#I didn’t spend 150+ hours there

[gauthierwill]

[boyobjectifier]

i’m so grumpy recently ugh

[kamitv]

▷ What You Need

Sypnosis . In which your dad, who’s worked closely with jujutsu sorcerers his entire life, finally allows you to meet his best friend— who’s half-curse, half-human, and 100% your type. / Pairing . dbf!Choso x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, age gap (reader is 20 & Choso is like 150 lol), jjk au, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart, etc), dry humping, teasing, reader’s pretty blunt, dirty talk, Choso is so soft with the reader, heavy tension, filth, pussy slapping, squirting, creampie, semi-soft sex, semi-rough sex, overstim, etc . / wc . 10k (heh..)

A/N: I can’t even explain where this idea came from. Just know I was listening to ‘What You Need’ by The Weeknd & then my mind went from there. If you have Daddy issues, you’re welcome. [MDNI]

You wanted to fuck him.

Plain and simple, straight to the point, your first impression of your father’s best friend was that you wanted to have sex with him. Unfortunately for you, the problem with such fantasies was that you had a boyfriend at the time.

A really really shitty one but, still. You were in a relationship when you first met Choso. And you remember meeting the man so clearly too— partially because you ran right into him, and also because one conversation with him had you forgetting your sorry excuse of a boyfriend’s name.

——

You were yawning as you glided down the flight of stairs of your home with your phone in your hand, the smell of coffee simmering into your nose, and a deep unfamiliar voice heard coming from your kitchen.

And to think you nearly regret coming home to your father’s estate for the summer. You’d left all your friends in the city just to come out to the countryside and spend time with your parents. More specifically, your father.

The first week home you were bored out of your mind. The most exciting part of your day would be a lengthy phone call with your best friend about whatever drama you’d missed out on while you were out of town. 

Your mother was out on a business trip and your father spent most days holed up in his office despite pleading for you to spend the summer home. The days dragged on and the hours felt endless.

Up until a rather particular Friday morning.

Time and time again over the years, your father had always mentioned one name when it came to his friends; Choso Kamo, his best friend. For whatever work-related reason, your dad always told you that you weren’t allowed to meet the guy. And yet, something had changed— apparently, the man needed a place to stay for a few months.

And yeah, sometime throughout Thursday night you briefly remember talking to your father about meeting the mysterious ‘Choso Kamo’ the next day but, you didn’t expect to run into the guy first thing that following morning.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen as you’d carelessly waltzed in, large hands latching onto your waist from the initial contact of your forehead meeting his chest, and husky deep tone hitting your ears with a sexy, “Woah,” The man uttered, causing your body to tense up from head to toe, “Careful, sweetheart.”

His voice was heavy in such a low purr, prompting a chill to slip down your spine before you angled your head up to look at the source of such a tone. An immediate lump was caught in your throat and you think you forgot how to speak properly because you’re blurting out a startled little curse before you even realize it.

“Sorry I-, damn.” You breathe out in reaction to the man in front of you.

His hands, which you’re only just now realizing are at your sides, are steady to leave you after assuring you’re not going to fall forward. The deepest set of dewy brown eyes settle on your face and you think you’re in love. Dark bags from lack of sleep weigh sexily beneath his low-lidded eyes, a jet black shade of ink is printed across the bridge of his nose, not a single blemish in sight, and a sweet yet masculine scent rushes into your nose all at once.

It was as though God decided to deliver an angel directly to you in the form of a very very attractive man— only thoughts of sin clouding your mind as he tips his head to the side and studies your face carefully, the messy strands of hair at his forehead swaying slightly with his little movement.

And then this man, whose skin noticeably has a deep red undertone, has the nerve to smirk at you. Pretty plump rose-tinted lips curve so suavely that you’re staring way harder than you meant to and watching his mouth move as he says something to you once more.

Although, you don’t hear a thing he says. You’re in a daze, stuck staring so rudely at his lips and how perfect they appear until your name is said. 

You flinch and lift your gaze to meet his, “H-Huh?” You stammer, getting flustered all over again by the intense eye contact.

He lets out the softest little chuckle and you can feel your heart swooning, “I asked if you were alright,” The brunette repeats for you, studying your eyes closely, “You walked right into me so…”

“I-I’m fine,” You stutter before clearing your throat and taking a slight step back to gather yourself. That rich scent of cologne oozing off of his body was making you dizzy with desire, “Sorry for walking into you.”

That smile on his face only seems to grow softer, “It’s alright,” He says, soon extending a hand out to you, “I’m sure your father wanted to introduce us to one another but, this works too. I’m Choso-“

“Kamo,” You finish for him as you meet his hand with your own, shaking it firmly, “I-, wait,” You can finally feel the thumping of your heart settling down— meaning you can return to a proper reaction to that information, “You’re my dad’s best friend?”

Choso gives you a little nod, “I am,” He hums before eyeing you up and down, “And you’re…” His eyes freeze somewhere for a split second but then he’s snapping them back up to your face, “A lot older than I thought.”

Your brows pinch together, “I’m sorry? How old did my dad say I was?”

“That’s the thing, he didn’t say at all. I just assumed you were a little girl,” He admits, finally retracting his hand from yours after becoming overly aware of the way your thumb was slipping across his knuckles while you shook his hand. “And as we can see,” He lets off a little scoff, “You’re far from that.”

The way your eyes widen at that has him rushing to correct himself.

“Well, n-not that that’s a bad thing, I just-, I mean, you’re a grown woman and I wasn’t expecting that,” Choso manages out quickly.

Then you’re chuckling and it’s like a sweet melody to his ears, his entire facial expression simmering to a look of ease. “It’s okay, I know what you meant,” You tell him, flashing the prettiest smile he thinks he’s ever set his eyes on, “After all, I was expecting an old wrinkly man but no, Dad brings home some 6ft sex symbol with tatts.”

His brows meet for a second as he bats his lashes at you as if to see if you were gonna realize what you just said. Little did he know, you’re aware of what you said and you meant every syllable— boldly making your attraction to him known from the very beginning.

And maybe that was where it all started. Maybe that was the calm before the storm of whatever it is you’d call the things you and Choso experience over the remainder of the summer.

Because after that little encounter, you and Choso get along a little too well. 

——

The first day was a breeze. After getting friendly with one another in the kitchen, you were sure to skip over to your father’s office and inform him of having already met his best friend so he wouldn’t try to awkwardly introduce you two later.

Your dad made sure to ask you how you felt about his best friend staying there for a few months— to which you explained that you didn’t care too much, you’d be leaving back to the city for school again in like a month and a half so who cares?

That, and why on earth would you complain about that sexy curse living just down the hall from you?? Which was another thing in itself, you were aware of what he was, your dad briefly explained it to you before which is all the more reason why you expected some old wrinkly person.

As such, you needed to express your infatuation to someone as soon as possible. And what better victim than your best friend back in the city? 

Now laying on your stomach across your old bed, your legs swing back and forth in the air as you thoughtlessly chat it up with your friend, “No, you don’t get it. He’s sooo hot,” You exclaim for like the millionth time since the call connected.

She chuckles from the other end, “Girl, this is your sixth time reminding me within the past thirty minutes, I think I get it.”

“But you don’t,” You whine dramatically, “His eyes, they’re so pretty, the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen-, ugh,” Your face drops down into one of your pillows for a second as you smile to yourself and recall the countless times you and Choso have made eye contact, “And the way he smells— like fuckin’… roses or something, but roses in the middle of a dark rainforest with-“

“Okay, okay,” Your friend laughs, “We get it. He smells good. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me about how you want this guy, who’s probably in his forties, to fuck you on the nearest surface as soon as possible-“

“Yes,” You huff, “Yes, I do. I want him to fuckin’ ruin me.”

The sound of your friend scoffing can be heard, “Uh, I think you’re forgetting something.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

“You have a boyfriend,” She scarcely reminds you, her tone light and gentle with you.

To which you roll your eyes, “Oh whatever. You mean the same ‘boyfriend’ who cheated on me two months ago? The same asshole who I’ve given chance after chance even though he treats me like shit? The ‘boyfriend’ who took like two hours to make me cum that one time? The guy I literally told you I’m gonna break up with soon??”

“W-Well,” She lets out a heavy sigh, “Yeah… that asshole. I know you’re leaving him soon but please don’t go fucking your dad’s best friend before you break things off with him-“

“I’m not stooping down to his level, don’t worry,” You hum softly as you flip over to lay on your back, “Though… I did consider it.”

“Seriously?” She scoffs in surprise.

You nibble on your lower lip and smirk, “You don’t get how hot Choso is.”

Your best friend chuckles, “Girl.”

“I’m jus’ saying! I can’t even think of any other guy when he’s around. He’s so…” As you continue your ramble about the small crush you’ve developed for your father’s best friend— you’re completely clueless about the man having heard almost everything.

Choso wasn’t spying on you or anything, he was simply walking down the hall and happened to hear a thing or two since your door was left cracked open. And sure, he took the slightest peak inside to spot you resting atop your bed but he was about to walk away until he heard you describing him.

Of course he was inclined to stop and listen to you ramble about his appearance— he thought it was cute. He’d seen how you’ve been looking at him anyway, he’s not dumb.

The problem is that you’re his best friend’s daughter. The last thing he should be doing is taking any kind of romantic or sexual interest in you. You were off-limits in his mind.

Or at least, you’re supposed to be.

——

But God do you make things difficult.

You and Choso share your small interactions in the morning usually, asking each other how you slept and whatnot, basically making casual small talk every morning. You learn more and more about the man, asking him questions about what it’s like being half-curse and half-human, questions about his cursed technique and the things he can do.

Most of which he waters down for you since, even though your father’s a part of the jujutsu sorcery world, you aren’t. You know a few basic things like how cursed energy works but that’s about it so Choso keeps his answers to you very simple.

That aside, you are a goddamn enigma to Choso. He’s always caught between wanting to stare at you for hours on end and knowing he shouldn’t have his eyes on you for longer than five minutes because then his mind’s drifting elsewhere.

But again, you make it so fucking difficult.

One hot Tuesday morning, Choso notices he hadn’t run into you in the spacey kitchen of your father’s estate yet. He was busy making the same coffee he prepares daily, wondering what time you were gonna make your way downstairs. He can’t lie to himself, he has grown quite attached to your little morning talks with him.

Tapping his fingers across the counter as he watches his coffee brew, his ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a splash. Lifting his attention, Choso glances back over his shoulder to the direction of which the sound came from— looking out the large sliding glass door that leads out to the pool and wondering if your father was out there or something.

To his everloving surprise, the source of that sound is anything but your dad. It’s actually you, swimming around peacefully until you’re floating toward the edge of the pool, right in Choso’s line of vision as you lift yourself up.

Everything moves in slow motion like some cliche film, Choso’s eyes widening at the water rolling down your body and the goddamn bikini you have on. Holding yourself up on the edge of the pool, not yet exiting the small body of water yet, Choso finds himself studying every inch of you (that’s visible at least).

And then, as you finally push up, there’s that natural arch in your back that has Choso swallowing-, no, gulping down something thick in his throat. His lips are parting and he’s letting out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was keeping in as he watches those small droplets of water glide down along your glistening wet skin. 

And fuck when you’re out of the water and you lift your arms into the air to stretch, your body on full display to the man— slick with water, exposed skin sparkling beneath the morning sunlight, and that bikini leaving hardly anything to the imagination.

Choso has to physically fight himself to rip his eyes off of you, turning back to the coffee in front of him and clearing his throat. The image of you in that bathing suit is doing wonders for these wandering thoughts he’d been trying to avoid. You were so wet— literally soaked before his very greedy eyes, your entire body dripping in sex appeal, and the sight of you like that steadily rushing heat down to his c-

The sound of the sliding door opening makes Choso flinch like crazy. He lets out a little huff and glances back to see you with a towel now wrapped around your waist.

Your tits were sitting so prettily in that bright red bikini top-

“Morning’ Mr. Kamo,” You greet sweetly as you enter the kitchen.

Choso gulps down his nerves, “Mornin’ princess,” He says casually whilst moving to grab his mug of coffee.

That little pet name he’d randomly picked up for you somewhere along the line makes your heart warm every time you hear it. A smile forms on your face as you approach his side and glance around his little setup for coffee making, “Aw, you didn’t make me one this time?” You say with a little pout on your face as you glance at him.

He shrugs, “Didn’t know you were up yet.” Then Choso avoids looking in your direction at all costs by turning to the other counter to grab a spoon, “What made you go for a swim this early?”

“I dunno but,” You hum, following right behind him and approaching his side once more as you watch him stir nothing into his coffee, “You should join me next time.”

He swears his entire body heats up as you say that. Just the thought of being in the pool with you, hardly clothed, swimming together, and wetting each other up makes his mind spin. “Dunno if that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” Choso says casually, as if he wasn’t having thoughts of pressing you against one of those poolsides and-

“Hm?” You bat your lashes up at him and he glances at your face for a split second before ripping his eyes off you, “Why not?”

“What would your dad think?” Choso sighs, continuing to stir nothing into his coffee as if that’ll help him forget about you standing half-naked beside him.

You scoff, “Nothing? It’s just you and me swimming together.”

Choso rolls his eyes at your innocence, “Alone,” He adds on, “Me and you swimming alone together.”

“Are we supposed to have an audience?” You tease, leaning closer to him and entering his peripheral line of vision, “Or, are you uncomfortable being alone with me?”

He freezes, slowly turning his head to look down at you, “Not at all,” Choso quickly tells you, “Being alone with you like that is just…”

Your eyes widen slightly in anticipation and he can feel his body warming again. Then, you glance off to the side innocently, “…Tempting?” You offer.

To which he answers without thinking, “Exactly.”

You part your lips to say something snarky in response but he’s moving away from you yet again. Cursing himself mentally for letting that slip. He didn’t want you to realize he was growing just as interested in you as you were him. 

Then, with perfect timing, your father comes from around the corner with his mouth wide open as he lets out a hefty yawn. 

“Mornin’ you two,” Your dad grumps as he shuffles his feet toward the fridge.

Choso had somehow made his way to the island in the middle of the kitchen already, now sitting comfortably on one of the three bar stools, his eyes low on his phone screen as he lifted his cup to his lips, “Good morning.”

Your eyes are directly on the man as you replay his response to you moments ago over and over in your brain. The nerve he had to go and sit down casually as if he didn’t just he didn’t just imply something very-

“Daughter,” Your dad sighs out, to which you snap out of your daze and glance at him.

“Father,” You hum in response.

He looks at you, sending you a kind and tired little smile, “I’ll be gone for a few days for business, you okay with that?” He asks, subtly nodding his head back at Choso and silently asking if you’re comfortable being alone for a few days with the man.

Of course, you have to physically contain your excitement— being alone with Choso means no more interruptions like what had just happened, “Yeah, that’s fine by me.” You say with a little shrug.

Your father nods at that and then tends back to the fridge to prepare himself something. You smile to yourself before tiptoeing your eyes back over to Choso, only to find his eyes already on you.

All of you, drinking in the sight of you in that damn bikini top before he boldly and directly cracks a lazy smirk and lifts his gaze to your face. You can feel a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as he tilts his head and sends you a little wink from across the kitchen— bluntly letting you know that he’s thinking the same thing you are and your excitement is mutual.

——

Day one alone with Choso was actually really fun. The two of you spent time together in your father’s massive basement, lounging around together and even indulging in a friendly game of pool.

It was nice, comforting even, to have Choso around. He was very respectful and kind with you, subtle with flirting with you because he didn’t want the true levels of his desire to be known, and so gentle with you that it made your heart turn to mush every single time.

Day two was even better. You both finally went on that swim you offered— to which you nearly drooled when he first stripped himself of his shirt, eyeing his washboard abs that were decorated with such pretty scars from previous fights he’s had. 

The two of you just swam and talked, you’d splash him a bit every now and then and he’d splash you back whenever you uttered something way too flirtatious.

At some point you felt like that was his way of turning you down. Sure, he was interested in you but, Choso had his way of silently telling you it wasn’t gonna happen. Or at least, it shouldn’t happen.

Day three was when things changed. Well, night three specifically.

Choso was in the kitchen, where the two of you always seem to run into each other, sitting on his favorite bar stool while working on something on his laptop until he heard you coming downstairs. His ears twitched and he glanced up to see if you were coming into the kitchen a few times, noticing your steps sounded oddly determined.

When you do enter the kitchen, the enter mood shifts. Choso opens his mouth to greet you since it’s past midnight and he hadn’t seen you in a few hours but he freezes when he sees the look on your face.

Flushed and fuming with emotion, your breathing unsteady and ragged as if you’d been crying, and your hands shaky as you make way for one of the wine cabinets. He almost doesn’t move. Choso sits there in shock for a minute, watching you rush to grab a glass and a bottle of alcohol at random, slamming it down on the kitchen island and moving to find something to open the bottle with.

It’s then that Choso’s standing to his feet and walking toward you, “Hey, hey,” He coos, seeing the frustration in your face as you jerk a drawer open with an upset pout on your face, “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?” Choso asks as he nears your side.

You don’t even look at him, pulling your lower lip into your mouth and biting back tears. “I-Isn’t it obvious?” You snap back in an annoyed tone, responding to his first question and first question alone as you swipe up a corkscrew out the drawer and push it shut with your hip.

Then you shuffle back over to the island where your unopened bottle and wine glass are sitting. Your hands are shaking due to the rush of adrenaline throughout your body and Choso follows your every move, standing to your left as he leans against the counter and tilts his head at you.

He carefully moves to slide the bottle of alcohol away from you, which earns him an angry glare from you. Choso only grins kindly at your expression, “Aren’t you a little too young to be drinking?” He teases.

You scoff, in no mood for his teasing right now, “Oh fuck off, I’m twenty years old.”

“I know,” He says calmly, his tone as soft and sweet as ever, “But the legal age for drinking is twenty-one, no?”

“Depends on where you live,” You huff, reaching for the bottle once more only to receive his hand being placed over yours.

You freeze and Choso tilts his head a little more, “Talk to me, pretty,” He hushes out, inching closer to your ear and furthering the softness of his deep rich voice, “What happened?”

You can feel yourself melting at the warmth his body brings as he gets closer to you, your breath hitching slightly due to his attentive curiosity, “My… My boyfriend jus’ broke up with me,” You grit out.

He can tell you’re more upset than you are saddened but either way, he wants to help you, “The asshole you told me about?”

“Uhuh,” You nod, making a small attempt to pull that bottle toward you again.

Choso smirks and his fingers weave through yours slightly before pulling your hand away and pinning it to the counter, “So talk to me about it, princess,” He hushes out, “The last thing you need is alcohol right now.”

You’re quiet for a few seconds before you sniffle, relaxing under his small touch, “Well… I just, I hate feeling like this.”

“Like what?” He whispers, carefully rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of your hand.

“I was gonna break up with him but he fucking beat me to it and now I just-, I dunno, I feel like shit,” You huff out before you slowly turn your head to look at him again.

Your eyes are all glossy and your lashes are noticeably wet, a small tear slipping down your cheek. Choso moves without thinking.

Taking his hand off of yours and bringing his palm to cup your cheek, watching you lean into his touch as he thumbs that tear of yours away, “You feel like shit?” He repeats.

Nodding against his hand, you mumble a little response, “M-Mhm.”

“I’d love to say you shouldn’t but,” His gaze kindly flicks back and forth between your left and right eyes, “I understand. Break-ups are hard.”

You pout, “They shouldn’t be. He was fucking terrible to me. I was supposed to break things off, not him. H-He doesn’t get to just do that. It’s not fair.” Your voice comes out in a slight whine at the end and he can see your eyes glossing over again.

“I know, I know,” Choso coos, bringing his other hand to your vacant cheek and cupping your face in his big hands.

“Do you?” You unintentionally huff out to him, “Have you ever even-“

He scoffs playfully, “Yes, princess. I’ve had multiple relationships in my lifetime.”

You snort, “‘In my lifetime’, you make yourself sound old as hell,” A slight grin forms on your face amist your sorrows and it makes his heart churn.

Choso’s gaze rakes over your face in his hands, “Baby, how old do you think I am?”

“I dunno,” You shrug, “You look like you’re not even a day over twenty five.”

He smirks, “Do I?”

“Mhm. How old are you?”

“A hundred ‘n fifty.”

You choke, “Holy shit, seriously??” You gape as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah…” Choso trails off for a moment, tipping his head to the side, “Does that scare you?”

You almost laugh at that, “What? No, I love older men,” As you say that, there’s almost a look of bliss on your face.

To which sparks Choso’s interest as if he hadn’t picked up on that fact a long time ago, “Oh?”

“I-I mean-, wait,” You stammer, looking away from him, “N-No-, actually, yeah… I meant that.”

“Careful,” Choso says simply, “You’re gonna make me think the wrong thing if you speak like that.”

Slowly, your eyes trail back over to him and he removes his hands from your face, “Would that be so bad?” You murmur, leaning closer to him ever so slightly.

His eyes bore directly into yours, “Yes. You’re my best friend’s child.”

Your face twists up, “Yeah but I’m not literally a child.”

“I know-“

“So don’t treat me like one,” You cut off, gazing intently up into his mesmerizing brown eyes.

His look softens, “I’m sorry if I have.”

“Don’t see me as one either,” You continue, earning a light scoff from his lips.

Choso shrugs, “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Your eyes widen slightly and the room feels so unbelievably warm right now.

“Never have,” Choso admits, licking his lips for a moment before continuing, “Even though I should be.”

Your brows furrow, “Why?”

He flashes a small smile, “I’m literally seven times your age.”

“So?”

“So this-,” He gestures between the two of you, “Whatever ‘this’ may even refer to, is horribly wrong in so many ways.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “But ‘this’ isn’t anything yet.”

“Yet?” Choso echoes.

“Oh c’mon, Mr. Kamo,” You purr, “The only reason we haven’t given in to what we both want is because I had a boyfriend.”

“Choso,” He corrects, “I’ve told you to call me Choso.”

Your gaze becomes noticeably sultry as you lower your eyelids and soften your voice, “I know, sorry sir.”

“Stop that,” He huffs, glancing off to the side.

You lean toward the direction he’s looking off to and fein innocence, “Stop what, sir?”

“That.” Choso rasps, clearing his throat seconds later to collect himself.

“Why?” You urge, inching closer and boldly speaking your mind, “Does it turn you on?”

He scoffs but you see his lips twitching into a smirk, “No.”

Growing curious, your brows pinch together, “Wait, does anything turn you on?”

“Huh?” Choso breathes before looking at you.

“Like, since you’re half-curse… does that affect your bodily functions or anything? Can you even get aroused-“

He lets out a chuckle in reaction to your ignorance, “Yes, yes I can.”

“Really?” Sparkles seem to light up in your eyes and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m more human than I am curse.” He states simply.

You smirk, “Everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere.”

“Like… even your c-“

“Yes.” He cuts off, “Now stop it.”

Your lower lip gets caught in between your teeth, “Stop what?”

“Trying to get me to have a sexual conversation with you,” Choso says in a commanding tone before taking a respectful slight step back.

“I want a lot more than just a conversation,” You whisper loud enough for him to hear.

Choso becomes cold with you in an instant, “And I don't care, it’s not happening.”

At that, there are several twinges in your heart. You grit your teeth and turn for that not-so-forgotten bottle of alcohol, quickly popping it open and pouring yourself a glass. Then, before Choso can even react, you’re gulping it down and he’s sighing in defeat.

After which, you send him an annoyed glare and he frowns softly at you, “Princess-“

“Don’t call me that.” You cut off curtly, licking the bit of liquid intoxication that rests on your lips.

His eyes flicker down for a split second, “Why? ‘Cause I won’t fuck you like you want me to?” Choso asks boldly.

“I-, yeah…” You utter, “Y-Yeah. That’s exactly why I don’t want you to call me that.”

He shakes his head softly and moves to push the bottle away from you again, “I told you alcohol isn’t what you needed.”

“What I ‘need’ won’t let me have him,” You say, pouting yet again.

Choso sighs as he returns his eyes to your face, grinning at your expression as he lifts a hand to your chin, “You don’t ‘need’ me.”

You lean into his touch instantly, “I do-“

“You want me,” Choso corrects, his gaze narrowing on your mouth as his thumb wipes up a small slip of alcohol that missed your lips.

“No” You huff, tipping your head toward his thumb and pushing your lips against the pad of it, “I need you.”

The man can feel his resistance thinning, “You need me?” He echoes lowly, his voice dropping suddenly.

“Yes, I-“

“Need me to what, exactly?” Choso’s thumb applies slight pressure to your lips before he’s parting them and feeling against your lower lip. Then, before you can even answer, he’s looking into your eyes and leaning close to you, “Hm? Need me to fuckin’ ‘ruin’ you?” He quotes.

You were too caught up in experiencing his teasing to realize he gave away the fact that he heard one of your previous phone calls, “Please?”

“Say it,” Choso whispers as his free hand slips over to your waist.

“I need-“

“Want.” He scolds, weighing your bottom lip down a bit.

You whine, “But-“

“Speak properly to me ‘nd I might give you what you want,” Choso says.

You perk up at that, “I want you to ruin me, Choso.”

He takes a deep breath and leans in, “I shouldn’t.” The man whispers to you.

Your eyes are lowering to his lips, “But you want it to,” You point out, yearning for the soon connection of his lips to yours, “I know you do.”

“You don’t know anything,” He argues.

“Choso, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes from the moment you first set them on me.” You refute in a low whisper

“I…” He trails off— refusing to deny or agree with that.

The way your arms unfold and you slowly bring your hands to his shoulders, leaning in and tilting your head, has him in a trance, “Just take me.”

He chokes, “I won’t.”

You scoff, “Then I’m turning back to my drink…”

“No. Instead,” Choso swallows thickly and retracts his hand from your face. “We can do something else.”

You miss his touch already, “Like what?”

“Watch a movie.”

“We both know exactly what that’s going to lead to.”

It’s then that he seems to finally give in, “Let it lead there then since you want it so bad.”

——

And that’s why you don’t regret coming home for the summer. Because how else would you have ended up like this?

Yeah, you and Choso watched some random movie together to get your mind off things but, just like you’d said— you both knew what it’d lead to and it did. After the movie, you find yourself asleep, all your emotions and adrenaline having caught up on you.

The thing is, you fell asleep on Choso. He was right there with you, deep in his slumber just as you were for a while. So perhaps that’s how you ended up the way you are now.

Both of you had woken up to your body right in front of Choso’s. He was laid out against the stretch of the couch, his head resting on a pillow that was propped up against the armrest of the couch. You both woke up at the same time and you were lying on your side.

He had an arm around your waist and his crotch was flush with your ass. Slowly, you turned your head back to look at him and he met your gaze intimately. Lifting his head slightly from the pillow, leaning in toward you, moving a hand to angle your head up some more, his thumb gently rubbing against your chin.

“Choso,” You whispered, earning a groggy little hum from him.

His eyes lower on your lips. So soft, they look so fucking soft. He’s always thought that but the closeness right now and the dim lighting coming from the TV was killing him, “What?” Choso whispers, “Y’still want it?”

You shake your head, “Not ‘it’ Choso, you.”

He gulps and begins to inch his face closer to yours, his breath carefully hitting your lips as he whispers to you, “You sure? Once we start… I won’t hold back.”

“Don’t want you to,” You utter, trying to lean up to him some more.

He smirks at that, “Alright…” Then his lips are practically on yours, “Jus’ remember you asked for this.”

That’s the last thing said before he’s kissing you, lightly too. Choso’s always so gentle with you as if he fears you’ll break. 

And hell, maybe after tonight you will have been broken. Because what starts out as a slow testing taste of lips, soon turns hot and needy. His tongue glides past your moist lips, eager to taste you, to feel you, to make you feel good. 

Then his hand is sliding down your body, ghosting your chest before he pulls away for a second to whisper, “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah…” You utter, trying desperately to place your lips back on his.

He smirks, “Where?”

“Everywhere, Cho. M’all yours,” You claim.

Choso groans as his lips press into yours again, his hand sliding down just to slip under your shirt and grab a very firm hold of your breast. His touch is gentle for a second but then he’s squeezing the fat of your boob in his hand, his lips slipping over yours eagerly.

He’d only pull away for air for a split second before he’s sucking on your bottom lip again, intertwining his tongue with yours, and shifting his hand under your bra to wrap his fingers around your perky nipple. He gives the sensitive bud a small little pinch to test the waters and grins at the way you whine.

“Like that?” He whispers gingerly into your mouth.

You nod and the rest of your body is simply squirming against his, his cock twitching behind the fabric of his pants at the way your ass rubs against him just right. Choso rocks his hips forward ever so slightly, pressing his erection against you and nibbling on your lower lip hungrily.

Your mouth was so damn sweet— he just couldn’t get enough. Touching all over your breasts, pinching and lightly tugging at your nipples just to feel you moan against him. Then his hands, which are just so big, simply knead your breast within his palm as his mouth slides off of yours and he begins kissing your neck.

“You’re so tense, sweetheart,” Choso whispers into your skin, his warm breath tickling your neck, “Relax f’me.”

You let out a small sigh, “I’m tryin’…”

He smiles against you, “You nervous?” Choso asks as his hand slides out of your bra and rests against your stomach.

“No,” You huff.

Then, Choso’s moving to sit up and you move with him. He slips back against the armrest of the chair, his hands going to your hips to pull you on top of his lap with your back still facing him.

Choso’s hand trails to your stomach once more as his lips near your ear, “Lean back f’me, baby.” He guides, feeling the way you do just that and rest yourself against his chest, “There you go,” God his voice had you soaked, “Lemme take care of you, princess.”

You gulp loudly at that, your breathing beyond unsteady as you comfort yourself in his lap. His chest is so firm against your back, the feeling of his heart pounding within his ribcage so vividly felt behind you— he was just as anxious and nervous as you were. Cute.

His lips meet the space just behind your ear and his hands slither around your body. Choso carefully positions his fingertips at your inner thighs, “Do I have to guide you through everything, hm?” He hums playfully.

“N-No but,” Your eyes are glued to his big veiny hands playing with the skin of your legs, “I like the way you talk me through it.”

“Yeah?” He hushes out, “Alright then, go ‘head ‘nd spread your legs for me, pretty girl.”

You’re so horny you can hardly think straight. The air feels heavy and every touch from the older man has your skin tingling and your pussy pooling. As your thighs part, Choso’s quick to move his fingers to the waistband of your shorts, teasing you by running his fingertips under it.

“Tha’s it,” He purrs, “So good f’me.”

Your hips lift involuntarily as if to force his fingertips where you want them but he moves to grip onto you. 

Choso snickers at your eagerness, “Patience, baby. I’m tryin’ to take my time with ya’,” He admits, pressing his lips into the crown of your ear, “Wanna show you what sex is supposed to feel like.”

“H-Huh?” You gape in a breathy tone, “Choso, y’know m’not a virgin, right?”

He grins, “Mhm, I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take things slow for a bit,” He explains lowly, steadily pulling your shorts down as you help him with small wiggles of your hips, “Plus,” His middle and ring finger inch toward your panties, lips curving into a smile at the noticeably damp red fabric, “I gotta prep you anyway.”

You scoff, “For what? Is your dick that big?”

He shrugs, running the pad of his middle finger over your clothed center lightly, “You’ll find out soon enough.” Choso promises.

Then, he’s tugging your panties to the side, biting his lip as your cunt is exposed to him. Choso’s such a tease, caressing your soaked hole but not yet pushing his fingers in, kissing the side of your neck as he taunts you until you’re whining for him.

“Cho-“

“Two hours, right?” He suddenly asks. Your brows furrow and he senses your confusion, smirking slightly, “Your ex, he took two hours to make you cum one time, no?”

“I-,” Your jaw drops slightly as Choso easily draws his finger up to your clit, tracing soft circles around it, “H-How do you know about that?”

“Heard you talkin’ about him a few weeks back,” He whispers to you, “S’kinda sad, y’know. Two hours?” As he casually converses with you, his finger is providing you with slow stimulation.

You rest your head back against his shoulder, “Uhuh… he couldn’t figure anything out.” You explain as a pout pulls at your lips.

For whatever reason, that seems to boost Choso’s ego a bit. As such, his fingers dip back down and finally start pushing into you, “Oh yeah? Bet I can make you cum in two minutes.”

A brief chuckle leaves your lips, “He said the same thing…” You huff.

To which Choso scoffs, delving his fingers deep past your folds and groaning at that slick squelch that enters the air. “He’s not me, princess. Listen to how wet this pussy is f’me already,” The man taunts as he works a careful pace inside you, “So tight too… shit.”

The first moan you let out makes his cock twitch against your ass. Your lips part and you let out heavy breaths as Choso fingers you skillfully, talking you through his every movement.

“Tell me somethin’ baby,” Choso says, pushing another finger into you and curling his fingertips upward against your gummy walls, “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

You pant, “Hah… U-Uh, I dunno…”

“Oh c’mon, don’t lie t’me,” He scoffs. He can’t help but watch the way his fingers disappear inside your cunt, your slick coating his skin and making the most obscene noises imaginable.

“Maybe last week,” You eventually utter in response to him, words coming out all in one short breath.

His cock is felt throbbing against your ass, hips rolling up slightly for the slightest bit of friction, “Yeah? Who’d you think about when you touched yourself? Hm?” The curse asks.

“Y-You, Choso,” You admit honestly, recalling the week prior when you had the man in mind as you relieved yourself.

He lets out a throaty grunt. The thought of you touching yourself to him was making his tip drip excessively within his boxers. “Mmh. Thought about me?” Choso huffs, fingering you a bit faster now as he searches for a particular spot.

When he finds it, you moan, “Yeah.”

“Fuck…” Choso groans against your ear, “Thought about me doin’ what? This?” He emphasizes his words with a firm rub of his fingertips against your sweet spot and watching your sloppy pussy drip off of his knuckles.

“Yes Choso,” You gasp with your back arching off of him.

He bites his lip, “Anything else?”

His two thick fingers pick up in pace, pumping deeply in and out of you and earning pretty moans from your moist lips. You were losing your mind. Choso’s fingers were so damn skillful and deep inside you, dragging his touch all along your walls, and digging into your g-spot over and over again.

“I-, ah… I thought about you-,” You mumble in between your moans, “Mmgh, f-fuckin’ me.”

“Where?” He purrs, his fingers swiveling inside you and making you gasp loudly, “How? Gimme details, pretty.”

“E-Everywhere-, fuck, right there… ‘Specially the kitchen, wanted you to bend me over the counter so many times…” You whine, cunt clenching around his fingers desperately.

He places a small kiss on your cheek and whispers, “Shoulda’ said somethin’.”

“You wouldn’t have done it,” You argue through slightly gritted teeth.

As you do so, your hips are lifting to meet his fingers while they thrust inside you. Your moans become more constant, more confident even, as he explores your pussy with his two fingers.

“I might after today,” Choso hushes out before pulling his fingers out of you for a split second just to deliver your cunt with a messy little slap that has you spasming.

“Please,” You mewl, your legs threatening to close on him as he rubs his fingers over your cunt in a sloppy manner, smearing your sappy slick all over the same place and making even more of a mess of you.

“Hey, keep these thighs open,” Choso huffs, landing yet another light smack onto your pussy and watching the way you quiver and clench around nothing, “M’not done, c’mon.”

Then he’s stuffing you full of his fingers again. In and out and in and out— so melodically pressing against your g-spot and then spreading his two fingers apart inside you, invoking a gasp from your throat, “Feels so g-good Choso.”

“So keep feelin’ it then,” He smiles, “Stop runnin’ from it, baby, give it t’me.” Choso requests.

And he knows you’re getting close, he can tell by the way your pussy greedily sucks his fingers back in every time he tugs them out, the way you’re moving a hand to cling onto his arm, and then there’s your legs struggling to remain open for him.

Not that he minded anyway. Choso had no problem with forcing your legs to stay open for him, it was cute watching the way you squirmed and the constant rutt of your ass against his achingly hard dick was what made things better for him as well.

“Cho,” You whimper as your back arches off of him yet again, your toes curling when he hits this particularly sweet and juicy spot inside you.

“Gonna fuck you real good after this,” He speaks right into your ear with that deep husky tone of his, his words making your pussy clench even tighter around his digits, “Ruin ya’ jus’ like you want me to.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from whining, “Please.”

“Look at me,” Choso directs, earning a steady turn of your head. As your eyes meet his, his fingers curl against you, “There she is, such a pretty girl.” The man whispers, watching your jaw drop and listening to the moan you breathe out in response.

“S-Stop that,” You pout, batting your lashes at him.

He chuckles, “Stop what?”

“Bein’ gentle with me.”

Choso almost scoffs, his fingers digging into you, “Why? It turns you on.”

You can’t even think straight enough to respond properly— your legs trying to shut on him again and your reply coming out in a lazy, “Nuh uh…”

“You’re so cute,” The way he’s talking to you, holding you, looking at you, it made you want to just melt away.

Your body was so damn hot, you could feel a coil in the pit of your stomach as your orgasm neared. Shit, he knew how to hit every spot inside you with ease. So much so that even his palm was pressing against your clit and providing you with even more stimulation to the point where your eyes were lulling back.

“Shut-, ah, mgh-, fuck. S-Shut up,” You blurt out in between breathy moans.

Choso’s eyes lower on your expression, “You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you?”

All you can do is nod, “Uhuh..”

Then you’re losing it again, seeing stars as he moves his free hand to roll a finger over your clit raw. Choso’s voice is rough with you, “Gonna cum f’me?” He asks, and you’re nodding desperately before he lets out a lower rasp of, “Say it.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and your hands mindlessly move in an attempt to push his away so you could fucking breathe for a moment, “Oh fuck, I-I’m gonna cum.” You whine.

“For who? Say my name, baby.” Choso orders with his fingers moving in and out of your cunt faster and faster, the sounds only getting wetter and wetter.

“For you, Choso,” Your voice is hardly even there but it’s loud enough to satisfy him, “Gonna cum f’you…”

He leans in a bit and looks you dead in your eyes, slamming his fingertips deeper and deeper, “C’mon then, give it to me. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. It felt so abrupt too, as if he hadn’t been coaxing you to that point anyway. Choso’s fingers are digging in and out and in and out, his pants hitting your lips as he softly rubs his hard cock against your ass. Your legs tried to close on him but his arms wrapped around you prevented you from doing so, both of his hands firmly stroking you through it.

Then there was the eye contact, intense gaze pouring into yours as you came around his fingers with a whiny cry of his name. “Good girl,” Choso praises, “Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me— makin’ a pretty mess ‘round me like that. Think you can gimme another?”

“Choso,” You puff out, shaking your head no in response.

He just grins at you, “Jus’ one more baby, one more. Promise.”

——

That was the biggest lie you’d ever heard. ‘One more’, yeah, and then he’s asking for another, and then another, and then another.

At some point, you could hardly move because of how intense your orgasms were, making the filthiest mess around his fingers and on his hands, and grinding against his hard cock as you cried out his name for what felt like hours. Choso had you geeked, high off of your own arousal because even though you were whimpering about it being ‘too much’ your pussy was singing an entirely different song.

Literally. The sloppy squelches from your cunt made Choso so unbelievably hard. He couldn’t wait to have you on his cock, whispering in your ear about how deep inside you he’s about to be, telling you to just give him one more so he can have his way with you, and rubbing himself against you so he doesn’t lose his damn mind.

He swears he almost came in his pants from just fingering you alone, especially when he brought his drenched fingers up to his mouth and fucking tasted you. The groan he let out came straight from deep within his stomach, causing butterflies to swirl in your stomach. 

Followed by that was him sucking your juices off his skin and then moving to your ear, “You taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” Choso practically moaned before moving his fingers to your lips, “I don’t wanna be selfish with it either so, here, taste y’self f’me.”

You gradually take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them tentatively with Choso’s eyes all over your face. And you suck on his fingers so skillfully, sliding your tongue in between them, taking them deeper into your mouth and almost into your throat, and even gagging against them.

“Fuck,” Choso breathes, his cock on the verge of nearly exploding in his pants. “B-Baby…” He pants.

With his fingers still in your mouth, drool slipping down your chin, “Hm?” You hum innocently.

“If I don’t fuck you right now, I’m gonna embarrass myself.” That was his final warning to you before he was snatching his fingers from your mouth and quickly moving his hands to your hips. Choso pushes you forward slightly and he suppresses a whine, soon placing a hand on your back, “Do me a favor ‘nd bend over f’me.” He requests.

You don’t hesitate to do just that, lifting yourself off of him and then leaning your upper half down against the couch, arching your back, and parting your legs for the man. Choso felt like he could cum from the sight alone. Your pussy was on full display for him, your thighs wet with your own cum and sweat, red panties still tugged to the side, and legs spread just for him.

Then Choso moves to his knees, positioning himself behind you as he rushes his sweats and boxers down— bulging cock springing out and slapping against his abdomen. He had precum dripping from his fat tip, his veins twitching, and his entire cock hot with an aching need.

You barely look back at him for a second, only for your face to be pushed back down to the couch as he presses his leaking tip against you. Your pussy lips twitch around his thick cockhead, feeling him rub against you as Choso groans.

“Too long,” Choso whispers, “We waited too long for this.” He starts rutting his hips forward ever so slightly, teasing his tip in and out of you as he tests your tight ring of resistance. “S’gonna be a big stretch, baby,” He warns, trying his hardest not to just ram himself inside you all in one go, “Need you to relax f’me, alright?”

If anything, you wiggle your hips back against him and force more than his tip inside you, moaning against the couch cushion your face is still being pushed into. “I can take it, Cho,” You whisper, “Jus’ give it t’me, please. Fuck me.”

That’s all it takes for him to start pushing himself inside you, immediately tossing his head back at your pussy gripping onto him, and tugging him deeper inside your warm entrance so damn welcomingly. He tries to go slow as he hears you hissing at the sheer stretch his big cock causes, your fingers curling against the couch and your back arching even further.

But the way your cunt just swallows and sucks him in has him letting out the prettiest groan you’ve ever heard from a man. There’s a tinge of a whine laced within that groan of his, feeling your saturated walls squeezing around his hefty shaft has Choso panting as he pushes into you. The last thing he wanted to do was cum too early so it doesn’t take much for him to just snap his hips forward.

Ripping a moan of his name from your throat, you feel all of him poking just everywhere. Choso’s cock is so damn big and thick, curving into that syrupy spot his fingers were teasing moments before. He reaches the hilt of your cunt with ease and watches the way your legs quiver.

“Choso,” You’re practically drooling into the couch whilst he reels his hips back and eases them forward again.

He lets out a loud huff that fans over you as he leans forward a little, pressing his hands into the cushion beside your sides, “So fuckin’ tight, mgh.” He grunts from behind you, “Been holdin’ out on me, huh?” Choso suddenly comments as he tilts his head and peers down at the sexy curve of your arched back.

You shake your head stupidly, “N-Ngh.. n-no,” You murmur softly, “Been tryin’ to… mgh, give it to you…”

“Yeah?” Choso smiles while slamming his hips forward a little harder than before, “You’ve been tryin’ to give this pussy t’me?” He huffs out with a heavy thrust.

Your jaw falls open, “Uhuh, but you k-know that, Choso.”

His smile widens a bit when he recalls the countless times he rejected your advances, “Hah, maybe…” As his worlds trail off a bit, his focus goes to your ass and the sexy recoil that’s caused every time his toned pelvis meets your ass.

Everything about you was so sexy, his hand instinctively lifting to land a harsh slap on your ass. Cock plunging in harder-, deeper, you found your legs quaking with every thrust and your eyes glossing over completely.

“Ah, oh fuck-,” You choke out as his achingly hard tip narrows in on your g-spot, hammering into you mercilessly.

Choso lets out a heavy breath of air and grabs a handful of your ass, glancing down to your sloppy folds, taking his glistening cock so well over and over. Inch by bruising inch, your cunt swallowed him gratefully every time he fed it to you.

“M’not gonna last long, baby,” He soon admits to you while his eyes roll back at the way you’re clenching around him simply because of his voice alone.

You throb at that, “H-Hngh.. you gonna cum s-soon?”

Choso nods almost drunkenly, “Uhuh, been holdin’ it in.” He explains to you before grabbing a firm hold of your hips and pinpointing his hips, sharpening his thrusts, and thrashing his throbbing cockhead against your dripping pussy.

He was addicted. He didn’t even have to finish yet to know he was never going to get enough of this— enough of you. All he can do is think back on all those times he could’ve flirted with you, and could’ve brought you to this very moment sooner. 

Like that morning when you came out of the pool, Choso knows he could’ve found a moment alone with you. He could’ve seduced you just as you did him, found any worthy surface to hoist you up against, and then fuck you to tears in that slutty bikini of yours.

Thinking back on it now, the bikini you wore then resembles the lace red panties that are hanging off of you by a thread right now, messy tugged to the side, and soaked with your earlier orgasms and wetness. 

Choso’s so lost in his head, he doesn’t realize he’s drilling his cock into you, fucking you down into the couch and nearly making you lose the arch in your back. 

You let out a broken cry of his name, “Ch-Choso-, oh.. fuuck, m’gonna cum, Cho.”

His brows tense and he settles both of his hands on your hips, tugging your ass back to meet his thrusts, “Again, princess? Gonna make a mess on my cock? Hm?”

“Mhm,” You mumble, practically clawing at the couch to hold yourself stable as he pounds into you.

Then he’s reaching for your hair and a moan is ripped from your throat as he tugs your head back, furthering your arch and making your legs go numb with the way you could feel his heavy girth in every corner of your sappy pussy.

Lips parted, eyes rolling back again, and legs shaking, you let out a cry of pleasure as you come undone before it even registers to you.

Choso’s in your ear all of a sudden, “You feel so good,” He grunts, gifting your cunt with another hard thrust, “So fuckin’ good.”

His other arm wraps around you and sneaks down to your clit, causing your entire body to spasm against him. “C-Choso-, s’too much, hahh… p-please,” You’re whimpering, feeling an entirely new sensation build up whilst he rubs his fingers over your clit.

Then he’s jamming in harder, breathing hot against your ear, pulling your hair firmly, and even giving your cunt light smacks as you suck him in just as he’d secretly always imagined you would.

Grunting against the shell of your ear, Choso’s fingers pick up the pace on your clit and he grinds his fat tip against the spot that has you seeing stars, “Feel that?” He whispers, “Feel me in there, pretty girl?”

“Choso,” You squeak, “I-I’m… mmgh, f-feels different, Cho.” 

“I know baby, I know,” He hushes out so softly despite the complete contract of his mean cock fucking you full beyond belief. “Want you to squirt f’me,” Choso coos, “Think you can do that? Hm?”

You’re shaking your head no, your body feeling as though it were on fire with how hot and overwhelmed you were by pleasure. To which Choso simply chuckles, his dick aching for release.

“Please?” He begs quietly, “I need it, princess.” He sounds so sweet and soft but it’s completely opposite to the way his cockhead is stretching you open from the inside out.

“Want,” You correct breathily as if to mock him from earlier.

He flashes a fucked-out little smile, “Uhuh, want it so bad,” Choso admits, his thrusts growing desperate and frantic, “Wanna feel it, wet my cock up, sweetheart. C’mon, squirt f’me.”

Your legs are attempting you shudder shut, the pleasure overwhelming your senses as your eyes cross, “C-Cho-, s’too much, I-I can’t-“

“Yes you can,” He kisses the space below your ear softly, “Jus’ let go for me. Stop runnin’ from it,” The sound of his voice is all you can pay attention to aside from his desperate jabs at your insides, leaving you pooling around his shaft and slicking up every delicate vein that trails along his cock, “You wanna cum, so do it. Cum for me, princess.” Choso groans heavily against your ear.

You are. And then so is he. Both of you reach an entirely different level of orgasm— your body trembles as you make a filthy mess of the couch when you squirt just as he’s requested and he makes a mess of your insides by releasing thick gloopy ropes of cum deep inside you, fucking in every drop with a loud whine of your name rolling off his tongue.

So much so that you’re both collapsing against the couch as your highs die down. His body weight rests on top of yours but you’re shaking in the aftershocks of your orgasm too much to care. Choso softly humps his dick in and out of you just to keep his cum from dribbling out of your puffy folds, letting out soft breaths against your skin.

The two of you simply lay there for a while, unable to move for a vast many reasons.

Choso soon whispers a calm, “You okay?” And you hum softly. “Need a verbal response, pretty girl.”

“Yeah,” You practically mouth the word instead of saying it but that’s just enough for him.

Then, after a few more minutes of relishing in what had just occurred— the fact that you slept with your dad’s best friend finally weighed in on you.

Though, you guess you’ll deal with any guilt later. Even though the sound of the house’s front door clicking open from just down the hall moments later was rather concerning…

[amateurvoltaire]

Exhibition 1793-1794 at the Carnavalet Museum (Part I)

For anyone interested in the French Revolution, a visit to the Carnavalet Museum is essential. Though the museum covers the history of Paris from its very beginnings to the present, it’s also home to the world’s largest collection of revolutionary artefacts. Which makes sense, given that Paris was the epicentre of it all.

Frankly, if you plan to explore it all, you’ll want to set aside a good 3–4 hours. For those focused solely on the French Revolution, head straight to the second floor, where you can get through the collection in under an hour. Best of all, the permanent collection is free, making it a brilliant way to spend an afternoon in the city on a budget.

Currently, though, there’s a special treat on offer. Running from 16 October 2024 to 16 February 2025, the museum is hosting an exhibition dedicated to my favourite (and arguably the most chaotic) year of the revolution: Year II (1).

Now, since the family and I were in Reims for a long weekend, I somehow managed (possibly after too much Champagne) to convince my husband to drive 150 kilometres to Paris just so I could see Robespierre’s unfinished signature. It helped that the kids were on board, too. Yes, the four-year-old fully recognises Robespierre by portrait. The one-year-old is, predictably, indifferent.

So, slightly worse for wear after a ridiculous amount of Champagne tastings, off we went to the museum.

1. Why Year II?

Because it was a catastrophe. No. Really.  Let me explain, in a very overly-simplified summary:

In Year II, France was plunged into an unparalleled storm of internal and external crises that would define the Revolution’s most radical year and ultimately mark its turning point.

Internally, the government was riven by factional divides, economic collapse, and civil war. The Jacobins (2) took control of the Convention, sidelining the federalist Girondins (3), aligning themselves with the sans-culottes (4), and arguing that only extreme measures could preserve the Revolution. Meanwhile, the more radical Enragés (5) demanded harsh economic policies to shield the poor from spiralling inflation and food shortages. The Convention introduced the Maximum Général (6) to placate them, which capped essential prices; however, enforcement was haphazard, fuelling discontent across the country. At the same time, the Indulgents (7) called for a reduction in violence and a return to clemency.

Externally, France’s situation was equally dire, encircled by the First Coalition—a formidable alliance of Britain, Austria, Prussia, Spain, and the Dutch Republic, all intent on crushing the Revolution before it spread further. With the execution of Louis XVI, France found itself diplomatically isolated, and the army was, frankly, a shambles. Most officers were either nobles or incompetent (8), and the soldiers were inadequately trained and equipped. In a desperate bid to defend the Republic, the Convention issued the Levée en Masse (9) in August 1793, sparking revolts in many cities and outright civil war in the West.

Confronted with this barrage of existential threats, the Convention dialled up its response in spectacular fashion, unleashing what we now know as the Terror—a period of sweeping repression backed by some rather questionable legislation. As you can likely guess from the name alone, this was a brilliant idea…

Put simply: by the end of Year II, nearly all the key figures who had spearheaded the Revolution up to that point were dead. And no, they didn’t slip away peacefully in their sleep from some ordinary epidemic. They met their end at the guillotine.

In short, Year II wasn’t just the Revolution's most radical and defining phase—it was also the year the Revolution itself died. Yes, the Revolution, in its truest, purest, most uncompromising form, met its end the moment the guillotine's blade struck Robespierre’s neck.

2. Overview of the exhibition

The visit  opens with the destruction of the 1791 Constitution and closes with Liberty, an allegorical figure of the Republic depicted as a woman holding the Declaration of the Rights of Man in her right hand. In between, the experience is structured around five main themes:

A New Regime: The Republic

Paris: Revolution in Daily Life

Justice: From Ordinary to Exceptional

Prisons and Execution Sites

Beyond Legends

More than 250 artefacts are featured, including paintings, sculptures, decorative arts, historical items, wallpapers, posters, and furniture. The layout is carefully structured around these themes, with a distinct use of colour to set the tone: the first three sections have a neutral palette, while the final two glow in vivid red, creating a very nice change in atmosphere.

What I appreciated most was how the descriptions handle the messy legacy of Year II. The texts actually admit that, while some Parisians saw this year as a bold step towards equality and utopia, for others it was an absolute nightmare. This balance is refreshing, even if things are a bit simplified (because how could they not be?), and it gives a well-rounded view of a wildly complicated time.

In this first part, I'll focus on the first two sections, as the latter three fit together neatly and deserve a deep dive of their own. Besides, there's so much to unpack that I'll likely exceed Tumblr's word limit (and the patience of anyone reading this).

3. A New Regime: The Republic

The first section covers the shift from the Ancien Régime to the First Republic, and, fittingly, it starts with a smashed relic of the old order: the Constitution of 1791. After the monarchy’s fall and the republic’s proclamation in September 1792, the old constitution was meaningless. Though it technically remained in force for a few months, it was replaced by the Constitution of Year I in 1793, marking the end of France’s brief experiment with a constitutional monarchy. In May 1793, the old document was ceremonially obliterated with the “national sledgehammer”—a bit dramatic, perhaps, but Year II was nothing if not dramatic.

This section zeroes in on the governance of the new republic, featuring the Constitution of Year I, portraits of convention members, objects from the Committee of Public Safety and the National Convention (including a folder for Robespierre’s correspondence), and national holiday memorabilia. There’s even a nice nod to Hérault de Séchelles (10) as a principal author of the republican constitution.

3.1 Martyrdom as a political tool

Interestingly, the exhibition places a heavy emphasis on the concept of martyrdom. A significant portion of this first area is dedicated to the Death of Marat (11) and, to a lesser extent, the assassination of Le Peletier (12). It’s a clever angle since martyrs—whether well-known figures or nameless soldiers—have always been handy for rallying public opinion. The revolutionary government of Year II understood this all too well and wielded the concept to its full advantage.

In this spirit, the middle of this section features a reproduction of David’s Death of Marat, several drawings from Marat’s funeral, Marat’s mortuary mask, a supposed piece of his jaw, and more. Notably absent are any issues of L’Ami du Peuple, as though the display suggests Marat’s death was more impactful to the Republic’s narrative than his actual writings. I’d agree with that—the moment he died, he was elevated to a mythic status, and his legacy as a martyr of Year II took on a life of its own.

4. Paris: Revolution in Daily Life

While the first section focuses on the workings of governance, this part delves into Year II’s impact on ordinary Parisians. This period stands out for two reasons: France was in economic and political turmoil (wars, both internal and external, aren’t exactly budget-friendly), yet it also managed to introduce some remarkably forward-thinking legislation aimed at improving the lives of the common people.

4.1 The Paris Commune & Paranoia

To understand life in Paris during Year II, we can’t overlook the role of the Paris Commune (13). Rooted in the revolutionary spirit of the Estates General of 1789 and officially formalised by the law of 19 October 1792, the Commune was the governing body responsible for Paris. Divided into forty-eight sections, each with its own assembly, it gave citizens a strong voice in electing representatives and local officials. Led by a mayor, a general council, and a municipal body, the Commune handled essential civic matters like public works, subsistence, and policing.

From 2 June 1793 to 27 July 1794 (the height of Year II), the Commune implemented the policies of the Montagnard (14) Convention, which aimed to build a social structure grounded in the natural rights of man and citizen, reaffirmed on 24 June 1793. This social programme sought to guarantee basic rights such as subsistence (covering food, lighting, heating, clothing, and shelter), work (including access to tools, raw materials, and goods), assistance (support for children, the elderly, and the sick; rights to housing and healthcare), and education (fostering knowledge and preserving arts and sciences).

All this unfolded in an atmosphere thick with paranoia and intense policing; enemies were believed to lurk everywhere. The display does a solid job of capturing this side of the Paris Commune, featuring various illustrations that urged people to conform to new revolutionary norms—wear the cockade, play your part in the social order, fight for and celebrate the motherland, and so on.

One of my favourite pieces was the record of cartes de sûreté (safety cards) from one of the 48 Parisian sections. Made compulsory for Parisians in April 1793, these cards were meant to confirm that their holders weren’t considered “suspects” in a climate thick with paranoia. This small, seemingly random document—issued or revoked at the discretion of an equally random Revolutionary Committee—had the power to decide a person’s freedom or the lack of it.

At the risk of sounding sentimental, in the study of history, we often focus on broad events and overlook the "little guy" who lived through them. But here, this record reminds us that behind each document was, in fact, a real person. And that this very real person was trying to make their way through a reality that, 230 years ago, must have felt stifling and, at times, terrifying.

4.2 Education

A significant spotlight is rightly placed on education in this exhibition section, given the sweeping changes it underwent during the Revolution.

Before 1789, Paris was well-supplied with educational institutions. Eleven historic colleges and a semi-subsidised university offered prestigious studies in theology, law, medicine, and the arts, drawing students from across France. Inspired by Enlightenment ideals, boarding schools and specialised courses in subjects like science and mathematics had sprung up, mainly catering to the middle class, while working-class children attended charity schools. Private adult education also provided technical and scientific training. The catch? Most of these were church-operated.

Revolutionary policies targeting the Church caused a mass departure of teachers, financial difficulties, and restrictions on hiring unsalaried educators. Military demands, economic turmoil, and protests added to the strain on schools. Even the Sorbonne (15) was shut down in 1792, and by late 1793, nearly all Parisian colleges were closed except for Louis-le-Grand (16), which was renamed École Égalité. With the teacher shortage and soaring inflation, a handful of institutions struggled on.

This left the Convention and the Paris Commune scrambling to find new ways to educate the young, and they rose (or at least attempted to rise) to the occasion. On 19 December 1793, the Bouquier Decree aimed to establish free, secular, and mandatory primary education—a remarkable move, though it never fully materialised due to lack of funding.

With France at war, the Convention turned public education towards the needs of a nation in crisis. Throughout 1793 and 1794, new scientific and technical programmes sprang up to meet urgent demands, combat food shortages, and push social progress. Thousands of students were trained in saltpetre refinement (vital for gunpowder), and scientific knowledge spread beyond chemists to artisans and tin workers. In the final months of Year II, a saltpetre refinement zone was set up, the École de Mars was founded to rapidly train young men in military techniques, and the École Centrale des Travaux Publics (future École Polytechnique) was established to develop engineers in military-technical fields.

The education display features a fascinating array of educational degrees, lists of primary school students, and instructor rosters. Although a bit more context on the educational upheaval would have been helpful, the artefacts themselves are intriguing. Placed in the context of the rest of the exhibit, it’s clear that the new educational system wasn’t just about breaking away from the Ancien Régime; it was also very deliberately and openly crafted to instil republican ideals. Nothing illustrates this better than the way Joseph Barra(17) was promoted as a model for students at the École de Mars.

And, of course, this section also showcases one of the most enduring legacies of the Revolution: the introduction of the metric system and modern standardised measurements.

4.3 The (lack of) Women in Year II

The women of Year II were not real women. They were symbols—or so the imagery from the era would have us believe. There is shockingly little about the actual experiences of women in the collective memory of Year II.

Women played active roles in the Revolution. They filled the Assembly’s tribunes as spectators, mobilised in the sections, founded clubs, joined public debates, signed petitions, and even participated in mixed societies. In many cases, they worked side by side with men to bring about the Republic of Year II. So where are they?

Well, they’re certainly not prominent in this exhibition—but that’s not the fault of the organisers. It’s a reflection of how the time chose to represent them. In revolutionary imagery, women became allegories: symbols of Liberty, wisdom, the Republic, or the ideal mother raising citizens for the state, often reduced to stereotypes and caricatures. Rarely were they depicted as part of the public sphere.

The absence of a serious discourse on women’s rights in this part of the exhibition speaks volumes and is true to the period itself. At the time, there was no cohesive movement for women’s rights, and while specific individuals pushed for aspects of female citizenship, these efforts lacked unity or a common cause. Eventually, being perceived as too radical, all women's clubs were closed in 1973.

4.4 Dechristianisation

In my view, dechristianisation was perhaps the greatest misstep of the various governments from 1789 onwards. Not because I think religion should be central to people’s lives—not at all—but because, in 18th-century France, it simply was essential for most. The reasoning behind this attack on religion was sound enough: no government wants to be beholden to a pope in Rome who had heavily supported the deposed king. But in practice, the application of this principle was far from effective.

By Year II, Parisian authorities were still grappling with the fallout from the Civil Constitution of the Clergy (1790), which had left Catholics split between two competing churches: the constitutional church, loyal to the Revolution, and the refractory church, loyal to Rome. Patriotic priests suspected refractory priests of using their influence to fuel counter-revolutionary sentiment—a suspicion that only intensified the general atmosphere of paranoia.

As tension mounted, it devolved, as these things often do, into outright destruction. On 23 October 1793, the Commune of Paris ordered the removal of all monuments that "encouraged religious superstitions or reminded the public of past kings." Religious statues were removed, replaced by images of revolutionary martyrs like Le Peletier, Marat, and Chalier (19), in an effort to supplant the cult of saints with the cult of republican heroes.

The exhibition presents this wave of destruction with artefacts from ruined religious statues, the most striking being the head of one of the Kings of Judah from Notre-Dame’s facade. These 28 statues were dragged down and mutilated in a frenzy against royalist symbols in 1793. . Ironically, they weren’t even French kings; they were Old Testament kings, supposedly ancestors of Christ—a fact that most people at the time were probably blissfully unaware of. But hey, destruction in the name of ignorance is nothing new, is it?

Many in the Convention and the Commune were atheists and enthusiastically supported the secularisation of public life. Unfortunately, they didn’t represent the majority of the French population. To bridge this gap, Robespierre proposed a "moral religion" without clergy, a way for citizens to unite and celebrate a shared, secularised liberty. In December 1793, the Convention passed a decree granting "unlimited liberty of worship," leading to the Festival of the Supreme Being, held in Paris and throughout France on 8 June 1794.

As with so much in Year II, the "Supreme Being" affair was a logical solution to a pressing problem that ended up blowing up in Robespierre’s face—by now, you might detect a pattern. But that’s a story for Part II of this already very long post.

5. Conclusion to Part 1

Overall, the exhibition presents the first two themes—A New Regime: The Republic and Paris: Revolution in Daily Life—in a balanced way, which I really appreciate. I was expecting a bit more sensationalism, given that Year II is known for its brutality, but instead, it provides a thoughtful overview of how the Republic was structured and the impact this had on Parisians.

The range of media and text offers a good dive into key points, especially on everyday life during the period. I didn’t listen to everything, but from what I saw, the explanations were well done. Naturally, since the exhibition is aimed at the general public, many aspects are simplified.

For younger audiences (pre-teens, perhaps?), the exhibit includes 11 watercolour illustrations by Florent Grouazel and Younn Locard. These two artists attempt to fill the gaps by depicting events from the period that lack contemporary representation (like the destruction of the Constitution with the “national sledgehammer” on 5 May 1793—an event documented but unillustrated at the time). For each scene, they created a young character as an actor or observer, sometimes just a witness to history, to make the scene more immersive. It’s a nice touch, though easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention.

In Part II, I’ll share my thoughts on the remaining themes: Justice, Prisons and Execution Sites, and Beyond Legends. And yes, a lot of that will involve Thermidor—how could it not?

In the meantime, if you made it this far… well, I’m impressed!

Notes

(1) Year II: Refers to the period from 22 September 1793 to 21 September 1794 in the French Revolutionary calendar.

(2) Jacobins: A political group advocating social reform and, by 1793, strongly promoting Republican ideals. Most revolutionaries were, or had once been, members of the Jacobin club, though by Year II, Robespierre stood out as its most prominent figure.

(3) Girondins: A conservative faction within the National Convention, representing provincial interests and, to some extent, supporting constitutional monarchy. Key figures included Brissot and Roland.

(4) Sans-culottes: Working-class Parisians who championed radical changes and economic reforms to support the poor. The name “sans-culottes” (meaning "without knee breeches") symbolised their rejection of aristocratic dress in favour of working-class trousers.

(5) Enragés: An ultra-radical group demanding strict economic controls, such as price caps on essentials, to benefit the poor. Led by figures like Jacques Roux and, to some extent, Jacques Hébert, the Enragés urged the Convention to fully break from the Ancien Régime.

(6) Maximum Général: A 1793 law imposing price caps on essential goods to curb inflation and aid the poor. Though well-intended, it was difficult to enforce and stirred resentment among merchants.

(7) Indulgents: A faction led by Danton and Desmoulins advocating a relaxation of the severe repressive measures introduced in Year II, calling instead for clemency and a return to more moderate governance.

(8) Incompetence: At the Revolution’s outset, military positions were primarily held by nobles. By Year II, these noble officers were often dismissed due to mistrust, and their replacements—particularly in the civil conflict in the West—were frequently inexperienced, and some, quite frankly, incompetent.

(9) Levée en Masse: A mass conscription decree of 1793 requiring all able-bodied, unmarried men aged 18 to 25 to enlist. This unprecedented mobilisation extended to the wider population, with men of other ages filling support roles, women making uniforms and tending to the wounded, and children gathering supplies.

(10) Hérault de Séchelles: A lawyer, politician, and member of the Committee of Public Safety during Year II, known primarily for helping to draft the Constitution of 1793.

(11) Jean-Paul Marat: A radical journalist and politician, fiercely supportive of the sans-culottes and advocating revolutionary violence in his publication L’Ami du Peuple. Assassinated in 1793, he became the Revolution’s most famous martyr.

(12) Louis-Michel Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau: A politician and revolutionary who voted in favour of the king’s execution and was assassinated in 1793 shortly after casting his vote, becoming a symbol of revolutionary sacrifice.

(13) Paris Commune: Not to be confused with the better-known Paris Commune of 1871, this Commune was the governing body of Paris during the Revolution, responsible for administering the city and playing a key role in revolutionary events.

(14) Montagnard Convention: The left-wing faction of the National Convention, dominated by Jacobins, which held power during the Revolution’s most radical phase and implemented the Reign of Terror.

(15) Sorbonne: Founded in the 13th century by Robert de Sorbon as a theological college, the Sorbonne evolved into one of Europe’s most respected centres for higher learning, particularly known for theology, philosophy, and the liberal arts. It was closed during the Revolution due to anti-clerical reforms.

(16) Louis-Le-Grand: A prestigious secondary school in Paris, temporarily renamed École Égalité during the Revolution. Notable alumni include Maximilien Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins.

(17) Joseph Barra: A young soldier killed in 1793 during the War in the Vendée, whose death was used as revolutionary propaganda to inspire loyalty and martyrdom among French youth.

(18) Civil Constitution of the Clergy: A 1790 law that brought the Catholic Church in France under state control, requiring clergy to swear allegiance to the government. This split Catholics between “constitutional” and “refractory” priests, heightening religious tensions.

(19) Joseph Chalier: A revolutionary leader in Lyon who supported radical policies. He was executed in 1793 after attempting to enforce these policies, later becoming a martyr for the revolutionary cause.

[megs-1800]

Then There is Hope

Note: This is Part 2 of "The Hangover from Hell". You do not need to read the first part though to understand this storey. This is written from Mason POV too. Requests are open.

You can read Part 1 here

Part 3

Summary: You and Mason have not spoken in 6 months after your break up. When he sees that you have a charity awards event coming up he jumps at the chance to see you. Can Mason win you back? Is there still hope for you both yet?

Pairing: Mason Mount x reader

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Swearing, Angst and Fluff

It’s been 7 months since you found out about what I did, how I broke this relationship. And it’s been 6 months since you officially called it and I still feel as broken as I did that first night you left. The first couple of weeks when you first walked out were okay, you were staying at Declan’s and he made sure to send me daily updates on how you were doing. Mostly they were saying how you haven’t left the bedroom and you looked like a zombie, it broke me knowing that someone who was always full of light and happiness is so broken, especially as I was the one who caused it. To be honest I wasn’t much better unless I was going to training I was would just stay at home wallowing in my own self-pity and even when I went to training my head wasn’t even in it which the gaffer noticed so I was also dropped for starting most games which didn’t help the situation. But it was my fault, I broke us. I just wish I could go back.

After 4 weeks you asked to meet up as you made a decision. I was praying that you would give us another chance, I doubted it as you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts the past 4 weeks but I just had to hope. But you shattered my heart when you told me you were moving back to your hometown. You said you got the promotion you wanted and needed to be closer to the office as you were now head of operations, the service was yours and you needed to be around more, I was so proud of you but knowing you were 3 hours away breaks me. You are moving back into the flat you were living in when we first met. You and your ex originally rented it but when you broke up and he moved out you were struggling to afford it on your own but you loved it so much you didn’t want to give it up, so I contacted your landlord and brought the flat for you. You were fuming and insisted on paying me rent but of course I never took it, I laugh about this memory of us. When you moved in with me, we rented it out and we kept the rent money for savings. I told you we didn’t need the savings but it was like you knew. At least I know you won’t need to worry about money for a little while.

I was stalking your socials for the past 6 months to see how you were getting on. You look like you were smashing life, I felt like a bit of a stalker but I had to know you were okay and succeeding like I always knew you would. When I saw that your company was up for the “Most Impactful Charity” award I had to be at this charity event. I spoke to my agent and they thought it would be an amazing idea, always great exposure being at a charity event. I talked Declan and some of the other boys to come with me so I didn’t need to make the trip on my own. That’s it I am going to see y/n.

The charity event is packed there must easily be over 150 people here. It’s gonna be a nightmare trying to find you. I spend the first hour taking photos and signing autographs and talking to others on our table. That’s when I look up and I see you, you looked absolutely drop dead gorgeous. You wore a long black maxi dress with a trail with gold specks throughout it. Your hair a lot blonder now and you let it grow longer, you had it curled, you know how much I loved your hair curled. You were all glammed up, had your lashes and nails down. You looked completely breathtaking. How am I going to find the courage to speak to you when you look like that? I am now not even listening to what the boys are saying my whole focus is on you, I love how you are laughing and joking with your team. You must be slightly drunk as you were always more sociable when you had a couple of drinks and you were definitely acting with a lot of confidence. That’s when Declan pulled me out of my trance. “Bro are you even listening to me?” I look at him I have no idea what he even said. He looks into the direction I am staring and then sees you. “Oh so this is the reason you wanted to drive 3 hours for a charity event, makes a lot of sense now!” “Come on Dec I need to try, I gotta talk to her man”. He looks at me with pity, I hate it. “Don’t you think if she wanted to talk to you she would of returned your 100s of phone calls and text messages you have left in the last 6 months”. I know he is right but I just cannot give up on you yet. “Just be careful alright Mase. I know it was your fault and you were the one who cheated but it broke you loosing y/n and I don’t want you going through that again”. I know he was right I just need to try.

The awards went well but I starting to get bored I just wanted it to finish so I could speak to you, that’s when your category came on. “Most Impactful Charity”. When they read out your companies name I was so proud, seeing your whole table erupt in applause and seeing that smile on your face was worth making the 3 hour drive. Even if I don’t get to speak to you, seeing that smile again for the first time in what feels like forever was so worth it. You dedicated the whole speech to the hard work your team did, eventhough I know it was the fact you probably worked until midnight every night but you were so humble and would never take recognition. You always put others first which is a trait I love about you.

After all the awards had been read out I could see your co worker signal for you to go outside. She was short with red hair, I think her name was Kelly but now I wish I paid more attention when you spoke to me about your team. I gave it a couple of mins then excused myself from the table. Declan mouthed a good luck as he knew exactly what I was doing.

As I walked outside I saw you and Kelly in conversation smoking a cigarette. You knew I always hated the habit, but you only smoked when you were stressed or drunk and you didn’t seem very stressed right now so must be drunk (which could be either very good or very bad for me right now). As I approach Kelly is the first to speak “OMG you are Mason Mount!” I laugh how she is pointing out the obvious. You look at me in pure shock, you look like you just seen a ghost as you are quickly putting out the fag to hide it from me. Kelly speaks again “my sons are your biggest fans they always supported Chelsea but when you moved to Man United they suddenly had to move teams” I laugh at that it’s always nice to hear about fans. “Could I please have an autograph for them they would like literally die”. As I nod you then suddenly run into the reception area to grab paper and a pen, being careful not to trip on your dress as you stumble, you definitely had one too many to drink tonight.

I signed the paper, and then you say to Kelly “did you want a picture?” Kelly turns to me to confirm which I nod and she passes y/n the phone. “Smile for the camera” you say. I am not smiling for the camera I am smiling for you. Kelly then turns to you “did you want a picture?” We both make a little laugh at that as she is so unaware of the events that had occurred between us. I turn to you and asked “have you got a minute?” Kelly looks between you both and excuses herself and thanked me for the autograph and picture. Your work didn’t know about our relationship you liked to keep things secret because apparently they are a massive gossip. Well Kelly is definitely going back to that table and gossiping she knows something is going on.

Now we are alone we both stand there staring at eachother. I have had planned for the last 6 months what I would say and now I am here I am mute. Nothing is coming out. All I can say is “you look incredible”. You blush and make that small smile that I love. “You don’t look too bad yourself Mr Mount” like you are trying to play casual. I can tell you are trying to be careful with this conversation. “Congratulations on the promotion and the award I knew you would be destined for great things, I am so proud of you”. You again say a little thank you and not replying much, I was about to give up on the conversation when you turned around and asked “ how’s your family doing?” I gave you a warm smile “they are good. Don’t get me wrong they still pissed with me, they miss you so much. They hate what I did to you. Mum says you still need to pop down and see her sometime she said she misses your baking”. You are smiling I can tell you are replying the memory of bringing the items you would bake anytime we would see my family and how much they would love it.

At this point Declan comes outside, I don’t even know how long we have been out here for. You looked shocked at seeing Declan, but your eyes light up and you give him the biggest hug. He got a better reception than me, but I guess I deserved that. “How’s things going?” You asked him, “I keep saying to Lauren I need to come down and see you guys soon, sorry work has just been manic at the moment”. Declan shakes his head and says “don’t worry about it if I knew you would be here tonight then I would have brought Lauren but unfortunately Mason decided to leave that part out. I just came out to make sure you haven’t killed him. I will leave you both to it”. At that Declan gives you a hug and kiss on the cheek and walks back inside. God I would give anything for that hug and kiss.

You were next to talk now “you knew I was going to be here? Why would you drive all the way down here Mason?”. I hated that you used my full name, “I had to talk to you, I had to see how you were doing. I saw the opportunity and I took it”. I can see you are trying to hold it together, I can see the tears starting to well up in your eyes. “I know I fucked up y/n and I know you probably will never ever forgive me but we haven’t spoken in 6 months I needed to speak to you.. so now I am here….” My head went blank everything I have been planning to say my mouth just cannot say it. Damn it I had this whole ‘winning you back speech’ and now I cannot remember it. “I needed to say your beautiful”. You looked down and laughed “you drove 3 hours and sat through a 2 hour rewards ceremony to tell me I am beautiful?”. “I had more just you are making me nervous standing there looking like that.. I guess all I can say is I love you y/n”.

You look at me with sadness in your eyes, I can feel my heart hurting when your eyes look like that. Your next actions shocked me. You walked all the way over to me, very clumsily I may add. You held your hands in mine, you were so close I could smell the alcohol and tabacoo on your breath. My heart was pounding in my chest it felt like it would rip out. You place the longest kiss on my cheek. I didn’t want it to end. You look me dead in my eyes, hands still in mine. “I will always love you Mase no matter what”. You called me Mase do I still have a chance? “But you broke me, you did the worst thing you could ever do to me and didn’t even have the balls to tell me the truth I had to find out the way I did. It was shit Mase, if I did that to you how would you feel?” It was a rhetorical question we both knew I would of kicked up a storm, probably go find the man you slept well and god knows what. My blood boiled just thinking about it. Maybe I don’t have a chance?

“You said you love me?” I asked now so confused about your feelings. “Yes Mase I always will but getting over you was the hardest thing I ever had to do.” I can see you starting to break. One tear slipped down your cheek and you have now let go of my hands and walked back to your previous position. “Look I really cannot do this right now, tonight is suppose to be a good night I don’t need you to ruin it, I spent enough nights crying over you”. There you go my heart shattered again. I don’t know what I expect to happen but this wasn’t it. I wanted you to run in my arms and tell me it will all be okay but deep down I knew in reality that was never gonna happen. You start to shiver due to the sudden drop in temperature outside, I look at you with concern. “Did you want my jacket?” I offer and start taking it off. You quickly shack your head and explain “I probably need to go back inside, my work are probably wondering well the hell I am” rubbing your arms to try and stay warm and try and give me that reassurance smile.

“Look after yourself Mase”, there is so much light in your eyes I just love you so much, you blow me a kiss and start to walk back inside. “Y/n wait!”. I shout as you turn around quickly. “We got a big game next weekend, like massive. Gaffer is finally letting me start after weeks of not even giving me game time. I could really do with my lucky charm?” I give you a little wink. You stand there still, I can see a 100 things are going on inside your head right now. “Look you don’t need to decide right now just promise me you will think about it” I reassure you. You give me that little smile back “I promise I will think about it Mase”.

Then you walk away, at least this time with your back to me walking in the opposite direction it’s different. This time there is hope.

[amateurasterism]

how you met him !

synopsis ; how strangers to lovers unfolds between you and the seventeen members.

pairing ; seventeen x gn!reader

notes ; fluff, strangers to lovers. tysm for all the love on the jeonghan fic!!<3 i may make some of these scenarios into actual fics idk

word count ; 2.7k (about 150-250 per member. i got kind of carried away for some lol)

choi seungcheol

getting stood up on a date was already bad enough, let alone the fact it was pouring rain and your dumbass didn’t think to bring an umbrella. you’re stranded three hours from home, soaking wet in front of the restaurant you just got stood up at when suddenly a car pulls up. the guy in the drivers seat is cute, so when he says his name is seungcheol and offers you a ride home, you can’t help but say yes and hop into the passengers seat, hoping he wasn’t some kind of kidnapper. luckily, he wasn’t, and drives you home safe. you figure the least you can do in payment of his soaked car is invite him over for dinner. sadly he has to leave after your impromptu date (that definitely made up for earlier), full of rosy cheeks and flirts, so you linger in your entryway and realize he forgot his coat that he lent you in the rain. hanging it up in a closet, you notice there’s a note in the pocket with his number on it, because of course you forgot to ask.

you’re a mess, ten minutes late for your daily cafe run before work. when you finally make it, beyond glad that you’re able to have your usual latte and croissant to fix your messy morning, you find a man standing at the register, about to buy the last of your usual croissant. panic spreads through your system as you see the cashier giving him the paper bag with the last croissant in it, running towards the man and explaining to him how it was your usual and you couldn’t function without it. you note his cup of coffee in his hand, jeonghan written on the side in sharpie. staring at you with the barest glint of mischief in his eyes, jeonghan buys it right in front of you with a mocking slide of his card through the card reader, only for him to then sit down at the closest table and beckon you over to sit at the chair across from him, the pastry already waiting for you at your offered seat.

joshua hong

joshua hong

mother’s day is just around the corner, which means joshua is getting flowers for his mom. this is his first time being back home for mothers day, so he will admit that walking into your florist shop has him a bit overwhelmed. of course you notice the cute guy who happened to stumble into your shop during the slower hours of the day, meaning it’s just you and him. you’ve been watching, a small smile on your face as he stares at the flowers draping the walls the shelves, occasionally touching one and taking a photo. he’s been at it for nearly ten minutes now, so you decide to help him, assuming the flowers are for his girlfriend and indirectly calling him cute (“i’m sure your girlfriend will appreciate anything, i mean, how could she not appreciate someone like you?”) he’s so quick to tells you the flowers are for his mom that you almost suspect it’s panic laid in his voice. at the end of the day, joshua ends up spending a lot of extra time at your florist shop as he stalled, just wanting to hear you talk about your passion for flowers. when he finally has to leave, he buys an extra bouquet of your favorite flowers and hands it to you with a note hidden inside one of the petals.

 wen junhui

today, you finally get to meet your co-star on the new romance drama you would be starring in. you decided to refrain from looking at his socials to give yourself a surprise, because why not? needless to say, you’re excited to see him, nearly bouncing on the couch of the meeting room. you find that you immediately regret decision when wen junhui walks through the doors because, fuck, you did not expect him to look like that. as if seeing him just standing there wasn’t enough to give you a heart attack, the universe decided to toy with you a little more. surely enough, you were not the slightest bit mentally prepared for the moment he walked to up to you and gave you the shyest, cutest, and somehow also hottest smile you’d ever seen. it did not help that his blonde bangs, perfectly outgrown to fall over his cheeks and tickle his neck and ears where you could see him turning pink. any words you could’ve thought to say dissolved on your tongue, and all you can manage to muster is “hi…” he lets out a chuckle that sounds better than your favorite song that makes you beam, and that pink tint you swear you’re imagining paints his cheeks even more. if only you knew his mutual panic, his mind scrambling on how to look cool but having the hardest time because how was he supposed to think straight when you were looking up at him with the most star struck look he’d ever seen. by the end of your months filming, the “i love yous” exchanged between your characters needed no acting behind them.

 kwon soonyoung

you’re filling in your free time by making money as a seat filler at award shows around south korea. your third gig is a kpop music awards show, which means you’re lucky enough to be paid to see talented groups perform and see idols receive awards live. currently, the lights on the stage are flashing bright hues of red and yellow as seventeen performs “hot”. to you, it was just another performance to watch until your eyes drift to a certain man who took center in the middle of the song and caught your attention since. you’re quick to notice how sharp yet fluid his dancing is, and for some reason you feel like you could watch him do it for hours. needless to say, you’re disappointed when seventeen wraps up their performance and disappears backstage. that is, until the thirteen empty seats next to you are suddenly filled five minutes later. you have the urge to pinch yourself in disbelief when the seat right next to you is filled by no other than the same cute guy you’d been eyeing during their performance. you look at his name tag that reads hoshi and debate on whether or not it would be awkward to strike conversation by congratulating him on his performance. but he makes the decision for you, and you wind up talking so much that you can’t help but feel a proud when seventeen wins the next award, and when he says his speech on the stage, he’s looking at you more than the actual award.

 jeon wonwoo

wonwoo and y/n. the biggest streamers on twitch, known to be side by side at the top of every leaderboard. the internet has a small theory that you two are definitely dating, but in truth, you two have never even seen one of each others streams before. when you are brought up for the fifth time in one of his streams, wonwoo finally gets curious enough to click on your channel after closing his stream. he might be going insane, but his heart definitely skipped a beat when he sees your little facecam at the top left corner of your latest stream. suddenly, he finds himself scrolling through all your social media accounts, something he’s never done to anyone before. let’s just say he’s a little more than excited when a message from you pops up on his screen, “so, when are we going to make those rumors true?”

 lee jihoon

going on a walk is jihoon’s favorite thing for getting lyrical inspiration, and today was no different. however, today he was having a particularly hard time gathering any words on his notes. that was until he suddenly heard a guitar in the distance. following the sounds, which he swears is one of the best melodies he’s heard, he stumbles across you sitting on a park bench strumming your guitar. there’s no tip hat laying around, meaning you’re not doing it for music, rather just for yourself. jihoon looks at you for a long while, a bit lost at the sight of you, then suddenly all those lost lyrics come running to the tip of his tongue, rushing to get out. there’s too much for his fingers and notes app to handle. you stop playing, and look up at him with a smile, beckoning him over and teasing him for staring. “i can see you staring, you know.”

 lee dokyeom

dokyeom wishes he could have a dog. so bad. but because of his idol life, he finds it unattainable. and he knows better than to adopt a dog that deserves better living conditions then that of his busy schedule. so to fill that empty gap, he visits the dog park every once in a while. today, he is instantly greeted by a dog running off its owner’s hand with its leash tagging behind it as it tangles itself all over him with a heap of excited jumps and licks. dokyeom is all the more happy to greet the dog with the same energy, petting its excited body. soon you, the owner, come running to him with apologies on behalf of your dog. even though he doesn’t really mind, you insist on helping him untangle himself. somewhere along the way the tension shifts and you turn your neck slightly to your faces are a little too close. suddenly, despite just meeting you, all dokyeom can think about is a life like this. you, him, and your dog.

 kim mingyu

mingyu has a talent for photography, and all his friends know that. when your camera broke, a scheming jeon wonwoo, your close friend, tells you that his best friend mingyu can help you out. you and mingyu are a bit skeptical when wonwoo sets you up in mingyu’s living room and ditches right after (“sorry, i forgot i have a date today.” since when did wonwoo, a lazy twitch streamer who hasn’t touched grass in a year, have a girlfriend? you wonder), but when you walk in with your broken camera, mingyu’s worries disappear. kicking him out of the fantasies that popped into his head when he first saw you, you head streat to work and show him your broken camera. he figures out that he has to look through some of your previous photos to get to the root of the problem. by some magic, he stumbles across a photo of you—which by the way was gorgeous and might’ve made him swoon for a bit—and finds himself in the background. he’s confused as to why you choke on your glass of water when he points it out with a smile, but little does he know that you’ve been looking for him, the cute guy in the background of your photo, for quite some time. no wonder he looked familiar.

 xu minghao

minghao tells his friends that he goes to the same cafe every morning simply because “their food is good!” but only he really knows it’s because of you, the pretty cashier. he refuses to actually talk to you though (out of nerves), and opts for drawing you in his notebook everyday. he’s content with that, because for some reason he finds that he could spend hours just watching you and perfecting every feature on your face onto the rough pages of his beloved sketchbook. today though, he decides it’s time to make a move. it starts off as a normal morning; he’s drawing a portrait of you that he plans to leave on the table with a note when he leaves. what he doesn’t notice is that from the counter, you’ve taken note of your crush’s recurring glances from the seat at the front windows. he’s so immersed in making your portrait that is isn’t until the next time he looks up that he realizes you’re missing. he panics for a second, thinking his plan all when down in shambles, until he turns around and sees you looking over his shoulder at the portrait, the biggest and prettiest smile on your lips as you tease him, ignoring the butterflies in your chest that emerge when you see how spot on and gorgeous the portrait is. is that pretty girl in the portrait really how he sees you?

 boo seungkwan

the day you decide to go on a solo karaoke date with yourself is coincidentally the same day the karaoke bar is absolutely booked. so much so that you aren’t able to get your own booth, but are offered to share one with another person. boo seungkwan, the sign up sheet says. you accept, figuring it can’t be that bad, and fortunately you happen to be right. you step into the booth and are surprised to see a cute guy singing his heart out to “love dive” by ive. he’s even jumping a little and moving his hands along to the choreography; you can tell he knows it by heart. it’s endearing to stand and watch him having the time of his life, microphone chord slamming against the marble floor. a laugh you can’t suppress averts his attention from you to the screen, his face going pink at the sight of you. in the same moment, the tv displays his score as a whopping 48 which makes the two of you burst into laughter. he blames it on not being able to pronounce the english lines, and eases you into the booth by inviting you to a duet to boost his score. somehow, his funny facade from earlier has faded, and his vocal talent comes to shine in the love song you sing together. the lyrics feel a bit too real when you make eye contact during the song that lasts a little more than it should, and neither of you are truly surprised when the final score is 100.

 vernon chwe

vernon is back in new york, and is admittedly a bit lost. listen, it’s been a while. he’ll admit he got a bit too confident, reassuring his friends he didn’t need a ride home, but halfway through the walk he wound up in a street he doesn’t recall and has no idea which way to go. it doesn’t help that his phone is dead. but by some twist of fate, vernon turns a corner and slams into someone else. truthfully, it’s your fault, because you’re glued to your phone, too confident in yourself to really be paying attention because you had grown up in new york and the walk home was basically instinct for your legs at this point. both of you are profusely apologizing to each other, checking upon each other if you were both alright. luckily, nothing was ruined in the collision. except, maybe vernon’s ability to focus, because upon seeing you, every concern he had five seconds ago had vanished. you can see the lost expression in his eyes, and are more than willing to help this attractive guy to find his way back home. and maybe even tag along for dinner at his house too, as a thank you and possibly also because vernon decided that the thirty minutes you spent together looking for his house wasn’t enough for him. in fact, he decided that night that only forever would be enough between him and you.

 lee chan

you’ve just debuted as a background dancer for hybe, and your first gig is for seventeen in their upcoming awards performances. due to your recent recruit and a complication between background dancers, the performances are tomorrow and you’ve only been able to start practicing today. you’re an incredible dancer, which everyone in the practice room picked up the moment you started dancing, but you can’t pick up the last part of the choreography from your lack of practice and its level of difficulty. the practice just ended, jun, and soonyoung being the last ones to leave. they look at you and the only other person in the room as if to ask if you were leaving, but he just shakes his head. the two leave, leaving you and the guy you recognize as chan, alone. he approaches you and offers to teach you the part he’s noticed you can’t get a hang of, because of course he’d been staring at you since the moment you walked in. the moment you start practicing together, in the solitude of the empty practice room, the time goes by faster than ever and suddenly learning this part of the dance doesn’t seem so difficult anymore. especially when your private tutor was cute and was looking at you like that through the mirror.

one reblog = one stranger in your life that’ll turn into a lover

[allfryam]

freshman 200 (freshman 15 part 3)

today was Jakes first doctors visit since he started college. This didn’t bother Jake. He usually loved the doctor. The doctor would say how healthy he was and to keep doing whatever he was doing. Today was a little different however. When the doctor came into the room Jake was waiting in, a small look of terror washed over his face. “Uhh” he said. Let’s start with your height and weight.

Jake went to the height station first. “6’ 1’’. Said the doctor. That was the same as last time. Then Jake stepped onto the scale. Jake watched as the number slowly climbed. As it neared 150, he expected it to stop. It did not. The number on the scale climbed all the way to 267 pounds. The concerned doctor wrote the number down. Jake was just confused. Was every scale broken or something? The doctor took Jake back to the room and sat him down the chair struggled under Jakes immense weight. “So. What’s going on?” Asked the doctor. Jake was confused. “What do you mean?” Asked Jake. “Well. You’ve gained over 100 pounds Jake. Your BMI has gone from 20.3 to 35.2. That puts you in the obese category Jake” Jake was stunned. He knew he might have gained a few pounds but 100? How could this happen? The doctor did lots of other tests on Jake and to his surprise, Jake was perfectly healthy. His blood pressure, cholesterol and heart were still perfect. The doctor had never seen anything like it. He told Jake that he most likely wouldn’t even have to lose weight. Infact, the doctor wanted to see how far this could go. He told Jake he would give him some pills to help his appetite. Little did Jake know that these would make his appetite even larger.

for the last few months of school. It seemed like everyone was trying to make Jake fat. With his new pills, he was like a bottomless pit. Jake hadn’t been full in weeks. He would spend the whole day stuffing his face with whatever was in the fridge. He would order food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then he would invite people to his dorm to play video games. The only reason anyone would show up was to see Jake eat however. One time, Alex from down the hall brought over 10 large pizzas. This was like a snack to Jake. He would sit on his bed, completely naked, with a slice of pizza in each hand. Then he would tear through it like it was last meal. Sauce and cheese would coat his chubby face and grease would drip onto his round belly.

the scale in the form has broken a couple weeks ago when Jake tried to stand on it so he scheduled another doctors appointment. This time, the doctor looked quite happy to see Jake. They immediately went to check Jakes weight. 359 pounds. His BMI had grown to an enormous 47.6. The doctor inspected Jakes body. His smooth skin still didn’t have any stretch marks. It was fascinating. Jakes muscles had actually been stronger than ever. Lifting all of that fat was more than Jake had ever lifted. The doctor just examined Jakes body for an hour. He had Jake undress completely to get a better look. He rubbed jakes enormous belly and jiggles his giant moobs. His love handles were huge and spilled over Jakes wide hips. His thighs were the size of thick logs. Jake had even developed a third chin. “I think we need to put you on some stronger pills” said the doctor with an evil grin.

should I continue this story or create a new one? If you have any story ideas feel free to let me know.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: When is a man, not a man?

1986

The elecampane was easy to find, but for the hawthorn less so. You had to spend the next day’s afternoon driving around Indiana looking for a store that might sell it. Eventually, a herbalist gave you the address of an off-the-grid botanist. They had all sorts of non-native species.

She had invited you into her house. “A witch is always welcome.”

You didn’t ask how she knew and she didn’t tell you. With hawthorn berries and spikes in hand, you drove back to Hawkins, arriving too late to cast any spell other than slumber. The bat would have to wait one more day.

The sun had barely begun to warm when the bat climbed onto your head and nipped at the tips of your ears. He wouldn’t be stopped, your attempts to swat him away failing.

“Alright, alright,” you said to him, sitting up. He flew circles around the room, then headed out the bedroom door and disappeared into the trailer.

The bat chittered at you as you started a fresh brew of coffee. “No,” you warned him, finger pointed like you were scolding a child. “Coffee first. Then witchcraft. They’re the rules.”

Coffee, a piece of toast, and you got to work.

“I’m kind of… winging it here,” you explained to the bat as you squashed hawthorn berries and elecampane petals with your mortar and pestle. “This has to have a healing base, because that’s where my strength is. And I’m going to try to tailor it to both animal and human… Since we don’t really know what you are.”

The bat had sat on your shoulder, his apparent favourite place.

“But we also need the magic to see the truth… In this case, the truth of what you are. Which is why we have these.” A small mirrored circular plate and a piece of sodalite.

“The hardest part is the spell itself, the words. But like Kelsey said, if our intention is set, then you know, we should be okay.” It was reassurance for the bat, but it helped you to say it out loud too, like a good luck omen.  

With the petals and berries, you mixed in a drop of witch’s blood harvested through the hawthorn plant’s sharpest thorn, some dried four-leaf-clovers for luck, moon water, honey, and some of the bat’s fur.

On the carpet of the trailer, you painted a devil’s trap. “Sorry,” you offered to the bat. “If this works too well, and it turns out you’re a demon that should not have been turned back, I need a safety net.”

At each point of the trap’s pentagram, you placed a candle. In the center, the small mirror. You took the potion and tinted the mirror’s surface, covering it entirely.

“You’re up,” you instructed. The bat glided down from his fridge-top perch onto the mirror. “Hold this.” His little claws curled around the sodalite.

You closed your eyes, focused your energy.

“Hear now the words of this witch,

secrets hidden in the night.

The oldest of Gods are evoked here;

the great work of magic is sought.

On this day and in this hour,

I call upon the ancient power.

The truth of this life is to be revealed,

And let the damage be healed.

So shall it be.”

You opened your eyes and gently pushed the bat backward off the mirror, but not out of the circle. As you wiped the potion off the surface, you repeated the final line of the spell twice more.

“So shall it be.

So shall it be.”

With trepidation, you closed your eyes again and in unsteady hands, you flipped the mirror so the bat’s image would be reflected at himself.

Only a second of silence, maybe less than, before a sharp and loud intake of breath forced your eyes open.

The bat was gone.

In his place, a man with pitch black eyes and wild waves of hair. He looked terrified. Disorientated.

You stared at each other and as you parted your lips to speak, his eyes darted to the door and he leaped for it.

“Wait!” you called after him. You followed him out the door but he was gone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He couldn’t have gone far, you figured. He was naked and the trailer park was still packed with people.

You ran up and down roads and weaved between RVs. There was not only no sign of him but no sign that anybody else had seen him either. The surrounding woods were quiet and still. It was like the man had vanished into thin air.

When your search failed, you took to your car and spent a second hour looking for him. The only thing keeping you from all out panic was the fact that the man was not a demon; he’d passed through the devil's trap easily. At least you’d not brought more death and destruction to the town of Hawkins.

As you drove back to Forest Hills, you considered calling Kelsey and telling her your spell had worked. There was a nagging thought in the back of your mind though. Small but itchy. Whatever happened to the bat and the man, it wasn’t over. The circle had not come full.

…

The first thing he felt was hunger. Agony. Then he bolted and the sunlight outside your trailer burned. He moved too quickly for anyone to see, but he didn’t go far. He crawled under the trailer through a path cleared by raccoons and other animals.

It was dark but not enough. He dug at the dirt with clawed fingers, pushing the soil until he could burrow in and curl up. Motionless for hours, he searched his mind for any sort of explanation or sense of identity. There was nothing.

He didn’t know who he was. What he was. Vaguely, where. The same place he’d watched for all those years. When he was different. Smaller.

When the sun fell low in the sky, an old opossum trotted under your trailer. The man, entirely still, could hear its heartbeat. He listened as the animal sniffed around, its hairs bristling at the smell of raccoons. The opossum didn’t know it had been grabbed. The man moved too fast, breaking its bones and ripping it open to slurp at the blood inside.

He’d not been that kind of bat. He scared himself, his eyes wide as he looked down at the carnage. After, he crawled back into his hole, fated to repeat the murder with any living thing that found its way under the trailer.

…

“What were you doing yesterday, running around like a chicken with its head cut off?”

One of your neighbours was particularly… observant. When you got up first thing in the morning the next day, you did another lap of the trailer park. Still, no signs of the man. Just signs of you going mad, apparently.

“My, ah, cat… got out. Was looking for him,”

“Your cat?”

“My cat,”

“Michelle know you got a cat?”

“I don’t. Anymore.”

There was a three second stare-off, then you went on your way.

All day, while you helped make sandwiches and organise donations at Hawkins High, you half expected the man to show up. You kept glancing at the open doors, trying not to feel disappointed when it was a regular citizen looking for help.

It had been weeks since Vecna had opened the ground. Most people had either been moved to hospitals across the state and beyond, or had their smaller injuries attended to already. It left you with less healing to do, but your help was still welcomed.

Hawkins was through the worst of it, according to most people. You had to admit, it was calm. Perhaps too calm. You felt a sense of impending doom. Vecna would not go down without a fight, and you doubted the fight could be hidden from the townspeople entirely.

Still, you said nothing and did nothing. Healing Erica had already seen you cross a line. Maybe Hawkins was in the eye of the storm, but you couldn’t be the one to sound the alarm.

…

Scratching. Gentle at first, then claws against glass causing high pitch noises that made your body physically cringe. Awake, you sat and looked around the dark room. What time was it? Scratching. Scratching. Window.

The bat was at the window.

“What the fuck?” You hurried out of bed and pushed the window up, letting the creature into your house. “Are you…” When you opened your palms, he landed on them. It was most definitely him. “Fuck! Okay… Okay… Fuck.”

…

1836

“Those are not your apples,” you stated.

The boy spun on the spot, his hair whipping around. It was rare for anyone to sneak up on him. He grinned, all teeth and menace.

“Are they yours?” he countered.

Not a boy, you noted. A man. Young, but old enough to know better.

“No,”

“Then I won’t tell if you don’t.” He tossed the apple up in the air, catching it with ease. He put it in a sack that sat at his feet. There were a lot of things in there that were not his.

“I do not agree to that.”

He picked up the sack and slung it over his shoulder, moving closer to you. You stood your ground, entirely unafraid. Up close, the moonlight reflected in his eyes, which were as dark as the night sky itself.

“Then name your price,” he said, head falling lopsided dramatically, playfully.

The man was beautiful. Maybe, in all your years of living, he was the most beautiful human you’d seen. There was something about him. It wasn’t just that his beauty was disarming. His long hair was not common for men of the era. His skin looked soft too, like he came from royalty rather than the families that tended to the fields and fought in the wars.

It was when he took one more step toward you that you both figured it out.

The man’s easy expression dropped, a suspicious and cruel looking one taking its place. He made a hiss-like sound and let go of the sack of stolen things. He crouched low to the ground.

“Witch,” he spat.

You held your reaction in with far more grace than him. “Are you alone?” you asked him, voice measured.

He did not answer.

“Or, are there more of you?”

You took a step closer to him and leaned down to pick up an apple that had rolled from the sack. You took a bite without breaking eye contact. He stayed frozen to the spot as you chewed slowly and swallowed.

“My name is Amabel,” you told him. “And this land is not mine, but nor is it yours. My coven has dominion here. Make no mistake, we will protect this land. We will protect every human on it.”

The man’s eyes narrowed at the mention of humans. He stood, sure you weren’t offering violence in that first meeting.

“What was your name before? And what will it be after Amabel?” It was not what you were expecting him to say. “Is that not what you do?” he continued. “Live among the humans, love them, watch them die, then start all over again?” You couldn’t tell if he was taunting you or genuinely asking. His tone was far more disarming than his beauty had been. “Do you not feel alone?”

Your lips parted and your eyes glassed over. He’d trapped you in a truth and to what end, you didn’t know.

A dog’s bark cut through the silence, and you briefly looked out beyond the apple orchard, then back. He was gone.

…

1986

“So shall it be.

So shall it be.

So shall it be.”

If the spell worked a second time, it would likely be of short-term effect yet again. You said as much to the bat, but as he returned on his own, you drew the conclusion he was still looking for help. The spell a second time was all you could offer immediately.

As you held the mirror up, eyes closed, you whispered, “Please don’t run. Please.”

All was silent. You were almost too scared to open your eyes, but you’d not heard the trailer door slam. He was still there.

You both searched each other’s eyes for recognition or explanation or anything even vaguely familiar. Perfect strangers, you thought. Imperfect circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, still whispering. “I’m sorry it didn’t… work… completely. I can figure this out.”

The man said nothing, tearing his gaze from you to look around the trailer. You watched him for a few seconds more before standing. The man flinched at the movement.

“It’s okay! It’s okay. I’m going to get you something to wear.”

You didn’t have a lot of spare clothes, but one of your old t-shirts would work, and some sweatpants that absolutely would not fit properly.

He was still sitting in the center of the devil’s trap when you walked back out from your bedroom. He took the clothes from your outstretched hands, and you hoped he knew what to do with them.

You turned to the kitchenette, pouring a glass of water with your back to him while he stood up and dressed.

You turned and held the glass out to him. He took it. He looked awkward, skittish. Very much like a bat turned human. Fascinated at his general weirdness, you watched him take a sip and hold the water in his mouth. He looked panicked, yet he swallowed. Almost immediately he started to cough, then he threw the water back up onto your kitchen floor.

“It’s okay,” you tried to reassure him. He was staring down at the liquid, brows pulled together.

In the two seconds it took to grab a cloth from the kitchen sink, the man was gone. The trailer door swung wide open.

You sighed but decided to not go after him. All in all, you considered what happened as progress.

…

The smell was putrid. It seemed both obscene and histrionic to have piled all the corpses in the middle of the road.

For two days in a row, dead raccoons, opossums, cats, and dogs had been found. They’d been attacked, but not really eaten. The residents and guests of Forest Hills were concerned. They were already dealing with so much, and now a rabid animal?

You stood with a few neighbours, watching Michelle boss around a couple of teenage boys, making them find all the corpses.

“Lot of them under your trailer,” she’d said, nodding at you.

“Under it?”

“Yep. Got it boarded up but the little bastards always find a way under there. Lot of room between the trailer and the ground. You don’t hear them?”

You shook your head.

Michelle shrugged. “I’ll get one of the boys to come patch the holes.”

When you’d conversed with neighbours about the horror of it all for an appropriate amount of time, you excused yourself and hurried to inspect your trailer. Around the back, behind some trash cans, you found the hole.

On your hands and knees, you peered into the crawl space. Sitting in the dirt and mud were some clothes. You didn’t need to go any further to know they were yours.

There was a word on the tip of your tongue but you didn’t dare speak it because it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t a demon, but maybe…

No. No, they had been eradicated. The species itself extinct. You’d had a hand in it yourself. There was simply no way.

Back inside your trailer, you paced from the bedroom to the lounge and back again.

Why were you in Hawkins?

What had been calling you there?

A wounded creature?

An enemy in disguise?

Had it all been a trap? A trick. A rouse to bring back the only thing you’d ever truly feared.

You cycled through options. Call Kelsey. Automatic writing to seek guidance from The Witches Who Came Before. Bite the metaphorical bullet and tell your coven what exactly you had done. Run away from Hawkins and pretend none of it had happened.

Sitting on the couch you buried your face in your hands.

No. No, you would not run. You would stay on the path you'd chosen for yourself. You would see this thing through. If a group of children could fight an impossible battle somewhere in an Upside Down Hawkins, you could right this wrong. Whatever that meant.

End Note: Don't forget to visit the Grimoire and timeline! I am so excited to bring you to the 1836 events...

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All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl

[renecdote]

how about "this reminded me of you" if it sparks? <3

Hi Kate ily I hope you don't mind that I took some creative liberties with the dialogue here <3 It also got way longer than expected oops so enjoy 4.4k of these two being ridiculously in love.

Also for @starlingbite who requested the same prompt.

[Read on AO3]

The package shows up on the doorstep on Wednesday afternoon. Eddie is supposed to be at work—the last shift in the cycle before their four days off—but instead he kissed Buck goodbye at the door, made him promise not to do anything too dangerous, then stayed home to look after his sick kid. He’s expecting groceries when the doorbell rings just after five p.m., not the lumpy grey package left by a USPS driver who is already climbing into his truck and driving away.

Eddie skims the label as he shuts the door—sent to: Evan Buckley; description: boyfriend hoodie—curious because he doesn’t remember Buck mentioning anything he ordered recently. He doesn’t open it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He pulls out his phone instead and types boyfriend hoodie into the search bar, only hesitating a moment before he hits enter. A dozen links pop up, but none of them are all that enlightening. Eddie is left with no clearer idea of what a boyfriend hoodie is and a vague disgust at how expensive they are to buy. He’s pretty sure that if Buck ever put together a budgeting spreadsheet it would look something like:

Food $200

Data $150

Rent $800

Hoodies $3,600

Utility $150

And Eddie knows he’s so, so far gone for his boyfriend. He knows he has been for a long time. But damn he’s got it bad because he knows that if Buck put a budget like that in front of him, he’d never be able to talk him out of spending a fortune on all his cosy, tempting hoodies.

The doorbell rings again, cutting into his thoughts, and Eddie leaves the package on the dining table to collect his groceries. Milk and eggs and the deli bacon Buck likes go in the fridge, oranges in the fruit bowl, crackers and pedialyte left on the table, everything else in the pantry. He checks on Chris—sleeping, no warmer than he was an hour ago when Eddie brushes a hand over his forehead—and somewhere between folding laundry and ladling chicken soup into a cup, the mystery of the package slips to the back of his mind.

****

Buck tries to sneak in when he gets home, but Eddie is dozing on the couch, half awake in case Chris needs him, and he hears the rumble of the Jeep’s engine before the door is unlocked.

“Hey,” he greets sleepily, “you’re early.”

He’s not really: it’s twenty past eight. Eddie is just so used to calls taking them overtime, or lingering in the station at the end of a shift, or the hell beast that is LA traffic in the mornings. Their shifts end at eight, but he rarely sees the inside of his house any earlier than eight forty-five.

“Hey,” Buck echoes, yawning. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

Eddie shakes his head, swallowing back his own yawn. “Nah, I’ve been up for a while.” Sort of up, anyway. “How was work?”

“Busy,” Buck answers. “I missed you.”

He looks tired, which means he probably didn’t get much sleep in the bunks. Hard to tell whether that was because of the busy or the I missed you though.

“How’s Chris?” he asks before Eddie can question him further. “Is he feeling any better?”

It hits Eddie sometimes, in the moments he least expects it, that he’s been coparenting with his best friend for far longer than either of them realised. Buck letting himself into the house, asking how Chris is when he’s been sick—none of it feels new. They could have had this conversation just as easily three years ago as they are today. The only difference is that now, after Eddie has reassured his partner that Chris seems to be on the upswing, he can tip his head back against the couch and Buck will lean down and kiss him; first on the forehead, then, when Eddie pouts upside down at him, on the lips.

“Hi,” he murmurs, eyes crinkling with his smile, and Eddie can’t help smiling back at him.

“Hi,” he echoes. Thinks: I missed you too.

Buck starts to straighten up and—it’s fine, he’s not going to go far, but—a sound of protest catches in Eddie’s throat and he reaches up and snags his boyfriend by the hoodie string and—

Oh. The hoodie!

“You got mail,” he blurts, sitting up so fast he almost smacks Buck in the head.

“Mail…? Oh!” Buck’s eyes light up as he grabs the package. “I didn’t think this would be here until next week.”

“You bought another hoodie?” Eddie asks, trying to sound casual and probably failing. He hopes it’s a nice blue that will bring out Buck’s eyes. Or the kind of pink that makes his lips pop. Or that burnt orange he looks so good in. Or green, or white, or maroon, or purple. He’s pretty sure Buck doesn’t own a purple hoodie yet.

“Actually,” Buck is already ripping open the packaging, his grin bright and unrestrained, “this one is for you.”

Eddie frowns, confused. Why? he almost asks. We both know I’d just steal it from you anyway. And then Buck gets the hoodie out of its packaging inside the packaging (Eddie mourns the environment) and holds it up, the material unfolding to show a grey-blue hoodie that says I stole this from my boyfriend on the front. He blinks. Reads it again.

“Doesn’t it defeat the whole purpose if it’s for me? I mean, if you give it to me, I didn’t really steal it from my boyfriend, did I?”

Buck rolls his eyes, but his grin hasn’t faltered. “I can wear it a few times first, if that helps.”

“I think you should,” Eddie agrees, reaching out to run his fingers over the white letters. They’re embroidered, thread bumpy under his fingers, not the plastic feeling of writing that will flake off after a few too many washes, and when he dips his fingers under the hem, the inside is so soft and cosy he almost shivers just thinking about wearing it.

“Dad?”

They both turn—and Eddie’s heart thumps, a pain that doesn’t really hurt, at the way Buck responds just as easily—to find Christopher making his way towards them.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says. “How are you feeling?”

Christopher shrugs, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

Buck’s hand presses against Eddie’s shoulder just for a second—I’ve got it—and then he’s moving into the kitchen while Eddie fusses over Chris, checking his temperature and getting him settled on the couch and convincing him to try a piece of toast.

“Buck,” Christopher says between nibbling bites of toast, and Eddie watches Buck shake himself back to attention, the long shift starting to catch up with him. “Do you really need another hoodie?””

Buck blinks, slow and cat-like in his confusion, and then his face twists into such exaggerated affront that Eddie has to bite his cheek on a laugh. The packaging is still scattered on the dining table, the new hoodie hanging over the back of a chair, and Chris couldn’t have seen who it was addressed to, but he didn’t even question that it would be Buck.

“There’s no such thing as too many hoodies,” Buck tells Chris mock-seriously. Mostly mock, anyway; Eddie knows there’s a part of him that really believes there is no such thing as too many hoodies.

Christopher’s teeth poke out with his smile. “But we live in LA.”

“LA gets cold,” Buck insists, the same way he insists whenever anyone brings up his absurdly large jacket collection (“it’s not just me! why does no one ever talk about all Hen’s sweaters?”). He looks at Eddie for help, but Eddie just shrugs.

“Kid has a point,” he says, as if he doesn’t spend half his time stealing from his boyfriend’s side of the closet.

Buck grasps his chest in mock betrayal, but there’s a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

“Now I know you’re feeling better,” he says, tousling Christopher’s curls while Chris giggles and ducks away.

It’s overwhelming, sometimes, how much Eddie loves them both. His heart is doing that thing again, that hard thump that makes his breath catch, and when Buck glances at him—you okay?—he just shakes his head, smiling back: I love you, I’m okay.

Buck reaches out to take his hand, tangling their fingers together: I love you too. His eyes in the morning light are a pale, glittering blue and Eddie leans over and kisses him, just because he can.

****

Eddie has been expecting to be taken out by the germs from the moment Chris first pushed his food around his plate on Tuesday night and said he wasn’t hungry.

Somehow, it’s Buck who catches the bug next. He crashes for four hours while Eddie putters around doing housework, sleeps right through lunch, and when he wakes up in the afternoon, he’s achy and shivering.

“I’m okay,” he still tries to insist, slumped at the kitchen table while Eddie watches him warily, putting all the sandwich fillings that were offered and rejected back in the fridge. Christopher and Buck are more alike than they both know, their appetites always the first thing to go when something is wrong.

“You’re sick,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you’re denying it, it was bound to happen.”

Buck grumbles. “I was fine earlier.”

Eddie thinks back, tries to remember if he missed any sign, but Buck really did seem fine earlier. It doesn’t really reassure him; Chris seemed fine when they picked him up from school on Tuesday as well. 

“Go lie down,” he suggests. “The sooner you give in, the sooner you’ll be able to kick this bug.”

More grumbling, but Buck goes to lie down on the couch. Eddie mentally files that under feeling worse than he’s willing to admit. He stands by the table for a moment, listening to Buck and Chris through the open doorway (a muted “hey buddy,” and, “sorry I got you sick, Buck”), the sound of a cartoon explosion on the TV, a funny line of dialogue that should get twin laughs from the couch but doesn’t.

Definitely feeling bad, Eddie thinks, and it’s not like it’s the first time germs have been shared around between the three of them—he’s lost count of how many times they’ve huddled on that couch and taken care of each other—but it still makes his heart squeeze.

When he checks in on them fifteen minutes later, Christopher is fast asleep at one end of the couch and Buck is huddled under a blanket at the other, eyes closed but not sleeping. His face is flushed with fever heat, but even under the blanket, he’s shivering.

“Are you cold?” Eddie frowns, checking Buck’s temperature with the back of his hand.

Buck shrugs, lethargic. His face is half hidden by the blanket, but there’s a tight little scrunch between his brows that means he probably has a headache as well.

“Okay,” Eddie says, quiet. “Hang on.”

He heads for their bedroom, but the dryer beeps so he backtracks to the laundry instead. He pulls out the clean clothes, dumping them all in a basket to be dealt with later, then fishes out the new hoodie that he threw in with the load earlier. It’s warm in his hands, feeling even softer and cosier than it did coming out of the packaging.

“Here,” he says, smiling as he drops it in Buck’s lap. “The sooner you wear it, the sooner I can steal it.”

“You might not want to steal it if I throw up on it,” Buck mumbles, but he puts the hoodie on, struggling for a moment with the left sleeve before his head emerges, curls sticking up in every direction. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, then kisses the top of his head.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t throw up on the hoodie,” he agrees, “but I’d still love you.”

“You always love me.”

Buck blinks up at him, pale and miserable, and even after all these years there’s a persistent thread of wonder in his voice, like he can’t quite believe how much he is loved. Like he can’t quite believe that they made it back here, together, after everything. Eddie can’t blame him because he still can’t believe it sometimes too. He doesn’t know what to do except kiss Buck again, holding him close and hoping that some of his warmth will soak through the layers between them. Buck sinks against him, boneless, and Eddie thinks they could stay like that forever, just holding each other, until Buck pulls away with a low groan.

They spend a while on the bathroom floor after that.

“You’re going to get sick,” Buck tries to protest, but it’s half-hearted; getting sick has pretty much been an inevitability since Christopher brought the note home from school a week ago warning parents that the stomach flu was going around. Once Buck was taken out, it became a certainty. It’s not like Eddie is going to move out of their bed until the germs are gone, after all.

“I’ll risk it,” he says, rubbing Buck’s back. He’d risk a hell of a lot more than a virus for his partner, but it doesn’t feel like the time to say it.

Buck shakes his head, but it’s not really a denial, just, “You don’t want this, Eds.”

Eddie kind of wants to shake him sometimes. To take him by the shoulders and say: I want you, remember? all of you? But he’s pretty sure it would be labouring the wrong point, right now, and it doesn’t really matter anyway because Buck is scrambling to get his head over the toilet again and Eddie can only grimace sympathetically and rub his back. Buck is right: he doesn’t want this bug. But he does want Buck and Chris, so. Germs are a pretty small price to pay.

****

He tosses and turns, sleeping fitfully, and by three a.m. they’re both sick and miserable together.

“Is this what they mean by ‘in sickness and in health’?” Buck asks the ceiling, and Eddie’s sluggish brain has to think through that for a long moment before he remembers:

“We aren’t married.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Buck’s voice sounds far away. “Should we get married?”

Eddie thinks about that for a long moment too.

“Probably,” he decides. And then his stomach twists again and it doesn’t really matter if they’re married or not because he’s too busy throwing up to think about anything except how awful he feels.

****

When Eddie does steal the hoodie, it’s mostly an accident. He wakes up freezing, desperately thirsty, and when he staggers up in search of water, he grabs the hoodie that has been tossed onto the end of the bed without thinking about it. It’s already over his head before he realises that it’s the one Buck was wearing when they crawled into bed.

The next time he wakes up, he’s too warm, Buck a long line of heat pressed up against his back, and he has to wriggle free to wrestle the hoodie off again. It’s damp with fever sweat and he tosses it on the floor in disgust. He just did laundry yesterday, but he’s already thinking about how they’ll need to do it again.

“Okay?” Buck asks, still half asleep.

The answer is yes but also no, I feel like crap, and I hate how never-ending housework is, which is all too much to explain. Eddie just groans and buries his face in his pillow. A sound catches in Buck’s throat, something vague and sympathetic, and he slips a hand under Eddie’s t-shirt to rub his back. Eddie shivers, pressing back into him.

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t mean stop.

Buck shuffles a little closer and kisses the back of his neck: I’ve got you.

Eddie still feels awful, but he thinks he’ll feel a little less awful as long as he has Buck there rubbing his back. He knows this isn’t what either of them meant when they promised to have each other’s backs all those years ago, but it feels inevitable that they ended up here anyway. Buck’s hand moves over his skin, warm and solid and familiar, and Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.

****

The hoodie spends two days waiting for someone in the house to have enough energy to do another wash cycle, then three more days at the bottom of the laundry basket waiting to be folded and put away. Buck is the one who finally puts it in the closet, his hands moving restlessly when they get home from a busy shift, jittery from too much caffeine and too little sleep.

“I love you,” Eddie says when he pulls oven cleaner out from under the sink next, “but if you’re going to deep clean our whole house, I’m going to nap without you.”

He’s exhausted, slumped at the kitchen table because even sitting up feels too hard right now, and Buck’s energy is starting to make him a little dizzy. He doesn’t think twenty-four hour shifts used to be this exhausting, maybe he should be more worried about getting old?

“Twenty minutes,” Buck bargains, already reaching for a cloth to scrub the oven with. “I just want to do this and then I’ll join you.”

Eddie considers insisting—he knows Buck is just as exhausted as he is and if he lies down for ten seconds he’ll probably crash—but compromise is the foundation of all good relationships, or so Bobby keeps telling him. It’s a foundation, Eddie is willing to concede, but he’s pretty sure the foundation of all good relationships is trust.

“Twenty minutes,” he agrees. “I better not wake up alone, Buckley.”

Buck smiles, like he can see right through the faux-stern Buckley to the heartfelt honey underneath, and ducks in to kiss Eddie on the cheek on his way to the oven.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. “I promise.”

****

Eddie is out as soon as his head hits the pillow, so he doesn’t know if it is twenty minutes, but when he wakes up and rolls over, he finds Buck sprawled on the bed beside him, dark green hoodie rucked up around his waist, one leg sticking out from under the covers, breath whistling faintly between snores. He smiles and closes his eyes. Chris is at school, the house smells vaguely like lemon disinfectant, he’s warm and comfortable and they have nowhere important to be. He can spare five more minutes before getting up, he thinks.

Half an hour later, they’re still in bed, wrapped up around each other, and Eddie has forgotten why he ever wanted to get up at all.

****

“Uh, isn’t that supposed to be the other way around?” Chimney asks, pointing between them.

Eddie glances at Buck, I stole this from my boyfriend embroidered right over his heart.

“Looks fine to me,” he answers, shrugging.

Buck grins. “You think I look fine?”

Eddie opens his mouth, a dozen answers to that on his tongue, half of them straying dangerously close to NSFW, but Hen beats him to it was a drawn out, “Oookay, save it for when we don’t have to stand here and listen to your foreplay, boys.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks turning pink, but Buck is as unrepentant and shameless as always.

“You could stand somewhere else,” he suggests, and he’s laughing when Hen smacks him in the arm.

****

The hoodie is traded for an LAFD one instead, relegated to Buck’s locker for the duration of their shift. Eddie isn’t fussy; he’s just as happy to watch the LAFD material stretch over Buck’s arms and chest and broad shoulders as he is any other kind of clothing.

Buck goes home with the hoodie tucked into his bag the next morning, but somewhere between walking in the front door and leaning against each other in the kitchen while the coffee maker works its magic, Eddie ends up wearing it. It’s like wearing a hug, he thinks, but that might be the way Buck’s arms are wrapped around his waist as well, a solid wall of heat at his back. Eddie doesn’t want to step away when the coffee machine beeps, but the lure of caffeine is strong enough to get him one step, two, three, cold as soon as his partner’s arms are no longer around him.

“Thanks,” Buck murmurs when Eddie hands him a mug.

Eddie kisses him, a quick peck on the lips, you’re welcome, and Buck catches him by one hoodie string to kiss him again when he starts to step away. The coffee mug in his hand dips and Eddie takes it from him, setting it aside without looking. The space the movement put between them is only there for a second before Buck hooks his hands in the hoodie pouch to pull Eddie closer, deepening the kiss.

“Have I told you lately,” he says between kisses, “that I love when you wear my clothes?”

Eddie hums, busy working his hands under the hem of Buck’s shirt so he can touch as much warm skin as possible. It takes him longer than it ordinarily would to string together the words to say, “I thought you bought this hoodie for me?”

“I bought it because it reminded me of you,” Buck agrees, his own hands under Eddie’s hem now, hot enough to brand everywhere he touches, “but you’re the one who said it doesn’t make sense unless it’s my hoodie.”

“And you said you’d just wear it a few times first,” Eddie reminds him, distracted enough now to frown, hands stilling on Buck’s waist. “Hang on, are you trying to steal my hoodie?”

Buck’s next kiss is more like a bite, teeth nipping under Eddie’s jaw; the promise of a mark that will sit just above where the hoodie might cover it.

“Right now,” he says, the same kind of promise in his voice, “I’m just trying to get you out of it.”

Eddie is more than happy to help with that. He lets Buck take him by the hand and pull him down the hall towards the bedroom, coffee forgotten on the counter, hoodie tugged off and quickly forgotten on the floor. Buck lips press against his skin right over this heart, right where the embroidered words would be, and Eddie feels like there is a mirror image of them etched into the beating muscle beneath his skin: my boyfriend stole this from me. He would have given it—has given it, a dozen times over—but every time he reached into his chest, he found Buck’s name already there.

I love you, Buck presses into his skin with his lips.

And Eddie holds him close and kisses it right back: I love you, I love you, I love you.

****

“Our hoodie.”

“Huh?”

Buck pushes himself up on his elbow and Eddie blinks up at him, his brain still feeling a little melt-y.

“It can be our hoodie,” Buck says, idly tracing a pattern over Eddie’s ribs, just because he can.

“Like a timeshare?” Eddie asks, musing, the start of a smile breaking through. “You steal it this week and I’ll steal it next week?”

Buck flicks him and Eddie grins.

“I take it back,” Buck says, rolling away onto his back. “It’s my hoodie now.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to push himself up on an elbow, going far enough to lean over Buck and kiss him, cradling his face in one hand. It’s just supposed to be one kiss, but Buck kisses back readily, arms wrapping around Eddie’s back, and it’s easy to lose themselves in it after that, the thread of conversation unravelling as they make out.

“Okay,” Eddie says eventually, the word quiet and breathy in the space between them. “Our hoodie.”

It gives him a thrill, the same way it always does, whenever he refers to the two of them as an our. Our home, our family, our hoodie.

Buck’s smile is a brilliant thing. It burrows in through bone and blood and tissue to reach the heart underneath, making itself at home.

“I love you,” he says, so sincere Eddie feels it in his chest.

“I love you too,” he replies, punctuated with a kiss. “You know Hen and Chimney are going to give us so much shit about this hoodie for the rest of our lives, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Buck agrees. “Maddie too. Don’t tell Chris, but she thinks I already own too many hoodies as well.”

Eddie laughs. God, he’s so, so far gone for this man.

“She might have a point,” he says, but he’s pretty sure it just sounds like there’s no such thing as too many hoodies.

Buck rolls his eyes, still crinkled with his smile. “See if I ever buy you a hoodie again.”

It’s an empty threat. And it doesn’t really matter anyway because—

“That’s fine,” Eddie answers. “I’ll just steal yours.”

He can’t be sure, really, which happened first: that first stolen LAFD hoodie, or Buck stealing his heart. He tried once, wine drunk with Hen and Karen, to answer their question about when he knew he was in love, but the only answer that came to him was I’m pretty sure I loved Buck before I knew him.

“I don’t think it’s stealing if I let you,” Buck tells him.

“You’re going to let me, huh?”

“Yeah.” Buck nods. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but I kinda like it when you wear my clothes.”

Eddie grins. “I might have had some idea.”

The proof is on the bedroom floor, or whatever that saying is. He never did understand why it was always in the pudding. It’s on the bedroom floor, and in the way Buck is smiling at him, and in the laundry all mixed up in the basket. It’s the way Buck kisses him, soft and lingering, and the way Eddie’s heart thumps once, twice, a pain that doesn’t really hurt. It’s our home and our family and our hoodie. It’s I love you and I love you and I love you.

It's the fact that they’re here, together, despite everything. Because of everything.

It’s kissing Buck again, and again, and again. Just because he can.

****

(Eddie wonders—lets himself wonder, the way he doesn’t usually dare—how it might feel with a ring on his finger. He’s pretty sure it would feel just like this; like home.)

[kirschbluetenregen-ao3]

Fuji Hakone — Day 3 and 4

Okay, travelling is very exhausting and I didn’t manage to write down everything I wanted. But here I am, sharing some impressions of the National Park Fuji Hakone.

Fuji Hakone is actually quite huge. Last year we made a trip to Fujikawakuchiko, which I can also highly recommend and which is probably the most famous when you see pictures with Mount Fuji view.

This year we spent two nights near lake Ashi. I won’t speak about the absolutely horrible journey (to make it short: not noticing that we could have taken a train and instead chose a bus and a steep way over about 150 steps with all of our luggage was not the best decision). We stayed in a small guesthouse and the guys there were delighted I learn Japanese and could speak with them at least a bit. Our room was not, like expected, traditional Japanese with tatami mats. But nevertheless very cute. There were two Onsen in the basement and let me tell you, now I know why people in Black Clover like to take a bath so much! It’s so relaxing.

The first day we took the rope way up to a height of 1,044 metres. Eggs boiled in volcano steam were sold there and the smell of sulphur was almost too much. But at least they are prepared in case the Fuji gets angry and tell you to run into a building to be safe (to be honest, I don’t think you’re actually safe there, but at least they try 😂).

For the night I was wearing a yukata, and with this I want to share a quote from chapter 18 of “Embrace of Darkness”.

More. More. He wanted even more, although he knew that he should stop this right here and now. But he just couldn’t. Instead he made it even worse by grabbing her hips and lifting her up, just to press her down on the mattress and roll over her, his lips never leaving hers. They were a bundle of tangled limbs and searching hands. Her legs were captured in the fabric of her robe and they both tugged impatiently at it to get her free so he could take his place between her legs where he belonged for so long already. Finally his hands brushed over the naked skin of her thighs and her legs wrapped around him.

I can now say from experience: Sleeping in a yukata is not as comfortable as I imagined. Making Nacht and Ichika struggle like this is definitely understandable. My legs were always caught in the fabric. 😅

The second day we had enough time to go to lake Ashi. It’s a very nice place with beautiful nature that already gave me inspiration for the upcoming chapters of “Embrace of Brightness”.

Here another fitting quote from chapter 18 of “Embrace of Darkness”:

He really liked the idea of that. “Not yet. But I’ve thought about the best time to go. Spring is almost over so we missed the cherry blossoms and summer in Hino was always so hot with high humidity, it’s no fun to stay outside for long then. But autumn is very beautiful. I think you’ll like to see the momiji season. That time of the year the leaves will turn bright red and there are special illuminations and several festivals.” He got excited just by thinking about it and to spend time with Charlotte and Ichika in Hino.

As it’s still quite warm in Japan, the red leaves are still quite rare, but it’s now slowly starting and makes me very excited.

The shrine we visited here after making a trip with that boat is famous for tourists. That’s why we waited for over an hour to stand in front of this torii so we could take photos. I’m a huge fan of torii, they have made a huge impression on me, that’s why I now have a tattoo of one on my wrist.

In the afternoon we were also lucky the sky cleared up so we had a nice view of Fuji san. the chance to see it that day was only 40 %, so we were absolutely thrilled to have such a nice view. It’s very impressive, but also a bit sad that there was no snow at the peak.

In total, this stop was a beautiful impression of Japan’s nature. ❤️

[deimosphilic]

HEADCANONS | JAKE SULLY

paring : jake sully x gn!reader

authors note : cute little thing whilst i procrastinate my neytiri series. for dialogue: bold = jake, normal = you. also, italics = na’vi language. lowk suggestive on one hc.

word count : 557

request : yes | no

masterlist

⋆ when he was on earth, he had an obsession with ‘90s films. since he was born like 150 years after, the films probably never actually worked but the snippets he could watch, he LOVED.

⋆ when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about, he talks SO FAST. like not even a little fast, so fast that only certain people, (you), can understand him.

⋆ he’s deathly allergic to strawberries. he smells that shit and he’s dropping dead.

⋆ he loves patterns. you’ll will usually catch him just tracing your stripes.

⋆ he used to have a goldfish called joe. before it died because he forgot to feed it.

⋆ he has a genuine fear of ladybugs.

⋆ he can’t pronounce squirrel properly. no matter how much anyone teaches him, he’s always back to “screwel”.

⋆ he LOVES physical touch. like, no matter what, he’s always touching you in some way. whether that be on your waist, whilst exploring the forest. or, too close to where you want him whenever you’re doing something important.

⋆ his lucky number is 47.

⋆ his first tattoo was a knife, and skull. he eventually got it removed because he was embarrassed of it.

⋆ he gets embarrassed SO EASILY. but he’s so good at covering it up by being very cocky. you literally could never tell he’s embarrassed.

⋆ he HATES the colour green, and living in the forest enhances that. everyday he’ll manage to complain to you. either about the green vine he had to climb, or the green leaf he had to eat off of. he’s the biggest green hater.

⋆ he absolutely adores helping you design stuff for your loincloths you make yourself. whether he asks you to weave his initials into it or he’ll pick out ‘cool rocks’ (as he says), and ask you to put them on your waistband.

⋆ even though he’s terrible at it, he loves doing your hair. he’ll make you sit down in front of him, and guide him through the whole process. you end up having to take down the braids because of how bad they are. at least he tried his best, right?

⋆ he amazing at pointing out small details. he could point something, that you do subconsciously, out. you’d be shocked than he knows more about you than you know about yourself, per say.

⋆ thinks it’s hilarious to tell you that an insult in english means something nice in na’vi. especially since you didn’t attend grace’s school.

⋆ “you cocksucker.” “what does that mean?” “it means that your hair looks nice.”

⋆ very paranoid when it comes to eating something with bones in it. he’ll spend an hour picking out every single little bone if that’s what it takes.

⋆ hates dancing unless he’s drunk. as soon as there’s alcohol in his system he’s up, and boogieing.

⋆ claims he hates the gossip you bring him in the middle of the night, but the minute you stop talking he will force you to continue.

⋆ “and she kissed his friend-” *cue the longest pause* “why’d you stop?” “because you weren’t even listening.” “of course i was. now continue… please.”

⋆ is a conspiracy theorist. he could go on, and on for hours about every single conspiracy he has. AND YOU EAT IT UP EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

[veliseraptor]

flying across the country later this week so as usual it's time for a 150 WORDS MEME!!! send me a number (or up to three) and I'll write 150 words in that wip. annnnd go, excerpts under the cut (and you can find summaries for the fics here)

1. “I didn’t ask this of you!” Xingchen said. “That you would - sully your hands with demonic cultivation, bring back the person you hate most in the world, for my sake–” 

“You never got that you were the only one who really mattered, Daozhang,” said an all-too familiar voice behind him. Song Lan’s entire body seized up and he twisted around to see Xue Yang perched on the windowsill, his eyes fixed on Xingchen like there was nobody else in the room – in the world, maybe. Song Lan’s blood turned to ice. Xingchen’s mouth opened, his head lifting, but Song Lan couldn’t decipher the expression on his face.

“Xue Yang,” he said, his voice a trembling whisper. Xue Yang’s face broke into a smile, his eyes feverishly bright.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.” (Life After Death)

2. “So,” he said, and then realized he didn’t really know what to say next. Xue Yang watched him with a look of wide-eyed innocence that said he knew Xiao Xingchen was struggling and wasn’t going to help him. A spark of annoyance had Xiao Xingchen pressing his lips together.

“So what do you do when you’re not…”

“Getting scraped off the road by nice boys?” Xue Yang said with a crooked smile, and Xiao Xingchen’s face heated up a little.

“I assume that’s not how you spend most of your time.”

“Not usually, no,” Xue Yang said. “Maybe I should try it more often, though.” (Redux)

3. By the time they pulled up to the house Pete and Macau had apparently picked out, Vegas was exhausted, despite the fact that all he’d done was sit in a car for a half an hour. That was bad enough, but then the walk up a short flight of stairs to the front door left him out of breath and a little dizzy. He ended up leaning on Pete, the burning in his chest not just from what apparently counted as exertion now. 

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It’s okay,” Pete said soothingly. “The doctor said you’d get tired–”

“I know what the doctor fucking said,” Vegas snapped at him. “I didn’t think that meant ten stairs would be a problem.” His heart was beating very hard. What was he supposed to do? If riding in a car and a few stairs wiped him out like this–

Useless. Worthless. Pathetic. (post-canon vegaspete long(er) fic)

4. “Pete said the shootout happened around noon,” Vegas said. “By the time you told me, it’d been hours.” 

Porsche wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions, so his discomfort was obvious. “Well,” he said, “there was a lot going on, and–” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Porsche,” Vegas growled, interrupting. “You held off telling me what happened on purpose. Was that your idea or somebody else’s?” 

The fact that Porsche didn’t look happy just made Vegas angrier right now. If he at least had the grace to be smug and shitty about it then that would be something Vegas knew how to take, and how to deal with. (Undercut)

5. He realized that for all Xue Yang’s vicious words, he had never spoken in any detail of that time. There was his mention of a garden, his assertion that Xingchen had been happy, and that one brief goading allusion to a relationship that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Other than that…nothing. It would, he thought, be an easy weapon for Xue Yang to use against him, to rub Song Lan’s face in the knowledge of their – friendship, however false it had been. 

And yet there was silence there. That’s not yours, Xue Yang said, like memories were something he could hoard, possess, like a stolen sword or – or a piece of candy. (Walking Far From Home)

6. Nai had a strange look on his face, vaguely distressed but also like he was thinking very hard. “What was his name?”

Wolfwood opened his mouth on a lie but found himself saying, “Vash.” He filled his lungs with smoke and held his breath for a little while before letting it out, watching Nai closely. His expression looked like he was trying to remember something, and a chill went down Wolfwood’s spine. What happened if the old Knives suddenly just…woke up, like this, got all his memories back and…what would he do? What would he be able to do? 

But then Nai shook himself and squeezed his eyes closed. “Vash,” he said again, out loud. “And you’re Nicholas D. Wolfwood.” The way he said it was so careful and serious that it was hard not to crack a grin. This was all still too weird to actually follow through with it, though.

“Wolfwood works,” he said. 

“Why not Nicholas?” Nai asked, apparently genuinely curious. “Doesn’t sound as cool,” Wolfwood said, improvising instead of saying well for one thing it’d be really fucking weird for you specifically to call me that. If baby Knives got to calling him Nico that’d be it. (The Second Coming)

7. “Pain makes you snide,” Gabriel said. “But I would rather you not strain yourself anyways, my dear.” There was a towel over his arm and he carried a bowl and a pitcher of water. “Are you hungry?” 

Lymond’s eyes tracked his every movement, a falcon observing an eagle. “That depends. What price sustenance?” 

“No price,” Gabriel said. “And I shall take that for answer.” He shook his golden head. “I wish you would not insist on thinking so poorly of me when I simply seek to care for you in your time of need.” 

“Simply that,” Lymond said. “I see. And should I decline your gracious offer?” 

“I fear I cannot oblige,” Gabriel said. “How could I permit your self-destruction when I can prevent it?” 

“Quite easily, I should think,” Lymond said. (et ipsi sunt jacula)

8. “A month,” Xue Yang said. “You’ve got a month to impress me. I’ll leave your baby brother alone and you get to see him, once, before that time’s up. And you tell me everything. If I think you’re holding anything back I’ll have a fierce corpse tear you apart. Maybe it’ll even be your a-Ning.” His grin was full of teeth. “And if it works out then maybe we can keep it going. How’s that, Wen-daifu?”

“I don’t imagine I’m going to get anything better,” she said flatly.

“You won’t.” Xue Yang cracked his neck to one side and stretched his arms overhead. “All right, then. So what d’you have for me?”

Wen Qing kept herself from exhaling in relief. A terrible relief: it was a poisoned bargain, a pathetic shield, and right now all she had. Maybe by then…maybe by then things would be different. Jin Guangyao had said…

She couldn’t trust anyone’s word. Not here. 

Except, funnily enough, she thought she could trust Xue Yang’s. Whatever else he was, there was a strange kind of honesty in him. She didn’t doubt he could kill her without blinking and never think twice about it. But she thought he’d keep his promises. (fall apart, destroy, release)

9. Liu Mingyan was a problem. 

If she had to be fair (though Sha Hualing was not generally interested in being fair), she was less annoying than her brother, but that was setting a remarkably high bar, and she was more annoying to Sha Hualing specifically. As far as Sha Hualing could tell, Mingyan-guniang had made it her business to interfere with Sha Hualing’s business at every possible opportunity. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn’t turn around in the Human Realm without running into her, even when Sha Hualing wasn’t doing anything wrong. Or hadn’t done anything yet, anyway. 

Or at least hadn’t done anything Liu Mingyan could possibly know about. (under pressure)

10. “Don’t suppose you’d take these off now,” Xue Yang said, holding out his arms. “Seeing as we’ve got a common enemy.”

“No,” Song Lan said flatly. Xue Yang turned his eyes hopefully on Xiao Xingchen, who seemed like he might be a softer touch, but he seemed to be busy cleaning out the shallow wound that’d sliced open Song Lan’s left arm. Xue Yang suppressed his prickle of annoyance and held onto his smile.

“Really? I’m not your biggest problem anymore, Song-daozhang.”

“You’re still a problem,” Song Lan said. Xiao Xingchen raised his eyes briefly from Song Lan’s arm to his face, and then glanced toward Xue Yang. Xue Yang held in the urge to show his teeth, but Xiao Xingchen just turned his eyes back to the wound he was tending anyway. “Freeing you would make you a worse one. Turning the wolf loose when there’s a tiger hunting doesn’t give the hare a better chance.”

“Does that make you two rabbits?” Xue Yang said. (strangers once united)

11. “Why won’t it work, you mean?” Xue Yang said, and laughed. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Zichen.” 

Don’t call me that, Song Lan almost wrote, but he stopped himself. There was almost certainly no better way to ensure that Xue Yang called him nothing else. Instead he wrote, I would expect you to want to brag.

“Ha,” Xue Yang said. “What would be the point? It’s not like you’d be impressed. And you already know how good I am. Was.” His smile fell away a little, momentarily, and for a split second Song Lan saw him as he’d truly been when he died, hollowed out and exhausted, bloody and beaten even before Song Lan slid Fuxue between his ribs. “You are how good I was. My greatest creation. Even more than the Yin Tiger Seal. I just remade that, after all, but you were all mine.” 

Song Lan couldn’t actually vomit but the nausea was still overpowering. He gritted his teeth, controlling himself through the waves of hatred and disgust that rolled through him. (the poison in your bones)

12. “What is it?” Anders asked. “You’re upset.” 

Fenris bit his tongue on his first response and instead said, “I think you can agree that it hasn’t been a particularly good day.”

“Oh,” Anders said. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.” He paused. “Wait. Where’d all the Templars go?”

“To the Maker’s embrace, I suppose,” Fenris said. 

“They’re dead?” Pause, then, sounding a little disconcerted, “did I kill them?” 

“No, mage,” Fenris said, his patience running even shorter. “I killed them. Now shut up.”  If Anders were just a little shorter he would throw him over his shoulder. If he wanted to risk a brain injury that would incapacitate him even longer Fenris would knock him unconscious. Unfortunately, neither option was viable. 

“Oh,” Anders said. But thankfully, for once, he listened.

Or, as it turned out when Fenris turned his head to look at him, he’d just passed out again. (the best all lack conviction)

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Maximum Ride AU?

[This has elements of When the Wind Blows as well as Maximum Ride, because I know the original book a little better.]

• They look like six kids right now.  Six fun-loving kids out for a good time in the California fall, enjoying loaded fries and hot wings while crammed around a table at the sidewalk café.  They stand out, to be sure — they all have multicolored dye in their hair, Marco’s sporting a mohawk, Ax wears those wraparound sunglasses despite the cloudy day, and of course there are the bulky windbreakers slung over all their shoulders.  But they only stand out enough to get a second glance, not a third.

Don’t give them a third look.  They’ll notice, and you’ll be the one who regrets it.

Still, though, they look... If not normal, then normal enough.  Normal-adjacent.

• Of all the workers in the Sharing Institute, Dr. Aftran was always kind to them.  She was the one who let them into the outdoor enclosure even when they hadn’t earned yard privileges, the one who snuck candy bars into their cell, who “forgot” to turn off the television when their TV hour was over more often than not.  She was kind, and that was all she was... until Ax’s bidirectional vision implants didn’t take, until he came out as a null result.

Null results get put to sleep.

Dr. Aftran injected him, exactly on schedule, and his unseeing eyes fluttered shut even as he fought hard against the drugs.  But when he woke up, it was outside underneath an open sky.  And the rest of his flock was around.

They never do find out what happened to Dr. Aftran.  Maybe it’s better that way.

• The sidewalk café fills, empties, fills again around them as the afternoon passes, but no one kicks them out.  Their waitress initially shows interest in Ax — everyone always does.  But it’s Marco who finally catches her attention on purpose, whispering back and forth, scribbling something on a napkin that causes her to blush and lean in close.

Jake watches.  He glances at Cassie.  She glances back.

Ax doesn’t see their glance, of course, but he can pick up on the currents of the conversation just fine.  His knee bumps Cassie’s, a silent question, and she taps his arm once in confirmation.  Ax sighs.

It’s been like this, more and more lately.  Marco spending time with outsiders, turning away from the rest of his team.  Chafing at the need to go everywhere with five other kids his age in tow.

Too freakin bad. They go together. For Ax. For themselves. They go together, or not at all.

• Evening creeps up on them, and by now the café chairs are being flipped up onto fresh-wiped tabletops.  This is as long as they ever stay anywhere, so they’re full and content when they stretch to go.  Without discussion, they’re assembled at the lip of the canyon.  It’s nice to use this kind of natural formation — the dropoff makes it easy to get up speed — and Jake is just thinking how nice it will be to get going again, when...

“Where’s Marco?” Tobias’s voice is tight.

Rachel groans.  “This time, I really am going to kill him.”

They’re all modified: Rachel for strength, Tobias for skill, Jake for speed.  Marco for his lightning-fast calculation, Cassie for her ability to move underwater.  Ax’s modification didn’t take, but he’s scary smart all on his own.

So really, there’s no question of who will be chasing Marco down.  Especially not in that narrow canyon.

“Be back in a minute,” Jake says, and jumps off the cliff.

• Black-and-white wings, ten feet from primary to primary, unfurl from Jake’s back.  He’s not as beautiful as Ax, his pinstriped underwing and blue-gray back no match for that angel-white black-tipped plumage.  He’s nowhere near as large as Rachel, who once knocked a grown man clear through a wall with a sweep of her enormous brown wings.  But he can do this: rocket through a canyon at over 150 miles an hour, banking into turns so tight they’d kill any of the others who tried, trusting he can adjust in time even as the walls brush within inches of his feathers.  Luke Skywalker in the trench of the Death Star, Tobias often jokes while watching him.

Catching up to Marco is easy.

Getting him to talk is a whole other ball game.

They’ve been sitting there for a good fifteen minutes — fifteen minutes they can’t afford, not with half the Sharing Institute hunting them across the state — before Marco finally swipes a hand across his face, clears his throat, and finds something to say.

“Warren Worthington the Third,” Marco confesses at last, staring not at Jake but at the vireos hunting the canyon far below.  “That’s the name I gave her, when she asked.  Warren Worthington, and the phone number of a Domino’s pizzeria.  Only my name’s not Warren Worthington, is it.”

“Marco,” Jake says, trying to forestall the inevitable.  “Your name is Marco.”

“Marco,” he spits, “is something you call me.  My identity is Subject 1273-MRO, and my code name, the name my mother put on my birth certificate, is Icarus.  Fucking Icarus.  Because she knew I’d never, ever be able to eat at a café or flirt with a girl or have a life at all.  So it didn’t matter if she gave me the stupid fucking name of a guy legendary for how much he sucks at flying.”

“I know,” Jake says heavily.  “I know.”

“You don’t.”  Marco’s voice cracks.  “If you ever feel like giving up on the rest of us, you can always go find your normal-ass mom and dad and brother in their normal-ass house and...”  He spreads out his arms.  “Surprise, guys!  I didn’t kick it at birth.  Thanks for naming me Jake, and not Uriel or Vajrakila or Tinkerbell.”

Jake doesn’t answer, because Marco’s not wrong.  They know from the Sharing Institute files that Marco and Ax stole that Jake’s parents were all told they’d be signing up for an experimental drug trial during pregnancy.  That they’d agreed to be impregnated with genetically modified embryos.  That on the day of delivery, the doctor had been heartbroken to say newborn Jake had died in the incubator.  That the Sharing would very much like to keep the remains for study, and was terribly sorry for their loss.

“Marco,” Jake says.  An affirmation.  “Marco.  I know you guys decided I should be the leader or whatever, but I’m just a dumb scared kid like you.  I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I don’t know if we’re ever going to find someone we can trust.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.  “No kidding.”

“But Marco... I know I’m sticking with you guys no matter what.”  Jake shifts around, forcing eye contact.  “I know that.  Those people, they’re not my family.  That’s you guys.  We fly together, and I know that.”

Marco stands.  They haven’t solved any of it, not really.  This is all going to happen again.  They’re still freaks, still hunted.  But he nods, resolute.  “We fly together.”

And they leap as one.

• They find Tobias’s birth mom, from the stolen records.  She claims she doesn’t remember any of it.  Doesn’t remember being pregnant, doesn’t remember giving birth, doesn’t remember who might have knocked her up or when.  She says this all to their faces, not hesitating, not looking away.  There are scars on her forehead, scars on her scalp.  She doesn’t remember having a son, she says, she’s terribly sorry but she doesn’t remember.

• Jake dreams.  The voice doesn’t give itself a name, but it always tells him the same thing: he’s meant to save the world.

• David was their tagalong, their unwanted but tolerated kid sibling, their friend.  He could be annoying, and he never seemed to realize just how different his life was from theirs — he went home every night to a warm bed, he had a mom and dad, he had food that wasn’t protein mush.  But he went through the tests, the endurance exercises and the injections, right alongside them.  And his insider knowledge of the Sharing Institute saved their lives, on more than one occasion.

So when the creature — every bit as freakish as them, but with none of their grace and with joints that move hampered by pain — steps from the shadows and into the light, Cassie gasps sharply against the threat of tears.

David was supposed to be an entirely separate project.  He’s programmed with regenerative cells, has a life expectancy of over 400 years... and yet here he is, creeping forward on swollen knees that are powered by straining lungs.

“We have to go,” Jake says, when Tobias takes an involuntary step toward their former friend.  “We have to go now.  If he found us, then the Sharing’s not far behind—”

David lunges, mouth open, unnaturally long teeth aimed at Tobias’s throat.  Rachel body-slams him on intercept, the two of them rolling in a mess of feathers and blood across the filthy ground.

“Go!” Jake points to the sky.  Tobias takes off, whistling to guide Ax, and a second later Marco follows.

Jake grabs a fur-covered arm.  David’s wrist twists the way no human’s would, and he sinks claws into Jake’s skin.  Jake cries out in pain, but he slams his head forward into David’s face.  Jagged teeth tear open Jake’s cheek, his forehead, but David recoils from the blow.

Rachel rolls loose.  With overhuman strength she stomps down onto his stomach, until David jackknifes around her with an oof of pain.  She raises her foot again, but Jake catches her arm.

“We go!” he shouts.  “Together.  NOW.”

Whether it’s the sight of his bloodied face, or the sounds of the others hovering and desperately whistling for them to join, Rachel shakes the bloodlust.  She beats hard against the air, helping Jake to rise with her much larger wings.

Down below, Sharing agents are streaming across the ground.  Most of them are armed with rifles and tranq guns, but the man who dives forward to pull David into his arms has no weapons at all.  The flock takes off, and for now they get away.

• They find Cassie’s parents.  Michelle and Walter are gentle and kind.  They stitch the cuts on Jake’s face and Rachel’s arms.  They ask questions, like are you okay and how long have you been on your own.  They give the flock hot food, and soft beds, and something infinitely more precious that the kids all drink up like lizards in the sunshine.  But Cassie looks out the window one night, and she sees a girl who is not a girl standing at the edge of the woods.  They don’t stick around to find out if it is the Sharing, if David and his fellow trackers would settle for killing the horses or would murder the veterinarians too.

• Jake dreams.  The voice tells him again to save the world.  He replies, just as he always does: the voice can go fuck itself, because he’s only here for saving his friends.

• “Look,” Tobias says.  “Look.”

There are hawks hunting along the cliffs below.  They dive with sickening speed, pulling up short with crabs and trout in their claws. 

They swoop and spin around each other, wheeling and screaming.

“We’ll scare them away if we get any closer,” Rachel points out.

“So don’t get closer.”  Tobias perches so close to the edge of the cliff he threatens to tip over, relaxed and unafraid.  Happy, or as close as he ever gets.  “Just watch, and learn.”

• He scares the hell out of them, when he drops out of the sky the following evening.  Cassie screams in shock, but he’s back before any of them can get too scared.  He’s holding an ice cream cone he just stole clear out of some guy’s hand, seagull-style.

“What?” Tobias says, laughing, making a mess.  “I was just hunting.  It’s what birds do, right?  We hunt!”

Later Tobias shows Rachel what do to: wheeling close, wheeling far.  For a time they rocket along toward the ground, synchronous and breathless, wings half-tucked.  Then they split, and shoot apart, and wheel around again.  Courtship, the ornithologists call it, and there’s an ecstasy in the dance that no human can touch.

• They find Jake’s family.  It’s a temporary measure, they tell each other, they tell themselves.  It’s temporary.  But it’s better than a cave above a sea cliff, better than a tent in the woods.  It beats nesting in an unused clocktower or a moldy steeple.

Jake’s parents and brother are nice.  They’re conventional.  They’re upright and intelligent and suburban.  They sit the flock down in the living room, and they sip tea and make concerned faces and try to determine just how not normal their newfound son is.

There’s an uncertainty there, a hint of hesitation that Michelle and Walter didn’t show.  But Jake’s family is comfortable, is middle-class and law-abiding.

• So law-abiding, in fact, that Jake wakes up the following morning to a room full of Sharing agents and a rifle in his face.

If he had to guess, it was his brother who called 911.  One the cops who answered thought to contact the FBI.  Some FBI agent knew to call the Sharing, and to tell them to retrieve their lost property from the Berenson residence of suburban Carmel.

“RACHEL!” Jake screams.

She knows what to do.  There’s a crash from below, his parents’ picture window exploding out onto their lawn.  Three figures shoot toward the sky — Rachel’s enormous brown wings, Marco’s brown-and-white striped ones, and Ax’s angelic pinfeathers.  Rachel has blood limning the tops of both wings, Marco’s clutching Ax’s wrist in his hand, and they’re away.  They’re away. 

There’s no sign of Cassie or Tobias, but Rachel and Marco and Ax are clear.

Jake watches them go, hope tugging his heart toward the sky, even as the needle jams into his neck and the black drugs suck him down.

• Jake awakens in a dog crate.  Size medium.  Suited for dogs 90 to 120 pounds.  His wings are pressed against his sides with cramping force, his body twisted in a fetal position he won’t be able to uncurl from.  Ask him how he knows.  Better yet: don’t.

• “Marco?” Cassie says, sucking in a breath and coughing, the instant she’s awake.  “Rachel?  Anyone?”  She rolls, feathers scraping painfully on the sides of the cage, until she’s sitting on her knees with both hands pressed on the ground.  She can’t stay like this forever or her feet will fall asleep, but there’s a fundamental comfort to be had in hugging her own wings around herself.

“Cassie,” Jake says, quiet and dull, from somewhere to her left.  “Cassie.”

“Jake. Who... Who else?”

“I see Tobias across the way,” Jake says.  “I think it’s just us.”

Cassie closes her eyes.  Thank goodness.  They’re probably going to die here, the three of them, and there’s going to be a lot of horribleness in between now and then.  But at least Ax is safe, at least Marco and Rachel are free.

“Ax is okay,” Jake says, thoughts following the same path as her own.

It could be better.  Tobias tolerates crating the worst of any of them.  No one planned for Jake to sprout to six-one and over two hundred pounds during puberty when they mass-ordered cages this size.  She’s probably never going to fly again.  Nor are Tobias and Jake.

But it could be worse as well.  Null results get put to sleep.

• They all hear it when Tobias wakes a little later.  There’s silence, and then there’s the sound of thrashing so violent that the whole row of cages shakes.  Tobias is breathing in soft hoarse cries, shoving wings and knees and wrists against the bars with bone-breaking force.

“Tobias!” Cassie calls.  “Tobias, it’s okay, you have to calm down or —”

He’s making small desperate noises between gasps for air.  There’s a sickening thud as his head impacts the ceiling of the cage.  All six of them are claustrophobic — it’s the whole reason the Sharing ordered these cages — but it always hits Tobias worse to be confined.

“You have so many relationships in this life,” Jake says in rhythm.  “Only one or two will last,” and it takes Cassie a second to realize he’s singing.  “You go through all the pain and strife, then you turn your back and they’re gone so fast...”

Tobias has quieted, panting, listening.  Jake’s no great talent, and his voice is too low to do the song justice, but it’s something.

“Oh, so hold on the ones who really care,” Cassie sings now, joining in with Jake.  “In the end they'll be the only ones there.”  It helps her to sing as well, she realizes.  Forces her to breathe in rhythm, gives her something to focus on.  “And when you get old and start losing your hair, can you tell me who will still care?” she and Jake sing together, and it must be working because Jake’s getting louder and Tobias is getting quieter.  “Can you tell me who will still care?”

And then there’s a third voice — not Tobias, not the white coats — that joins them for the chorus.  “Mmmbop, ba duba dop, Ba du bop, ba duba dop...” they harmonize, off-rhythm but singing hard enough not to care.

“David,” Jake says quietly, in the pause before the second verse.

“Hi.”  He speaks just as softly.  He’s in the cage directly above Cassie’s, out of sight through the opaque floor.  He sounds bad, hoarse and wheezing almost as hard as Tobias was a minute ago.

“David?” Cassie asks.

He answers the question she didn’t put words to.  “What do you think?  The new modifications didn’t take.  Obviously.  I’m a null result.”

She thinks back to his swollen joints, his awkward gait, the teeth that didn’t fit into his mouth and the bone claws that split the ends of his hands.  Seeing them with new light now, beyond the horror of what his own family had done to him.

“David,” Cassie whispers helplessly.

“I should have come with you,” David says.

Cassie flinches.  They never asked him.  They figured he was better off here, and so when Aftran got Ax and Ax got Jake and Jake got the rest of them, they’d left David behind.  He’d known they were going to take any chance they could to get out, and he’d always warned them against it when the conversation had turned that way.  They’d thought, they’d thought...

“Your mom and dad were here,” Jake says.  “And anyway it doesn’t matter now.”

“They can’t!” Cassie blurts.  “They can’t, they can’t.”  It’s David.  He’s supposed to live forever; that’s why he was made.

“Plant a seed,” David sings, with desperate force.  “Plant a flower, plant a rose...”

“You can plant any one of those,” and now it’s Tobias joining in, then Jake, “Keep planting to find out which one grows.”

Cassie sucks in a breath through tears.  “It’s a secret no one knows,” she sings, because what else can they do, “It’s a secret no one knooooows.”

• The door slides open, sometime after they enter their second rendition of the song.  Marco’s mom stands on the other side.  Lab coat on.  Syringe in hand.  “I hear you’re awake,” she says.

“Can you tell me who will still care?” they sing, ignoring her.  “Tell me who will still care—”

“Stop it!” she snaps.  “All of you, stop it immediately.”

Jake lifts his head, red grid from the bars imprinted into his cheek.  “If you didn’t want us singing, shouldn’t have made us into birds,” he says flatly.

She draws in a breath, but they launch back in, louder and louder: “Can you tell me? No, no you can’t ‘cause you don’t know.  Can you tell me?  No, no you can’t cause you don’t know.  CAN YOU TELL ME? NO YOU CAN’T CAUSE YOU DON’T—”

Zzzzzztt-BAM!

The cages are electrified.  Would’ve been nice to know sooner, Cassie thinks as she clenches her fists and her jaw until the tremors wear off.

“Enough!” Marco’s mom shouts.  She twists the lock on David’s cage and wrenches open the door.

“No,” David moans, “no, no, please, I want my dad—”

He’s still uncoordinated from the shock; Marco’s mom easily drags him out by the hair and throws him to the floor.

“Don’t do this!” Jake shouts.  “He’s a person.  This is murder.”

Marco’s mom lifts her head, brushing hair out of her face.  “He’s a failed pet project of Mr. Visser’s, and it’s high time we eliminated him.”

“Please,” David screams.  “Please, I want to see my dad, please!”

“This won’t even hurt.”  Her tone suggests she has no idea what David has to complain about.  “You’ll be unconscious long before cardiac arrest sets in.”

David struggles for everything he’s worth, but the needle is large and unforgivingly sharp.  Marco’s mom slams it into his chest, not seeming to care where it lands, and depresses the syringe until it is empty.  She tosses it aside, breathing hard, watching David closely.

“Can you tell me,” Cassie sings, a thready whisper, barely there, “which flower’s going to grow?  No you can’t, ‘cause you don’t know.”

David is crying, already fighting for air with more than just exertion, but his eyes lock on hers.

“Can you tell me,” Tobias sings with her, that same tiny thread of sound, “If it’s going to be a daisy or a rose?  You say you can...”

David’s eyes slide shut.  His lungs empty, and they don’t refill.

• Tobias does his best to lose reality, after the white coats drag David out of the room.  He tries to retreat into the memory of flying through caves with Ax and Marco, their whistles bouncing off the walls to map the space none of them could see.  He should be more like those hawks, who slam the ground when they miss a strike but recover in seconds.  He should be more like the pigeons who get by with two toes and one working wing, still surviving just fine.  He should be like the mallards who never tire or slow, even after months’ worth of twelve-hour days.  Instead, he’s a fucking parakeet: ripping out his own feathers, unable to stop no matter how hard he bites down on his own fingers to punish himself for punishing himself.

“They have to feed us eventually,” Jake says with confidence.  “They have to give us water and space.”

“A bathroom would be nice too,” Cassie mutters.

“Exactly,” Jake says, hearty as a camp counselor.  “Exactly.  They’re going to let us out pretty soon now, you’ll see.”

Tobias would like to punch Jake’s fucking teeth in.

• There’s a scree of metal on metal, somewhere in the depths of the facility.  Jake tries to lift his head to look, but gets no response from his neck muscles.  He lost feeling in his lower legs a while ago. 

There’s a thud, quiet like it’s far away but powerful enough to rattle the room they’re sitting in.  The next thud is closer, louder, and this time the cage bounces off the floor.

WHAM.

That’s directly on the other side of the door.  Another WHAM, and the door visibly dents inward on its frame.

“Guys, be ready,” Jake says.

“To do what?” Tobias asks sourly.  But at least he’s talking.

WHAM.

The door crumples off its hinges.  Rachel stands on the other side, a firefighter-issue battering ram in her hands.  It has to be 200 pounds, but with all their enhancements it’s no real surprise to see her holding it easily.

“Step aside!” an unfamiliar voice calls from behind Rachel.  “Please, step aside.  The more footage we can get —”

Rachel moves out of the way, but goes into the room.  She stops long enough to press her fingertips against Cassie’s through the gaps in the cage door, but only for a second before she focuses on Tobias.  His fingers are bloody, his left wing as well, but he’s coherent enough to whisper her name.

The man who pushes into the room just after Rachel is a lot harder to explain.  He’s middle-aged, but has the kind of blue eyes and tall frame that suggest he used to be beautiful.  The strangest thing about him isn’t the makeup he wears or the way there’s something naggingly familiar about his face; it’s the industrial-size video camera perched on his right shoulder.  He points it around the room, pausing to zoom in first on Tobias and then Cassie.

Ax shoves into the room after the man, Marco brushing wingtips with him.  “Jake?” he says, lifting his head to listen.  “Tobias?  Cassie?”

“We’re okay,” Cassie says.  “We’re here.”

“Shit,” Marco whispers.  He’s peering through the door of Jake’s cage, lips pressed together.  “Shit, man, you are too damn tall.  Anyone ever tell you that?”

“‘S what I have you for,” Jake says.

Marco fumbles at the lock on the door.  Luckily they’re simple mechanical things, not requiring keys but only the leverage that comes from being outside.  “Okay,” he says.  “Okay, we’re getting out of here, I’m doing a guest appearance on Touched by an Angel, and we’re headlining for Leno.  Yeah?”

The door pops open, and Jake is sliding out from the sheer force of where his body had pressed against it.  Some combination of the shock and the dehydration and all the blood in his body deciding to rearrange itself at once gets to him.  The world goes black.

• Jake wakes up what feels like an eternity later.  He’s propped sitting up, his back against the row of cages, and there are several unfamiliar adults talking over his head.

Before he can go into flight-or-flight mode, Rachel crouches in front of him.  She’s peering close into his eyes, holding out an object that — once he finally figures out how to focus on it — proves to be a juice box with a picture of an apple on the outside.

“Take it,” Rachel says.  “Cassie already had like six and didn’t keel over, so it’s probably fine.”

Jake takes it, sucking gratefully at the tiny straw.  He looks over her shoulder at the guy who came in with them, and the three other people who are now filming that guy as he talks into a microphone.  “Who...?”

“Kept finding parents.”  Rachel jerks a thumb over her shoulder.  “Finally hit on a useful one, go figure.”

“Hello, Jake.”  The man crouches next to Rachel, holding out his hand.  “I’m Dan Berenson.  It’s an honor to meet you, son.  Nephew.”

Jake stares at the hand.  “Who do you work for?”

“NBC,” Dan says.  “National Broadcasting Comp—”

“What are you doing here?”  Jake’s being rude.  He doesn’t care that he’s being rude.

“We’re doing an exposé on the Sharing Institute.”  Dan gestures to the people behind him, presumably coworkers.  “It’s a very important project.”

“I brought helicopters from two other news stations while I was at it,” Rachel says.  “Just to be on the safe side.  One’s technically the Weather Channel, but whatever.”

The thought of her simply flying at the nearest two helicopters with cameras until they followed her is almost enough to make Jake laugh, in spite of it all.  He knows why she didn’t trust NBC alone — far too many companies and government orgs are in the Sharing’s pocket — but it’s a typically Rachel approach.

And here he’d thought Marco was joking about being on TV.

“C’mon.”  Rachel hooks a hand under Jake’s arm, helping to haul him to his feet.  “The others are outside.”

He shifts, tangling his feathers with hers, as they walk together.  She gets a wing around him and yanks him close, a few inches shorter than he is but still with that unmatched wingspan.  He lets her shove their shoulders together, bullying her way into his space, and doesn’t comment on how much her hands are shaking.

“Check this out!”  Marco spreads arms and wings when he sees them, taking in the vans and helicopters and dozens of camera operators on foot.  “That’s what I call a media circus, baby!”

“No,” Tobias is telling a woman with a paramedic’s uniform.  “No, I’m not going anywhere without my flock.  You take us all, or none of us.”

Lab coats are fleeing, Jake knows, taking what they can and running for it.  Ordinary Sharing staff members as well.  Any incriminating experiments the reporters don’t find in time will be put to sleep.

But it’s something.  It’s the whole world watching, from those hovering machines to Rachel’s dad with the handheld camera.

“He said it,” Rachel announces, chin lifted.  “We fly together, or not at all.”  She’s smiling, tears in her eyes.

Jake finds his gaze drifting past her.  There’s still smoke coming from the crematorium, dispersing slowly into the sky.

• Jake dreams.  There’s still work to be done, the voice says, and for the first time Jake thinks yeah, okay.

[noname-nonartist]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ♡

Ooooo!!! Hi CC!!! ^w^/

Thank you so much for the asks!!!

Hmm okay! So 5 things that makes me genuinely happy…. Okay! Let’s go!!!

1. Project Sekai!

Atm, it’s my current hyperfixations! An Shiraishi and Mizuki Akiyama has my heart and soullll!!!

2. Drawing!

Whenever I have the energy (and if I ended up liking the drawing enough to post it lol), I do enjoy drawing a lot! It’s like. One of the only hobby I have since childhood tbh lol~

3. My Past Hyperfixations!

This would include Marigolds by Colbub, Persona 5, Baldur’s Gate 3, Jujutsu Kaisen, Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Genshin Impact, Ace Attorney, One Piece, and Fire Emblem Awakening!

Of course there are a bunch of other things I got super hyperfixated about (heck, technically I always go back to Pokemon and Digimon since it was like my childhood), but these are the ones I remember being hyperfixated for monthsssss and so much so I would spend hours on ao3 reading fanfics of it!

(The expectation being marigolds since that’s technically an ao3 fic, A REALLY GOOD ONE, but I am in the discord server for that fic. :3c)

4. Cute Plushies (And I guess Merch of my Hyperfixations too lol)

Luckily I don’t really go on a spending spree… that often! (sometimes the AHDH impulse wins, don’t worry, my max is $150, and even then I don’t reach that limit, and I only do it at least every few months) O3O;

But I do occasionally enjoy getting a cute plushie at an arcade, in fact my bed has a good amount of them (mostly from my siblings winning them for me or giving it to me lol).

And now that I’m an adult (Oh god… I’m an adult), I do have a few Merch that I’ve bought! (A few of them were also gifts from friends and family)

The merch being about Jjk, Persona 5, Genshin Impact, Digimon, and Pokemon!

Watch me. I’ll soon get some for Project Sekai too!!! I just keep spending my Project Sekai indulgence savings on the costumes within the game lol. I’m responsible I swear!

5. Friends and Family!!!

I’ve been pretty lucky to have pretty good siblings. Of course, we didn’t always gotten along while growing up and we’re still not perfect, but I do really love them and really appreciate every thing they have done for me. :’3

And I really appreciate my friends too! Both online and in person too!!!

In person due to me being friends with them for so long, (and a few more recent ones too!) who I’ve always enjoyed being around with and makes my day better! ^w^/

And my online friends! While it’s some times hard for me to always DM them/interact with them due to real life stuff (sometimes I be reallly tired from work rippp X-X;), I always cherish our interactions and always wish you all the best days since you all deserve it!!!

Okay! That’s all now it’s time to tag! But since I’m super shy, I don’t wanna tag peeps who had reblogged my stuff. >x<;

So instead, I’ll just tag my online friends who had reblogged my posts in the past! That counts right? :Dc

Again, no pressure!!! ^w^/

@melodiclune (lol yep, ya count too~), @hxhhasmysoul, @himi-wiz, @tinyballerinadancer1, @sabrondabrainrot, @wrathofnature, @majycka, @olasketches, @thedemonreblogs, @blizzardream, @chocodajib

[tactical-mode]

Here we are, take-off! So, this episode is kind of a cheat, haha, as the first three minutes are just letting the fireworks do their thing. That said, I’m still going to blog about each scene as various mods and things are introduced.

[Chapter 01] Scene 01: Opening

An FMV. The SFX and Music are baked together in Remake’s FMVs, which means that I could not feasibly remove the Carmina Burana lyrics nor the shot of Cloud riding the train. Purists are already pissed at me, I’m sure. I did omit 7R’s opening few minutes, and I was even able to remove Remake’s credits due to the modding efforts of TeamYuffieCloudVincent, a team you’ll see that I use a LOT. Shout out to them.

The 1:47 mark is where I cheekily make my entrance with our shiny new (old) logo replacing Remake’s title image. This show is an adaptation of Final Fantasy VII, it is decidedly NOT a remake. Otherwise, this is a simple re-recording of the source scene.

Scene 02:  EXT. Train Platform - Night

This was another scene I basically didn’t touch, although here is where I began hacking the game and filming from multiple angles - I just didn’t use any of the shots in the final cut haha. While I’m here, though, the Universal Unreal Unlocker by Otis_Inf is what makes this project possible. You also get to see Barret with slightly scruffier eyebrows courtesy of Gojeeb.

Other than the mods on display, this is Remake’s version of the arrival. Not much different from OG, except that Barret and Cloud arrive to different musical cues. In OG, Uematsu’s score introduces Barret with a marching timpani, and Cloud leaps onto the platform accompanying two hits of the orchestra.

In Remake, the timpanis introduce Wedge, Barret arrives to the two hits of the orchestra (almost as a jump-scare) and then the music is re-orchestrated to make Cloud’s entrance a huge buildup of tension and release upon his landing. It’s a nice thesis statement for 7R - this is going to be Final Fantasy VII on steroids. Every gun is going off, and we brought extra guns.

I wouldn’t have bothered filming it at all, except a) just to see if I could and b) my great esteem for Uematsu’s original score. While I adore Remake’s soundtrack, particularly the orchestrations by Shotaro Shima, they riff on Uematsu, as you will see more in Episode 2. Anyway, I did spend about 12 hours re-filming and re-cutting this scene to try to get the exact tempo of the OG. At this time, I don’t know how to turn off the depth of field (DOF) so these shots went to the cutting room floor, aka the ancillary hard drive. Here’s a still from one shot that I quite liked.

All the clips in scene were actually re-shot once I was able to outfit Cloud with two materia (as in OG) rather than just the one that he has in 7R. In the next few episodes, see if you can spot any shots of Cloud’s sword with a missing materia, that would be from my first pass through!

Scene 03:  “Follow Me.”

Wait, isn’t this the same scene? Let me explain: I have over 150 clips for the scenes in this episode, pared down from dozens of hours of filming. Every change-of-state in the game is thus marked with a scene change, simply so that I can find clips with greater ease. 

Moreover, I organize my scenes by the Remake’s “chapter” system, which organizes the opening act of FF7’s story into 18 different environments and world states. That’s why scene numbers won’t necessarily correspond to the traditional episode script.

This sequence is triggered by player input, it draws two MPs onto the train platform. This is where my work truly starts, as I have to somehow convince an audience that this is a film instead of a gameplay clip. This is also the scene where I have to grapple with dialogue for the first time.

On the lack of voice acting:

As is, there’s no voice acting. Each episode comes with closed-captioning, and teams around the world should be encouraged to dub and re-release this series in the language of their choice. I didn’t want to steal/hack up the stellar voice performances of John Eric Bentley and the rest of 7R’s cast. Besides, in many cases they don’t have the dialogue I need them to say. This show’s script more closely matches “Echo-S” - another fan project - so if I were to use voice actors, I’d sooner collaborate with them than steal voice performances from 7R. The scenes are timed to match the length of time it would take to deliver the OG’s lines, and the closed-captioning presents my suggested english phrasing.

On the script (for closed-captions):

FF7 has been translated into english twice officially, twice by fans, and there are video essays and huge spreadsheets delving into the subject. I'm a native english speaker, so I'm taking all the available transcripts I can find and picking which exact phrase to use on a line-by-line basis.

I will try to add as few words or "battle shouts" as possible, unless I absolutely cannot get the information across any other way. My goal here is to adapt, not to embellish.

So what does this mean? Here was my process on how I chose Barret’s line:

“Ikuzo shin’iri! Ore ni tsudzuke!” (JP)

“C’mon newcomer, follow me!” (PS1/PC/Beacause)

“Get down here merc! You’re up!” (7R/Echo-S)

“Come on, new blood! Don’t fall behind!” (SAC)

“C’mon new guy! Follow me!” (A suggested alternative from the Tim Rogers series Found in Translation)

“Let’s go, recruit!” (A trailer for Remake from 2015)

"Get down here, merc! This way, merc!" (EC)

In this instance, I’ve gone with 7R, and for a similar reason to the musical cues I described in Scene 2. There are worse corners that 7R will back me into. So I’m not going to tear my hair out about this line.

Scene 04:  Combat: Cloud vs. 2 MPs

This is where the fun begins. Cloud quickly dispatches two MPs with his giant sword in a luscious, slow-motion phantasmagoria.

Through an unnatural hybrid of science and nature, I have manipulated a digital creature into serving my every whim! The camera on display here is being directly flown about by me. I cannot control both the camera and the game at the same time. Sometimes this means that I am switching back and forth between takes, inputting commands and then lettin’ er fly. Sometimes this means setting up the game on auto and hoping for the best, flying around and catching lucky shots.

The goal with this combat was to display the kind of flow that encounters in this show will have. L-a-n-g-o-u-r-o-u-s, slow-mo affairs with Matrix-esque sensibilities and a variety of cuts to match the music.

I can only tell so much of a story using a semi-improvised video game combat, but while things are simple (one player character, two enemies) I manage to display the battle “in order.” The round-by-round breakdown:

Cloud unsheathes his sword while two MPs approach him

Barret slips past the MPs and runs towards the station house

Cloud dashes forward and cuts down one MP with a single stroke

Cloud brings his sword up in a defensive stance over the MPs dead body

The other MP attempts to shoot Cloud

Cloud blocks the bullets with his sword

Cloud surges forward, killing the second MP with another series of strikes

I filmed this encounter for a few hours, getting 62 usable clips, of which are included in the final episode. Some of the best clips are on the cutting room floor as they were too awesome to tell the story properly. 

Final Thoughts

And that’s it! Episode 1 is in the bag. 

It may seem like it ends abruptly, but this is on purpose: in this series, the important story moments will happen at the beginning of episodes, and if a combat breaks out, you can trust that the next major scene will be at the start of the next episode. This is to keep episodes short, and to set up an expectation for viewers that once the slow-motion joyride starts, they are free to zone out or skip to the next episode for the next story beat, only missing combat and environment shots.

[musingsbyellecse]

Self Care is About the Little Things

Self Care is about the little things. I have been really stressed out this week, and honestly the 2 weeks before as well. I’m starting to have ideas about the way things have aligned to create this three week long buildup of events that led to this week, but that’s for another time. 

I wanna talk about self care, but like for real. Not the foo foo self care stuff that’s only surface level and reactionary, like having been struggling emotionally, financially, and/or mentally for the last few weeks, months, or years, and then somebody tells you to do a face mask. And I don’t mean the big, periodic, but intentional self care things either, like meditating, praying, venerating, etc. on a full moon or a new moon. No, I mean the self care you can do every day or week. The little things that refill your power bar moment by moment as it gets drained by the world outside of us.

I mean going on a short, 30 minute walk after your lunch. What if you don’t have an hour-long lunch? Valid. I mean coming home to a messy apartment because your apartment had bed bugs so you had to move to a hotel for 2 weeks and the day you got back (and spent the day moving back 2 weeks’ worth of clothes and toiletries, plus all the many items that would be ruined while your apartment gets heated up to 150 degrees to crisp all the bedbugs–sorry, I digress). After dumping all your things in your apartment, you had to pack for a trip to Catalina Island for Valentine’s Day. Then, when you get back to your apartment full of shit from your hotel stay, you throw your multiple luggage bags down and have to work your full time job. You come home, already tired from working full time, to an apartment that is, quite literally, a shitshow (okay, no shit but you get what I mean). 

I don’t know about you, but when my space is messy, my life is messy. I had so much cleaning and organizing and laundry to do, and when I was at work, I had so much emailing, scheduling, and planning to do. I decided to write down the long list of things I needed to get done at home: unpack all my suitcases, put away all my laundry, put toiletries away, put away all my spiritual supplies, etc. Plus, “rearrange the kitchen, rearrange the bathroom, rearrange the closet.” (When I go in, I go in.) Looking at this huge list of things to do can be overwhelming, but I realize I have to get it out of my head, and on to something I can visualize and tackle one-by-one. Plus, I love crossing things out.

Back to what you’d do if you didn’t have an hour lunch and you just came back from bed bugs and an island trip: You’ve got a lot of things on your to-do list, and maybe some of these things are space renovations. Well, if you were me last night, you would have gone grocery shopping to have an excuse (albeit a reasonable one) to be in the kitchen, because that’s been a space on your list for a minute. You play your favorite album, artist, or playlist that gets you through it (mine is When I Get Home followed by A Seat at the Table, both by Solange) while you put the groceries away and you wash the literal pile of dishes on your sink and stove. (Don’t judge me, I know you’ve been there.) With this good music and being able to visibly see mess disappear, you start to get in a little groove, “What can I do next? How else can I make some mess disappear without too much exertion?” You turn to your messy pantry. You’re getting rid of things you ain’t have no business continuing to hold onto, you put all your seasonings back on one, easily accessible shelf, you reorganize your snacks and ingredients so they make sense and are efficient with space. Hell, you might even spend a few minutes reconfiguring the arrangement of a fruit basket and cereal boxes. You’re in a nice funk! You love that this album/artist/playlist always helps you recenter and find peace (Thank you, Solange). 

You’ve now spent a good part of your evening rearranging and cleaning one thing at a time. You may not have busted out the Clorox and scrubbed every crevice, but you got that pantry looking good again! You finally cleared off the kitchen table that was really just the “I don’t know where else to put this shit” table (same for the top of the microwave). You finally did something with them cardboard and storage boxes in the corner. You step back and marvel at your work. You think, “I actually want to be in this kitchen now!” You have two candles on your table and your favorite album/artist/playlist playing, and you decide to finally sit down and write your first blog post, something you’ve been wanting to do for a while, but didn’t know how to start, and didn’t make time for it. 

But you did this time. After a shitty week, and a shitty 2 weeks before that. The rest of your apartment may still be a shitshow, but at least your bed is clear and your kitchen looks nice. It’s the little things out of this grand event of life. It’s going step by step. That’s self care.

-From 2022