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obbystars · 5 months ago

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Little Light

Synopsis: Not quite sent from above.

Notes: OC-Insert/Self-insert / Sebastian Solace x Oberon Sol / Oberon lore! / also not romantic despite the oc/self-insert ship lol / cursing / just silly ideas in here / p.AI.nter’s in here! / NOT CONNECTED TO SALVATION as this one is actually adding Oberon into the lore of Pressure / You can read Oberon’s document!

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

(I said this wouldn’t be often but I’m getting ideas uhhhhhhh- anyway I have been thinking about trying my hand at p.AI.nter for a bit. He probably won’t be added to the list though.)

He’s not quite sure how long it’s been since he’s been locked in this containment cell. Thankfully, he does remember how he got here and clearly too. He managed to locate one of the facilities that’s owned by the sinners he’s been keeping an eye on. He went as far as to dive into the water and pierce through the Veil of the Let-Vand Zone. The water pressure didn’t even affect him, but he didn’t get very far before they spotted him. It only took minutes before all eyes were on him, but he didn’t fight back and let them take him.

Now all he felt were needles in his skin as he was held up by some sort of mechanism. He’s aware of what they’re doing and what they’re going to use it for, but he didn’t feel as angry as he probably should be. Despite all he had witnessed, he didn’t hate them for any of this. He’s not quite sure why.

He feels his wings chained down like that was going to do anything. One of the researchers got a little too close for comfort, and he admits that he may have been a little too harsh towards them. Now, because of that, they put a heavy metal box over his head. The voices outside were muffled, sometimes he heard machines moving, and sometimes he hears a door opening and closing.

Maybe curiosity did kill the cat. He vaguely remembers a discussion of a Guardian Angel being locked up in this place too for the same reason. He wonders where they could be held at. Sure his relationship with the other angels were rather complicated, but he can’t just turn away from something like that. There’ll be an opening soon enough. He just needs to wait, and frankly, he has all the time in the world.

He’ll just close his eyes for a little while. He wonders how many people have passed through his realm only to be greeted by no one. What form did he leave it in again?

However many hours, days, weeks, or months it’s been, he eventually hears a loud blaring sound followed up with an announcement he can’t quite hear. Something must be wrong, but that might mean this is his chance. He attempts to move his wings, but they could only twitch. He never realized just how tight the binds were, but he’s not surprised.

After a few hours, he hears machines moving until he’s suddenly dropped. The binds on his wings had fallen off as well. All that was left was the box on his head. He feels around the metal structure until he feels something that could resemble a lock. It doesn’t feel like a usual lock that needs a basic key for it, but if he could just…

A beep is heard and the box opens with a hiss. He pulls it off to be greeted by a dark room lit up with faint red lights. He drops the box and begins to stretch out his wings, his arms, and his legs.

…Now where was he?

The glass in front of him had shattered which gave him an opening to leave the containment room. He saw some scratch marks left by something big on the other side. He ultimately ignores it as his main concern at the moment is the location of the Guardian Angel. He wonders how they’ll react to him, but that’s saying if they even know him and what he does.

He shrugs it off, knowing full well he doesn’t expect nor does he look for forgiveness for it. Helping them would simply be his decision, but if he were to encounter anyone here who was an unfortunate victim under the sinners, then they would be his top priority. He hasn’t run into anyone yet, which made him feel relieved. Hopefully the people here managed to get out unscathed.

As he steps out into a hall, another loud blaring sound echoed through the facility.

“Attention, Z-222 has escaped containment. Do not let it leave the blacksite.”

He looks up, noticing a camera pointing at him. He raises a finger and swipes, knocking it off its hinges and shattering. That may be problematic. He’ll have to be careful from now on to avoid getting captured again. While he’s at it, perhaps he could also take a look around and see what others things are being kept here. Hopefully one of the rooms will have the Guardian Angel.

What he ended up getting caught up on, however, were some documents that had been left behind. Every single one he’s found in containment rooms, whether it was still intact or not, he thoroughly read the document. He’s not quite sure why, but he’s learned new things about this world with every document he’s picked up. He never knew such things existed until now.

As he opens more and more doors, the more he feels frustration beginning to boil up. There has been no documents mentioning the Guardian Angel, no clues on where they could be keeping them. Perhaps it was a good move for them to keep them separated, but damn it. Just how big was this place?

He comes across yet another room with two ways to go, but one of the large door’s wheels begin to turn. With no where else to go, he retreats into the side room just behind the other door and closes it before they could see him. He steps back from the door and turns around to see a computer with almost a cartoon-like face draw on it. It was locked behind a cage.

“O-Oh! Hello!” They chimed, “Uh… You don’t look like one of the workers here… H-How did you escape?”

A talking machine? And one that seems intelligent than the majority. Sentient, too.

He tilts his head, “I wish I knew, strange one. Perhaps someone had released me, but I never saw them as the people here had put a box over my head,”

“Someone released you? Oh, that must’ve been Sebastian then!”

“Hm? Sebastian?”

“Oh, right.. Box over your head,” the machine hummed, “He’s a pretty big guy. Uh, he’s blue, has an angler light bulb and a long tail. I think you’ll know it’s him when you actually see him,”

“You say as if I should go speak to him,”

Maybe his tone was a bit off which caused the machine to seem slightly nervous. He’s still not quite used to interacting with others despite his constant visits to the living realm and his interactions with their souls in his own little realm. Business talk can be vastly different from casual, after all.

“I-I mean-! You don’t HAVE to if you don’t want to!” They exclaimed, frantically trying to explain, “I just think maybe… Maybe if you wanna get out of here too, you could talk to him. He said he’d help me get out too, so…”

He thought about it for a moment. This machine seems oddly human despite it clearly being a simple program, but the tone, the face drawn on the screen, the reactions they express… It was like a person’s consciousness was in it. Strange.

“Tell me. What is your name?”

“My name? I mean, everyone really just called me “the painter.” Or just Painter. Even my… My creator,”

The sudden pause and shift in tone in their voice caught their attention. This brings him to ask, “What was your creator’s name?”

The machine looks up at him. They were silent until their expression changed into a rather sad one, “███████ ███████████████,”

That name was on a file in his realm. He remembers reading it as he stumbled upon his realm. If there was another face underneath the black mask, he was sure he’d be smiling. He had a pleasant talk with him when he passed by his realm. To this day, he still wonders why ███████ ultimately chose death over life.

“He was a good man, Painter,”

It was almost as if the machine’s expression lit up, “W-Wait, you knew him?! But, how-?”

“Please, I’d rather not fry your circuits,” he laughed, “But believe me when I tell you that he is at peace,”

“Well… O-Okay, I’ll believe you. I guess it’s nice to know he’s in a better place now,” as the machine says that, the lights suddenly flickered, “Oh, don’t go anywhere yet,”

He stares at them for a moment before the floor begins to shake. He had to balance himself as the trembles intensified and a muffled roar was heard just beyond the door.

The machine sighed, “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot lately. Been seeing it happen on the cameras before whatever it was knocked it out,”

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then,”

The machine’s face turned into a smile, “What’s your name by the way?”

It was his turn to stare at the machine in silence. Part of him figured they already knew, but he stands corrected.

“The sinners called me Z-222. But for you, Painter, it is Oberon Sol,”

“Z-222? Oberon Sol… Ohh! You’re the one they mentioned in the announcement a few hours ago!”

He laughs, nodding, “Yes, the very same. I should run along now and find this Sebastian you mentioned. Until we meet again, Painter, and maybe then I’ll try my hand at painting with you,”

“Really? You mean it? Okay! I’ll see you around!”

Oberon nods, opening the door slightly to check if there was no one. Once he confirmed the room was empty, he leaves and makes sure to close the door behind him. He makes a break for it through the door that had opened.

He’s been trying to keep track of time in his head. It must’ve been around five to six hours since he was awakened by the alarms. Maybe even more. He hasn’t seen any clocks around to properly keep track of time, but perhaps that was intentional when this place was made. You’d only know if you are told or you have a watch that still works.

He comes across a somewhat narrow tunnel. He can’t see anything outside the windows other than the occasional underwater bombs that look a bit too close even for tempered glass. It was way too quiet as well. He hasn’t seen anyone, let alone any of the researchers or even the guardsmen. Part of him begins to wonder if the people who were in charge of him are still alive.

He hoped so.

He soon finds himself looking through drawers, looking for anything that may prove useful later. Light sources, however, aren’t that useful to him. He can create his own ball of light after all.

The next room he stumbles into has its glass slightly broken. It was enough to have water start leaking through, but he quickly notices that one of the edges is slightly darker. It’s red.

This blood’s fresh…

He decides to follow it, eventually reaching the end of the tunnels and a room with five corpses. These people didn’t look like workers or even the guards. Those were prisoner outfits. Seeing them like this caused his chest to feel a bit heavy. Did they send them down here? How cruel.

There’s no blood coming from any of them. There didn’t seem to be any physical done to them, at least on the outside. He kneels down to one, checking to see if he can find out what happened and maybe even recognize this one’s face.

He can’t figure out what happened. He’ll need to look through their file in his realm, but that right now can’t be done.

He returns his attention to the blood trail as it implies the person had checked each one before they moved on to the next. Looting, perhaps. The trail then leads to the next room over. Before he exits, he looks back to the bodies and only hopes that their deaths were swift and painless.

As he stepped into the next room and closed the door, he heard a click and felt something press against the side of his head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you trailing me,” the voice growled.

He turns to the person as his small wing gently pushed the gun away. Half of his body was strangely human with an extra arm, clearly bleeding but looked to be bandaged up recently, an angler lure above his head, and a rather long fish tail as the other half of his body. He matched the description Painter had provided.

He fully turns to him, “Sebastian, I assume? Were you the one who freed me?”

“Maybe,” he doesn’t lower his gun, “I freed a lot of creatures held here, and a lot of them just mindlessly kill everything around them,”

“Fortunately for you, I don’t fall under that category. I refuse to take human life, let alone even try to harm them,”

Sebastian still doesn’t lower his gun until Oberon gently pushes it down with his hand, “A little painter told me that perhaps I should talk to you should I wish to leave this place. I assume you have a plan in mind,”

“So you met Painter, huh? He didn’t tell you what the deal was?”

“Perhaps he believed it to be best if I heard it from you,”

Sebastian sighed, putting the gun away, “Heard they’re trying to retrieve a crystal that’s deep in the facility. Apparently, it’s the main thing powering this entire place,”

“So you need to make sure the crystal isn’t picked up until you manage to find a way out,” Oberon hums, “Very well. I can assist in that,”

“You catch on quick, but you just said you wouldn’t even think of harming other people,”

“I did, but it is rather easy to throw someone off the guided path,” he snaps his finger, then points to the door behind him, “Remind me. What is behind that door?”

Sebastian turns to the door, then looks back at him, “Are you stupid or something? Didn’t you just come from that door?”

“What is behind that door?” Oberon repeats.

“The door leads to the trench tunnels,”

“It leads to a hotel lobby,”

Sebastian scoffs, “Now you’re just being ridiculous. How would a hotel lobby even-?”

As he opened the door that was supposed to lead to the trench tunnels, he was instead greeted by exactly what Oberon had said. Suddenly, he was in a hotel lobby. Oberon stands up and walks into the lobby, lighting up the fireplace. Slowly, Sebastian follows.

“What the f-?”

“I’ve made it so that it at least matches the style of this facility so it is not too out of place,” he cuts him off, “Although, perhaps if I had kept the original look, it’d make people really stop and question where exactly they are,”

“Is this a real place? Those people that were just here. Where did they-?”

He nods, “Not in this room as I pulled this one straight from where it came. Wherever this path leads, I suppose I can say I only hope they tread carefully if they wish to get through. They are not safe from the monsters you’ve released,”

Sebastian gives him a rather irritated look with that statement, one that Oberon ignores. He instead asks, “Did you know those people?”

“No. But I can only assume they’re expendable ranked prisoners. Their lives don’t matter to Urbanshade and are just used as cannon fodder. Seems to me they’re the ones being sent here to get that crystal now,”

Oberon says nothing to that. He should’ve expected such a thing existed.

“You’re leading them to their deaths, you know. That’s still killing them,” Sebastian then continues as he looks down to him, “No matter how you try putting it, them dying here will be your doing,”

Oberon is silent. Although, perhaps that’s not so different to what he normally does anyway. When people meet their end, they are brought to him and he guides them to their final destination wherever it might be. Guiding them to death.

“I still give them the chance to save themself. It’s an opportunity still wide enough for them to keep pushing forward. If I really wanted them dead, I wouldn’t give them places to hide and to retreat to,”

Even when guiding others to their death, he still gives them the option to go back and live just a little longer. This was the same thing, right? He gives them opportunities, chances, a choice. He gives them exactly what they need to keep pushing forward.

Oberon looks up to Sebastian, two stars appearing in his right eye, “You request that the retrieval of the crystal is to be delayed for as long as possible. Well, this is my method. I’m sure the one named Painter has their own methods as well, and whatever that may be, I will not interfere. A human’s will to live and desire for freedom can be extraordinary. I don’t doubt there will be one who will fight through it all and get what they so desire,”

He can see anger beginning to boil up in him as he says that, “What about what I want? Ten fucking years in this hell, and this is my chance for freedom! I had to be put through this shit before I could even think of fighting for my freedom!”

“And I don’t doubt you’ll get what you want soon enough,” Oberon lowered his head, “This is all I am capable of doing, and I apologize I cannot do more for you or Painter,”

“Aren’t you an angel? Wouldn’t the others like you come and get you out of here? Surely they can’t just leave one of their own stuck in a place like this,”

“Even if I could call them here, that wouldn’t be possible. There was a reason why the others didn’t assist the Guardian Angel of the Banlands when the sinners were there. There’s a reason why none of them tried to get them out of here, and there’s a reason why they want my light extinguished,”

Sebastian’s eyes widen a bit at that, “Extinguished? As in dead?”

He nods, “I don’t deny that I am guilty for something I did and that I still do. One rule we angels have is to never interfere with human life, much like their cycle of life. To you, death is the end, but not unless you find me. I can give you the chance to live once again, to start again where you left off. If you refuse the offer however, then I am to resume what I was originally created to do,”

Oberon pauses, then walks over to the next door. The stars in his eyes disappeared as he reached for the handle, “I always thought humans would give anything to cheat death as it was something a lot of you had feared, but… Some of you embrace it like it’s an old friend,”

On the other side was a dark hallway with windows on both sides, showing a red ocean with bones of an unknown creature. This still wasn’t the trench tunnels, and there’s no way they’re on the ocean floor to even see the bones. Either way, he doesn’t recognize those bones just outside the window. Sebastian follows him as they walk down the hall, the crimson color reflecting off of their forms.

“I suppose in a way, death is a beautiful thing,” Oberon continues, “Death is freedom to some. Maybe that’s how some of those prisoners being sent down here feel. They don’t care about the rewards. They just know this is an execution, one they fully embrace,”

He suddenly stops to look at the bones of the creature, “What do you think of it? Is death in this place truly an escape? Is embracing death in a place you would call Hell an escape?”

Sebastian stares at the bones, his eyes narrowing, “It’s the coward’s way out,”

Oberon remains silent. He will never understand humans and their way of thinking, but he loves them all the same.

Alright alright alright I swear this is the last Oberon lore post you’ll see after a while unless it has to do with art.

I’M SORRY, AFTER ACTUALLY THINKING ABOUT HIS LORE, I GOT REALLY INTO IT 😭😭

I’LL GO BACK TO WORKING ON REQUESTS

#🌑 // listen to his story #pressure #roblox pressure #pressure roblox #roblox #roblox oc #roblox pressure oc #pressure oc #sebastian solace #pressure sebastian #pressure painter #painter #sebastian solace x oc

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shesjustanothergeek · 2 years ago

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Ten

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: You would laugh when I tell y'all the hours I spent trying to study High Valyrian and make sure I used proper grammar. Because, like... who does that?? I still don't think I used correct grammar and sentence structure, but who's going to know? This chapter takes place over a few years. I wanted to clarify that ahead of time in case of any questions. I also wanted to say that the woman depicted in the cover art is not necessarily what I imagine the main character to look like. She has black hair like her mother, and she's not conventionally skinny. She has a semi-muscular but broad body due to her training, and her eyes are as described. Other than that, the MC can be whatever you picture. xD ANYWAYS... Thank you so much for your continued support as we embark on this journey together. It means so much to me.

Chapter Warnings: Gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss, time jumps, italics equal High Valyrian when speaking.

"I survive off the idea that one day my rage will be witnessed by the men who poisoned me with it in the first place." - Maya G. Wolf, Being A Woman.

Prince Daemon was excited when you arrived at Dragonstone. He dreamed of having a son of his own. One to train and spar with. Though he loved Baela and Rhaena, they were not encouraged to take up the sword, nor did they want to. Rhaenyra's sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, were trained in swordsmanship but were less committed than Daemon would have preferred. They had much heavier things to worry about, like ruling entire kingdoms.

You were the only child in Dragonstone with no future prospects. You had no claims to land. None would be passed down to you as everything was already set to your father's true-born daughters. It did not matter if you were the eldest and held the most seniority. You were a bastard, and bastards were nothing but a stain on noble houses. You were lucky even to be allowed into the same wing as your father's family.

Even though you were a smudge on the Targaryen name, the Targaryens treated you as anything but and welcomed you with open arms and hearts. You were hesitant, at first, to accept their love, only clinging to a man you shared a slither of a connection with.

It became Daemon's project to integrate you into the family. It was what gave him joy in the never-ending days tucked away at Dragonstone. Furious at the world and everything around her, he transformed an angry girl into a warrior.

He saw you reborn through his gruesome training, sand melted and forged into glass. The lessons he taught began to shine through as time progressed. You eventually viewed those curly-mop-headed boys as your brothers and Rhaenyra, your mother. The family became the most important thing to you, your love for each stored close within your heart. You all were that each other had.

You had heard the rumors that plagued Rhaenyra and her children concerning their lineage. It was surprising how much people would let slip around the "bastard of Daemon Targaryen." You could not help but feel a sense of empathy for them. You needed to protect one another from the world, from the cruel whispers that trailed not too far behind each of you.

But if one of your brothers decided to pull your hair one more time when you weren't paying attention... the Stranger would have two more souls to guide.

***

You and Daemon had developed a routine here on the sandy beaches of Dragonstone.

You would run in the morning when the sun had not risen yet, and the wind still held the same damp, nightly chill in the air. He would send you around the inner grounds of the castle, then up and down the many rocky and steep hills leading to Dragonmont, and finally, around the beaches, where he would begin your proper training.

"A warmup," he would call it as you vomited on the shore, panting like a dog the first dozen times you did it.

He pushed you, sometimes too far, you thought, when you screamed, exhausted with tears in your eyes. Daemon would always say the same thing every time you nearly gave up.

"When you are at your lowest, stand back up, and spit in the face of your enemy. They will not take pity when they see your weakness. They will kill you. Do not let them get the chance." You could not argue with his logic, your pride beginning to mirror his over time. Weakness was never an option for a bastard in the House of the Dragon.

Within years, your limbs were not the soft linear sticking of bone they once were but toned, strong, and sturdy from the many bags of grain you carried. Your body no longer reflected the malnourished peasant girl but a warrior, the likes of which no one had seen since Queen Visenya.

***

"Tell me again, Maester Gerardys, of the dragons here on this island," you asked sweetly, resting your jaw on your palm.

You wanted to hear about something other than the hierarchy and the politics of the North, your mind entirely elsewhere. You knew that if you batted your lashes enough, the Maester would forget about today's lesson.

"Well, Princess, we have had many over the years, but currently, there are your family's dragons. Caraxes, ridden by your father. Syrax by your mother. Vermax by your younger brother Prince Jacaerys, and Arrax by the second youngest, Prince Lucerys." You nodded along, seeming to care about the claimed dragons honestly.

"I heard rumors from the servants of several unclaimed dragons. Ones that steal the common folk's livestock and another that is so silver that it blends into the sea mist. What of those?" You pouted your lips slightly when you talked, leaning forward in your palm.

"Ah, yes. There are wild dragons that reside on the island. Some are in the cliffs overlooking the port, Dragonmont, or in other hidden caves where we cannot find them." You smirked slightly, appearing to have no ulterior motives in the conversation. "There are three riderless dragons. Seasmoke, which belonged to the late Lord Laenor Velaryon, Silverwing, who belonged to Queen Alysanne, Vermithor, who belonged to Jaehaerys Targaryen, your second Great Grandsire. Vermithor resides inside the Dragonmont and has a large body of bronze. They called him the Bronze Fury, and oh, was he a sight to see in the skies! The way the sun would shine on his scales was magnificent!"

Maester Gerardys shook his head, smiling to himself and getting rid of the memory of the beautiful beast. "There are three wild dragons which have been attempted to be claimed, but none have ever succeeded. They are nasty, those three. And should you ever come across them, run in the other direction."

He began to turn back around, beginning to continue the lesson from before. You couldn't let him finish; you still had many more questions.

"What do those wild dragons look like," you quickly asked, almost showing a worrying amount of enthusiasm.

The Maester swallowed, returning to you as you display your best puppy dog eyes. You knew they were his greatest weakness—the brown orbs reflected in the candlelight, the small ring of violet shining around your pupil.

"Gods, be good," he whispered, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The first is Grey Ghost, the one you heard the servants talking about. He has a pale coloring to his scale and almost becomes invisible when he flies within the sea mist. He does not bother the smallfolk much, leaving for long periods. The second is Sheepstealer. He is a real nuisance to the smallfolk, always snatching any mutton he can wrap his teeth around from here to Driftmark and Wendwater. " You nodded along, urging him to keep talking until you had every drop of knowledge one could obtain.

"The worst one, Princess, is Cannibal. He is said to be as black as coal and has green eyes that would scare the most battle-hardened of men. He is the largest of all three wild dragons and by far the most dangerous, feasting on his fellow species. His den is said to be covered in the bones of those who have attempted to claim him."

Maester Garardys was worried he might have scared the poor Princess with the discussion of the fearsome dragons, but when he looked at your face, your features showed no fear. You had a slight grin gracing your flushed skin, your eyes bright, and your mind hanging onto every word he said.

"Where does Cannibal reside, Maester?" You questioned eagerly, forgetting yourself.

He squinted his eyes momentarily, unsure if he should give you the answer considering your demeanor. "He resides in the back of the Dragonmont on the eastern side." He began to turn away but stopped, feeling uneasy. "Princess, why do you have a sudden interest in the dragons here on the island? We had a lesson on them barely a fortnight ago, and if you do not mind me saying, you seemed somewhat disinterested in it."

Your smile did not falter momentarily, a lie quickly finding its way onto your tongue.

"I had decided to do some extra reading on my family's history in my spare time and was somewhat confused about which dragon was where, who rode what, and what they looked like. There is so much for me to learn," you fidgeted in your seat, wringing your hands, "and my brothers have such an advantage on me with having you as their teacher for their whole life... I feel very inadequate compared to them."

Maester Garardys gave you a pitying look that made your blood boil as you continued your defeated expression. "Oh, Princess, do not be too hard on yourself," he cooed. "This is not a traditional education that women like yourself get, but your father insisted you be taught the same as your brothers. I will remember for the next lesson to take more time with you."

"Thank you, Maester Garardys," you said, feigning bashfulness as your nails dug into your palms. The urge to jump over the wooden table that separated you and punch that soft-hearted look off his face was strong, but you held fest, continuing the doltish girl act. "If it would not be too much, ser, could you please not tell my father about what we discussed? I do not want him to think I am incapable of doing what he assigned me."

"Of course, Princess," he smiled kindly as if he was talking to some simple-minded fool and not a growing woman with the compacity to understand simple subjects.

Finally, he returned to the original lesson, speaking slower than before and explaining things in more detail than you thought necessary. You swallowed the anger threatening to spill past your lips as you adjust your posture.

You would show him. You would show all who thought the same as him how wrong they were about you. You were not to be spoken down to and underestimated, and you would make sure anyone who did would live to regret it. You were not some peasant girl with a fancy title; you were a Targaryen. You are the firstborn of Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the King, the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne, and they would do well to remember that.

***

You only had a few hours before someone would realize you were gone. You had told Rhaenyra that you were nursing a severe headache after your training with Daemon today and could not participate in your daily embroidery lesson for the afternoon. She, of course, understood, knowing how her uncle could be if left on his own with a sword and a weaker opponent.

There was only a slightly guilty feeling in your chest as you lied to her.

Years of the gruesome time your father had put you through paid off as you snuck past countless guards and servants, using the hidden passages within Dragonstone's walls to escape. There were no maps of the caverns inside Dragonmont, which left you nothing but the information Maester Garardys gave you and your instincts to guide you.

The first half was easy, you told yourself. You only needed to sneak inside Syrax's lair and steal an egg. Daemon had come boasting not too long ago about how the she-dragon had laid a new clutch of eggs, a sign that his "Targaryen seed was strong" and your mother was surely with child again. You felt bad that you could be taking a dragon away from one of your future siblings, but you only needed one, nothing more. Indeed they would survive if you just took one.

Syrax was nowhere to be found as you silently crept into her den, placing the torch you had for light in an empty holder. You sighed in relief as you gazed upon six eggs laid on a pile of sand she had made, a nest to keep them warm. Plenty would be left. You smiled as you stuffed an egg inside your satchel, positioning it with your other supplies.

The low rumble of heavy steps shook the ground, signaling that Syrax was most likely returning from where ever she was, and you needed to get the Seven Hells out of there. You cursed the Gods for this unfortunate timing, snatching your torch and scrambling out of the cave and in the opposite direction of the cold-blooded animal.

You ran further into the darkened caves, the idiotic nature of your plans finally coming to fruition as you realized you were lost. You could feel the panic beginning to rise in your chest, your breathing speeding up. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you stumbled, dropping your only light source and tearing the seam of your dress as you fell onto the rocky ground. You cried out in pain, your body forcing the tears to fall against your will as you wiped at your face.

"You will not be weak," you said, echoing along the warm stone. "You are not weak," you gritted out again, digging your palms into your eye sockets.

You yanked your arms away, readying to push yourself up and continue your quest as you opened your eyes. Standing over you in the dim lighting was a creature as black as night, its scales reflecting off your lost torch as a rush of hot air wafted your cheeks. Cannibal's piercing green eyes stared back at you, his pupils dilating as he scanned your frightened form.

Quickly, you moved to create a safe enough distance between you and the beast, wincing as you noticed the blood dripping down your shin. He tilted his head at you, seeming confused to see such a small and pathetic thing so far back into Dragonmont as he stepped closer. You grabbed the egg faster than Cannibal could move and placed it between you and the dragon, offering peace between two isolated individuals. He proceeded instantly, walking over to your discarded torch and consuming the egg in one bite, bits of shell flinging across the cave floor.

The fallen torch illuminated his body over top of the light. Rows of black horns protruded along his head and neck, teeth the size of your forearm glistening with yolk. His feet had shiny black claws that could slice a man in half. He was not the majestic creature that songs were sung about. He was a monster. A monster you would scare a child with so that they would come home on time.

No one would think you were weak with a dragon such as him by your side. They would all cower away as the Bastard Princess sat atop her Cannibal dragon. It was divine fate that brought you to this moment, face to face with the most dangerous dragon in all the realm. A creature that many men had tried to claim, but all failed, their bones scattered across his den.

You were no man.

Courage filled your limbs as you stepped closer to him, your chin held high as you took about another item you had brought. You had stolen pork legs on your way to the caverns, the kitchen maids too preoccupied with other tasks to see a cloaked figure hiding amongst the shadows. You took a deep breath, holding the first leg out as Cannibal's nostrils flared at the smell.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you commanded, and the dragon stared, unmoving. "Māzīs naejot (come forward)," you tried, insecurity creeping into your mind when he did not move. "Māzīs," you repeated, with more force, still holding the pig leg before you. "Māzīs naejot issa (come to me)," you barked.

You knew this would take some time, but surely, waiving a piece of raw meat in front of a dragon named Cannibal would yield quicker results. Still, he ignored you, his head lowering to the ground as he sniffed it, beginning to lick it.

"What in the Seven Hells are you doing?" You questioned, exasperated as you stepped closer to him.

At speed too quick for a dragon of his size, his head snapped up, his green eyes becoming black as a low growl came from his chest, looking as if he would charge at any second; you threw the leg and retreated. Once again, he swallowed it in one bite, returning to the same spot on the ground.

You looked closer, forcing your eyes to adjust in the darkness as you realized that was the spot where you fell, seeing the dried blood. Your body was faster than your mind, swiftly finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you for your first name day with him and cutting your hand, smearing your blood on the raw meat. Finally, did you have Cannibal's full attention, his nostrils flaring as he smelled the air.

You steeled yourself again, holding the pork out.

"Māzīs (come)," you demanded proudly. He snarled, the sound booming inside your ears as you repeated yourself.

You could sense his anger at this tiny creature believing she could command him, and when you repeated a third time, his patience wore thin. Cannibal inhaled, his throat grumbling as you saw him lift his head and open his mouth. You were not an idiot. You knew what came next, seeing it countless times with Caraxes, but with nowhere to run, you stared at the bright orange flames.

***

The sound of clinking silverware and laughter echoed in the dining hall of Dragonstone, even with one less member of the family. Jace had butchered a Valerian pronunciation, Rhaenyra attempting to stifle her laughter, and even Damon chuckling in amusement. Everything was going normal, each person blissfully unaware of the Princess deep inside Dragonmont.

"Mother," Luke spoke during a lull in the conversation, "could I bring sister some dinner?" No one had seen you since high noon, not wanting to bother you while being ill.

"I am sure she would love that, sweet boy," she said gently. Rhaenyra smiled, nodding to Luke and motioning him to come in for a quick kiss before going to your chambers. He proceeded on the usual route to your apartments but stopped short as he looked down at the plate the servants had prepared for you.

Luke knew how much you loved sweets, sneaking him and Jace under the rouse of them wanting something in the kitchens and not you. Both boys would always play along with whatever schemes their rebellious half-sister thought of for the day. Either racing across the halls and seeing who was the fastest, playing with wooden swords inside the castle, or putting pins on her Septa's chair if she was a "particular cunt" that day.

Lucerys went down the small passage leading to the kitchens rounding the corner with your plate of cooling food still in his hands as he surveyed the freshly baked trays of pastries. He could not decide which ones you would like more. Sadly, nothing with apples was made.

"Could I help ya' young prince?" An older woman asked, her gown a drab grey woolen color and a white bonnet on her head.

"Oh yes," the young boy answered, slightly startled by her sudden presence. "My sister is not feeling well this evening, and I wanted to bring her some dessert to help her recover."

The woman hummed, nodding in agreement as she missed tying off her stained apron. "That's a mighty fine idea, my prince. May I help ye' in yer selection?"

"Oh, yes," he repeated, "her favorite is apples, but I cannot seem to find anything with some."

"Ah. Apples are not in season at the moment, so our imports of them have been scarce, but I'll see what I can do for the young Miss. I am sure we'll have some somewhere."

The woman began her search for the fruit wandering off into small rooms and digging through random barrels until she found what she was looking for. "Do you know what the lady prefers?" She questioned as she began to rinse the red fruit.

"I believe she likes something called apple muse. I think that is how she called it," he said, unsure. The woman nodded again and smiled as she gathered some bowls, pitchers, and utensils.

"She's a girl after me own heart," the lady commented, peeling the apples. "We eat this all the time for dessert, and it's very easy. I'll be done faster than a crow's fly."

Luke smiled and sat on a stool to watch the woman work, picturing your joyful face when he brought you the food.

***

Luke finally reached your grand oak doors, knocking with his free hand. You were not feeling good, so he knocked again and opened the door, calling out your name. You did not answer, which he wasn't surprised about. He still had the same grin, excited and happy to do something nice for his sister.

"I have brought you some dinner," he said gleefully. "It is your favorite. I even had one of the servants make you some Apple Muse." Still, you did not answer as Lucerys moved further into your apartments.

Your seamstress hid hints of the Targaryen crest throughout the different items in your entry room. Black and red decorated every fabric with curtains to match. Leather-bound books and armor were thrown haphazardly on velvet chairs and benches. No doubt you had told your maids you would clean it up later.

He figured you would be in your bed chambers, knocking again on a smaller door as he entered. He nearly dropped the plate he had put some much heart into when he saw your empty bed, the sheets undisturbed from when they were made early this morning.

Swiftly, he sat the food onto a nearby stand, ringing the bell for your maids. Within moments three women came up, surprised to see the young Prince Lucerys instead of their Princess. They all bowed, one readying to speak before she was cut off.

"Where is my sister," he asked quickly.

"We are not sure, Your Grace. She has not returned since her bath after training," the one he believed was called Edith said.

"How do you mean? She must be here," he denied, panicked. She told my mother she was retiring in the evening due to a headache."

The three girls looked at each other, each bewildered and confused. "I am sorry, Your Grace, but we have not seen her since then."

Luke nodded curtly, hurrying out of your rooms and back to the dining hall, his red pants swishing with each step. He would catch the rest of his family leaving if he were fast.

He ran past servant after servant, dodging some carrying stacks of linen, some with brooms and dusters, and others he bumped into without apologizing. Luke felt betrayal in his chest, his heart cracking into pieces as his eyes began to water. His young mind went to the worst possibilities, remembering how you told him of the terrible punishment to your former Aunt and handmaid for trying to abduct you. Perhaps someone else from your old life attempted it again? That would be the only reason you would lie.

How could you leave them? They were your family. They loved you. He loved you.

He sprinted blindly, wiping at his eyes as he ran into a warm body, instantly recognizing the floral smell.

"My sweet boy, what is the matter?" Rhaenyra asked kindly, stroking her second son's curly hair.

"It's Sissy," he cried, reverting to the old name he called you before Jace teased him. "She is not in her rooms, and-and none of her maids have seen her!"

"Calm, Lucerys. Take a deep breath and tell me again," Rhaenyra said calmly, with a nurturing, motherly tone.

"I went to give Sissy her food, but she is not in her rooms, and her servants said they have not seen her! I think they took her! Like before," Luke cried into his mother's thick skirts.

"Why do you think she was taken, Lucerys? Perhaps she is just along the beaches resting as she as done before?" Luke couldn't argue with her reasoning, but he still could not help but feel a sense of worry. She gave him a wry smile, looking over to her husband, who had a concentrated look on his face, his eyebrows creased.

Before Daemon or Rhaenyra could think of their next move, a Kingsguard ran toward them, their polished armor clanking.

"Princess," he nodded to Rhaenyra, still out of breath. "Prince Daemon. We believe in having spotted the young Princess on the eastern cliffs of Dragonmont," the knight known as Ser Steffon paused, glancing at the floor momentarily before looking back at Daemon, "naked and riding a dragon."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, covering her mouth as she went to grab her husband's hand. He took it without hesitance, squeezing it reassuringly as he pulled her closer. Jace and Luke both made disgusted faces at the mention of their sister without clothes, their true maturity showing no matter how righteous they tried to act.

"I will mount Caraxes," Daemon declared, his voice becoming what he used in war. "Gather serval knights, Ser Steffon, and alert the Dragonkeepers."

"I will go with you, father," Jacaerys interjected, puffing his chest out proudly.

"No," he said with finality, "Vermax is still not fully grown, and you do not have proper control over him yet. It would be too dangerous."

"But-" Jace pleaded before Daemon cut him off with a wave of his hand, rushing to his dragon. Jace stepped back dejectedly, nodding his head as his eyes fell to the floor.

***

The wind tore through your hair, ripping it out of its pinned style. Water leaked from your eyes as Cannibal flew through the skies at lightning speed. You held onto the horns on his back for dear life, your palms sliding as he did a sharp turn. The air was freezing on your bare skin, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins kept you warm.

The black dragon had been soaring wildly through the orange skies, accelerating to altitudes where you thought you might lose consciousness before he suddenly dipped back down. You had forgotten the commands you had memorized in High Valyrian, more focused on not falling to your death and having your family find your crushed, naked dead body.

Your mind was still reeling from the fact that you were alive. Cannibal had bathed you in his dragon fire, burned every inch of clothing on your body, and even melted the dagger your father had gifted you. But you were alive. You were still alive. A dragon had breathed its fire on you, and you lived. You had only heard fables of something like this happening. You did not believe it yourself. Experiencing the contents of myths and legends was not something you thought possible.

Suddenly, Cannibal made a sharp turn causing your body to slip to one side and dangle as he righted himself. He was a wild and untamed beast, possessing the stamina of a Dornish sand steed and taking you to places you did not want him to go. You knew if you did not gain control of him soon, everything would be for naught as he brought you close to the blue waters of the Narrow Sea, his spiked wings cutting through.

"Dohaerās (serve)," you shouted over the wind whistling in your ears, but Cannibal did not listen. "Dohaeragon aōha kipagīros (Serve your rider)!" As if he was trying to defy you, he started to ascend, his body a near verticle line as he flew towards the sky.

You realized you could not direct him from where you were sitting, making the split-second decision to use the horns along his spine as a ladder to reach his head. He began to straighten out, acting as if he was just going to glide across the fluffy yellow-tinted clouds, but then, he suddenly dipped, descending to the water below at blinding speeds. You were sure you felt like an insect crawling on his back, pesky and annoying as it moved just before you could swat it.

You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. Cannibal released a thundering roar, furious that someone would try to control him as he shifted to his side, his wings pointing above and below. You grabbed the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your fast descent. You captured the horns on his skull, leaning all your weight backward to stop your rapid decline. You held steadfast, shifting your weight in the opposite direction he went. He repeated the same tactic, moving too much into your opposing grip and rocking you back and forth.

"Nyke emagon claimed ao, zaldrīzes. Nyke aōha kipagīros, se ao līs dohaeragon issa lest īlon both morghūljagon! (I have claimed you, dragon. I am your rider, and you must serve me lest we both die!)" You screamed into the air, counteracting his next attempt to shake you off.

A piercing screech cut through the skies, both you and Cannibal turning your heads to where it came from. You had no doubt who it was. Your family had most likely discovered your absence and decided to send your father after you. Fear rushed over you as you saw the Blood Wyrm cut his way through the clouds, its skin a terrifying granite of red and black, your father's lean body sitting atop it.

Cannibal moved to turn and face Caraxes, known to have a deep aversion to other dragons; he no doubt would try to kill him and your father in the process.

"Daor (No)," you bellowed as you countered his attempt, jerking his head in the opposite direction. "Udrāzmī ao rȳbagon naejot issa (You obey my commands)." You leaned down into what you assumed was his ear, "Tegon, sir (Land, now)."

Cannibal slowed. You could sense he was thinking, debating whether or not he would win a fight against a battle-hardened dragon, and if he did win, would he even be worth the kill?

By an act of divine intervention, he moved, descending at slower speeds than he had before, succumbing to the power of a tiny girl. He landed on the southern shores, his breath releasing small puffs of smoke.

Cannibal lowered his head, which startled you, but you tried not to let him see as you climbed off the dragon. Your hand slid along his neck feeling his blood pulsing in his throat as your eyes locked onto one another. You wanted to thank him for letting you be the one to break him but could not find the proper word. He let out a low sound, not quite a purr, but you knew he could sense how you felt as he turned away, his green eyes blinking slowly.

Your father and his dragon landed on the same beach, far enough away that Cannibal wouldn't feel threatened but still too close for his liking. He didn't recognize Daemon as a threat as he walked towards you carrying something in his arms.

You had prepared yourself for his harsh words before you even set foot inside Dragonmont. Nothing he could say would make you falter. You slinked out from behind Cannibal's large body, your chin held high and your hands clasped behind you proudly.

"You are naked," he said blandly, scanning your body with a judgemental smirk.

You gasped, all your mental preparation from before crumbling as you remembered your current attire, attempting to cover your body. Daemon laughed, throwing the bundle he had in his arms toward you. You raised your eyebrows at the pair of brown trousers with a shirt to match, questioning if that was really what he wanted you to wear.

"Come," he motioned his head, and you followed. "You have claimed a dragon in which there is much to learn. Though I am happy," he spoke leisurely, kicking the sand with his boots, "your mother is not. I suspect you will deal with a great tongue-lashing once we return to the castle."

You sighed through your nose, the sound blending into the folding waves on the shore, pursing your lips as you nodded. "It is easier to seek forgiveness than ask for permission," you quipped, pulling up the pants he had given you.

He laughed softly, smiling as you struggled to keep up with him in clothes two times your size.

In truth, Daemon was still shaken. The moment that Lucerys had come running back from your rooms with tears in his eyes he panicked, his mind going to the worst places imaginable. He did not believe you would go willingly if someone from your past life had managed to sneak their way onto Dragonstone. He knew you had found comfort in your current life. Your indulgences for the finer aspects told him all he needed to know, but he could still sense the reservations whenever Rhaenyra would display an array of gowns when a Lord arrived. Though they may have been small, the habits of your old life were still there. He just didn't know how much was left.

Despite how terrified he was near moments ago, Daemon displayed nothing of the sort. Laughing and teasing his dragon rider daughter as you walked toward the castle. He was giddy that there was another aspect he could add to your daily training and could barely contain his excitement of eventually seeing your frustrated face when things didn't go as you wanted.

It was another challenge he could guide you through as your father, doing what his mother did for him and making up for the years he did not know of your existence. How he wished he could return to the past and change things. So many things...

Master List of Series

Spotify Playlist

YouTube Playlist

I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I feel like it was pretty controversial for me to choose the Cannibal as the reader's dragon, but out of all the options that she had, I feel like this resembles her the most. I'm sorry about the no Aegon, but we gotta bring some juice to the story. Some meat and potatoes, if you will.

The main character I created is strong. She's raw, visceral, the feeling of triumph when you cross the finish line and win the race. She's the rage you have bottled up throughout your entire life from everyone telling you to contain your emotions, act a certain way, and accept the wrong you have been a victim of. And Cannibal is the only dragon I feel canonically embodies the same fucking rage and power the reader has.

Well, I may have given you too much info on the reader that you could figure out on your own as you read.

I also wanted to say that, canonically, the Targaryen's are not fire proof. We've seen them get burnt to death by dragon fire and just regular fire. The MC only survived because she inadvertently used blood magic and sacrificed a dragon egg. So, sadly, she is not fire proof. She's just lucky. It would be cool if the Targaryen's were tho!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe-deactivated202303, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan,@dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @iiamthehybrid, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee,@sunny-boy-06

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genichisojo · 11 months ago

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Kagurabachi's Popularity: Familiarity Through Structure

Having a degree in writing and media is so fun because I can write an essay on why Kagurabachi can be defined as well written through craft standards and attribute its popularity overseas to its structure, which is framed similarly to western movies.

And I am!

After this interview confirmed that Takeru Hokazono, author of Kagurabachi, is a huge fan of western films, I went back to this idea I was playing with in October when KB had less than ten chapters. I had been reading since day one, and I knew it was good, and other overseas fan knew it was good. But what made it so good to us, overseas?

I made a quick thread on it on my Twitter account (that I never posted) where I mentioned Blake Snyder's Save the Cat book on script writing and story structure. I also brought up characterization and how it would've been really popular in my comic book class from undergrad. This thread discussed both Chihiro and Sojo, and the quick yet steady pace of the manga has given us more characters and moments to pinpoint. To not overwhelm myself, I'm not going to discuss the craft of characterization (maybe another time), and I'm not going to do a beat sheet for Sojo. For now, I'll try to stay under the first arc to map out why Kagurabachi has so far moved like a high budget film in manga form. So, spoilers ahead!

A quick lesson on Save the Cat, its three main characteristics are: Three act structure Fifteen plot beats Mostly applied to American Hollywood films

One of the biggest things I noticed right away was the resemblance a lot of the chapters, even the story as a whole, had to Snyder's beat sheet. This beat sheet that comes from Snyder's book is somewhat of an industry standard, so a lot of movies, even those that preceded Snyder, go through this structure of Act 1, 2, and 3. Snyder just identified the parts and broke them down to fifteen beats. Plus he dubbed the save the cat moment:

A decisive moment in which a protagonist demonstrates they are worth rooting for. Having the protagonist save a cat can be literal or figurative.

This was something KB needed and did have to have us warm up to Chihiro who post time skip, just gave gloomy orphan energy in the previous chapters. Here, Char would be our cat. Chihiro chose to save Char and chose to protect her, and continued to fight for her until she was rescued. He made this choice even before it's revealed that Char's mother died for her, something that would parallel Chihiro. This is what got readers to see him three dimensionally after being introduced to him. He's still the caring little 14 year old we saw at the start, who continues to take care of the innocent despite the tragedy he's been through. It is only natural for us to care for him, too.

Above are the fifteen beats of Save the Cat and although KB on occasion doesn't hit all fifteen exactly as specified, especially final image as it's continuing, the song and dance is quite similar. Here are examples of The Dark Knight (2008) and Inglourious Basterds (2009), two movies that have inspired Hokazono's work.

Before Chihiro meets Char, we get his opening image of him and his dad forging which is works well as the entire story revolves on the consequences of them creating weapons. We get the set up to his world where he lives with his dad who made famous katanas that wield the power to end a war. The theme is stated, and it's not kept a secret: The katanas they make are weapons made to kill people. Are they willing to carry the burden? In another variation of this question, is Chihiro willing to carry the burdens unintentionally passed down by his father?

The catalyst is his father's murder that catapults him into seeking revenge and recover the katanas.

Now, for the rest of the story, this structure can be applied to the first 18 chapters or even 1-3 chapters at a time which in my opinion, is kind of insane. There's story telling inside the story telling, and these moments are both subtle and grand, signs of a strong and captivating writer. Hollywood would kill for a script like this these days. In order to get you to believe me how prominent these beats are, I'm going to do arc one and Daruma's story. The main story line should be around act one and two right now as of chapter 20, if we want to get down into it, but if anything, this feels like it's moving like a second "movie."

Overall, this structure that comes from Hollywood movies can be identified in multiples parts of Kagurbachi's storytelling. I was going to do beat sheet's for Char and Sojo's stories as well, but I think this is enough of an example of a bigger picture versus smaller. Although other mangas also fall into three act structures, as most story telling does, KB masterfully uses the 15 beats to its advantage. I believe the familiarity of this pace is what hooked oversea audiences, and aside from that, the characters that quickly capture us.

Very quickly, because I don't want to make this about characterization, Chihiro is well written through his past, who he chooses to kill and save, his dialogue that can be surprisingly vulnerable at times, and his cool façade that melts because of how hot he truly runs. He is also straight up a badass. We get handed Char's background in an "all is lost" segment as well as some lore that can present her as a resource for the main cast. We see Azami's phone background photo that's minimum 3+ years old- a government employee with a soft spot for his friends, one who he is still clearly grieving. We get one tiny yet so fucked up bit of Sojo when we see him get a flashback where he's a child and his single dialogue of "I truly love Kunishige Rokuhira," that launched his type of villainy in the maniacal fanboy category. Who does it like that? Nobody but Takeru Hokazono.

Thank you for reading this essay! I do have two other essays drafted, one on Sojo's possible return (I'm a delusional Sojo fan) and just his overall significance and impact as the first villain even if he doesn't return, and on Hiyuki plus servant leadership versus self service.

#kagurabachi #manga #takeru hokazono

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holedaemon · 4 months ago

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ASS RESPECT 3: Garrus and Wrex go to White Castle

It's done. We did it. This weekend Ari (@freakpatrol) and I finished the Mass Effect trilogy. The third game is... massively flawed. There's *a lot* about it that I did not like, but despite that, it had some really profound aspects that I won't soon forget.

THE GOOD

MISCELLANEOUS

Shepard can run much longer now

They brought back weapon mods

The armor system is pretty decent, allows for a lot of customization

You can heal in battle using medi-gel again

Garrus is able to be romanced

ENEMIES

There are three factions you go up against in Mass Effect 3. Primarily, the Reapers & their forces, Cerberus, and to a lesser extent, the Geth. I'm here to talk about the Reapers' forces. In terms of design & background, they are peak. BioWare really went all out with them. They essentially took the idea of the Husks and how they are genetically altered, cybernetically enhanced humans, and applied that to most of the other races seen throughout the series. The process leaves them as former shells of themselves, the origin race barely being distinguishable. It's the perfect body horror and totally up my alley. A few of them that really stood out to me:

Cannibals

Harvested Batarians. They have a tendency to eat corpses they find on the battlefield, hence their name

Brutes

Unique in that they are a combination of Turians & Krogan. They remind me of the Tank from Left 4 Dead. Very fun to rip apart with a shotgun

Banshees

Harvested Asari, possibly specifically Ardat-Yakshi? Wasn't really clear. They resemble the Spitter from Left 4 Dead and function similarly to the Summoners from DOOM 2016. Ari HATES these things. Every time one of them screamed I'd hear "Oh I hate that noise"

SQUADMATES

The only new squadmate that really matters in 3 is Javik. You find him on a colony planet that's been overrun by Cerberus. He's a Prothean that's been in cryostatis for the last 50,000 years; when the Reapers last attacked. This is our first time SEEING what the Protheans looked like, and honestly they're pretty cool. Prothean society draws heavy inspiration from Rome & its structure, so you can imagine what Javik is like. He's a soldier; very cold & calculated, carries a lot of baggage knowing he failed his mission & his people perished, which manifests as him being a total dick, but we like Javik, so he gets a pass. The only thing I find disappointing is how he was included in the story, I'll elaborate on that later.

STORY BEATS

Okay, so let's be clear here: the story in the third game more or less sucks major balls. Turns out that's because the lead writer for the first two games left to work on fucking Star Wars: The Old Republic??? That said, there are some really profound moments throughout the story that I absolutely adore, even if they break my heart.

The first being summoning Kalros to fight the Reaper destroyer on Tuchanka. Before you run in to the arena to set off the hammers, Wrex stops you to say

You've been a champion to the Krogan people, a friend of Clan Urdnot... and a sister to me. To every Krogan born after this day, the name "Shepard" will mean "hero!"

HANDS DOWN my favorite Wrex quote.... Just. Gah. I love his development throughout the trilogy. Going from a grumpy merc with no purpose to the fearless leader of the Krogan people. It fills my heart with joy. He also calls Garrus his friend............ THEY HATED EACH OTHER IN THE FIRST GAME!!! NOW THEY'RE FRIENDS REMINISCING ABOUT THE OLD TIMES. I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!

Still on Tuchanka, this next moment hit me HARD. I can't remember the last time I cried at a video game, but this fucking got me.

Kalros has defeated the Reaper by pulling it fucking underground. We're at the Shroud ready to disperse the Genophage cure across Tuchanka. Except the Shroud has been damaged, it's coming down, and the STG (basically Salarian armed forces) has sabotaged it to prevent curing the sterilization plague. Mordin walks into the elevator leading up to the top of the Shroud, his final conversation with Shepard goes

Shepard: I'm sorry Mordin: I'm not. Had to be me. ... Mordin: Someone else might have gotten it wrong.

Hundreds of feet in the air, amid explosions, Mordin hums the same Salarian scientist tune he sang to Shepard in the second game. He pauses, the sabotage has been overridden, the cure is being dispersed; the scientist looks out over the Tuchanka skyline and smiles. Peace has been made with his fate, he can die happy knowing his wrong has been corrected. He picks up singing his song, but before he can finish the verse, the top of the Shroud explodes. That's the last we see of Mordin Solus.

Compounding the loss of Mordin, during a conversation prior to the events of Tuchanka, he tells Shepard that the Genophage needs to be cured. He does not relent that it was the correct thing to do for the time, but the circumstances have changed and it needed to be stopped. Shepard also asks him what he plans to do after the war had been won. Mordin talks about spending his final days on a warm beach, collecting seashells. The commander retorts saying he would go crazy within an hour, the Salarian responds saying he might run tests on the seashells.

I was really torn up about Mordin for a few days following this LMAO. He really grew on me over the course of the 2nd and 3rd game, hands down one of my favorite characters. Seeing him go sucked a lot, but I'm glad he was able to do it on his own terms. Curing the Genophage was the right thing to do, and I think it really added a lot to his character. He gave up his life so many, many Krogan could live. I love that a lot.

There's one last moment that really stuck with me.

The team is on Rannoch, the Quarian home world. They just defeated a Reaper that was transmitting a signal to control the Geth. Besides controlling the Geth, the Reaper transmission was also upgrading the synthetics. Their consciousness was on par with that of an alive being. Legion reveals to Shepard that he still has this code running in his systems. If he were to upload it to the Geth collective, the entire race would be upgraded to become fully sentient & alive. The commander agrees, telling him to get started, and asking Tali to delay the impending Quarian attack on the Geth. After some bickering with the Quarian admirals, the fleet hold their fire. Legion says

Legion: Error: copying code is insufficient. Direct personality dissemination, required. Legion: Shepard-Commander, I must go to them. I'm... sorry. It's the only way. Tali: Legion, the answer to your question... was yes. Legion: I know, Tali, but thank you. Legion: Keelah se'lai.

Legion falls to his knees in front of the Rannoch sun. In his final moments, he achieved true sentience, evident by his use of "I" instead of "we," as well as calling Tali by her first name. He was an equal, he was a person, he was truly alive. Through his actions, Legion brought on a new era of peace between the Geth and Quarians. In the days following his death, the Quarians had returned to their home planet and started to rebuild with the help of their newfound allies. The Geth's assistance was speeding up the rebuild exponetially. Processes that would have taken years, were taking days to weeks. Some Geth also volunteered to upload themselves into the suits of Quarians, to kickstart their immune systems. This would make the environmental suits the former nomads wore irrelevant in a few short years.

Losing Legion hurts A LOT. He was my precious baby boy. Everything about his death compounded the loss tenfold. The fact that he achieved personhood; the way he fell in front of the sun; his uttering of keelah se'lai as he keeled over... just. UGH. Much like Mordin, his death was not in vain. Had he not done what he did, the Quarians would have been wiped from the galaxy by the Geth. He managed to save two civilization and end a 300 year conflict. This has really, really stuck with me. Genuinely one of my favorite moments & outcomes in any video game, period. I love Legion, I love the Geth, I love what they all stand for & represent, and how they grow over the course of the series. It's fucking awesome.

THE BAD

That's about all I have in terms of good things, now onto the bad.

ACCESSIBILITY

Mass Effect 3 took a step backwards from 2 in terms of accessibility. The second game was perfect; menus were simple and concise. I actually knew what I was doing & where to go. That's not true of 3!!! Shit's back to being convoluted & confusing!!! I look at a menu and say "what the fuck is this?" It sucks!!!!

The other thing is the galaxy map. On the map overview, it tells you the description of missions in certain systems, not the name!!!! So you'll just have shit like "go to Anderson's apartment" appearing over nebula & shit, like what???

Your journal is a disaster too. Missions, both main & side, were grouped together in one tab, so you can't easily decipher which is which. They also decided to remove mission details, rather only giving you a vague description of what you needed to do??? Extremely frustrating.

GAMEPLAY

The movement sucks. It's like halfway to where it needs to be. I gotta give them credit for trying to make it good, but they just fucking floundered. Everything is done with the space bar, and so fucking often when I tried to interact with stuff, Shepard would take cover or do a fucking roll in the wrong direction instead of doing what I wanted her to do. It got genuinely annoying.

Another big issue were missions. For some reason, BioWare decided that missions should expire in this game, except they don't tell you when!!!!!!! SO YOU JUST HAVE TO GUESS!!!!!!! COMPOUNDING THAT, THEY GIVE YOU SO MANY MISSIONS. Literally I had like 20 missions at one point. Most of them were just fetch quests too. The formula for fetch quests is basically as follows:

get mission from random NPC

go to system

ping map to find scannable locations

uh oh, you probably alerted the Reapers. Which means you can't scan in peace without doing a mission.

if you can somehow avoid the Reapers, scan location for random junk until you find your fetch quest item

take it back to random NPC

rinse & repeat 100,000 times

Not a big thing but they... got rid of all of the minigames? There's no more hacking minigames, rather when you need to access an area, you just interact with the door & stand there for a few seconds. Again, not a big deal, but definitely a step in the wrong direction. There's also no resource collection, which I really enjoyed.

Again, this one is less of a problem but just kinda weird. The game is fucking easy. I died less than 10 times in combat. I didn't even know you could heal with medi-gel till the finale. I barely ever had to take cover, I could just run & gun and be fine. Compare this to 2 where I was dying left and right. My performance in the prior game was so dogshit that I think Ari was starting to get annoyed by it, so often would they say "BABE TAKE COVER," meanwhile I'd look like this

SQUADMATES

I was really kinda disappointed with the squadmate selection this time around. The last two games had so many different characters that I really jived with, but 3's selection was pretty lackluster. So as soon as I could, I took Garrus everywhere with me, and would switch between Javik & Tali for the secondary. Not bad, but not ideal. I don't really like human squadmates, so I never picked James or Kaidan. James is just too dude-bro military hot head for me; Kaidan's a whiner & got really annoying. Giving EDI a body was unnecessary, but cool I guess? Her relationship with Joker was cute. Never really cared for her much as a squadmate though. Liara was also just kinda... meh. I think I was really just spoiled by having Wrex and Legion as options in prior entries.

THE CITADEL

Okay this is a quick thing: you spend WAY too much time on the Citadel. This kinda ties back into my complaints on missions, but, I swear a huge portion of the game is spent there, doing side missions. It's fucking boring, man. I really did not enjoy any of the time spent in between priority missions. The citadel is novel at first, but by the end of the game, you've spent at least a few hours just running between the same 4-5 floors picking up quests, turning quests, listening to NPCs. GAH.

THE STORY

Okay, so like I said, Mass Effect 3 has some really good subplots that I enjoyed a lot!!! Overall though, dude, the story is just... weak, the ending especially. Ari and I spent some time reading the Wikipedia article detailing the controversy surrounding this game, and it makes sense. Like, once BioWare lost the aforementioned writer for the first two games, everything just went to shit.

The first thing that really irked me is the child Shepard sees die and his subsequent use throughout the story. Sure, alright, seeing someone so young die is traumatic, but why does it hold so much weight?? Shepard has seen thousands die, personally, she has taken the lives of at least 300,000 people, why does a single kid she never even spoke to for more than a second keep popping up? There's zero substance here. Keep the trauma, keep the dream sequences if you must, but use the people that really matter. Mordin, Legion, Thane, Ashley, I guess, even her fucking parents or squad on Akuze! USE ANYONE BUT A RANDOM CHILD!

Now, let's address the elephant in the room: the ending. That travesty blows shit out of ass, dude. Why is the aforementioned child there? What do you mean there's this intelligence that was created to solve a problem? What even is the problem?? Oh, it's that synthetics and organics don't really truly understand one each other? Okay. Why is that just now becoming the overarching problem of the series? Where was that concept in the first two games? The introduction of this intelligence, the Leviathans, and the "problem" really diminishes the story. It explains away the mystery of the cycle. It diminishes the Reapers a lot! Before, they were these mysterious, almost god-like machines from beyond the veil of reality. Their purpose was unknown & said to be incomprehensible to a normal mind. Turns out they just harvest the universe because it "solves a problem?" Like, fuck off, dude lmao. Giving any context whatsoever to the Reapers and their motives was a bad idea and really killed the magic that they brought.

Anyway, as you finish up talking to the child, you are giving three choices

Control the Reapers

Destroy the Reapers & all synthetic life (EDI, the Geth)

Use your DNA as a template for life to combine & share the same DNA between all species, organic & synthetic alike. (AKA the Synthesis)

Ari & I chose the last option, as it's allegedly the "true ending." Well, when you do that, Shepard jumps in the crucible, turns to mist, a huge explosion of green energy crosses the galaxy through the mass relays (breaking them in the process??), and everyone becomes cyborgs & "understands each other." Reapers & their forces stop fighting and begin to help rebuild the galaxy. Everybody glows green now? It's not well explained and even if it were it's stupid as fuck. Besides that, you're also violating the bodily rights of the entire galaxy?? Forcing change at a DNA level without anyone's consent?? Kind of a weird way to resolve a war. Furthermore, what about the Reaper's abominations? They're all sentient now! They're not fighting anymore! What do you do with them? What they once were is barely even recognizable!!

THE DLC

Alright, last talking point: the DLC. DLC is not a new concept in the Mass Effect games, and while it was not a big deal before, this time really bugged me.

Before I start: the DLC involving Aria & taking back Omega was really fun, I enjoyed it a lot. Anyways.

First off, JAVIK IS DLC????? THE PROTHEAN CHARACTER THAT IS SO VITAL TO THE STORY IS DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT THAT COSTS EXTRA???? REALLY AWFUL DECISION BIOWARE.

Second, the Leviathan DLC. I love the Leviathans, they're really cool creatures in design & concept. But again, their introduction and involvement in the story just Ruined the Reapers pretty much entirely. It sucks. I wish they were better utilized. Also, again, to put something so """important""" to the story in a DLC??? Fucking lame.

Finally, the house party DLC. It was fucking AWFUL. The entire mood of it does not fit the game ONE BIT. Every other sentence is some weird, unfunny quip. Brooks as a character is just fucking annoying. You're running around chasing your clone??? Then YOU HAVE A PARTY??? The dialogue throughout the party is just fucking awkward and forced. Kasumi and Saeed are there for some reason?? It just sucked. I could go on for hours about it but I'm just burned out even talking about this shit.

Overall, a really, really disappointing end to an otherwise fantastic series

Fuck this

#mass effect #spoilers #ari #games #fuck off

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celestialholz · 2 years ago

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Treasures, Ruined (or 'Are the Elite Four the Treasures of Ruin?')

My fellow thought-experimentee @serene-hatterene mentioned a little while ago that the Treasures of Ruin bear a passing resemblance to our Paldean Elite Four, and I agree... though I don't think it means a heel turn is coming. None of them are evil - there's been literally zero foreshadowing of any form, and I personally refuse to believe that there is a single shred of evil in Hassel specifically. This man is sunshine incarnate - he even goddamn looks like the sun, and is painted as such in Surrendering Sunflora.

No, no evil here. But I'll tell you what I do think.

The Treasures of Ruin are the Elite Four if they were to go down a very different and much darker path, hence the Dark typing.

That's a fun statement, isn't it? Allow me to explain...

We will start in dex order, with Wo-Chien, our Hassel counterpart.

This is most of Wo-Chien's lore.

Now, there are multiple things of note here:

Tablets were classically used pre-paper manufacturing to write or draw things upon - like a musician might wish to do, or an artist;

Hassel comes from a noble family, who don't agree with his life choices - whilst he doesn't seem to bear grudges in his present state of mind, it isn't a stretch at all to imagine that he could were his mind dark enough;

Plants. Wo-Chien drains plant life, and holds control over it.

... Now, imagine if you will a moment, a darker timeline: a timeline where, embittered by his family's treatment and his own musical failure, Hassel finds Brassius, and instead of healing and supporting and encouraging him as he does in our canon, leading them to a beautiful and loving companionship, he instead does the opposite: takes out his spite and his anger, leads Brassius instead to ruin and to the death he saved him from in another life.

... No, you're crying. (/j, I am also weeping, god I hate noticing things sometimes. IT'S OKAY GUYS THEY'RE HAPPY AND LOVED AND ALIVE IN OUR WORLD *ugly sobbing*)

This idea is backed up further by the fact that Wo-Chien's shrine must be opened via purple stakes - Poison, seeping into the Grass.

Oh, and as Bulbapedia points out:

... Huh. Imagine that, the emotional guy darkened due to his own feelings - or, indeed, that of our favourite Grass gym leader...

And then there's the fact that Hass' lead Pokemon Noivern nearly always starts battle by halving your HP with Super Fang... which has exactly the same effect as Ruination, the Treasures' signature move.

Anyway, let's move on, before I sob myself to sleep...

We arrive next at Chien-Pao, or our Larry counterpart.

Lore incoming...

Whilst Wo-Chien is represented by grudges, Chien-Pao is represented by hatred - and we know Larry a. hates his boss, b. hates his three jobs, and c. probably hates his life, as tired and done as he seems to be.

And so, imagine a world where that hatred, rather than be channeled into exhaustion and exasperation, becomes instead active - becomes instead a very powerful man who can apparently master types on a whim tearing down all before him, telling the world that's kept him down to bow before him. He becomes the boss; he becomes the hatred of those 'slain' by the corporate structure, and he simply sits there and watches the chaos.

Now, lovely little tired sweetheart Larry would rather eat onigiri, tell you you're very good at battling and go to sleep... but then, Hass would never drain Brassius either. It's all in the possibility, the alternate universe.

Interesting supplementary points here include:

Staraptor has the same base attack as Chien-Pao... who, like the rest of the Treasures, was patch-nerfed. It did have 130 atk, ten points higher than Staraptor;

It's represented by orange stakes, the colour of the Fighting type - Larry's one major weakness on his gym team, which later he adopts Flying types for and becomes strong against;

This man is a facade. He gives you the TM for it, he lives the gimmick... and when one tears down a facade, the person beneath is revealed. Not that I'm saying the person beneath wants to watch the world burn, but... not too tricky to imagine someone snapping under Larry's level of pressure, is it?

What's mightier than the sword, so the saying goes? The pen. You know, those things people use a lot in an office...

God, let's see if Rika can cheer us up a bit, although I doubt it given the topic... we move, then, to Ting-Lu.

The lore has this to say on the subject of Ting-Lu:

Ting-Lu represents fear: and if any of you have also sat there like me in fear for your champion prospects (and possibly life) as Rika stares you down during the interview process, I think we know why.

Fear... and control over the earth. The translation is a little more literal here, given that they share their specialist types.

Our Rika is fun and laid-back, but in another world, well... imagine a woman motivated by the fear of those before her, intimidating all who stand before her in both words and in battle, swallowing her enemies with the power of the earth. As a fun counterpoint, the Rika we know and love even says that you shouldn't find her worrying when you meet her during your gym challenge:

Couple of additional things:

Ting-Lu's stakes are green - Grass, life, swallowed whole by the ground;

Rika's rocking the classically evil red eyes;

Most of her Pokemon have the capacity to learn Fissure, which is referenced in Ting-Lu's bio.

We know comparatively little about Rika compared to Hassel or Larry, but the type-share kinda says it all here.

And finally, we reach everyone's favourite overachieving tiny sister, Poppy.

Here's some lore for y'all:

Now again, in comparison to Hassel and Larry, we know next to nothing about Poppy, but envy specifically is interesting. The kid is very clearly far too powerful for her age, and it's therefore quite simple to imagine envy-based corruption occurring - of her dominating her peers, of her envy that everyone else seems to fit in where she doesn't. Thankfully in the Elite Four she's amongst friends, but... the composition of this team, jesus. Take a look:

Kid is made of nuclear weapons, my god. The young mind is impressionable, easy to lead astray... except she's all fine and adorable, because she has structure, and an outlet for her power. Without that... well, Chi-Yu's on fire, so... I think this about sums it up.

Little bit more on the intrigue:

Mmm. Lighter. Well yeah, she would be...

There's a saying in gemology, or the sculpting of gems, about jade - what Chi-Yu's bead eyes are made of. And it goes like this:

... Like a bell? Like that one she has on her team?

Chi-Yu is represented by blue stakes, or the Water type; the tears of a lost little girl, her fieriness extinguished.

So, now we've analysed the similarities of the characters, let's take a look at the story of the Treasures.

'The king's greed', huh...

... Huh. Geeta, who owns a Kingambit, who is the Top Champion. Now, aside from Larry, who seems to just straight-up dislike her, we don't know how the other three feel about their 'king' here - but we do know from the gym leader rematches that multiple of those guys aren't fans of her hardline stance. She and Tulip style-clash, Katy resents her for having her go easy on challengers, and Grusha seems afraid of her power to oust him. She seems to be a divisive woman, and... well, it's irrelevant, because we're here to imagine an alternate universe, friends. In another life, Geeta greedily overworks her people, taking the desire she has to host the greatest League and turning it dark; in another life, grudges, hates, fears and envies lead to a world of destruction and rebellion instead of a united found family. What is a king there is a queen here, and what would our queen be able to do, if she was attacked by all four of her treasures at once? Very little.

Four treasures, one king, two worlds. We even have the people to 'seal them away' - us, Nemona, Penny, Arven, and all the rematch gym leaders, who at that point outlevel the Elite Four. After all, if the shoe fits... two of us have already have taken down all four of them.

Let's all be glad we live in the good timeline, folks, where our Elite Four are loved and wholesome.

... It's fascinating isn't it, that we've pulled up these stakes up, crumbled them to dust... released the Poison, the Fighting, the Grass, the Water... that we've all seeped toxicity into the earth, lost the fight, had the life sucked away, and doused youthful enthusiasm.

... Nah, can't mean anything. Can't mean anything that we're the wielders who have already defeated them. Can't mean anything that Geeta's name in Japanese is 'omodaka', which directly translates to 'heightened surface', like the high places you nearly always find these stakes on.

... Nah, guys. Just a coincidence. They're all perfectly lovely... in our world. Still, quite the AU, right? ;)

#paldea elite four #elite four larry #elite four hassel #elite four poppy #elite four rika #oh and look at that!#ephemeralartshipping!#in my completely NOT ephemeralartshipping meta!#I'm astonished guys don't know about you #treasures of ruin #pokemon scarlet and violet #meta #top champion geeta

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ink-flavored · 10 months ago

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Heaven and Angels

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents - Hell and Demons➡ Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze@zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

For any story that contains magic, it’s important to have a good idea of how it works and what its limitations are, even if the mechanics of the magic are never explored in the story. I like to have a full idea of what magic can and cannot do in my work, so that it doesn’t feel like a cheap cop-out.

In Pride & Justice, both angels and demons have similar but conflicting magic powers. In this post, I’ll be discussing the angels, and how Heaven functions!

The Structure of Heaven

The Kingdom of Heaven is not a castle in the clouds. It’s not a castle at all, nor any sort of physical place someone might be able to reach. Heaven is one patch in a marvelous quilt of creation, stitched by the One and Only God. Like that same quilt folded into halves, Heaven rests over Earth, a dimension far beyond the stretch of outer space.

Humans, once called back to God after their deaths, can never return to Earth, merely able to peek over the edge and glimpse the world they left. Intentionally so—they were never meant to grasp the power that Heaven might grant, built for Earth and Earth alone. Angels, however, are created in Heaven and able to make use of their higher position, They can slip easily through the gaps in the stitching, hopping from one quilt-square to another. Most of the time, however, angels are working in Heaven, carrying out tasks they’re given by the Almighty to keep Heaven running.

Where the humans stay and where the angels work are separate. Paradise is a walled garden—while there may not be a castle, the gates are decidedly real. Those worthy of Heaven are escorted to the innermost sanctum of Heaven to begin their eternal rest, and on the way, they might pass thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of God’s soldiers. Angels defend Heaven tirelessly, ensuring that worthy souls can enjoy their well-earned peace.

And, as always, preparing for Judgement Day with a hand on their swords.

Angels

The soldiers and servants of God, created by Him to serve the interests of Heaven. They are made to be righteous, born with all capacity for good, compelled to aid humanity, and serve God wherever they go. They operate on a strict hierarchy, like any army should, and prioritize following orders to the letter.

After all, what could be more righteous than carrying out God’s Word?

Nameless

When angels are born, they have no names, nor a solid form. The flaming wheels, hundreds of eyes, dozens of wings, animal heads, and so on are a manifestation of their raw power, beautiful in its own way, but unfocused. Instead of being given a domain to watch over explicitly, God gives them a hidden purpose, a virtue to follow, and the free will to discover it for themselves.

The Nameless angels might take centuries to discover what they were made for. In that time they study under their fellow angels, contemplate God’s Word, and get sent to Earth to work miracles and observe humanity outside of paradise.

Once the Nameless discover the purpose God gave them, they are celebrated, named, and become Realized.

Realized

A Realized angel is one who has embodied their virtue so completely that it reshapes them. This can be any virtue in God’s Kingdom—there are angels of honesty, passion, charity, justice, faith, and so on. Each of the Realized are named for their given virtue and are permitted to choose a secondary form: a form resembling humanity, built in God’s own image.

Angels can choose the ins and outs of their new forms, down to the very minuscule details. Some even choose to keep some of their Nameless features—multiple heads, sets of wings, limbs, and so on. Importantly, though, once an angel has chosen their Realized form, their state is permanent. Realizing the purpose God created them for can only happen once, obviously, and the resulting change is a blessing. Not to be questioned or challenged. In times of great need, they can revert to their Nameless forms for a less concentrated but extremely powerful blast of holy energy.

Once Realized, angels are given more concrete tasks to perform around Heaven. Many are still sent to Earth, and studying under God and each other is an eternal practice, but now they can be equipped as the soldiers they were born to be.

Virtues like justice, diligence, and fortitude join the ranks as Heaven’s army. For organization, honesty, prudence, and temperance maintain the structure of Heaven and keep God’s Word at the forefront. The gentler virtues, like kindness, charity, hope, and faith remain steadfast protectors of humanity and help keep the hardened soldiers in check. The remainder—virtues like patience, humility, love, and passion—are the main force that fly down to Earth to bless humanity, though they play a role in Heaven too. Even their fellow angels need occasional reminders of what they’re fighting for.

Archangels

If all of Heaven is an army, the Archangels are its generals, bringing orders from God down to the ordinary rank-and-file. They rarely go to Earth, and even their fellow angels don’t see much of them. They’re hardly seen outside the few moments when orders are delivered, only carrying out the highest caliber of tasks themselves. All of them sit very close to the Throne of God, a place no other angel is permitted to tread… anymore.

Lately, the orders from the archangels, supposedly the Word of God Himself, have grown erratic and contradicting. Some might even call them paranoid, trying to fix problems that don’t exist, or that would cause a great deal more of them. Since the change, the Archangels have ordered on God’s behalf to tighten ranks, monitor the gates, scrutinize every last soul seeking refuge in the Kingdom of Heaven. Having no choice, the Kingdom of Heaven agreed.

Things are tense among the ordinary angels. God hasn’t been seen outside His throne room for centuries. The Archangels don’t seem to understand the orders they’re giving either. To quell the confusion, they insist that everyone trust in God’s Word and carry out His mission. When the Day of Judgement comes, they’ll all be thankful they did.

Power

In Heaven, an angel’s power is negligible. They serve God, they live eternally, they protect Heaven, but they’re only as powerful as each other. The laws of their realm are not easily persuaded by any but God Himself. It’s when they travel to Earth that their power becomes awesome indeed, able to bend and warp reality almost by mistake.

An angel at their full capacity for power will be able to perform miracles, grant blessings, and heal any wound they touch, but it’s unsustainable to all but the most powerful archangels to remain at their full capacity for long. Without a regular connection to Heaven—the dimension that is the source of their power—an angel’s abilities will begin to wane and become less potent. Eventually, their inherent gifts might drain so far that they become stuck on Earth, trapped as a human with no way to return.

Most rank-and-file angels visiting Earth for short periods use almost all their power in one burst to perform a single miracle, and then immediately retreat to avoid this fate. As all angels can feel the emotional and physical pain of the humans nearest to them, with a very wide range, this makes it easy to find places where miracles are needed. This is especially true of the Nameless, who find it difficult to maintain a presence on Earth for very long anyway. Once Realized, they’re able to focus their miracles to the pain that would best be served by their virtue, aiding humanity in more specific ways.

A minority of Realized angels wander with their powers hidden from the world around them, existing as perfectly average humans until they find an opportunity that suits them best. This is something taken up by angels that have existed for centuries upon centuries, who know their limits well, and have spent time among humans in paradise and on Earth enough to know how to blend in. Although, blending in isn’t always necessary.

When an angel spreads their wings on Earth, usually in preparation to use their power, humans stop seeing them. A being that exists between planes of existence is incalculable for the human brain to process, so their vision is simply edited not to see them. The only ones that perceive the angel are the ones that the angel directs their power to. Once the angel is gone, however, the memory is quickly edited again. Some are left wondering if what they saw was real, some forget it entirely. Either way, a miracle occurs.

So! That was the world-building I have set up so far. What do you think? I hope I got across the domino cascade that leads to the story, and why it starts as soon as Justice breaks the rules—or at least part of it. Because next time, we’re talking about Hell!

Thanks for your generous support, as always!

— Annika

#original writing #original fiction #original character #original characters #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community #annika talks #P&J #Pride & Justice #P&J: Worldbuilding

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thomashoes · 2 years ago

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Thinking about.... JeanLuc

One of the few straight ships that actually makes me cry bc of the angst around them. I've been thinking about them since yesterday but I couldn't write it down cuz i fell asleep lol. Enjoy~

Modern AU

Straight ship (if you dont like, scroll pass, tnx <3)

JeanLuc

kinda longer than my usual cuz i cant control myself

probably has typos and grammatical errors since i didnt check--

Jean and Diluc are coworkers (Jean as CEO and Diluc as her PA). Diluc was supposed to be CEO but he refused the offer when his father, Crepus died and his brother, Kaeya went MIA. Everyone thought that they did not get along well since Diluc speaks bluntly and is often misinterpreted as rude while Jean, although she’s strict, has a more gentle aura around her. Both of them are pretty much the talk of the town (office??) since they are both good looking. Jean’s toned body (thanks to pilates) and Diluc’s buff structure and "mysterious" background that makes every woman (and some men) in the office swoon.

EVERYONE talks about wanting to either sleep with them or date them, there's no in between. But what the office doesn't know is that they're married and have been for 5 years. Only their close friends and family knew of their union. They didn't wear their wedding rings because it was 2 sizes small (thanks to their musician friend) so instead they wore it around their necks. Also, Jean just kept her maiden name and Diluc, although he did try to talk her out of the idea, accepted her decision.

However, one day Jean overheard Donna say that she will ask Diluc out again during the end of the year ball. Normally Jean wouldn't be surprised by this but this was DONNA and that woman keeps on bugging her husband despite him politely rejecting her multiple times.

This caused Jean to be out of it which did not go unnoticed by Diluc, so he decided to confront her about it when he handed her her 5th coffee of the day. Jean confessed to him about Donna’s plan and Diluc just told her not to worry about Donna and that he’ll handle it when it happens. And, of course, Jean trusts her man so much it's sort of amazing (absolutely ridiculous as Lisa told her).

On the night of the ball, Donna approached Diluc and asked to speak with him alone at the balcony. Jean and Diluc locked eyes before Jean discreetly waved him off as she spoke with Eula. Around 10 minutes have passed and she still hasn't spotted Diluc. So she went off to the balcony and as soon as she arrived there, Jean saw that Donna lunged forward to kiss Diluc and had sadly succeeded. Just as Jean was about to angrily march at Donna, Diluc pushed the woman away firmly.

“I already told you I’m married and you need to stop this nonsense” he enunciated firmly. “I don’t see a ring on your finger! Please Diluc, stop resisting and lying to me,” Donna desperately wailed as she gripped his arm tight. “My wife would not take this action lightly anymore if you keep this up,” Diluc, once again, remarks harshly. Donna scoffed and then smirked, “She’s not even here. What are you gonna do? FaceTime her? I know you only have like 10 contacts there and none of them are of your wife’s!”

Jean decided to step up, “Actually, she’s gonna file a harassment report to the HR and put you under investigation.” she sharply denoted as she walked towards them. Her heels tapping against the tiled floor loudly despite the party ongoing inside. “I’d love it if you back away from my husband, Donna. I have tolerated you long enough because you are an excellent worker. However, my patience for you has become too thin for my liking and this is the last straw.” jean disclosed as she crossed her arms with her chin up. Donna looked at the both of them back and forth with her mouth opening and closing, resembling a fish, before she excused herself and left the two of them alone.

Diluc smirked at his wife, “well that confrontation took you 7 years,” he teased her "A bit earlier than I anticipated." Diluc chuckled. Jean blushed and looked away, “It's because I trusted your judgement and knew you are capable of handling this kind of situation. But today…. I’ve had enough.” Diluc held her hand and kissed her knuckles, staring at her blue eyes the entire time. “Does this mean that it’s time to let the company know?”

Jean bites her lip before nodding, “I would feel better if we did, yes.” Diluc chuckled at her before tidying his suit, “I believe I deserve some sort of reward for tonight’s hard work. I had to deal with that for what felt like an hour—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Jean grabs his face and kisses him. “the audience be damned” was the last thought diluc had before kissing her back.

Because tonight, he will be giving all his attention to his wife only.

"Also, I'm beginning to wonder what name you put under my number since Donna said--"

"A-ah well..."

(T'was Dandelion Tights)

#genshin impact #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact jean #completely forgot to post this #daily brainrot #omg straight ship #jeanluc #diluc x jean #diluc ragnvindr #jean gunnhildr

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nixariel · 2 years ago

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More trivia! (this time with Extra Maps™)

For interest's sake I was trying to figure out where in Poitiers Cleo’s hôtel particulier might be, plus identify the train stations featured during Carmen's trip to Paris—and I think I’ve figured (most of) it out.

First of all, Carmen is supposed to be fifty yards from the townhouse in this shot.

That puts the building somewhere on the east side of the River Clain, slightly north of the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre de Poitiers, but not too far from what looks like the Pont Joubert (the little bridge in the lower right corner). The Caserne d’Aboville (barracks for the 9e Brigade d'Infanterie de Marine) would be a reasonable stand-in for location, and even looks a little similar in terms of architectural style.

The station Carmen flies in to also bears a more-than-passing resemblance to the real Gare de Poitiers

but the pattern of terrain she passes over doesn’t quite fit with what appears to be a southerly approach.

However! This particular background gets rotated and recycled about ten seconds after initial use (left being its first appearance, rotated for comparison; right is unaltered but from ten seconds later), and if we go by the second version,

the curve of the river is a close-enough fit for having taken a path like so

with the little arrow being her upcoming destination, the Gare de Poitiers. Unfortunately I could not match the station Carmen’s train briefly stops at to a real location en route to Paris

so if anyone recognizes it, please let me know! Which leads me to the other ‘???’ moment I had while working on this because

...yeah. Yeah, I’ve got NO idea what’s going on with Player’s map here. He's got France oriented in the usual 'up is north' way, but that just makes it weirder? Because by that compass, Carmen is moving south—even though Paris is east and NORTH of Poitiers.

Though this show does get a little fuzzy with its geography at times*cough*Interpol's HQ is in LYON*coughcough*and Devineaux’s conspiracy map has the Canary Islands on the WRONG side of Africa*cough*

Anyway, after Player regains Carmen’s signal, her GPS marker is heading in approximately the right direction

answering exactly zero questions about where it was going earlier, but all’s well that still ends (somehow) in Paris, I guess? The Gare du Nord then looks to be the best match for where Carmen makes her exit

even if all direct trains from Poitiers to Paris seem to go to Gare Montparnasse instead.

Update: this seems to have turned into a bit of a series, so check the reblogs to get an episode-by-episode for the rest of S1! A full-show overview is here. Also, the street Chase and Julia are driving down at the very beginning of the episode looks to be none other than the Rue de la Cathédrale, as the structure behind them is consistent with the Cathédrale Saint-Pierre’s south tower. From a cartographic standpoint, it does place them on the wrong side of the Clain as well as moving in the opposite direction of Cleo’s residence, but that’s where the artistic licence comes in, I guess. ;)

#my post #carmen sandiego 2019 #cs 2019 trivia #carmen sandiego #player #countess cleo #every show has a few goofs and in general CS 2019 does a good job of keeping them subtle #but that just makes it more fun when you do spot one XD #like when teenage!shadowsan walked through a table #clearly he started his ninja training early XDD #or when the windows of the San Diego HQ changed from two together to two separate in S2E09 #and then changed right back in the next episode #my gif #reference material #nixariel

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casspurrjoybell-17 · 1 year ago

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Heart’s Choice - Chapter 27 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Carlos Martinez

Later that morning, after the sun is full and safely up and the night of the ritual has passed, Ian Foley drives me home to the garage.

Gravel crunches beneath his truck's tires as he pulls into the work yard and parks.

"You don't have to come with me," I say, pulling my backpack from the back seat of the cab.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will. But two sets of eyes are better than one and you've only got one good arm. I'll just have a sniff around. Make sure nobody's been here while you were gone."

"Thanks, Ian," I say, suddenly realizing how grateful I am for the gesture.

"You're a good friend."

He takes my backpack from me and slings it over his own shoulder, ruffling my hair.

"Yeah, yeah. And you're a pain in the ass but we love ya anyway."

Thankfully, everything is as I left it and Ian detects nothing unusual.

His senses are less keen in his human form than they are as a bear but his human form is less apt to draw attention.

Bears aren't unusual in Spring Lakes but Ian's resembles a grizzly, a species which has been extinct in this state for nearly a century.

I don't want to have to explain why one might be wandering around outside my shop.

"Place seems secure," he says, inspection complete.

"You sure you wanna stay here, though? I mean, you're still renting from a lady who might want to kill you, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten. But the less Lucille suspects I know, the better. Besides, she's like eighty years old. What's she gonna do? Beat me with her cane?"

Ian sighs.

"Carlos, be real. You're from a family of demon hunters, you're friends with an encyclopedia's worth of supernaturals and there's a vampire after your ass, if not your heart. You should know things aren't always what they seem. Besides, from what you described, what happened to Kyle took some effort. If the old lady has anything to do with it, she's either stronger than she looks or she had help."

"I'll be fine," I say. "The next ritual's not for another two weeks, assuming the Feast of Blood was even performed. I'm safe until then, at least."

"If you say so."

He casts a last look around the garage and scuffs his boot over a crack in the concrete floor.

"Oughta get that fixed 'fore it spreads," he says, clearly reluctant to leave me on my own.

"Yeah," I agree.

"Unfortunately, one condition of the lease is that I can't make any changes to the place without Lucille's permission, including repairs."

"Have you asked about this? A crack like this means you got a weak foundation. Could be a pocket of soft soil, could be erosion. Either way, if it spreads, it could compromise the whole structure. Then you're in big shit. County could condemn the whole thing, 'specially since it's zoned as commercial. It's worth having someone come an' take a look, anyway."

Being in the construction business, Ian should know what he's talking about and I eye the crack with renewed suspicion.

"You know, it does look bigger than it did before. I guess I could..."

A whole rack of socket wrenches drops from the wall, landing with a clatter that has me jumping out of my skin and practically into Ian's arms, like a character in an old cartoon.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Yeah."

I catch my breath and step away from him.

"Guess you're right, though. Kyle seems to agree with you, anyway."

"Kyle? Is he here now?" Ian asks, glancing around nervously.

I look askance at the corner where, as long as I don't look directly at him, I can see Kyle watching us.

"Yeah. I'm not alone after all, see?"

To my surprise, Ian seems a little creeped out by the idea and leaves pretty quickly after that.

I follow him out and wave as he drives off, feeling a stab of loneliness as his truck vanishes from sight.

For a while I just stand there, feeling the mid morning sun on my face and the breeze in my hair and letting thought swirl around my brain like a flock of restless birds.

My cell-phone buzzes and I pull it out to check.

I've got two notifications.

One is from a random app, offering me a special bonus deal because... Fuck.

What a depressing way to remember a birthday.

Especially my own.

The second is a text from John.

My heart leaps a little, despite myself but the message is unsentimental, short and to-the-point.

John: No deaths reported last night. All public areas in town are clear. Need your expertise. Please advise if ritual must take place outdoors.

I hesitate, both a little happy that he asked,and a little unsure what to make of the businesslike tone.

I decide to match it, colleague to colleague and ignore everything else for now as I type my reply.

Carlos: Yes. The same place as the first would be best. Otherwise, nearby in a significant location.

I hit send and wait.

After a moment, the three dots appear, telling me John is typing.

Then they stop.

Then they start again, then disappear.

Finally, I accept he's not going to reply, pocket my cell-phone and blow out a breath as I run a hand through my hair.

I 'did' ask him for space.

On the one hand, it looks like the Feasts might be a dead end and between Kyle's ex-girlfriend and Lucille, we've got plenty of leads.

On the other hand, my aunt is missing and my love life is on the rocks.

I shake my head at myself.

"Tonto. (Fool.) You're so desperate for someone to love you, to have what Ian and Sam have and when it comes along, you freak out and push it away."

I sigh and watch as a trio of crows fly overhead and disappear among the trees on the other side of the road.

Then I head back inside to clean out the ten-day-old trash and the rotten food in the fridge, which Ian was too polite to mention smelled like absolute fucking shit.

Happy birthday to me.

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autistic-sidestep · 1 year ago

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yay further sura cane ramblings as a followup from this and this

so my logic is that the fall Did fuck sidestep's body up and presumably the farm's intent was to fix them up enough to be a Functional asset once wiped/reset (as far as pain's concerned and the lack of pain-gate either from being broken by the fall, or being removed, as long as it doesn't interfere with function). this was before they realised step was resisting the reset and an absurdly strong telepath to boot. so maybe there was some stuff that didn't end up happening.

anyway. sura's second escape from the farm. in a hell of a lot of pain from fucked up nerves (particularly lower back) and other things that didn't heal quite right (very much missing having a pain-gate), plus balance issues and fatigue. suddenly sura's seeing things Very differently now they're not abled + noticing a lot of people don't like looking at others with mobility aids, and maybe being useful camo. sura doesn't much Like the idea of being pitied and seen as weak, but making it easier to just be able to get through the day is worth it.

so. sura steals a nondescript folding cane from a small pharmacy (who cares, there's like, a million of em). and wow! it's not just camo, it helps with the exhaustion! great! she can even put it away when it gets inconvenient.

this also means he overcompensates the first few times learning the ropes as juno cos 1, the almost entire foot height difference and 2, reflexively moving as though putting weight on a non-existent walking aid = lotta bruises

(yes, the argos suit is kinda a mobility aid if we're being generous with definitions.)

except sura just grabbing any old cane w/o checking means they don't realize it's too tall for her for THREE. YEARS. and that causes a lot of unnecessary shoulder/upper back/wrist pain.

chen points it out during one of the early hq visits in retri while helping out, suggests to get a shorter one and maybe with offset handles. (maybe he's known a few ex-military people using canes? i feel he'd run in enough circles like that to have some passing knowledge.) and sura just. seething when they begrudgingly take up his advice and find it IS actually helping. cos chen was right and it doesn't want to admit that lmao.

at least chen has the decency not to dwell too long on it when he notices the change in canes. but he is a little smug. (it's fine. she can retaliate with useful suggestions about the new shoulder joint mod.)

but anyway, sura starts customizing the canes by painting/engraving designs on them for a little personalised touch. tech savviness comes in handy! and then there's a variety to match outfits (it counts as an accessory!) + one or two inspired by this one i saw (look at it. LOOK HOW COOL IT IS.) that that May or may not have some plausible deniability about resembling the argos suit's stained glass look lol.

(chen, narrowing his eyes, with a little "set steel_clue + 10" pop-up.)

the ones with offset and orthopedic handles for the more heavy duty days (maybe even branching out into crutches, since those give more support, though those would have to be customized) + derby handle for when they want to be more discreet. the mob crew might even pool some of their earnings to buy something resembling a makhila as a present further down the line :D

they also have two styles of cane holster, one from the belt, and the other on the thigh like what they used for the energy-caster as sidestep.

(on the viability of canes as self-defense, it's hit or miss on how good they actually are; what's good for mobility and weight distribution isn't ideal for defense - trying to hybridize the design means you get something that's not really useful in either direction. ie. telescopic stuff is convenient for folding away, but doesn't have much structural integrity if you tried swinging it at someone. same goes for folding canes w/ the bungee cord inside. idk what the capabilities in fh verse's are for materials but i'm erring on the side of caution and saying sura doesn't rely on their canes as a main defensive weapon. there's telepathy for that. they've been working out more anyway what with being argos and training daniel, so some of their pain symptoms improve a bit too! just making sure not to overdo it.)

something abt growing into not being ashamed of needing mobility aids (in fact, being empowering) and that being a sign of growth. absolute power move rocking up the hg meeting with a cane and 120 hgrep like "so? what you gonna do about it"

(too bad they immediately get bodied by a truck after leaving parkfield tho. whoops.)

#oc: suranga fernando #ramblings

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whereareroo · 9 months ago

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CROWN IMMUNITY?

WF THOUGHTS (4/24/24).

Is the President of the United States a King?

Our Supreme Court will debate that question on April 25th at 10 a.m. If you’re reading this before 10 a.m. on the 25th, I urge you to listen to the arguments. If you poke around online, you’ll find multiple ways to listen.

Under a legal doctrine called “Crown Immunity,” Kings are exempt from civil or criminal prosecution. You’ve probably heard the old saying: “A King can do no wrong.” That’s a cute way of saying that a King can get away with anything because a King cannot be held accountable in court.

The issue of Crown Immunity is before our Supreme Court because of Donald Trump. He is claiming that all Presidents and ex-Presidents are immune from prosecution with respect to any action taken during their presidency. This absurd claim has never been made by any other president or ex-president. All of the lower courts have rejected Trump’s argument. The Supreme Court is his last hope.

The idea that a President is a King is silly. Remember the American Revolution? Our ancestors fought the War of Independence to get themselves out from under a King. The Founding Fathers created a form of government that didn’t resemble a monarchy in any way. Trump must have missed that history class.

The first judge to reject Trump’s “Crown Immunity” claim- -which he calls “Presidential Immunity- -used some colorful language. Allow me to share a few blurbs.

Addressing the absurdity of the Crown Immunity claim, the judge said: “The Constitution’s text, structure, and history do not support that contention. No court- -or any other branch of government- -has ever accepted it. And this court will not so hold. The United States has only one Chief Executive at a time, and that position does not confer a lifelong “get-out-of-jail free” pass. Former presidents enjoy no special conditions on their federal criminal liability. Defendant [Trump] may be subject to federal investigation, indictment, prosecution, conviction, and punishment for any criminal acts undertaken while in office.”

Later in her lengthy decision, the judge said: “Defendant’s four-year service as Commander in Chief did not bestow on him the divine right of kings to evade the criminal accountability that governs his fellow citizens. No man in this country, not even the former president, is so high that he’s above the law.”

Like many Americans, I’ve lost faith in the Supreme Court. Nonetheless, it’s hard to imagine that the Court will find that a President is a King. I hope that the arguments will reveal that the Court is headed in the right direction on this. This is the first time that I’ve asked you to listen to a Supreme Court argument. This should be a good one for first time listeners. (Listening is the only way to follow the Supreme Court in real time. Cameras are not permitted in the courtroom.) If you can’t listen in real time, make an effort to listen later in the day.

Let’s hope that the Court issues its written decision quickly. This should be an easy case. If the Court delays its written decision until the end of June, when it normally releases its big decisions, the delay will freeze the important cases against Trump in limbo until after the election. If the Court decides quickly, at least one of the major cases can be decided before the election. I think that the American voters want at least some of the big cases to be resolved before the election. Aren’t people entitled to know if they’re voting for a felon? I’ll keep an eye on this, and I’ll keep you in the loop. I’ll be listening at 10 a.m.

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dbssh · 3 years ago

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trucks roommate was right though this does feel a little like homestuck with a graduate degree. the metagame aspects scratch the same itch at least and as a bonus its much less intentionally convoluted and also ive not even been called one slur yet

#h*mestuck isnt HARD to understand its just intentionally muddy because it doesnt want you to understand #it feels like its attacking the reader and that kind of hostile relationship to viewership was thematically appropriate #even if it was also stupid and fucking irritating it created a Vibe and also discouraged you from looking too closely and getting lost in #the weeds #on the other hand the whole POINT of omniscient reader is that its clear - the mc understands with more clarity than anyone the chaos that #surrounds them #so the information is portrayed as simple; matter-of-fact statements and explanations #red.txt #i dont think the narrative structure resembles hs in a way that has been made clear to me yet tho tbh #i wouldnt have drawn mors than a passing parallel had i not had that mentioned to me #also this is pure speculation but i wonder if that clarity of information is going to be subverted later on #i feel like aspects of that idea have sort of danced around but i feel like thatd be a narratively rewarding thing later on

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words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years ago

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torture buddies AU if you’re in the mood for it! if not, how about Good Omens AU of Vox Machina?

On the one hand, I’m always in the mood to Angst about my boys, but THIS ALTERNATIVE IS TOO GOOD TO TURN DOWN. This is not really in the correct format but I REALLY fucking like this concept. Pitch: Scanlan hits on Pike for literally six THOUSAND years and is still totally useless when she kisses him.

“So,” the snake said, smiling at the woman in the Garden. Well, not smiling exactly, it was difficult to smile as a snake, but he was reliable informed that he was reasonably charismatic even as a reptile. He was a handsome snake, too, as snakes went, ink-black down his spine and red down his belly, with unusual eyes in a striking shade of slit-pupiled purple, and more than that he was convincing. He’d already convinced the woman all the way over to the Tree, where he was draped comfortably over the branches, and now he felt that the Tree could do most of the convincing itself. He liked the woman, liked most of what he’d seen of humans so far, and he especially liked that they didn’t seem to have much in the way of impulse control when it came to things that looked delicious. It made his job easy. “It’s just an apple,” the snake said, with a slow blink of purple eyes. “What’s the harm?”

The Angel of the Eastern Gate, newly assigned thus, recently removed from her post on Tree duty, was fidgeting. Angels weren’t really supposed to fidget, and as a rule she was both a good angel and not a fidgeter, but she couldn’t seem to stop, spinning the hilt of her sword in her hand and blinking each time the flames whipped past the face of her corporation. The humans stepped toward the Gate, the one that she would be expected to stand guard over—to keep them out, of course. To drive the humans out of the safety of the Garden, into the wide and frightening world, alone and obviously scared, without even the dubious protection of a stick to fight off anything that might be interested in eating them, or a flint to keep them warm, or—or—or anything.

This thought did not advance much further before the angel found herself moving purposefully toward the Gate, so as to intercept Adam before he reached it. The man flinched back, alarmed, and the angel managed not to titter hysterically—it was funny, really, her corporation was so much smaller than the man’s form, downright tiny in comparison, and here he was acting like she was about to smite him.

“Right,” the angel said briskly, forcing the hilt of the sword into his hand until he had to grab the thing or risk dropping it on his foot, divine fire and all. “You’d better take this, I think you’ll be needing it more than I will. There’s water to the west, that’s the way the sun sets. Um.” She glanced over at Eve. “Congratulations,” she added. “I’m told it’ll be a boy. Now, get moving.”

Two hours later, there was a storm moving in over the horizon, and the angel was standing on the wall, squinting into the distance and trying to keep her long blonde hair out of her face, when the snake slithered up to join her. One hand on her hair, the angel watched him change into a man with a suspicious frown, until he cocked his head at her, blinked a set of striking slit-pupiled purple eyes, and said, “You know, you could braid that.”

“Excuse me?”

“You could braid that,” he said, gesturing to her hair. “To keep it under control.” Then he blinked. “You’re Pike, right? The Guardian of the Gate? Where’s your sword?”

***

That was about six thousand years ago now, and now the snake—Scanlan—is getting drunk on the floor of Pike’s antique shop. This is fair enough, really, because she’s getting drunk on her couch.

“Cute kid,” Scanlan says mournfully. “Shame about the Apocalypse.”

“Yeah?” Pike asks.

“Little girl,” Scanlan says. “Lots of red—wha’d’ya call it. Hair.”

“Red is nice,” Pike says solemnly. Her own hair is starting to come out of its braid, the crown she’s laced it into every day since—a long time ago, really. She never bothers to use a miracle to keep it in place, letting it grow rumpled and wispy as she goes about her business, sometimes forgetting to take it out and rebraid it for days. She knows this bothers Scanlan immensely, because Scanlan never goes anywhere without looking immaculately mussed, the kind of affected disorder that takes care and attention to achieve. She’s careless with her hair for many reasons, mostly because she never got a taste for sleep and therefore often loses track of time, but bothering Scanlan is a bonus.

Pike sighs and says, “Shame about the Apocalypse.”

“That’s what I said,” Scanlan half-whines. “Think they’ll get you another sword?”

“Used to have a mace during the War,” Pike says wistfully. “Liked it better. Had a nice--” She makes a vague gesture and Scanlan starts snickering on the floor.

“A—a—a nice shaft,” he giggles. “Or a nice—ha—a nice ball?”

“Yeah, sure,” Pike says with another heavy sigh, and drinks more wine. Incredibly, a plan comes out of this.

Less incredibly, it is critically flawed.

In everyone’s defense, this as much the fault of Brother Tiberius at the Chattering Order as it is anyone else’s.

***

While the wrong red-haired baby goes on with her life unaware of her newly self-appointed godparents, the right red-haired baby (the Antichrist, the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Princess of This World, Mother of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness) is being doted on by her new parents, who are very nice people, if a little odd, and who name her Keyleth. Kiki, for short.

***

Eventually, it’s Keyleth’s eleventh birthday, and the error comes to light rather quickly when the hellhound doesn’t show up at the wrong baby’s party. Keyleth, however, gets a dog, a clever little dog all black and white, whom she dubs Minxie and who does everything that Keyleth says. Keyleth’s three best friends are obediently impressed with the fact that Keyleth convinced her father to let her keep the dog, and Vex is especially pleased with the fact that Minxie, in addition to Vex’s enormous wolfhound Trinket and Percy’s family’s greyhound Orthax, brings their pack of hounds to three. Vax is mostly pleased that Minxie is small enough to be sneaky.

The newly named hellhound looks away from her adoration of her mistress, considers the two entirely mortal, much larger dogs she’s expected to play with, and decides that she seems to have gotten the short end of the stick. She was expecting something more...apocalyptic. On the other hand, her new mistress manages to find a tennis ball, so maybe it’s not so bad.

***

Down the street, Allura Vysoren, Professional Descendant and Witch, is trying to unravel her ancestor’s prophecies, and would very much like to know who the witchfinder she’s supposed to marry is. In the city, Kima Vord has no idea that she’s supposed to marry a professional descendant at all, and she’s pretty sure that the man hiring her as a “witchfinder” is a bona fide lunatic. Viktor certainly acts like one. But also no one wants to hire a four-foot-ten woman as a bouncer, which is really what she’s good at, and she recently lost her fifth job in eight months, so. Witchfinding it is. At least it gets her out of the house.

***

The world’s biggest, most cheerful delivery man is being given three packages and a message. Grog likes his work. He gets to travel to new places, meet new people, get in bar fights at new bars against those new people in those new places. So, sure, he’ll deliver a sword and a crown and some scales. He’s just happy to help, really.

#critical role #good omens #vox machina #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #starlight writes stuff #ask meme #headcanon meme #long post #i am so sorry to everyone the readmore is not working so i have to post this all together #i normally try not to because it's...long and i feel bad but also it's 3 am and i don't know why the readmore is broken #I BARELY REMEMBER WRITING THIS #I WENT INTO A FUGUE STATE AND WROTE THIS VERY FAST #I HAVE NO IDEA IF THIS HAS EVEN A PASSING RESEMBLANCE TO THE STRUCTURE OF THIS ASK MEME #BUT LISTEN #I'M RIDICULOUSLY INVESTED IN THIS PIKELAN 6000 YEAR SLOWBURN #also hey listen keyleth as the antichrist is like...one of my better ideas!!!#she's trying to save the world!!!#she's trying to fix everything!!!#she's also terrifying!!!#i'm so thrilled with this you've got no idea #i'm sorry to torture-buddies-block you effy but THIS CONCEPT!!!!!#anyway i really want percy to be war because...guns #that's it that's my logic #obviously vex is famine because she's always starving for validation #i do not have as good logic for vax as pollution but he's just not as much a good fit for war and vex is OBVIOUSLY famine #also idk let these kids have lots of dogs #that is all

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gretavanfleetposts · 3 years ago

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An Indecent Proposal

Author’s Note ⭐: I’ve never written anything like this before so please go easy on me. A big thanks to @obetrolncocktails and @hyperfixated-gvf for all of the advice they gave me! This was for this ask so I hope you enjoy! (Also, for the record, Frodo was hot and yes, this is relevant) (Also also, I'm tagging @greta-flanveet and @streamsofstardust because they specifically asked. So I hope this isn't a huge disappointment lol)

Edit: This now has an alternate ending here!

Content Warnings: drinking, marijuana use, swearing, sexual content (18+, minors please please do not interact)

Category: smut

Word Count: 15k (I know, it’s a novel)

You always seemed to find yourself in interesting situations when the boys were involved. This particular situation, however, took the cake. By a long shot.

It always started the same, with a bad idea that was just a little too enticing to pass up. Suffice to say, over your many years of friendship with the boys, you’d heard each throw plenty of bad ideas out into the atmosphere. And as it just so happened, many of those bad ideas stuck their landing.

Tonight’s bad idea was the product of a tequila-laden fight amongst the band members you’d grown close with over the years. The five of you were gathered around Sam’s kitchen island, watching as he made a fresh batch of margaritas that were less margarita and more just tequila with a splash of lime. Regardless, you were drinking happily, an bystander to the argument the boys were having over who the groupies wanted to fuck most in the band; not an uncommon topic when they were tipsy and feeling competitive.

“I just feel like, as the only member of the band who doesn’t resemble a character from Lord of the Rings, I’m what women want,” Danny said to the group. He had just downed his fifth drink and was feeling a bit more bold than his sober self.

Sam was prodding his cheeks with his fingertips, abandoning his task of finishing the margaritas to immerse himself fully in the argument. “Shut up, Daniel. I’m the one with the perfect bone structure.”

“First of all,” Josh began, “everyone likes the Lord of the Rings-” He was practically talking to himself at that point as the volume of the others arguing over him drowned him out.

“How is this even a question when I’m literally in the band?” Jake asked incredulously. You always admired his overconfident attitude. It was a surprisingly good look on him.

“Obviously I’m Frodo and Frodo had a lot of sex appeal. We all saw him at the top of Mount Doom…” Josh was still monologuing about Danny’s Lord of the Rings comment when Jake cut him off.

“No one wants to fuck Frodo, Josh.”

“I’m also the frontman, for god’s sake, and that’s what women really want. They want to fuck the frontman…” Josh trailed off again.

Sam’s voice cut through the noise to insult his brother. “You hardly even do anything in the band.”

“I do more than all of you, Sam.”

“I don’t know, have you guys seen my biceps lately?” Danny was now flexing where he stood at the counter.

“Oh big deal, you can lift things,” Sam said, punctuating it with an eye roll.

“I’m just saying, they don’t call me Demolition Dan for nothing.”

“Just ask y/n,” Josh suggested, pushing his way back into the conversation loudly. “I bet she’d want to fuck the frontman.”

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to get you to go to bat for him and started with a condescending tone. “I’m sure everybody wants to fuck you all an equal amount-” It was the collective groans that cut you off.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Sam interjected. “Everyone knows I’m the best in bed anyway. Once they get a taste of the Samster, there’s no going back.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone who calls themself ‘the Samster’ can claim to be good in bed,” Danny teased, your laugh earning daggers from Sam’s eyes.

“Well I don’t know how good Frodo was in bed but-”

“Josh, for the last time, no one wants to fuck Frodo.” Jake tried to cut him off but Josh couldn’t be deterred this time.

“But I’m definitely better than the Samster; I’ve had way more practice.”

“There is absolutely no way that is true,” Sam countered with a flat tone.

“It’s cute that you guys are acting like it isn’t obvious I’m the best in bed.” There was Jake with his cockiness again.

“I’m surprised you’ve ever set your guitar down long enough to have sex.” You loved seeing Danny go toe-to-toe with the Kiszkas. He knew how to keep up.

“Yeah, the Les Paul doesn’t count, Jacob,” Josh added.

“I’m the best and we all know it. Tell ‘em, y/n.” Jake paused and looked at you expectantly, a flirtatious look in his eye that caused Sam to snicker to himself. You and Jake had never technically had sex although the look in his eye was heavily alluding to a particular night where things did get a bit…heated.

You tried to hide any sort of reaction and stared back blankly for a moment before you were confident enough in your voice to speak. “Well, I don’t really have anything to contribute here, probably on account of the fact that I’ve never had sex with any of you. So. Not really sure I have the necessary background knowledge to weigh in here, ya know?”

It was a decent cover. It stopped Sam’s snickering, at least. “She’s right. Everyone call someone they’ve had sex with. We’re resolving this.”

He was already pulling his phone out of his pocket when Danny reached over and took it from his hand.

“Nope,” he said flatly. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Well how do you propose we resolve this then, Daniel?” His name sounded almost like an accusation.

"Easy, you just all have to sleep with the same person. Then have them tell you who's the best in bed," you chimed in.

Okay so maybe it had been your bad idea this time.

Silence fell over the four boys surrounding you as they each put a bit too much consideration into your idea.

“Oh my god, that wasn’t a real suggestion. Please don’t do that,” you added. But it was too late. There was your idea, floating around in the air. And it was about to stick it’s landing.

Sam was the first to give you a suggestive look, all but announcing his thoughts to the room.

"Not me," you clarified before him, or anyone else for that matter, had the chance to actually voice the suggestion.

“No, no, I think you’re on to something. Maybe you should volunteer.” He had a downright devilish grin on his face and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t send a tinge of heat through your stomach.

But you protested anyway. "I just said not me."

“Well we can’t exactly have sex with a random person. They’d have to sign so much shit,” Jake replied in a matter-of-fact tone as if that was obvious.

“Here’s a better idea,” you started, trying to correct the course you had just sent everyone down. “Just don’t do it?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Sam asked with a seemingly lighthearted smile that you didn’t buy for a second.

“You’re all seriously asking me to sleep with each of you so you can determine who is the best in bed? We’re all hearing this correctly?”

It sounded ridiculous to say it out loud like that but the boys didn’t seem to notice as they glanced around at each other, somewhat hesitant at first but then growing in confidence as none of them were met with any objections.

It was Josh that spoke up to answer your question. “Yeah, I think we’re all on the same page here,” he said with an all-too nonchalant nod.

If you were being truly honest with yourself, you weren’t totally opposed to going to bed with any of them. Sure, you were friends and only friends with each of them. But there had been moments over the years where lines were tiptoed. Or, at the very least, eyed.

Like the time Sam had asked you to attend a wedding with him and pretend to be his date. He was trying to make a specific girl jealous and, being the good friend you were, you promised to really sell it. At some point in the night you got the idea to kiss him on the dance floor while she was watching over her shoulder. And so you did. You leaned up on your tiptoes, took him by the shirt collar, and planted one on him. And when you pulled back, you were surprised to see a darker look in his eyes, one that suggested he was going after the wrong girl that night. It had left you in a puddle of nerves, the way he had looked at you. But the plan worked and he eventually took the other girl home.

Or the time you and Josh got high together and fell asleep on his living room floor. Getting together with Josh and smoking and talking the night away was not an uncommon occurrence for the two of you, No. And it wasn't even uncommon for Josh to spend a good portion of the night telling you how much he loved you and how happy he was to have you in his life. But that night you were more emotional than normal, having just broken up with your boyfriend at the time, and Josh had tried to make the night extra special. He had set out pillows and blankets all over the floor and prepared a chocolate fondue pot, your favorite guilty pleasure. The two of you smoked, ate way too many chocolate-dipped strawberries, and eventually fell asleep on the pile of blankets set out on his living room floor. When you woke up the next morning, you were entangled in him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, your leg draped over his hip, and his arms wrapped tightly around you. And for a brief moment you had tilted your chin upward to watch him sleep peacefully, clinging to you like his life depended on it. It had sent butterflies flitting about your chest.

There was also the time you were rummaging around in Danny's room looking for a necklace he had borrowed and never given back. You were busy combing through trinket boxes on his dresser when he entered the room, unaware that you were there and fresh out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel hooked dangerously low around his hips. You had quickly turned and started to apologize but your words got caught in your throat as your eyes traveled to his glistening torso and then down to the muscular lines stretching from his hips and dipping below the towel. He had been frozen in place, too, a blush creeping into his cheeks at the way you undressed him with your eyes, and by the time you regained your ability to move and speak, you found yourself in the hallway outside his room, unreasonably hot and out of breath.

And then there was the one moment in particular where lines had been practically tripped over in your eagerness to cross them. You referred to it as The Jake Incident, although you really only referred to it as that in your head because neither you nor Jake had ever brought it up after it happened. You and Jake had made it a habit to have monthly music nights where you would go thrifting for records, go back to one of your places, and drink and listen for the rest of the night. It usually ended with one of you passed out on the other's couch at 5am. That particular night, however, things had taken a turn. Maybe the music had just spoken to you. Or more likely it was the whiskey buzzing through you. Regardless, at some point in the night, his lips had found yours, drunken and feverish, and Sam had walked in on a scene of the two of you in various states of undress, making out on Jake's couch. The two of you never spoke of it. And surprisingly, neither did Sam.

But to even entertain the idea of sleeping with all of them, and just so one of them could gloat about their dick game, no less. That was beyond ridiculous.

Right?

"I mean, I’m not considering it," you started, hesitantly. And you weren't considering it.

Well, maybe you were. "But say, hypothetically, I did agree. There would have to be rules."

"Absolutely," Josh nodded in agreement.

"I'm not doing anything...weird," you continued, stumbling over the articulation of your own thoughts which were traveling faster than the alcohol would allow you to process them.

"Define weird," Jake asked, his words dripping with an air of indecency that only you could hear.

You shook your head in an attempt to organize your thoughts. "I just mean if I'm ever going to look you all in the eyes again, it can't be anything too...scandalous."

"I think the whole thing might be scandalous, baby." Jake often called you baby. In fact, they all had their little pet names for you. But you could certainly rank them based on the effect they had on you and Jake's was at the top.

"Shut up, you know what I'm trying to say." You were still trying not to give yourself away but you could tell you were failing miserably. Still, you pressed on. "Also, I couldn’t just walk into a room and have sex with each of you back to back. I would need, like, at least a week in between so I didn’t feel insanely bad about myself. And maybe a little bit of romance to make it feel believable, too."

"Well, we could each take you on a little date beforehand. That way it felt more natural and comfortable," Danny chimed in.

You nodded lightly in approval of the idea. You couldn't believe you were seriously considering it but it had its appeal, as those bad ideas usually did. Not to mention, the alcohol probably did a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of convincing you.

Still, you waited several moments before voicing your agreement, not wanting to give the boys the satisfaction of knowing how easy it was to get you to say yes.

“I cannot believe I’m saying this but…what the hell. I’ll do it.”

No one really said anything but you could see the smug smile written very clearly on Sam and Jake's faces and you could only begin to guess what they were each thinking. So you continued in an effort to ignore them and their cockiness.

“About the order; it doesn't really make a difference, I suppose, but Jake goes last." He certainly deserved to suffer a little after practically jumping you that night over a year ago and then never bringing it up again.

"Maybe I want to be the first, baby," he objected but he seemed far too amused for you to take it as a serious protest.

"Too bad, so sad," was all you said as you downed the remainder of your drink.

He laughed at the short response. Some of it was probably directed at your demeanor, too. "Spoken like a true poet"

"Sorry I'm not being very eloquent right now; it's not everyday I get such an indecent proposal."

Sam had resumed his margarita-making and the boys began refilling their drinks, preparing to hash out all of the little details.

“Okay final rule," you added as you poured yourself a fresh glass of margarita on the rocks. "Absolutely no discussing me between any of you. This is strictly about you guys, not me. So no swapping stories.”

Each of the boys nodded and soon Sam and Josh were fighting over who got to go first. You sipped on your drink and watched, again feeling like a bystander the way you had earlier in the night, but this time the winner of the argument actually had an impact on your life. And out of the corner of your eye, you caught Jake staring at you, an amused smile still stretched across his face as he casually sipped on his own drink. It started a fire in the pit of your stomach and yet, at the same time, had you wondering what you had just agreed to.

“If this ruins my friendship with all of you, I swear to god I will be so mad."

Week One: Sam

In hindsight, agreeing to let Sam go first might have been a mistake. Sure, he was silly and lighthearted most of the time. But when he got that specific glimmer in his eye, the one he had given you that day at the wedding after you kissed him, a spark of deeply intense desire laced with a hint of mischief, it left you drowning in nerves.

And it certainly wasn’t any different this time around, exacerbated by the fact that you knew what was to come at the end of the night.

At least you’d have some time to just hang out with Sam first, although doing what you weren’t sure because he insisted on keeping his date a surprise. The only information he gave you was what time he wanted you to show up at his house.

As you walked up the steps to his front door, you allowed yourself a moment, taking a deep breath in an attempt to prepare yourself for the night ahead of you. Part of you imagined opening the front door only to find a naked Sam lying on a fur rug just inside the doorway, patting the spot next to him, beckoning you to join him. The image made you laugh. That was exactly the kind of thing he would do in this situation.

Finally finding your courage, you knocked lightly on the door. Under different circumstances, you would have just waltzed right in without so much as a knock to let him know you had arrived. But for some reason that felt wrong in this situation. God, you really needed to relax.

Just then the door swung open and there was Sam standing on the other side, fully clothed, no fur rug in sight, and accessorizing with a wide grin.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Ready to fuck?"

His cold open caught you off guard and you must have had shock written all over your face because he laughed at your reaction.

“I’m just kidding, y/n. God, you really need to relax,” he said, shooting you a wink that did nothing to calm your nerves.

Yeah, you really shouldn’t have agreed to let him go first.

Sam led you into his home, taking your coat and your purse for you before taking your hand and directing you toward the kitchen. You were slightly taken aback by the state of it. Numerous ingredients were arranged on his island, along with an assortment of mixing bowls, spoons, and various other gadgets that he had clearly gone out and bought earlier that day as they sat unopened on the marble countertop.

“I thought we could have a little baking competition,” he said cheerfully, the grin he wore from earlier still resting comfortably on his face. “It’ll be like a damn romcom in here.”

Excitement replaced your anxiety as the night was beginning to feel normal. “That sounds perfect,” you said smiling back at him. And then, “I am so going to beat you, Kiszka.”

—

An hour later, you and Sam each found yourselves furiously whisking the runny contents of the pre-baked desserts you were attempting to make. The counter, which was at one point neatly organized, was now a disaster, flour and sugar and a concoction of other ingredients spilled over a good spanse of the marble.

Sam had flour on his nose and cheeks and you definitely had a floury handprint on the back of your jeans, a product of Sam’s flirtations. The Hozier album playing in the background and the cocktail you were sipping on, Sam’s own creation, made the night go down smoother. You couldn’t rule out Sam’s coquettish advances either. He had a habit of being flirty, among other things, but in a way that put you at ease.

“Here’s a question for you," you said, dipping a finger into your bowl to taste your batter. "How exactly are we going to determine whose dessert is the best? We both know we’ll each just pick our own". The boys were definitely competitive but so were you. Maybe that was part of the reason you got along with them so well. You could relate to their antics. Clearly.

“Well, I was kinda thinking mine would just be so much better that you’d have no choice but to vote for me?”

You couldn’t help but hear the double meaning in what he was saying and you wondered to yourself for a moment if he had heard it too. Of course he had heard it; he had to have. Sam may have been the goofiest of the group but he wasn’t stupid. So you decided to play along.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming it’ll be the best?” It was more of a statement than a question.

He set his whisk down and turned to look you in the eye when he responded, and his reply all but confirmed your suspicions of the double meaning behind the conversation. “Y/n, I intend for this to be the best dessert you’ve ever had.”

You paused your whisking for a moment to meet his eyes before feeling your nerves begin to bubble up inside of you again. As you felt the butterflies rise in your chest, your eyes fell back to the bowl in your hands and you grabbed a cake pan to begin pouring batter, desperately clinging to the distraction instead of Sam’s eyes.

“Well, you might have some stiff competition,” you said as you spooned the last of the mixture into the pan and hoisted yourself up onto the counter to sit and wait for the oven to inform you it was finished preheating.

He laughed at your choice of phrasing with a light “Yeah, I bet,” but went back to his own whisking.

When the oven finally beeped, he poured his own batter into a tin and placed both his and yours in the oven, setting the timer, downing the rest of his drink, and turning around to face you from where you sat on the counter opposite him.

“We have an hour,” he said as he leaned back against the opposite counter. The look on his face was almost too mischievous, even for him.

You were unable to meet his gaze, not out of fear of what you would see but out of fear of what he would because beneath the nerves and the anticipation was his best friend, possibly way too into the idea of having sex with him and each of his bandmates, two of which were his brothers no less. How could he look you in the eyes and be okay seeing that? Especially after what he had seen you and Jake doing.

His response drifted to you from across the space separating you and it was as if he had been reading your thoughts. “Ya know, it’s okay if you don’t want to do this.” He paused for a brief second before adding, “And it’s also okay if you do.”

You watched your heels as they absentmindedly kicked against the cupboards behind them. “Do you want to do this?” you asked, trying to gauge his level of enthusiasm against your own.

He took a step forward, seemingly hesitant to reach out and touch you the way he so desperately wanted to.

“Yes, y/n, I want to do this.” He took another step forward before asking, “Do you?”

When you finally met his eyes, they were overflowing with that look you had been both nervously avoiding and yet eagerly awaiting all night. And you were instantly immersed in it, in him. Again you thought about the kiss at the wedding, the kiss you had initiated, the kiss that, despite the tingling it disturbed in your stomach, did nothing to disrupt the normalcy between you and Sam. The thought of it helped you make your mind up. And so you nodded.

Slowly he closed the distance between you and settled between your legs dangling off the edge of the counter. His eyes were trying desperately to read your face as his hands traveled with hesitance to your thighs. You could feel the heat from his palms through your jeans. You knew he was testing the waters, trying to avoid scaring you off by going too fast, and slowly he moved his body closer to yours.

In spite of the tingling you now felt in your fingers and hands, you reached up to lightly grip his shirt and pulled him into you as his hold on your thighs edged upward and tightened ever so slightly. The closer his mouth got to yours, the more his breathing picked up. And you were right there with him, losing your breath at the thought of his lips touching yours.

His gaze dipped to your lips then flickered back up to your eyes as if he was making sure you were still within his reach. And when he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“Just say stop if you want me to stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop. No part of you did. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, wanted to feel the heat radiating off his skin into you, you wanted to know what it was like to unravel with him. So you stayed silent and instead, pulled him harder into you by your grip on his shirt. And finally his lips met yours in a slow and careful kiss.

It only lasted a few seconds before he pulled back as quickly as you had pulled him in but his breath was coming hard and fast as if he had been without air for several minutes. And if you had been able to focus on your own breathing, you would have heard the same sound coming from your lungs; as if you had each run a marathon.

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly trying to calculate his next move, before he made up his mind and leaned back in, his lips colliding with yours in a fiery heat, the likes of which you hadn’t felt in a while.

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you off the counter and into his body. His left hand stayed in its place there as his right traveled up your back, between your shoulder blades, and finally found the back of your neck, holding you close as he deepened the kiss.

His mouth was hungry against yours and it left you wanting more. You wanted to taste him, to feel every inch of him against you. You didn’t care that you were waltzing across a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. The only thing you were focused on was the way his body felt against yours.

You felt him pulling you away from the countertop as his mouth still worked against yours. Blindly he led you backwards, using one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you pressed firmly against him and the other to feel for the familiar walls that lead to his bedroom, before you finally made it to your destination.

Once inside, his fingers found the hem of your sweater and seemingly found your nerves at the same time because your hand reached for his wrist to stop him, somewhat involuntarily.

“I’m sorry, did I go too far?” he asked, voice laced with concern.

You stared up at him for a moment, breathing still heavy, and did your best to steady yourself before taking a step back to gather yourself and giving him a very matter-of-fact look as you began to strip in front of him.

You pulled your sweater over your head first then worked on your jeans, Sam’s eyes never once leaving your body. And when you were left in just your bra and panties, he approached you again, letting his eyes roam over your exposed skin instead of his hands.

It made you smile, the thought of him not wanting to be the one to push too hard, like he was waiting for you to initiate the touch. So you reached for his hand and placed it on your lace-covered breast, encouraging him to move closer and do the same with his other hand.

You had opted for a lacy, powder blue matching set that, in all honesty, felt a bit shameful to put on. After all, what were you supposed to wear to a prearranged, purely-for-research booty call with one of your best friends? Surely something sexy.

“You dressed up for me,” he breathed.

“Well, I wanted to make a good first impression," you said, hoping you weren't making too big a deal of it.

“You’re driving me crazy, pretty girl. I’d say that’s a good first impression.”

He let his fingers admire the lace, slipping two under the strap of your bra and following the elastic from your shoulder down to where it met the cup. He was enthralled.

Your hands began tugging at his shirt while his head was still spinning at the image of you wearing nothing but lingerie and standing in his bedroom, signaling for him to match your level of nakedness. And he obliged, grabbing his shirt from between his shoulder blades and pulling it up over his head, tossing it somewhere on his bedroom floor where it would be forgotten. At the same time, your fingers were working on the button and zipper of his jeans and once he had discarded his shirt, he helped you work them down to his ankles and off his legs, leaving him in a similar state of undress as you, the only article of clothing left on his body being a pair of tight boxer briefs with sharks all over them. Your giggle was stifled by his mouth once again fitting against yours.

Holding you closer to him, he turned so he was walking backward this time, until his thighs hit the foot of the bed and he sat down. His grip on your waist pulled you into his lap and you straddled him, entangling your hands in his hair and using his moan as an opportunity to push your tongue past his lips. The feeling of him growing hard beneath you, the way he tasted of tequila and lime, the way his hands worked over your skin, fingers digging in to get a better grip so as not to lose you, it all spurred you on.

His lips moved across your cheek and he began peppering your jawline and neck with open-mouthed kisses while his fingers reached down into the space between you to gently rub the pad of his thumb over your lace-covered clit. Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling and without even realizing it, your hips had begun to lift into his touch, desperate for more.

He paused his kissing but kept his finger moving as he spoke, his voice coming out breathlessly.

“Just for the record, that girl from the wedding didn’t hold a candle to you.”

It was a conscious effort to push past the sensations of his breath hot against your neck and the light teasing of his thumb to reply.

“Just take your boxers off, Sam.” It was punctuated by a light laugh that came out shaky due to your state but he did as he was told, nonetheless, and lifted his hips up, allowing you to pull his boxer briefs down. And in a moment, he had slipped two fingers around the lace separating you from him, pulled it to the side, and guided you down onto him by your hips. The moan that escaped your mouth as you felt him fill you was obscene and you would have been embarrassed by it if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feeling of him inside of you.

Pushing him back onto the bed, you used your grip in his hair as leverage to raise your hips, almost pulling off of him completely, before pushing back down on him, taking him fully to the hilt. His breath hitched in his throat at the feeling of being deeply seated within you and you could tell he was fighting to keep his eyes open as you repeated the action, slowly building into a rhythm that was agonizing and doing less to propel your forward as it was making your mouth water for more.

“I should have known you were a tease,” he practically gasped beneath you.

“Oh please, all you do is tease,” you retorted, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

He huffed an exasperated laugh, fighting to contain the groan building in his throat as you continued your almost-leisurely actions, when finally he had had enough of your teasing.

“I can’t take this anymore, y/n.” He took over then, grabbing your hips forcefully and setting a much faster pace, one that he kept up by meeting your hips with his own movements. It took the smugness right out of you as he thrusted upwards while simultaneously bringing you down on him, like he had a goal. And the way his cock was brushing perfectly against that spot deep inside of you that made your toes clench, he was sprinting toward that goal.

“Oh my god, Sam, right there,” you gasped, no longer in control of the situation, giving in to the feeling of his hips snapping up into yours.

“Does that feel good, pretty girl?” His dominant side was clearly taking over and all you could do was nod in response as you fell apart on top of him.

“Come on, beautiful, use your words,” he urged, slowing his pace while he waited for you to give him what he wanted.

“Yes, fuck, it feels so good. Just please, keep going.” Your voice did nothing to hide your desperation and that seemed to be exactly what he was looking for because soon the breath was pushed out of your throat by the force of him flipping you over onto your back and with his new position on top, he continued thrusting into you like nothing had happened.

His left hand reached down to pull your knee up and hitch it around his torso as the other frantically searched for a grip on the headboard, leverage for him to set an even more brutal pace. With each thrust, his tip grazed your g-spot deliciously and you felt your impending orgasm building within you.

And he must have been able to tell by the way your walls began contracting around him that you were close because he reached up to wrap his free hand around your throat, applying pressure to the sides with his fingertips and restricting the blood flow to your head as he whispered from above you, “That’s it, pretty girl, cum for me.”

And all at once, as if in one dizzying crescendo, your back arched off the mattress as your orgasm rocketed through your body, the oven timer beeping lost somewhere in the background. Obscenities dripped from Sam’s mouth and his eyes rolled back as he finished seconds later, slowing his pace to ride through his own orgasm before he collapsed on top of you, a panting mess.

After a moment, he rolled off of you and together, the two of you stared up at the ceiling while you each caught your breath.

“I think the cake’s done,” Sam said.

—

“Mine is way better,” you said, digging your fork into the cake you had made earlier in the night.

Sam was perched on the dining table next to where you sat in your chair, a plate of his own cake, slightly burnt compared to yours, in his hand.

“Yours isn’t even good,” Sam replied, choking down another bite of his.

“Yours is literally burnt,” you rebutted, gesturing to the dark bits on his cake.

“Yeah because it stayed in the oven for too long.”

“Well whose fault is that?”

“Um, I’d say mostly yours because I was waiting for you to orgasm.”

You rolled your eyes in his direction and continued eating your cake.

Week Two: Josh

“One down, three to go,” you thought as you stared at yourself in the mirror, getting ready to go to Josh’s place for the night. Your evening with Sam a week prior had gone different than expected. Maybe a little better than you had imagined. And in the days that followed, Sam was totally normal around you, much to your relief.

“Sometimes friends sleep with each other. No big deal.” That was what you kept telling yourself. And you had to admit, it made the thought of going to Josh’s house that night a lot less nerve-wracking. Although you anticipated the dynamic with Josh would be a little different.

You and Josh were close in a different way than could be said for you and Sam. Sure, Josh was flirty too. But Josh was also a bit more genuine with you. You knew how much you meant to him and that your friendship was no small thing to him. It was no small thing to you, either. And as you got dressed and ready for the night ahead, you silently wondered if it would feel the same as it had that morning you woke up in his arms.

When you arrived at Josh’s later that evening and you first gazed upon him as he opened the door, it was clear by the lines creasing his forehead that he was just as nervous as you were, maybe more. You wanted to reach out and touch him to soothe him. You wanted to tell him to forget the little situation you had gotten yourselves into, that the two of you would just spend a normal night together, talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company the way you usually did.

“Hey there, mama,” he said with a smile, attempting to mask what he was feeling.

You gave him a soft smile back. “Hey there, Joshy.”

It was the nickname that seemed to put him at ease as he led you through his house and into the living room.

“Please tell me we’re not watching Lord of the Rings,” you teased, trying to lighten the tension that was palpable in the room.

He laughed and smiled wide but shook his head. “No, no. Something a little more romantic, I hope.”

There were two pillows arranged on the floor on opposite sides of his coffee table. Candles adorned most of the surfaces in the room and a Fleet Foxes record spun softly in the background. A bottle of wine sat perched atop ice in a metal bucket at the end of the small table and in the center there was a bubbling pot of chocolate being warmed by an electric burner. Small plates of assorted fruits sat around it and two empty wine glasses marked the places for each of you.

“I wanted to recreate that night we spent together,” he said, gesturing to the setup with his arms wide.

You could feel the excitement bubbling up inside you. “Does that mean you have weed, too?”

He turned to smile at you. “It sure does, mama.”

—

You and Josh were about halfway through the pot of chocolate on the table, both of you considerably crossfaded given the weed and wine. It was quite the sleepy combination but you had never felt more relaxed. And you’d never felt more giggly, either.

“Who was that guy you had just broken up with the last time we did this?” Josh asked, moving from his seat on the floor to the couch as he lit up a second joint between his teeth.

You, on the other hand, opted to lie back on the floor and stare up at the ceiling as you talked. “His name was Bryan. You don’t remember him?”

“Oh I remember him,” he said with a huff, blowing smoke into the room. “That guy was so bland.”

“God, so bland,” you agreed in a fit of giggles.

You thought for a moment about that poor guy you had dated. He was nice enough but he was nothing close to what you wanted. You needed a little more adventure, a little more excitement. Better sex, at the very least.

“You guys have forever ruined everyone for me,” you continued in a more serious tone, thinking about how no one had really ever lived up to any of the boys. Nothing ever worked out because a part of you, buried deep inside you, knew that it had to be one of them.

“Is it our god-like looks or the fact that we’re in a band?” he asked in a conceited and joking manner that sent you into another bout of giggles.

“I think it was both actually. No one is quite as talented or as pretty as you four.”

You could tell he was smiling even without seeing him. “You’re not so bad yourself, mama.”

His response made you laugh. “‘Not so bad’, what a terrible compliment.”

It was his turn to fall into a fit of laughter. “I think you’re pretty, y/n. How’s that?” he asked, trying to contain his own laughter.

“Much better, Joshy.”

You could hear him take another puff of the joint in his hand before he added, in a more serious tone, “Of course I think you’re pretty. We all do.”

You lost a bit of your ease with those last few words. “We all do.” It tied your stomach in knots hearing those words come out of his mouth and to avoid giving too much of yourself away in that moment, you gave him a simple, “Well good.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you marinated in the heat rising in the room before you finally spoke again.

“He never even made me cum.”

“Bryan?”

“Yeah.”

“Well that makes sense. He wasn’t in a band.”

You would have laughed if it weren’t for the fact that the unspoken conversation had shifted to a much more serious mood, one laced with substance-fueled desire.

“Are you going to make me cum?” There was no going back now.

“Yes.” He said it so matter-of-factly and the single word sent goosebumps across your skin. And then he added, “But I'm not going to pressure you. I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

“If we don’t do anything, then I’ll just have had sex with Sam and he will never let me forget that.”

He laughed at your reasoning. “I would never make you suffer that fate. He can be quite insufferable”

“Thank you.”

You laid there on the floor for another moment, letting the silence wash over you again while you found your courage. And once you did, you stood and made your way over to where he sat on the couch. He never took his eyes off you as you slowly, and carefully, moved into his lap.

He still had the joint in his hand and he brought it up to his lips to take another drag as you settled your legs over his thighs. Pressing his hand against the small of your back to hold you in place, he leaned forward to set the joint down on the ashtray sitting on the coffee table, holding the smoke in his mouth until he straightened back up. With his eyes still locked on yours, he let the smoke float out of his mouth as he zigzagged his jaw back and forth once. It was something that he often did when smoking or vaping and it never failed to drive you over the edge with lust.

He was still looking up at you with caution visible in his expression but his hands found your thighs nonetheless. Your breath shook as it escaped you and for a moment you wondered when the nerves had set in. Probably somewhere in between him promising he was going to make you cum and the position you were now in.

Using your hand on the side of his neck and your thumb under his jaw, you gently pushed his chin upward so that the back of his head rested comfortably on the back of the couch, giving him a perfect view of your face hovering close to his from your position on top of him. Despite the tinge of uncertainty in his eyes, his skin was hot to the touch and the vein protruding from his neck suggested he was exerting himself.

You rarely saw him this way. Josh was always so confident and you hated to see him unsure of his actions, waiting with baited breath for someone else to make a move. You longed to put him out of the misery he dwelled in as irresolution burned his lungs and numbed his fingertips. So carefully, you leaned in, never averting your eyes as your face pulled closer and closer to his. Finally your eyes fell to his lips as you closed the last of the distance and you could hear him hum a relieved sigh against your mouth.

The kiss was warm and inviting, just like Josh. Just like you knew it would be. It relaxed the tension in your body and you sighed in response, allowing yourself to fall into him with contentment. He took this as a sign to deepen the kiss, lifting his head up ever so slightly to catch your mouth again, this time with more fervency and intention behind the action.

Your wandering hand found his cheek as you kissed and gradually, both of your hands made their way into his hair, your fingers curling into his plush brown locks and finding a firm hold that earned the softest of moans from Josh.

It wasn’t a sound you had ever heard before and suddenly you were captivated by the thought of hearing it again, giving his hair a firmer tug in search of it. A louder moan fell from Josh’s lips that time and you could feel him growing hard beneath you, his hands beginning to roam your body.

Your head fell backward as his lips traveled from yours down your neck and across your chest, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin above your breasts. His fingers found the tie of your wrap dress and once the bow had been freed, you helped him by shirking the dress off your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground in a puddle of silky fabric.

With one hand he held you in place at the hip, allowing himself a moment to in the sight of you. He let his eyes linger for a moment over every inch of your exposed skin. It felt practically indecent and you drank it up.

As you sat back on his thighs, you took the opportunity to lift his shirt up over his head, exposing his smooth, tanned chest. You let your hands feel around as you leaned into him to connect your lips again, letting your tongue glide against his bottom lip before he opened his mouth for you. And you felt his sharp inhale as your fingertips danced down along his happy trail.

When you felt the hem of his pants, you began working on the tie as he unclasped your bra and let his mouth wander further down your chest. He kissed and sucked the sensitive skin around your left breast as he massaged your right in his hand and it took all of your focus to work on the task of removing his pants.

Finally he lifted his hips to help you slide his pants and boxers down and you stole yourself a moment to gaze down at him. Josh was nothing short of beautiful and for a second you wondered how you had even ended up here, with him like this.

You stood to remove your own bottoms, finally meeting him in a similar state of undress, and then you found your place on his lap again. Keeping your eyes fixed on his, you took him in your hand, gave him a few pumps, then lined him up at your entrance. When you finally sank down onto him, his head fell back at the feeling.

“Fuck, mama,” he breathed.

Your right hand reached up to his neck again and your left moved back into his tousled curls, practically wrapping yourself around his frame as you began to bounce on his lap. His own hands found your hips and helped guide your rhythm.

The noises falling from his lips were obscene and they spurred you on, encouraging you to move your hips faster. And soon he was matching your movements, thrusting up into you, reaching deeper inside you and making your eyes water at the sensation. He fought to keep his eyes open and fixed on you, not wanting to miss a single image of you, face flushed with pleasure from the sensation of his cock plunging deep inside of you.

The sight beneath you was one to behold, too. You'd only ever seen him like this on stage, a product of the music flowing through him. But this? Now? It was all because of you.

His head was thrown back, accentuating his neck which was covered in a sheen of sweat. At a particularly hard thrust, his mouth fell open with a gasp and his eyes rolled back into his head. He was falling apart beneath you.

But suddenly he seemed to collect himself ever so slightly, wrapping one arm around your waist and letting the other travel up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. He guided you down onto him with more force, setting a much quicker, much harsher pace.

“Fuck, Josh, yes.” The words tumbled out of your mouth and all at once you were shot close to the finish line, his name now repeatedly falling from your mouth as the first waves of pleasure began to wash through you.

“Let go for me, mama,” he encouraged with a whisper and with a few more thrusts, the wake of your orgasm crashed through you, followed soon after by his own release as he moaned your name into your neck.

You slowed the movement of your hips as you both came down from your high, before halting altogether and resting your cheek against the side of his face as you caught your breath. You could still smell the weed in his hair, still taste the wine on your own tongue. It was a dizzying concoction.

He pulled away from you again and your skin mourned the loss of his warmth but when his eyes found yours, he was wearing a smile.

“I told you I’d make you cum,” he said, sending you both into uncontrollable giggles.

Week Three: Danny

One week later, you found yourself standing in front of Danny’s front door, your hand hovering over the doorbell. Your night with Josh had felt easy, much to your surprise, but your feelings for Danny pushed a little further into the lust category than they did for the two previous boys.

Danny had planned a night of at-home wine tasting in his cozy kitchen and you were trying not to let your nerves overshadow the fun you knew the two of you would have together. But it would take a glass or two to stop your hands shaking.

Danny’s kitchen was well-adorned with plants, already giving it a ‘vineyard’ feel. But when you entered this time, he had pulled out all of the dim lighting he could to set the mood. He had even set up his record player in a small nook of the kitchen so you could listen as you drank.

He let you pick the record and for his amusement, you chose The Battle at Garden’s Gate, not exactly the quietest album for the evening but it made him chuckle nonetheless and the sound radiated through you like the warmth of the sun. His laugh always had a warming effect.

“Now, I’m no sommelier but I did read up on the basics.” He picked up one of the bottles displayed in front of you and began to uncork it.

“Oooh, how fancy,” you mused, albeit somewhat absentmindedly. Your gaze was transfixed on Danny’s bicep as he worked on the bottle, the way the muscles in his arm flexed and strained with his movements. Danny was a different type of attractive than the other boys. They were all beautiful, of course. But there was just something about Danny. Maybe it was the muscles, the way he was a downright hunk. Maybe it was his sweet demeanor. Or possibly a combination of the two. Whatever it was, it was on full display tonight and it was already driving you a little crazy.

As you watched him handle the bottle, all you could focus on was the size of his hands dwarfing the glass. And given the circumstances, you decided to let yourself get lost in him. At least for the night. But his voice cut through your imagination running wild at the thought of being beneath his hands.

“Our first wine of the night is a 2015 Bordeaux, paired with brie.” Danny handed you a glass of the red liquid and a small plate with a few pieces of cheese on it, pulling you back into the moment. You swirled the glass in your hand, the way you had seen it done on TV, and took a sip, making a face as the bitter wine traveled down your throat. Danny laughed at the reaction.

“Not good, sweetheart?”

“It’s not my favorite,” you said through your disgust but downed the rest of the glass anyway.

He poured himself a glass before taking a sip, making the same disgusted face you had made a second ago, bringing a laugh out of you now.

“2015 was a great year for wine,” he joked, his face still turned up into a grimace. Your giggling was certainly spurring him on and you were both growing more comfortable with the situation.

“But the next one,” he said as he grabbed the next bottle and displayed it to you with two hands as if he were in a restaurant, trying to upsell a patron. “This one will be magnificent.” He gave you a quick wink that had more of an effect on you than he probably intended and he began uncorking the bottle.

Again, you watched his biceps flex through his gray thermal, watched the veins protrude ever so slightly in his exposed forearms. But this time, he definitely caught you looking because he let out a low chuckle that wasn’t as lighthearted as his usual laugh.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Damn him and his sexy arms. And that little pet name, too.

He took your glass from you and filled it with a shimmering white liquid, passing it back to you along with a different assortment of cheeses.

“This one’s a chardonnay and there’s no way it can be bad.”

You didn’t so much sip as you did gulp this time around, all too aware of his eyes fixed on you. When you finally came up for a breath, he laughed. Amusement was written all over his face.

“Is it a winner?” he asked as he poured himself some.

“Oh yeah, that one is good.” When he set the bottle down, you took the initiative to pour yourself a bit more. He downed the contents of his glass and nodded contentedly, giving you a thumbs up as he swallowed, which sent another giggle through you.

Danny’s ability to be sexy and cute at the same time was unmatched in the group.

“Let’s try another red. One of these must be good.” Danny chose another bottle at random and worked the cork off, pouring it into the glass you were holding out to him. The first two wines were definitely starting to catch up to you but you didn’t mind, having decided that being tipsy wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

As you swirled it in your hand, Danny poured himself a glass and turned the bottle, hiding the label from you.

“Do you want to guess what this one is?” he asked with a smile.

You thought back to all of the times you had seen other people taste wine, in movies and television, and brought the glass up to your nose to smell the flavors. But of course, the difference between them and you was that you had no idea what you were doing. Or what you were smelling for.

“Ah yes,” you said, as if the answer was coming to you. “I’m getting hints of….red.”

Danny laughed, throwing his head back the way he did, giving you a full view of the muscles in his neck.

You tore your eyes away before he could catch you again. “No, no, okay. This one is…” You thought back to all of the red wine names you knew, which wasn’t many. “Pinot Noir?”

“Okay I know you just guessed but I’m impressed.” He spun the bottle back around so you could see that you had guessed right and you bowed playfully in front of him before taking a sip at the same time he did, disgust washing over both of you.

When you finally swallowed and started giggling, he had to force himself not to laugh so as not to spit his out. It was endearing to watch him this way. It reminded you why you loved Danny so much.

After an hour or so had passed and several bad reds had been sipped, Danny was choking down another wine he didn’t like. He sighed to collect himself before speaking. “Okay, how about this one.” He turned to open the cupboard behind him and when he spun back around, he had a bottle of your favorite pinot grigio in his hand; a $13.99 bottle from the grocer close to your house.

“Ahhh, now this one I think I’ll like.” You smiled to yourself as he screwed the cap off (yes, it has a screw cap) and poured you a hefty glass, the way you usually did when you were drinking alone on a Friday night after work. You welcomed the flavor and let the taste wash the others out of your mouth.

He did the same as Stardust Chords began playing in the background, quickly swallowing a good portion of the glass he had poured himself.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, setting his glass down and extending his hand to you.

“I would love to,” you replied softly, setting your glass down as well and taking his hand.

He pulled you in for a slow dance to the not-so slow song and the two of you swayed together for a moment, one of his arms wrapped around your waist as the other reached up to take your hand. His eyes were fixed on yours and there was a smile on his face. You could tell he was just happy to be there with you and you were too, despite the nerves that you felt rushing up your spine at his prolonged eye contact.

He chuckled lightly at the song picking up. “This is a terrible song to dance to.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. It really was. But you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t respond but simply nodded before looking up at him again, catching his eyes still transfixed on you. You got lost there for a moment, staring up at him. This was the closest the two of you had ever been and you could smell the cologne radiating off of him, you could smell the shampoo he had used in his hair earlier that day. It was all very Danny.

As the beginning notes to Light My Love crackled through the record player, the look in his eyes changed ever so slightly and he leaned in, connecting his lips to yours in a sweet and soft kiss.

And just as the song picked up to the lyrics ‘your mind is a stream of colors’, the kiss picked up too as Danny pushed his mouth harder against yours. Without even thinking about it, your hands reached up to grip his thermal and pull him further into you. His left hand found your waist as his right wrapped around your back and gripped your shoulder. You clung to each other like that for several moments before Danny pressed his hips into yours ever so slightly, eliciting the softest of moans from you.

He pulled back, as if he were surprised by the reaction he had managed to coax from you and you were breathless as you watched and waited for him to make another move.

He took a step back and you could tell there was hesitancy in his actions, probably at the thought of this situation playing out and finally becoming real. And for a moment you thought he was going to back out of the challenge. You certainly wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. But instead his demeanor changed and the look of caution on his face was replaced with a much darker, much more daring version of Danny. You could see it in the smirk he gave you as he held his hand out to you like he had when he’d asked you to dance with him. And just like you had earlier, you took his hand and he led you to his bedroom.

Barely inside, his mouth found yours again, this time with much more heat than before, and you reveled in the way his tongue explored your mouth. But it was over too soon and your mouth audibly mourned the loss of his when he pulled away, evoking a light chuckle from him before he moved his lips down to suck a hickey into the bit of skin exposed just above the deep neckline of your top.

Bringing his face back up to yours, he whispered a question you were pretty sure he already knew the answer to.

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?”

You nodded your continued consent but he shook his head in disapproval. “No, I need to hear you say it.”

If the fuse hadn’t already been lit, his assertive tone would have been the match that lit it. He was rarely ever this way but you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Yes, I’m sure.” The words escaped your mouth much more breathlessly than you had intended but the way the smirk from earlier returned to his face, turning up one corner of his mouth, told you he was satisfied with the effect he was having on you.

He gazed down at you for a moment, his lips parted and his eyes giving away some of the unspeakable thoughts he was thinking as he looked you up and down slowly, before he replied with an utterly serious tone. “Good. Take off your clothes and get on all fours.”

There was no hesitation in your actions as you did as you were told, stepping backward to strip as his eyes watched you intently, then climbing onto the bed on all fours facing the headboard. You had to admit, though, it felt a bit impersonal for Danny. Not that you really knew what he was like in bed, of course, but you knew him fairly well as a person, having been friends for quite some time. Danny was sweet; he was warm and sensual. This position didn’t feel like the Danny you knew.

So when you felt him climb onto the bed behind you, wrap his arm around your bare chest, and pull you into an upright position on your knees with your back pressed flush against his chest, it was like the wind had been knocked out of you. His right palm was splayed flat in the middle of your chest, keeping you firmly in place against him, as if he didn’t want a single inch of your skin to escape him. He must have shed his clothes while you were positioning yourself because you could feel his bare skin against yours, his hard cock pressed against your ass. The feeling made your heart race in your chest.

His left hand came up to brush the hair out of your eyes and over your shoulder as he dipped his head down to whisper tantalizingly in your ear.

“Is it okay if I use my fingers, sweetheart?”

You would have laughed incredulously at him asking so nicely if you hadn’t been so flustered. The image of his hands undoing you like the wine corks from earlier was all too enticing.

“Yes, please,” you breathed as he began kissing down your jawline to the tip of your shoulder.

You could feel him growing harder behind you and you longed to turn around and touch him. But he kept you firmly in place with a hand flat against your stomach that began to travel down, lower and lower, until he reached the spot you wanted his touch the most.

His finger slid through your folds easily as you were already dripping from the buildup to this point and using the slick, he rubbed easy circles on your clit, coaxing a deep sigh from your throat. And as he slipped one finger inside of you, your head fell back onto his shoulder with a squeaky moan that brought a devilish smile to his face.

His finger pumping in and out of you, you couldn’t help but appreciate how skilled he was with his hands, just as you had suspected, and you were quickly falling apart at his touch, evident in the way you were squirming and moaning against him.

His unoccupied hand reached up to grip the headboard as he slipped another finger in, rendering you a moaning mess as his fingers began to curl inside of you. And when you were right on the brink of falling off the ledge that you were teetering dangerously on, he removed his fingers, resulting in an audible groan from you.

He chuckled but pushed his fingers into his mouth to lick the taste of you off his skin before he grabbed your chin and turned your head to the side, pulling you into a fiery kiss.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled back. “I’ll take care of you.”

You were practically dizzy with lust and couldn’t stop yourself from grinding back on him, desperate for some relief. Thankfully he didn’t make you wait long.

Taking himself in his hand, he eased the tip into you before placing his hand back on your stomach to steady you as he guided himself the rest of the way in. The sound that fell from your lips was downright pornographic as you felt him fill you completely.

He stayed like that for a moment, completely sheathed inside of you, waiting for you to adjust to his size. But you quickly urged him to move with a hand wrapped around his bicep that was now supporting most of his weight against the headboard.

Slowly, he dragged out of you, almost completely, before snapping his hips and slamming back into you fully. And the way his tip pressed against your sweet spot, you knew you weren’t going to last long in his arms.

He repeated his previous actions and as he thrusted back into you, his name dripped off your lips. You could tell you had ignited something within him because his pace quickened and he soon found a brutal rhythm that had you moaning with practically each thrust.

His right hand found your clit again as he fucked you relentlessly, returning back to the circles he was drawing earlier and bringing you closer to the high he had pulled you down from too soon.

Your head still rested on his shoulder as your vision started to go blurry at the edges, and your hand gripped his wrist, urging him not to stop.

“Fuck, Danny, I’m so close.” You hardly recognized your voice as the words fell from your lips.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said. And with that, you let go, being shot into a chasm of pleasure at his hands.

As you began to settle down, his hand moved from your lower half up to the back of your neck where he tangled his fist in your hair. With his hand no longer holding you against him, you fell forward slightly, catching yourself with your other hand against the headboard. Seemingly in an effort to keep you close, Danny’s fist tugged your hair harder, bringing your head back to meet his shoulder and causing your back to arch. The new position allowed him a deeper angle, every thrust now hitting that perfect spot within you and eliciting a noise from you that at any other time would probably flush your cheeks with embarrassment. But at this point you couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered to you was the feeling of Danny deep inside you, drawing another orgasm out of you.

You found yourself quickly becoming incoherent again and you could tell he was close as his grip on your hair tightened and his thrusts grew sloppy.

"Fuck," he growled next to your ear. His breath was hot against your skin and it fueled the fire you were feeling in your stomach.

“Do you think you can come again? With me this time?” he asked, as if you had any say in the matter and his dick wasn’t going to be your undoing.

His name was all you were able to choke out as your eyes rolled backward and your second orgasm began washing through you.

“I know sweetheart, I’m right there. Finish with me.”

It was the combination of his words and his teeth subsequently sinking into the corner of your jaw that unraveled you fully for a second time within his grasp, this time with him. His breath hitched with his own release but his hips maintained their brutal pace, before finally he slowed to a halt.

In the aftermath, his comment from a few weeks earlier finally caught up with you and you laughed as he held you in his arms.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked, chuckling lightly at your post-sex reaction.

“‘Demolition Dan’, I think I just got that.”

Week Four: Jake

If your nerves were bad with Danny, it was nothing like your nerves with Jake. Everything just felt so deliberate with him. It had felt that way even before The Jake Incident.

From the moment you walked through his front door, you knew you were going to be a mess of nerves until he finally touched you. And probably even then, too. But for now, you had to at least pretend to be calm.

Jake was making dinner for you and by the smell of his house when you entered, he had already gotten started. There was even a cocktail waiting for you on the counter as he returned to the dish he was adding spices to on the stove.

“I figured a little alcohol would probably go a long way,” he jested as he threw back the remainder of his Jack and Coke.

There was a Black Keys album playing in the background and it seemed to tie the whole picture together for you. Jake, standing over the stove, cooking something delicious, his shirt unbuttoned and exposing his chest as he filled his glass with straight Jack Daniels this time. It all seemed a little too easy for him.

This man was going to be the death of you.

“Can I help you with anything?” you asked, desperate for a task to occupy your hands.

“Yeah, you can sip on your drink and look pretty,” he said, throwing a smile your way.

You laughed and rolled your eyes playfully but decided your cocktail glass was probably the only thing your shaky hands could grip at the moment. So you downed your glass and quickly poured yourself another before settling against the counter next to where he stood in front of the stove.

You watched him intently as he cooked. He was so focused, carefully spooning in ingredients already prepared next to him, adjusting the temperature of the burner with care. You admired the way his hands wrapped around spoons and knobs, the way his fingers dipped into a bowl of salt to grab a pinch. You let yourself appreciate the way his long silver necklace bounced against his bare abdomen as he moved about.

You watched him like that for a while, letting the record fill the silence as he worked and you both drank. It was peaceful and eventually you felt your nerves begin to calm, although you still must have appeared somewhat jittery because Jake seemed to take note, giving you a light chuckle that seemed to hold a bit more smugness than appreciated. You couldn’t even imagine what you had looked like when you first arrived. You didn’t want to, really.

“You know, I’m not going to jump you or anything.” His voice was reassuring and his eyes found yours, searching for proof that his words had had the desired calming effect but the glimmer of cockiness never left his eye.

“I know,” you said in a barely-audible whisper.

“Okay, good.” He turned back to the pan on the stove, stirring it to make sure it didn’t burn. "Because I'm not going to touch you until you ask me to."

"And what if I don't?" You implored as you folded your arms across your chest.

"Then so be it," was all he said. It was very matter-of-fact. But he changed the subject before you had time to question him further.

“Now, tell me how my brothers were.”

You couldn’t control your laugh as it escaped you, the nature of his question catching you off guard. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

“You never said we couldn’t swap stories with you.” He wasn’t wrong. Maybe there was a loophole there.

You chuckled again and stared up at the ceiling as you sipped your drink. “They were good, that’s all I’m saying.”

He gave you a ‘tsk’ as he shook his head. “I’d bet anything that Danny has been the best so far.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because I’ve met you, baby.” The way that word dripped off his tongue was tantalizing to say the least.

“Isn’t it more about him than it is about me?” you questioned, trying to get a read on where this was going.

“Hardly,” was all he said, leaving you with no satisfaction.

You gave him a dissatisfied ‘hmmph’ that seemed to amuse him but as you turned away from him and your hair swung gently away from your neck, he did a double take, catching sight of something that seemed to amuse him even more.

Setting the spatula in his hand down, he turned toward you and brushed the hair off your shoulder, letting it fall behind your back, all the while careful not to touch your skin. As his fingers hovered over a spot on your skin, you knew without looking what was there: the faded remnants of the hickey Danny had left on your chest.

His lips spread into a smirk as he traced the purple bruise lightly with his eyes, laughing to himself. Even without him touching you, you could feel the goosebumps radiating from that point throughout your whole body. It was almost absurd how much of an effect he had on you.

“What’s so funny, Kiszka?” you asked, trying to hide your thoughts turning sinful.

He shook his head first before saying, “You’re so beautiful.” And then, as his hand moved to grip the counter behind you, causing him to lean in dangerously close, he added, “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond. There were certainly no words and the only thing you really wanted to do was hoist yourself up onto the counter and pull him between your legs to let him have his way with you right there in the kitchen. But at this point, you were still stunned into silence and inaction and so he pushed away from the counter and began plating pasta.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, as if nothing had just happened.

—

Dinner went on as it normally did when the two of you hung out together. Jake talked about music and the different projects he and the guys were working on at the moment. You told stories about work and your own friends, all the while avoiding the elephant in the room.

The food he had made was delicious and the atmosphere was a complete shift from the intense flirting that had gone on right before you sat down. It almost reminded you of the night of the incident, how normal things had been before you found yourselves in a flurry of buttons being undone, zippers being unzipped, and one front door opening without anyone hearing. Like the calm before the storm.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Jake’s voice was an intrusion but a welcome one, and you breathed in deeply, trying to clear your head and think of a convincing lie.

“I’m thinking about the fact that this is the first time you’ve ever cooked dinner for just me.” It wasn’t true; the first time he had ever cooked dinner for just you and not the boys was three years ago. You had been desperately ill for a week and you could barely get out of bed. Jake had made you stew and brought it to your bedside. It was delicious. You doubted he remembered.

“That’s not true. I made you soup when you were sick that one time.” So he did remember. Which probably meant he saw through your lie too. “And that’s not what you were thinking about.”

He knew you too well.

“Then why don’t you tell me what I was thinking about,” you challenged, beginning to feel a bit braver thanks to the liquid courage hitting you.

He set his fork down and sat back in his chair, his air of cockiness never once evading him as his eyes watched yours closely. “You were thinking about that night, weren’t you?”

Your daring attitude wavered a bit and for your own sake, you decided to play dumb. “I’ve experienced a lot of nights, you’re going to have to be more specific.” You wiped your mouth with your napkin and then finally when you set it down, you met his gaze, trying to make a point with your actions.

“Maybe I should jog your memory for you.”

To your surprise, Jake stood up out of his chair and slowly made his way around the table, coming to a stop behind your chair. When he leaned down and rested his palms on the table on either side of you, you could feel his breath on your neck and you could smell the scent of the cologne cascading off his skin.

“I believe it started with a particular White Stripes record and a bit too much whiskey,” he reminisced in your ear. “You were wearing that little dress you have, the one with the flowers all over it that drives me crazy.”

Your breathing had certainly picked up but you tried to hide it as he continued. “I had already been thinking about you all day and then finally I got the courage to make a move. You had your tongue in my mouth within seconds and I couldn’t fucking wait to have you screaming my name. But then my idiot brother walked in.”

You felt the tip of his nose graze your hair ever so slightly but he kept his promise and didn’t touch you. It was agonizing. Even worse, he could clearly see your agony written all over you because he leaned in closer to whisper in your ear, “All you have to do is ask, baby.”

But he didn’t wait for you to respond, drawing out your agony and instead reaching down in front of you and taking your plate, carrying it to the sink and again acting as if nothing had happened. Your eyes watered from frustration and quickly you stood from your seat, turning to face him.

“Do you have something to say?” he asked in an arrogant tone, a tone that almost made you want to grab your coat and purse and leave. But your mind was clouded by need, a need that only he could fill. And he was arrogant because he knew it.

“You are such a goddamn tease, you know that? You’re worse than your brothers.” You were practically fuming as you approached him.

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that has been pretending for the last year and a half that nothing happened between us,” he argued back.

“I’m the one? You never even said a word about it!” How were you supposed to know it wasn’t just a drunken mistake on his part? Something he immediately regretted the moment he realized what he was doing?

“Oh I think I‘ve made myself pretty clear about my feelings for you since then.” His frustration was now beginning to match your own.

“Yeah and maybe you just forgot to share that information with me, Jake.”

“Then ask me,” he said, his tone harsh and his eyes dark. But he was met with silence as you just stood there staring at him, breathing heavier from the anger that had seeped into your demeanor.

He let out an exasperated sigh at your silence. “Y/N, ask me,” he said again, this time more desperation in his voice than frustration. And it undid you.

“Fuck,” you whispered, sighing to yourself. You could no longer deny that you so desperately wanted to finish what had been started that night that Sam had walked in. You wanted every part of him and you were tired of pretending you didn’t.

It came after another moment of silence but when you finally spoke, your tone matched his. Desperate. “Just touch me, Jake.”

He wasted no time crossing the distance between you and crashing his lips against yours, pushing you back against the wall in the process. Your hands cupped his face as you lost yourself in the way he tasted on your tongue and the way he felt on your skin.

Quickly he pulled you away from the wall, never letting your lips leave his as he walked you backward toward the table where you had just dined together, using his free hand to reach up the bottom of your dress and pull your panties down as you walked.

When the back of your thighs hit the table, he bent down and hooked his hands under the underside of your knees, lifting you onto the table as his tongue continued to explore your mouth the same way it had that night a year and a half ago.

Your hands found the button on his jeans and undid it quickly, working the zipper after and tugging the material down past his hips. You began working on his remaining shirt buttons then, which wasn’t many, but he pushed you back onto the table before you could get very far.

You could tell he was hard by the outline in his boxers and you didn’t want to waste any more time. He was staring down at you, taking in the sight of you splayed out on the table in front of him while his hands massaged the insides of your thighs. You were aching for him and you lifted your hips slightly, desperately trying to hurry him along.

“Jake, please,” you whined.

“So impatient,” he chuckled in response.

Instead of climbing onto the table with you, he dropped to his knees, using his grip on your thighs to pull you to the edge of the table. You could feel his breath on the inside of your thigh as he hooked your calves over his shoulders but you stopped him by reaching your hand into his hair.

“No please, I just want to feel you, Jake,” you practically begged.

Per your wishes, he rose back up to his feet and reached for your hand, pulling you into a sitting position on the table. “Are you sure, baby? I want to make you feel good.”

“You already do, Jake,” you breathed and with that he pulled you into a searing kiss as he pulled his boxers down, freeing himself. And without much warning, he adjusted your leg to allow himself a better angle and pushed himself into you with an audible moan.

His eyes fell shut and he leaned in to press his forehead against yours as he reveled in the way you felt around him, staying still for a moment and allowing you time to adjust. But when his eyes opened, they had a darker appearance, and he began to move, drawing out almost entirely before filling you back up with a more forceful thrust. This time you both moaned.

With his right hand still cradling your calf, keeping it situated up around his hip, and his left hand gripping the adjacent edge of the table, his hips fell into a steady rhythm, one that had you moaning with each thrust. You clung to him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and a hand tangled in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours.

You couldn’t control the gasp that escaped you as his cock found your sensitive spot when he lifted your leg a bit higher. With the slight change in position, he was hitting that spot with every thrust now and your moans grew louder and louder.

You tried to savor it, the way he stretched you, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, the strength of his hands and fingers as they dug into your skin, the way he moaned at the grip you had in his hair, the way his face contorted into a look of focus you were used to seeing only when he was working the Les Paul. You were afraid after it ended you’d never feel it all again, especially now that you had participated in this little challenge.

He continued pounding into you, adjusting his grip on the table so he could lean further into you. You had to tighten your hold on him to keep from falling back onto the table but you let your head fall back, exposing his neck to you as you let out a deep moan.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jake breathed hot against your neck, sweat beading at his temples at the exertion.

Every thrust dorve you closer and closer to your peak and you were becoming incoherent beneath his touch.

“Don’t stop, Jake, I’m so close,” you breathed, urging him to keep up his pace despite the fact that you could tell he was beginning to lose his grip on composure himself.

“Yeah? Are you going to cum for me, baby?” he whispered, his words pushing you closer to the top.

“Yes, Jake. Fuck, you’re going to make me cum.” It took all of your effort to lift your head and speak as he continued thrusting into you.

His brows knit together in intense concentration and for a brief moment his eyes shut tight as a quiet “fuck” slipped from his lips.

Seeing him in that state was what sent you over the edge and your head fell back again as you came. You would have fallen out of his hands, too, if he hadn’t had such a strong grip on you. He continued his movements as he came hard inside you, his own head falling into your chest as he rode out his waves of pleasure.

As he stilled inside of you, he let his forehead lean against yours again, but this time all you felt was a rush of anxiety and emotion at the thought of having ruined things.

He noticed the change in your breathing as you struggled to hold back tears and he pulled away with a look of concern.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, baby? Did I do something?” He moved his hands to cup your cheeks, trying to soothe you with his touch.

“This was a mistake,” you choked out, then quickly continued, “If I had just let you go first, we could have bypassed all the others and then I wouldn’t have gone and ruined this, us, before it ever even started.” You were rambling frantically at that point and he caught your hands flailing in the air and pressed them together between his palms.

“You didn’t ruin anything, y/n. We all agreed to it. I’m not mad at how this turned out.” He gave you a reassuring smile before adding, “Although I will be mad if you say Danny was the best.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest as he held onto you tightly.

“And I’m assuming I’d be the first you’ve had sex with twice?” he asked in a lighthearted manner as he rubbed your back.

“Right,” you confirmed, the sound muffled by his chest.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet,” he said, picking you up off the table and carrying you to his bedroom.

—

It had been a week since your night with Jake and since then, the two of you had spent almost every night together, in secret of course. But tonight you were all meeting at Sam’s for the final verdict so once again you found yourself standing at Sam’s kitchen island, the boys taking their usual spots around. Tonight’s drink, however, sangria instead of margaritas, Danny’s special recipe.

As you stood at the island, working on your buzz to calm your nerves, Jake’s eyes frequently found yours, a smug smile teasing at the corner of his lips. But finally it was time for the ruling as Sam lifted his glass and said, with a grandiose tone, “Well, we all know why we’re here.”

“Right, well, you all did great…” you started, as if you were about to hand out participation trophies, stroking everyone’s ego and no one’s ego at the same time, and the introduction earned a ‘boo’ from Sam.

“Okay, okay, sorry.” You weren’t exactly sure how to just come out and say it, not having pictured the awkwardness of this moment to the fullest extent, so you decided to just blurt it out. “Since there’s really no way to segue into this, I’ll just say it.” You paused for a moment before, trying to gather your bravery one last time. “Jake is the best in bed.”

“Well that’s just not fair, he got to her with his guitar fingers,” Sam immediately protested.

“Actually he didn’t, if you must know,” you clarified.

“I want to try again.” Sam continued on with his distaste for the outcome before Jake jumped in, seemingly taking possession of what was his.

“That’s not happening.”

“Okay but who came in second?” Danny asked and although you knew it was him, you weren’t willing to give that away. Not just for Jake’s sake, either.

“Nope, that wasn’t part of the deal,” you countered.

“Some people just have no taste for the finer things in life…” Josh was busy rambling to himself, as he usually did.

And with that, the original argument was struck up between the four boys again. You couldn’t help but laugh at their ability to argue. Loudly.

Later in the night, after the conversation had moved on naturally, you escaped to the bathroom for a brief moment. You stood at the sink staring at yourself in the mirror as you absentmindedly let cold water cascade over your hands in the sink.

“Who was second?” Jake appeared in the doorway behind you.

You smiled to yourself in the mirror for a moment before drying your hands and turning to face him.

“I’ll never tell”

A/N: If you want justice for Danny, go read the alternate ending!

#gvf smut #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #jake kiszka smut #josh kiska smut #danny wagner smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #josh kiszka fic #danny wagner fic #sam kiszka fic

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