this way. I still like Marinette and I really do think she deserves better, but I’m starting to see why people are starting to dislike her. She's becoming ANOTHER Thomas self-insert (on top of the MANY he already has in the series). The guy loves himself TOO much, don't you think?

I'm going to be completely honest here. As a Marinette fan, I still think the way SOME critics go about describing/criticizing/disliking Marinette and her character isn’t necessarily correct, but I must say that it’s still understandable. This guy is basically making her into his own personal mouthpiece, making S5 Marinette’s portrayal the worst as it has ever been 😓

Which is really a letdown because I love Marinette. It’s Chloe’s “Darnation arc” all over again. He’s ruining characters and development just to push his own morals and fill his own ego to the brim and it’s a shame.

And before anyone says:

“Geez! I swear to god people act like they know Chloe more than her own creator!” 🙄

Maybe your right, but MAYBE it wouldn’t of turned out that way if the show wasn’t so inconsistent and contradicting all the time! This is another reason why I think people have so much animosity towards characters like Andre, because the story portrays him as the victim “this entire time” who only got into politics to please his father and Audrey, pretending that he was never a corrupt politician on his own free will. It’s questionable because…he made his own bed. He choose the life that he has now, to have a child with a despicable woman, choose to spoil Chloe rotten, not to discipline her when she was being rotten to other people, and choose to not be there for her for emotional support.

I’m not saying that Chloe bares no blame at all, but it’s not ENTIRELY her fault just because “she’s her own person”. There is such things as bad parents & bad role models 🙄 You don’t have the right to give up on your daughter, saying things like “you have a terrible/cruel daughter” or “you tried everything in your power to help” when all you really did from the beginning was enable her, let her make everyone’s lives miserable and not be there for her like your should have. Yeah, she’s horrible, but at least she has the excuse that she’s a child. Your not only a grown man, but her father.

This goes for other figures in her life also (Audrey, Bustier, her butler, heck, even Ladybug to a degree). People are right, not everybody is responsible for holding her hand through redemption/reformation (and I agree) and to coddle her every time she does something wrong, but to say that “they’ve tried everything/their best”…just isn’t true. It’s more of an excuse to give up on her. Then JUST SAY THAT instead of trying to convince everybody that you did everything that you could.

Enabling =/= Helping.

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magicratfingers · 11 months

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hi!!! ive been putting off sending this ask bc idk how to phrase it in the best way but … ive been trying to work on my drawing lately even tho the Voice that wants to give up bc im not immediately good at things is VERY strong !!! & i love your work so much + ive been taking a lot of inspo bc its kinda scribbly and pared-down but still really expressive + differentiated (i.e. im just saying its something i feel like i can try match the vibe of rather than like, a very detailed and refined thing?!?! absolutely not my intention to sound rude at all!!!) .

anyway very rambly but the main thing is ive been struggling a lot w figure+perspective+silhouettes and honestly everything so i was just wondering what ur process was like??? particularly bc ur style is more pared back but everything is so cohesive and all the perspective n posing is perfect. i’m curious sketching/planning is involved before a typical work you’d upload? and idk like……. how much technical skill + consideration goes into a drawing especially re: posing & perspective. just bc i feel like Such a Noob and like my eyes r literally wrong and nothing looks Right. im such a type A planner it just feels like maybe idk am i supposed to be educating myself on figure drawing and shading perspective first??!?! or do i just draw until it’s good?!?!?

idk man i create in a lot of different mediums and i feel super comfortable letting my writing be terrible before it’s good but w drawing the self-critique is SO difficult to ignore. thanku for what turned out to be a vent lol. but i would appreciate any insight! also i love your art ok bye

Hi! yeah great ask. I've been there. Live there, even. Here're two of my comfort hacks

1. Scribbles = Bonsai It can be real hard to know when you're 'done' with an illustration (or anything really) if you don't have a job for it. My doodles are 'done' to me if they have Character, Rhythm, & Balance. I stole that from a youtube doc about Bonsai.

2. Figures / Perspectives / Shading = Planning The Chunks These are kind of all the same thing - 'how am I using volume to say something.' I've found formal perspective stuff to be stifling. I work around it by making little marshmallow toothpick people and putting them in a diorama.

I like the diorama method because all I have to do is make far things lighter and close things darker. That's a lot of depth for very little effort and I'm on a budget.

If this helps y'all I'd love to hear about it 🍀

#ask rat fingies #process

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peninkwrites · 7 months

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We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine (And the machine is bleeding to death)

Tommy was going to break into the prison, he was going to kill Dream, even if he had to crawl in there with nothing but a knife to do it. An alternative to when Tommy and Ghostbur snuck into the prison to kill Dream.

Crossposted to ao3

(CW: claustrophobia, heat exhaustion, fear, panic attacks, ptsd)

Tommy will do this alone.

At first, Tubbo and Ranboo had wanted to come with him, but Tommy couldn’t let them do that. He wasn’t sure why he refused them so adamantly, maybe because he didn't want to put them at risk, maybe because he didn’t want them to see the kind of person that man made him turn into.

Then, he considered Ghostbur. He didn’t pose a threat to anyone, so surely Sam would let him into the prison, but when it came time to ask, to let him in on the plan, Tommy had taken one look at those pale, vacant eyes, and he just couldn’t. Ghostbur wasn’t meant to go in the prison. Something so gentle, so hollow, could not endure the very air that permeated the halls of Pandora’s Vault, let alone what resided in its heart. Tommy could not endure what resided there.

He would do so nonetheless, and he would do it alone.

Sam’s design is a beautiful, horrid, living thing. Tommy has seen how it works from the inside, and he explained every mechanism in great detail to Tubbo.

Tubbo, who had wanted so badly to join him, who had said, “really, bossman, do you think I’m gonna let you do this alone?”

And Tommy’s reply had been too simple, too desperate. “Please.”

It had not been that one word, rather, the way Tommy had looked at him, pleading and needing him to give in and let Tommy do this. There were some things Tubbo could never refuse, at least never refuse again, and Tommy asking something of him was hard to resist.

Ranboo was easy. Ranboo, who, like Ghostbur, didn’t remember and didn’t want to do any harm, the difference being, when Tommy told him to stay behind with Tubbo, he had understood, he had been afraid for his friend in a way Ghostbur was incapable of being.

Tubbo, even as he had not been allowed to cross this line with his best friend, would do everything he could to help him. Tommy, for all his pretenses of fearlessness, he’d told his friends about the prison. Barely, and through trembling breath and a dizzy head and a face still bruised post resurrection, but he had told Tubbo enough. Tommy needed this man dead, and he needed to be the one to do it. So Tubbo listened, he thought out what he believed the plans could look like, and he offered Tommy something terrible and reassuring.

“Look, there needs to be a ton of space for the redstone to operate, not to mention vents to get in fresh air, probably decent-sized ones since he’s gotta be pumping the heat out of the main cell and getting fresh air in. I’d imagine he doesn’t have the vents into Dream’s cell connected directly outside, he probably has a lot of them to diffuse the heat before he pumps it out, and if I were him, I’d have the ones pumping fresh air in go under the water, just to add to the cooling.” Tubbo tries to focus on the practical, on the analytical, assessing the functionality of a mechanism and nothing more, and not on the fact that soon his friend was dead set on crawling inside of that machine. “I wish I had those stupid blueprints, if I could see the actual design I could work out a proper flaw no problem, this is just– it’s guesswork.”

“Come on, Tubster, you’re a fuckin’ genius! I know you can figure something out,” Tommy says, trying to sound enthused instead of desperate. Every minute he spends, even out, even free, even alive, his skin crawls knowing Dream breathes just across the water. He has to do this.

Tubbo frowns, doubtful. “Sam will have made the vents pretty small. They need to be bigger than typical air ducts, just for the amount of heat he’s generating, but he’d definitely want to make sure, well, make sure nothing like what we’re planning on doing could happen.”

“Okay?” Tommy asks, pacing from foot to foot.

“Tommy… Aren’t you claustrophobic?” Ranboo asks carefully, looking too tall sitting beside the table in Tommy’s war room. This is where Tommy had taken him after they had first met, this is where he had let Tommy drag him into mischief. Tommy thinks Ranboo somehow looks smaller than he had then. Tommy feels smaller too.

“I mean–” Tommy laughs nervously. “Hardly anymore! For a little while there I was, but– but I’ll be fine.”

Tubbo and Ranboo look at him and they don’t believe him, so Tommy tries another way, an old reliable method. “Please. I– I have to do this. I already feel like I’m trapped in a little box all the fucking time knowing he’s out there, s-so, I– I have to.”

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange an indirect glance. Tubbo refocuses on his loose notes, on the haphazard outline of the interior of the prison Tommy had pieced together for him. He’s trying to work in negative space, to build a safe path out of absence. “Right. Well, we’re not sending you in the vent where the heat comes out, so we gotta find where he pulls cool air in.” Tubbo has a hundred other concerns, the first ones coming to mind being that the actual drop into the cell could be far enough to do some real damage, that there would have to be lots of strong fans to do the actual venting, and how easy it would be for Tommy to die like that. “A-And the vent should probably let out throughout the building. He couldn’t let the redstone get too hot, it could fuck up the wiring. So, if it gets to be too much, Tommy, you can always pop out.”

Tommy laughs, barking and sharp. “Right, right, and how do I break the vents and shit when I wanna take a little rest, eh?”

Tubbo gives him a look. “I dunno, Tommy. Same way you plan on breaking through the fans or the grills that are definitely gonna be blocking up the vent?”

Tommy scowls. “You’re the clever one, figure it out!”

“Milk?” Ranboo suggests halfheartedly.

“Nah, there’s two elder guardians to like, make sure that doesn’t happen,” Tommy waves him off.

“Not even long enough to break through one iron bar?”

Tommy shrugs. “Fuck if I know! I just know every five seconds it was boom! Elder guardian, elder guardian, elder guardian!” Tommy mimics firing a gun like the elder guardians had come at him like bullets. “With the– with the freaky noise and shit!”

“Got it, no milk,” Ranboo says, eyebrows raised.

“And, Tommy, I don’t think you’ll be able to wear armor.”

“What?” Only now does Tommy falter.

“Well, even with the fresh air coming in, at some point you’ll have to crawl through a vent in a sea of lava, right?”

“I… I guess.”

“Tommy, you’d get fried in there. I’m not kidding, even in Netherrite, when that stuff gets hot enough, it could literally start to burn you. You don’t wanna make it that far and get convection baked, do you?”

“Convection ba–” Tommy sputters. “No, no I do not.”

“So no armor, then,” Ranboo sighs.

“No armor,” Tommy mutters, his stomach in knots.

“Well, we won’t be able to know if any of this is a possibility until we look at the prison and see how big the vent is, right?” Tubbo points out.

It was, surprisingly, not all that difficult to find. The decorative lines of iron bars on the exterior were not, in fact, all that decorative, and in the bottom of one of the alcoves, there was not blackstone behind the bars, but instead open space. Just standing there, they could feel the air being tugged in. Additionally, the size of the vent. It was small. Too small for Tubbo to fit, too small for Ranboo, beanpole as he is, but Tommy thinks it’s not too small for him. He’d never really put on all his weight again after exile.

“Psh,” Tommy rolls back his shoulders with a scoff. “I can squeeze in there! No biggie.”

Tubbo and Ranboo once more share that stupid fucking worried look between them. “It’s… it’s pretty small, Tommy,” Ranboo says carefully.

“And I’m just a little guy! Come on, look at me, Ranboo,” Tommy says with his usual perfect puppy-dog eyes. “I’m just a poor wittle guy!”

Tubbo, resigned, once more focuses on logic. “Still, it’s… it’s small, Tommy. How are you planning on dragging an axe with you in there?”

Tommy shrugs. “I’ll figure it out! I can always kill ‘im with my bare hands!” Tommy squares up, no longer a little guy and once more brave and swaggering.

“We can plan back at the house, I don’t wanna hang around here longer than we have to,” Ranboo murmurs, scanning the surrounding sea warily.

When they return to the house, it seems it is not to plan further, but to dissuade him.

“Tommy, I really don’t think you can manage it. Like, that vent was tiny. You won’t be able to crawl all the way on your knees. Like, even if you can fit at all, you won’t be able to even move enough to reach into your inventory. You’ll just be able to keep crawling. Sam designed it so a person couldn’t fit in there. Are you really expecting us to believe that doesn’t scare you?” Tubbo tries emphatically, a hint of panic evident.

“Nah! Not gonna get scared by a fuckin’ vent,” Tommy scoffs. “A-And!” He scrambles for a bright side. “No detector shit on the inside of that, so if I break the bars, it won’t tell Sam or nothing!”

“I know you feel like you need to do this, but if you actually like, can’t…” Ranboo trails off, unsure of where to go from there, because there isn’t anywhere to go. If it’s impossible, Tommy can’t do it. Convincing Tommy of that is a different matter.

“I can do it!” Tommy sounds more desperate now. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I?! I can fit in there, it just probably won’t be much fun,” a panicked laugh.

Another exchange of knowing glances that makes Tommy want to claw his friends’ eyes out.

“Tommy, what if we take a pause, and… reevaluate?” Tubbo offers. “There’s gotta be a way in, bossman, nothing is unsinkable, as they say. But I don’t think this is it. What if… what if you give me a few days to work on it?” Tubbo tries.

“Work on it?” Tommy says doubtfully.

“I’ll see if I can figure out more about the redstone! Maybe we can… hack the keycard system, or get you inside another way to a spot where you can open the doors using the redstone!” Tubbo hopes he sounds convincing, that Tommy will think it’s at least possible. Honestly, Tubbo has no idea.

Tommy scuffs his feet on the blackstone floor of the war room. “Fine, fucking hell, if you can come up with something in a few days, I’m all for it, but otherwise, I am goin’ in the vent!”

Another fucking glance exchanged.

“Alright, that’s the plan for now, then,” Tubbo agrees, but Tommy notes he doesn’t promise. He doesn’t say that it’s a deal or it’s even the plan, just for now.

“Good,” Tommy says irritably. He stares at his two friends with the feeble, frustrating realization, that they don’t think he can do this. They don’t want him to do this, and they seem to think because they’re so worried about him it’s within their rights to stop him.

He doesn’t know why he thought they understood that when he says he has to do this, he’s not exaggerating. He’d say it’s this or kill himself, but he already knows where being dead leads, and that’s not a way out either. He has to kill Dream.

So Tommy waits, and once he is alone, once he has convinced his friends he’s agreed to wait, he goes to the prison. He’s grateful at the start of this process he’d made sure to tell them both how much they meant to him. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a goodbye of some sort, because it’s obvious to him, maybe it’s even obvious to Tubbo and Ranboo, that he won’t be coming back from this one. If he manages to crawl all the way to that cell, how the fuck is he going to crawl back out? No, he’ll do what he came there to do, and then he’ll wait for Sam to check in and let him out. Or maybe he won’t let him out, maybe he’ll keep him there again, this time for murdering his only prisoner.

Tubbo was right that he couldn’t take an axe with him, it’s too tight, he doesn’t know how he’ll do this as is, let alone dragging that with him, so instead, Tommy has a knife. It’s small enough he can keep it between his teeth. He can’t bring a pick either, not that it would do him any good, so he has a few sticks of TNT. He’s tied it with chord and threaded his flint and steel on it so he can keep it around his neck. He’s got three sticks of the stuff. He hopes that’s all he needs, if there’s more than three fans to blow up, he’s fucked.

Tommy waits until it’s well into the night to start walking, glancing around, constantly expecting someone to appear despite the lateness of the hour. He wishes he hadn’t tied the tnt around his neck right away. He could’ve made up some excuse for walking around at night, but someone would definitely question his morbid looking suicide collar. It’s late, and therefore dark, with scant moonlight, but Tommy won’t have to go far once he leaves the light of the server, so he shouldn’t have to worry much about mobs. Still, entering the blackness lit only by veins of lava threaded between the ramparts, it makes what he’s about to do a lot more tangible. Tommy stares through the metal grate, already breathing hard. Surely just from the climb up here. He’s brought a few more things, things that won’t follow him inside. A night vision potion, a fire res potion, and a bottle of milk. Eight minutes on each potion. He’ll have eight minutes of light, eight minutes of protection from the heat. Tommy drinks the milk. He breaks through the iron bars just in time to flinch away from the elder guardian coming down over his eyes. He tosses aside the pick and the iron bars. He stares into the dark and downs the potions, first night vision, then the fire res. Being able to see what awaits him does not make it any less terrifying, but with the potion he can now see a drop off about ten blocks into the prison. He hopes it’s not far enough of a fall to kill him; that would be a pathetically short attempt at a break in.

Tommy stares into the vent, knowing the clock is already ticking on his potions. He cannot wait anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–” Tommy hisses through his teeth before muffling himself by putting a knife between them. A knife. That’s all he needs. Dream is weak and armed only with potatoes. Now Tommy has the advantage.

He starts to crawl.

The tunnel is so narrow his shoulders scrape against the sides, it’s so low he cannot crawl on his knees and instead must wriggle forward, dragging himself inch by dreaded inch on his elbows. Tommy feels sick. He cannot hear his racing heart over the ominous tones of the elder guardian and the distant low hum of the vents, and the sounds make it feel like it’s Pandora’s Vault itself breathing around him, the air still flowing past him, still being pulled in, is its slow, steady inhale.

Tommy could maybe back out at this point, but then he reaches the drop off. With the night vision, he sees it’s only a drop of about six blocks, more than survivable, but definitely not climbable. Tommy almost wishes he’d brought ladders before recalling, as Tubbo had said, the vent is too fucking narrow for him to even reach down to his pocket to access his inventory.

Tommy stares down at the point of no return and gets dizzy. He starts to back up. The way out is only ten blocks behind him, backing up hurts worse than crawling forward––he keeps hitting his head on the top of the tunnel––but he only backs up maybe a foot before he stops. He rests his forehead on the floor of the vent and tries to breathe. He feels the moisture accumulating on the blade with every exhale.

You have to do this. He cannot still be out there. He cannot be able to do this to you again. To do this to anyone else.

You have to do this.

Tommy crawls forward.

He stares down into the dark, now realizing he has no idea how he’s supposed to drop down there. It will have to be head first. The vent is too small for him to turn around. Tommy pulls himself forward, inch by wretched inch, until he dangles over the edge, the corner of the vent digging into his waist painfully. Tommy stares at his own stark white hands against the black, held out as if to keep something at bay, but he knows they’re there to catch him. That’s all he’s doing. He’s not shielding himself from an axe or a fist, he’s just going to catch himself. Tommy wriggles forward a bit more, and a bit more, and then his center of gravity is over the edge and he falls. Tommy cries out and drops the knife, it nicking the corner of his lip on its way out, but he catches himself. His wrists ache sharply, as do his palms, but he hasn’t broken anything.

Tommy pauses only for a moment to ease some of his trembling, but he has to keep going. He’s currently trapped himself in a very uncomfortable handstand. Tommy winces, his left arm aching in painful protest as he raises his right to grab the knife and put it back between his teeth. This corner where the two ducts meet is the only point with enough space where he could have, in theory, accessed his inventory. He didn’t think to bring anything. He sort of wishes he’d brought a gapple, just to get some courage. He knows it’s a bad habit, but that feels so trivial right now. Tommy, knife back between his teeth, slowly starts to turn around until he is facing the next duct, still upside down, blood is starting to rush to his head, making him feel heavy and strange. From here, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, pushing his torso into the next tunnel until he sits at an angle, legs pointed upward, resting against the wall of the duct he had fallen down, and laying on his back in the next one. Tommy also realizes the temperature has dropped. Tubbo must have been right, these ducts must run over the water to cool the air further, or maybe Sam even has pools of water inside the prison to do so. As he lies there, the blood begins to redistribute through his body, his legs still up in the air, but his head no longer feels weighted.

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to rotate so he can crawl forward again, but the thought of trying to shuffle down the vent on his back sounds fucking intolerable, so he still has to try. Tommy pushes himself further into the vent using his legs, and once he’s all straightened out, he tries to turn. Tommy shuts his eyes tightly, wincing as his shoulders are crammed between the top and bottom of the vent. It hurts, it hurts shoulders, his collarbones, his muscles as well as his bones protesting with sharpness and aches, as nonetheless, he crushes himself between the rocks, still pushing, still forcing himself to turn. He muffles a cry as his skin is scraped raw through his shirt as he nonetheless drags his shoulder to the other side until finally, there’s give. And he’s back where he’d started, laying on his stomach, breathing hard, knife still between his teeth. The prickling sharpness of the pain on his shoulders tells him he’s bleeding, that what’s dripping there is not just sweat, although he’s definitely sweating too, even in the brisk air from outside, but Tommy ignores it. It doesn’t matter. There’s no going back now.

The thought hits him like a ton of bricks––or perhaps a familiar blast of TNT––and he cannot go forward for a moment, consumed by a deep rooted, animalistic terror that he has just buried himself alive. If he were to try to back up right now, the exit is not waiting ten blocks away, but rather at the top of that little ledge. Tommy once more presses his forehead to the stone beneath him, elbows tucked into his chest, breathing hard, wheezing and desperate, eyes open wide, staring at the unnaturally visible blackstone beneath him. You have to do this. You have to do this you have to do this you have to do this––

If Tommy were facing the other way, maybe he could jump, grab onto the edge, and hoist himself up, but he’s not facing the other way, so there’s nothing he can do except keep going.

That fact is almost calming. He can only move forward, and that lack of choice, that simplicity, it allows him to function again. Tommy refuses to think about what lies behind him, about ocean air and moonlight and the ability to stretch out his fucking arms, and only thinks about what lies ahead. Tommy looks up. About twenty blocks ahead, there is a turn.

He keeps going.

It’s painfully slow, and it’s painful as well as slow. Even though the width is a bit greater than the height, his already bloodied shoulders still drag irritatingly along the sides, his knees keep on colliding with the stone painfully, his forearms too do not appreciate being forced to drag all his bodyweight forward inches at a time, but he just keeps his eyes fixed on that bend in the vent, as if trying to convince himself that just around the corner awaits open space and light and freedom and oh, is that carrot cake? And Henry, good to see you! How are you, my dearest cow! Thank you, for the apology, Wilbur, why don’t we all go home to L’Manberg and everything will be fucking perfect!

Tommy lets off a muffled laugh that sounds more like a whimper, his internal monologue a distraction for only a few feet, and then he reaches the bend. Around the corner is not paradise, rather, another long stretch of blackstone, and at the end, he sees the spinning blades of a fan. The moment he reaches the corner, the low hum of the fan is doubled into a dull roar in his ears, the steady thrum of the blades whirring along is overwhelming. Tommy stares at it warily, as if it might suddenly start spinning toward him, one hand going to the bundle of TNT heavy around his neck. Not yet. Tommy, somehow the prospect of blowing something up in this tiny tunnel does not terrify him, but rather spurs him on, gives him a tangible goal beyond endless ducts.

Tommy thinks his knees must be bleeding now too, his elbows are stinging as well, but he can at least see his elbows, and while they’re definitely scraped, not enough for bloodied drops just yet. His brief enthusiasm certainly didn’t help, not that being slow and cautious could save him from any harm. The echo of the ducts had made the fan loud enough, so being this close isn’t much worse, but it’s certainly not something he can crawl through. The blades look awfully sharp, spinning too fast for him to see through them clearly, so he does as he’d planned, and slips one stick of TNT loose from the bunch. His eyebrows furrow, unable to frown with the knife between his teeth. He’ll have to back up super fast if he doesn’t want the rest of the TNT to blow up in his face. That is going to be hard and it’s definitely going to hurt like a bitch.

Tommy places the stick of TNT down wedged in the corner between the edge of the fan and the duct and begins to hit steel to flint. Sparks, the hiss of a fuse, and Tommy has never crawled faster in his fucking life.

He scrapes his head against the stone, busts up already bloody knees, and fucking eviscerates his elbows, dragging himself back through his own now visable trail of blood scattered along the stone, but he makes it almost back to the bend in the tunnel when the TNT goes off.

Tommy should’ve covered his eyes, maybe held up his hands over his face, but he’d been so desperate to get away, to keep an eye on the fuse, he’d stared unblinkingly directly at the blast. The sound echoes along with the force of the explosion, hitting him hard. Tommy has no sense of what a miracle it is his head wasn’t cleaved in two by shrapnel, instead he’s more preoccupied in an older, more reliable terror.

“Put your armor in the hole.”

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?”

“Or I’ll kill you.”

“We had to send a message.”

“How about you get in the hole, Tommy?”

“God help anyone who gets caught in the crossfire!”

“Our story will never be over.”

His life has been ripped apart by explosions too many times and by too many people.

Tommy covers his ears, eyes closed even as the light of the explosion is seared into his eyes. He’s bit down even harder on the knife, the metal making his teeth ache, his lip bleeding worse, and all he can do is take desperate, wheezing breaths through his nose, tears joining the clammy sweat already covering his face, as his whole body aches with tension. He’s rigid as a board, wishing he could curl up into a ball, but he can’t fucking move and it feels as if the walls are snaring tighter, like they’re wrapping around his very lungs and oh god I don’t want to die down here. I don’t want to die here. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t–

Tommy doesn’t know how many precious minutes he wastes before he seems to register he’s still alive, he’s still generally unharmed, and there is no one bearing down on him to do him harm. His eyes are no longer left flooded with white from the explosion, and the night vision is still doing its work for now. He doesn’t know how it hasn’t been eight minutes yet. It feels like he’s been down here for fucking hours. Ahead, Tommy sees the fan has been torn to bits, and he thinks it might have broken a few blocks as well. Tommy, spurred on by the thought of being able to fucking move scrambles forward with more urgency, all the more careless as his body has already been scraped up, he doesn’t know what more harm he could do.

The stone gets hot underneath him, not painfully so, almost a relief after the chill of the past tunnels, and he can see bits of burnt metal and tries to push it out of his path. Tommy realizes with a funny turn in his stomach like he’s skipped a step, that he could’ve just drowned himself. The coolness in the air makes him think he’s now under the water, and he just tried to blow a fucking hole in it. Tommy registers what had saved him from that fate, feeling deranged and a bit stupid. There had to be space for the redstone wiring, so this particular section of the duct had more stone around it. Hopefully that means he won’t drown himself at the next fan either. At the point where the fan had been, there is enough stone broken apart that Tommy can sit up, and he thinks the relief of it might kill him. Tommy sits up, body aching, every muscle relieved to be able to do something beside lie flat and shuffle forward.

The relief might actually kill him, because he can’t imagine he has much time left on his potions, and he has no idea how much further there is to go. Tommy’s whole body hurts, and it is that ache in the quiet, in this moment of rest, that gets him moving again. He’s been scraped open against stone before; head bashed against obsidian, ribs cracked against stone, over and over until it stopped, until everything stopped, except for the pain.

Tommy crouches down in front of the next stretch, knees aching, swallowing back sickness, he takes a deep breath, returns the knife to between his teeth, and resumes his toil. Another dozen blocks ahead, another turn. It is not until he gets closer that he realizes, it is at this point that the duct goes up.

Tommy freezes.

He’d been prepared for a fall, but he must be fucking dense as a brick, because he hadn’t prepared for a climb.

Tommy has no choice but to continue forward. He’ll at least get to stand up, he supposes. It is here, that the droning hum of a fan resumes. Tommy reaches the corner, and looks up at spinning blades far above him. It must be fifteen blocks at least.

Tommy also realizes, he’s going to have to turn around again. Thankfully, this way, his shoulders are at the bend in the vent, so there’s enough room he doesn’t destroy them again against the walls of the duct, but his hips certainly don’t appreciate it. Still, after some wriggling, he’s sitting up at the corner of the duct, legs stretched out, sitting upright.

Now what? What the fuck are you gonna do? Sprout some spider legs and scurry on up the sides?!

Tommy takes the knife out of his mouth, leaning back against the stone, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Fuck…” he sighs, staring up at the spinning blades too high above him.

He tugs out another piece of TNT a little hopelessly.

“Aw, Tommy, did you really think you could kill me? That you could get to me all on your own? You’re weak and pathetic. And you were stupid enough to find another way to die, huh?”

Tommy shudders, Dream’s mocking voice crawling from his subconscious, rage mingling with disgust, until Tommy yet again forces himself to keep going. He stands up, he slides the TNT back into the length of chord, and puts the blade between his teeth. Staring up at the fan, he feels a bit like a wingless, burrowing version of Icarus reaching towards the sun. Tommy plants his hands against one side of the duct, narrow enough he has to bend his elbows, and presses his back against the other side. He pulls his knees up as much as he can, feet planted against the wall beneath him, so he’s wedged himself between the two sides of the vent. The grip of his sneakers seems to hold, especially considering how fucking narrow it is. Okay. He can do this.

Tommy presses his hands flat against the opposite side, letting the tension between that and his back support him as he pulls his legs up a little higher. Progress. He begins to inch-worm up the vent toward the spinning blades. His shoulders continue to get scraped raw against the stone, and the tunnel is so narrow he can only move up a few inches at a time, but he’s moving .

The sound of the fan is getting louder, he glances up intermittently to see how close he’s gotten, and about halfway up, the lights begin to flicker.

At least, that’s Tommy’s first thought as darkness flashes over his vision, before he recalls that there are no lights. There’s only his night vision potion, which is currently running out. And then it does.

“No!” Tommy cries out, panicked, lucky enough to catch his knife not blade first on his legs. He fumbles for it in the black, hissing as his fingers find the blade instead of the handle, but he holds onto it tightly, gasping for breath. He cannot relax. He cannot stop. He needs to keep pressing against the walls or else he’s definitely going to fall far enough to hurt himself.

He cannot see a fucking thing.

Tommy doesn’t think he’s experienced darkness this consuming since Limbo. This is the kind of blackness that he cannot comprehend existing in the living world, but nonetheless, it does.

There’s no light forward. Not for a long time.

There’s no light back there either.

“H-Help me!” Tommy doesn’t know why that pleading slips past his bleeding lips, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t know what to do. “Anybody! Please! Please, someone help me! I’m stuck! I’m fucking stuck down here! Hello?!” His own voice echoes back, and he hears his own terror a dozen times over. Hello?! Hello?! Hello..?!

Tommy wants to cry again, but he has a feeling if he starts sobbing he’ll lose his grip on the wall and tumble down and end up in a heap of broken legs. Tommy is still breathing hard, he’s still shaking, and he still thinks any moment he’s going to fall, crying or not.

That’ll really give you something to cry about, eh?

Tommy suppresses a shiver. I’ll give you something to cry about. Tommy can’t figure out if it’s something Dream ever actually said to him, or if it’s just too fitting so he can still hear it in his voice.

I’m gonna kill him.

Tommy stays aloft, he keeps himself pressed to the walls of the tunnel, and his breathing slows.

I’m gonna kill him. Those words feel almost like an oath, or perhaps a prayer, whatever it is, it’s enough that he keeps moving upwards, the sound of the fan blades warning him as he gets closer.

The sound is close enough, the pull of the air strong enough, he thinks the fan must be only a few more feet above.

Okay, how are you gonna blow it up?

Tommy once more fumbles to take out the piece of TNT, staring at it––or rather, staring at where he thinks it is––and tries to figure out how the fuck to do this.

It’ll have to be a gamble. He cannot think of a reliable way around it unless he feels like sacrificing his fingers to the fan blades. He’ll need to light the TNT, and then chuck it at the fan and pray that it sticks. If it falls through while already lit…

Maybe he’ll get lucky and manage to put it out before it goes off?

Tommy laughs weakly around his knife, feeling more than a little deranged at this point. He wedges the TNT between his knees, feeling for the flint and steel around his neck. Tommy makes one spark, he doesn’t hit the fuse, but that moment of light leaves Tommy almost giddy with relief.

It’s not Limbo. You can see light. It’s not Limbo.

Tommy makes it spark again, and he’s so startled that he manages to hit the fuse blind on the second try, he almost panics. He grabs it, fumbling and desperate, heart racing, and throws it up at the fan blades. He sees that hissing speck of light disappear through the metal, and then it starts to drop back down. Tommy’s heart is beating in his throat. There’s a dull clang! and the light stops there, caught on the other side of the fan.

Tommy cannot pause to relish in the relief, because right now he would be best served being about six blocks lower than he is currently. Tommy lets out a stream of unintelligible curses from around the knife in his mouth as he lets himself drop, catching himself about ten blocks down with jarring pain that knocks the wind out of him and absolutely fucks up his knees. Tommy has about a second to brace at that point, with enough sense to cover his head, as soon there are shards of hot metal ricocheting down the vent. Tommy grits his teeth as something cuts open his arm, burning it too, and another piece of hot stone bounces off of his head before clattering down to the bottom still a good ten blocks below, and then it stops. No more shrapnel rains, he is not dead, and there is no longer the dangerous drone of the fan threatening to shred him to ribbons if he kept climbing. Tommy looks up, before remembering he can’t see a fucking thing, rendered worse by the brief flash of light. He could be shuffling up into exposed blades of hot metal. He won’t know until he moves.

Tommy’s whole body is in agony, the muscles of his legs are screaming at him as he’s been forcing them to keep him aloft for far too many minutes now, but nonetheless, he makes them go a little further and he’s somehow fortunate enough they don’t give out on him. Tommy is startled to fall backwards, and that sudden loss of tension almost sends him slipping back down the chute, but at the last second he scrambles to push his legs out straight and keep himself steady. He’s reached the explosion point, and therefore a ledge. Tommy sits back further, legs now resting on the other side of the alcove, forced to stoop over as this explosion broke away less stone than the last, but nonetheless, for a moment he can sit and rest.

And once more, that relief reminds him that he doesn’t think he can keep doing this, even as he knows he has no other choice.

The potions have run out. Maybe you can just rest? There’s no reason to rush anymore.

Yeah, and you’ll sleep your way to the bottom of this fucking vent and kill yourself.

Tommy needs to move right now, or he’ll pass out before he can even try. He can’t see. For all he knows, the next bend is twenty blocks above him.

Or it could be two.

You can make it up two.

Tommy leans forward, one hand feeling for the lip of the alcove so he doesn’t bash his head on it, the other supporting his weight against the bottom ledge. Tommy rests his feet on the ledge on the opposite side, and uses his hands to shimmy up the tunnel until he’s almost standing up straight. One leg at a time, he pulls his knees back up to support him.

Inches at a time, he keeps moving. He feels blood flowing more steadily from the cut across his arm and he realizes how lucky he is that the bit of stone that hit his head wasn’t moving at the speed of a bullet from the explosion and had instead probably bounced off the edge and lost that momentum against the stone instead. Lucky. None of this feels especially lucky to him.

Then Tommy’s knees hit open space instead of stone. The tunnel is narrow enough that at this angle he doesn’t send himself falling back down to what is surely a fatal drop at this point. Tommy freezes, scared to move and risk losing any of the tension currently stopping him from turning into Tommy mush at the bottom of a hole. He doesn’t know how to move forward head first. His knees are currently what’s keeping him anchored into the new section of tunnel, and if he moves them back to actually crawl forward, he’s pretty sure he’ll slip and kill himself. Tommy slowly, carefully, keeping his back pinned to the wall to support himself, reaches forward with fumbling, blind hands for the ledge of the next section of tunnel. Tommy will hold on, and pray he can support his own bodyweight with just his skinny fucking arms, and then he will lower his legs and lean forward.

It feels like a teetering balancing act, his palms flat, and the upper half of his body leaning forward just as he allows his legs to drop back down into the tunnel below, but enough of his torso catches on the ledge that he doesn’t kill himself. Tommy, eager to be away from the drop off, kicks himself forward, wriggling back into the narrow but blissfully horizontal tunnel ahead.

Maybe Tommy is imagining things, or maybe the vertical section of vents had been bigger than the tunnel before, but he swears it’s somehow gotten narrower. He can barely move his arms, he cannot bend his legs enough for them to be of any help moving him forward, and each painful pull of his forearms pressed to stone, dragging him ahead a few inches, also scrapes his already bloodied and raw shoulders against the stone. Tommy suppresses every evil and rational thought warning him he’s about to get stuck, that he’s about to wedge himself in here so tightly he won’t be able to get his arms free at all and then he will die here, slowly and painfully.

It’s also warm up here.

After the damp chill, maybe it should have come as a relief, but it’s very warm up here. He must be in the lava now. Tommy manages to wipe sweat from his face. It burns every scrape it touches, which is probably 70% of his body at this point. Tommy should have saved the fire res. It ran out down in the cool damp of the last duct, and now he’s going to boil unaided.

Tommy has once more crossed a point of no return, all he can do is go forward and hope he can make it to the end. That is one solace, even as the stone pressing in around him gets hotter, not quite burning him yet, but something close, he at least knows he’s almost there. He’s in the lava now, and next is Dream. Tommy is finding it hard to breathe. Not only because taking a deep breath is enough he can feel the tunnel wrapping even tighter, but the heat as well. Tommy knows cool air was being pulled in through the vents, but considering Tommy has been hard at work blowing up every fan that did so, he knows that whatever cool air had been coming in before is definitely hot again. Without the cool air, is it hot enough in here to actually kill him?

Tommy buries the thought. He cannot afford to think like that, all he can do is push forward, to drag himself inch by wretched inch, to let his skin sear against stone that is only getting hotter. There’s no light. Even as lava must glow brightly only a few blocks away, the tunnel remains pitch-black. Tommy cannot make out the next bend in the duct, he cannot make out any light, there is only the immediate walls pressing in on him, there is only the heat, and the sound of the lava bubbling, as if mocking him in his efforts, and eventually Tommy just stops. He needs to keep moving, he knows stopping is all but embracing his death sentence, and he knows death is not going to offer relief. But he can’t do it anymore. He just needs to pause, to catch his breath. The walls pressing in, touching his shoulders, searing the front of his body, all of it reminds him he cannot stay here, but he’s so tired.

You can lay down and die, Tommy. But not until Dream dies first.

Tommy tugs himself forward, elbows burning, barely keeping his head off the ground, kept from collapse only by the heat, and he tugs himself forward again. His limbs ache, weak and struggling to move any further. His mouth is so dry. He’s scared he’s going to drop the knife. Tommy takes the knife from his mouth, holding it in his hand tightly, the leather-wrapped handle hot, the metal hotter. He’s close now. He’ll need to have his knife ready. Tommy doesn’t know if the end is in sight, but it has to end somewhere. It cannot go on forever.

Tommy stops moving, and blearily, frantically, he thinks he’s stuck, his shoulders are burning up, his knees, his arms, his stomach, but the vent hasn’t gotten any smaller, he’s just gotten weaker and moving has gotten harder, hurts worse.

Tommy weakly remembers a different time, the antithesis of this moment in its entirety, he remembers escaping, he remembers talking himself down from suicide and fleeing over snow, the way the cold had burned then too, and he had felt like he was going to live again.

Here he was, trapped, heat closing in, clawing his way back toward Dream, not an open expanse of snow, but blackness and the world closing in on him. His weakness grows worse as he dares to think, what if Tubbo was gonna come up with a better idea? What if you did this to yourself for no reason?

He cannot afford such a thought. It’s not an option. The only choice is to move forward an inch, and then the only choice to will be to move forward another. Tommy has been looking down for a while now, his head feels too heavy, so it’s only when he’s close, close enough that he can see the outline of his trembling fingers, see the shine of the knife, does he realize there is light again.

Tommy looks up. Ahead, shining up from the ground, light.

Tommy crawls more frantically, his breathing coming out in wheezing, whimpering gasps, but he still holds onto his knife. He buries the more innate, animal need to move and breathe and see, and focuses on what makes him human. He’s going to make it there, and then he’s going to kill Dream. Tommy sees one last barrier, one last set of fan blades, rotating more slowly than the last and guarded by iron bars, and he fumbles for the last stick of tnt. Tommy hesitates for only a second on the thought that a few blocks away is a sea of lava. He’s hot enough as is, the lava pouring in can’t make him much hotter.

Tommy sees his own hand, outlined from the light below, light a spark, and then the fuse glows. Tommy had forgotten he had to get the fuck away. Perhaps too late, he crawls back into the heat and the dark. He covers his head with already burnt hands, and then it goes off. Tommy feels the blast, but no shrapnel comes his way, even as he hears the screech of broken metal and crumbled stone. Tommy looks up and savors one more shred of luck. The vent was angled down, in a small drop off, so Tommy was shielded from most of the blast. No lava pours in, but Tommy has exposed something else. Sensors. The redstone blinks back in warning and Tommy knows he is once more on the clock. He crawls forward, despite all his exhaustion, all his pain, he’s determined. He can do this; he has to do this.

Tommy tumbles head first back into that awful cell, catching himself with already burned palms, clinging to his knife like a lifeline, and then he’s on the ground. Tommy thinks he must have sprained his left wrist, but his right one, the one with the knife, is doing just fine and that's all that matters. It’s cooler in here. Barely, considering Tommy had been blocking up the cooling system, but it is. It helps that he can move again. Tommy doesn’t get the chance to stand before there is a figure towering over him.

“Tommy?!”

Tommy flinches back––how can he not?–– as he sees Dream in all his pathetic glory, hair longer and matted, a little bruised, without a mask, and merely baffled by the sight of him. Then Dream sees the knife, and Tommy starts to stand, he starts to swing, he’s going to gut that man, to shred him to fucking pieces so he can never hurt anyone ever again–

And then Tommy is back on the ground, chest aching, the wind knocked out of him as he struggles to process what happened, to comprehend that after enduring all of that, after fighting his way here through the veins of this awful slice of hell, he could still fail. His blurred vision focuses back in on Dream, still standing over him, still puzzled rather than afraid, and still holding the knife.

#my writing #dsmp fanfic #c!tommy #tommyinnit #c!dream #for literally a second #wahoo this has been an idea of mine for literal years #did tommy ever say he was gonna break into the prison even if he had to crawl in alone with nothing but a knife?? or something??#idk maybe i dreamed that one up #anyway here are the horrors #as always feedback is cherished

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amberitedragon · 1 year

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Kalim and Jamil are kinda like Aladdin and Jasmine...

So. Did you know. That the og Aladdin from 1992, has 2 sequels? I didn't know either until resently. So I had the BRIGHT IDEA to watch them all. SO. I rewatched Aladdin 1992, then it's sequels, Return of Jafar, and King of Thieves. While in this ''marathon'' I noticed something, that our favorite Scarabia duo resemble some of the characters and no I'm not talking about Jafar and the Sultan. I'll admit they're some resemblences obvi but I'll get into later. So here I am talking about how Jamil and Kalim remind me of Jasmine and Aladdin because I'm having a JamiKali brainrot and this is how I'm getting over it.

Also Spoiler Warning for all 3 movies (Plus book 4)! Go watch them if you want but spoiler alert Return of Jafar and King of Thieves both look AWFUL compared to the original I'm not kidding the budget went down SUFFIENTLY. Quick google search told me this:

Aladdin: 28 million USD

Return of Jafar: 5 million USD

King of Thieves: 3.5 million USD

Anyways with that small vent outta the way let's get into it.

-Jamil and Jasmine:

Look at me comparing the servent with the princess, the irony imma right? Anyway. So it is true that Jamil and Jafar have more similarities then Jamil and Jasmine but I don't really like resonating Jamil with Jafar cause Jafar (warning mention of gross shit) KISSED AND SEXUALISED A MINOR BY MAKING HER WEAR THIS?!?!

SHES 15 IN THIS MOVIE BTW WTF JAFAR

And now whenver I think of Jafar I think of this. Disgusting. I'm not putting Jamil at his level NOPE. Moving on from that shit.

So back to Jasmine and Jamil the main similarity inbetween the 2 I see is they both have a similar goal.

They both wish to be free.

Jasmine's main conflict in this movie is her not wanting to be a part of the steriotypical princess life. Her father wants her to marry a prince and sends suitors her way all the time, despite her rejecting all of them. She says herself that she doesn't want to marry some self-absorbed prince who only cares about money and sees her as an object of marriage. She wants to marry for love. Not only that she also just wants to be able to leave the palace for once as she never has, she wants to make real friends, as she never had one. This is what leads up to the desicion of running away. She escaped the palace and was planning on not returning, but then, she meets Aladdin who is captured by some guards because of Jafar's orders and to save him, reveals herself as the princess, forcing her to go back to the palace.

Jamil is in a similar boat. The main reason for his overblot in Book 4 is that he is fed up with having to dim himself down just for Kalim's sake. Always being second best cause he needs to let Kalim shine. He also wants to be able to make his own desicions. He wants to not have to listen to his parents who presured him into this in the first place. He doesn't want to have to do everything Kalim wants/says. He wants to travel around and see a Whole New World (hehehhehehehe). While their goals are somewhat different, they both collided into the same general concept. Wanting to be free.

And then there's a ''A Whole New World''. A song about basically just following your heart, leaving your confinments, and experiencing a ''whole new world'', aka a life of freedom and being able to decide/make choices for yourself. For Jamil, leaving his status as servant and traveling all over the world, and for Jasmine, marrying someone for love and not being seen as an object. (There is also ''Speechless'' from the live action but we aren't talking about that one so-)

-Kalim and Aladdin:

So for these's two there is less but something none the less. For Kalim and the Sultan, the main similarities I see are them both being oblivious go happy people and terrible judges of character despite saying otherwise!/hj (But fr they both share the same line of ,''I'm an incredible judge of character!'', at some point in their stories)

Now moving on to Aladdin the man himself. The main thing I could find in relation with these 2 were their generally kind hearts.

In the end of Aladdin (1992), Aladdin has the right for one final wish and Genie encouranges him to use it on making him a prince again so he can marry Jasmine. Stating that he will ''Never find another girl like her'', and Genie is ready to be sealed away again back in lamp. But Aladdin decides to wish for Genie's freedom instead (also since he promised him at the beginning of the movie when he first found him). Genie is overjoyed and hugs all of them. This also makes the Sultan reliese how good of a person Aladdin is despite lying for half this movie and gets rid of the rule that a princess must marry a prince (And makes me wonder why he didn't do this before but whatever).

There is also the beginning of Return of Jafar where Aladdin finds some thieves trying to steal some treasure from a temple. Aladdin defeats them and takes the gold himself. But instead of keeping it he gives it to all the poor people in Agrabah who need it more then him.

Now go ahead and tell me Kalim isn't as kindhearted as Aladdin if not MORE. Go ahead I'll wait.

Kalim helps everyone around him. No matter who they may be or their status. A good example of this is in his sport vignette.

Kalim sees Ortho all by himself. When he asks what's wrong, Ortho says Idia promised to play with him but got busy cause his game got an event update and he is in hardcore gamer mode. Kalim agrees to play with Ortho instead despite starving from coming out of PE.

And that made me smile like an idiot so here :)

AND WE ARE DONE

I totally didn't spend an hour writing this ahahahahahahahahah (pls don't flop)-

Thank you for coming to my TED talk if you made it this far you are a trooper. I might write a fanfic about this but who knows (it would be my first non oneshot thing and idk if I'd ever finish it-)

Also I'm not provereading this cause I'm lazy-

I hope you enjoyed my brainrot vent sesion! BYEEEEEEE

Have them :)

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twotangledsisters · 1 year

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Every Tangled the Series Fic I've got in fic "folder" right now!

So, I often reference fics I'm 'working on' or 'random ideas' I have lying around.

Here is a quick list of EVERYTHING I have:

Inside the Tangled Sisters AU

The main series: not gonna list titles because spoilers but obviously that's priority number one, always at least 30 chapters ahead, got scenes written you won't see for a looong time!

The Three Disciples: A prequel fic that follows Demanitus, Zhan Tiri, and, obviously, their three Disciples. It shows Corona before the merger with Saporia, shows ancient magic and ancient science. But most of all it shows that nobody is born evil, but how the choices we make can lead us down darker and darker paths.

A scene:

Zhanna was mixing together two elements when she heard the ringing of a bell indicating somebody had entered her lab. She didn't hesitate to pull a level that soon covered her desk with a mist which would hide her from the human eye so she could keep working without addressing the newcomer.

"Hello?" A male voice she'd not heard before, followed by footsteps. "Is Zhanna here? My name's Demanitus, I'm a Master of Magic from Koto. I was told could find Coroa's head scientist here?"

Zhanna rolled her eyes. A magician! Though magic did intrigue her, most magicians lacked the basic knowledge of science to collaborate with the likes of her.

"I know you're there." His voice came from the doorway separating the entrance and the room she was in.

She spun around to face him. "How? What type of magic forgoes my mist?"

A chuckle. "Oh, I can't see you. But if what I hear about you is true and you're as smart as they say, you wouldn't leave your door unlocked and lab unattended."

After a moment, Zhanna switched the level, and the mist was sucked into the vents. "Clever..." Smarter than the magic users she'd worked for in the past. "You have five minutes to give me a proposal, starting one minute ago."

The Adventurer and the Prince: Following how Arianna arrived at Corona, why she decided to stay, how she slowly fell for the crowned prince and would eventually become queen of Corona by Frederic's side. It features mainly a young Frederic, Arianna and Cap. They go on adventures, learn about politics and build stronger and stronger bonds.

A scene:

“I quit! I can’t do this! I can’t, that prince is useless, he would rather die than face his fear of horses, but I can’t tell the king that and if I don’t get results soon, he’ll have my head!” “So you’re just going to flee the kingdom? Like a coward!” “Like a man who sees reason!” And the man left in a huff atop his own horse, leaving the stablemaster stuck with five horses and terrible news to deliver to the king. Every possible teacher had tried, only he remained, and he knew it was an unreachable task. Arianna looked at Sandy, the mare huffed in her face and gestured towards the window. Arianna understood the desire to get back on the road, back into the world and on another adventure but… her mind went back to Prince Frederic. The tears he’s shred on the bridge, the blood on his hands, and the words of warning he’d given her as though he’d lost himself long before her arrival. “Excuse me…” she held out a hand to draw the attention of the stablemaster. “I couldn’t help but overheat that you are perhaps looking for a new teacher for riding? I am quite the expert and, well, nobody is unteachable.” “Hired.” No questions asked, this man was desperate. Arianna smiled as she shook her head. “You start tomorrow, first thing, palace garden. You’re teaching Prince Frederic of Corona.”

The Making of a Thief: A prequel following how Eugene became the man the girls meet in the tower. From the "adoption incident" to getting involved with The Baron and his relationship with Stalyan. It has its sad moments, but it also has plenty of fun little adventures.

A scene:

Flynn found Caine pacing in the garden, her hands behind her back and her face scrunched up. “Finally Rider!” she grabbed his arm and tried to drag him further away from the mansion but Flynn just pulled his arm away, it wasn’t difficult, the thirteen-year-old girl wasn’t much shorter than him but she was skinnier and her talents did not lie in her muscle, she huffed before lowering her volume. “I have a job.” “Yeah, so do I. It’s called following orders and avoiding certain death.” “One worth the risk.” “Nothing is worth that risk.” “Hear me out,” Caine begged. “Equis castle, there’s a way to break in there.” “Equis?” He laughed. “You’re insane.” “Is it insane to want to steal riches worth more than that mansion?” She gestured to the large home of their boss. “Riches that could pay off our debts and grant us the freedom I know you so desire?” Flynn wanted to say yes, to say nothing was worth the risk of The Baron’s wrath, something they’d both witnessed first hand. Especially with Caine. He’d been warned of the woman’s recklessness and to not get involved in it. Yet, she was still here. Still standing tall. Clearly, she was doing something right. “Keep talking.”

What About Food: Following each one of the three main characters (Rapunzel, Cassandra and Eugene) through a different struggle with food (stomach issues, bad eating habits and financial anxiety related to the cost of food). Eugene's chapter is being edited and will come out before the Goodwill arc!

Liars: A one-shot following Rapunzel and Cassandra early on in their integration to palace life.

Growing up in an abusive household often times lying was the only way to get by, those habits don't die easy.

Adopting the Thieves Who Stole His Heart: Follows Lance, Eugene, Keira and Catalina as they travel across Equis to the orphanage where the girls grew up to officialize Lance's adoption.

I'm not going to lie to you, I though this one was complete and published and just found out I had a few chapters left to write as I was doing this post... Ooops. Sorry!

A scene:

"Wait, so uncle Eugene killed a man?" Keira asked crossing her arms. “Woah… Maybe we shouldn’t mess with him as much as we do?” Keira looked to Catalina who shrugged. Cherry laughed. “Only a bad man! He wouldn’t hurt you two.” “Well of course he wouldn’t, we’d defeat him,” Keira laughed, then frowned. She looked at Eugene who was sat between Lance and Cherry’s mum, they were laughing about something or other, probably something boring seeing as they were all adults. “Hey, want to meet my favourite pig?” Cherry asked. Earning an excited smile from Catalina. “Sure,” Keira nodded.

AUs within Tangled Sisters AU:

Three Outlaws: Where Cassandra wasn't as badly injured at the end of Two Tangled Sisters and the three fled Corona to be outlaws together. The two sisters aren't that great at being the villains though...

A scene:

“Eugene! Eugene!” “Keep shouting my real name, louder, won’t you? Don’t think the entire town can hear.” Eugene sighed as he raised his eyes to meet Cassandra’s excited expression. “What?” “I figured it out! I cracked the code!” Eugene smiled. “Go on, tell me your new discovery.” He rolled his eyes, expecting her to have discovered caramelized apples or something of the sort. She pulled out some expensive-looking jewellery from her pocket. “I stole this.” Eugene looked surprised, but he quickly grinned. “Impressive. Thought you were against stealing.” “I am, but I cracked the code.” She twirled as Eugene inspecting the goods. “I can’t steal from honest people, so I just need to steal from other outlaws!” Eugene froze. “You what?” “Guess who I stole that from?” Eugene swallowed, eyes taking in the jewels cautiously. “Who?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “Some bigshot called himself The Baron.” Eugene’s blood froze. He wanted to scream at Cassandra. But she didn’t know any better. How could she? He hadn’t told her… He took a deep breath, this was bad.

Never Found: Eugene was lucky to find the vines behind which to hide, but he never did bother to go any further and stumble upon a tower. Because of this it's two inhabitants never left. A few years down the line Gothel realises that Cassandra is no longer needed as Rapunzel is grown and decides it's time for her to leave the tower.

A scene:

“Your sister, darling, she’s not well,” Gothel told Rapunzel, who sat on the floor with her sister’s head in her lap. “I must take her home with me.” “But it’s dangerous outside the tower,” Rapunzel argued, tears streaming down her face as she cuddled her sister close. “I know, darling, but she won’t make it inside the tower either.” “Let me heal her! Let me try!” “No Rapunzel. Your magic is good but… It’s killing your sister,” Gothel lied without a regret in the world causing Rapunzel’s sobbing to increase in volume. “I’ll do everything I can to save her, my darling. I love you two more than anything else in the world.” Rapunzel nodded. “Alright mother.”

What The Gallows Took from Corona: What if the end of the Princess, The Pirate and The Prosecutor, Rapunzel wasn't able to save him?

The Sun Child and The Glass Child: The tower was discovered only five years after Rapunzel was taken. Arianna immediately become overjoyed with her now two daughters! However, it wouldn't be long until Gothel tried to retrieve the sundrop and the girls would be forced to cut the long blonde hair. That wouldn't be an issue if not for how ill Cassandra soon became.

Using the remains of the sundrop flower, the doctors are able to save Cassandra's life, but the king and queen are warned of her delicacy. Between the kidnapping and the illness, both Arianna and Frederic become rather protective, leading to a life locked away in a tower not too different from their first home.

The girls long for adventure, and they see their chance when they capture a thief known as Flynn Rider who was trying to steal Rapunzel's crown.

And other AUs I can't reveal anything about because they're spoilers!

Three Thieves

My second biggest fic. Fully planned out and published one arc at a time, it follows Eugene, Lance and Cassandra as they're forced to raise each other in a Coronan orphanage.

It has a lot of fluff, a lot of angst and a lot of fun antics.

Captain's New Family: AU of three thieves where in which Captain adopts the three children after encountering them running away. He doesn't fully understand the situation these children are in, but he does know that the likelihood of all three being adopted together is next to zero unless he was willing.

A scene:

“I know this is sudden, but you three seem to really love and care for each other. Children with such hearts of gold deserve the very best chance at a bright future and… I’m not going to pretend I’m the best chance but, I know you three probably want to stay together and I’m guessing that’s not an easy feet.” “Impossible would be a better describer…” Captain nodded. “I think I can offer you three a good home if you want—” “Of course we want to!” Eugene was fast, this was the chance of a lifetime and he wouldn’t mess it up, not for him, not for Lance, not for Cassandra. Lance nodded. “We’ll do anything!” Cassandra just whimpered, her grip on Lance’s arm intensifying. Lance picked her up in response. “She’s just timid,” Eugene said. “She’ll do anything too.” Captain smiled. “Well, if you’d like to go pack your bags.” The two boys nodded, running off with Cassandra while the captain was left to fill in some paperwork.

Regrets: AU where Cassandra breaks down and tells Captain what happened down at the river. Captain realises he's part of the problem and decides he wants to be a part of the solution.

Cassandra was shaking. She stared up at the queen as though she were a three-headed dragon read to eat her. No matter how much Arianna tried to kneel down and make herself as unintimidating as possible. “Oh dear,” Arianna whispered. “It’s okay Sweetheart.” Cassandra clung to the Captain while her eyes darted around the throne room. Captain grabbed her hand tight in his, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to sprint to the nearest exit. “Go on Cassandra, tell the queen what you told me?” Cassandra shook her head, so very clearly scared. Before Arianna could open her mouth again, there was the sound of the throne room door opening every so slightly. A little girl peered in. “Mummy?” Rapunzel’s voice caused a sudden change in demeanor for Cassandra. “I need—” Rapunzel froze at the sight, cautiously she took a few steps closer. “Cassandra?” “How…?” Arianna didn’t understand how her daughter could possibly know the name of this child. “Cassandra!” Rapunzel sprinted forward, her arms wrapping around the older girl. “I knew you weren’t a dream! I knew it! I knew it!” she shouted, pulling Cassandra toward her mother. “I knew it mummy!” she screamed with tears running down her face, clearly frustrated yet happy yet also scared. “What’s going on?” Arianna directed the question at neither girl but at the Captain. “Your Majesty, this is Cassandra, the other little girl we found in the tower.” “Other little girl?”

As you can probably tell from those two AUs writing Captain as a kind of villain in this AU hurts me and I need to make up for it in my own way xD

Prince Eugene of the Dark Kingdom

Third priority on the fic list though many people's fave, this is another fully planned fic.

It follows an AU where Edmund was never capable of giving up Eugene and the man grew to become a protector of the moonstone.

Other Fics (organizes from most written to least written):

A Chance to Raise Them: Two girls were rescued from the child and accepted by the royal family. The missing princess Rapunzel and her older sister Cassandra. Frederic and Arianna are ready to spoil this girls rotten and show them just how horrid Gothel was during those difficult first years in their life.

A year after their rescue a pair of thieves tried to steal Rapunzel's hat leading Cassandra to chase them down. Not knowing what to do with the two Frederic hands them off to Captain to tutor for a few weeks. Needless to say those two weeks become quite a bit longer.

A scene:

When they arrived back at the throne room, Rapunzel wearing her hat again, Cassandra ran across the carpeted floor all the way to Frederic, holding up her arms. “Dad!” Frederic smiled and lifted her up onto his lap. “There are my princesses. How was your day?” Rapunzel went over to Arianna to show off her new clothes. “I captured some thieves!” Cassandra told Frederic. He smiled and nodded. “Did you now?” “She actually did,” the captain said, leading the two boys into the room. Frederic looked past Cassandra. “Oh.” “They tried to take Princess Rapunzel’s hat and Princess Cassandra took chase.” He glared at the black-haired princess, who still looked proud of herself. “I beat the little one in a fight!” “I’m bigger than you!” Flynn shouted back. “And I beat you.” Arianna tilted her head. “And who are these two boys?” “They won’t give me their names. Go by Flynn and Lance, apparently.” The captain crossed his arms. “They’re not first offenders.” “They’re also children,” Arianna pointed out. Captain nodded. “Obviously they can’t be punished as adults but, seeing as they are on a path of criminal careers, I must suggest something be done.” “Anything in mind?” Frederic inquired. The two boys stared at the ground. “Maybe a few weeks down in the dungeon ought to set them straight.” “We’re not putting children in the dungeon,” Arianna said with a roll of her eyes. Frederic looked thoughtful. “Lock them in a tower,” Rapunzel said. “No,” Arianna smiled, “We don’t do that Rapunzel.” “Mother had a rule for people who stole,” Cassandra began to suck on her thumb, despite being too old for such a gesture. “We don’t do that either, Cassandra,” Frederic said. “That’s why Gothel went to prison and never came out again.” Cassandra stopped sucking on her thumb. “They could stay with Captain? He’s strict. He makes the guards who aren’t good enough run until they look like they’re going to die. That would teach them not to steal.” The captain smiled. “My guards can quit whenever they want. They stay because my methods are effective,” he argued. “I train my men well.” “Captain, she may actually be onto something.” He frowned. “Would you be willing to take on these young boys for a little while, help them to learn the ways of the law? At least until they’re willing to tell you who they are so their parents can deal with them?” Captain looked down at the young boys with a sigh. “I… I guess I could try.” Frederic nodded. “Then it’s decided. They’ll stay with you.”

The Moon Slave: An AU where Corona was one of many kingdoms that has a strict class system where debt could easily lead to a loss of freedom. Eugene was an escaped slave planning to use a stolen crown to pay for a new life in another kingdom until the blonde got in the way. When he returned the lost princess and was granted his freedom, he technically accomplished his goals. But then one day e finds Rapunzel has taken a slave of her own, a young woman named Cassandra, and Eugene finds his loyalty for the princess wavering despite Rapunzel's lack of understanding.

A scene:

Rapunzel didn’t understand Eugene’s past. She tried to; she asked Eugene, who brushed her off; she asked her father, who just chuckled and said that past was over; she asked her mother, who looked sad and shook her head, mumbling something about politics. Eugene said he hadn’t always had freedom, the same as Rapunzel, but somewhat different. That was as close to an explanation as Rapunzel could get, and she hated it. It told her nothing.

Warrior of Glass: Captain was an overprotective dad and Cassandra claimed it wasn't justified. Rapunzel had no reason not to believe her best friend so when Captain refuses to let Cassandra take part in the Challenge of the Brave, Rapunzel and Eugene make a plan to distract Captain while Cassandra takes part.

But then Captain explains about a condition Cassandra has and the realization that they made a huge mistake strikes faster than lightning.

(random AU one-shot thing)

Two Lovers in a Tower: Gothel convinces Eugene, after falling in love with Rapunzel, that the tower is the only way to ensure Rapunzel's safety. Eugene moved into the tower, but there's something wrong with all of this and he can't put his finger on what.

The Poison Palace: After Eugene returns the lost princess, he is accepted with open arms by the king and queen. Pardoned for his past. But the longer he spends in the palace, the iller he is getting. And Cassandra suspects there may be foul play afoot.

Mother Knows Best: Corona heavily prosecutes any magic. Gothel rescues a blonde baby before she can be killed for the magic in her hair. Years later, said blonde leaves the safety of the tower with the dashing thief Flynn Rider. He thinks this mother is keeping her daughter hostage until Rapunzel reveals to him her magic and suddenly he is made aware he's leading this girl to her death, but she thinks this is another trick from the thief and is determined to see the lights. Eugene is forced to team up with Gothel to rescue Rapunzel before Corona can have its way with her.

Queen of Amber: Arianna is encased in amber and Frederic filled with rage attempts to kill the young alchemist.

Partners in Crime: Neither Eugene nor Rapunzel make the princess connection and instead they leave Corona to be thieves together. However, after Flynn Rider's escape, Captain steps down making Cassandra hungry for vengeance. She seeks down Flynn Rider, captures him and it is only when Rapunzel begs for his freedom that she realises the brunette standing before her is no mere thief, but rather Corona's missing princess.

Islands Together: Owl never got Eugene and Rapunzel. Captain left the island with his new four-year-old Cassandra. The people of Corona are quite spooked at first, but eventually just accept this.

Except for one person, when Cassandra sees her father cuddling his new four-year-old daughter something in her breaks and Corona was not ready for it.

Strongbow Along for the Ride: Lance never went to prison, and it wasn't one but two thieves who broke into the tower on that faithful day.

What Was Lost In The Great Tree: Cassandra didn't just injure her hand but died in the Great Tree. The gang has to move on but can Rapunzel face her destiny with this guilt in her heart?

Queen For Longer Than a Day: Frederic and Arianna died in the snowstorm and Rapunzel had to navigate the complicated route of being the youngest monarch in the seven kingdoms. She has Eugene and Cassandra by her side to guide her but will their support be enough? Especially with the ever-growing threat of the black rocks surrounding the kingdom?

Royalty Can't Date a Thief: Though Eugene is granted a pardon and a chance at a new life, Frederic forbids the princess to date an ex-thief. So Eugene gets a job as her bodyguard and they date in secret despite the risks that carries.

Unknowingly Indentured: Upon bringing Cassandra back from Gothel's cottage Frederic commands she will be a servant for the rest of her days in response to her mother's crimes. Captain, unable to tell Cassandra the truth, just pretends the servitude is normal and Cassandra doesn't find out until she is forbidden from leaving alongside the princess and Eugene due to her duties.

Amber Alchemist: Quirin never pushed Varian out of the way and instead finds his son consumed by amber. He confronts his old king and is more than willing to confront the moonstone itself if that's what it takes to save his son.

Cassandra and the Ghost Girl: Zhan Tiri reached a young Cassandra through dreams, slowly convincing her that Gothel is an unfit mother and that she and her younger sister Rapunzel must escape the tower.

Cassandra does and Zhan Tiri leads them to the Dark Kingdom where Cassandra gets her hands on the moonstone.

But when Zhan Tiri is unable to get the sisters to fight, she leads them back to Corona so they can be cared for. Knowing she'd get them to fight eventually.

Many are scared of Cassandra who they know killed her own mother and is often caught talking to herself, but her adoptive parents do love her and Captain who is more often than not her personal bodyguard teaches her to fight.

A scene:

Arianna holds her close. “She’s dangerous,” Frederic says. “She’s a child,” argues Arianna. “She killed her own mother.” Arianna frowned. “I know that. I know she’s dangerous. But she’s a child, she needs love and care. Someone has to be brave enough to give that to her.”

(the highlight of this short AU is when everybody learns the child they thought had lost a part of her sanity was actually just being harassed by an invisible demon)

And then there's a few other fics that I don't think I'll be continuing ever so I won't include in this post!

If you want to know more about ANY of these fics, please, do not hesitate to ask, privately, publicly, some of these I have chapters and chapters, pages upon pages of notes, I would have loved to say more but... Well, this is already pretty long.

#tts #rta #tangled the series #tts fanfic #tts fanfics #rta fanfic #rta fanfics #tts au #rta au #fanfics

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i-am-just-a-skeleton · 7 months

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Okay, to start off this is a vent post involving transphobia, mainly my own internalised transphobia, so if you'd like to avoid reading that I'd suggest skipping off now. Anyway. for anyone still here I apologise for the incoherence I just need to get this all out of my head a bit. The main thing is my dad. He's not... actively transphobic, I guess, but he is the main source of my current anxieties on this subject. Which are: I think I should detransition. I don't want to, but maybe I should. I can't tell if I want or not anymore because, maybe that will solve all this. It doesn't have to be an issue. If I was a cis guy, it wouldn't have to be an issue (or maybe it would, because I do like crossdressing and maybe I'm not entirely a guy anywa so I might still be trans anyway but anyway that doesn't matter because it's impossible), but we can't have that, so maybe it doesn't have to be anyway. If I detransition, and everything's fine, then we don't have to do anything and it all works out. And if I do feel utterly terrible then I can just go back as normal and everything will be fine. It's the logical approach to take, and it will solve all of this one way or another. Anyway. That's what it's all boiled down to, there are so many other things that play into this and I really ought to focus on untangling them all, probably. A lot of it comes from my dad, but a good bit of it's just me as well, like for some reason I have a much harder time accepting myself (and by extension other trans guys/afab trans people) and that's probably internalised mysogyny taking, the "of course everyone wants to be a man, and that's why you don't see this many trans women around now do you?" bit, and I don't really know what my own thoughts on everything are because I have both voices going in my head and all that comes out is just a mess of pain and stress and anxiety and anyway. I think I should detransition, because it seems like the easiest way to make at least a little bit of this go away, whichever way it goes.

#I... fuck #I really don't want to. It's not that much of a problem though #is it?#there' not much to change #just stop doing the testosterone shots (i've only been on it for a month it's not had any real effect yet)#change my name back #tell people to use she/her #don't even have to change the way I dress at all cause it's feminine enough as it is #I should. I don't even feel bad about it when I think about it logically #I'll do that #just have to go and actually tell people #very simple #I'll do it in the morning #(it's only 10 pm where I am #just clarifiying cause I know most of my mutuals are in timezones where it would be significantly later.#this isn't some kind of post-midnight insanity #I've been thinking about it for weeks and it's not even that late)#i think the inetention behind this post was for someone to convince me not to detransition #because it feels like the only way to stop worrying about things #but the stress of all this and thinking about actually telling anyone is making me feel physically ill #i can't fucking deal with this #help

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anchorandrope · 1 month

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im starting to believe that the twins genuinely believe they are not white anymore thanks to their "tanning" (blackfishing).... look, i don't wanna be those "i look toooooo much into things" person but i study social comunication at college and one thing i can tell for sure is that everything we de (our actions, what we say, the clothes we wear, etc) every. single. thing. communicates. the fact that Phoebe voluntary decided to use a dark-skinned girl to represent herself when there is literally a blonde and a brunette white girl available, its weird. if she chose that, it means for her it means something (ofc we can exactly tell for sure what, but at this point i can imagine). and im pointing this out not because "we should cancel omg she is the racist bitch ever" im not saying that. there are people out there who kill black people (non-white in general) for their skin color, ofc im not equating her to those people, im not equating her to people who call black people slurs or stuff. by all this im not claiming she is the worst person alive, i just wanna express my concern because even thought it wasn't "the worst thing ever" it doesn't mean its right ???? i feel people lately need celebrities to be extremely racist to be "well they suck" and fuck that shit, we have to call out "small" behaviours that affect people too. and its pure hypocrisy at this point because all these fans who defend to death the twins and lottie are the same that "cancel" random artists for being racist because they SAW A TWITTER THREAD ABOUT IT and they didn't even looked for context or ??? like okay girl its okay to cancel conan gray or hozier for nothing but this girlies are angles just for being ✨tomlinsons✨ ???? sorry i needed to vent.....

https://www.instagram.com/p/C6W6cl8qNd6/?igsh=OTVkMnU2YmVybXBy

i totally agree with you. also, i wanna point out the fact she decided to use a blonde white man and a blond white baby to represent her boyfriend and her baby in the post... but she decided to use the black girl to represent herself. she decided to represent her baby and her boyfriend correctly but not herself. if it was a "confusion", why not confusing the other emojis too? or it's only "fancy" doing it for herself?? as you said, everything we do communicates and that, dear, communicates A LOT. i also agree that she is not the worst person alive but someone needs to explain some stuff to this girl because this is a reach. and yeah i've said this before and i'll continue to say it: stop praising every single person (family/friends/coworkers/etc) that breathes near louis and or harry - just because they are close doesn't mean they are good !!!!!!!! we don't even know louis and harry in person nor in deep (surprise! we are fans!) and yall wanna defend random people knowing DAMN WELL how horrible people can be?? yall choose to defend people without even knowing them with the excuse of "louis/harry wouldn't relate to them if they were bad people 🥺" you are part of the problem. your lack of ability to call people out only because they relate to someone you like, without completely "cancelling" them is the main reason why cancel culture doesn't work properly with people who clearly deserves to be "cancelled". and i know everyone this fandom hates to hear this but did you guys know that millionaire white women can be terrible people? im just saying!!!

i attach the second pic to show how its clearly possible to choose a white brunette on iphone, and yet she chose the 3rd (middle) option.

#ask #stylinson family discourse

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depressedhatakekakashi · 2 years

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Team Gai Week Day 2

A New Path Forward

Prompt: Bonding

@team-gai-week

Characters: Hyuga Neji and Maito Gai

Words: 1143

Edited by: @kyu-pine 💜💜💜

He’d lost.

Against all odds, Hyūga Neji has lost his chunin exams fight against Uzumaki Naruto. A nobody with no Kekkei Genkai or special talents. His head was still reeling. No matter how hard he tried to make sense of it, he couldn’t. Even that terrifying red chakra he had seen leaking out of the other boy's body didn’t explain how he had lost. If anything it only left him with more questions.

“Don’t allow one lost battle to weigh on you so much,” his Sensei settled into the seat at his bedside, placing a bag by his feet while he got comfortable. “We all lose battles. Even the best Shinobi can find their match in unexpected places.”

The words sound nice, but they do little to mend Neji’s broken ego. The only thing he could think of was training. Improving himself so that this kind of insult never happened again.

“Neji,” there’s a harshness in his Sensei’s voice that he doesn’t expect. A tone that forces him to forget about everything weighing on his mind and focus on the older man. “I mean what I said. All you will do by dwelling on it is drag yourself down.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” he bit back with a little more force than intended. “You’ve been the underdog fighting to prove yourself. I’m not an underdog. I’m a genius and genius’ don’t lose.”

No response followed. His Sensei simply sat there staring at him with kind eyes. Not a single judgement passed his lips even after Neji’s harsh words. He knows that there are things his Sensei wants to tell him, but he kept them to himself for the moment. Allowed Neji the opportunity to vent. Scream if he wanted, and oh how wished he could take up that silent offer. It would feel so much better than trying to ignore the shame swirling around inside of his chest.

“How do you do it?” he asked, shoulders slumping in defeat.” How do you keep going when it feels like everything is against you?”

His family.

His clan.

His village.

No matter how much praise they threw his way for his genius, it all felt empty. Like they weren’t seeing Neji as he truly was.

A kid standing on his own against a world that always seemed to be against him. Pushing him down, ensuring there would always be something in his way to stop him from reaching his full potential no matter how hard he tried.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, his Sensei gave him an answer. “I keep going because no matter how many people stand against me, I always have my friends behind him,” leaning forward a bit, he reached out and set his hand upon Neji’s knee and offered him a kind smile. “People who pushed me forward even when I doubted myself.”

It was difficult for him to imagine his Sensei ever doubting himself for even a second. The man exuded confidence at all times of the day no matter what obstacles he was facing.

“It must be nice,” there’s bitterness in his words. A wave of anger that was not directed at his Sensei, but at himself. “I don’t have anyone pushing me forward.”

Gai squeezed his shoulder. “You’re wrong,” when Neji scoffed, he gave his head a shake and chuckled. “You have people who support you, Neji. You just have to notice them.”

“Name one,” realizing his mistake, he quickly raised a hand to silence his Sensei. “One that’s not you.”

Never one to turn down a challenge, his Sensei laughed. A joyful sound that helped Neji relax just a bit. The muscles in his shoulders loosen for the first time in days, even with the weight of his loss still hanging over his head.

“Tenten,” he answered when he was able to reign in his laughter. “Also, Lee.”

The Hyūga rolled his eyes at the mention of Lee. “He has no reason to support me. All I’ve been to him since day one is…well, a bully.”

A terrible feeling settled into his chest. Nothing like the disappointment of loss or the anger he felt towards the main branch that had settled into his heart long ago. This was a regret. A feeling that burrowed deeper and deeper into his soul the more he thought of how he had treated Lee over the years. Always pushing him down when he tried to stand up.

Reminding him of his ‘place’ in the world and telling him to give up on his dreams of becoming a strong shinobi, even long after Lee had started to prove himself capable in battle.

“You have been,” his Sensei agreed, giving his shoulder another reassuring squeeze. “Lee has never held that against you, though. All he wants is your friendship. Something that comes with that friendship, regardless of if it was accepted or not, is support.”

Friendship. It wasn’t something he was experienced with. All of his life he had been focused on training. Becoming as strong as he could and learning Clan techniques that he never should have had access to. There was little time left at the end of the day for him to make friends.

“How-” he paused, weighing the words in his mind until he found the right ones. “Would I still be able to make friends? With Lee and Tenten?” perhaps even others if they were open to it.

“You can, but you have to start by wanting to be their friend,” his Sensei’s words hit harder than Neji thought they would. “But before that, you should focus on recovering from your match. Once you’re in prime condition we’ll pick up training again. There’s a lot we have to work on to ensure you don’t lose to Kakashi’s students ever again.”

Unsurprised by his Sensei’s rivalry-induced tunnel vision, Neji relaxed into his bed and sighed. If there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips, neither of them mentioned it. “And after training?”

“We’ll have a team night,” his Sensei answered with lightning speed. “It will be easier to work on your team bonds when we are relaxing with some food.”

“Mmm, I’m sure it is,” for the first time since his team was formed, Neji found himself looking forward to their next bonding activity. Not just as an excuse to get away from the Hyūga compound, but as an opportunity to properly bond with his teammates. To make friends. “You should head back to the exams, Sensei. I wouldn’t want you to miss the excitement because of me.”

Rather than getting up from his seat, Gai-Sensei sank back into it with a cheerful hum. “I will,” he promised, leaning to his right and picking up the bag he had brought in with him. “After some Dango.”

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#hyuga neji #Maito Gai #Chunin Exams Arc #Fix It #Sort of #Anyways it should have been Gai there to support his student that's all I'm saying XD #TeamGaiWeek2022

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them.

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?”

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself.

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts.

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar.

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep.

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing.

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like.

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift.

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu.

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

taglist: @honestly-shite @booksarekindaneat @wonderless-screwup @pinkninja200 @captain-jebi @ajeff855 @leias-rebelion

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #college!din #college!mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal x reader #mandocrasis fic #sessions

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sketching-shark · 3 years

Note

LMK fandom: Oh, what do we do about this guy who has nothing but hurt Xiaotian, tried to replace Sun Wukong and his crew, hurt Tripitaka and ordered servants to cannibalize a monkey? Oh I know! We’ll turn him into our little meow meow~ he’s so innocent and Sun Wukong is obviously the villain!

What doesn’t help is this idea is perpetuated by multiple fan fic writers and artists for some reason. Especially some aus they make that turn SWK into a bastard for the sake of the story rather than considering cultural context and thinking they should be respectful.

And almost everyone lets them get away with it just because the art or fanfic is good and they get so popular that no one can point what is actually wrong without feeling like they’re going to get attacked.

I'm starting to feel like my blog is the one anons go to specifically to vent their frustrations about the Six Eared Macaque in his lego monkey show form & the associated fandom lmao. But I guess this makes sense, as I’ve had fun quasi-dragging him before & will in fact use this anon submission as an opportunity to have my own, to put it academically, bitch fest about not just this fandom's favorite protagonist-traumatizing meow meow, but about the way villains are often treated in not just fanon, but increasingly in canon works as well. But same policy as with the last anon; I'll post my opinions below the cut, and as fandoms love to say, don’t like don't read if you don't want to see me dunking on the six eared simian & common fandom tendencies towards villains.

Oh man I would say where would you even begin with this but anon you’ve pretty much started yourself with my main gripe with a lot of ways that the Six-Eared Macaque is portrayed in fandom; there seems to be this unspoken agreement that his acts of violence towards Sun Wukong, Qi Xioatian, and Qi Xioatian’s loved ones are either to be framed as somewhat or totally justified, to be immediately forgiven/excused, or to simply & completely be ignored. Like friends maybe this is just me not seeing the proper posts but while the fandom is inundated with art and fanfics of Macaque as a generally decent individual & a true member of team good guy, I have yet to see one person address the fact that this monkey literally kidnapped & mind-controlled Xiaotian’s best friend and father figures & forced them to brutalize Xiaotian while ol’ Six Ear looked on and laughed (X_X). Like this kind of fandom villain treatment is definitely not something that’s solely at work for Monkie Kid, but it is kind of nutty how fandoms will swing between yelling that people should be allowed to like villains without even mild critique, and then will just flat-out not address the villainous behavior, and will even bend over backwards to frame even characters who committed genocide as just poor innocent widdle victims who need a hug. At its worst, I’ve even seen tons of people in a fandom get really angry at other people who don’t like a villain, and will even start accusing those people of hating real-life mentally disabled or abused individuals all because they don’t like the fandom’s favorite literal war criminal. The Monkie Kid fandom is FAR more chill & better than a lot of other fandoms I’ve come across in that regard, but that is an exceedingly low bar, & the tendency to woobify certain kinds of villains-- as with Macaque and the extreme emphasis on his bad boy/sad boy thing--is very much at work.

I’ve also talked before about a kind of monoculturalization of certain character interpretations and story beats in fandoms, and one of the more popular ones that seems to be applied to Macaque a lot is the “hero actually bad, villain actually good” cliche, as observable from the general fandom assumption that Mr. Six-Ears he wasn’t even slightly lying or remembering things through a rose-tinted or skewed lens when he gave his version of his and Sun Wukong’s past. Like at this point it seems the possibility that people WILL NOT even consider is that Sun Wukong never did & still doesn't care that much about the Six Eared Macaque (in JTTW they weren’t sworn brothers & in Monkie Kid the only thing the monkey king really said to Macaque before attacking him was a pretty contemptuous "Aren't you ever going to get sick of living under my shadow?," & responds to his "beloved friend" getting blown up with "You did good, bud" to Qi Xiaotian, who did the exploding), or that their original fight may in fact have mostly been instigated by Macaque. After all, to repeat what this anon summarized & what I've said before about their original JTTW context (& in an example of the things that do feel like it's often lost in translation) is that the Six Ear Macaque was a villain not just because he beat up the Tang Monk, but because he wanted to take over Sun Wukong's entire life and identity so he could have all that glory, prestige, and power for himself. To quote the macaque himself from the Anthony C. Yu translation, "I struck the T'ang monk and I took the luggage...precisely because I want to go to the West all by myself to ask Buddha for the scriptures. When I deliver them to the Land of the East, it will be my success and no one else's. Those people of the South Jambudvipa Continent will honor me then as their patriarch and my fame will last for all posterity." And in order to do this, the Six Eared Macaque had apparently made Sun Wukong's "little ones," his monkey family, his captives through either trickery or force, and gotten a number of them to take on the appearance of Tang Sanzang and the other pilgrims. It's also made clear that in very direct contrast to Sun Wukong, he doesn't care about these monkeys beyond how they might serve him. In fact, after Sha Wujing kills the monkey posing as him the Six Eared Macaque not only all but immediately replaces him with another, but also "told his little ones to have the dead monkey skinned. Then his meat was taken to be fried and served as food along with coconut and grape wines." So this monkey is not only willing to risk the lives of a lot of other monkeys for his own personal benefit, but is also a literal cannibal. And yes yes, I know a lot of people have argued that Monkie Kid shouldn't be considered a direct sequel to JTTW & that's fair enough (for example, Sun Wukong probably shouldn't be smashing anyone into a meat patty in a children's cartoon lol). And of course, it needs to be noted that there are a buttload of really out there & really cursed pieces of media based on JTTW & that were created in China. Yet the above description is the oft-ignored in the west original facet of the Six Eared Macaque's character. And it is this selfishness, entitlement, and treatment of other individuals as tools for his own self-serving ends that is, from where I’m standing, still very much present in Monkie Kid. Like besides repeatedly going out of his way to physically and psychologically traumatize Xioatian, with the last episode Macaque seemed to be going right back to his manipulative ways. I’ve seen people frame their last conversation as Macaque softening to Xioatian a little bit, but personally that read a lot more like that common tactic among abusers where even after they’ve hurt you they’ll dangle something you want or need over your head (in Macaque’s case, the promise of desperately needed training and information about a serious looming threat), with the implication that you’ll only get it if you do what they want you to, such as, in this case, Xioatian going back to Macaque as his student even after having been so terribly hurt by this monkey, which would give Macaque power over Xiaotian and probably Sun Wukong as a result. And it is this violence and manipulation that it seems the fandom at large has tacitly decided shouldn’t even be addressed, instead leaning more towards a (and this is an exaggeration) “Six-Eared Macaque my poor meow meow Sun Wukong has always been bad & has always been wrong about literally everything” reading.

And while it is the case that I am not Chinese and feel that as such it would be best left to someone who actually comes from that background to provide more context into how common interpretations of the Six Eared Macaque from China may clash really badly with the stuff the western fandom creates, it also must be noted that, as much as we all want to have fun in fandom & in spite of all the out-there versions of JTTW from China, we westerners should recognize that there is a very long and very ugly history of western countries stripping other cultures’ important religious and literary works for parts & mashing them into their own thing while implying or even insisting that what they present provides a true understanding of the original piece. And while I trust most individuals in regards to Monkie Kid are able to step back and think “this is a lego cartoon and not a set guide for how I should understand JTTW” (especially given the insistence that JTTW and Monkie Kid should be considered there own separate works) there does nevertheless seem to be something of a tendency to take the conclusions people come to, for example, about Sun Wukong’s characteristic in his lego form & then assume that’s just reflective to Sun Wukong as a totality. I imagine a good portion of this is due to people not reading JTTW & especially to not having easy access to solid information or answers about JTTW’s many different facets (like geez awhile ago I was trying to get a clear answer on what is considered the most accurate translation of the names of Sun Wukong’s six sworn brothers & got like 5 different responses lmao), but that tendency to take a western fandom interpretation & run with it instead of doing any background research or questioning said interpretation is still very much at play. As such, & as made prominent in the way people have been interpreting the dynamic between Sun Wukong and the Six Eared Macaque in the lego monkey show, tbh it does seem kind of shitty for western creators & audience to sometimes go really out of their way to ignore all of this original cultural & narrative context for the sake of Angst (TM) in Macaque's favor, demonizing Sun Wukong, and shipping the monkey king with his evil twin (X_X).

And speaking of which, even beyond the potential inherent creepiness & revulsion that can be inspired by this specific ship given common interpretations of the og classic's original meaning (again, it's my understanding, given both summaries of translated Chinese academic texts I've been kindly provided with, my own reading of the Anthony C. Yu translation of JTTW, & vents from a number of Chinese people I've seen on this site, that the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China as having originated from Sun Wukong himself as a living embodiment of his worst traits, hence why only Buddha can tell the difference between them & why the monkey king is much more slow to violence after he kills the macaque), I'd argue that in the face of all the uwu poor widdle meow meow portrayals lego show Macaque is, especially if you include JTTW's events, still in the role of “Sun Wukong but worse” as he is very much a violent & selfish creep. Like he was basically running around in JTTW wearing a Sun Wukong fursuit, but there he had the sole reason of wanting to replace Sun Wukong wholesale so he could have all the good things in the monkey king's life without actually having to work as hard for them. But if you combine that with Macaque now claiming that he used to be best friend with Sun Wukong in his pre-journey days (something that's made funny from a JTTW context given that that status actually belongs to the Demon Bull King lol), his original violence has now blown into this centuries long and really unhealthy obsession with the monkey king. Like he's apparently gone from wanting to literally be Sun Wukong to being so obsessed with getting revenge on Sun Wukong that he's got basically nothing else going on in his life. Like he's only appeared in two episodes but...does he have any friends? Any family? A career or even a hobby that DOESN'T center the monkey king? Anything at all outside of his "get revenge on and/or kill Sun Wukong/use his successor as my personal punching bag” thing? Like dude! That is extremely creepy and extremely bad for everyone all around! As I’ve said before, this seeming refusal to see beyond the past or to do something that doesn’t involve Sun Wukong in some capacity is a trait that makes Macaque an interesting and somewhat tragic villain--he even seems to be working as Sun Wukong’s reflection in a mirror darkly, with lego show Sun Wukong pretty clearly not being able to heal from his own past which is hinted to be defined by one loss after another, and with Monkie Kid even kind of having these two characters somewhat follow their JTTW characterizations in that in the latter half of the journey Sun Wukong often gets sad & starts crying in the face of what seems insurmountable odds (& Monkie Kid Sun Wukong does seem to be hiding some serious depression behind a cheerful facade), whereas the Six-Eared Macaque retains a worse version of Sun Wukong’s pre-journey characteristic of getting pissed and lashing out if things don’t go his way--but it’s also what would make any current friendship or romantic relationship between these monkeys horrific. Although to be fair even the fandom seems to recognize this in an unconscious way, in that a lot of the art & fanfic seems to swing erratically between them kissing & screaming at each other in yet another example of bog-standard fandom adulation of romanticized toxic relationships lol.

At the end of the day, of course, this is nothing new. You'll find versions of this dynamic across a ton of fandoms and now even canonical work. And as such, I can only look at this kind of popularized relationship dynamic with a kind of resigned weariness whenever it pops up, & my frustrated question with the popularity of this kind of pairing is the exact same one that I have for a multitude of blatantly toxic villain/hero ships, given common fandom discourse & the tendency to either ignore or justify the villain's actions & demonize the hero: if you're THAT convinced that everything is the hero's fault, if you believe THAT much that the hero is the one in the wrong for the villain's pain and their subsequent actions, then why are you so set on them not only becoming a romantic pair, but framing this get-together as a good thing? Like I know we contain multitudes but that's waaay too many contradictions for me to wrap my head around. And it definitely doesn’t help that one branch of underlying reasoning behind this kind of pairing seems to be the ever-present “you break it, you fix it” mentality, where the assumption is that if you’re in a failing, abusive, and/or generally toxic relationship (platonically or romantically), if you put in enough time and effort & attempts to compromise, you’ll be able to restore/have the relationship you dreamed of, even with someone who hurt you really badly. And this assumption isn’t limited to fandom: I’d even argue that it’s everywhere in the culture, hence why a lot of people feel like they “failed” if they have to get a divorce or make the choice to leave an unhealthy friendship. Personally, I feel like people could really benefit from more stories about how it is not only the case that the people you hurt don’t owe you their forgiveness & you can still become a better and happier person without the one you hurt in your life, & that while it can be really hard it can also be a good thing to leave a relationship, even if it’s one that once meant a lot to you.

But in all honestly, from my own perspective this kind of pairing is starting to read far less like enemies to lovers and far more like a horrible fantasy where you can pull whatever shit you want, even on the people you "love," & never be held accountable for your terrible behavior or even have to consider that maybe you were in the wrong. It's another facet that makes me larf every time I see people insist that fandom is an inherently "transformative" or "progressive" form of storytelling like friends you are literally just taking status quo toxic monogamy & rebranding it as somehow beneficial & romantic (X_X).

But as to anon’s last frustration, it is hard to know what is the appropriate response with this kind of thing...like for my own part I’m keeping my frustrations to my blog & now increasingly to posts that you would have to click on the “read more” button to see what I have to say, but I totally get the hesitation to give even a mild critique to big names in a fandom. Like I've now seen it happen repeatedly where someone who has a big name in a fandom will make something that's kind of shitty for one reason or another, someone will message them with some version of "hey, that's kind of shitty, you shouldn't do that," and the typical response is either to blatantly ignore the issue completely, or more popularly to make a giant crying circus that seems deliberately geared towards stoking emotions on both sides of the, for example, fiction does/doesn't affect reality issue so that something that didn't even have to be that big a deal gets blown out of all proportion, with the big name often framing what often started out as a very mild critique into a long crying jag about how the initial response to their kind of shitty thing was so mean/cruel and they're just a poor innocent & that YOU'RE the true racist/sexist/bigot etc. if you don't agree with their opinion. It must of course be noted that there have also been numerous instances of people taking it too far the other way & sending not just big names but smaller creators literal deaths threats over stuff like innocuous ships which like holy hell bells people that’s a horrible thing to do. But for the big names at least, the end result of all this fighting is usually that once the dust has settled they have more attention/fame/money/power in the fandom than before, and with anyone who might have a problem with their stuff feeling afraid to voice their opinion lest they be swarmed by that person's fans. In that way fandom does often seem to increasingly be geared towards presenting an “official” fandom perspective about various facets of a piece of media instead of allowing for a multitude of interpretations, and with criticism, no matter its shape or form or how genuinely warranted it may be, being hounded out of existence. I feel like a lot of this could be made less bad if there wasn’t this constant assumption & even drive to think that a different interpretation of or criticism of your favorite work of fiction or your fanwork isn’t a direct claim that you are a thoroughly loathsome individual (& maybe also if people cultivated an enjoyment of learning things about important works from a culture outside their own, even if what you learn clashes with your own initial understandings), but I guess we’ll see if that ever happens.

So these are my general thinks about the Six Eared Macaque’s current fandom meow meow status & some of my bigger gripes with fandom tendencies as a whole. I stand by my idea that the most interesting & beneficial route for Macaque moving forward would be a kind of “redemption without forgiveness from the ones you hurt” arc--as I think was done pretty excellently with the character Grace in Infinity Train--and if for no other reason than gosh dern this monkey really needs to cultivate some sort of identity beyond his “Sun Wukong but worse” persona.

#lmk macaque #monkie kid macaque #6 eared macaque #monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #qi xiaotian #lmk monkey king #sun wukong #monkey king #journey to the west #jttw #fandom criticism #lmk

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kbandtrash · 3 years

Text

SKZ Mafia Bullet Point

~Rachel~

@call-me-horangi thanks for the request!

Masterlist

I. I didn't have to do it like this. What did I create. Anyway next up Megan wanted to do one too so that's the next update

Word Count: 1.6k

I have chosen Chan because I’m baaaasiiiiiiic

But anyway you were both born into the life of organized crime

Your families were friendly with each other so like you were supposed to be bestest friends and fated lovers right??

No.

You haaaaaated each other as kids

He had this reputation of good rule following child but actually? Was just really good at never getting caught

You didn’t like the rules and you were loud about it but did you follow them? Yeah

Did you always get in trouble anyway? Yeah

Did Chan always manage to get you in trouble for things he did? Also yeah

You would try to get people to see that he was a little turd and sometimes they would listen but usually they would be like

Little baby sweetheart Chan???? Noooooo never

After a while you decided that if Chan wanted to be an exception to the rules then he could be an exception to the rules

So you would antagonize him constantly

The amount of times you locked him outside when he shouldn’t have been there in the first place

Or the time you stained his shirt with grape juice right before he was supposed to take pictures

So yeah as kids you were at each other’s necks constantly it was really back and forth

Neither of you was really better than the other

It got better when you were both sent to separate private schools for middle school and you didn’t see each other so much

But if you did have to see each other it was on sight

You never punched him and his stupid little smirk but man oh man did you get close

In high school your parents managed to finesse both of you into the same school

Not only that but the school put you both in the same class

And it would have been a disaster except!

His school friends were amazing!

In fact the reason you remember your relationship turning around was because they would tease him whenever the two of you started fighting

One day in particular you remembered he was trying to rile you up by getting right up in your face

And one of his boys shouted “KISS”

Even still today, many years later, you wish someone had taken a picture of his face

You didn’t know eyes could become so big and round

Never before or since had you seen ears so bright red

For many months later he was barely able to look you in the eyes

And when he was forced to talk to you he was much more polite

At some point in your last year of school, one of your friends started dating one of his friends

And the friend groups started to mesh together

So you were spending even more time together than normal

Suddenly he was much easier to be around

Maybe because you ignored each other for the most part

Wow I’m spending way more time on this backstory than I should

Anyway

You managed to graduate on a decent note

You don’t remember the pictures being taken, but there’s one graduation photo with both of your friend groups not only with both of you in it

That used to be a struggle when you were younger

But you were both standing next to each other

And not only that!

But there’s another photo of just the two of you

Something that would have been entirely impossible in your younger years

But you had your arm around his shoulder!

He had his hand on your waist!

One might think, looking at the picture, that you were friends at that point

Maybe you were, but you didn’t remember it that way

This is entirely stream of thought guys I’m just writing everything that comes to mind

You weren’t willingly associating yourself with him at least until after college

You were on one side of the country, he was on the other

You saw each other maybe a handful of times over the course of four years

And they say absence makes the heart grow fonder

Very clearly you still remember the first time you saw him after you graduated

You were at the main headquarters for the front for your family business, almost done with training for the work you would be doing for then

And then in walks the handsomest boy you’d ever seen in your life

It took you a second to recognize him

Not because he had changed much physically

Sure, he was dressed quite a bit nicer than you remembered

And his hair was styled differently than he used to like

But his entire countenance was different

The way he carried himself radiated confidence and maturity

He was confident before but now? He had earned his confidence

And his smile

Jisung was easy to recognize walking in with him

They were talking about something as they walked in those doors

And suddenly both started laughing

Had his smile always been that captivating?

Hadn’t you hated it before?

No, this couldn’t be more different than his stupid arrogant smirk

It would have been very embarrassing if you had kept staring at them as they approached you

Luckily the employee that was training you managed to get you back on task before they noticed you

So when Jisung noticed you and called your name, you were at least somewhat prepared and kept your pride

Except then you turned and saw Chan smiling again

At you

And your brain short circuited a little bit

Because he was even prettier smiling like that

At you

What

It was not long after that that you ended up hanging out together just the two of you

On purpose

Also what

Since when would you have ever willingly spent time one on one with Chan?

Never

But there you were hanging out like you were old friends rather than fated rivals

Wham Bam you were dating so fast

It was almost a little shameful how willing you were to throw away a 20+ year feud

But! He had thrown it away too so

The only pride you had to lose was your families teasing you

Every other second at any gathering

“I told you they would end up together”

“I still remember you as ten-year-olds screaming at each other”

Like thanks? How are you supposed to respond to that

“Aren’t you glad you grew out of that?”

Um yeah I’m glad Chan and I both grew up I guess

“Oh finally”

Oh well

It was not long before you earned the reputation of Bonnie and Clyde within your circle

Sticky situations followed you left and right

But through The Power of Love

And perhaps much experience in self-defense classes and firearm training

But mostly through The Power of Love

You managed to get yourselves out of these situations pretty flawlessly every time

And! Thanks to your extensive experience tormenting each other as children

The two of you are excellent at getting information out of people

It usually goes a little something like

“I will tell you what you want to know if you will pLEASE just SHUT UP”

Anyway

Usually since you were technically considered higher-ups due to your parents’ status you wouldn’t really get involved so much in the dirty stuff

But you both got a little more caught up in the diplomatic stuff

Which for some reason when it involves you two

It tends to get kind of messy

Why do they even let you guys do this kind of stuff anymore?

Compromise only recently got added to both of your playbooks

More often than not you always end up sitting together in someone’s kitchen patching each other up

Thankfully you’ve never had any terribly close calls

But that leads me to my next point

Boy proposed in the middle of a shootout

Not because it was now or never or anything like that

Just because he felt like it was the dramatic background he needed

He would have been nervous otherwise but like in the middle of a shootout?

He was a lot more worried about getting shot

Or more like you getting shot I guess

Anyway he was a lot more worried about that than about you saying no

Kinda stupid looking back actually

What if he had distracted you and then you got shot and died

But that didn’t happen so!

Anyone that responded with a patronizing comment about your childhoods was uninvited to the wedding

Except not really because this is not the business to be making enemies for petty reasons

But they definitely earned a spot in whatever secret hit list y’all keep together for little things

Venting conversations usually go a little something like

“Please tell me why my aunt is trying to invite herself on our honeymoon”

“Should I ring up Jeongin?”

“If you don’t want my aunt sleeping on our couch then yeah probably”

“Ew nope yeah Jeongin air shot between the toes I’m texting him now”

“Chan wait--”

How on earth do I wrap this up this is a first for me

This was not extremely mafia heavy BUT

Anyway the wedding has not happened yet but when it does

There will most certainly be a secret afterparty for people who deserve it

And another secret afterparty for your friends

Most days actually that’s like the only thing keeping you going

Weddings are stressful but wow add in the organized crime aspect?

So much more to think about

You and Chan are both pretty stressed these days

But at least at the end of the day you’ve got each other to lean on :)

~fin~

#stray kids #stray kids chan #bang chan #bang chan stray kids #stray kids bang chan #chan stray kids #bang chan x reader #stray kids mafia au #my word what have i done

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amoc94 · 3 years

Text

"His Pet"

Summary : Min Yoongi. A business magnate, and a mafia leader. He was everything you would never imagine to be a part of your life. Yet fate is not something to be eluded.

He would do anything to make you his.

Pairing : Yoongi x female OC (From reader's POV).

Genre : Yandere, Mafia AU.

Warning for this chapter : Implied confinement, drugging by tranquilizer dart.

This story is not for easily triggered readers or below eighteen.

Full Masterlist and elaborate warning please read here.

List of chapters here.

CHAPTER 25.

Ten point eighty nine kilometers with six point thirty seven minutes per kilometer running pace. Not bad at all, at least for you.

You've been running around the vicinity of the mansion for more than an hour, trying to vent up your tension, which was almost everyday.

At least it did good to your physique. No matter how many chocolate bar or balls you gobbled, you would not gain any weight.

Exactly the opposite of your stress rate.

It had been almost a month since the incident in the night club, and you haven't stepped out your feet outside the mansion, not even a meter out the main gate. No more biweekly dinner or shopping with him.

Yoongi was punishing you.

"If you think I couldn't spot a lie when I see one, you certainly underestimated me."

"I know you are planning something, but sweetheart, try not to waste your efforts. Because it will fail, I will guarantee that."

"If you have so much energy to spare, why not waste it on me instead, in bed."

Oh God, how you hated that man. It was like his main purpose in life was to irritate and torture you.

Except in bed, that was the only place where both of you could blissfully agree to each other. Sleeping with him was like an ultimate stress reliever, the only place you could be as feisty as you could, without him restraining you.

In the past two weeks, along with your growing frustration level, you learned to let it out during make-out session with him.

One time when you got too rough on him, you could see the angry red scratch marks from your nails on his back.

Other time, while you straddling him, you gripped on his neck, tried to choke him, if not for your smaller frame and his swiftness in tackling the attack and flipped you over, you would probably succeed.

In your delusional realm that was. Because Min Yoongi certainly wasn't your equal opponent.

Everytime you tried another stunt in bed, he would only give you a mocking smile, as if he actually expected for it and enjoyed it even, before handled you easily, like you were a child who tried to throw a tantrum.

Maybe next time you should play dirty instead.

But of course you couldn't expect to wrestle him in bed all the time. He got work to do, and you got to have a life outside the bedroom, the boredom was killing you.

It wasn't like you didn't try to do something meaningful in your daily life.

You tried to cook, with the help of Mrs. Kwon, you tried everything, from dessert to main course. And you would persuade, or more like force Taehyung to try it, no matter how terrible it tasted. What could you say, Yoongi was rarely around during the day, so you only had Taehyung as your victim, albeit with slight resistance from him.

But that too, got you bored in the end. Cooking was never your thing.

Then one day Yoongi called you to his study, introduced you to an interior designer. He let you to redesign the bedroom to your taste, and gave you the freedom and unlimited budget for it. While you were so tempted to put a hole in his wallet, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

Who would need a ten million won bed and upholsteries? Or the gold plated bathroom fixtures? You didn't even plan to stay forever in the mansion.

Might as well for the money to go to the payroll for his employees. Maybe you were stupid, but you were one who live with common sense, not on an impulse.

The redesigning job gave you a temporary work to do, but it only lasted for ten days.

You also took online classes to finish your degree, Yoongi arranged it to be linked with your pending study from your previous university. It gave you something to do, but it couldn't fill the void in your heart.

Somethings were missing, and you yearned for it. Maybe it was your family, Yejin, your coworker, your job, or your almost non existent social life. However minimal it was, but you missed it. Didn't they say people often long for what they could not get in the end?

You huffed loudly, and lied yourself down on the grass.

Maybe it was a good idea to walk to Yoongi's bedroom then just lay down in his bed, make sure that the remnants of grass and leaves and specks of sands would leave traces on his bed. It would serve him right.

Not that you could enter his bedroom as you would like anyway. He always locked it, only him or Mrs. Kwon or maybe the boys who had the key. Talked about paranoia on a whole other level.

And he wasn't in South Korea right now.

He left four days ago, stated that he had an urgent matter to take care of in Macau, something about problems in their casino. He left with Seokjin in his helicopter for the airport, before boarded their private jet for the trip. You haven't heard of him since.

You didn't miss him, of course. But you indeed missed the sex, out of frustration maybe.

You snapped out of your muse when you heard the sound of a car approaching the spot where you were sitting. You sat on the empty road side, maybe around two kilometer away from the main gate.

It was the van from the groceries shop where Mr. Park - the butler, usually ordered the ingredients and food supplies for the whole mansion. The backside load bay was enclosed.

You saw the van several times during your wandering around the building. Usually it would leave the mansion with empty cargo, because all the goods they brought were solely ordered by Mr. Park.

Suddenly an idea came to your mind. Why had you never thought about it before?

You blamed your too slow brain cells for that.

You could hitchhike with the van, and the gatekeeper would probably not noticing you since you were with the groceries driver. There was only slim chance they would recognize you, you almost never go out of the gate. Not without him anyway.

Whenever they saw his car, Sejin or him didn't even have to roll down the window, they recognized the uniformed plates' number.

You didn't plan to escape, you knew it would put your brother in danger, especially because you didn't know how far was your brother from carrying your plan out.

But the temptation to be outside the mansion was too great, and Yoongi wasn't around anyway.

Just think of it as Yuri's day out, a day of full adventure. You didn't have money, but you could borrow a phone from someone and call your brother to pick you up. Then you would be back to the mansion the next day, no one would have to know about you leaving.

With a newfound excitement, you stood up and frantically waved to the direction of its driver.

The van stopped and the window rolled down revealing the poker face of the driver.

"Hi, can I come with you until just beyond the gate? I plan to jog around outside, but the entrance gate is quite far from here."

The man was in his forties, and looked like the type that didn't talk much. He just gestured with his head for you to hop in.

As the car drove around one kilometer ahead, the guy's phone suddenly rang.

He picked it up with a sullen expression.

"Hello?" He paused while listening, then looked at you.

"It's for you." He looked confused, but gave the phone to you and kept on driving.

"Yuri?" It was Sejin's voice. "Whatever you are planning on doing right now, please stop."

You pressed the red button hastily, and gave the phone back to the guy.

"Something's wrong?" He furrowed his brows.

"Nothing. Please go ahead." You prayed that you would make it outside the gate, before Sejin could reach you.

"Look, I don't want to get into trouble." He threw a doubtful glance at you.

"It was nothing really. I will alight as soon as I'm outside. Don't worry." You started to get antsy, but you couldn't show it to the guy.

He kept his silence after that.

When the car stopped in front of the gate, the guy rolled down the window to let the gatekeeper had a look inside the car. The guard looked at the driver in passing, then gazed at you.

His stare lingered on you for a few seconds longer than you would like, you tried to put the best impassive face as you can.

Finally he waved his hand to hint the driver his approval. There was another man who opened the load bay to check the inside and confirmed all clear.

You were extremely on edge right now, you checked the rearview mirror to make sure Sejin wasn't chasing you.

You let out a relieved breath once the car passed by the gate.

A few meters away from the mansion, you weaved out from the van, thanking the guy several times.

You just couldn't contain your excitement. You started to jog through the empty street, trying to find a store or a house. It was quite a long way, and as far as your view could reach, the road was bare, not even a car passed by.

Suddenly, you heard the heavy roar of motorcycle approaching behind you, must be a big bike from the sound of it.

When you looked toward the source, it was like your heart stopped beating.

It was Jimin, in his orange hair glory swept by the wind, riding a black Ducati. His pretty face looked stern and upset, a threatening look upon his eyes on you.

"Yuri! Stop! Don't be stupid!"

His voice pushed your panic button, and instead of halting, you actually started running.

"Yuri! I don't want to hurt you!" He shouted.

You had a good stamina from your countless running bout, you could run pretty fast, but you were no Usain Bolt. Even if you were, you doubted that you could outrun a Ducati.

Maybe you were possessed, or maybe it was the adrenaline rush, but to your wonder, you could sense that you left him behind.

In fact, you couldn't hear the roar of the engine anymore, and your hope soared up.

Until you felt something pricked your ankle, it stung terribly.

Your running slowed down before you stopped on your track, and fell to your knees.

Looking at your ankle, you caught the sight of a red needle dart that was punctured midway, a gradual numb feeling crept up your leg.

You heard the sound of the motorcycle nearing and stopped next to you.

Your head was floating, your breathing got heavier, and before you realized, you collapsed to the ground.

Jimin was crouching over you, he touched your face with his cold fingers, brushing your hair to the side, out of your face.

"I warned you." He said with icy voice, holding a gun in his right hand.

You heard the sound of a car skidded to a halt, and saw a black Porsche pulled over next to Jimin's bike. Jungkook and Hoseok slid out from the car and ran to your spot.

"You used the dart gun?" Hoseok asked.

"Yes, she wouldn't stop running."

"How many did you use?" Hoseok crouched and retracted the dart from your ankle.

You couldn't move, your body was so heavy, and you felt like passing out soon.

"Only one. You used a small dose, right Hyung?"

"A child's dose. It would probably put her to sleep for two hours maximum."

"Jungkook, can you carry her? I'll drive instead, you can take the bike with you." It was Jimin's voice again.

Later when Jungkook picked you up and carried you bridal style to the car, you were wondering why Hoseok was there in the mansion.

Then it went all black.

Chapter 26

#yandere yoongi #yandere bts #bts fanfic #min yoongi #bts mafia au #yandere suga #agust d

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ncssian · 4 years

Text

A Favor: Part One

Nessian Modern AU

Summary: Nesta Archeron isn't good with change. When her car breaks down in the middle of a storm and her sister sends one of her friends to pick her up, Nesta thinks there could be nothing worse than having to spend the night with a total stranger. Until she suddenly finds herself without an apartment. Despite only a night of knowing Nesta, Cassian is quick to offer her a room in his cabin free of charge, and Nesta, broke and without many social contacts, has no choice but to accept.

A/N: This fic is loosely inspired by @lady-therion 's fic Close Quarters. I couldn't stop thinking about Nesta and Cassian sitting in front of a fire, slowly getting to know each other, so this fic is a whole lot of that :) There's no strict plot structure to this so I'm not sure how long it's gonna be, but expect warm and fuzzy content in the beginning. Enjoy!

Masterlist

***

Cassian is in bed when he gets the text.

Feyre: hey i know it's late but i need you to do a huuuge favor for me

Feyre: i really hope you're not asleep yet

Cassian furrows his brows in concern, immediately thumbing back a text.

Cass: what's wrong?

Feyre takes a long minute to type back; wind howls and rain thrashes against his window while he waits. A long message finally appears.

Feyre: you know the shortcut through the woods off of main st? my sister's car broke down there and there's no 24/7 towing around. im all the way in velaris and won't be able to get there for another two hours, but i dont want her waiting in the woods in the middle of the night like murder bait. she's too proud to ask for help, but if you could go and pick her up that would mean a lot to me, please.

At the last sentence, Cassian immediately knows which sister Feyre is talking about. He glances out his window and curses under his breath. It's storming hell outside, and Nesta Archeron is sitting in a broken car in the middle of the woods somewhere.

He's already grabbed his keys and stuffed his feet into shoes when he realizes he never answered Feyre's text. He types out a short on my way and heads out the front door of the cabin, assaulted by rain and wind before he's even fully outside.

Cassian follows the location Feyre sends him, what should be a five minute drive taking almost fifteen in the storm.

Cassian has interacted with the oldest Archeron sister maybe twice in his three years of knowing Feyre. Once for an initial family meeting, where she gave a terse hello upon introduction to Cassian and his friends, before ignoring everybody for the rest of the dinner, and another time when he accidentally bumped into her as she was leaving Feyre's apartment. He remembers apologizing profusely, only to be given a weird look before she turned and left.

In summary, Cassian knows enough about Nesta to know that this won't be the most fun task he's ever been given. Still, he isn’t about to leave any woman rotting on the side of an empty road at this hour, in this weather.

There’s so much rain that he almost misses the car. His headlights catch on a lump of metal, and he slowly brings the truck to a stop. Throwing the gear in park, Cassian flips his hood over his head and runs out into the rain.

She’s already waiting for him when he reaches the car, standing in the freezing rain in nothing but a drenched sweater and jeans.

His first real words to Nesta Archeron come out surprisingly easy: “What the hell are you doing here?” he yells over the torrent.

“Making sure you could see me,” she shouts back. “You drive like a blind dog!”

Whatever Cassian says back gets lost in the rain, but soon he's ushering Nesta over to his truck and slamming the passenger door shut behind her. He returns to the driver's seat, Nesta audibly shuddering beside him.

He flips the air vents blowing hot air towards her. “You should’ve stayed in the car.”

Even soaked and freezing, Nesta summons up the energy to glare. “So you could run me over with your truck? No, thanks.”

“That’s an overreaction.”

Nesta doesn’t bother to reply. Silence fills the truck for a couple of minutes as Cassian tries to maneuver them out of the small backroad, carefully turning back for his cabin. There’s no way he can get Nesta back to her place tonight, and he suspects his phone notifications are already full of flash flood warnings.

Finally, he says, “I’m Cassian, by the way.”

Nesta looks at him like he’s stupid. “I know who you are.”

That takes him a little by surprise, but he only murmurs, “Okay, then.” He wonders how much Feyre told her sister about how this was going to go.

“We’re getting my car picked up first thing tomorrow,” Nesta says into the silence, “and Feyre will take me home so you don’t have to bother yourself.”

“It’s not a bother,” he responds a little too quickly. She only gives him another weird look, like she’s judging him to hell and back, and Cassian decides to quit speaking forever.

By the grace of some higher power, the drive back is faster than the drive to. The pounding of rain only gets heavier as Cassian pulls up to the house, until it becomes an unmistakable thunk. Nesta’s eyes shoot to the roof of the car. “What’s that,” she says sharply. Everything she says is sharp; he wonders if she does it consciously or not.

Another thunk hits the car, this time the windshield. Cassian sighs deeply at the ice assaulting the truck from all sides. “Hail,” he says, resigned with this whole night.

He and Nesta end up making another mad dash to the door, trying not to get hit by increasingly larger chunks of ice as they go. Nesta has a backpack that she holds close to her chest instead of using for protection from the hail, as if it’s a baby.

Once safely inside the cabin, she doesn’t let go of her grip on her bag as she looks around his home. “Nice place,” she breathes, eyeing the exposed wooden beams and towering glass windows. An iron-wrought chandelier lights up the main living area they’re in, lightning occasionally casting twisted shadows across the walls.

Cassian almost apologizes for it, before deciding that apologizing for having too nice of a house is one of those things that would earn him another weird look from Nesta. “Bathrooms are that way,” he says instead, pointing down the main hall. “I can get you some dry clothes…”

She’s already nodding sharply and heading for the bathroom, leaving Cassian to stand awkwardly in the entryway, soaked to the bone in the same sweats he was about to go to sleep in just an hour ago.

Upstairs, after changing into blissfully dry clothes, it takes Cassian a good five minutes to decide which of his shirts will work best for Nesta’s slim figure.

When he finally returns downstairs with sweats four times Nesta’s size, she snatches them out of his hands without a word and slams the bathroom door shut on his face. He stands there a moment longer, nods resolutely, and heads for the kitchen to whip up a hot beverage. Cassian has a feeling he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

A couple of minutes later, Nesta appears in the kitchen doorway, looking hesitant and absolutely dwarfed in Cassian’s gray sweats. Somehow, she’s made the pants work, likely by rolling them up a hundred times.

Cassian’s eyes widen for a moment, realizing this is the longest look he’s gotten at Nesta since… well, since he first met her.

He remembers thinking she was stunning at that initial dinner at Feyre’s house all those years ago, but damn, he must have forgotten just how much. Because even messy and rumpled, Cassian can’t stop staring at her.

Nesta breaks the silence first. “Is that hot chocolate?” The hard edge has mostly left her voice, like the warm clothes have soothed her frayed nerves from the car ride.

“Um.” Cassian glances down at the steaming mug in his hands. “Yeah. You want some?” he offers before he can check himself.

Nesta further surprises him by nodding, tucking her sweater paws under her armpits. The position would look vulnerable and reserved on most people, but on her it’s just another fortification to her stiff demeanor. Cassian slides his mug over the marble island to her before starting on another drink for himself.

Feeling an urge to fill the silence while he works, Cassian babbles, “The guest rooms are upstairs. You can have your choice, but the master bedroom is mine, obviously.” He pours melted chocolate into a mug and grabs for cinnamon.

Nesta watches him move with her unnerving hawk eyes and nods slowly, taking careful sips from her mug. “I think I’m going to stay up and study for my midterms,” she finally responds. “You mind if I use your fancy living room?”

Cassian almost smiles at that. “The whole house is fancy,” he says. “But yeah, go for it.”

He’s surprised at how nice this feels. Not that having Feyre’s scary older sister over isn’t weird for him, but… having another presence in the cabin, especially at this late hour— it’s warm where Cassian’s nights are usually cold.

***

It’s past two in the morning when Nesta finally glances up from her laptop screen, eyes bleary and unable to take in another word of theoretical law. She’s rubbing her hands down her face when a sudden clap of thunder booms outside the cabin windows, making her nearly fall off the couch. “Christ,” she swears, unconsciously curling into herself.

“Scared of thunder?”

Nesta internalizes her surprise at the unexpected voice and glances up to see Cassian coming down the stairs, looking as awake as he did when he went to bed over an hour ago. Nesta becomes terribly aware of the state she’s in and has to fight to maintain her composure.

She peeled off Cassian’s oversized sweatpants as soon as he went upstairs, not having been able to take a step without almost tripping, and made up for the coldness of her bare legs by dragging the fur throw off the back of his leather couch and using it as a blanket.

“That's usually for decoration, you know.” Cassian gestures at the thick fur.

Embarrassment claws up her throat, for coming into this strange man’s house and taking his nice things and using them incorrectly. Her first instinct is to apologize, but the only thing she hates more than embarrassment is the word sorry. “I thought you were asleep,” she says instead.

Cassian only shakes his head as he takes a seat on the far end of the couch. “Sleep and I aren't friends tonight. I was thinking about watching a movie, but if you're still studying—”

Nesta quickly shuts her laptop, shaking her head. “I was just about to go upstairs,” she says, packing her things into her backpack. Despite the day she’s had and how heavy her eyelids are, she knows she won’t be able to sleep with the sporadic thunder still booming. She wants to ask Cassian if he has noise-canceling earplugs, but the last thing she wants is to inconvenience him further.

The fur throw slips off her as she stands, revealing her bare legs. She might be wearing the largest, least sexy sweater of all time, so she doesn’t know why she suddenly feels naked in front of Cassian. Risking a glance at the man himself, he only takes his eyes off the TV remote in his hand to say, “You can leave the pants behind if you don’t need them.”

Right. She neatly folded his sweats as soon as she took them off earlier, and now they sit patiently on the coffee table.

“It gets a little drafty at night,” Cassian adds, “but I stocked your room with blankets. It’s the second door on the left; I hope you don’t mind that I chose for you.”

Nesta distantly remembers him saying she could have her pick of bedroom. “I don’t care,” she says honestly. “But— thanks.” She clasps her bag to her chest and shuffles towards the stairs, only stopping at the foot of them when she remembers not to be rude. “Goodnight,” she calls out awkwardly, trying not to race up the stairs as she hears him say goodnight back.

Cassian’s cabin is without a doubt gorgeous, but Nesta still feels a little shock of surprise when she finds her designated room. Decked out with a four-poster bed and floor-to-ceiling windows, it’s nicer than any place Nesta’s ever stayed in before.

A bright flash of lightning fills the room, and Nesta’s shoulders immediately bunch up to her ears— the preparation doesn’t make the ensuing clap of thunder any less heart-thumping. Withholding a weary sigh, she moves to draw the thick curtains over the windows, hoping to add a barrier between herself and the storm. It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next morning, Nesta dials Feyre’s number for the third time, growing more irritated by the second. It’s eight a.m., but Feyre is supposed to be picking Nesta up before noon so she can take her car in and return home to her shitty basement apartment.

Finally, the line clicks. “Hello?” a groggy voice drawls over the phone.

“When are you coming?” Nesta demands.

“Uh, what?” Feyre still sounds like she’s waking up. Nesta could hiss.

“You promised you’d be here first thing today, Feyre. I can’t hang around at your friend’s place all day. I want to wear my own clothes and use my own toothbrush.”

“Oh, that,” Feyre says. “Listen, can you just have Cassian take you home?”

“Feyre—”

“I know you hate interacting with strangers, but he’s one of my best friends. It’s a two-hour drive up to the mountains, Nesta,” she speaks as if she’s trying to reason with a kindergartener.

Frustration boils up in Nesta, feelings that she’s in too much disbelief to put words to right now. Her jaw works, and all she ends up spitting is, “You promised.”

“You’re being dramatic. I’m going back to sleep now, call me when you get home safe.” Over the line, Nesta can hear mumbling— probably Feyre’s boyfriend waking up.

Nesta has to hang up before she says something she’ll be made to regret. Her fingers are bone-white around her phone, and she releases a restrained shriek before flinging her phone at the bed.

Still pissed but just a little mollified after the release of energy, Nesta takes a deep breath and heads downstairs to get breakfast.

Cassian is in the kitchen when she enters, sipping from a cup of coffee and watching another one brew in the coffee maker. His eyes are ringed with tired circles, proving he got about as much sleep as Nesta did the night before, but he seems content. She doesn’t miss his quick glance at her still-bare legs before his eyes flick up to her. “Good morning,” he offers with a quiet smile.

Nesta didn’t know Cassian was capable of such quietness— it’s a stark difference from how he is with Feyre and his friends, and maybe the nicest surprise she’s received since this shitty weekend began.

She cuts straight to it. “Feyre’s not coming,” she says, trying to gauge how he’ll react to this new inconvenience. “She told me to let you take me home.”

“I know,” is all Cassian says. His brow furrows when he sees her obvious disappointment. “She called me last night. Didn’t she tell you?”

Nesta’s hands curl under the long sleeves of Cassian’s sweatshirt, but she only shakes her head once. She’s distantly aware that she’s overreacting about a simple car ride, but nothing can take away her discomfort at asking favors from people she barely knows.

Not knowing how to continue the conversation, she says stiffly, “I want to wear my own clothes again.” Is that a good addition to the discussion? She genuinely can’t remember the last time she interacted with a man for non-work related purposes.

Cassian’s eyes light up and he sets down his coffee. “That reminds me, I put your clothes through the laundry this morning. They might still be warm from the dryer.”

Nesta wants to sag in relief at the first good news she’s gotten all morning. She follows Cassian’s directions to the laundry room and almost hugs her neatly folded clothes. While she changes into her clothes from the night before, she makes a list of today’s activities in her head:

1) Eat breakfast. Keep it quick and keep interactions with Cassian to a minimum, but don’t seem ungrateful.

2) Drive to her ancient rustbucket of a car. Make sure it’s okay after the hail and call the towing company.

3) Let Cassian drop her home.

4) Return to her room and not leave for a week.

Nesta sighs as her blue sweater settles around her frame. Only four tasks; it’s achievable enough.

Her first task is relatively easy. She wishes Cassian wouldn’t talk so much, because sometimes she doesn’t know what to say in return, but she also finds that she likes what she has to say. His opinion on the horror movie he watched last night doesn’t make her want to crawl out of the nearest window.

Cassian keeps breakfast short and gets them in the car by nine. It’s only after they’ve dialed a tow truck and Cassian kindly withholds judgment at Nesta’s faded blue lump of metal she calls a car that she gets the call.

It’s from her tenant, or rather, the nice elderly lady who lets Nesta live in her basement-turned-apartment.

“Lorene?” Nesta answers, confused.

“Oh, hun,” the woman answers, and from the sympathy in her voice, Nesta tenses up. “I headed downstairs this morning to check for mold and the rain...the whole basement’s flooded. There must have been a leak or something wrong with the entrance door, but I tried to grab as many of your things before I left.”

Nesta closes her eyes. Presses a forceful hand to her chest and tries to take calming breaths. “O-okay,” she says. “What does that mean, what do I do next?”

Cassian gives her a concerned look from where he leans against his truck. She ignores him.

“I’m getting the basement cleaned out and fixed as soon as I can, but the water damage looks pretty bad. The floors are probably gonna have to be replaced, and I don't know if insurance will cover this.”

She thinks of all her books and valuables in that apartment, taken out by the storm last night.

“You're going to have to find a new place to stay, hun. Most likely for a while.”

Nesta is on the verge of full-out panicking, but the last thing she needs is to have a breakdown in front of Feyre’s best friend. She clenches her fist so hard it hurts, and the bite of her nails takes away the sharp edge of her panic.

She breathes deep, but finally says, “I can do that.” She doesn't know if she can.

After a few more apologies from Lorene, Nesta finally hangs up, only to turn and brace her hands against the roof of her car.

“Everything alright?” Cassian asks slowly.

She needs a place to stay. Her mind works rapidly, going through the short, short list of people she might be able to ask for a bed to sleep on. Coming up empty, she moves on to the next option: motels.

Does she even have the money—?

“Nesta?” Cassian repeats. “What's going on?”

“I’m fine,” she says out loud, still not facing him. “I just need to break the bank a little and find a new place to stay, but it’ll be fine.”

“Find a new place to stay? What do you mean?” A light hand touches her elbow, and she whirls around in alarm. Cassian holds his hands up in placation. “Sorry, sorry,” he says.

Red-hot embarrassment creeps up Nesta’s cheeks. She’s losing it in front of this completely nice stranger—

She reins herself in, tries to remember things like common sense and social etiquette. “It’s okay,” she breathes out. “It’s really nothing. My apartment got flooded during the storm and I need to find a place to stay, and I’m upset, but I’ll get over it.” She nods resolutely, like the grown adult she is. Like she can afford to fix her car and pay for lodging at the same time.

Cassian considers her silently for a long moment, and Nesta thinks he must still be freaked out by her near-breakdown, when he finally says, “Well, you can always stay at my place.”

Her eyes might pop out of her head. “What? No. No.”

“Why not?” He turns hesitant. “Unless you have somewhere else to stay?”

Nesta’s silence is answer enough. She sees his gaze flip from questioning to determined and rushes to change his mind. “I won’t do that to you— I hate asking for favors and I hate making people go out of their way for me even more.” She sounds so forceful it comes off as harsh, which is all the better for convincing Cassian not to make her stay at his cabin.

“I have a feeling you hate a lot of things, Nesta.” He doesn’t back down. “You’re Feyre’s sister; the least I can offer you is free lodging.” After a moment, he adds, “Please.”

Nesta wants to laugh; he’s pleading with her to let her invade his home life. All because she’s Feyre’s sister. The reasoning leaves a bitter taste in her throat, but she doesn’t have the energy to argue with it. Not as the tow truck finally appears at the end of the road, driving up towards them. Cassian only looks at her. Decide now, he says silently.

Nesta exhales deeply through her nose. “Fine,” she grits. So much for getting through the day with her sanity unscathed.

***

Part Two

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla

#nessian fic #modern au #ncssianwrites #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nesta #acotar #a favor

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