#I cannot say how i learned to draw bare bodies without it sounding weird. I just think they're neat I think having a body is really cool

[its-a-me-mango]

Mango... I must ask..

H o w ?

How can you draw such ✨bare bodies✨?

I felt inspired by your art so this came to existence lolllll hehehehe

EVERYONE LOOKS HEY LOOK HERE PSPSPSPSPSP, MEN!!!!!!!

I cannot keep this to myself I have to share these with the world, he is such a babygirl and you're so awesome for drawing himmmm <3

[insomniamamma]

Safe: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

A/n: What can I say? I'm hormonal and all my shit hurts and if I cannot get snuggles IRL then I will write something super soft and self-indulgent to make myself feel better. Part of the Prickle AU. Set sometime after Sacellum.

Warnings: Oh no! There's only one bed. Soft!Ezra. Language. Cee's best friend on The Pug is non-binary and also named after my little boy's favorite stuffy. Maybe the slightest bit of angst. But mostly super soft.

         "You did this on purpose."         "Right hand to Kevva, I did not. I asked for double occupancy and they must have misunderstood and--"         "You don't have a right hand,"         "Let's go back to the reception desk," says Ezra, "We may be able to negotiate more appropriate accommodations."         "Errgh," you groan. Reception had been a nightmare, three freighters worth of traffic trying to secure berths all at once. It was a lot of people. Too many for your liking. Cee was staying with Kit and their family. Kit and Cee had practically tackled each other right there on the dock, everyone else forgotten, walked away arm in arm.         "We shove off in three cycles," Ezra hollered at her retreating back, and she flapped a dismissive hand at him. You had to smile. For three cycles Cee gets to be a normal teenager hanging out with her best friend without worrying about points and pulls and overhead costs and fuel margins.         "I don't wanna go back down there," you say, "Too many people. I think twice the population of Falnost was waiting in that fucking line." You brush past him and into the suite. The ceilings are low and slightly curved and it feels strange to be under this much grav. The outer rings of Puggart Bench have something close to terra-normal gravity, but after so much time spent on little moons and worldlets, this much G feels weird and you have no desire to trudge back down to reception.         "You sure?" Asks Ezra.         "Yeah," you drop your day bag and press a hand to the mattress. "Look at the size of this thing. It's, like, five crash-couches wide. This seems above our pay grade."         "They're overbooked," says Ezra, "We're paying the same points for the berth we should have gotten. I made sure of it. I can sleep in that recliner if--"         "No."         "No?"         "Kevva, Ez, we're both adults," you say, "I think we can share a bed for a night without exploding."

        Your suite has a real, honest-to-Goddess shower with a generous 15 minute timer. You scrub as fast as you can and then just let the water hit you, let the pressure pound on your tense back muscles until the chime sounds and the water cuts off. You towel off and dress, soft clothes you sleep in, and pad out into the main room. Ezra is reading, face far off and serious, and you just look at him for a minute, illuminated in the warm lamp-light, absorbed in his book, little furrow between his brows and then he looks up, all knowing smirk and dancing eyes, he's caught you staring.         "Your turn, Ez," You say and turn your face away. Kevva. This man. You've been trying to keep things professional, but it's a losing battle. His flirtations make you flush, but he's never tried to push you, never tried to leverage the fact that it's his name on the ship's title, that you signed a contract, that you are junior-most crew. You feel safe with him. And, from your limited experience in the fringe, that is a miracle in itself.

        Ezra sets his book aside and heads for the bathroom. You peel the sheets from the other side of the bed and settle in. There's a media player bolted to the wall, but you just want quiet. You switch off the lamp on your nightstand (we both have lamps, we both have a nightstand, how weird is that?) The sheets feel deliciously cool against your skin. To be clean and sleeping in clean sheets...if Heaven isn't like this Kevva's got some answering to do.         Ezra sings in the shower. You're barely awake and you smile. Ezra can't carry a tune in a bucket, singing fringeling songs and reels, stories of mercs and pirates and ghosts and you drift off to the sound of him, the sound of the water running.

        He sees you soft and loose and asleep. No rail-gun, no body armor, no thrower under your pillow. Your face slack, snoring slightly. You've kicked out of the blankets and lay curled as if chilled.         "Hey Artichoke," he murmurs, pulls the blankets up and tucks them around you, "Let's get you warm, yeah?"

        Ezra wakes. Bleared red numbers of the clock saying that this is still the deepest ditch of local night. Ezra is warm and confused. He feels you pressed against him, your chest to his back, an arm hooked around his middle, your legs entwined with his. You've sought him out in your sleep and folded yourself around him, your breath slow and steady against his nape. Ezra's eyes prick with tears. He can't remember the last time he's been held like this. He's had lovers. He has payed for sex on the less reputable Benches of the Great Arm, but for someone to hold him? For someone to touch him without payment, without trying to press some advantage, gain some kind of leverage, without priming him for the inevitable backstab?  He is overwhelmed. He tries to wriggle away from you, but your arm just tightens around him.         "...fixed the transponder," you mutter against his neck, "told you we didn't need...told you..." He pats your arm and relaxes against you.         "Okay, Artichoke, okay, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

        You wake enfolded, Ezra's good arm wrapped around you. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the slow sussurration of his breath, the snores that catch in his throat and turn to murmurs, the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You've tucked yourself against him in your sleep. Your hand rests on his sternum. Oh Kevva. What are you doing? You go rigid.         Your first impulse is to wrestle out of his hold, take one of the blankets and install yourself in the recliner that you wouldn't let Ezra take, but part of you wants to stay right here in the combined warmth of your bodies, feeling his breath, his heart, his calloused palm spread against your shoulder. You shift, making the smallest effort to pull yourself away and his arm tightens further, a low, sleepy chuckle reverberates through his chest.         "Hi Ez,"         "Hi." He strokes the pad of his thumb along the exposed curve of your shoulder.         "I'll get up," you say, even as he shifts and cups the back of your head in his palm, tucking you closer.         "You don't have to," he says, voice rough with sleep. This gesture pricks at your heart. Coming up on Falnost has made you hard, guarded, there has been precious little gentleness in your life, pulling rocks out of the parched ground since you were big enough to lift a shovel. Learned to fight and shoot to chase water-thieves from the homestead. He strokes the back of your head like one might pet a skittish cat and your heart squeezes.         "Ezra?" You hate how small your voice sounds, you hate the uncertainty you hear there, "Are we okay?"         "Of course we are," he says, "Why wouldn't we be?"         "I wrapped around you like a Bueller's world python and I did it in my sleep-"         "The wrapping was mutual-"         "You're not mad or uncomfortable or anything?" He laughs again, gentle huff of breath against the crown of your head.         "Mad about waking with you in my arms? The day I'm mad about that you can just shoot me in the head and send me to Kevva because I will surely have lost my ever-loving mind." You smile against his skin and relax some, your hand unfists and you curl your arm around his soft belly, feel his breath hitch.         "Tickles."         "Sorry." You feel yourself drift, skirting the edge of sleep. He is warm and solid and you let yourself relax against him.         “This feels...safe..." you say, so close to sleep that you're not sure if you've said it aloud or if you've just thought it. And you're not sure if you hear his response or dream it, one word. Always.

        "She's late," says Ezra.         "We still got a sixteenth to button up and board,"         "Still," says Ezra, "Yon freighter will leave with our pod wether we're strapped in it or not." You see Cee and Kit, trailed by Kit's parents, weaving through the crowd. Cee is beaming, her blonde hair has a brilliant streak of blue, and Kit has a matching streak in their hair.         "Hey guys!" Cee hugs Ezra and then hugs you.         "How was your shore leave, Little Bird? I like the fancy hair."         "Isn't that cool? We've got matching streaks," says Cee.         "It's semi-permanent," says Kit, "We'll pick a different color next time!" You have to smile. Cee looks revitalized. Three cycles spent with her friend, just doing normal kid things has been good for her.         "Check this out!" says Cee and pushes a laminated drawing towards the two of you. Ezra makes a show of looking carefully.         "I recognize you and Kit," he says, "I am not familiar with these other people, though."         "They're from The Streamer Girl, dumbass," says Cee, "Here's Clo and Reive and Lily and Auri. See? Kit put us right in the story." Ezra gives Kit his best smile.         “You drew this? You are very talented." Kit smiles big.         "Thanks!" says Kit, "I'll put you guys in the next one! Maybe you could be professors at Bowsun Academy or something."         "I look forward to it," says Ezra.         "Time to go, Cee," you say and Cee and Kit exchange one more enthusiastic hug.         "Later fringeling!" Calls Kit.         "Piss off, stationer!" Cee calls back. Ezra curls his fingers around yours and squeezes. Cee tells you all about her three cycles with Kit, the movies they watched, the Real Food they ate. How Kit's little brother wanted a blue streak in his hair too and Kit's parents said no and how mad he got. I wanna be cool like Kit and Cee.         "I told him he's got plenty of time to be cool," says Cee, "And he told me that I don't understand how the world works. He's like, four." Ezra laughs.         "Wise for his years." Says Ezra. And the three of you fall quiet. You find the pod much as you left it, towed to the Polly Jean and clipped in, transferred by the station's tugs. You settle in and do a full systems check. Calling out the checklists and making sure everything is good for transit.         "What are you guys so happy about?" asks Cee.         "Whatever do you mean?" asks Ezra.         "You been all smiles since I hit the dock," says Cee, "Both of you. Did we score a really good job? Did we win the Puggart Bench lottery or something? What aren't you telling me?"         "That," says Ezra, "Is for us to know and you to endlessly speculate about."         "Hmph," says Cee.

Tagging: @oonajaeadira, @grogusmum , @honestly-shite, @writeforfandoms, @ladyvengeancesposts, @the-blind-assassin-12

[mst3kproject]

The Giant of Marathon

For some reason, probably because I've seen them all so many times, I thought I'd already done all four Film Crew episodes.  Evidently this is not true.  Here's one, and if you haven't seen it... wow, Mr. Honcho was not exaggerating about the thousands of sweaty men.

Philippides of Athens is the greatest athlete there is, having won the entire Olympics. With the games over, he returns to his day job as commander of the Athenian city guard.  Followers of Hippias the exiled tyrant are plotting to take control of the city with help from the invading Persians, and they try to seduce Philippides to their cause by offering him wine, women, and homoerotic wrestling (it was ancient Greece, after all).  Philippides refuses to be seduced, and sets off to secure the help of Athens' old enemy Sparta in opposing the Persians.  His mission is a success, but upon his return a spy tells him that the Persians are planning a sneak attack on the harbour of Piraeus.  Can even Philippides get there in time to deliver the warning?

I don't actually know if it were possible to win the entire Olympics in ancient Greece.  I know there were several events and at least one of them involved reciting poetry.  The Battle of Marathon was in 490 BC and a table on Wikipedia suggests that there could have been up to twelve different sports, but some of them were only for children.

The Giant of Marathon touts itself as a tale of epic battles, daring deeds, and political machinations.  I'll get back to the epic battles and daring deeds, but what stands in for the political machinations is mostly a bunch of people pining.  Unimpressive villain Theocritus is pining for the beautiful Andromeda, whose father has promised her to him but she thinks he's a dick.  She's pining for Philippides, who is also pining for her but thinks she's one of Hippias' followers, so refuses to speak to her.  Meanwhile Theocritus' concubine Charis is also pining for Philippides because he's the only man who ever refused to fuck her, I think.

These relationships are important to the plot, too.  Andromeda's love for Philippides is one of the reasons her father refuses to join the traitors, and when Theocritus realizes he cannot have her, he ties her to the prow of his ship to force Philippides to watch her die.  Charis' crush on Philippides leads her to her death, as she is executed for spying.  Yet none of it is ever developed beyond 'these two pretty people saw each other and now they want to bone'.  Philippides declares his love for Andromeda after a single five-minute interaction.  Charis has seen Philippides twice, and both times it went badly, when she decides to betray Theocritus.

Why do the writers hang such important plot points on the 'love' between people who have barely spoken to each other?  I can't decide if it's because they're lazy, or because they're hacks, and I lean towards a combination of the two.  There is absolutely no subtlety to the writing in The Giant of Marathon at all.  Everything is told, not shown.  We know that Theocritus and Creusus are traitors because they talk about it, in dialogue that's clearly written for the audience, not as anything that sounds like a natural conversation. We know that Charis and Andromeda are both in love with Philippides because they say so.  The only thing we're really shown is that Andromeda hates Theocritus, which comes through in her body language (though we are also very much told), so props to actress Mylène Demongeot for that much.

The movie doesn't care about any of this character stuff, anyway.  It just wants to get straight to those epic battle scenes, and it's very obvious how much work and time went into those as opposed to everything else.  The battles are lengthy and elaborate, full of impressive stunts and props and miniatures being destroyed all over the place.  We get to see Persian chariots run down Greek infantry, and while I'm pretty sure this would have been orchestrated so the stuntmen didn't get hurt, I'm not nearly so confident about the unfortunate horses (and neither was Bill).  There are ships in flames and injured men screaming as they fall overboard.  There are even some pretty good deaths, like the guy who was hit in the eye with an arrow.  The desperate last stand of the city guard against the entire Persian fleet, with the Spartans arriving just in time to save the day, is very tense indeed.

I get the impression that this is what somebody really wanted to put on screen, and they did a decent job of it, but pretty much the entire rest of what ought to be the story is just an accessory to the fighting stuff.  It's as if the film-makers wanted so badly for their fight sequences to be epic that they forgot what makes epic-ness – which is the characters and their stake in the events. We don't know any of these people, none of them have anything we might call a personality trait, and so we don't care.

The focus on how epic it all is makes I seem a little strange that the battle ends on a shot of dead Persian guys floating in the water. You'd think they'd want to end with something that more decisively shows the Athenian victory, maybe the men cheering as the Persian ships turn around and flee.  Or perhaps some kind of victory celebration, which could mirror the celebration of Philippides winning the Olympics in the opening and call back to the scene where Philippides asks the goddess Athena to protect her city.

Instead, we cut to a shot of Philippides and Andromeda walking across the farmland together.  This feels a little too sudden, and is also a poor fit with the rest of the movie.  The only time we've seen Philippides on his farm is when he's gotten disgusted with the politics of Athens and returned to the countryside to sulk.  If the farm is supposed to be a place where he's happy and at peace, the movie never establishes it.

So that's political machinations and epic battle sequences, let's talk about some daring deeds.

Unlike the Hercules and Maciste movies we've seen in the past, The Giant of Marathon wants to be grounded in real-life history.  This means that while the script does reference gods and mythical heroes, none of them ever appear and there is no hint of them working behind the scenes to bring events about.  Likewise, Philippides is not a demigod, so we avoid several of the tropes associated with the genre.  Nothing important ever happens (or fails to happen) because the hero was asleep, and he never bends prison bars or drinks a love potion – although a love potion is mentioned, as if to draw attention to this.

This doesn't leave Philippides a whole lot of scope for daring deeds, and when they try the results are a little lackluster.  His main feat is, of course, running all the way from Marathon to Athens (the proverbial forty-two kilometres) to let them know of the impending attack, but while this ought to be the highlight of the movie it's shot in terrible day-for-night and we have nothing to suggest how far this is... I think the writers just assumed everybody knows the length of a marathon.  If we'd seen the army tired from making the march earlier, we would have a better sense of it being a long and tiring journey even at a walk or with horses, and it would seem that much more formidable as a distance for one man to cover before sunrise.  Of course, showing us these things is apparently beyond the scope of The Giant of Marathon's writers, but you'd think they could at least have a character say something like, “it's twenty-six miles!  He'll never make it!”

His other major daring deed is when he pushes giant boulders down a hill onto the attacking Persians.  This is kind of weird because Philippides is not Hercules or Maciste.  He's good at track and field, but we haven't seen any evidence of him having godlike strength, and this is a universe where gods don't seem to do much anyway, so it comes out of nowhere.  The rocks are huge – there are similarly-sized ones at the park near my house and I know one guy couldn't move them no matter how buff he might be.  Did somebody just forget that they weren't making a Hercules movie?

Between the battles and the various plot twists, The Giant of Marathon could have been a pretty fun sword-and-sandal movie, but it's like a tower without a foundation.  The fights have nothing to hold them up, so we just can't get into it. Also, what the Underworld happened to Hippias? We see him once, chatting with the king of Persia, and then he vanishes and the movie decides weaselly little Theocritus is the big bad instead. I'm sorry, but if you've got a character with a name as cool as 'Hippias the Tyrant', you really can't just drop him like that.

The Best Brains liked to complain about the tinyness of the costumes in these movies but honestly, nothing here is as off-putting as actual ancient Greek sports would have been to the modern viewer.  When I was in university I TA'd for a course called Introduction to Greco-Roman Civilization. It was an adventure in several ways – the students were mostly dumb freshmen who spent the lectures playing Farmville, and the professor didn't give a shit because she'd just been denied tenure.  I don't know how much anybody learned in that class, but I'm sure they all recall how, after the professor told us that Greek athletes stripped naked and covered themselves in olive oil before wrestling, somebody raised a hand and asked if they removed their body hair.  The professor cheerfully told him that they did not, so next time we see a Greek vase we ought to remember that these guys were much sweatier, oilier, and hairier than terra cotta can possibly convey.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Out Tonight (Part 6)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Nipple Play

<- Part 5

Summary: Backstory, Spanish lessons, and finally some sober sex! 🥳 (This chapter is very NSFW/18+)

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Kink Bingo challenge! And with this, I finally finish a row! 

5,420 words

The twenty-minute coffee date Rafael Barba had been dreading somehow turned into hours without him realizing it. The summer morning passed quickly until the sun was at its zenith above the turtle pond, and all of the work-related responsibilities he would have been grinding himself to death on had slipped his mind as he wandered through the park with your hand in his.

It turned out that you did have a few things in common. You both grew up in the Bronx. Though when you told him where, he snorted and joked, “What is an upstanding young lady from Spuyten Duyvil doing with a boy from the projects?”

Your jaw dropped when he told you what neighborhood he grew up in. It was an area you were familiar with mainly as a place to avoid, especially, god forbid, at night. The clean-cut lawyer in a sharp suit did not look anything like what you’d expect from the poverty he came from. You just assumed his family was wealthy.

“That’s incredible,” you said, a new surge of admiration for him stoking the fire of your attraction. You scooted closer on the shaded bench beneath a tall oak you’d stopped to sit on, your bare leg pressing against his slacks. You still hadn’t kissed, everything just barely skirting the romantic. The touch of his hand shot electricity through your skin, just from his fingers brushing yours. Neither of you wanted to push things too far, too fast, considering the guilt still lingering between you. “You must be a genius.”

Instead of boasting with the sly, cocky grin you had learned was among his favorite facial expressions, he grew serious, all but a trace of a smile leaving his lips. “I just worked hard,” he said.

“Really hard,” you said, knowingly, squeezing his hand. “Even people who work hard, who are smart… it’s almost impossible to escape that kind of poverty. The fact that you did it is…”

His inquisitive eyes, matching the foliage behind him, were strained as if deciding whether to share something or not. But he did, quietly. “I still work hard. Every day. It feels like if I make one false step, everything could fall apart. But, I have enough to support my mother.”

“And an impressive collection of ties,” you chimed.

He smirked, lifting your hand to casually press a kiss to the back of your knuckles. “And suspenders.”

Your pulse raced. Looking up and down this flawlessly stylish man, it all made sense. “Dressed to kill,” you muttered. “You wear it like a disguise.”

He frowned, the warmth leaving his eyes. You had touched a nerve. “Would it be a disguise if you wore it, or just because I’ll always be poor deep down?”

“I didn’t mean—OK, I get how that sounded. I just mean… you are exceptionally attractive. Like, really attractive. I mean, why am I telling you? You know that. Look at you.” You continued the obsequious flattery until a sarcastic smile appeared in the corner of his lips. “You know, actually,” you admitted, “I only grew up in a good neighborhood because my dad re-married rich. The weeks I was with my mom… she worked three jobs just to support me and a crummy apartment. I could never actually count on what the step-family would pay for, so sometimes I rode on boats with rich people, and sometimes I lived off canned pasta. It was weird.”

He looked at you appraisingly as he assimilated this new tidbit of information. “It isn’t easy, straddling two worlds.”

“Except you worked your ass off to break into one, and I ran away into the woods and got really into trees. Trees don’t judge you for not fitting in.”

“I’m sorry for judging you,” he whispered, his voice turning surprisingly tender. He lifted a hand and gently brought it to your cheek. You closed your eyes as it made contact, his palm warm against your skin, the pad of his thumb soft as it began stroking your cheek. You leaned forward, and he closed the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours, slow and sweet. It was chaste at first, and careful, but neither of you wanted to break it, and as it continued, his arms wrapped around the small of your back and your shoulder, drawing you in deeper as his heady scent enveloped you, the taste of coffee on his tongue as his lips parted.

“Barba?”

Rafael practically jumped out of your arms as an inquisitive voice called his name, leaving you kissing the air. The voice belonged to a tall brunette woman pushing a toddler along in a stroller.

“Liv!” he practically shrieked in alarm, straightening himself.

You looked between them and the kid, and felt like such an idiot. “Oh my god, you are cheating!”

Liv gave you a look, and burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry, nothing like that. I’m Sergeant Benson, SVU,” she extended you a firm handshake and explained, “I work with Barba on a lot of cases.” She turned back to Barba with an amused smirk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date, I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Counselor, I didn’t realize you had a personal life.”

“It’s a new thing I’m trying. How’s Noah?”

“He’s perfect,” she smiled, cooing at the curly-haired child. “He loves the turtles, so we’re going down to the pond. Beautiful day for a nature walk.”

“She knows every tree,” Barba volunteered, puffing his chest out with the same cockiness he used to talk about himself, tipping his head at you. “Go ahead, test her.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Liv said, bemused. She gave a polite nod and a reminder that she still owed Barba a coffee for some legal thing he had come through on (which only gave you a slight pang of jealousy), and then waved goodbye, walking down the path toward the water.

You sat in silence, recovering. Barba was obviously scandalized to have been caught in a compromising position by a colleague, the tips of his ears turning red. You were glad she wasn’t his wife, but didn’t love having to suddenly confront the fact that he had an entire social life you knew absolutely nothing about. It sort of ruined the intimacy of the moment, tearing the cardboard moon out of your sky too soon.

Barba broke the silence first with a low, drawn-out groan. He turned to you, his eyes soft but flashing with passion, taking your hands in his again. “If we start seeing each other… there is a good chance you will get to know Liv in some capacity.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, and on the exhale beseeched, “You cannot tell her how we met.”

The earnestness with which he implored you, holding both your hands, made you burst out laughing. He did a poor job hiding his smile as he watched you double over. When you finally contained yourself, you pecked an innocent kiss to his lips. “We can say we met at a bar. We don’t have to mention all the, uh...” Karaoke. Drunken shenanigans. Dubious consent. Whatever you call we-didn’t-have-penis-in-vagina-sex-but-you-fingered-me-until-we-orgasmed. He grimaced with you as you both recalled all of the things you would not be telling anyone about your meet-cute. Then you started remembering his fingers gliding in and out of you, his hungry lips marking up your skin, and a warm shiver ran down your back. He swallowed, seeing the lustful heaviness creep into your eyes and responding with his own.

He nearly kissed you again, wrapping you in a passionate embrace that would have hastened you to a bedroom, but you pulled back. He said “seeing each other.” You thought this was a fun fling with no strings attached, and the idea that he was already thinking about more made your heart sink with guilt. “I should tell you...”

You never got to finish your thought. Liv had only gotten fifty feet when her phone rang. She was yelling into it frantically, demanding answers. Barba’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Liv stormed back up the path, waving to him. “There’s been a… development,” she said, censoring the case details in your presence. “They need me at the precinct. You’re probably going to want to come, too.”

“I believe I am already being summoned,” he replied, checking his phone.

“Good. I need to call the sitter. Please let everyone know I’m on my way.” She hurried off, and any hint of flirtation was gone from Barba’s eyes as he stood, fully back in cold lawyer mode as he made a phone call, then another to order a Lyft.

He was already walking with quick, purposeful steps toward the nearest exit of the park when he hung up his last call and turned back to you apologetically. You had been trailing behind him, unsure if he wanted you to follow, and didn’t miss that you were an afterthought. But his regret was sincere. And the truth was, you didn’t mind this serious version of Barba at all—the sober Barba who poured his soul into getting justice and would forget a date he had been enjoying the instant duty called—because you’d seen the drunk version who fell apart, sobbing in your arms when he let down the victims. He had a hard side and a soft side, and so far, there was nothing about him that you didn’t like.

Oh god, you had a crush on him.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. It’s an emergency,” he explained, brow furrowed heavily over yearning green eyes.

Oh god, this was only supposed to be a one-night stand. Maybe a few nights, but a stand nonetheless. How dare he look at you like that?

“It’s alright. It sounds important,” you half smiled.

“Can I call you later?” he asked. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he had none of the confident swagger usually in his voice. It was a small, hopeful sort of question that told you there were real emotional stakes to your answer.

Oh god, did he have a crush on you, too? Did you have a crush on each other? This was terrible!

Drawn in as if by a magnetic pull, you closed the short distance, threaded your hands between his arms and body, and clasped them together behind his back. His lips quirked as his confidence returned. His hands cupped the sides of your face, then his mouth crashed against yours, fired with all of the passion of desire realized and reciprocated, relief, and longing. It was the type of kiss that would have been drawn out and sensual if it hadn’t been condensed by necessity into a hurried goodbye. You were out of breath and overheated when he broke it, seconds later.

“I’ll be waiting,” you breathed. He gave a hungry growl and a sharp, promising stare that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core before running to catch his ride.

***

Barba hated intelligent psychopaths. Even after they’d been put away, there was always some new appeal to fight, a new witness to come forward, some clever misdirection to cast their crimes into doubt. He’d been running around since noon working out deals with witnesses, obtaining warrants, and warning Liv’s detectives that they were being played. Now the sun was hanging low in the sky, and he realized he had never heard Carmen’s futile warning for him to go home already because his secretary didn’t work on weekends when he was pulling overtime. It was just him and his headache.

The time. What time was it?

He sat bolt upright in his leather office chair and groped for his phone. There was a notification from you from an hour ago that he vaguely recalled hearing buzz.

“How’s the emergency?”

He cursed and checked the time. It was getting late. Too late to make a reservation at any of the swankier restaurants he could take you. But he called you anyway, and was delighted when you answered.

“Hey. It’s Barba,” he said.

“I know,” said your amused voice on the other end of the line. “Your contact is in my phone, Sexy Karaoke Lawyer.”

He groaned in a way that was secretly a laugh. “Alright, Lorax. Are you free tonight? I’d like to take you to dinner. Actually, I thought I could make dinner. At my place?”

You gasped with mock scandalization. “Is this a booty call, Mr. Barba?”

He choked. “No. I just—” He stopped stammering when you started cackling like a grinning idiot, and his voice dropped low. “What if it is?”

The sudden shift in confidence caught you off guard, and he heard you swallow. “Then I’ll be there.”

***

It had been ages since he’d had time to make his abuelita’s costillas de puerco recipe. Or rather, it had been ages since he’d made time, considering he hardly had the time to do it now. He rushed through the corner deli at lightning pace to pick up what he needed, and rushed through prep, knowing you’d be over in less than an hour.

He had no idea why he felt such a drive to impress you. Why he needed to see you again so soon when you’d spent hours by his side that morning. The entire short time he had known you had been strange, anxiety-inducing, and guilt-ridden, but instead of hating you, he found himself wanting more.

The truth he didn’t want to admit was, every interaction with you, no matter how awkward, had been underscored by a potent sexual chemistry, and at the moment, he was nothing but a horny teenage boy who wanted to get laid.

That was all. This was some mid-forties hormonal resurgence. Madre de dios, it was a midlife crisis.

Or maybe this was what happened when he stopped getting in his own way. He’d spent years nursing a broken heart, years that turned into decades guarding himself against anyone getting too close. He never thought he’d feel this way again for somebody new. It was too late in life to meet someone who would know him as well as his childhood friends from el barrio, and they were all married by now. But he’d opened himself up just an inch, just for a night, by mistake, and let someone see past the hard, cynical facade, and now he wanted you to know him. He wanted to know you. He wanted to see how this ended. Maybe this was a revelation.

His heart jumped in his chest at the buzz of the door intercom.

***

“Hola, Rafael,” you greeted, and he grinned at the way you pronounced his name with the correct accent. “Oh my gosh, what smells amazing?”

He stood aside and nodded you in. The apartment was tiny, as most city apartments are, but tidy and well decorated. You were immediately drawn to the sturdy dining room table made of solid burl, and admired the natural chaotic pattern of the grain.

“It needs fifteen more minutes,” he said, observing with amusement how you completely ignored the good silver he’d broken out and started stroking the wood.

“What ever shall we do to pass the time?” you pouted innocently. Barba growled low in his throat, cupping a hand around your hip to draw you close, and you responded by pressing your hips flush against his, smiling lustily. Well, you had more or less agreed that dinner was a pretense for a booty call—no reason not to get right to it.

You hadn’t changed, but he was wearing a more casual wine-colored cashmere sweater, and you ran your hand up it, relishing the velvet softness under your palm as well as the shape of his chest. His lips met yours hot and searching, but didn’t stop there. They trailed over the side of your mouth, kissing down your jaw. He pressed wet, hungry kisses along your neck, and you moaned as his tongue lapped over the soft underside of your throat, his hands gliding over your hips. He pulled back by an inch. “Are you sure… you want this?” he murmured.

“God yes,” you moaned with your lips in his perfect salt-and-pepper hair, arousal raising your temperature as your body responded to his touch. “You haven’t been drinking this time?”

“Not a drop,” he replied huskily, somehow making it sound lewd as he resumed kissing the crook of your neck, and over your shoulder. You curled your fingers through his hair, and backed you up until your legs hit the edge of the table, and rested your weight against it, enjoying the feeling of being pinned as you angled your pelvis to grind against his growing erection.

“Oh, Rafa...” you moaned. “Can I call you Rafa?” you asked, not sure if the nickname was too personal. With the emotional baggage of your first night together, you hadn’t been sure if being on a first-name basis was respectful enough.

“You can call me anything you want,” he purred, his teeth gently pinching your shoulder.

You made a deep, chesty noise, sinfully considering that. “Don’t give me such broad permission, or you might regret it… papi.”

He groaned, and you felt his cock kicking against your cunt. Bunching up your skirt over your hips, you rocked your hips against him, panting just from feeling the strength of his arousal through his clothes. “Yes,” he hissed softly, holding you firmly against him as he worked his clothed erection against your panties, growing more excited with every mewl and shudder it drew from your lips. “That night was… moronic… but I remember the way I felt… how much I wanted you.” He turned his head and sucked a light bruise into your neck. “Do you still feel that way?”

You dipped your head to coax him back to your mouth, his pink lips wet with saliva as your tongue tasted them. “I wanted you to fuck me so bad,” you groaned, jerking your hips for emphasis on the word fuck. “But your fingers are very skilled… and your mouth...” You kissed him again, and felt his hand reach between your legs to slide your panties off.

His fingers paused halfway down the elastic. “Is this moving too fast?” he panted, suddenly trying to be reasonable. The kind of thing you would worry about if you were building a long-term relationship.

“Shh,” you hushed him gently. “I don’t want to think about too fast or too slow, or how different our lives are, or what’s going to happen after tonight. We’re just two strangers having fun. Can’t it just be that?”

He kissed you so softly, then. So tenderly that he could only have been subliminally trying to convince you of something more. His heart drummed with possessive affection; he already knew he wanted more than just tonight. At least the primitive, reckless part of him that didn’t overthink and over-plan every decision did. The rational part of him and the part that would say anything to please you came to an accord as he nodded, lips moving against your skin, “It can be.”

You grabbed his wrist and helped him slip your underwear the rest of the way off, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. His fingers didn’t immediately plunge themselves into your drenched folds, and his hips didn’t immediately return to grind against your wetness. His intelligent, cocky green eyes gave you a probing stare.

“Y qué quieres hacer esta noche?” he purred, low and seductive, giving you a choice.

“Oh, papi, me encanta cuándo hablas español. I want you to do anything you want to me. Anything,” you moaned, fairly certain that, with one or two exceptions, you really meant it. This man turned you on in ways you’d never experienced. There was nothing you wouldn’t try if he wanted it, and you knew he’d stop the second you asked, which made you feel bolder.

He chuckled. “Don’t give me such broad permission, dulce naturalista.”

The promise of mischief in his voice made you shiver, your cunt dripping. “Anything, papi. I just… want to know that you want me.”

He hummed. “This dress, this flimsy thing,” he hooked his index fingers through the narrow shoulder straps and tugged. “Did you know I’ve been staring at it all day, thinking about doing this?” He pulled the front down, just by a few inches, and freed your nipples. He dipped his head, and you gasped as he took one in his mouth.

“Oh god, it feels so good,” you whined as he began to suck, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. It was like he had a direct connection to your clit. He wasn’t even touching you there, but a hot pressure began to build between your legs as he devoured your sensitive nipples.

Then he suddenly released, your hard peak popping out of his mouth with a wet sound, and you whined for him not to stop. “Tu no dominas el español, verdad?” he asked.

“Qué?” you blurted, confused, but answering his question by not understanding it.

“I didn’t think so,” he said, a devilish look in his eyes. “You need practice, so I’ve decided I’ll only give you what you want if you say it in Spanish.”

“Pero… Qué pasa si… yo no sé… how to say it in Spanish?” You did want to learn more dirty talk, but this game didn’t seem fair. You wanted him to keep sucking your tits.

“You said I could do anything I wanted...” he reminded you, bringing his hand back to one of your breasts and kneading it tormentingly slowly. “Si no lo sabes, intenta. Practica, practica, practica.”

You wondered if this was some sort of dominance thing, or if he just liked watching you struggle with his native language. It was a bit exciting, though, you had to admit. Your pulse was racing with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, because you genuinely had no idea how to say what you wanted. “Mis… pechos? Tu lengua. Por favor.” you pointed from his mouth to your breasts.

“Por favor, chupa mis pezones,” he corrected. “Repite.” You repeated it, and before you’d finished the last syllable, he replied, “Con gusto,” and began stimulating your nipples to the point of torture with his nimble lawyer’s tongue.

“Oh god,” you whimpered, your voice high and pleading, “It feels so good.” You bucked your hips into his and curled your fingers around the back of his head trying to force him to keep going, but he pulled back.

“En español,” he chided.

“En serio?!” you complained, but he simply watched you with his eyebrows quirked, waiting. “Me siento bien?” you tried. He smiled approvingly and lowered his sultry mouth to your skin again, flicking your hardened peak while pinching it between his lips. This time he pushed his hips back against yours so you could feel the heat of his erection on your pussy, and it sent new waves of electricity coursing through your body, which was already heaving just with the attention to your breasts. “Por favor, más... Oh god, yes,” you whimpered.

“Qué sabor muy rica, tu piel,” he murmured, muffled in your skin. “You taste delicious.” The vibrations from his speech tore a choked whimper from your lips, and you bucked your hips against his cock.

You bit down on your lower lip, fighting your rising climax even as you lifted one leg, wrapping it over his hip, to hasten it. “I’m gonna—oh god, you’re going to make me come just from this!”

“Voy a venir,” he coached you in a firm, teacher-like voice that nearly made you double over with arousal. “O puedes decir, ‘Me vas a poner a venir.’”

“M-me pon… ah!” he lightly nipped at your sensitive peak, turning the rest of what you were trying to say into helpless babble. “Please, please fuck me… oh god.” Before he could correct you, you remembered what he’d taught you in the bar right before begging you to leave with him so he could fuck your brains out. “Dámelo duro, papi.”

His whole body shuddered as he took in a shaking breath, but sober Barba never lost control until he decided to surrender it. As much as he wanted to fuck you, he was having too much fun teasing you. “You could also say, ‘Quiero que me coges,’” he explained academically, and you growled with frustration, writhing under him, your cunt seeking purchase against his cock. “If you’re going to speak a language, you’ve got to practice it,” he said, his voice far too calm and even for the circumstance, even with its wicked undertone.

“Dámelo! Por favor! Dáme tu pinga!” you begged frantically, rapid-firing off every way to ask for his cock that you could think of. You reached between your bodies and grasped his engorged sex through his tightened pants and stroked him hard from balls to tip. Your efforts were rewarded with an involuntary whine, Barba’s hips jerking forward.

“Me rindo,” he whimpered in surrender. His breath was ragged and he looked ready to fall apart. You purred with victory, but as you slowed the furious pace of your stroking, he recovered enough of his senses to smirk through his lust. “Pero primero, quiero saborearte.” His voice was thick, and his eyes dark as a tropical storm on a Caribbean island. He lifted the leg you’d wrapped around him up onto the table, and knelt beneath you. “Con tu permiso?”

You nodded, gasping sharply even before his tongue made contact with your soaked pussy just from the obscene expression on his face as he opened his mouth and extended the point of his tongue as he slowly leaned toward you. Your hands braced behind you on the table for support. Then you cried out loud when that tongue did hit you, slightly cold from the air, but quickly warming to match you as his mouth closed over your whole cunt. “Ah, que rica,” he sighed into your pussy, lapping at your slippery arousal with broad, languid strokes of his tongue, unhurried, as if he were aiming for no particular goal but to enjoy your flavor. “So wet for papi. Qué buena estudiante eres. Good students should be rewarded.”

He finally stood back up to his full height in front of you and removed his pants and underwear, letting them fall around his ankles, and his cock sprang free. You gaped down at it in awe. “Oh god, look at that cock,” you practically drooled. You automatically reached down and started stroking it, babbling on about what a thick, beautiful cock it was. He was too lost in the touch of your fingers wrapped around his shaft to even complain that it wasn’t Spanish.

“Ah, condoms!” he interjected before pushing himself inside you like every muscle in his body was screaming to do. “I’ve got some in the bedroom.”

You chewed your lip, not sure if this would come off the wrong way since he wanted to be responsible, but you slowly said, “We don’t need to use one if you don’t want. I’m on the pill, and I don’t have any STDs.”

His stormy eyes pierced into you, clearly tempted, but he couldn’t help remarking cynically, “If you give me a disease, I swear...”

“I’m afraid I don’t have my medical records on me, so I understand if you don’t want to take my word for it. I don’t know why I’m blindly trusting you.” That was a lie. Everything about Rafael Barba screamed precision, caution, and consent, and even after such a short time knowing him, you were absolutely certain he would never put you at risk. In fact, there was no way he’d ever have unprotected sex with a stranger.

Except his very next words were, “Fuck it,” and he hooked his arm under your elevated leg, and began rubbing his thick cock through your folds, coating it with your slick arousal. “You are absolutely sure you want this?” he looked at you with soft, understanding eyes, checking for any doubts.

You let out a needy whine, rolling your hips to rub your pussy against the tip of his fat cock. “Te quiero,” you whimpered, intending to say you wanted it, but his cheeks reddened and his heart flipped as you said something better translated as I love you.

You wouldn’t realize your mistake until much later, thinking back on it, or understand why his face was suddenly frozen between tenderness and panic, and then dawning realization, relief, and a small, barely noticeable wince of disappointment.

He entered you slowly, letting you feel every inch of stretch from his cock. Like the rest of his build, it was not the longest you had ever seen, but it was impressively girthy, and each blissful inch he worked you open brought the slightest fraying edge of pain. He knew his size could be a challenge, and was practiced at preparing, and patience. You were already so dripping wet, you didn’t need extra lube, though he had it on standby, and watched you carefully, pausing to let you rest every time he advanced. As he waited, feeling your walls relax to accept him, he ducked his head to your breasts, savoring the helpless squeals you made when he gave attention to what he learned was one of your most sensitive erogenous zones. Every time he flicked his tongue over your nipple or sucked its hardened peak into his mouth, your cunt twitched around him and your back arched to take more of him. It worked so well, he never stopped teasing your breasts, and your silent cries of, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god!” grew in intensity until you were screaming with pleasure, fist clenched in his hair as you held him to your chest, and his balls were pressed tight against your ass.

Panting hard and moaning into your breasts, he began to thrust, slowly at first, but you wrapped your legs around his back and used them as leverage to buck your hips into him, pushing back into each of his thrusts, deepening them and coaxing him to increase his pace. As you angled your hips, he began hitting a deep point inside that made your legs turn to jelly. “Dámelo bien duro,” you tried to say, but it mostly came out as unintelligible gasps and whimpers. His mouth never left your tits and you loved the angle it gave you, being able to watch his face, strained with concentration and clouded with lust, and his tongue working diligently to bring you to a climax that took you off guard with how suddenly it crashed over you. You couldn’t say there was no buildup to it, because you had been in throes since he first pulled down your dress, but he had barely begun to thrust when the heat coiling in your lower back suddenly tightened and snapped, shooting sparks behind your eyelids. “Ah—Rafa!” you wailed, squeezing your fingers in his hair.

He gasped, releasing the globe of your breast from his mouth at the wracking of your body in his arms. Your pussy convulsed, clenching tightly around his cock, coating it in your sweet release, almost too tight for him to thrust through. One more jerk of his hips through your rippling, fluttering muscles and he let out a string of swears, and you felt his abdominal muscles tense up against your belly. He pulled back and thrust into you once more, balls swinging against your ass, and his hot seed flooded you. He panted, trembling, still trying to hold onto you, though halfway sitting on a dining table without knocking off any of the plates was not the most ideal location for post-coital recovery cuddling. He grabbed a few paper napkins from behind you to catch the drippings as he pulled out.

It was over too fast, a testament to how long it had been for him. Both of you, really. But you weren’t disappointed. He made you come almost entirely with that silver tongue of his, and you were still shaking too much to take your weight off the table and put it on your legs.

The timer on the oven rang shrilly, announcing dinner was done.

“After dinner,” he promised, pulling his pants back on. “Quiero más de tu cuerpo.”

You were satisfied, but not yet sated, and looked forward to round two.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921 / @charlottegrice / @onerestein

[jaehyunspeachparty]

1.11

warnings: This story contains content that could be problematic for one or the other. Among other things, the story may contain content about sex, late pregnancy, relationship with a large age difference, and others. Just because it's in the warnings doesn't mean these topics will appear, but they will definitely be covered in the story. The content of the story is fixed and doesn’t change. If you don't feel comfortable with these topics, then it's okay if you don't read the story. I just write down my ideas here and I just enjoy writing about life. The fact that some things in life are not rational or weird for some people is also part of it.

Miga was only able to meet Jaemin a few days later. Both had a full schedule and they had to find a place where no one could see them. Ultimately, they decided that Miga would just go to Jaemin's apartment. At first, he didn't want this, but they had no choice. When she got there she was surprised that there were so many boxes in the room. "Are you clearing out?" She asked as she put her shoes down next to one of the boxes. "No, I bought a house, I need more space if I adopt a child." Jaemin smiled full of happiness, apparently everything is now moving forward with the adoption. "Are you looking forward to it?" Miga asks gently and took a step closer. "Yes, I can hardly wait ..." Jaemin's voice also became calm. His fingers found suddenly hers and he brushed them against her palms. He was like in a world of his own when he was around her. He clawed his fingers between hers and he looked down at her. He knew he felt so much. Her eyes were so gentle and beautiful, her lips so red... When Miga looked up to Jaemin, her knees went weak too. She knew it always would be Jaemin. He should become her great love, he is her dream prince, he can give her everything and she can give him this too. And when she stood in front of him, her skin almost touched and Miga closed her eyes to finally feel his lips again but then Jaemin stopped. "I just can't. That's why I wanted to talk to you." He broke away from her as fast as he could and left Miga behind who looked at him shocked and hurt. "What do you want to tell me?" She looked at him confused. "That it was a mistake last time," said Jaemin then. "You need a conversation for that? You told me that last time." Slowly Miga got angry because she didn't like the game he was playing with her. "I just want to make it clear that it won't happen again." He turned away and tried not to look at Miga anymore, after all he was struggling with his own feelings. He expected a lot, but somehow not that Miga would now stand in the room and start crying. Her heart ached and she couldn't believe why Jaemin dumped her like that. "I thought you like me?" She was sobbing and Jaemin could barely look at her. She was so small and vulnerable and he would love to hug her. "But I like you..." "I wasn't wrong, or? You're interested in me ... I mean in a romantic way." She tries to understand the whole thing because there were so many signs. "No, you were right ... I like you ... more than just a friend," he finally admitted his feelings towards her. "Then what's the problem?", She then asked further and she got louder and louder. She didn't understand what the problem was. Yes, they had an age difference, but she liked him and he liked her. "You are so young, our age difference and then there would be your father ..." "My father? He just wants me to be happy." Several tears continued to roll down Miga's cheeks. "I don't think he'll ever agree if we date." "If we like each other, what's my father's business. I'm an adult, I can decide for myself what makes me happy." Miga was getting angrier now, she hated it when she was treated like a child. "No Miga! YOU CANNOT DECIDE THAT", Jaemin got louder without meaning it. But it was enough for Miga. She looked at him startled and turned around. "Wait Miga, I ..." But in those moments she was already out of the apartment.

"There are women in your organization who are mostly married, but often accompanied by violence. Statistically, such women often don’t come a second time to search for help. How does your organization approach that?" The interviewer leaned back in the chair and looked at you. A few years ago you founded an organization with Eunbi that is supposed to help women, regardless of their situation. Your focus is particularly on families who are confronted with a lot of violence and druguse. Your practice had expanded quite a bit by now. You manage everything, Eunbi takes over the legal affairs and you also had a psychologist, gynocologist and social worker in the team. "We focus on the children. We make sure that they feel particularly comfortable and that they ultimately beg their mother to come back. Our waiting area is almost exclusively geared towards children and they can often get toys to take them home." You stay serious and pay close attention to what you say because this interview was important for future donations. "In your advisory role you are often confronted with the evil side of men. How does that affect your home? You have three sons of your own and you are married. How do you handle this?" You didn't like it when journalists want to draw attention to Jaehyun or your children. You strictly separate your work and your organization shouldn't be about idols or pop culture. "I don't believe in evil. But I think the most important thing is to talk openly with the next generation about everything and to clear up outdated cultural values ​​and stereotypes that affect women negatively." In the meantime you had already learned to answer neutrally to private questions. "You have been married to Jaehyun Jung for almost 20 years, to what extent did he influence you to found this here." The journalists did not want to deviate from the private topic. You paused briefly and think about how you can give a neutral answer again. But at this moment Eunbi suddenly came in. "I'm sorry Y/N for bothering you, but we have an emergency." Eunbi looked really worried and you get up immediately. "No problem, we're already done, aren't we?" You look at the journalist, who then nodded. Eunbi and you immediately run out of the room. "What's going on?" You ask immediately. "Pregnant woman, it looks like she is on drugs, who thinks she was held by her husband and beaten several times," explained Eunbi. "Have you contacted Dr. Oh yet?" Dr. Oh was the gynocology that worked in your organization. "Yes, she is on the way, but is stuck in traffic." Eunbi opened the door and you see a young woman standing in panic in front of the window. Her lips were all white and dried out. You could see abdomen and puncture marks on her arms. "Hey, I'm Y/ N Jung", you walk slowly towards her but she immediately jumped away. She was totally intimidating and trembling. "HE WILL FIND ME," she yells. "What's your name?" You ask ahead and take a few steps back. "There ... Dahae," said herself cautiously, but her body language was still scared. "Dahae. You are pregnant, do you know if you will have a boy or a girl?" You smile softly and you could see how she slowly lowered her shoulders. She just shook her head in response and you carefully take a step forward. "Do you know when your baby is coming?" You ask in advance. "I did the math ..." she said suddenly and at that moment she seemed clearer. "The time will come...in 3 or 4 months." She suddenly put her hands on her stomach and stared at it. She didn't look sober, she was probably high and that made the thing worse. "Would you like to see your baby once?" You ask and smile. Dahae suddenly seemed very small, almost childlike, so that you wonder how old she was.

Somehow you got her to have her checked out by a gynocologist and a doctor. Dahae trusted you more and more and so you made some progress. She was taken to a women's shelter, which was focused on women with addiction problems. "Hey Y/N, can I talk to you?" Dr. Oh the gynecologist came into your office. You nod and look at her expectantly. "Eunbi couldn't find Dahae anywhere. She has several signs of severe abuse. I fear that it started in childhood." That sounded like a serious case that rarely happened. "How old do you think she is?" You ask. "I think she'll be around 16-19". You always had a hard time meeting girls as old as your daughter. "Okay, she's just safe. How about the baby?" You ask. "It's alive, I can't say more yet." "At least good news." You sigh and turn off the light on your desk.

When you were at home you tried to switch off your thoughts, but it was difficult for you. Sunoh, Kiwoo and Jaehyun were boxing, Geon was with Jasper and Miga wasn't there either. You found it hard to be home alone after such a day. You had to think a lot about Dahae, you just couldn't get her out of your head. That's why you were happy when you heard someone come home. You could see through the window that it was Miga. But she didn't look happy. "Hey, are you okay?" You turn to your daughter who lay down on the sofa next to you. "Mummy." She lay in your arms and started crying. "What happened?" You stroke her dark hair and suddenly she was your little girl again. "Why can't I even be lucky in love?" She sobbed into your shoulder and it hurt to see her hurt. "At some point you will find someone who loves you as you love him." You keep stroking her head and Miga kept crying. She was so heartbroken and you wonder which boy gave her so much grief. Jaehyun shouldn’t know this because he would look for the guy immediately. "But everyone is in love and has relationships. I want that too." Several tears continued to roll down her cheeks and you try to calm her down further. "You will have this in the future, but it's okay to take your time. You should have someone who is good to you, respects you and both of you can move forward in life. Finding something like that takes time, but that's okay." You smile and look down at her. "That's a typical mum answer." And now Miga had to laugh a little too. "Hopefully you know that mothers can sometimes speak wise words." You stroke her forehead and feel how warm she was. Her whole body was heated up because she was so angry. "I also want to have a relationship like you and Daddy. The parents of so many friends of mine are either separated or hate each other. But you're still so in love." She looks up at you with her dark eyes and you smile gently. "We took our time too and we were older too. You are only 19 years old. You can still have so many experiences. I just want you to make good choices. Search for someone who respects you and values you. You are incredible great, beautiful, intelligent ... " "Mum ... you're already talking like Daddy." She rolled her eyes but laughed again. You kiss her forehead and continue to stroke her head. "Your Dad and I say that only because it's the truth."

"And now she's sleeping with the other guy too, because she thinks she loves both of them." Yuna and Miga were walking through the town and Yuna told the latest tea about other schoolmates. "Hmm ... can you love two people at the same time?" Miga then asked implausibly, but Yuna shrugged her shoulders. "I guess ..." "I don't know, and when you do, I think you love a person more." She also thought that she couldn't fall in love until she was with her feelings for Jaemin over. But was that even possible? "Don't be so pessimistic." Yuna poked her a little with her elbow and looked at her best friend. "Love is just stupid," said Miga, but Yuna immediately knew what was wrong with her. "Is it still about the mysterious older guy?" She knew this was what was bothering Miga. "I just mean ..." Miga's heart was still aching and Yuna at first didn't know how to cheer her friend up, but then she saw something. "Come over." She grabbed her hand and dragged it into a store. "What is that?", Miga asked when she was inside and Yuna finally let go of her hand. "We let predict your future." Yuna believed in all possible forms of horoscopes and fortune tellers, Miga has a different opinion to this topic. "Wha? No!" She shook her head but an elderly lady came along. "How can I help you two girls?", She asked gently, looking very empathetic and friendly. "My friend needs help in love," Yuna said then and pushed her friend out. The fortune teller looked at her and smiled. "Yes, I see a lot of pain. Come on, sit down my sweetie." Miga had no choice but to follow the woman. When Miga was seated, the woman took her hand and placed a few cards. She stared alternately at her and then back at the table and Miga doesn't quite know what to say or do. "I see ..." said the older woman after a few minutes of silence. "What do you see?", Yuna asked excitedly. "Love. It is there and very very strong," said the fortune teller then. "That must be the mysterious older guy she kissed." Yuna was very excited, but the fortune teller stopped. "No, I don't see an older man. I only see young love, but I also see a lot of blindness." She turned over another card and smiled. "The blindness will soon be resolved." The fortune teller ended her session and Miga understood even less.

When they went out of the store, Yuna was excited, but Miga not. "A young love. Did you hear that?" "Yes, but who should that be?" Miga rolled her eyes, because at the moment she couldn't think of who would be in love with her around her. "You have a lot of admirers, don't be so humble." Yuna rolled her eyes and Miga wanted to give up right away, but the phone rang for both of them. "School?" Asked Miga and Yuna nodded. "The math grades are there." Yuna opens the mail and Miga leaned over to look at the display. Miga's heart suddenly beat much faster and together they went through the list. "I have 70 out of 100 points. I'm relieved," said Yuna and grinned happily. "Why am I nowhere?", Miga asked more to herself, but Yuna continued scrolling and then it suddenly shows her result. "MIGA! 95 out of 100 points. How did you do that?" Yuna hugged her friend, but Miga couldn't believe it. She was in the top 20 of her year. She had never been so good at maths. "I'll call mum right away and tell her that we passed it." Yuna turned to the side and started talking to her mother on the phone. Miga actually wanted to do the same, but she wanted to call someone else first ... namely Hyunjin. "Hello?" Hyunjin sounded relatively sleepy and Miga immediately felt bad. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" "No, it's all good. You know, as a rookie and later as an idol, you don't have a good sleep schedule." "I just wanted to say thank you. I got 95 out of 100 points on the math test." "Wow. That's amazing." "I only managed that with your help." "No, you did it, you already knew so much, I was just helping you on your way." Hyunjin chuckled and everyone could hear his joy. "Am I still invited to your birthday party?", Miga then asked carefully and blushed slightly. "Yes! Of course," said Hyunjin immediately. "Well, don't forget, I'll bring the cake."

"Forget it, she's already half an hour late, she won't come," said Wonsik, looking at his band member. "Girls like Miga don't hang out with us rookies. Hyunjin, sorry," said Dabin and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Miga is not like other girls," said Hyunjin then, looking desperately at his phone. He had already given up the idea that Miga would come. But somehow the thought that she was interested in him was too good. "Still, you should be careful. You won't be the only one who finds her attractive." Wonsik wasn't really encouraging because this were thoughts that Hyunjin already had in his head anyway. "Hey, you didn't see them. Miga seemed to really like Hyunjin," Kiha defended his friend. But Hyunjin doesn't know what to do next. He stroked his hair and took a deep breath. "It's okay. Wonsik is right, I'm not in her league." Hyunjin bowed his head and stood up. He was about to get a beer in the fridge when suddenly someone rings the doorbell. "We haven't ordered yet, can it be?" Kiha started to grin. Hyunjin slammed the refrigerator door and immediately went to the door. And there she was ... she really come to his birthday. "Miga! You are here." He grinned and his cheeks flushed. "I'm so sorry. I pre-ordered your cake and then they swapped my order and then I couldn't find a parking space and ..." Miga could barely breathe and Hyunjin could only stare at her, so Kiha intervened. "We were just about to order something to eat, so you've come to the right time." He took the box with the cake from her and let Miga into the apartment. Wonsik and Dabin couldn't believe their eyes. Beomsoo now came into the kitchen too and smiled when he saw Miga. He was sure she would come, too, but the rest were perplexed. Everyone in the group knew for a long time that Hyunjin adored Miga. But they didn't think he had a lot of chances because she was very popular and many guys adores her. "Wow, your apartment is big. Does the whole group live here?" Miga asks and the boys immediately made a place available for her. "No, there are others living a few floors above us, but we are the cool dorm," Beomsoo grinned and the other boys nodded convinced. "A really?" Miga laughed and immediately felt at home in the group of friends. "Do you like a beer?", Hyunjin asked and became shy at the same moment. "No, but water would be great. I have to drive home today." Miga smiled gently and Hyunjin almost froze. "Wait, I'll bring it to you. It's Hyunjin's birthday today. You'd better take my seat." Kiha got up and made Hyunjin sit down next to Miga. "Do you already know your group name?", She asked carefully and looked around. "We kind of hoped that maybe you could tell us more about that." Wonsik grabbed his shoulders uncertainly and laughed. "No sorry, Daddy doesn't talk about work at home that much." Miga looked at the boys sadly, she would like to tell them more. "Ahhh your father is a strict teacher," Beomsoo said then. "Really?" Miga found this somehow surprising. "He's especially after Hyunjin." Dabin looked cheekily at his colleague, who glared at him. "Is that so?", Miga asked with wide eyes and turned to the boy next to her. "He just wants that I learn from his experience." Hyunjin looked down ashamed and couldn't look Miga in the eye for a moment, but Kiha tried to intervene again. "I think we should finally order something to eat."

After dinner everyone sat together and drank, but gradually Hyunjin and Miga fell into their own conversation as if they were in their own world. "I think you would get along well with my brother Sunoh," said Miga and looked into Hyunjin's eyes. "Oh, why?" He asked with a smile. But Miga just shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, you guys have the same vibe." Kiha, who has meanwhile already become the wingman, saw that the two were completely absent from the group and thought it would be good if the two were alone. "We still have your cake, Miga. What if we sit down in the living room and you two cut it?" The other guys got up immediately and took the hint. Only Miga didn't quite understand what was happening and Hyunjin was also clueless. But the two followed blindly and the two went into the kitchen. "I hope you like it. It's from the best pastry chef in Seoul." Miga grinned proudly while Hyunjin looked at the cake. "It looks really great. Is it chocolate?", He asked with a grin and Miga nodded. "Yes, do you like it?" She asked carefully. "I love chocolate." Hyun grinned and looked down at the girl. The two looked at each other briefly and Hyunjin lost himself in her eyes. But Miga also noticed that her heart was suddenly beating faster and she was a bit confused. "Let's cut the cake," she said and broke the silence. Hyunjin immediately nodded and took a knife. He put it on carefully and made the first cut. Miga meanwhile cleared the plates, whereupon Hyunjin put the cake pieces on top. "The cream looks really good," said Hyunjin and smiled at Miga. Slowly he loosened up and he felt more and more comfortable. "It looks a bit like a face cream, doesn't it?" Miga laughed and looked up. "Do you think so?", Hyunjin asked and she nodded. Then she took her finger, took a little cream and smeared it on his cheek. She giggled and Hyunjin's heart beat faster. "Then you need something too." He also took some cream and smeared it on the tip of her nose. Miga giggled and Hyunjin thinks she is so incredibly beautiful. "What is it?" She asked cheekily and grinned up at him. She noticed that he was staring at her and that he suddenly became calmer. "You are so cute," he said then, putting his hands on her cheeks. Her dark eyes looked up at him and she didn't know what was happening, but she somehow trusted him. The next moment his lips touched hers. His upper lip slips between hers and when she returned the kiss he became more passionate and showed it with his tongue. His heart was pounding wildly. An adrenaline rush flows through his body and he couldn't believe that he had dared to do this. But Miga was also surprised, she hadn't expected it. Although she liked Hyunjin, she was so focused on Jaemin that she had overlooked the signs. But she was glad the kiss happened because she enjoyed the presence of Hyunjin. After a long and intense kiss, the two separated slowly and Hyunjin became shy again. "I'm sorry that was too fast, right?" But Miga smiled and shook her head. "No, it was really wonderful," she said softly and put her hand on his chest. She felt his pulse and suddenly it made so much sense. That's why he hadn't slept and was at the company earlier every day ... he just wanted to be close to her. "I didn't know you liked me this way." She carefully brushed a strand of hair aside and suddenly she was shy too. "I'm sorry. Is that bad?" Miga still had her hand on him and she noticed how his breathing got faster and faster. But she shook her head and looked up at him again. "No, absolutely not at all." She then smiled and now she kissed him. She never thought that the evening would end like this. But Hyunjin never thought his dream would come true either. "You're my best birthday present," he then whispered and stroked her cheek again. Miga couldn't believe it, everything was like a dream. "I know it's difficult, but I'd like to take you out." He looks at her gently and Miga was still in a world of her own. "Yeah sure," she said quietly and Hyunjin knew that this was his best birthday he had ever had.

When Miga drove home she was still excited. She kept smiling and she liked her newfound feelings. Everything was exciting and new. She was so glad that Hyunjin had shown his feelings so openly. As Miga parked her car, she noticed that a familiar car was parked in the driveway. If she wasn't mistaken, it was Jaemin's. Her heart immediately started beating extreme fast and she just didn't know what was happening here. What was Jaemin doing here? Carefully she went into the house and saw how her father and Jaemin sat at the table and happily drank Soju. "Miga! Here you are." Jaehyun saw her and immediately waved her over to him and Jaemin. It was difficult for the girl to look her crush in the eye, everything was very confusing. "Is there something to celebrate?" Asks Miga cautiously, looking back and forth between the men. "Yes, there is," says Jaemin and looked deep into Miga's eyes, so that she briefly lost herself in them. Her heart beat faster and her knees got weak. "Jaemin, you and I are going to play in a drama together," Jaehyun said and poured his daughter a glass as well. "What?" Asks Miga, shocked. She doesn't quite know how to find it all. Jaehyun put the glass in her hand and put an arm around his daughter. "We must celebrate that."

providentia masterlist

daddy jaehyun masterlist

[izaswritings]

Title: in the quiet

Fandom: RWBY

Synopsis: The group has saved Atlas and is en route to Vacuo, but with the danger now behind them, other troubles finally catch up.

(Or: in which Oz struggles with this whole ‘trusting’ business, Oscar does damage control, and Ruby fights name formality. Change is all in the little steps.)

AO3 Link is here.

.

It’s almost funny, how it all ends—  after everything, after all the fighting and the screaming and the dying, they leave Atlas behind them in silence.

Not quite a victory. Not quite defeat. They’ve lost more than they could ever afford to lose, but they haven’t fallen—  the city in the sky, still sitting there among the clouds; Mantle, gutted but breathing, still surviving, finally safe. They leave the city behind in a lone airship that barely fits the lot of them, Penny as their newest addition, and when Oscar takes his seat beside Nora, head pillowed against her arm, he and Oz pass out almost at exactly the same time. It’s quiet. It’s done. It’s finally okay for them to rest.

For now.

It’s the hum of the airship that finally awakens Oz, hours later, when Atlas is gone from view and only the sky shows out their windows. His head aches—  or rather, their head aches— and Oz pries open their eyes with a muted wince, leaning away from a snoring Nora Valkyrie, sitting up against the wall.

He blinks, slowly, looking out over their group. Maria is still at the helm—  eyes fixed on the windshield, and when she glances back at him she gives only the barest of nods and then turns back to the controls. The rest of the group is dead to the world, clustered on the floor and leaning against one another, so deeply asleep it almost disturbs him. If he couldn’t hear their breathing…

Oz shakes the thought away, inhaling sharply, a little more awake now. In the back of their mind, Oscar is quiet, awake but not really aware, half-way dead and dozing to the world. He’s not quite asleep, but… Oz lets him rest. He knows this is as close as Oscar will get to sleep without tempting nightmares, and in this, they are in full agreement: neither of them wants nightmares right now. Neither of them is ready to face what monstrosities will arise from the mix of Oscar’s fears and Oz’s horror trove of memories. It has been a long, terrible week.

And it is over, Oz reminds himself, a constant mantra. It has been a long, awful week, but it is over. Salem has been diverted, at least for now; Atlas still stands, and so too does Mantle. And James…

Oz closes their eyes. No, he decides. He won’t think about that. Not yet, at any rate. It’s not the time, as Oscar likes to say, whenever too many problems pile on at once. Oz is trying to reassure himself. The task is done. He is alive, and so are all the others. They have done the best they could, and now they are finally leaving Atlas behind them.

It’s fine. Everything is… just fine.

What…?

Oh, damn it all.

Oz drifts back, irritated with himself, and it is Oscar who blinks open their eyes and squints into the dark. The boy’s mind is blurry with exhaustion— but he is, unfortunately, awake.

I’m sorry, Oz offers, biting back a sigh. So much for letting the boy rest. I didn’t mean to wake you.

Oscar hums, seemingly unbothered; he leans back against the wall and yawns into his hands. “It’s fine. You didn’t, really. And I don’t know if what I was doing even counts as sleeping…” His voice is quiet, barely a mumble. Oscar presses his palms against his eyes. “Felt more like my brain just died.”

Across the airship, a quiet giggle. “Oh, like passing out?”

Surprise flickers through them both. Oscar blinks and turns. “...Ruby?”

On the other side of the airship, sitting beside Penny Polendina and Weiss Schnee, Ruby Rose gives a small wave in reply. Her smile is a flash in the dark. She looks almost half-asleep— as bleary-eyed as Oscar, but less dazed. Had she been awake this whole time? The thought startles Oz. He hadn’t noticed.

“Morning!” Her head tilts. She looks momentarily sheepish. “Whoops, did I startle you?”

“A little,” Oscar whispers back, but he’s smiling too. Then the boy blinks, and Oz can feel his thoughts stall. “Wait, it’s morning?”

“Uh…”

The children both turn to look out the windows. Beyond the scraped glass of the airship porthole, the sky is dark and star-lit, heavy swaths of shadowy clouds wisping by. The moon is entirely hidden behind the fog. Oz, for one, cannot tell the time at all.

“I have no idea,” is what Oscar says.

Ruby Rose giggles at that, quiet agreement. From the controls, in a whisper that is both amused and warning, Maria says, “It’s three A.M. It’s not anything.”

“Ohhhh,” Ruby Rose says agreeably, in a hushed and self-assured whisper under her breath. “Void time.”

...Oz cannot exactly argue with that.

Oscar snorts, then chokes, stifling his giggle in his elbow. Ruby Rose grins at him and stands up, gingerly prying away from Penny Polendina’s death grip on her arm and slipping past the sleeping and unmoving bodies of the others to settle next to Oscar on the seats. On his other side, Nora Valkyrie scoffs in her sleep and slumps. Oscar and Ruby Rose share a grin. She elbows him lightly. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“Kind of. Oz woke up first, and then…”

Oz winces.

“It doesn’t matter,” Oscar informs him, still quiet. “I wasn’t… like I said. Didn’t really feel like sleeping. Just—” He sighs. “I don’t know. Everything feels slow, right now.”

“Like a shroud,” Ruby Rose agrees, but she sounds a little more subdued, and she draws her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She looks out over the others, and Oscar looks too; Oz peers through their eyes briefly, if only to quiet the nagging worry at his chest. The others are all quiet, all seemingly asleep—or close to it—and no one seems in pain from their lingering injuries, at any rate, and even Qrow seems a little more restful than before…

Oscar must catch on to his train of thought, because his gaze fixes on Qrow too. He frowns, thoughtful. “Hey, Ruby. Do you think…?”

She looks at Qrow too. For a moment she seems confused—  but then her eyes linger on her uncle, and understanding dawns. She bites her lip, and for a moment her eyes seem shadowed, too old for her face.

“I don’t know,” Ruby Rose says, a whisper drawn thin and quiet. “I mean… I think he’ll be okay? He’s been… um, worse. Before. So this isn’t really so bad, in comparison.” She folds into herself, and rubs at her arms, as though cold. Her lips press. “But— that kind of makes it hurt more, though.”

Oscar blinks. Oz too is puzzled. “What do you…?”

“It’s weird, but… I feel like he almost expected this to happen,” she confesses to Oscar, and her voice is so low they have to strain to hear her. “M-maybe, um, maybe not Clover dying like that, but like he was waiting for…”

“The disappointment?”

Her voice is very hushed. “The loss.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, quietly. The boy seems at a loss what to say; his eyes turn down, lips pressed tight. He leans against Ruby gingerly, and she looks away from Qrow for just a moment, smiling weakly, looking grateful.

Oz is distant, though, and aching, and something about it all curdles in his chest. He’s been worse. But Oz—Oz cannot remember a time when Qrow was quite like this, not even after Raven left and Summer died. Qrow has been grief-stricken before, yes, but not this resigned to it. In a way it is a relief—that Qrow has turned to anger instead of breaking, that he has chosen to keep moving forward despite it all. But that Oz has no idea when this choice took place, that he, apparently, wasn’t there for it…

Oz is not blind to the implications. The memory rises in him, sharp as bile. Meeting you was the worst luck of my life.

Yes. Yes, Qrow has been worse, hasn’t he? He’s—been through worse. Of course he has learned. Of course he was ready for it. Oz’s lies had likely taught him very well how to deal with crushing disappointment.

It is not the first time Oz has been confronted with the aftereffects of his actions, his choices; in all the thousands of years he’s lived, he’s had to face his own faults again and again and again. But it never gets any easier. It never hurts any less. Everything he has done, everything he has learned, all these lives, and still—Oz could not even do this right. Still, he seems to have learned nothing at all… or, perhaps, he learned the wrong lesson.

But even now, Oz doesn’t know where it all went wrong. He doesn’t know what he could have done differently—  can’t even imagine it. There are no easy answers to any of this. There’s no clear path for what Oz should have done, only the knowledge that what he did end up doing was wrong.

And it galls at him. It gnaws at him. It is a doubt that had festered in Atlas and now grows with every passing minute of peace, with every second he has to finally think, and see the situation in full. The thoughts are many, and they are spinning. Is this— what Oz is doing now, this new approach— the right choice? The right path to take? Can Oz be sure? Can he afford to be wrong? And if he is wrong, again, then—  

“Stop,” Oscar says, suddenly, and Oz snaps back to awareness. His train of thought cuts off, and for a moment Oz is nowhere, nothing, blank and startled by the interruption. The boy has opened his eyes again; Oscar is frowning up at the ceiling, brow furrowed. “There’s no use regretting what can’t be changed,” Oscar says, under his breath. “You— we just need to try better, next time.”

Oz is silent for a long moment. He struggles to regain his bearings, gathering up the edges of his spiraling thoughts. I… did not mean for you to hear all that.

“I didn’t. Not really. But this thing goes both ways, doesn’t it?” Oscar touches briefly over his heart. “I can feel you panicking.”

Well, Oz considers. Fuck.

Ruby Rose nudges Oscar with her elbow, looking a little alarmed. “Are you… no, is he…?”

“Dunno. It’s just loud.” He pauses. “Oz?”

Oz feels like sighing. He reaches out, almost, a sort of mental gesture, and Oscar frowns up at the ceiling and then goes distant, falling back. Oz slips into control with a sharp breath and a hiss through their teeth, and sits up straight, adjusting. The battle in Atlas has left bruises on Oscar and Oz both, and he rolls out their wrist as the pain filters through, waiting to adjust to the sharp sting of their healing wounds.

“I am fine,” he says, once he’s settled, and links their hands as he leans back against the airship wall, missing his old chair. The downside of traveling by airship is that there is nowhere comfortable to sit. “Just… thinking.”

Ruby Rose blinks at their switch but doesn’t much react beyond leaning back to give Oz his space. She tilts her head. “…Good,” she says, though she doesn’t look like she believes him. Curse Oscar’s open honesty; anything Oz says now will be taken as a front now that she’s already had confirmation he was spiraling. “Um… do you wanna talk about it?”

Ha, ha. “No.”

“I mean, you don’t have to talk to me, that might be weird. Maria! Maria’s like, almost your age. You could talk to Maria.”

In the back of their mind, Oscar is choking on a laugh.

Oz closes their eyes. “Thank you, Miss Rose,” he says, dryly. If nothing else, this absolute mess of a conversation is serving as a lovely distraction. “But please, I beg of you— can we not?”

She grins. “But—”

He gives her a look.

“Right, right, dropping it.”

“Hm.” He doubts it. She is friends with Nora Valkyrie, after all; this is going to come up again, he thinks, and once more at his expense. That Oscar is their friend has apparently given all the teenagers free rein to tease Oz as well, and he has no idea what to do about it. (And will also never, ever admit that he finds it funny.) “I’m sure.”

She snickers, but is quick to muffle it, though she’s still smiling when she lowers her hand. “Why do you do that, anyway?”

Oz blinks. Oscar, in the back of their mind, gives an impression like tilting his head. “Hm?”

“Miss Rose,” she mimics. “Mister Arc, Miss Valkyrie…”

“It’s polite,” Oz says, wry.

“Well, yeah, but it feels kind of…” She makes a motion with her hand, then frowns. “I dunno.”

I’ve noticed that too. Oscar sounds thoughtful. When Oz turns his attention inward, surprised, the boy almost seems to start. Well, you do it a lot. You always refer to people with their full names when we talk, or with the titles. Even with the others! Well, not Qrow, but everyone else…

“…I have honestly never thought much about it,” Oz says, a little thrown by the observation. “Truly, no harm is meant.”

Ruby Rose shrugs. “Well, you can just call me Ruby, if you want! Miss Rose is… yech.”

“…Hm.”

“Oh, you’re making a face. Never mind.”

Oz winces, turning their head away, and waves a hand. “No, no,” he says, just barely remembering to keep their voice low. If the others start waking up, this really will become just… too much for words. “I simply—”

He stops, uncharacteristically frustrated. He doesn’t really have the words to explain it, and doesn’t really understand it himself. He had not always been so strict on formality, but after Ozpin’s death… and he has done this for a very long time. It is a lingering echo from a bygone era, the time of fairytales and magic; names had power then, and Ozma had known that well. And Oz cannot deny there’s a comfort in it all, in the formality, in the distance. The separation.

But then. If he thinks about it like that… Oz understands a little of where Oscar and Ruby Rose are coming from, too. Because the distance is comforting, but… perhaps that was always the problem. The distance. Can they trust him at all if they don’t know him?

Oscar speaks slow and thoughtful. Can they betray you if you don’t know them?

Oz takes a moment to remember how to breathe. “That’s—”

Sorry. Sorry. I… I didn’t mean it as an accusation. Just a thought.

Still. The words have hit hard. Oz exhales slowly through their teeth, wrestling with his composure, and when he turns back to Ruby Rose—to Ruby— his expression is steady even if their hands still tremble.

“No,” Oz says, finally, with difficulty. He gives in to temptation, and reaches for their cane; turns it in their hands without extending it, drawing strength from the weight of it in their palms. “No, you’re probably right. By this time—after all this time— perhaps it is odd.” Something in him steadies, settles. “I will… attempt differently.”

Ruby still looks worried. “S-sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean—um, to upset you, I was just wondering—”

“It’s fine.”

“But—”

“I know,” he says gently. “And it is all right. I… I have been reflecting on a lot, these past few days. Weeks. ...Months. And old habits make new troubles seem easier.” He turns the cane again in their hands, tracing gloved fingers over the engravings. “But not all old habits are worth keeping.”

Besides. Oz has promised them— promised Oscar, especially— to do differently. To try. Maybe he doesn’t know where he went wrong before— what he could have changed, what he should have done… but Oz can do this. He can change. He can speak to them as equals, as people fighting the same war he is, as allies and friends and students. He can trust them. Or at the very least, he can try to.

“I… I guess so…” Ruby searches their face. “Are you sure?”

He almost smiles. Her concern is unneeded, but her kindness is appreciated. “Yes,” Oz assures. He taps the cane with a finger, thoughtful. “Besides. It will probably serve as a welcome distraction, Mis—”

Ruby.

“— hm.”

This, at least, gets the girl to grin. “Uh… you’ll get it eventually?”

“My point exactly,” Oz murmurs. The weight in the air has lifted—  some of the darkness gone with this choice, with the echo of laughter—  and when Oz steps back out of control again he goes with some measure of peace, and Oscar sighs in relief as he blinks his eyes open. When Ruby gives him a questioning look, the boy shrugs one shoulder and gives a crooked smile.

“We’ll be fine.”

She blows out a heavy breath. “Good!”

“Finally,” says Maria, from up front. Both Oscar and Ruby jump. “Talk talk talk, yeesh. It’s three in the morning! We should all be asleep!”

“Maria, you can’t go to sleep, you’re driving the plane.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you.” She glances back at them. “But honestly, children. And disembodied wizard, I suppose. We got out! Atlas is behind us.” She turns back to the controls. “Rest, all of you. Things will be better in the morning. We’ll talk about everything then, when we’ve got our heads on straight.”

There’s a pause. Ruby blinks back to coherence first. “Uh… yes, ma’am.”

She is right, you know. Nightmares or not, we do need to sleep.

“You’re the one who woke me up,” Oscar says, without heat. He rolls his eyes and offers Ruby a smile. “Good night, I guess?”

“I still think it’s technically morning…” But Ruby slips to her feet and heads back to her previous spot, eyes a little brighter. She nudges Qrow’s foot as she passes, and giggles when he shifts.

How funny these children are, Oz thinks. How resilient. He had always known they had potential, but… for all that they have been drawn into this war, he cannot help but be forever thankful they haven’t yet lost their spark because of it.

He has done so many things wrong, in these thousands of years. But if Oscar can still smile, and Ruby Rose can still play tricks—  if all of these children can laugh despite everything they’ve faced— then perhaps Oz has done some things right after all.

Perhaps he can continue to.

The hum of the airship that first woke him drones soft and constant. Oscar is already out. Ruby is silent again. The quiet darkness of the airship presses against him, but this time it feels almost comforting rather than stifling. If Oz listens, he can hear the soft exhale of their breaths. The children. Qrow. All alive. Hurting, yes… but still in one piece.

And this time, when Oz fades out into sleep, it is almost with a smile.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #354

“swimming through the void, we hear the word  /  we lose ourselves, but we find it all”

The last time you washed your hair, did you use conditioner? I never do. My hair is naturally pretty oily, and conditioner just adds oil to it. Do you prefer light or dark jeans? Dark. I never liked light-hued jeans. When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? I almost always just listen. Do you have any of your exes as friends on Facebook? Yes. Who was your first love? Do you ever miss that person? My first "real" boyfriend. I always do to varying degrees. How many cars are parked at your house right now? Just one. Do you have any Italian ancestry? No. Do you prefer water to be ice cold or at room temperature? The colder, the absolute better. I can barely stomach drinking water that isn't cold, like literally. Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak? No. Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found? I don't think so, anyway. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? A certain hot sauce on the wings I used to get at Buffalo Wild Wings. It was close to the top of their little heat rating thing. It made me feel awful, and yet I enjoyed it still?? I think it was an adrenaline thing. I only get medium sauce now; I'm more interested in enjoying my food than feeling like I'm eating fire. Do you need to talk to someone? I'm ready for my therapy appointment honestly, but it's not 'til the start of June. Mom and I both don't want to go through the process of finding a new one, so I've chosen to just suck it up and wait. Is something confusing you at the moment? I'm always confused with myself and my feelings. When was the last time you had a real deep chat? Real deep, I'm sure that would've been during PHP. Who did you last see on webcam? My former group therapist. I miss him a lot and really wish he could treat me outside of the program, but he doesn't do that. :/ What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? Doris, Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Buster, Beesly, Winter, and I believe only one of the fish is named: Raisha. Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? No. Who’s your favorite Disney character? Dory, probably. Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk? What the fuck, no. When was the last time you used a pay phone and who were you calling? I've never used one. Do you like being kissed on the neck? Whoa now buddy, we better be kind of serious by then for you to do that because it doesn't end "well" lmao. Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t dating (but had feelings for) in the hopes that they would ask you out later? I almost deleted this question because I didn't want to answer it, but I try to leave more unique ones in, so... whatever. I haven't. But I would for "somebody." What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra? Ugh, my relationship with bras is a hellish one because NONE FUCKING FIT ME CORRECTLY. Mom's tried so, so many places, so many different stores online and in-person, and even if the bra fits in the front, it won't go around my back comfortably. I guess my body is shaped weird, I don't fucking know, because I have literally ZERO bras that don't aggravate me. At some point, I'm going to some woman Mom knows who can size me properly and therefore buy some that don't piss me off. All that to say I'd actually pay more than the usual, but not a ridiculous price. Do you have any of your teachers’ personal cell phone numbers saved in your contacts list? My old Physical Science teacher, who is actually now a very close family friend and our landlord, is in my phone. Do you ever stalk peoples’ personal blogs, even if you don’t know them very well? No. What’s one thing about today’s generation that you just can’t stand? How ungrateful they can be. Be honest: how do you feel about abortion? I am pro-choice. Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to? There's a lot of people, actually. Old friends I miss. What is your favorite piece of art you own? It... sounds cocky, but it's probably the drawing I did in high school of Pyramid Head and the Halo of the Sun intertwined. I worked my fucking ass off and I'm extremely proud of it. What’s the one thing you apologized for this month? Hm. Probably just something minor, like bumping into Mom or something when passing her. My favorite color is ______? Pink, specifically pastel pink. I wish I had _____? A job. What did you buy today? Nothing. What has challenged your morals? Life, my dude. Live and learn. What made you pick up the last book you started reading? It's the sequel to the last book I read. What about your life concerns you the most? Concerns me, my physical health, especially just how weak my legs are. I'm terrified of them continuing to deteriorate. What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend? I cannot fucking stand the misuse of the word "retarded." Like just keep your damn mouth sewn shut if you have the audacity to say things like "hurr hurr this driver is retarded." ANY mental illness/condition is NOT to be mocked. Onto the next question, I'd say I'm more towards difficult to offend. It really depends on the topic. What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another? I re-watched Fullmetal Alchemist w/ Sara. We're working on Avatar: The Last Airbender too, but I won't resume watching it again until we can do it together. What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same? Well, I weigh a lot more. .-. I gained back almost all the weight I shed since quarantine started, and I'm forever fucking furious about it. I'm the same in most other ways. If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take? Uhhhhh meerkat behavior? Idk. Name a song you’ve listened to today? I've got Halocene, Lauren Babic, and Violet Orlandi's cover of "Aerials" by System of a Down on loop right now. It's fucking gorgeous and so mesmerizing. When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? We had a small playhouse with swings and a slide. Is your mall nice? GOD no. You better accept the possibility of getting shot before you walk in there. There's nothing that cool at all there. Do you have a Sonic near you? If so, what’s your favorite drink from there? Yeah. I love the strawberry slushy, and the Reese's Blast thing if KILLER. Will you be voting in the presidential elections next time around? Yes. How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries? GOOD. STUFF. Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? I think so. Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with? No, he's my closest guy friend. To whom did you last give the finger? Probably some idiot that ran a red light. I'm sure it happened in the car, whenever it happened What was the last musical instrument played in your presence? I've got no clue. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? No, I hate the texture difference. And just sprinkles in general. Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before? No. Do you know how to do the moon walk? No. Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? Yeah, but I beg to differ. Onion rings or french fries? French fries. I'm not a big fan of the other. Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? Nope. Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast? When I'm excited, yes, it happens sometimes. Who is the best cook that you know? Uhhhhh idk. Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most? I don't really skip meals. What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? I can’t juggle at all. What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? Swings. I'd dash to those at recess to try to actually get one. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? All I know is six pounds, no clue on the ounces. Which aspect of your daily routine takes the most time? What do you do? Sitting my ass at the computer, really... I don't exactly do much. Do you enjoy buying gifts for others, or could you do without this? It feels sucky of me considering whenever I do get someone a gift, it's because Mom is letting me use her money with me being without an income, BUT I still do LOVE the process of thinking of something meaningful for those important to me and hopefully seeing them love whatever I got them. I cannot wait until I actually can do that regularly. What is one thing you are expected to do, if anything? Take care of my pets. How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining? I hate driving because you're in a speeding box of death, man. I do really want to start working towards my license though; I've long since reached the "enough is enough" point. But first I need new glasses so I can actually see five feet in front of me. Do you enjoy talking about music with others? Yeah! Is acting something you enjoy? No. I'm too awkward about it. When do you feel most accomplished? When I finish a big art pierce. Do you think Manwich is amazing or completely gross? I like 'em. Just messy, which I'm not a fan of. How many best friends do you have? One. Are you a smoker, drinker, pothead or none of the above? None of the above. If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced? I don't remember exactly, but I was a kid. Do you own any exercise machines? No. I wish. On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? Nah, but I used to do that. Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? Painted, but only because it was a school assignment. Who was your last voicemail from? I don't get voicemails because mine isn't even set up. Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? No. Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? No. When was the last time you spoke to someone in a different language? Not since I was taking a test in high school for my German course. My teacher was a Germany native, so she was a total pro and fun to learn from. Have you ever received an anonymous gift? No. Have you ever camped out somewhere for an event the next day? No. That's always sounded miserable to me. When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was fucking miserable. Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? I don't know if it's abusive, but it's toxic and dysfunctional as HELL. I don't know WHY she keeps going back to him, I feel awful for the woman. I'm definitely not, 'cuz I wouldn't tolerate that shit for half a second. If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? They've both moved out by now. Have you ever gotten searched by the cops? Yes, as a safety protocol with mental illness stuff. Do you like fried rice? Yes. What was the last thing you drank? Would you believe me if I told you I have water right now?

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Baby Moon

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Word count: 2959

———————

The queens first found her outside in their backyard seven months after their reincarnation. It was the middle of the night, they were watching a movie, and the full moon was out, bathing the city in hues of sterling and glimmering grey. And there, in their backyard, stood a naked girl with her head towards the glittering black sky.

She was paler than any person they’ve ever seen, as if the moonbeams had zapped all the color out of her skin and then bleached her with its own light. Her hair was the color of washed out gold, with only a few brown roots weakly reaching out from her scalp. If you were to cut open her wrists, they were sure her blood would come out silver.

The queens watched her from the windows and back door for a long time. They theorized that this girl was another reincarnate, but they had all been clothed when they came back, along with the ladies in waiting. Plus, it had been raining and day time. The night was clear with not a single cloud in sight.

Where had she come from? Who was she? What did she want?

So many questions ran through their mind, but only one thing kept blaring in Kitty’s over and over and over again.

Monster.

The girl outside doesn’t move. She just stays very still and keeps her head angled up to the moon. Rays of light were cascading down her back and rear and legs like a silver and white waterfall, painting her entire bare body with the essence of the night.

“Should we call the police?” Cathy asked nervously. Her hands were winding in the hem of her shirt like they did when she was worrying over something.

“She is trespassing,” Cleves agreed.

“No, wait,” Aragon said. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.”

“Aside from being naked on our property,” Jane muttered under her breath.

“I’ll go see what she wants.” Aragon said.

The others protested, but she assured them everything would be fine. However, she still brought a kitchen knife outside with her just to make them feel a little better.

Slowly, so slowly, Aragon crept up to the stranger. When she got closer, she could see the moonlight dripping into her skin, sinking into her back, melting into her chest. The others might not have known yet, but Aragon knew just looking at this girl—she was moonborn, called out only by the power of the moon.

That word, moonborn, made no sense to Aragon at the time. She had never heard of such a thing before and it sounded like a silly title pulled right out of a children’s tale, but something in her head told her it was important. It was important, but it would soon become the cause of great pain nobody would ever be able to fathom.

Aragon took another step forward and gently touched the girl’s shoulder; her skin was as cold as ice.

“Hello?” She called out. “Who are you?”

The girl shuddered under her hand. She turned around very slowly and Aragon gasped at the silver moons that blinked back at her.

———

The moon child asks to be called “Joan.”

It is difficult to communicate this at first, but then Aragon allows her to write it. Even when the color she chooses is bright chartreuse rather than the standard black, she doesn’t stop her. She’s been allowing her much recently.

———

Music is not a foreign thing to the moon child, although she was always lost in a tangle of thoughts and objectives. It‘s easy for chattering and scratching and flipping of parchment to drown out a melody, but it‘s easier for a weary body to absorb it.

It’s not the moon. It does not heal; it doesn’t even provide the respite that a bed does. But it is soothing, and it makes a rumble of something warm rise in her chest.

(She likes to rumble and trill and coo along to music, not really singing, not really vocalizing, but just following with soft noises of her own.

Kitty called it “alien speak.”

She stopped soon after that.)

For that, it is enough. Joan bows her head in gratitude after every rehearsal, thanking whoever was singing for the moment of peace. Sometimes she says it out loud, in her weak, creaky lunar voice. Other times she just smiles gratefully.

Aragon and Anne don’t seem to mind her silence. The moon child thinks they might even like her, just as she likes them and their songs. Even when the dark matter of Joan’s being weeps through the cuts in her skin and her bow is more akin to a slump, they still sing to her, even though she cannot answer their concerned glances.

But Kitty and Jane think she’s broken.

“Why doesn’t she speak?” Jane would ask, pleasantly pretending like she wasn’t in earshot. “We all spoke pretty easily after reincarnation. It’s been a month and she’s spoken, what ten words? But for some reason, she can learn several songs on a piano easier instead?”

“I don’t think we left her out in the moonlight for long enough,” Kitty would titter, and she would know that Joan was nearby. That’s why she said those things—to make her feel bad. “Or maybe aliens aren’t just suited for life on earth.”

Joan starts talking more, after that. She says things like a normal person and not a reincarnated lady in waiting from five hundred years ago that was strangely born from the moon. She acts normal, acts how she should, and acts the way people want her to be.

———

The moon child understands how goodbyes feel now, even if she’s not accompanied by a headless corpse or a weeping mother that’s foaming at the mouth.

Beyond that, she understands what it means to be taken by something, be it sickness, or power, or fear. Or grief. That one, too, will make you its own. That one especially.

Is her entire being not proof of that?

In the end, it is not just the river’s waters lapping at lonely London shores, having foreshadowed this weight. It is not just the mist of essence fading in the place of a friend. It is not just her mother and father, warping and vanishing in a strange, confusing dance. Not just her queen that bore a gown as silver as her eyes, resisting in the face of her own realization that the lunar being belonged to her more than the hot pink fiend. Not just the moons that gave her life.

It is so much more.

It is everything she cannot have and everything she does not want to do. It is frustration and selfishness and bitterness. It is want.

The moon child wants so badly. She wanted for her brother, and so she took what she could of what he gave, and built herself a name out of a throwaway title. She wants so badly for more of him, even if it means fighting. She wants back the little moments of closeness with anyone at all, moments she hadn’t thought to hold onto back when she was still under the illusion that she could keep them, keeping getting more of them.

How easy would it be, to solve things without just the cry of a voice if she hadn’t been destined to be silent and unloved?

How much easier, to bring life to fading hope and provide friendship for others? For herself?

She wants painfully for the small things like the shinier markers at the store, like the odd affectionate touches John used to give the top of her head. Like Aragon’s humming or Anne’s hugs or Jane’s forehead kisses or being one of the players in the theater games Cleves will start up or someone that inspires Cathy to create a character after her in one of her books. She even wants to get one of Kitty’s weird head bumps just to know she was important enough to receive one. She wants to hang out with Anne and Aragon more often because they tell stories and she likes that, and she wants the other ladies to accept her as one of them and not shun her as a creature of night that just so happens to know how to play piano.

But just as with the rising of the sun, none of this want means anything at all.

———

This much is clear: the moon child is a being of wanting. And she is regret, too, born of night and darkness, tucked and shaped into a frame too small to hold all this need. It is no surprise when the hairline fractures grow into cracks, nor when the cracks widen into gaping holes where the flesh has begun to collapse.

Joan is collapsing.

———

It gets easier to speak and act like everyone else as the days go by, but the jealousy and longing grows with it. She’s talking normally, but she’s envious all the time. She laughs and smiles and does everything as she should, but she’s always itching for affection.

The moon child begins to do things. Not bad things, just—things. Painting, for one. She thinks that if she makes presents for people then they’ll start to like her more, and it works for awhile, but then everyone just gets used to her offerings. Nobody hangs them up, unlike the art of fans, which get to be put up regally on bulletin boards and the sides of mirrors and on tables. Jane and Cathy even had their Instagram profile pictures as drawings some fans made for them.

But all of Joan’s paintings and sketches and colorings were pushed aside, tucked away inside drawers and crumpled up in purses to rot away into nothingness.

Nothing. That’s all they’ll ever be. And it’s all she’ll even be, too.

———

A bassist was sitting by one of the windows, staring dejectedly at the rain droplets pattering on the glass. The moon child notices when she’s making copies of some sheet music. When the bassist notices the moon eyes drilling into her, she turns away from them.

“Go away, Joan. Allow me to wallow in my own misery in peace.” She mutters harshly.

Joan would have left, if it weren’t for a nagging feeling in the back of her head telling her to stay. She stands right where she was. Bessie raises her head.

“What are you doing? Leave. Go away. I have nothing for you. Go back to your music director business or whatever. Chase after Jane for the hundredth time for all I care. Just leave me alone.”

There was another job to be done, but Joan wasn’t sure what it was exactly. Bessie just repeated for her to leave the longer she stood. Again. Again and again and again. When the moon eyes refused to move, the bassist’s voice got increasingly more frustrated.

“Do I have to escort you out myself?” She hisses, standing and glaring deep into those pools of liquid silver.

Joan shook her head.

“Then what are you doing here?”

She doesn’t know.

“Let me be depressed in peace!”

Still there.

“Do you not understand what I’m saying?” Bessie opens her hands like they were claws.

Joan still stares at her.

“I am not going to fight you, if that is what you are looking for. This is hardly an appropriate place.”

Joan wasn’t looking for a fight. No, there is something else.

“If you are looking to gloat, just get it over with already!”

She isn’t there to gloat.

Even when Bessie drew her arm back, she still did not leave.

“Why are you still here?! It’s not like you care!” Bessie yells, flinging something nearby—a picture frame. It barely brushes Joan’s arm, and explodes into a cloud of glass against the wall.

Bessie was prone to aggressiveness and anger, but she would never attack so sloppily and so carelessly.

She wasn’t herself.

“Get…get out of here…”

Bessie’s voice cracks, crumpling to her knees. She hunches over on herself taking in a shuddering breath. Her shoulders began trembling as her entire frame was wracked with irregular shaking. High-pitched sobs emanate from her.

She wasn’t okay.

Joan took a small step forward. She wasn’t like Bessie, but maybe she could be like her for a little bit. There was quite a noticeable size difference between the two, but that wouldn’t be a problem.

Joan kneels behind her, wrapping her arms around the bassist. She felt Bessie freeze up, breath hitching for a second. She squeezes a little, rests her chin on the older musician’s shoulder, and closes her glittering eyes.

A hug. Would that make her happier?

The sobs became quieter. Joan remains crouched and hugs her, letting her grieve. She wants to say something, anything that might bring her more comfort, but the most she could do is hug her a little more and hope that it brought her some happiness like it did long ago.

After an unknown amount of time, she finally stops, slowly pulling back.

“Joan…?”

Joan responds in that silent way of hers, tipping her head in a form of recognition.

“Why did you do that…?”

“Affection makes people happier.” Joan verbally answers. She wants to ask if she was happier.

“You know...people—Jane and Kitty— said you’re just an empty monster...you’re supposed to leave. You’re not supposed to care.” Bessie mumbles, head hanging down. “You’re not supposed to care about anyone…so why did you stay? Why did you hug me? Why me? Why? I just-“

A tear was dripping down her left cheek, almost as silver as those moon eyes staring down at her with so much concern and longing. She rears back when Joan tries to touch her again.

“You’re not a monster, are you…?” Bessie whispers. Joan stares back in silence. “You’re not a monster at all. You’re none of those things. You’re...you’re good.”

———

“I know you're angry-” Jane was saying to the creature of night after yet another painful rejection. “But with how you were created-”

“Born.” The moon eyes burn. “I was born. And I've committed no crime by existing.”

———

Anne watches the moon child sitting at her side. She had come over to the queen’s house for a reason she couldn’t quite remember, but was now stuck inside due to a raging blizzard. She sat on the couch in the living room, on the opposite end of Anne, like she was afraid her presence would taint the queen with an infectious black matter.

What did she want?

The moon child brought her legs up and folded them against her chest slowly, as if through water, her joints stiff.

“It’d be better if I weren’t here.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

That made Anne blink. “Of course not.”

“You hesitated.” She brought her face close to her knees, letting her too light hair fall over her too shiny eyes.

Stop doing that. Stop reaching out and then pulling away. Can’t you see I’ll do anything you want, if you’d just tell me what that is? What do you want?

Anne lifts her head a few inches, stretching out the sore spots in her neck.

“Joan, come here.”

Joan remained curled into herself.

“I will not ask again.”

That seemed to work better. Joan shifts sideways, drawing closer to her former queen. Her shoulders jolted a little as Anne wrapped an arm around them, pulling the two against each other. And then, she was tugging the awkwardly scrawny and small moon child into her lap.

(Where she belonged.)

“I will protect you,” She chose her words carefully. “To the best of my ability.”

That didn’t seem like a good place to leave off. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I can’t be everything you want,” She continued, softer. “I can’t be Jane. But I’m here. And I want to take care of you, darling.”

She watched Joan’s head on her chest rise and fall with her breaths. A few beats pass before a small hiccup sounded from the lunar girl.

There were a few more hiccups that built up before they erupted into sobs, Joan’s shoulders heaving as they wracked through her. Loud whimpers and whines filled the air as Anne ran her fingers through the thick blonde tangles, rocking the poor, lonely moon child in her arms.

Joan cries steadily, head buried in her chest. Anne realizes that she didn’t even mind that a mess was being made down the front of her shirt.

Eventually the cries settle down, mixing together with the dull white noise of the television before fading off. Joan calms in her arms, snuggled up nicely, and it only gets better when Aragon joins their cuddle on the couch. Both queens hold the moon child, not caring about what anyone had ever said about her being wrong or weird or messed up compared to the other reincarnates. To them, she was perfect.

Their love filled Joan like the moonlight did. She had never felt anything so wonderful. She fit perfectly in their arms, like she had always belonged there.

And then, there was the gawker by the staircase. Joan could feel Kitty’s congealing resentment even from a distance. She could also feel Aragon and Anne’s love again, already half detached from everyone else, including the youngest of the bunch—Anne’s baby cousin. But Anne was just ready to give all her love to the moonborn pianist, not a distant family member born of daytime and rain.

Sorry, Katherine, Joan thought, settling back into the warmth and affection. Out there is my moon. And these are my mothers. And you will never be a part of that world.

[thebibliomancer]

Archaia’s Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance #4

The Quest for the Dual Glaive Part 4 of 4

The end of the first arc of the comic book prequel to the Netflix prequel!

In issue one, cool Young Ordon was sent on a quest to retrieve the legendary Dual Glaive to save the Stonewood from an Arathim swarm.

In issue two, he was reluctantly forced to accept Fara’s help after she kinda got him poisoned by an Arathim.

In issue three, Fara does all the cool things like persuading urLii the Storyteller to take them to the Glaive, bypassing all the traps, and saving Ordon when he gets caught. Ordon concedes that its good she came along.

The story picks back up with with Dual Glaive having been combined off-screen.

I get the symbolism, I do. I just don’t get why the Dual Glaive had to be in two parts if its never used separately. The test to retrieve it is set up for friendship but then its like ‘okay now one of you gets it.’

But even with the Glaive retrieved, there’s still the problem of getting back with it in time.

But Maudra Argot has an idea. But she’s coming.

Maudra Argot: “Where the Glaive goes, I go! It comes from Grottan Caves, after all, and as the Grottan clan maudra, all things within this domain are my business!”

urLii: “Except for urLii.”

Maudra Argot: “Except for urLii.”

They’re a good comedy duo too.

The shortcut back home is, as you might expect from the show, the Breath of Thra!

Well-known to the Grottan! Apparently less known to the other Gelfling.

Ordon, Fara, and Maudra Argot pop out of a tiny cave right on the periphery of Stone-in-the-Wood and find that the Arathim attack has already begun.

Gelfling are evacuating the village, things are on fire, there’s a few stabbed to death Arathim. All the classic signs of ‘barely in the nick of time.’

The dynamic duo and their cool old lady friend run into the Maudra’s Advisor who is running the evacuation. He tells Ordon that many of the Stonewood are still fighting and that another group has managed to get away to hide, including Ordon’s wife.

But Maudra Vala has been mortally wounded.

Fara gets to talk to her before Vala dies and she gets some deathbed affirmation.

Geez, poor Fara. Its a recipe for some survivor’s guilt.

Thankfully, Ordon has some affirmation of his own to give.

Ordon: “Fara... She was a valiant warrior, a compassionate leader, and a loving mother.”

Fara: “And now she’s gone... we couldn’t save her... I couldn’t save her.”

Ordon: “She died for our clan, to give them a chance. And she will rest well with Thra knowing she did her best. But our warriors, our village, they need a new light in these dark times. You are that light. When we win the battle, you will lead our clan. And I will follow.”

Accepting her new responsibility as Maudra, Fara takes up her mother’s sword.

So, when I read the first issue of this arc, I was wondering ‘wait why do we need the special legendary Dual Glaive to stop the Arathim? We have coolest guy Young Ordon’ but apparently the mashup monster version of the Ascendancy cannot be pierced by normal blades.

So after getting punked almost the entire previous issue, this looks like a job for Ordon and his sweet new sword.

The Ascendancy doesn’t think much of Ordon and sends some Arathim that would wear red if they wore shirts. Ordon makes short work of the Arathim, because he’s the coolest, but something weird happens.

The Dual Glaive absorbs goo from the wounded Arathim and they seem to crumble into dust.

The furious Ascendancy attacks Ordon and manages a few hits but Ordon makes short work of the final boss too, stabbing the Dual Glaive deep into the Ascendancy’s many-faced body.

Ordon: “You forget the power of the Stonewood clan! Like the stones we build upon, we are steadfast and strong. And we DO NOT YIELD!”

While the Dual Glaive absorbs the Ascendancy’s goo, Ordon tells the boss spider that the remaining Arathim army could do a lot of damage and even kill Ordon but not before Ordon kills the Ascendancy and not without suffering horrible losses as well.

The Ascendancy vows ‘Next time, Gadget! Next tiiiiiiiime!’ and defuses into various Arathim who scamper off.

So, that’s the Arathim Wars resolved!

Just leaves the fallout.

Ordon decides that the Dual Glaive and its power to drain the essence of living things is too dangerous for anyone to have.

... Not sure how he knows what the goo is. I wouldn’t think anyone would, yet.

Maudra Fara has the idea to give half to Maudra Argot to take back to the Caves of Grot and to shove the other half into the Crucible.

Ordon: “It will be put where none shall dare to look for it.”

*polite cough*

Maudra Fara offers to let Maudra Argot stay as long as she likes but she has her own maudra-ing to do. And she can’t leave urLii unattended for too long.

Maudra Vala’s sword is melted down in the Stonewood tradition and cast into a crown for Fara, in a really cool sequence.

And later, during the rebuilding, Ordon pulls Shoni aside and tells her what he learned from this whole adventure.

Ordon: “The Caves of Grot, the Dual Glaive... How without Fara, I may not have arrived home in time to save you. To save us all. And how even if I had, I would have failed if it weren’t for her help...”

Shoni: “A little help goes a long way, wouldn’t you say?”

Ordon: “It does. And I think, perhaps, we should see about adding another to our home to help us with our long life left ahead...”

And Shoni suggests the name Rian.

Shoni: “It’s an old Gelfling word that means ‘a little solution to a big problem.’”

Ordon: “That... sounds perfect.”

Awww!

Awwwwwwww!

So that was the Quest for the Dual Glaive!

I still think that this story happened too soon in the past for Rian to have never heard of the Dual Glaive. I could buy that he wouldn’t know where it was because Ordon didn’t want anyone to know that. You can still get a quest out of that.

Rian could have even taken the initiative like ‘this sword saved Stonewood’s bacon in the Arathim Wars and we need it again now!’

And I still don’t understand why the Dual Glaive does absorb essence, when the Scientist only accidentally discovered that the Dark Crystal could do it so why would the Heretic and Wanderer have intentionally created the Dual Glaive to do it?

Much more economically too! Scientist needs a lot more equipment to do it!

The Dual Glaive confuses me.

But the real treasure of a quest is the friends you made along the way.

I don’t really mind this comic arc’s focus on the Dual Glaive. Seeing these new sides to Ordon and Fara and meeting urLii is a much bigger draw for me!

Its nice, in a completionist way, to learn how Ordon came to jam a legendary sword into the sword graveyard. But having him grow into the idea of being a parent due to his quest is much nicer.

Since I completed the arc, I’m going to switch over to liveblogging the Shadows of the Dark Crystal YA novel for a bit. I’ve had it and its just been gathering dust.

[cherry3point14]

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 10

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader   Warnings: Violence, intrigue and MONOLOGUES. Oh my! Word count: 6,965.   Chapter Summary: You’re somehwere familiar and nothing is right. A/N: Now we’ve come, to the ennnnnnd of the roadddddd. Still, I can’t let gooooooo.

Ao3 if you prefer

Y/N had not spent much extended time in her basement since her best-laid plans of turning it into anything other than storage had fallen through. It was a room she visited often, her washer and dryer both under the stairs, but visits were limited to transporting clothes in and out of the room in various states of cleanliness. The basement was her nagging project, which every home is legally required to have. She would presort her clothes before she ever went down the stairs, giving her ample time while loading the machines to think about her never to be completed masterpiece. Did she want some sort of rec room or maybe a space for those craft projects that sat forgotten around her home? She understood the game, that nothing would change, the room would remain a combined laundry and storage space until the day she died. Of course, she was right.

She’d never noticed the drip before. The sporadic yet incessant plop of water somewhere in the pipes that circled her basement and supplied her home. The drip might not necessarily mean something was wrong and it might not require an expensive plumber, it's just she hadn’t spent enough time down there to hear it at all.

As she opens her eyes the drip is the only sound that registers besides the ringing in her head. A headache pounds at her skull and an ache on her right says she’ll have a bump there. All of which she supposes she can thank Laura for. She keeps thinking of Laura, her face, and her name because it’s easier than to admit the truth. Y/N knows what a shifter is and unlike the majority of people, she knows that they are real. She knows one was in town and she knows that it wasn’t Laura who held the gun to her face before knocking her out with the butt of the thing. All this knowledge, however helpful, was still not enough to save her.

“Shit, shit, shit.” you mutter under your breath. You’re finally coming back to consciousness as Emma’s voice brings you up to speed. It’s almost comforting now to have a name behind it, her. That consolation prize is still of little help when you wake up with your hands cuffed behind the load-bearing beam in your own basement. You’re grasping for any friend you can and Emma, being in your head, is the closest thing you have. Maybe the last friend you’ll have.

Although if she kills you for her story, the term friend might be a bit of a stretch.

It does absolutely sound like she is going to kill you though.

You hear a door open from above, “are you awake yet?”

The voice doesn’t sound like Laura. You’ve heard Laura’s phone voice and her speaking-to-the-manager voice. You’ve heard her greet visitors and greet you first thing in the morning. That is definitely not Laura. Well, of course, it’s not Laura, but it’s also not someone using her body like a puppet.

“Yes?” you call back. It’s possible you’re inviting danger by answering but you’re handcuffed and almost certainly going to die today. How much more dangerous can things get?

The first wooden step groaned under the weight of the woman still shrouded in mystery at the top of the stairs. The second step followed suit with an equally mournful ache. Never had Y/N considered that her battered basement stairs sounded so hopeless. The room wasn’t dark, the lights were on despite the small basement window displaying daylight. There was barely enough shadow to hide a blemish but the sound of her stairs filled her veins with ice, as if she was lost on a cold night. Each creak took what seemed to be an hour, a day, before the next footstep pierced the last. It was on the ninth step from the bottom when Y/N caught the first glimpse of her captor.

A foot, followed by another.

A leg and then shockingly, a second.

Y/N knew before she saw. She knew before her favorite battered t-shirt came into view. She knew before her round chin, her slightly uneven ears, and her very own eyes appeared staring at her.

“Hey there, me!” A copy of your voice greets without your lips moving.

It hits you then, it was you at the top of the stairs. Not the voice you hear when you speak but the shadow version from when you’re forced to listen to a voicemail or video recording of yourself. The one that sounds nothing like you.

Yet just like that, there you are.

The shifter smiles and it’s the first time you’ve ever really seen yourself smile. You’ve felt the curve of your lips before and seen a reflection in mirrors but now you can see it.

You wonder if it’s always looked that terrifying.

As the shifter leaned in close enough for Y/N’s eyes to pick out the small white scar above her eyebrow—a scar that she knew matched the one on her own face—she wanted to scream. Even if it would do no good. She wanted to think herself superior to the monster wearing her face. She wanted to try to claim that there was something wrong with it. A sparkle that wasn’t present in its eyes or a hairline that was lower than it should be. Unfortunately, inches from her face was a perfect carbon copy. It had gone as far as copying the bags under her eyes; the product of too many late nights. If Y/N didn’t know that it wasn’t her, then even she would be fooled. The experience was a messy one to try and accept, let alone have it happen in front of her.

“This is weird for you, I get it. But listen, I gotta ask. How do I get your toaster to not burn the bread? Because I’ve gone through, like, four slices and it’s still black as hell. What’s the magic setting Y/N?”

You sniff at the smell that’s followed the shifter down the stairs. Burnt toast.

“You-you want me to tell you how to use my toaster?” You sound incredulous because you are.

She steps back, takes a seat on the second step from the bottom like she’s exhausted standing up. Your face, the one she’s wearing, gets this kind of humored look. Her eyebrows raise and she smirks from across the room, “I know it sounds crazy. I mean I can dive in your head if I want.”

As she says that she scrunches her face and seems to strain with something unseen. You don’t need to ask if it’s working because you feel it, whatever she’s doing. Your spine jolts and freezes, straight as an arrow, and you’re clenching your jaw for some reason. Your body tenses like it’s being invaded.

Then she smooths out her face and you flop like overcooked spaghetti.

“See, that’s not fun for either of us. Plus now I have this big download of you in my head that I’ve gotta sort through, and that wasn’t even all of it. Which, by the way, it’s not easy to find exactly what I’m looking for, there's no google for your memories. So, yeah, it’s easier if you tell me how I use your toaster.”

She seems patient. You’re pretty patient so is that your trait or hers? Clearly, it’s not her first rodeo waiting on people to get to grips with talking to themselves. She kindly gives you a second to process having had her inside your head.

Because you don’t have enough people in there already.

“It’s eh, you need to toast at like two. I know that seems low, but it’ll be medium brown?” It’s not a question, you know how to use your toaster. You’re simply confused about why you’re telling the shifter how to use your toaster.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Do you want some? Toast I mean?”

Were it not for the metal handcuffs still cold against your wrists then her offer might be caring. As it is, it’s a shifter in your body. You’re not sure if it’s capable of the emotion.

It sucks that your stomach chooses then to rumble.

“I’ll make you some anyway. You like…no wait let me find this one myself…” she pauses as if trying to remember a password for an account she hasn't used recently. “Smooth peanut butter?”

“Um. Yeah but I’m out.”

She hoists herself up and tsks above you, “you need to take better care of yourself Y/N. Go shopping once in a while. Live a little, buy the peanut butter.”

It takes half the time to get up the stairs that it took her to come down them and she’s careful not to slam the door at the top. So, she’s already learned how loud the door is if you put an ounce of effort into closing it.

The beam at her back is wide enough that the corners dig into each of her shoulder blades. Consequently, she has to decide between suffering or sitting forward a little but straining her wrists against the metal holding her. With the shifter out of sight, she can pull at the shackles and try to find any leverage. She can try but she keeps failing. They’re not pinching, not tight enough for that, still tight enough that she only has one comfortable position. So, it’s her back or her wrists. Y/N chooses her wrists and sinks back against the pain in her shoulders.

Above her, she can hear the shifter shuffling around her kitchen. Her kitchen. Y/N is not so territorial that she cannot share her plates and bread, she draws the line at her face. Her body. Her life.

The shifter comes back down the stairs after a few minutes with two plates. “I’ve got plain butter and strawberry jam. Seriously, you have jam and not peanut butter? Which one do you want?”

“I-I erm…”

“Let’s share.”

She sits down in front of you, not at the foot of the stairs, in front of you. Legs crossed the same as yours and close enough that your knees almost touch. To an outsider you might be friends, or twins, having a sleepover and sharing secrets. That’s when you realize she has no intention of uncuffing you to eat. She takes a bite from one plate and then holds a slice from the other up to your mouth.

When you glare at her instead of opening up she sighs, “I don’t have to be this nice. I’m not usually this nice.”

“This is nice? You knocked me out and now I’m handcuffed in my own basement.” You take a bite of the toast while it’s sitting there, hovering in front of your face. You had bought the bread afterall.

She hums happily. “This is practically best friends. I don’t make food for anyone else. Granted I usually only have them locked away for a few days. A few bottles of water gets them through. You though? You’re special.”

Special? You’re not special. Never have and never will be. The most special thing about you is the other people in your life. Sam and Dean. Emma. They are all special and you are the byproduct of a situation. You only convinced yourself that you were anything close to the main character because Emma wrote it. She tricked you into believing it.

The shifter takes another bite of her slice of toast, funnily enough, she’s eating the jam covered toast. So, in certain death, you’re still stuck with the second string choice. Plain butter.

When you swallow she holds the slice up again and you comply. "Why are you doing this?" You ask with food in your mouth, manners are a social construct that seems ridiculous in this situation.

The question is obvious and banal but it's sitting right there. And you needed to know the answer.

"Money." She takes another bite herself.

You scoff. That's enough to set her off.

“Sometimes things are just about money. That’s it. I like nice things and I have a good little racket going, I roll into town and find a few medium fish. Small business owners and cynical people usually have pretty decent policies. I take over the role of loving spouse for a day or two, get my money, and go. It’s been working out for me. I stay moving, only hit a few anywhere I go. Between, I travel wherever I want. I’ve done most of Asia, Europe, South America is my favorite for food.”

Y/N had never been a fan of the villainous monologue as a literary device, then again, in books, the villain strode about a nondescript location with sweeping arms and overused cliches. This villain, her villain, was not so stereotypical. She sat and talked to Y/N like an old friend might lament about a bad break up. And even though it was the shifter who had put her in this situation in the first place, the doppelganger version of herself truly seemed to care if she ate her toast. Not that she had any sympathy for the shifter. Y/N just hadn’t appreciated the villainous monologue until she had been the person waiting to hear the full story. Nobody cares what the monster has to say until they are the victim.

“But you? You gave me an idea.”

You splutter, “what?”

“Yeah, see there I was waiting for my money that never came. I was all ready to take a nice little vacation somewhere idyllic, south of France, maybe? Beautiful this time of year. And I know the paperwork was all put through because I watched you do it. I was standing at your desk, or Laura was, pretending to care about your sad weekend plans when you did it. And my money never came through. At first, I was furious because, frankly, I need to get out of town. With the Winchesters of all people on my trail, it’s time for me to exit stage right if you know what I mean. Then I was chatting up Mark about you not being in the office the past few days and, cool as a cucumber, that idiot told me you’d gone to the bank to stop the transfer.”

She slaps both her hands on your knees, digging her duplicate fingers into your flesh. The hair on the back of your neck stands to attention. That's the moment. Not where you think, but where you know you’re going to die.

“And I thought, wow! I bet she doesn’t even know how much power she has. I mean Laura was a glorified word processor and Mark doesn’t do anything, he’d delegate tying his own shoes if he could. But you Y/N? Well, me now. Us? We can do it all. No more kidnapping widows and threatening them to keep quiet after I’ve gone. I can write my own ticket and if it hadn’t been for you cutting me off, I would have never figured it out. I can run this racket as you for a year and I’ll be all set.”

“A year? How are you going to keep me…?” You know the answer, obviously, call it morbid curiosity that you want to hear it from her own, or your own, mouth.

She smiles, that dangerous one you didn’t know your face was capable of, “oh, I’ll have to kill you. No way I’d keep you under wraps for a year, too much upkeep, but if you wanna feel better about it, think about all the people I won’t kill pretending to be you! You’re taking one for the team.”

Y/N wanted to say she felt sick. She wanted that acrid taste of stomach acid on the back of her tongue. Or fat tears welling in her eyes. She’d even accept a tremble of fear. She wanted any physical reaction to the words that had been said. That she, Y/N Y/L/N, mild-mannered insurance adjuster was going to die at the hands of this monster. Yet nothing came forth. As if every nerve, every blood vessel, every cell had ceased to take orders from her brain. That or her brain was too busy comprehending to give the orders.

What’s worse, she had no one to blame but herself. It was her own face she was staring into and it would be her own hands that would do the job.

“Wh-when?” If your voice was tangible, it would be shaking like a leaf despite the rest of your body being stuck in place.

She jumps up, calm, “I have some things to do first. Need to do the full Vulcan mind-meld if I’m taking over, and I hate doing it on an empty stomach. Hence the toast. Why? Are you in a rush or something?” She laughs at her own joke and finishes with a shrug when you don't join in, before picking up both the plates. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish this for you.”

She starts walking up the stairs and you rush to ask the other obvious question, “why did you tell me all this?”

“What? I can’t want someone to talk to? Sue me, I’m a people person.”

The door at the top of the stairs closes sharply this time. You assume it’s on account of the plates in her hands that she can’t be more careful.

This was all your fault. It’s one thing to tell Emma that, in theory, she can kill you, it’s another thing altogether to speak to the monster who will do it.

More than that, you stopped the payment, you suggested flushing the shifter out and for what? To get Dean to stay a little longer? To save some people?

What about you? You were people, still are for the time being. One moment of weakness while reading a pretty story and now it’s actually going to happen.

Today’s the day you’re going to die.

There’s no clock in your basement, you have no idea of the time or how long you’ve been down here. You know it’s still daylight outside, you can see it, that’s it. So, you have no idea how long she’s been digging in your head for. It’s not uninterrupted but it is constant. She doesn’t ever pause long enough for the buzzing behind your eyes to stop. You’ve given up on comfort—that’s a concern for people with hope—but every time she starts again your straight back pushes into the post behind you. If another person in your head wasn’t enough then your back feeling like it’s going to split right down the middle was the cherry on top of the sundae.

Y/N swore that she could feel every memory, every thought, slip from her head. Not delicately either, but rather pulled kicking and screaming. Every experience hidden in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, every last one, was found, counted, and copied. In reality, she had no idea what was being done or how it worked. She had no words to describe it and no understanding of what was being taken and when.

Although she figured that on today of all days, she could cut herself some slack. Lean into the dramatic thoughts that she wouldn’t normally.

She wondered how her parents would feel, retired in Florida, wondering where she is at Thanksgiving. Or how would those friends that she's hung onto since highschool react when she didn’t arrive for their monthly dinner. And Dean. She’d never get to tell him that she likes arguing with him, when he apologizes with a kiss.

Y/N’s life wasn’t full of too many people, which meant the select few she did have were all the more important. Every one of them had an appearance in her head, in the brief moments between what she was beginning to call torture.

You slump again, as much as the handcuffs allow you. The strain in your arms is the least of your worries since the shifter is back.

The you that floats down the stairs is all the things you’re not; happy and comfortable. She bypasses you completely as if you’re not even there. It’s only when she does that you register your ringtone from across the room.

“Forgot I’d left this down here”, she explains as she digs through your jacket that you must have had on when she knocked you out.

Whoever it is she rolls her eyes before answering, “hi Dean.”

You perk up at the mention of him because you’d forgotten what he is. A hero. What was that motto? Saving people, hunting things.

The relief doesn’t last long. As soon as you open your mouth she’s across the room, faster than you can usually move, with her hand clamped over your mouth.

“Like I said, Laura was dropping off some paperwork.”

“Um-hmm. Nothing on the shapeshifter? That’s a shame, it’s only Saturday though. She might have only just found out about the money.”

“That sounds great.”

Between everything, there’s a Dean sounding muffled voice on the other end of the phone. And although she keeps her tone measured she ticks her jaw at the word ‘shapeshifter’.

“Ok. Bye Dean.”

She ends the call and looks at you again, with more recognition than when she'd shared food with you. “Somebody didn’t tell me that she’s a few sandwiches short a picnic, did she?”

Your eyes widen. There’s no way she knows about Emma. That’s not a memory, it’s inside of you.

“And you never told those annoying hunter boys that you’re hearing voices? Or one voice anyway. Come on Y/N, that’s like victim 101.” She taps your temple as if she’s checking if there's still a brain in there.

“I didn’t think it was their kind of thing. Not like you are.” All the effort you have left in your being goes into narrowing your eyes at her. Even if you’re the furthest thing from a threat.

She laughs at that, “doesn’t matter sourpuss. They already trust you, so they already trust me. The Winchesters don’t stay anywhere for too long. They’ll leave and I get to go on being you.” She bops a finger on your nose.

You laugh at that. You've read the books, you’ve met them and you’re talking to another dumb monster that thinks she can outsmart them. You’d forgotten because it’s wearing your face and threatens you with sugar instead of spice, still, it’s a monster.

You might die but so will she.

“That’s funny. Do you think they won’t figure you out? They’re the Winchesters.”

“You know I was wondering where your fire was. I knew it had to be in there. Underneath the bookworm, paperwork pariah thing.”

“I’m not a pariah.” Obviously that’s what you find most offensive about her evaluation.

“Sure you are. Lonely little lamb. It’s fine though, I’m being nice to you, aren’t I?”

Retrospectively you realize that with Dean you’d been a cute angry, annoying combination. At the shifter, you’re plain furious, except it’s dampened by sadness. Not fear, the fear comes in an underwhelming third place.

“When?” You grind out.

She slips your phone into your jeans, unfortunately, it’s the pair she’s wearing. “I need to pee. Give me a hot minute. I don’t know, what’s the line? Say your goodbyes or prayers, or something.”

The timer that had started when Y/N first picked up that file weeks ago was finally counting down its last minutes. Unlike a bomb timer in every television show ever, there was no wire for her to cut. Nothing to do but wait and appreciate that she couldn’t hear the ticking of each second. That might be better, the counting would feel urgent like she can change it. She can’t. She’d never been able to. All roads, no matter how long and winding, have always led her to this point. Had Y/N not tried to flush the shifter out there would have been some other absurd reason for the monster to hunt her down. Which is why she is so under control, it’s been a long time coming. She's feeling a thousand emotions but none of them turbulent.

Surrounded by pipes in the basement you hear a flush from the bathroom. The shifter had, actually, put killing you on hold to pee. You add insulted to the list of last sentiments you'll ever feel.

You can't even write a letter or a note. One last phone call or voicemail. It's all frustratingly out of your reach. The shifter isn't going to let you leave anything behind because to the outside world she is going to keep going in your place.

Your basement door has never opened as many times as it has today. Still, there it is again. Whining wood opening and closing. Your captor in front of it brandishing your biggest kitchen knife like a maniac in a bad horror.

Y/N never wanted to believe she was subject to something as mundane as routine despite it being obvious that she was. She only needed to examine a week in her life, or a day, to notice the repetitions she couldn’t escape. Still, she tried. Like every person who woke up at the same time every morning or sunk into sleep like clockwork each night. Y/N struggled to buck against the system. She won some battles, enough to believe that she could keep winning but ultimately she lost the war. The biggest loss was reflected back to her in her own kitchen knife. No. It was in her own eyes when the shifter bent down and leveled its honeyed threats.

“I won’t say this isn’t going to hurt. It’ll be quick though, I’m not completely evil.”

She could not escape routine because there had never been an exit. She was always supposed to play this predictable role. The victim. The one who dies seconds before the hero's entrance. The one who could have been saved if only they’d been a minute earlier. She was the sacrifice that distracts the killer long enough to be caught. Y/N was well aware of the character trope she filled.

Then it was in this final moment that she had been fooled by fate one last time. Y/N was indeed about to die. Imminently. But Y/N would not be dying at the hands of some mediocre monster.

For the last time, you find yourself shocked at Emma’s words, for the last time you respond to her out loud. Struck by confusion so completely that you can't help yourself. “What the…?”

The door that’s dictated your life for the last day opens carefully. If you couldn’t see it past the shifter you might not believe it had opened at all. Dean is at the top, Sam trailing behind him, his extra height visible over Dean’s shoulders.

And they see you. Dean sees you.

Then he sees the knife. He sees the shifter he doesn’t know is you yet, her back to him. He sees her leaning into you with one last comment whispered in your ear and that knife. Big and sharp as it is, held against your body, your throat, ready to slice you a second smile.

That’s all he sees; you, a weapon and a monster.

Dean isn’t a shoot first, ask questions later guy, he’s an ask questions with the barrel of his gun kind of guy. A middle ground that has served him well. That’s not to say he has that patience in every situation. Sometimes he needs to exert some knee jerk force. Like when he’s standing at the top of her basement stairs, blood pounding in his ears above the din of everything else. Dean can’t hear Sam or the shifter or the sound of the wood under his boots. He hears exactly two things. Y/N’s gasp, half caught in her throat, and the stiff, satisfying crack of his gun as he fires it—once, twice, three times.

The knife falls from her hand as the shifter simultaneously falls forward. She’s about as heavy, or exactly as heavy, as you are, so you are not overwhelmed by the weight of the body. The shock is the residual confusion of her being you, and you falling on top of you. The shifter landing takes more of your focus than the feeling in your gut.

You don’t even feel that at first.

Not when you’re so relieved to see them. The boys. You’re convinced for a moment that Emma was wrong, you’re not the last killed victim, you’re the one saved at the last second. You’re the person carried out of danger by the Winchesters.

When she does slump over you the boots start moving again, thunderous steps by them both as they rush to check if the shifter is dead. Three silver bullets should be enough but they have been caught out before.

They haven’t hit the concrete floor of your basement yet when the heat starts. Tingling, scratchy, burning through your abdomen. You’ve never imagined what it’s like to be shot, never heard a gunshot in your administrative based life, except those fake ones in movies. You’d have thought it hurt more. You’d have thought a bullet tearing through your flesh would have a little more of a kick. In truth the thing piercing you hadn’t been any worse than a punch, there was a push from the impact but the bullet was fast. The hole wasn’t what got your attention.

The burning did. Lodged inside you the metal was the epicenter for an itch you couldn’t scratch. You couldn’t tell where the bullet had found a home, only that it was unreachable and there, and the ache was starting to become painful. Exponentially painful and not made any better by the weight of your stunt double crushing you. You had the strength to swallow the pain or the strength to push her off. Not both. So, she doesn’t move until Dean is there yanking her away from you.

She’s dead, at least.

Her eyes, your eyes, are lifeless now. Blank and staring into nothing. That’s a hard pill to swallow because she’s not the shifter anymore. The shifter is dead. Now she's just an empty shell that looks like you, while you sit there with a bullet in your gut. It’s an immediate prophecy of what you will become. An accurate prophecy too, because it’s you. Dead, cold, and not very pretty to look at.

It’s natural that they both check the dead shifter first. To make sure she’s dead. That’s their job, they're doing it right.

They only look at her for a second to confirm but by the time they turn to you the blood is starting to seep through your shirt. You still haven’t found a way to form words. You try and don’t get very far. Your throat is croaky and grinds like sandpaper. You’re not gargling blood at least and some last remaining functional brain cell thinks that’s good. You don’t have blood in your lungs.

All at once they crowd you.

“Y/N, you’re ok. You’re ok.” That’s Sam. His hands are pressing at the hole to stop the bleeding, you don’t have the voice or the heart to tell him he’s making it worse. Maybe not medically but it’s more painful with his hands there. The bullet doesn’t like being agitated and your stomach doesn’t like the pressure.

“Y/N, honey no. Shit. Come on, stay with me.” That’s Dean, he’s the one with his hands on your face, pulling your eyes to him because he is the one giving you orders to not leave. He needs to see you hear the instructions.

Sam lies to you and tries to fix the problem. Dean begs you to stay when you can’t.

Suddenly, or not suddenly, you have two new choices. Stay awake or don’t.

Except it’s not really a choice at all. 

Y/N slipped in and out of consciousness in her last moments.

In the back of a car her eyes flutter open. Her vision is blurry like it’s the first moments after waking up on a Sunday morning. This blurriness doesn’t go away. The cream roof above her looks soft and inviting. She wants to feel it, lean against it. She can’t move in any meaningful way, not enough to touch it, it’s too far.

Briefly, again, when metal doors slam shut. She's distracted from the weak place beyond her pain by the sound.

In the hospital, jolted by the gurney beneath her as tubes are inserted into her body. Her nose specifically. The plastic feeling like a blockage instead of an airway. She’s not coughing up blood so she manages to wonder why she needs a tube inside her, although she’s not a doctor. She reaches for it because her arm still has mobility and she can’t breathe, but a hand stops her. She reaches again and more hands pin hers down. Her red, swollen wrists are strapped to the bed. She can’t move again, restricted. Another prison.

She doesn’t wake again. She doesn’t complain about the tubes or question the strange taste in her mouth from the drugs in her system. She’s lost so much blood. The bullet is deep and today is the day. It’s still Saturday. It’s still imminent.

It wasn’t a shifter, she was collateral damage. A secondary consequence of saving the day. A victim of fate.

By a bullet from Dean’s gun, Y/N dies. 

You open your eyes.

How are you opening your eyes? You’re supposed to be dead.

It takes an age to take in the fact that you are alive and that there’s a faint beep somewhere that signifies a heartbeat. Yours. The room is white, clean, and as much as you can see from lying down, a hospital.

You manage to groan. It’s cathartic to make a noise, and painful. You can’t forget painful.

“Miss Y/L/N?” A man comes into your vision. The bed moves, not enough to upset you but give you a better angle to have a conversation. You see a little more of the world that you’re not supposed to be seeing because you’re supposed to be dead.

The man, the doctor, beams at you. “You gave us quite a fright Miss Y/L/N. We thought we lost you there for a minute but you are a very lucky young lady indeed.”

You’re not that young and you’re not lucky. This is impossible. You were dead.

You try to speak and this time you find purchase, “what happened?”

He has the audacity to chuckle, but then you're alive so that might warrant laughter. “A lot, Y/N. You've been out of surgery for about six hours now and we had to keep you sedated while you had a blood transfusion but as I said, you’re a lucky woman. That bullet was solid on impact with no fragment complications. It seems the um, issue, was blood loss and some trauma to your stomach which we’ll talk about once you’re off these I.V’s. But for now, you need to rest, I’ll have a nurse check on you in a few minutes.”

He smiles, genuinely, but you suppose he’s managed to escape telling you anything further about the dying thing. He plops your chart back into the plastic holder at the foot of your bed as he leaves, which forces you to look in that direction.

“Dean?”

He’s there, stocky and wide and too much for the hospital chair he is sitting in. You want to say sleeping in but that would probably require him to be asleep. He seems to be more in a state of falling asleep and not quite making it. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head is down, however as soon as you call his name he shudders like he was nowhere near sleep at all. He looks up, all big green eyes, bright and awake, and looking at you.

He smiles. It’s soft and so far removed from the cocky bastard that you're used to by now. “You’re awake?”

“Looks like it.” You smile back, although it must look weak on you. “You’re here.”

Dean gets up slowly and takes measured steps towards you. You’re not distracted by the way he walks though, you’re distracted by the way his face creases in sadness at your question. He looks like he's burying something instead of saying it, right in front of you.

“Had to make sure you were ok.” After I shot you. He tries to hide the end of his sentence, you hear it anyway.

“I’m fine.” It’s not your fault. “Thank you for saving me.” You don’t want to argue with him from a hospital bed so you imply the part of your sentence he’d fight you on.

He is astute enough to catch what your face is attempting to relieve him of. His guilt. It won’t be as easy as that, hopefully, you'll have time later to work on him.

You didn't know what to do beyond this point. There's one thing to say for dying, and that's not having to think about the future. Who cares about the stock market if you die next week? Now you're laying there like a broken doll who's been taped back together, looking up at Dean and wondering what the next part of the story is. You suppose you're going to have to figure this one out on your own.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a cup of tea around here?”

“Tea?” He asks, knowing where you're going with this.

“Tea.” You confirm.

This time his grin is dazzling. It covers all manner of sins and comes with some promises to boot. Through the aches, in your not quite whole body you feel him carefully cup your chin, his thumb ghosting over your cheek to make sure you’re still there. “Don’t go dying on me again and I think I can sneak you something terrible from the cafeteria.”

As Y/N looked at Dean and took in that she was thankfully very much alive, and well beyond her time of death, she felt as if finally everything was going to be ok. She was no longer weighed down by concerns of routine or comparing literature to the real world because perhaps, in one day alone, she’d had more than enough excitement to last her for the rest of her life. Her new, second life. The one that was as clean and fresh as a blank slate could be. Although dying for a new start—even if that death was only three minutes and twenty seconds long—was quite dramatic and completely unrequired. Anyone, including Y/N, has the opportunity to change their life whenever they need to. Whenever they reach that bleak state of despair or, in Y/N’s case, a dull point of repetitive boredom. Solace can be found in even the most remote and lonely of places. It can begin with a new piece of literature or taking a new route to a familiar destination.

The things that take up the small moments, that seem like puzzle pieces required to navigate our days are, in fact, a series of thousands of choices. Any single one of which can change an entire life and lead to impossible people and impossible things. Or serve to better ourselves in ways we’ve dreamed of but never hoped to achieve. Make us braver, stronger, funnier, or brilliant. Because we were all along, even when we didn’t know it, or even if we doubted it. It may sound utterly too easy, and that's because it is

Y/N didn't need to change, not really, not when she was unpredictable and brave all along. She only needed a nudge in the right direction and a good cup of tea, to save her life.

If you stuck with me on this I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. This was a little passion project I’ve had in my head for a while. I hope y’all had fun.

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok​ ​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​ @jesseswartzwelder​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles​ @akshi8278​​ @bloodydaydreamer​ StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue​​ @ceisbill​​

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

could you please help type me? im 22 and most everything i will mention will be recent. i am a slow learner where i need the entirety of information for anything to make sense at all. ie i didn't understand fe-fi for a year before i saw one single sentence on your blog and i heard a clicking sound in my head. before that i was on point 0 no matter what. problem is the opposite is also correct where i am convinced i know something but i read one sentence and go 'i didn't know anything at all apparently' when i read that one sentence on your blog i started studying everything from scratch.(1)

it actually gave me a weird anxiety where i genuinly shut off for a while and couldn't concentrate on anything but trying to understand the functions. the more i couldn't understand it, the more i ignored everything else. i pretty much stopped sleeping at some point. but when i decide on something somehow everything feels related to that and i'm like 'ah finally i will know some peace'. this is a very bad explanation but yeah. certain things i think genuinly feel like an attempt of me finding 'relevant things' so i can convince myself, which is why i came to you for help because at this point i have no idea, and the confusion is angering me.(2)

one of my worst qualities is scolding people, specifically for how they behave. i do this a lot where i think you have to behave a certain way in certain situations, you must. i'm trying to work on myself but i genuinly feel like certain things are just inappropriate to the point where i Must interfere, which is something everyone around me hates. i have a tendency to believe that I just know how it must be, so i explain to people how they must be acting. 'you do this which makes people feel like this, which will result in this'is a constant in my life. i also feel second hand embarassment from pretty much anything.(3)

i think my sensing function is last because it genuinly feels like i cannot see. feels kind of dissociative sometimes, like i'm not there. i am completely seperate from the outside world and to some extent, from myself. moreso environment tho. although i cannot always understand that i actually have a body. that has needs. i don't ever realize i'm cold, for example, until someone tells me my hands are freezing. even then its more a fact then me actually realizing im cold. people also ask me if i'm ok a lot because i just straigh up look like i'm not there at all. (4)

i'm completely lost on the n function, i thought i had ne because i explain things as other things a lot, so that to me was ne. i just cannot explain something without giving an example of something else that is completely irrelevant, which sounds like absolute gibberish apparently. like, feathers? protection. enneagram 3? rafiki and simba, for some fucking reason. and i honest to god wouldn't have understood ennea 3 if it wasn't for 'rafiki holding simba up is 3s inferiority complex. the zebras bowing is the superiority complex. they will do anything to avoid simba, the inferiority feelings, so they bow down, as in whatever simba says goes just so they can live. the shadow simba cannot go is their denied shame.' otherwise i cannot understand it.(5)

more things: i am a massive hoarder of things i don't want. books are the number one things tho i hoard pretty much anything. i love reading but most i read is things i dont care about. i have over 800 books and most is things i buy because i see sth and my immidiate reaction is 'some random stranger on the street will question me on this 4 years later' so i buy books. i think, 'if i do not know this, i will straight up die.' i do not interact with people unless i know for sure i can like, talk about Anything that has ever existed, ever.(6)

im prone to many identity crisises and i overthink. i also am constantly swayed from actual interests i have. i make long lists of what to read or where to go and 0 percent of it is based on what i want. it's just me thinking i don't know much history so i should visit every museum and i don't know science so i should read every book etc. i decided to learn guitar and i have barely touched it because i'm learning music theory first aswell as the entire history of rock music and i have to memorize every chord before i am allowed to touch the guitar itself. same thing happened with drawing. with violin. even when im dressing i'm like 'what if someone asks me if i know enough about this band and i dont so then i have to move countries???' so i do not wear it. i get actual stomachaces lol. (7)

i am not competitive but also feel embarassed a lot. i won't put myself forth and usually want to not be seen but i also get offended if someone is better then me, specifically in a field of my knowledge. if i meet someone who has similar interests/knowledge as me i ignore them or the topic for fear that they might know more then me. i hate change unless it is controlled. like sudden news or travel plans are a nightmare and they cause a lot of anxiety but i also am okay with changing things up if i am in complete control of how it will go. that seems to be it. thanks. (8)

--------------------------

Hi anon,

So this isn’t limited to you but whenever people are like “my anxiety over typing myself has genuinely impacted my quality of life” it is something that makes me want to stop typing that person. It feels like I’m enabling a habit that is explicitly not good for them, and it shows up to an extent that is frankly alarming and I really, really hope it is exaggeration and that me saying this will shut it the fuck down in questions that I get. Based on some of the other things you’ve said, if you have not gotten assessed for anxiety you probably should have someone check that out (and if you have, I would spend time working on it and take a break from typology in the meantime), and that makes it pretty much impossible for me to type your enneagram, but I can still do MBTI although the anxiety makes it difficult to determine extroversion and introversion.

With that out of the way, probably one of the xNFJs:

Scolding people is often high Fe behavior, and especially in the way you describe it (as based in how other people will feel about the behavior). It’s difficult to assess beyond that without explanations; scolding people over something like racism is hopefully something a decent person of any type can get behind, whereas scolding people over many other things is just Fe. Based on what you said about needing to be control over changes and this idea of needing total understanding of anything before engaging with it also really does not sound in line with perceiving, which often thrives when jumping in without total preparation.

Either of the intuition functions would see things as other things and tend to engage via metaphor and theme, and the other things you mention as evidence of low sensing seem appropriate for high Ni as well.

[writing-nebula]

Aura: An Unknown Program

Heyyy guys! I’m finally posting this to Tumblr, heh. This is Anti’s perspective of things during Changes and Growth! I won’t say a ton here, but I hope you enjoy the fic! --------------------------------------------- “Chill? This is Anti we’re talking about! Do you not know what he’s done to all of us!?” Anger and fear, so sharp and bitter he felt like he was choking on it.

“You seriously cannot be asking us to be calm around that glitch!” Confusion and worry swirled around him alongside the fear, filling his head and making everything foggy- making it impossible to tell where his feelings ended and theirs began.

“How do I make it stop?” He barely realized it was him that spoke, everything was too loud and hurt and all the emotions were drowning him make it stop make it stop-

I’ll make it stop-

Anti jolted awake and sat up, eyes wide and feeling shaky, those four words echoing menacingly through his head.

‘What was that…?’

He swallowed, bringing a hand up to rub at his neck, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, then took a few deep breaths and shook his head. ‘Just a nightmare, don’t go scaring yourself…’

Thankfully, a distraction came in the form of a knock on the door, and Anti pulled himself out of bed to go answer it, finding himself yawning as he did so. “Is it time for dinner already…?”

The man who had comforted him yesterday- Jack, that was his name- smiled, and Anti couldn’t help but relax at the wave of kindness washing over him, smiling softly back as his nightmare faded to the back of his mind. “Actually, it’s morning. I decided to let you sleep last night, but I’m sure you’re hungry now. Breakfast is downstairs.”

Anti perked up, his stomach growling, “Is there any coffee?” he asked hopefully.

Jack laughed, and Anti decided he liked the sound. “Of course there is! There’s always coffee in this house, it’s the lifeblood of most of us. Marvin also made pancakes, and he makes the best pancakes, you’re in for a treat!”

Even as he agreed and started following the other down to the kitchen, Anti tried to sort out which one Marvin might have been. ‘I think he was one of the angry ones…? But the quieter one, not that one with the hat… Oh, maybe he was the one with-’ Anti stopped dead in his tracks as they entered the room, sucking in a breath and curling in on himself as he realized how thick the air was with dread. He felt sick. It took a few moments for him to realize everyone was staring at him, and when he did he swallowed, glancing around at them nervously. ‘Scared again, why are they scared…?’

“Uh… G-good morning…?” He mumbled it, trying his best not to feel ashamed as well as sick.

The others looked at each other, the one in the hat scowling as they seemingly spoke without words, until what appeared to be the youngest sighed, and smiled at Anti. “Good morning, Anti. Would you like some breakfast?”

It was slow, a little wary, but with that smile came a little buzz of hope, and Anti relaxed a little as the room became a bit more bearable. “Yeah, I'd love some, thanks. Some coffee too, if it's not any trouble."

“Oh yeah, of course!” He summoned the other over with a wave of his hand, and Anti went right over to him, relieved as the young man continued. “I’m Jackie, by the way, nice to meet you properly…”

After that, he had a few hours to himself as everybody went their separate ways after breakfast. Jackie was doing something with Marvin- who, he discovered, was the one with long hair that always felt more nervous or angry than scared- and Jack had to record something. The man was kind enough to leave him his laptop, however, and Anti found himself thoroughly enjoying a different YouTuber named Markiplier, especially the horror games he played.

Now, he paused the video he was currently on, a game called Alien Isolation, and got up from his bed to head downstairs to get some water. Maybe Jackie would be done with Marvin, and they could spend more time together. He’d still been scared of Anti, but… He was trying to be nice, at least.

It turned out he ran into Chase, instead, rounding the corner to find him in the living room, though it seemed the man hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Uh- h-hey, Chase,” he started a little hesitantly, stopping to give the other a little wave.

“Wha- fuck- ” Chase swore as he kicked the coffee table and stumbled, hitting the ground hard and barely avoiding banging his head on the wood. “Oh crap- I-I’m so sorry, let me help you!”

Anti hurried over and held out a hand for the other, grabbing gently for his arm, but the moment he made contact, fear tore through him, so strong he felt dizzy, and Chase ripped his arm away and scrambled back. “Don’t touch me!”

Anti stumbled back, his chest tight as he clutched at his shaking hand, mind a little foggy with the absolute terror that had just coursed through him, but Chase didn’t even seem to notice, sharp stabs of anger assaulting Anti as the other backed away to the other side of the room, clutching his arm. “You scratched me, you little shit- what were you gonna do to me, huh!? Lock me away? Tie me up and torture me!?”

“N-no, wait-” He stumbled over his words, flinching with every one that came out of Chase’s mouth, and hesitantly took a step forward. “I-I’m sorry, I w-was just-”

“Don’t take another step!”

Anti flinched back as the dad’s hand dropped down to the pistol at his belt, and for a brief, blinding moment, he only knew a searing, shattering pain, like his entire body was breaking apart at the seams. And then he blinked, and the pain was gone, and the gun hadn’t been pulled out, just leaving him shaking and feeling heat pricking at his eyes. When he noticed Jack in the room, standing near Chase, he scrambled to explain, not knowing if he could bear the one nice person starting to hate him too.

“I-I’m sorry, I j-just… it was a-an accident, I swear!”

“Like hell it was!” Another stab of anger from Chase, another wave of fear rushing through Anti, though this time mostly his own. “You don’t draw blood by accident!"

“Okay, everyone calm down,” Jack said gently, holding his hands up, then approaching Chase. “Chase, show me your arm.”

Chase shot a withering glare at Anti, muttering something he couldn’t quite hear as Jack inspected his arm, and Anti hunched his shoulders, looking firmly down at the floor as he struggled not to start crying then and there.

‘Why does he hate me so much…? I just wanted to help him, I didn’t mean to scratch him-’

His body buzzed, the weird jolting and static starting quietly again, and Anti bit down harshly on his lip, struggling to pull his pixels back together- Pixels?

“What happened?”

The thought was shoved aside as Jack turned to him, gentle worry cooling over the burns of Chase’s anger, and Anti took a shaky breath, still holding his arm close, a little afraid he’d somehow hurt Jack next. “H-he tripped, and I tried t-to help him up, but he j-jumped away, and I ended up scratching him…”

“So it was an accident? And you apologized?” Jack asked softly, and Anti nodded, not having the energy to do much else.

“Then you did everything you were supposed to. Chase overreacted, is all.” Jack put a hand to his shoulder, smiling, and Anti almost winced at the touch, afraid it would bring the same fear that it did from Chase.

“H-he was scared of me…” Anti mumbled, letting go of his arm to wrap his arms around himself, feeling a strange chill curling in his chest as he voiced his worry. “E-everyone is always scared of m-me, even Jackie… Did I d-do something…?” ‘If I know what it was, I can fix it, and then they won’t hate me anymore…’

“Oh Anti…” And then Jack was hugging him, and he couldn’t help but press into it, the warmth of it stealing his breath away, chasing away the cold as soon as it began.

“No one’s scared of you-” ‘Can’t you feel it??’ “-you just remind them of someone, that's all… You didn't do anything…”

Anti sniffled, not really believing him, but went along with it. “Th-then why does it f-feel so bad…? Why do I feel guilty…?” he hesitantly asked, feeling safe in his arms for the moment.

Jack paused, going quiet, and Anti tensed, comfort shifting along the line to worry again. ‘Did I say something wrong is he gonna get mad too-'

“I… I don’t know, Anti. But you didn’t do anything to them, I promise…”

Anti could only bring himself to nod, forcing himself to relax again, and when Jack pulled back to smile at him, he smiled back, trying to reassure him.

“Wanna play a video game together?”

He blinked, caught off guard for a moment, then grinned, his smile widening. “Y-yeah, sure.”

All in all, after a while, Anti wouldn’t say things were terrible- after all, they were all starting to warm up to him! Jackie spent the most time with him, but sometimes Marvin would give both of them a little magic show, and Henrik occasionally dragged him off to learn how to cook or do basic first aid, so he could patch himself up whenever he got especially banged up from tripping or falling.

Jamie, the mute one who was always only terrified around him, started relaxing, his fear less harsh in the air, and started teaching him sign language. It was so interesting! And sometimes Jack would join too- all of it never failed to make him smile.

And then the nightmares started.

It was small, at first- flashes of pain, of blood, places he felt like he should know but didn’t. He didn’t remember the entire dream, only that something hurt and a harsh, almost painful sense of fear in the air, none of it ever his.

And then the others started showing up.

“Let me go, you fucking waste of disc space!”

Jackie snarled at him, clawing at Anti’s hand tight around his throat, then kicked at the glitch’s stomach and pushed away from him, quickly scrambling to his feet and grabbing a taser from his belt, leaping at Anti with an angry battle cry.

Over and over again, all of them hurt-

“Scheisse-” Henrik swore under his breath as he wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at the glitch with utter hate in his eyes as his other hand pressed hard against the cut in his side. “Oh, don’t look so smug, you bastard! The others will make you pay for this!”

or fighting him- "Eyes on me, virus!” Marvin snarled, eyes glowing green as he threw fire and painful bursts of light at Anti, almost too fast for him to dodge. “I’ll give you something to laugh about!”

or terrified of him- Jamie stumbled back from the mirror, scared tears in his eyes, and tore desperately at the strings tying themselves around his wrists, struggling to get free, get away from him-

For two months, they had plagued him, only getting worse and worse by the day, and he was so scared of them, he woke up shaking and crying with each and every one, only going downstairs when he was sure he looked normal.

Because he couldn’t tell the others, he just couldn’t- they were only now starting to trust him, starting to relax around him instead of acting like…

Like he was going to attack them-

It was fine, anyway. He could handle it, he didn’t need to bother them with something like this, they could get freaked out, and he never wanted them to look at him like they did in his dreams.

Even if Chase already did.

Even if he always had...

So he resolved to stay quiet about it, pretend nothing was ever wrong- surely they’d stop eventually, and he could just move on with his life… ------------------------------------------------------------

Anti glanced out the window, snickering as he watched the other egos gathering beneath the building he’d locked himself in. Arguing and gesturing wildly- it was so fun to watch them panic~ Schneep wasn’t there, probably trying to stop Jack from bleeding out, and Anti never expected to see Jamie if he didn’t bring the man himself, but he also didn’t see Chase, which was… Strange, considering his new toy.

Heh. Maybe he already gave up and bit the bullet. Speaking of toys…

Anti turned and walked towards the sobbing in the other room, grinning at the young girl tied up there, and crouched down to be at her level. “Aww, what’s wrong, miss your daddy?”

She shrieked and tried to scramble away, tears pouring down her cheeks- she really looked so much like Chase, the little brat. Anti grabbed at her hair and yanked her closer, laughing at the second scream from her. “Well I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but he’s not coming back~! He abandoned you, ran away like the little whiny coward he is!”

He stood up, pulling her up on her own bruised legs, then laughed as he let go and let her fall to the floor with a cry. “Pity, too, I would’ve loved to see his face when I told him all about what I’m going to do to his little princess~!”

Chase’s daughter sobbed and hid her face, shaking in terror, and Anti sighed, almost bored by the reaction. " So predictable… I’ll have to play with you some more later, see what I can get-”

He didn’t hear the gun go off, but he definitely felt it, the bullet tearing through him and scattering his pixels momentarily around the room.

Anti reformed with a snarl, knife in hand as he glared at Chase. “You bastard- ”

“That’s my line, you crazy glitch bitch!” Chase snarled back, gun pointed right at the glitch’s head. “Let go of my daughter, you monster!”

“Never!” He cackled, glitches ripping through him as he advanced on the dad. “I’ll make sure she’s soaked in your blood by the end of the day!”

Anti bolted up from his bed so fast he thought he was going to fall out of it. His chest was tight, suffocatingly so, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he struggled to breathe, unable to make even a sound. ‘That was- sh-she was- a-and Chase-’

No. No. No.

It was just a dream, it wasn’t- it couldn’t be real, it was just like all the others, it was just-

Wetness dripped down his shirt. Blood. Blood from his neck. He barely choked back a terrified whimper and grabbed for his blanket, yanking it up to press against the bleeding cut and hoping, begging for it to stop, for everything to go back to normal.

“Let her go you fucking monster!”

Just a dream. It was just a bad dream, it had to be.

Anti squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the glitches wracking through his body, and stayed there, shaking and gasping for air, until his neck stopped bleeding and he didn’t feel lightheaded from fear and the static tearing through him. The glitch stood, a little shaky, and stuffed the bloodied blanket under his bed before going over to the small desk in the room, checking his reflection with the laptop Jack had given him a month ago. He grimaced- he looked like shit, bags under his eyes and the scar across his neck red and irritated.

‘...They’re expecting me for breakfast, I can’t just skip…’

He took just a couple minutes to clean himself up, and to change his shirt to something that wasn’t stained with blood, then took a deep breath and forcefully shoved the nightmare to the back of his mind, just like always. ‘Just a dream. It was just a dream, none of it was real.’

He wasn’t sure if he believed himself anymore.

Anti hesitantly entered the kitchen, pleading with whatever force was listening that the others wouldn’t notice anything was wrong- for people seemingly numb to the emotions plain around them, they were far too good at reading him. Alas, he could never be that lucky.

“Anti? You okay?” That was Jackie, looking up from a sizzling pan, and Anti jumped despite the gentle tone, it being all too easy to remember full of anger and pain.

“O-oh, uh-” He couldn’t tell them, how would they react if they found out? How could they be okay with him if they knew what he kept dreaming about?

“Anti…?” Jack stood up slowly, about ready to head towards him, and Anti swallowed. Jack’s concern, usually soft and calming, made his stomach churn with guilt, like he’d actually done all those things he kept dreaming about.

What if I did-

“S-sorry,” he managed, smiling a false smile and hoping that was enough to calm them. “I guess I’m a bit jumpy…”

“Did you have a bad dream?” Marvin. He was always angry in the dreams, fighting him and never afraid.

Just like that day he appeared-

“Something like that…” Anti muttered shakily, and went to get a cup of coffee before sitting down, sipping it silently in hopes that nobody else would want to talk to him. ‘What if they know about the dreams and they’re afraid I’ll act on them? Did they know this was gonna happen, is that why they all hated me at first?’

“Do you wanna talk about it…?” Jackie asked quietly as he sat down, though Anti wouldn’t look up to acknowledge him. “It's better to not keep things bottled up…”

Anti peeked up, feeling the guilt burning in his gut again as he looked at all the others, and his throat tightened, his mouth felt dry. “I…”

“How about you have this conversation with people who actually care?” He flinched back at Chase’s words, the dad’s anger ringing in his head so strong it made him feel dizzy, and he shook his head slightly, struggling to focus on anything besides it. ‘Does he hate me because he already knows? Does he get them too?’

“One of these days, he’s just gonna go back to the Anti we know!”

Anti’s head snapped up, eyes going wide as he stared at the now standing Chase, pain and hate radiating off of him as he yelled at Jack.

The Anti they know?

“Do you not know what he’s done to all of us!?”

The anger.

“What were you gonna do to me, huh!? Lock me away? Tie me up and torture me!?”

The fear.

They’d all had it, right from the beginning, even Jack- though he did his best not to show it, it was impossible to ignore when the feelings dug into him like a personal attack.

And all at once, it made sense.

They weren’t dreams- they were memories. His memories. Antisepticeye’s memories.

They were still yelling, but Anti barely heard it, instead staring blankly down at his hands as time seemed to stop. ‘I hurt them. I tortured them, I attacked them, I tormented them-’

‘I hurt Chase’s kids. I hurt him in every way I could think of. Of course he hates me, why wouldn’t he?’

He wasn’t sure when he started shaking, or when he started glitching, because nothing could overpower the guilt coursing through him as it fully sunk in. ‘Oh, god- I-I tried to kill them, I r-ruined their lives-’

“-sorry, I’m s-sorry…” He choked it out as he stood abruptly and backed away from the table. He flinched as he felt everyone’s eyes turn to him, and all he could imagine was that they knew, and now they’d realize he knew and they’d kick him out or lock him up and- and-

Anti wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to keep himself together, and barely bit back a sob, voice shaking with the effort to not collapse entirely. “I-I’ll just… G-go back to m-my room, ‘m sorry…” I’ll lock myself up please I’m sorry- just please don’t look at me like you used to-

And with that, he summoned up the once confusing power that had always buzzed beneath the surface, the one he could now control as easy as thinking, and glitched away, back to his bedroom where he could pretend they were safe from him.

The glitch fell back against the door, covering his mouth as the dam burst and ugly sobs tore from his throat, his chest so tight he felt he would pass out as he curled up right there on the floor.

No wonder they had all hated him, always been so afraid of him, he was-

“I’ll give you something to laugh about!”

“You’ll pay for this!”

“You fucking waste of disk space!”

“Let go of my daughter you fucking monster!”

...a monster. Taglist: @egopocalypse ( @amyxmiaplay - I noticed you seemed pretty excited when the last chapter got posted. Let me know if you wanna be added to the list or if you don’t want to be tagged!)

[neo-nymph]

NCT NSFW A-Z: Jaehyun

I went to the NeoCity concert in Miami a month ago and now I can't get NCT out of my head. So I present you with this :’)

A - Aftercare

He’d probably just lay next to you for like 5 minutes to catch his breath. He’d wrap his arms under you and pull you into his side watching you with heart eyes and a subtle grin as you pant little breaths. Once he’s mellowed out he’d go all soft boy again, doing small cute things like tying your hair back so you can cool off, wiping you off with a cool towel if things got messy, getting you some water if you want. Then it’s tiny kisses on your forehead and temple, probably cringy small talk about how cute you are when you moan for him and some cuddles.

B – Body Part

On you it’s probably your legs. It might sound weird but he just finds them absolutely gorgeous. Doesn’t matter if you’re tall or short or what you’re doing. Laying on the couch with some shorts, running around in one of his shirts with your legs bare, jumping out of the pool. Anything would drive him insane. He loves pressing kisses to them when things get intimate and running his fingers across them when cuddling.

C – Cum

Not his favorite thing in the world just because of how messy and annoying to clean it is, but kinda loves putting it on you. He might even have a thing for watching you play with it. Jaehyun seems like the type to be really into facials and swallowing. Painting your cute little face with thick, white streams, watching you rub it around between your fingers or seeing the white pool disappear between your lips after fucking your mouth is like the cherry on top of his sundae.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he was into creampies too. He’d push himself inside you as deep as he could when he cums and pulls back to see it slowly seeping out and down your shaking thigh, drawing out a long sigh of satisfaction as he threw his head back and closed his eyes.  

D – Dirty Secret

Probably something like panty sniffing. Idky but I see that happening. He probably takes a pair of yours on tour to wrap around himself when he gets off.

E – Experience

I know Jae has a player attitude about him but I don’t buy it for a second. I don’t think he’s been with a ton of women, but enough that he knows what he’s doing, plus one or two extra tricks. Probably learned a thing or two from porn.

F – Favorite Position

Doggy style with your hands tied behind your back.  

He can be rough and fuck you into the bed, have his hand on your hips to keep you in place, but can still tug you up by your hair when he wants to hear your little noises.  

Hands behind your back for that little power trip.

G – Goofy

On a few occasions, like when he’s drunk. He probably can’t stop himself from cracking a goofy smile. All the way from the door to the bedroom, while making out, taking off clothes, even during the actual sex he’s making stupid jokes, giving you cringy compliments, and can’t seem to take anything either of you says or do seriously.

Also, the first time you guys are intimate together. He wouldn’t want you to be nervous, especially if you were younger/less experienced than him, so he would do his best to make the mood lighter by making jokes or being overly cute. By that I mean lots of small kisses, light taunting, etc. Anything to get you to smile, ignore your nerves and focus on having a good time.

H – Hair

Probably trims so it’s not a full on bush, but doesn’t bother with shaving totally bare. Doesn’t care what you do with yours.

I – Intimacy

Jaehyun’s a total Casanova. He knows how to read your body language and expressions extremely well, so he knows exactly what you want when you want it and how to deliver. He can be romantic and suave, cute and gentle, rough and dominating, whatever you want he’s got it.

I definitely see him being someone that shows his affection often in a lot of tiny ways, but I think his favorite way to show how much he feels for you is by getting intimate. That being said he makes the whole thing about you; your enjoyment and pleasure always come first.  

J – Jack-Off

Probably does a lot on tour. There’s a lot of time between tour stops for him to alone with his thoughts that he can’t seem to control. You’re already on his mind all the time, which didn’t help his struggle to control his desires. He prides himself on his ability to control his sexual urges, but between the lack of physical contact, the sexual dances, and you’re unforgiving voice messages, I see him jacking off pretty often. Like at least every other night, probably late after concerts.

Probably calls you for phone sex if the time zones line-up well enough. If not he probably gets off to some videos he filmed of you guys before you left or videos and voice messages you sent him a while back.

K - Kink

Maybe a power kink.  

Nothing huge, but he loves the dominating feeling that runs through him when he looks down and see’s you laying there under him, shaking vaguely, mind completely clouded in a fucked out daze as you fully submit to him. It sends him on this weird power trip and fills him with a sense of pride.

Maybe an innocence kink too.  

I only really see this happening if he’s with an inexperienced partner who’s still kinda hesitant and moves with uncertainty. He’d like guiding them and find it hot that he’d get to “train” them to do things exactly as he wanted. Looking at you move to please him with glossy baby doll eyes, a little bend in your brow as you questioned if you were doing it right would drive him mad.

L - Limits

He’s open to trying most things, but nothing super wild or extreme. He’s just past the line of Vanilla tbh.

M – Motivation (Turn-On)

When you walk around with nothing but his shirt on. It makes you look so cute to him. He likes knowing your completely him, and this is the perfect way to remind him and rile him up at the same time. Bonus points if you bend over and put everything on display for him.

N – NO (Turn-Off)

Feet.  

Don’t see much appeal past you pressing your feet against him through his pants as a tease

O – Oral

Giving: G  E  N  E  R  O  U  S. He could eat you out for hours if you let him. A classic lay on his stomach wraps his arms around your thighs kinda guy. You can try squirming all you want but he’s not letting you go anywhere. Likes when you pull on his hair. Finds it cute when you try to pull him or push yourself closer to his mouth. Lots of sucking and rolling your clit with his tongue. If he thinks you’re especially deserving he’ll use his fingers too, rough and fast just as you like it.  He’s not stopping until you cum at least twice.

Receiving: Has a decent amount of self-control, so unless he’s tied down or frustrated he won’t be very fidgety or vocal, probably just a lot of harsh breaths and low grunts. He’s naturally a dom, so you can expect one hand holding your hair into a ponytail controlling your movements. He’ll probably slump back casually in whatever seat he’s in, mouth parted lightly with small breaths escaping as he stares at you with eyes blown wide from desire. Likes fast and messy blowjobs when he’s angry or frustrated. Loves the feeling of your tight throat swallowing around his cock. Other times you can move whatever pace you want, just don’t be surprised if he starts fucking your throat by the end. He likes to hear you gag.

P – Place

He’ll fuck you anywhere in the house. On the couch, in the shower, the kitchen, on the patio. He’d be especially fond of eating you out while you sit on the island in the kitchen. Same goes for hotels and the tour bus. He’s not one for people watching, but the second you’re alone, he’ll take you on any surface he can.

Q – Quickie

I can only see these happening once in a blue moon because he likes to drag things out and take his time. Even if he randomly gets in the mood in public he’ll hold off until the event is done or find some excuse for you guys to get home. You can always expect him to be exceptionally rougher and faster than you’re used to. The pressure in his groin had him acting without logic, pulling apart your clothes, barely getting them off your body before raw dogging you against the door.  

R – Risk

Meh. Like I said before, he’s just past the line of vanilla. Risky antics aren’t typically apart of your sex life, so I wouldn’t expect anything crazy like fucking in public. Maybe he’ll whip out vibrating panties. He may decide to tease you under the table at a business dinner one night, shoving his hands down your panties. But only for a few minutes before he makes some lame excuse and takes you home.  

S – Stamina

Could probably last like 3 rounds

T – Toys

Probably uses handcuffs from time to time

U – Unfair

Like I said before, his main priority is making sure he can please you as much as possible. He probably wouldn’t go crazy with teasing. Likely just enough to make you beg him to fuck you, like rubbing you through your panties with his hand around your throat while he’s still fully clothed.

He hates being teased. The only way you’ll get away with teasing him is if he’s tied down to a chair. Good luck dealing with him after tho

V – Volume

Not super loud himself. Moans often but not loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Probably audible if someone passes by the room or the walls are thin. Grunts and groans loudest and deepest when he cums or when you deepthroat him. Throws in some dirty whisper into your ear here and there.  

Likes for you to be loud though. Especially when he’s gotten jealous; hearing you scream his name gives him a real ego boost, particularly when he walks out between rounds and sees the members in the living room pretending they didn’t hear anything

W - Wild Card [Author’s Choice] (this one ain't so nsfw sorry lol)

I cannot stress enough how much this man loves you. You’re like a little angel to him. It’s pretty obvious that he’s a confident guy, but sometimes he gets worried that he’s not deserving of you, for reasons other than looks. That’s why he always spoils you so much, sexually and not. He hopes if he showers you enough with his love and gives you everything he believes you deserve, you’ll constantly be reminded about how much you love him and you won’t want to leave.

X - X-Ray [Dick Size]

Longer than most but not huge. I’d say 7 inches long and generously thick. You’re gonna feel the stretch every time honey.

Y – Yearning [Sex Drive]

When he’s home, not exceedingly high. You probably have sex like 3 or 4 times a week. When he’s sex-deprived on tour tho, he’s calling you like every other night to help him out.

Z – Zzz [After Sex]

I mentioned this before at the beginning, he probably needs like 5 minutes to catch his breath and he’s good. After he tends to you and you guys get all cuddly, he’ll probably fall asleep in like 30 mins to a 1 hr

[rowan-raven-rogue]

kirschwein (ch1)

will probably edit later when it’s not 3am but let’s get this posted babey

kirschwein

word count: 2127/2830 part 2/8 rating: general audiences warnings: no warnings apply category: f/m fandom: critical role (web series) relationship: jester lavorre/caleb widogast Characters: jester lavorre, caleb widogast

additional tags: let’s see how matt mercer thrusts the harpoon of canon straight through the heart of this story in like 5 episodes, somewhere between AU and canon-divergent?, established relationship, technically mechanically compliant, we can discuss the meta of greater restoration vs heal if you want

chapter 1

Despite evidence to the contrary, she thinks, Jester really is not suited for healer’s work.

To heal is one thing, certainly; one whisper to the Traveler, and a wound in Beau’s shoulder closes, or a burn on Caduceus’ palm blisters over and cools. But the work of healing - bandaging, applying poultice, splinting - that remains a mystery, even after the morning spent in the red-haired healer woman’s tent. A body really does most of the work by itself, Jester thinks, diligently elevating a young man’s shattered leg all the same, the way the woman had instructed. She croons something low and nonsensical to soothe him, as he half-cries in his half-sleep, and is thankful that her mama taught her at least a bit about the work of consolation.

To be perfectly honest, she might have been of slightly more use on the builder’s crew. Slightly.

“That’s very good, dear,” the red-haired woman smiles, only with the corners of her eyes. She finishes applying delicate-smelling balm to the frizzy side of a dwarf woman’s face, then turns to Jester. “You learn quickly.”

“Not always,” Jester admits. “Only because you showed me. If I had to learn this from a book or something, or if you were just talking me through it I would have no idea what was going on.”

“We learn in different ways,” nods the woman, in her thick, familiar accent. “I learned much of what I know from books, but they do not, ah, always have the full story.” The young man lying next to Jester groans again, and she reflexively lays a hand on his arm and hums something lullsome. “A page cannot teach that,” she says, softer, indicating.

“I could do more,” Jester ponders, “but he seems okay for now, and if anyone else gets brought in that might be worse, I don’t want to… I’d rather save it.”

“More wisdom.”

“But if no one else comes today, I can fix it no problem,” Jester says, and puffs just a touch of green sparks from her fingertips, for effect.

The older woman’s eyes crease, again, the way they had earlier that morning, when Jester first arrived, when she first set her fingertips to the gashes clawed in a half-elf child’s back and asked Please, Traveller, make it stop hurting. Not in a smiling way, and not for longer than an instant, but long enough for Jester to see, and to vanish the green sparks with a small noise like a weasel’s squeak.

“You are talented,” murmurs the red-haired woman, and the rain slowly pattering away at the canvas above them drums a little harder and faster.

“I hope Caduceus is okay,” Jester says, as if she could look through canvas walls and summon him, dripping but cheerful.

“He is allergic to water?” the woman says, unblinking, and it takes Jester seconds to realize she’s joking.

“Yes,” she deadpans back, in her best mimic of Caleb - and there was a pang, she hadn’t seen him all day - but the woman actually laughs, small but full.

“He will be alright,” she says. “I am sure the apothecary is… overworked, today.”

“He’s better at this kind of thing,” Jester says. “Healing without, uh. Cheating. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I am grateful for your help,” the red-haired woman says, firmly, seating herself by the small brazier in the center of the tent. “Normally, they,” with a small circle of the hand, to her patients, “would be cared for at the hospital, but. You saw the state of the hospital, after...” And after a long pause, “I do not think of it as cheating.”

Jester sits, mindful of the patients resting. The woman continues to stare into the glowing coals.

“We simply have different ways of accomplishing the same task,” she says, finally. “You are skilled as you are, dear.”

A blush purples faintly over Jester’s cheeks “You sound like my - friend,” she says. How do I refer to Caleb, exactly?

“Hmm?” says the woman. “She is smart, then.”

“He’s so smart,” says Jester, eagerness creeping in at the edges of her voice. “I meant you sound the same like you have the same accent. He’s Zemnian, too.”

“Is he a healer, also?”

Jester shakes her head. “He usually needs me to like, put his arms and legs back on after a fight or something. But he’s really good at other stuff.”

“A mage, then,” and that same small ghosting look gathers in the corner of her eyes, and dissipates just as quickly. “That will be useful, if your aim is to hunt these creatures. They are quite strong.” There is a small pop from one of the glowing coals. “My husband was a soldier, and he only barely managed to slay one of them, once. I nearly had to put his arms and legs back on myself.” A suggestion of a smile turns at the woman’s mouth. “He is… not in his fighting prime, of course. That was one of the few times I have thanked the gods for his hard-headedness. I think he was simply too stubborn to bleed out.”

“Oh my God, Caleb is so stubborn sometimes,” agreement spills from Jester, and the woman cocks an eyebrow.

“Your - friend?” she says, with a suggestion, lilted and understanding, and Jester takes pause.

“Well - yes, and also - I mean, we’re together, but - it’s so hard, when we’re with this big group, you know, like - you never get any time to yourself as it is, and it hasn’t been that long…” Jester’s words trail off into a small, exasperated sigh.

“My goodness,” the woman laughs again, this time fuller. “I do not miss being young, my dear, it seems just as complicated as I remember.”

“It wouldn’t be, if…” and Jester trails off again. If we weren’t worried about everybody making it weird? or for a shameful instant, if he could let himself be happy for longer than a few minutes at a time? although that one Jester quickly sweeps away.

The woman filled her pause. “Well, I’m sorry to say you signed up for stubbornness with that one, if he’s a Zemnian boy. My husband is this way, and my son.” There is a hitch to her voice, near the end, catching over son in a way Jester can’t miss. The pitched canvas above them thrums harder still beneath the rain. “He was a mage, as well.”

“Your son?” Jester says, carefully.

“Yes,” and the woman’s voice peters out into something like a whisper, carrying something heavy and unmistakable.

“I’m sorry,” Jester says simply.

“Thank you,” the woman replies. The wind and rain somewhat quiet, and eventually she picks up again with the smallest of shakes of her head. “From where in the Zemni Fields is your friend, dear?”

“Oh, uh. I’m not actually sure, he doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

Nodding, “Many lives were difficult, before, after the first war. I cannot blame him. Well, if you are going to be in town for a few days, you are welcome to pay us a visit. Gods know there aren’t enough friendly faces near, especially for strangers.”

“That’s very kind, thank you.”

“And if it helps, you can tell him we’re from Blumenthal. He probably won’t know where that is, it’s such a small village, but. Who knows.”

“I will.”

“I’m back, Miss Una,” the canvas flap at the front of the tent mutters open, and Caduceus ducks inside, stray strands of pink slicked to his otherwise-placid face. “They were out of yarrow, I hope you don’t mind, I asked for comfrey instead. Jester, I saw the weirdest thing,” he says, depositing a large pouch on a nearby work table. “I thought this guy out there was Caleb for a minute, it was freaky.”

“Caduceus,” Jester says, in mock disappointment, hoping the points of her teeth don’t belie the joke, “It wasn’t actually Caleb, right?”

“No, when I got closer it was an older gentleman. One of the guys working on the hospital,” he replies. “They look really similar though. I know everyone’s supposed to have a doppelganger here and there, but. Huh.”

“On the hospital?” Una says, frowning. “The only older man working there would be my husband, I think. Tall, brown hair, short cropped?”

“Yeah! That’s him,” Caduceus says, with seemingly no opinion beyond. He digs through the pouch until he finds a vial of greenish liquid, and turns to crouch over the young woman he had left previously, the one with a deep gash just above her collarbone.

As the glow from the coals dances over the woman’s red hair, something begins to gnaw at Jester.

“Miss Una,” she says finally, drawing closer, as one might draw close to an animal that may bolt. “You said you were from Blumenthal?”

“Yes?”

“How - when did you come to Druvenlode, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh,” she says, drawing out a small tilt of her head. “It’s been seventeen years, soon.”

“Hmm,” Jester says, hoping her nonchalance can pass for acknowledgement rather than processing her thought. She creeps further still. “Miss Una.”

Something begins to be wary about the woman’s eyes. “Yes, Jester?”

“Why did you and your husband come here?”

She tenses into rigid politeness, even as her crest falls:

“I - we. We were moved here, after the death of my son.”

“You were moved here? You didn’t move here yourselves?”

“Well, no, we were - this is really not something I would like to discuss, Jester,” says Una.

“Please, forgive me, but - it’s really, really important. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“We were offered to move, yes. My son was - he died at school. The Academy offered to relocate us, as recompense.”  She tightens further, everywhere but her eyes. “It was difficult to leave, at first, but eventually the memories became too - strong, in that house. And so we accepted.”

“The Academy? The Soltryce Academy?”

“What is this about?” Una stands, and Jester sees Caduceus tense as well, before he finishes his work and slowly turns to face them.

“I can explain everything, I promise, I just - need to know. Your son was a mage? And he died - he died seventeen years ago?”

“Uh, Jester…” she hears Caduceus begin, and he approaches, but her focus is trained on the burning brown eyes of the red-haired woman before her. Una stares, stone-faced, calculating.

“Caduceus, this is like, critically important, I need you to trust me,” she says, and perhaps it is because she rarely speaks with such urgency, but he backs down, drawing slowly closer to her instead of between the two women. Jester plays her fingertips over the holy symbol at her belt, and murmurs a plea to the Traveler.

“Please, please forgive me, Miss Una,” she begs, and a shimmering green encircles the woman’s feet. She recoils with a sharp intake of breath. “Please answer my questions, and I promise promise I’ll explain everyhing.”

“Jester…” Caduceus warns again, voice rolling low and docile in an attempt to cool tempers.

“What is your name?” Una is still and silent.

“Please answer me.”

Quietly: “Una Ermendrud.” The white circle at her feet flares white briefly, then shrinks back to green.

“Is there any other name anyone else ever calls you?”

“No.” Another flare of white.

“Is there any other name anyone else has called you before?”

A brief pause before her next answer, “Una Kohler, before I was married.” Yet another white flare.

Jester’s voice quivers. “Your son died seventeen years ago.”

“My son is dead.” The circle burns white.

“Your son Bren. He has your hair.”

Jester feels a whipcrack surge between them as they lock eyes again. Confusion plays across grief plays across anger plays across love plays across guilt on Una’s face. “Please answer me.”

“Yes.” Once more, white.

Pain lodges at the back of Jester’s throat.

“Tell me a lie now, Miss Una.”

“Jester -”

“Please.”

“I - we. We live in R-” and the word rolls and rolls, but she cannot seem to finish it. The circle flares angrily red as she manages “-Rex-xen-trum”, and she stares down, understanding narrowing her eyes as the color fades back to green.

Jester pulls her last question like an arrow from her chest.

“How did he die?”

The whisper cuts over the patter of rain, the reedy keen of the wind:

“A fire. There was a fire.”

The circle momentarily flares white before Jester clenches her fist, and it disappears. 

“There were other students, inside,” Una breathes, continuing. “He was - he went back -”

“I’m sorry, Miss Una, I’m sorry,” she says, resisting, “please don’t call the guards or anything, I can explain, I can -”

“You knew my son.”

Jester feels Caduceus’ hand warm her shoulder on her reply.

“I know your son.”

[very-grownup]

THE YEAR IS 2020 AND I WATCHED NEON GENESIS EVANGELION FOR THE FIRST TIME, PART 10

Episode 22.

We're getting an Asuka episode? Well this will be a delightful change of pace, I think, because I am incapable of learning.

The exact details of how wrong I was under the cut.

You know what all the dead mom vibes in this show needed? SUICIDE AND A CREEPY DOLL.

There are flashbacks to Asuka, somberfaced and small staring through a window at her hospitalized mother who is whispering endearment to a doll she calls Asuka. This condition has something to do with Asuka's mother being too consumed by her work to be a mother. This is also why Asuka's mother kills herself: poor work-mom balance. Does Asuka's father, who loudly fucks a doctor in a medical supply closet within earshot of young Asuka, carry any blame for this? Have a great big shrug!

There's a flashback to Asuka and fuckin' Kaji (I will never be free of him) having a very one sided conversation, lying on their backs and looking at the stars, talking about Asuka going to Japan with her EVA and meeting other pilots including A BOY. Asuka declares her lack of interest in boys her own age, even if they also pilot giant robots, and her interest not in men, but in Kaji. Her great interest in Kaji and her willingness to do anything he's up for as part if her bid for his attention and adulthood. Fuckin' Kaji slithers over the bar by turning down the 14-year-old's blatant sexual overture. This is the only boundary he sets and he does it in the laziest way when in a just universe his refusal to fuck a teenager would not need to be commended because no one WOULD. I'm glad he doesn't but I hate that I have to be glad, you know?

This jumble of flashbacks is to establish that Asuka is having a pretty shitty time! Her sync rates with her EVA are plummeting; Misato doesn't know what to do and Ritsuko doesn't care and also seems to be ready to fire this teenage girl for poor robot performance.

Asuka is acutely conscious of being 'beaten' by Shinji and Rei post Shinji's month-long sabbatical being absorbed by his EVA, which is pretty understandable because NERV does a poor job of hiding how ready to write her off they are.

My understanding of the flow of these episodes is becoming increasingly less coherent. At some point there's a shot of young Asuka standing in front of the grave for I guess her mother who had the surname? Middle name? I DON'T KNOW BUT IT SAYS ZEPPELIN ON THE GRAVESTONE OKAY.

There are some shots of the creepy doll having its head wrenched off and being held by its head.

Mainly, Asuka's /so angry/. The coping mechanism she learned in the wake of her childhood trauma was about the ineffectiveness of tears and so everything is redirected into anger. She's angry living with Misato and Shinji. She's angry when Misato asks her to answer the phone. She's angry because she knows Misato and Kaji were a thing (but she doesn't know that fuckin' Kaji is fuckin' dead and Misato doesn't share the information - maybe she can't). She's angry when Shinji answers the phone instead, without being asked. She's angry Shinji's polite.

The phone call is for her, from Germany, from her mother (stepmother, she reveals, after the fact), and a bright, chipper, incomprehensible one-sided German telephone conversation ensues. A flashback to destroying a toy from her 'new' mother.

Shinji watches this conversation he cannot understand (but does any teenage boy feel like he understands any conversation conducted by a teenage girl?) but expresses genuine, sweet longing for what appears to be a functional familial relationship. Certainly Asuka's conversation with her stepmother is probably longer than every word exchanged between Shinji and his father in the entirety of Shinji's life.

Shinji's genuine interest in Asuka's family life prompts a sincere and unguarded response from Asuka about how uncomfortable living with her father and stepmother was before she catches herself and is angry at Shinji for briefly seeing a real Asuka, and herself for being real.

She's angry at Japanese baths, she's angry at sharing bath water with Shinji and Misato, angry at washing her clothes in the same machine that washes their clothes, angry at using the same toilet they do, angry at breathing the same AIR they do. She's angry because she's on her period (and this is brought up by Misato as a possible reason she's having trouble with her EVA and immediately shot down by Ritsuko) and because Asuka's always angry it doesn't feel like clumsy 'girls be PMS-ing'. Maybe more significantly, she's angry AT her period. Angry about it happening, angry about it being something she can't control and that boys don't have to deal with, angry because it's a biological indicator of her ability to do something she has no desire to ever do ...

As an adult, living with grief and depression and my mother's death and my difficult relationship with my father, I feel great empathy for Shinji. But I remember /being/ Asuka. I remember being an angry teenage girl, angry at myself and my body and everyone around me. Asuka's got big Not Like Other Girls energy and for me, that goes hand in hand with the boiling adolescent anger, the desire to goad other teens into fights, because lashing out and physically hurting was more real and acceptable than inner turmoil that couldn't be kicked.

It feels like there's a lot packed into this episode, even though it's full of long, awkward moments like a prolonged, silent elevator ride with Asuka and Rei which culminates in Asuka slapping Rei for her serenity and certainty of her place in NERV.

Maybe it just feels like there's a lot because this glimpse into Asuka's inner life feels like such a direct look at the feelings of my own adolescence. Projection is powerful.

Asuka's EVA sync rates continue to fall and it's just casually dropped that more EVAs are being made, like, it sounds like a good dozen of a new EVAs in different countries and hey that sounds like a terrible idea after one recently went rogue and ate an angel and Shinji sort of. Asuka knows she's fucking up, she finds herself lashing out at her EVA and its weird green bug eyespots. It's a weapon, a doll, and a tool, and it doesn't need a heart to fulfill its purpose (which is how Asuka regards herself). It just needs to obey her (like how Rei obeys). There's this tangle of connection with Rei and Asuka and the EVA here. Asuka hates and envies Rei because Rei performs her duties unquestioningly, which is what Asuka wants from her EVA but also what she wants from herself in her operation of the EVA. But Rei is needed by NERV because of how she performs and Rei appears to perform as she does because she knows NERV needs her. There's a certainty and belonging Asuka longs for, much as Shinji longs for the family connection her projects onto Asuka's German telephone conversation

ANYWAY an angel ... attacks? I guess? But it's not there it's in orbit maybe and it's like someone made a toddler draw a bird in space made out of lightning. It's definitely a thing to throw giant robots at and is some kind of bad time but they don't want to send out Asuka. And they don't want to send out Shinji and it's not clear why, if it's because of the absorption month or the berserk eating of the last angel or Gendo deciding he values his son's life (HA HA HA no it's definitely not the last one don't worry I'm not that confused). So it'll have to be Rei and they'll have Asuka provide backup but holy shit Asuka is not down for that and she decides to try and take out the angel in space herself, launching her EVA without permission and getting ready to do a shooting with her giant EVA gun, but she misses.

And then ... okay ... so ... then the angel in space does some kind of Care Bare Sunbeam Stare down from space onto the EVA while Handel's Messiah plays. But that's not good, that's bad. I know, heavenly music and glowing golden light. But it's bad. It's a psychological attack. The angel is trying to understand humanity with its beam attack which I think is what happened to Shinji with the pancake angel but while Shinji got a weird near death experience and a message of love from his mother, Asuka is screaming, shooting her giant EVA gun until empty.

I'm interested in the contrasting ways Asuka and Shinji's EVAs move when berserking. Shinji's was like a wild animal, a cryptid, unsettling fluid and violent and destroying everything around it in displays of brutal violence and blood. Asuka's ... looks like a headache. Everything is bent and angled inwards, clutching and drawing in and once the gun is out of ammo, it looks like it's hurting itself or trying to fold in and make a smaller target for something outside.

The angel's Hallelujah chorus beam is an awful thing of preventing suppression of bad memories? Asuka remembers all the crying she did as a child and her mother trying to kill her and also begging her mother to let her die with her so they would still be mother and daughter. It's a lot (and also there's lots of creepy doll stuff which you know I'm always ready to be particularly upset by) and Asuka's inner Asuka is, if possible, even harsher to her than Shinji's inner Shinji, because Asuka's self-loathing is channeled into anger and it's easy to be angry at yourself, you know? It's ugly stuff, this perpetual motion machine of anger as protection of self resulting in anger because no one knows the real you but then you're angry because you can't be weak and show your true self ... If your only coping mechanism is anger then everything is anger and everything becomes anger and feeds anger and there's no room for anything else. Anger's big and can grow forever in a bad way and ... Asuka's not taking out the angel in space, obviously.

So Rei is sent to save the day (which will make Asuka angry) but even Rei can't hit the angel in space. So there's only one thing to do, apparently, even though doing it may cause the Third Impact which is what all this angel fight has been for the purpose of avoiding maybe? IT'S TIME TO SEND REI INTO THE ORANGE TANG OCEAN SUBBASEMENT WHERE THERE IS A NERV WARSHIP AND THE GIANT GLOWING RED CROSS WITH THE WHITE MANY EYED DANGLY ENDED BODY OF ADAM TREVOR TO GET THE SPEAR OF LONGINUS. Longinus is removed from Adam Trevor, like you do, and Longinus was the only thing keeping Adam Trevor ... dead? Inert? I don't know but the dangly bottom end bits get all pulsing and roiling and Akira and maybe become legs no time to dwell on this Rei's back to the surface. Rei throws Longinus at the angel in space and that does the trick I guess but she throws it so hard that the spear lands on the moon. I guess they don't have the spear of Longinus anymore and while I don't know why/if they needed it, they definitely seem to have been using it.

There's no more Handel and that's good but Longinus seems like something they maybe wanted to put back in the chest of the upsetting ever growing white figure on the cross in the tang ocean but I guess that's a problem for next week.

Asuka doesn't get absorbed into her EVA for any length of time and post-battle, Shinji tells her hunched form he's glad she's okay. Asuka hates him and would rather be dead than to live having been rescued by Rei.

I'm amazed Asuka had an episode to herself (cultural consciousness of this show is so strange, I'd presumed such importance from her, but she hasn't been in that much, really, and then often as comic relief) and her rage was given depth. This concludes my report on Episode 22 of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

[kureikakashikaiba]

Naruto Fanfiction - KakaxSaku: Three weeks later

Just an oneshot I wrote long time ago but I still like it a lot

Disclaimer: I don't own any Naruto characters, they all belong to Kishimoto-sensei.

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Haruno Sakura

*************************************************

"Look who do we have here?"

A slurred girlish voice with a blatant hint of inebriation disrupts Kakashi's peaceful meditation over the sochu cup. So much for his determination to spend the night alone tonight. Of all people, she is the least he wants to bump into.

Inwardly sighing, the Copy Nin turns sideway to regard a soft-pink –hair framing face which is beaming at him with a lost but warm smile.

"Yo, Sakura-chan" - He returns her smile with his own vague one. His nose instantly picks up the strong tequila smell mixed up with her perfume and shampoo fragrance. He is not sure if he likes this combination but he has to admit that she looks just as disarming as ever.

Using the chandon bottle in her two hands as an anchor to keep her body steady, Sakura cranes her chin forward to regard the empty seat next to Kakashi:

"You're here alone Kakashi-sensei?"

Even though very tempted to say that he is waiting for someone else to shoo this intoxicated girl who smells like trouble away, Kakashi still cannot afford to be so blatantly rude:

"Yeah, as alone as I always am. You are here with friends? Nice choice" – He points promptly at the bottle of sparkling wine in her hand.

Sakura lifts the bottle up and mulls over it with a distant appreciation:

"This? A gift from my colleagues in the hospital for that. And No, I'm here alone too"

Great. No one drinks Tequila shots going to a pub alone without seeking trouble itself.

"How many shots have you drunk already, Sakura?" – Kakashi's voice turns stern, he doesn't mean it to sound that way but he can slip into his teacher mode faster than light speed around this girl.

Maybe subconsciously his self-defence mechanism has been activated to protect himself from things that he does not even fathom.

It's always better to draw the line between him and this girl

"Two or Three" – she holds up her fingers to indicate her answer, the drunk smile never leaves her face.

Tossing her winter coat on the stool's back, Sakura slips in the seat next to him without asking:

"So you're avoiding someone as well?"

Yes. From you.

"No, just want to be by myself" – Trying to ignore the sudden proximity between them, Kakashi takes another sip of the strong alcohol, the pungent taste burns his throat for one brief second before disappearing from within – "I'm surprised there is someone you want to avoid, aren't you supposed to go about celebrating now, it's only three more weeks, isn't it?"

"Let's not mention that, ok?" – the first time ever since she greeted him, her grin dissolves. His eyebrow slightly rises with her sudden mood swing. But as short as when it came, her mood swings back to the more cheery path almost instantly: "Well, it's a coincidence that we meet here, isn't it, let's make the most of it" – her voice turns jovial at her own suggestion.

Even when it is subtle, Kakashi can tell that she is certainly not happy with what is going to happen pretty soon in her life.

"How about I share with you my lovely Champaign and you give me some of that bitter, yucky shochu of yours" - The roseate head girl beckons to the bartender to bring her two more empty cups, and quickly shoves a 10 ryo note in his hand so he can pretend that he does not see her bringing her own alcohol in this bar. She even gives him a free wink after the cups arrive. Judging by his long enduring sigh, Kakashi can tell he is troubled with the mess this attractive gal may create later. But well, he will always have the security guard option, and this is his job and his work place anyway. They make money from troublesome people like his former student tonight. Her cheekiness sort of evokes a small smile from Kakashi nonetheless:

"Champaign and Sochu? Isn't it a weird combination"

"It is. But I feel like doing something that doesn't make sense today, why does everything have to make sense by the way? Can we just do meaningless thing once in a while?" – She shrugs and applies the smallest amount of chakra in her palm to suck the bottle cork out. The small exploding noise of the champagne bottle serves to punctuate her sentence.

Sensing a rather disheartened mood clumsily concealed by a fake jolly smile, Kakashi chooses to go along rather than digging other unwelcomed conversation up. He is never a nosey person in the first place:

"Of course we can do meaningless thing for a change" – he smiles at her only to receive a sceptical look:

"For a change? I've witnessed you doing so many meaningless things before" – she points out sharply, her mouth is trying to restrain quirky grin.

"Me? When did you see me doing unnecessary things?" – Kakashi counters the accusation calmly but a small smile is also playing on his lips

"Yes you do, so many silly things, like this" – poking at the small square-shaped swell from his pants' pocket, Sakura narrows her eyes then grins merrily when Kakashi levels her with a slightly menacing look:

"Insulting another's favourite hobby isn't nice, Sakura-chan"

"Oh, sorry, I don't know it is that meaningful to you" – She feigns a sincere sorry expression but the sarcasm in her voice is unmistaken, because she knows for sure that his ire is also an act: "It must be really hard to live amongst us - low-brow, uneducated people who could not appreciate porn written by an old peeping tom"

"I've never criticized your cheesy chic flicks and bednight story slash romance slash soft-core porn books you have in your kindles, haven't I?" – retorts Kakashi evenly after sipping another bit of sochu, his face as apathetic as ever.

Sakura's anger instantly rushes to flame up her cheeks:

"It's not soft core porn, it's well-written love story with logical development and wonderful characterisation that excites you to no end"

"Logical in a very incidental make-up situation that is completely unrealistic in real life? All are just to lead to a disappointing sex scene after a predictable life and dead scenario of some sorts, did I say soft-core porn for chicks – he carried on with ease, seemingly unaffected by the invisible daggers this rosy haired girl throws at him.

"They call it creating plot twists and climax, in case you don't know anything about creative writing. That's why the sexy bits are really sexy because they build up on emotion and suffering, not like the type of animal-like intercourses with weird positions that no one would try in real-life described in Jiraiya-sama's books."

Her voice starts to raise an octave and anger seeps through her glare. It is kinda lame of her to lose her cool head so fast in an argument when Kakashi just looks like he is having a good time there by succeeding in effotlessly provoking her. And shit, has she just slipped her tongue again? An amused smile creeps upon Kakashi's lips:

"So you do read Icha-icha"

"I…" – there's no point in denying after all – " errh, I means it's one of the best-selling series of all time right, I'm just curious…"– a deep blush taints the younger girl's cheeks as she has to lower her stare to the bar wooden top, momentarily unable to hold his scrutiny any further. This man has no shame when it takes very little to embarrass her.

Suddenly, a thought strikes her: "But hey, wait…when did you touch my kindles?" – She jerks her chin up immediately to face him accusingly, which makes the silver-haired man chuckles:

"I was bored in the hospital and you confiscated all of my reading materials, remember?"

It was a few months ago when Kakashi came back from a deadly mission with a serious injury on his back. Knowing this man's distaste towards staying in the hospital for intensive care and therapy, Sakura had to personally threaten to burn all of Kakashi's favourite series if he left the hospital before his treatment completed.

But no matter how badly wounded this man was, he was still Kakashi, proven by his intact stealth ability since when Sakura came back to the page where she left off in her Kindles, it was always the exact same page where she was reading before. But now come to think about it, the batteries did last slightly shorter than normal around that time.

"Remind me to check my credit card after meeting you, Kakashi-sensei" – Sakura says coldly with a frown while her hands finish pouring chandon into two cups. Pushing one towards her former teacher, the kunoichi puts on her smile again:

"This first, and then yours"

Reluctantly picking up the cup, Kakashi peers through the clear light golden liquid:

"Champagne in a cup, interesting?"

"Taste is all it matters, doesn't it, cup or glass is just the container" – picking up her own, Sakura breathes in the intoxicating smell.

"Oh, so you finally learn that beauty is only skin deep?" – Kakashi chances a glance at the former student's face teasingly but unexpectedly, these outwardly harmless words strikes up something deeper and more sensitive than he could realise as Sakura just goes still for brief moment and her stare becomes absent:

"Long time ago have I realised that…" – mutters Sakura, barely audible amongst the noise background of the bar's music and chattering.

"But it doesn't matter by the way, why don't we toast for something" – quickly recovers, Sakura raises her cup.

And a wise man like Kakashi always knows when he shouldn't pursue an awkward conversation:

"Good idea, how about a toast for you, Sakura-chan"

"No, a toast for us, Kakashi-sensei, when was the last time we talk like this?"

Probably nearly two years ago.

And it's all because he has been trying to avoid her since. They just got back to the normal level of their distant friendly term recently when that thing happened.

He remembers it was a similar night like this, the snowfall was a bit thicker, but she was still the same, disarmingly beautiful in her winter coat and slightly stunk of alcohol. Pink cheeks and glazed eyes that made normal men find it hard not to think of something else that could make her cheeks blushed deeper and her eyes glassier.

He should not think of her that way but it is impossible to ignore a gorgeous flower blooming by your side after all these years. Women are the strangest creatures. Their transformation can happen overnight. Still the same face, the same features, but one day, you suddenly realise how womanly their curves turn out, how charming their smiles are and how alluring their gaits exude when they move about. Just a simple tuck of their hair behind the ear could ask for your unconcerned eyes' attention without trying. Just a simple touch on your bicep when they check your injury could make your heart thump harder. Or maybe, it is just like this with Haruno Sakura. Someone who is totally off-limit.

But soon his agony of two years will end. Hopefully.

Raising his cup up to tap against hers with an audible clang, Kakashi smiles lightly:

"Ok, for us then, old teammate"

"and friend" – she finishes and they both gulp down the liquor in union. The sour, dry taste turning sweet when passing the oesophagus makes Sakura exclaims in delight:

"Sugoii, nice Champaign, not bad a present"

"You can't even wait for three more weeks to open it?" – Asks Kakashi, curious with Sakura's sudden yearning for alcohol.

"No, I feel like drinking anything I can get my hand on at the moment" – She bursts out laughing by how wrong it sounds for a professional medical practitioner as famous as her. Now she sounds like an alcoholic.

For some reasons, Kakashi cannot bring himself to share her humour. He knows something is up the moment she appears in this bar stunk of booze. As sensible and controlled as she is with her chakra, Sakura is never the type who has to depend on alcohol to avoid dealing with difficult situations in their life.

She is very much similar to Kakashi in this area. They drink for fun on occasions to celebrate with friends and when they feel like it. Unless, there is a serious problem that they feel at their dead end.

Considering, that will happen pretty soon, Kakashi finds it hard to believe it could be something else. Even if Sakura herself denies it. A small voice at the back of Kakashi's head immediately instigates him to stay out of the pink-haired trouble, and he is never the type who can comfort people in the first place but the other dominant part just keeps him glued to the seat next to her. He cannot explain it, but when she looks like this, smiles like this, he cannot abandon her no matter how much his pre-cautious nature tells him to.

"Sakura, what's wrong?" – placing his hand on her shoulder, Kakashi is surprised with how serious he actually sounds.

This catches Sakura off guard but she still manages to smile it away:

"Nothing" – that doesn't sound convincing in the least so she adds – "Just work, Tsunade-shishou just overwork me I guess"

"OK, as long as it's work, there's nothing worth worrying about" – He doesn't sound convinced but pressing people into confessing things is not Kakashi's style either. Reaching out to his own bottle of souchu, Kakashi pours the liquor into the two earlier Champaign-full cups:

"Here it is, don't spit it out on my face if you can't stand it. It costs money you know" – warns he.

Sakura snorts loudly: "What a cheap skate you are, Kakashi-sensei" and picking up the cup before tapping it against Kakashi's.

"Is this the first time you met me?" – clearly being amused by Sakura's frequent insults rather than getting riled up over it, Kakashi takes all of his strong booze down with two gulps and entertains himself with the suffering scowl of Sakura's face when the liquor literally burns her drinking pipe from the inside. At least she honours his words not spitting it out:

"Gosh, this is horrible"

"I didn't offer you to drink it in the first place" – Playing with the rim of his own cups, Kakashi grins merrily.

"So you can drink mine for free, no thank you" – Sakura quips – "It's not every day that someone can pry something off you, you know" – Sakura sticks her tongue out with a crunch of her nose bridge, unconsciously Kakashi finds it endearing but she should in any circumstance find out about this. This is his little secret.

Being with a sharp-tongued, highly intelligent and infuriatingly cute girl like this is always pleasant to a man who loves to silently challenge things like Kakashi. Maybe it's not too wrong to allow him this little luxury of being in her presence. Maybe, it's not too bad to be at the receiving end of her warm smiles even though they are fake. Because just three more weeks, these will soon become distant memories that he can only recollect in a lonely freezing night like this with just himself and a bottle of souchu. After all it is indeed too hard to deny himself of a lovely companion.

"So how is Tsunade-sama lately?"

"Still drunk and grumpy as ever, she said she couldn't wait until her retirement anymore. But Naruto is picking things up very quickly so I think she doesn't need to wait for long."

It's startling for Kakashi to see Naruto these days without realising how much of the likeness he has with his former sensei. Especially when the blonde shuts up and does not display that trademark foxy grin of his. His sensei up there must be so proud of this child.

"Is Hinata pregnant with the third child now?"

"Yes, seriously, knowing Naruto, he's very productive in every area I guess" – Sakura chortles while the third drink between them is poured from her Chandon bottle.

"I was surprised that you guys didn't hook up eventually" – words slip out of his tongue before he can stop himself, causing Sakura to pause her pouring and turn to eye him astoundingly:

"Naruto and I?"

"Yes, He was pretty much head over heel in love with you, wasn't he?"

"It's just a childhood infatuation, Kakashi-sensei, everyone has one and everyone grows out of it at some points" – Sakura points out – "you must've had one too, right sensei?"

"No, I was always too cool to take notice of no one" – Kakashi answers smoothly

"Liar" – for some reasons, she doesn't trust him – "you just don't want to admit that you were once young and stupid" – she laughs

"So you think Naruto was young and stupid when he liked you?" – the temptation to bait this feisty girl is always too much fun for Kakashi to reject.

"Well" – that gets her just right as Sakura is stammering to find a good come-back – "true love needs a bit of obstacles to overcome I guess, I was just a lovely and tempting obstacle that they need to make a detour around to find each other" – Sakura raises her shapely eyebrow to convey another proud and playful glint.

Clearly, she is lovely and tempting, but Kakashi still does not like her comparing herself with an obstacle. This honest and kind-hearted girl will never be an obstacle to anyone. He knows that she fell for Naruto briefly after Sasuke left for two and a half years. But she had stepped back after Hinata came into the scene. Maybe fighting over a boy was the very first important lesson his only female student had learnt in life that something is not worth pursuing. Or clearly, she never gets over her "silly and young" crush for someone else. He had thought that Naruto and Sakura could make the finest couple in Konoha just like his Sensei and Kushina-san. But life never turns out the way he thinks it should be.

"maybe I never notice Hinata much in the first place" – He concludes.

"I used to think that you hardly noticed anyone, Kakashi-sensei" – sneers Sakura with a hint of mischief.

"Used to?" – for some mystifying reason, Kakashi turns to bore meaningfully into Sakura's face: "What makes you think of me otherwise" – another consequence of his loose tongue again. Well he can blame it on the booze later. Considering the history between them, he may more or less know the answer but he just feels like pressing the button a bit.

Raucous laughter suddenly erupts from the door of the bar as a group of around ten chuunins just make their not so quiet entrance. It is not that quiet in the bar before with all of the chatters and loud music, now it just gets worse. Maybe that is the reason why she suddenly needs to lean in very close to his ear, so close that he can feel the cool air coming out from her parting lips, causing his sensitive skin tingle treacherously:

"Ever since I find out that you're just clumsy with emotions, that's all" – she answers meaningfully.

"But I'm not that clumsy amongst other things, am I?" – now it's Kakashi's round to return the favour as he whispers back into her ear, so close that his lips nearly brush its rim. The effect cannot be missed as small shudder cannot lock itself from Sakura's petite frame. And her fluttered downward eyelashes are just another obvious pointer of his influence on her. The light in the bar is dim but Kakashi can still feel her cheeks' hue is darkened. Why does he do that? He has no idea. Her actions could be honestly unintentional because of the gaudy background noise but his? Apparently he is not that moral as he thinks he is in the first place.

She quietly retreats to her original place and raises the cup to her moist lips while sparing him a secretive smile that he knows for sure it is another effect of alcohol – limiting one's inhibition. Normal Sakura would be a lot shyer and more reserve. Normal Sakura would not be that tolerate of their improper innuendos. Should he care if they are acting that way? Flirting with each other is a wrong thing to do considering their current situations, isn't it?

"Clang" – the dry sound of glass on glass goes off against as Sakura taps her cup against his for the third time: "Sensei, don't forget your drink, we haven't finished them yet, have we? So tell me about your newest S-class mission in the Cloud country. Did the technique I told you last time help?"

Like magic, the tension in the air between them dissolves and the night rolls on with adventures of their own missions and ninjutsus and genjutsus that they learn on their own. Then they talked about politics, the pros and cons of banning the captures of tailed beast in each country. They debates and argues with each other but never gets angry even in a heated discussion. Sakura is amongst a few younger kunoichis whose interests do not just revolve around clothes and perfumes and jewelries. Her fierce intellectual is a great quality that Kakashi always highly appreciates. Or maybe, she is amongst the very little female population that he actually enjoys a conversation with.

Give it or take it, no matter how famous or powerful or gorgeous a person is, the Copy Nin does not feel obligated to converse with anyone unless they are truthfully an interesting person in the first place. After the third ninja war, they do not have many opportunities to meet and talk with each other because of their different scope of missions. But anytime they meet, the conversation will keep going on so naturally until they completely lose track of time.

Many cups of Champaign and Souchu and four cups of beer later, Sakura is giggling uncontrollably onto her folded arms on the bar table:

"So you just practically had to kiss and drag a naked Guy sensei out of that amazon kunoichi tribe to save his ass?"

"That idiot, even when I told him don't play around with any of them in the first place" – says an embarrassed and very much drunk older jounin.

"Gosh, this is the best story I've heard in years. But I'm curious…"

"Hmm?" – Kakashi sweeps his glance towards the glassy eyed girl:

"Was it a bare-lipped kiss with tongue or through the mask?"

He nearly chokes:

"Gosh, Sakura, through the mask of course, I shouldn't let you force me to relive one of the most horror second of my life"

She cannot help bursting into a whole-hearted mirth. The mental image is just too much for her to stand while Kakashi's lip corner just silently curves up into a humiliating smile. Clutching her belly with one hand and wiping away the tears threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes with another:

"But somehow, I feel relieved that you still have your mask on, Kakashi-sensei, I wouldn't want anyone to kiss your bare lips"

It is a wrong thing to say because as soon as words leave Sakura's lips, silence just rules over them as the former teacher and student rivet at each other. The bar's noise seems like retreating a few miles back and echoing from a very far far away place. After what seems like eternity, Kakashi is the first to find his voice and break their enthralled state by reverting his attention away from her pretty face:

"Uhm, it's very late already" – eyeing his half-full beer glass repentantly, Kakashi finishes it off with two large gulps and stands up: "I think I need some good rest now"

Fast on her feet as well, Sakura hastily brushes off her own discomfiture:

"Yes, you're right, it's very late. We should go home"

Putting on their respective winter coat and getting out of the bar door into the snow-filled street, the student and the teacher do not exchange a single word.

An awkward contrast with their non-stop chatter before. Both seem to be afraid that they may just end up saying the wrong things.

Soon the bar music ceases to exist after a few corner turns. The narrow alleyways start to turn wider and roomier as the pair strides to the main road. It must be at least two or three in the morning now.

Although living in two different sides of Konohagakure, Kakashi and Sakura still share the same long road over the bridge that connects this entertainment part of town with its residential areas. So as much as Kakashi wants to get home as soon as possible, it is just not that easy. The whole evening has been a rather perilous circumstance in Kakashi's opinion since they were pretty much dancing around forbidden topics which he has no intention to pursue at all time. It does not help with all the alcohol in his system but he would rather control himself than doing reckless things that will make him regret later.

Nonetheless he should know better that it is never easy to evade her. Even nature has a way to disturb him. Because Every now and then a winter breeze sweeps pass, casting the wonderful aroma that is so Sakura-like onto Kakashi'senses causing him to momentarily drunk in absence. Even though he has instigated their parting, the Copy Nin cannot help but reward himself with some deep inhales of that womanly fragrance into his nose. He wants to remember this scent no matter what. As long as she does not know about this, there is no harm, isn't it?

The road is long but short, soon they will go back to be two one-timed teammates again. Soon they will just wave at each other from distance and hurry to part way to go on with their life. Soon everything happened between them will just be remembered as a moment of weakness. Inattentively, Kakashi wants to slow down his long stride so that this road will last longer.

Suddenly as soon as they reach the bridge, Sakura jumps on top of the rail to walk on it instead of using the normal civilian route on the bridge's surface. Probably not a good idea when you are that drunk and the bridge is ten feet above the freezing water. But how she is balancing herself skilfully in her wobbling state gives Kakashi an idea that this is not the first time she's doing this:

"Don't try to show off your chakra controlling skill too much, Sakura-chan. I'm not marking you against anyone here, you know" – Kakashi chuckles a bit when Sakura turns to narrow her eyes at him:

"I don't show-off, everyone knows that I'm perfect at it, I'm even better than you Kakashi-sensei"

"Touche" – he smiles at her again, lenient and warm this time – "I'm glad that you all surpass me and find your happiness, Sakura-chan"

This time Sakura just stops dead on her track causing Kakashi to pause to eye at this deliberately troubled girl. As silent as the light snowflakes falling down on her cheeks, hair and shoulders, she stands there in utter stillness but somehow he can feel the mental struggle she has from within is not at all quiet. Ever so slowly her eyes are filled with unshed tears again, but this time it is not because of laughter or alcohol influence:

"Kakashi" – the silver-haired man's heart skips a beat when she drops the suffix: "I'm getting married in three weeks, is it wrong that I don't feel that happy when I'm supposed to?"

She holds his gaze expectantly as if his next answer will decide whatever it is between them that they have try desperately to evade this whole evening, or maybe for the last two years. But what does she expect of him? What are they? Sakura should know that their parting is for the best:

"Sakura, this is what you've wanted your whole life, isn't it? Getting married to Sasuke"

"I don't know anything anymore, Kakashi, I don't feel the same way when he comes back, I don't feel the same way around him when I'm around you, not after that kiss you gave me two years ago" – tears had flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks in a swift motion as Kakashi just looks like some lightning bolt has struck him dead on spot:

"Sakura…" – he manages but nothing can come out after that

"How can you pretend that there is nothing happened between us? How can you ignore me for the last two years? Why did you mess me up and then ran away like a coward?"

"It's just a kiss, Sakura" – he protests weakly, eyes cannot leave her face as his chest gets tighter every second observing that pained expression of hers.

"It's not JUST a kiss" – she shouts – "you know that damn well, considering it is us" – stepping down from the bridge rail, Sakura shoves herself towards the uncertain Copy Nin and violently whacks his chest with her fists:

"You're a bastard Kakashi, if you dare to kiss your own student, then have some courage to take responsibilities for it, don't deny yourself that you don't feel anything for me"

"Sakura" – his hands snatch up to her wrists to keep her in place so fast and firm that Sakura is left to glare at another pair of equally angry mismatched eyes. And just a heartbeat before that she knows what is going on, he violently leans in and kisses her.

At first, it is a clash of lips and teeth that will definitely leave bruises later on and because she is fighting back with a passion. But Kakashi doesn't give up on his hold of her as he keeps on kissing and kissing her while his whole body grabs on to her petit one to subdue this fiery little volcano.

He does not care if the taste of their kiss becomes salty and bloody because soon his tongue has found its way into her mouth and his lips have taken full control of her disagreeable ones. A throaty moan escapes her as he wrestles her tongue with his own. Even the alcohol is blatant in their oral caverns, she tastes just sweet as he remembers or even better. This unique smell of Sakura is what he has been dreaming about for the last two years. This saliva of hers is more syrupy than any forest honey he could ever taste. She has no idea how much he wants to drink dry her soul and her passion through this kiss, how much he wants to ravish her and make her orgasm multiple times until she cannot walk anymore for days. She just has no idea because she always makes him feel like Uchiha Sasuke is the only man that she can ever love.

And now she is just as responsive to his kiss as the first time he kissed her in a drunken night like this. Now she is just as passionate as he always knows she can be in love and in life and it breaks his heart seeing a bastard like Sasuke will never know how lucky he is to have such a girl. How he never can bring the best out of her.

They kiss and kiss while he nearly shatters her apart in a strangling embrace. She does not seem to mind if she disappears right there right now. She does not seem to care if he will break her apart because she does not seem to want him to stop. He knows it because Sasuke can never kiss her like this. Because Sasuke can never give her a kiss that makes her feel so alive.

But no matter how they want it last, the kiss finally breaks as their lungs are screaming for oxygen. Moulding her cheeks between his large hands, Kakashi's forehead touches hers as he says between ragged breaths, which are oddly in tune with the raising, and falling of Sakura's chest:

"We need to stop this Sakura, people will get hurt because of us"

"I don't want to…stop" – She sobs, eyes closed to contain the outburst of emotions.

"Please Sakura, everything is too late" – he pleads and pulls her into another embrace so her chin can rest on his shoulder: "I'm sorry"

And with one last squeeze, he lets go of her. His back turns against her before they can even make eye contact with each other, insinuating to Sakura that he wants her to be the one that walks away.

Silence ensues once again for what seems like eternity – the thick heavy silence that can suffocates anyone within it. He just stands there, refuses to budge or makes any move. Even though he doesn't look, he can feel her stare burning at him, making the tender hair at the back of his neck raised ever so slightly. Every second passes by heavily like a wounded animal trying to tumble its way through the thick snow. He waits and waits, unaware of his own breaths become shallower. Even with her silence, this girl can still insidiously kill him from inside.

Then the slanting shadow of his female student on the bridge floor starts to shift and running footsteps on wooden surface echoes around his ears in painful thud thud thud sounds. This time he cannot stop himself from following her running figure, which is soon swallowed by the darkness of the abysmal street.

"This is for the best, Sakura"

She does not know how long she has been running with a dead-tight chest and spicy, choked nose bridge filled with repressed emotions bubbling to burst open at any moment. She has told herself to let go when she agreed to Sasuke's proposal. She has told herself to give up on her silly feeling with a man who is unable to return it. What right does she have to cry? This is not the first time he turns her down…why does she still feel this agonizing because of something so predictable?

The familiar brown oak door of her apartment materialises in front of her like an emergency exit she needs so badly. She needs a shelter to vent out all of her pent-up emotions all alone but her shaky fingers do not seem to cooperate as she cannot seem to bring herself to calm them down to insert the key into its keyhole. Miraculously, it works at the n time when she is nearly about to throw the useless key chain down on the ground out of frustration.

Rushing inside her own home, the heartbroken kunoichi slams the door shut and with her back leaning heavily on the solid timber, she gradually slides off as her knees buckle down with the drainage of her muscle strength.

Touching her cold cheeks dampened with moisture, Sakura realises she has been crying all this time running back from the bridge. Away from Kakashi. Even when she has told herself not to cry, it still happens – a clear evident that she is absolutely useless around this man.

How can she be so stupid? Why did she walk up to him in that bar? Kakashi never wants to have anything to do with her in the first place and does he not make it all crystal clear by giving her a cold shoulder for the last two years?

Like he said, it's just a kiss. No matter how heart-melting it was and how passionately he seemed to give himself into it, it is not something worth to mesmerise for two years.

But anytime, they cross path, her heart never seems to be at peace. It has always gone on a roller-coaster ride with anything related to this man. She would hurry her steps to catch up with him if she just saw so much of a glimpse of silver spiky lock from afar. If it was really him, she would just pretend that she was accidentally going this way, and her heart would hammer so loud in her chest as if he was the only existence that mattered to it. If she does not catch up with him in time, she can feel the disappointment it experiences because it was like being fallen into a bottomless pit without anything or anyone to hold onto.

He never seems wanting to stay long when she appears, just a few casual greetings and he will be out at the door in a jiff. Sometimes Sakura doubts so much if their kiss is just a weird dream her bored mind came up with to tell her there is more to life than the sad relationship she is having with Sasuke now. But then the way her former teacher's eyes linger on her when he thinks she does not notice confirms her that it did happen that night, their first kiss – her first kiss.

Raising her fingers up to feel her abused lips, Sakura closes her eyes tightly to try to stop another torrent of unnecessary sentiments, though pointlessly, two more teardrops still escape in time to roll down her cheeks.

The feeling is still here vividly. His masculine, primitive smell is still here, besieging her keen sense. His overpowering warmth, his strong embrace, his lips, his tongue, everything she desires in so many dreams for the last two years is all here, coursing through her entire being like some atrociously addictive drugs. But worse than that, she does not think any narcotic can make her hurt for this long after ceasing to use them for two years. And this time, how long will it affect her life? She will be someone else's wife in three weeks and he gives her that kiss.

Unreasonably, hatred grows inside Sakura. She hates him. She hates how he unintentionally plays with her heart by pulling her in and pushing her away at the same time. She hates how he can easily ignore her and treat her like a stranger for the last two years but then when he kisses her, he can simply turn her whole world upside down.

Sasuke has kissed her so many times, but none of his is like Kakashi's. None of his kisses makes her feel that alive and hurt and happy at the same time like Kakashi's kisses. She knows even when he acts clumsy and carefree on the outside with his perpetual tardiness, on the inside, this man is the worst sticker for morality and honour. He would never be the third person in anyone's relationship let alone his students'. He chose to stay away then, she knows he will choose to stay away now.

She did not hope to change this or created a mess out of everything when she walked up to him in that bar because as he said it was too late. But when she saw him there, all alone in a crowded bar with just a bottle of souchu, with his mask down, her body moved on its own accord. Because she wants to see him so badly, wants to be able to talk with him, smile and laugh with him like a long long time ago before Sasuke decided to start everything over again with her. Because she is always attracted to Kakashi like a helpless moth to a deadly radiant light. He never knows how easy she can throw everything she has away for him if he wants her to…

A sudden knock on the door startles Sakura and instantly she can feel his chakra signature behind the door, her heart just stops.

It can't be…

She must be dreaming again:

"Who's that? " – she hears herself asking, trying her best to contain the quiet sobs from her ribcage, uncertainty filled the air around her thick.

A long long pause entails and finally:

"Kakashi"

Instantly feeling dizzy because of the neck-breaking movement to stand up, Sakura's hand pauses on the door knob for a few seconds.

This will change everything…

The small voice at the back of her head whispers….

But she does not want him to go. Not ever.

The door is swung open and Kakashi is there, slightly out of breath, apparently because of running after her. His mien is so different from the unperturbed person she always connects with. His eyes for a rare moment are no longer hooded and unconcerned as something so akin to passion seems to break free from the well-guarded prison of his own soul.

Kakashi will never be an open book to anyone no matter how close they are to him but at this moment, for the very first time, the younger kunoichi thinks she has caught a glimpse of the inside of this enigmatic man because in all honesty, he looks like he is about to do something he will regret later…

His large hands reach out to grab her face in a firm, decisive but oddly gentle motion to capture her lips in his hungry ones. In a heart-beat, she melts into it like snow carpets under hot morning sun.

She is backtracked by him into the house and the door snaps shut after them as if hurrying to preserve their special intimate moment on its own. Not wanting to break their kiss, their hands were fumbling in the dark to remove each other's outfit. First gone is Kakashi's jacket, then Sakura's. Then reluctantly, the kiss has to cease so Kakashi can help his petit lover get out of her knitwear to her tank top underneath. With a skilful tug of the zipper, Sakura's short skirt falls on the ground. By the time they get to the pink-haired girl's bebroom, many clothing items have been shredded and strewn in abandonment on the wooden floor.

In his strong hand, the silver-haired man scoops his former student up effortlessly so that his front torso is wedged between her long legs. His eyes bore into hers again for a few seconds to find any uncertainty. He finds none. If there is anything, it is just affection.

She leans in again until her soft tress tickles his forehead and his cheekbone; slowly she kisses him, deep and luxurious. This girl will never know how easily she can drive him to the brink of insanity. Perhaps somewhere amongst this mayhem, there is a small voice of reason still nagging him that what they are doing now is wrong, but he cannot care less. Because right now, there is only one sensation raging over his entire being, taking full control of his mind, pushing all the other trivial feelings of guiltiness away like a full-on tornado, sweeping clean everything on its wake – He has to take her. He has to make her his. Right here, right now.

He lays her down on the bed, then with his whole body looming over, effectively trapping her underneath, he gawks at her for the longest time. Starving eyes mesmerize every details of her features, every contours of her feminine curves dimly lit by the hazy winter moon outside the window of her bedroom. She is in nothing but her panties and bra, and she is heartbreakingly beautiful. Most importantly, from her large deep green eyes, she wants him just as much as he wants her.

Then he kisses her again on the forehead this time and she grasps for the sudden vulnerability it transfers to her whole body. She never knows her forehead could be so sensitive, or maybe it's just Kakashi.

He slowly rains down kisses on the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin and then her neck, leaving a trail of hot sensations along the way – the kind of sensation that makes her spine shiver with anticipation.

He spends time to lick and suck thoroughly at her neck while his hands roaming under her back to unclasp her bra and helping her get out of it. Then he fondles and sucks her breasts with the sheer intensity he hardly ever displays except in the battle field. The rough calluses in his palm excite the thin-skinned of her bosoms, forming a gooey feeling straight down to her lower belly in time with the licking of his tongue on her nipples.

Once again, he goes lower with his sweet torture on her stomach with his fingers consequentially tugging at the edge of her panties. He gazes up at her the whole time when he peels the small undergarment away from her leg, the sheer sexual intensity shies her but she finds it impossible to look away from his handsome face. The evident thirstiness in his pupils made her inside squirm nervously. And she likes it.

Then he places his hands under her thighs and hauls her forward until her sex was just centimetres away from his front torso so that he can nest perfectly between her legs. His intention is very much single-minded:

"Can I taste you?" – lowering his face ever so slowly down to hover above her womanhood, he asks with a smile, probably teasing her but she just seems too engrossed in the increasing tension he creates when his face inches closer and closer to her sex to respond back. Smirking to himself, Kakashi takes her silence as an "yes" by starting to suck and taste the skin of her inner thighs lavishly.

Mewls tear from her throat involuntarily, dampness gathering thicker around her vagina and her mind is blinded with excruciating anticipation when his tongue glazes higher and higher. She tries to peer through her heavy eyelashes to mesmerise the face of the Copy Nin whose pair of tightly closed eyes and slight scowls formed between his brows indicates his deep concentration. Oh, how she loves making the great Kakashi look this lust-filled with abandonment? Unknown to him, witnessing him like this makes her feel more aroused than aphrodisiac.

The heavenly heady smell of her sex enters his keen scent, tempting him to taste her right there to see if she tastes as sweet as her smell.

He probably wants to tease her more, lengthen her suffering but truth to be told, he himself cannot wait.

His mouth finally closes on where she wants it most as his tongue immediately started on a hysterical dance of passion. It strokes and twirls around her wet folds while his mouth drinks and sucks her juice, urging and coercing it to produce more dampness for his thirst. This completely knocks air out of her lungs. Sakura cries out earnestly as if thousands of tiny electric currents are assaulting her whole body all at once, making her spineless and utterly vulnerable.

His tongue plunges so deep inside her that she has to throw her head back trying to suppress the overwhelming pleasure. The tender flesh between her legs is pulsating spasmodically with the prodding rhythm of his unforgiving tongue. She feels so wet and ecstatic and the goddamned drenched noise that he makes is as shameful as it is rousing.

Her one hand is clutching so tight to the bed-sheet to keep herself from falling apart while the other kneading through his thick lock, undecidedly to whether it should push or pull him close.

His greedy mouth keeps building up the tension between her legs as an ever-growing pressure coils up in her stomach, tearing uncontrollable whimpers from her throat. As if knowing exactly what she needs, he inserts one long finger into her and she can feel how eagerly her vaginal walls clamp down on that intrusive digit and instantly take on the delicious plunging in and out cadence it creates while his tongue still massaging her clitoris in a frenzied fashion.

This is the just too much. His long finger touches herself further and deeper than she can touch herself, and the knowledge this is Kakashi giving head to her, this is his finger inside her body alone makes her heart consumed with burning desire. It hits her like a violent whirlwind as her woman flesh convulses helplessly around his finger while his tongue immediately picks up her coming, flicking skilfully around her wet folds, coercing her to reach her final release…

"Kakashi" – she screams as the upsurge of desire climaxes at the very core of her womanhood. Her fingers twisting so hard around the bed sheet that the knuckles turn white and her feet are lifted up in mid-air trying desperately to suppress the irrepressible pressure.

Her eyes wearily shut while her inner walls are still pulsating and throbbing in the aftermath of what can only be described as a wonderful orgasm. Her body goes limb in Kakashi arms and she can feel between her laboured breathings how he raises his upper body up and devours her form again with his intense scrutiny.

When she has enough courage and strength to crack her eyes open again to regard him, his face is already inches away from her as he leans in to demand another kiss:

"You are so beautiful" – he says when she cradles his face with her small hands and he with his much larger ones. His eyes are so gentle and warm and it makes her feel like crying again all of a sudden because why does it take them so long to be with each other like this? Why does it feel so right when it is so wrong?

Fortunately she is able to hold all those sentiments back. Sakura leans in to give another peck on his beautiful lips and whispers while deep red blushes form on her cheek again:

"Please let me make you happy too"

His eyes are widened for a brief moment as he instantly catches on what she means:

"Sakura, you don't have to…"

But she already wriggles out beneath him and in a move worthy of her jounin status, she pins him right down on the bed, straddling right beneath his incredibly bulging anatomy:

"But I want to… I want to make you feel good" – her voice is barely audible. He can tell by the way her stare going downward and her eyelashes touching her high cheeks that she is very shy offering something as such.

This is a bit too much for any self-respecting ninja like Kakashi. Sakura is as usual so oblivious about how adorably sly she is. How she is able to look that shy and provocative and bold at the same is a mystery to Kakashi. After offering to do something any man would dream for by easily straddling him with her sweet damp womanhood, she instantly put on that vulnerable, self-conscious look in the depth of her sea-green eyes and the slightly curves of her parted lips. If he did not know any better, he would just think that she was otherwise inviting him to ravish her thoroughly.

He doesn't remember since when this bubble gum haired girl has driven him crazy but he can totally understand why. She is all fierce and girlish, cute and sexy, logical and sentimental at the same time, a tigress and a pussy cat all rolled into one. This creates a woven series of never-ending excitements around her that Kakashi could never find from any other woman he had met in his life.

Unable to contain the warm feeling filling his chest caused by her selflessness, Kakashi lifts his hand up to touch her face to direct her eyes back to his:

"Sakura, it's very cute when you say that but you don't have to, you know"

"No, but…I want to taste you too" – a small embarrassing but cheeky smile forms at the corner of her lips as her hands stealthily creep up to rub against the undeniable indicator of his turn-on which is ineptly covered by the thin fabric of his boxer. Kakashi nearly beats back a groan when she grabs him and excites two-fold by her mischief.

Slowly, she peels his boxer down to reveal a proud member desperately wanting to be released. Her body seems to move on its own accord down the length of his body to accommodate comfortably between his legs. Her face now hovers just about his erect penis while her hair curtains around her visage as if containing a secret. He cannot see her eyes from here but the way she seems to observe it in silence as if in awe makes him a bit more confident. Not that he really cares about this since the Copy Nin always knows he is on the large scale but he definitely does not want to be a let-down to this breath-taking girl who he has been desiring for so long.

"Kami" – it's Kakashi's turn to grasp as a soft, wet and warm tongue flicks over the most sensitive part of his manhood.

Slowly she drags her tongue up and down his shaft and over his balls to nip in lightly the squishy delicate parts of his body. Then her moist warm mouth closes over his painfully hard cock while her tongue twirls around the tender head repeatedly as if he is literally the sweetest lollipopshe has ever tasted in life. Her right hand move vertically around his member, skilfully rhythmic with the sucking of her oral cavern and tongue around the tip while her left hand gently teasing his balls.

His head nearly falls back on her mattress as he tries his best not to let out a shameful groan – he shouldn't, a ninja of his calibre needs to have utter control in any situation (and he is not that unfamiliar with seducing and being seduced for countless top-secret missions) but this dawn vixen seems to know exactly what to break his self-control apart effortlessly.

She etches herself in his heart without trying, she tortures him so much for the last two years without knowing. She has no idea how hopeless he is inside when she is around, how hard it is for him to just disappear from wherever she is as soon as possible so that he can remain sane for the rest of his life. Speaking of that, sanity is a funny word at this very moment. Ever since their attraction started, there is no saneness existing anywhere near.

She always drives him over the edge and when she runs away, he just knows that there is no way back for him because he can lie to himself for many years to come but the line has already been crossed long time ago. He can never see her as his mere female student or the fiancé of his traitorous student anymore. Because when she is just Sakura – the woman who loves him and whom he loves.

He tries so hard to lift his head up a bit so that he can see her working magic between his legs. He wants to remember this beautiful scene, he wants to remember this feeling forever and instinctually, he records the scene with his activated sharingan. Almost immediately, the sensation receiving and emitting lobes' reaction in his brain intensifies by tenfold as an unbearable gigantic upsurge of pleasure washes over his entire body, in perfect sync with her lapping and slurping around his oversensitive penis.

"Dammit, Sakura" – he growls frustratingly and before the pink-haired girl can even fathom what is going on, he raises abruptly, causing her to release his cock from her sweet mouth. Then a pair of strong and decisive hands grabs her waists, hoisting her forward and flipping her whole body down in a swiftest movement which can only be pulled off by the infamous Copy Nin. He traps her again under his wide, leanly muscular frame. With just one look in his fiery eyes, his intention to her is as clear as daylight. She knows he wants it as much as she wants it but he still clings to a bit of sanity left within him to make sure that he can let her back out now. She just reaches out to his face, brings it down for another deep kiss, then whispering into his lips she sighs:

"Don't be silly, I'm yours"

He plunges himself fully into her with one smooth roll of his manhood and for one second they both groan in unison, feeling so fulfilled and fitting as if the hollow holes in their hearts for their whole life are filled up to the brim. Then they move frantically against each other, with every intention of relieving that painful ache deep within the centre of their being, milking the life energy, the sexual need out of each other. The wet noises of their intimate part slithering against each other are echoing in the quiet night air together with their groans and sighs and whimpers.

"This is….so good, Kakashi" – Sakura grunts with difficulties between the hammering of her hearts and the delicious thrusting in and pulling out of Kakashi's cock.

"Uhm" – whimpers Kakashi, possibly barely able to form any word.

Encircling his large hands around her small waist, with one swift movement, Kakashi pulls his lover up to sit on his lap without breaking their connection so that she can slide up and down his shaft more needily while he captures her lips and once again glides his tongue against hers to intensify the tingling sensation between them. The fervent squeezing of Sakura's damp folds on Kakashi's manhood keeps pushing and pushing his tolerance over the edge as one wave of torturous pleasure does not even have time to fade then another already arises to take over. The skip between each wave becomes shorter and shorter with every plunge and thrash until the pink-haired girl's core completely tautens around the tip of her lover's penis and she faces with the ultimate outcome – a sexual explosion so unbearable. A loud scream breaks free from her throat, raw and wild.

Looking at her tightly shut eyes and pinched eyebrows, hearing her cry and knowing that he is the person who makes her feel this way shoves the very last bit of consciousness out of Kakashi's head as he grabs her hips harder to move her crazily up and down his cock. This lengthens her orgasm and leads him straight to his final release.

The explosive orgasm is so intense that he can feel himself violently burst out wet hot fluid inside her and jerky throbs pounding mercilessly along her vaginal walls. The ecstasy blurs his vision and paralyses his limbs. As muscle strength leaves his body, Kakashi collapses on top of the kunoichi's petite frame with heavy pants while she traps him in a huge embrace.

Then she says it…It just rolls off her tongue like it is the most natural thing to say.

"I love you too" – He responds evenly and easily. Because there is nothing else he wants to say. Just as simple as that.

….

"I'm sorry that I make you cry" – Touching her face so gently with his thumb and index finger, Kakashi looks sadder than Sakura has ever seen. His eyebrows are twisted in a deep scowl and his glint carrying so many emotions but mostly self-loathing and disappointment. She feels sad seeing him like this but deep down, a small bud of happiness is growing up in the depth of her chest because she knows of all the misery and heartache she feels for this man, he feels the same way. His natural lack of expression is all to make his suffering deeper and more enduring than anyone. It sounds sadistic of her to feel that way but she could not help a smile because she knows he only feels that way because there is so much love:

"It's ok, I won't be crying anymore if you are with me" – She says between her tears but these one are far from melancholy, they are the blissful ones.

Gently brushing away her tear, he smiles sadly again:

"People will talk…"

"I know"

"I know you'll care about what they say and it will hurt for a long time…"

"Yes, I do care about what they say, but I don't care as well, because if you're with me, it'll be bearable, I guess"

"How do you break this to him?"

"I don't know but this is what I should've done long time ago, even before this. Why did you follow me? I thought you've made up your mind"

"Because I'm weak, I guess. And you always know how to push my button"

"I do no such thing. If I knew how to do that, I wouldn't have to suffer your cold shoulder for the last two years"

"Of course you do, looking at me with these eyes, smiling at me with these lips, hitting me with these tiny but mean fists"

"Hey, I just want to know"

"Ok, because when you run away, I was just standing there without being able to walk away. I just realised that there was no way I could be right when you were that miserable and I was too. It couldn't be for the best. And I was just here before I could put my thoughts together, that was definitely the first for me"

"I know, I'm glad that you don't think for once in your life, if only it could happen sooner"

"What is wrong between you and him?"

"I don't know but after everything happened to him, He seems to be…unable to love. I know he cares about me in his cold way, and he's tried but it just doesn't work. We just fall into patterns and he thinks marriage may bond us better. I don't know if it works but I want to give it a try. But the closer it is to that day, the more wrong I know I am. And you…"