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starliteradio · 2 months ago

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Sparktober bingo prompts: "hit them harder!", "make it stop!"

Kind of cheating since this was started a few months ago but quickly abandoned however upon rereading, I decided I hated this less than I remembered. I've always wanted to attempt a Long Goodbye fic. There are many things I'd probably change here and I should figure out how to end it better (sorry it's a bit abrupt 🙃) but I figured it would be fine for tumblr bingo.

(10/7: well shit I wasn't finished editing and didn't mean to post this just now but tumblr randomly did instead of saving the draft for some reason...formatting on here is a pain so I'll just leave it 😬)

Tw: violence, blood, psychological angst, abusive relationship

Elizabeth leans in with distant eyes, hands clasping Sheppard’s neck and drawing him close - closer - staccato breathing stopped with her mouth hot upon his, her fingers curling into him as something triumphant explodes in the pit of her stomach.

“Mine,” something hisses poisonously within, as she breaks apart and feels her mouth curve into a smirk, while somewhere distant she screams within a mind no longer her own.

She wrenches awake, gasping above the fading crack of gunfire. Pain floods her within several long seconds.

“‘morning,” floats a casual drawl, as though from miles away.

Blinking watering eyes, she turns her head stiffly. John's in a bed next to her. He doesn't look at her.

“How long - ?” Her head pounds dully.

“Left in the middle of the night. Kicking and screaming.”

Something shocks her brain. She squeezes her eyes against the apparent flash of light, forcing down a sudden fury at his dispassionate tone. He could look at her, at least.

Everything hurts, her muscles sore and stretched beyond their limits. Her left knee, the bad one, is assaulted every few minutes with a stabbing pain. Her mind is a black and foggy wasteland.

As she slowly remembers, her stomach roils and she swallows back the bile rising into her throat.

John doesn't look her way.

Elizabeth feels a light breeze walking through the halls, whispers gathering strength around her.

She meets no one's eyes.

In the conference room, she sits in the darkest corner possible. Words wash over her…damage control…alien device protocols…trust…

“I should've shut this down from the beginning.” Caldwell’s voice is almost self-directed.

She burns with shame but somewhere, deeper, an anger also simmers.

They'll never trust you again.

She's not entirely sure it's her own voice, softly mocking. The bile rises again.

“You can't blame yourself,” Teyla says in the corner of the hall, golden light haloing her hair. Her voice is soft, a sadness in her eyes. “There's no way you could've known.”

Elizabeth bites back an acid tongue, trying to soften her response. “And that's why I should've never approached that pod. We couldn't have known.”

“Elizabeth - “ Teyla starts.

John passes them, all three quickly averting their eyes. When Elizabeth glances back at Teyla she suddenly seems awkward. Elizabeth’s face starts to burn.

Within, she swears she can hear ghostly laughter.

Images flash into her mind, even outside of dreams. A bombed out shell of a civilization, jets tearing apart the cloudless sky and glinting in a white sun. She feels dizzy, white light flooding her vision as she falls towards a barren land, barbed wire spread unruly like underbrush.

Always, over and over, she sees him…feels herself draw closer, and she can't tear herself away, can't bear to even as the kiss turns to poison.

When she finds herself staring back into cold black eyes, and wants to rip out his throat.

“No.” Her voice wavers as she recoils in cold morning light, her vision blurring and Phoebus laughing coldly.

She shoves herself up and into the bathroom, furiously scrubbing her face with ice cold water and tossing more into her mouth to chase four useless ibuprofen tabs. Her knee still pangs.

She catches her own eyes in the mirror, and in the shaft of sunlight they appear cold, colorless.

She grits her teeth and suppresses a scream.

Why me? Why him…?

She doesn't want to think about it too much.

Squaring her shoulders, she swipes an impatient hand over the door sensor and faces another day.

“Maybe…” John's voice is more hesitant than she's ever heard. “...we should talk about this.”

Elizabeth looks up too quickly, trying to mask the surprise she knows is written all over her face. She feels her body tense.

“About…?” she begins, not trying to be flippant - just trying to grasp at words.

But she catches a glint in his eye that sends a chill down her spine. “Damnit, Elizabeth, you know damn well…”

“It's been two weeks,” she clips him off, fighting a rising ire that unnerves her. "It was an appalling failure of judgement that will never happen again." Her voice is bitter, self-directed.

“I'm not talking about…” He breaks off with the slightest scoff, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here but reluctantly determinedly. “...mitigating future threats. I'm talking about…us.” He gestures a bit desperately between them.

Her heart thuds and seems to stand still. She's suddenly very aware of how they're alone in the deserted corridor outside the conference room, earlier than anyone else cares to rise.

Her hands twitch as she sees herself push him up against that wall and kiss him senseless, all tongue and scraping teeth and hands ripping at his fly as she takes what she needs, his blood metallic on her tongue…

Elizabeth winces.

…her hands suddenly in his hair, twisting, tearing, slamming his skull back…

…the floor quaking beneath her in bone-shattering turbulence as her stomach swoops and they pitch from the sky, his ravaged jet spewing black smoke…

“I…can't,” she stammers in panic, fighting a sudden urge to vomit. “Not now.”

In her quarters, the room seems to spin, coppery blood still assaulting her nose and gravelled shouting in her head. "Hit ‘em harder!” screams a voice on a knife's edge of sanity, before there's a roar and fire in her eyes through a windscreen, the swoop of Phoebus and Thalan falling to earth, the cold smirk pulling at her lips as she watches Thalan (John) through grainy security footage as she coolly threatens to annihilate them all.

She hangs over the toilet where she emptied the meager contents of her stomach, glassy eyed, sick in the knowledge that she's no longer in control.

“I don't think…she's gone,” she finally confesses in desperation.

Kate nods soberly. “Your body and mind were hijacked. To say that's a traumatic experience would be an understatement…”

“I don't know if he's gone either,” Elizabeth overrides her, her expression distant as she remembers the chilling light in John's eyes.

She crashes awake again, still aching in an entirely different place -

…John's hands grasping her bare skin as she lifts above him and comes down hard, capturing his lips in that same burning kiss…

…harder and harder…

She curls in on herself, fighting a scream of anguish as the scene goes all wrong, again -

…cold eyes, bruises rising where he'd threatened to kill her for real this time - bone-shattering turbulence as they fall…

“What do you want?” she grits out, but only the soft hiss of the ocean answers.

She lets Phoebus in.

To her mild disgust, she can't help but empathize with the woman, her entire life hard and violent and in service to military and country. She wonders if Phoebus ever dreamed of a quiet life, if she was even capable of imagining such a thing.

She wonders, yet again, why Phoebus chose her as a host - disturbed that she was apparently so easily corruptible, that Phoebus could've sensed it. Taken her curiosity and empathy and turned it against her.

Or what Phoebus saw in John that reminded her of Thalan.

With echoes of their violent, traitorous relationship in her head, she sees little resemblance to her relationship with John, save for intensity of emotion.

Unbidden, she remembers their blistering kiss, and for once, it's not Thalan’s eyes staring back.

Perhaps Phoebus perceived something deeper than Elizabeth realized. Or at least, tried to bury deep into the recesss of her subconscious.

Unnerved, she slips out into the night.

He's there, standing alone on the south pier. She can practically feel the nervous tension shivering through him, sees the way his eyes spark as he becomes aware of her quiet approach.

But the fire lasts mere seconds before it's gone, black eyes shifted to melancholy hazel.

And she knows it's John again, and she stares back as Elizabeth, so it's just the two of them and their exhaustion and pain - at least she's sure the hiss in her mind is from the distant waters and not the ghost in her head...

She swallows hard. Then steps closer, and tentatively takes his hand.

"I'm ready to talk."

#i tend to struggle with episode tag fic as i feel like i just end up with a subpar ripoff of what everyone else has done #but ehhhh i tried #sparktober #john x elizabeth

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nicegaai · 9 months ago

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stuck on writing again. im gonna talk myself thru it in text post form

okay if i dont wrap this oneshot up before my brain completely burns out editing it i will lose my mind

naturally theres buildup to sex and then i really just do not want to write it. i can fade to black or otherwise gloss over it, sure. whatever. but then i have to write something AFTER IT and i also dont know what to do with that.

like i have a little bit im working on ...... as much as i dont want it to feel abrupt i just want it to be OVERRRR . i dont want to wrap up anything, i dont want to think about this. the dramatic spoiled artist in my brain is throwing a tantrum. It's Whatever. this isnt my magnum opus, its just me trying to exorcise myself of the ince/st kink demon again . it never works and i feel real weird about it. like am i propagandizing atp? im scared im passing this kink onto others accidentally. sorry im like this. nobody look at me. anyway

i dont want this to be Good as much as i want it to be Done <- lying

i could try to cut it off early . but oh my god if i ended it as soon as they start making out thats weird, i dont like that flow. if i cut it as soon as theyre in bed together thats ... tht only works if its a fade to black and then we come back afterwards right? wouldnt it be strange to have 5k words of buildup, then they kiss and it fades to black, and then thats it?

reading that, i might feel cheated. but my god i do not want to write another bj i dont want to write them actually doing it. i would NEVER get around to finishing that. like i said. i am so close to burnout i need to figure out how to end this quick. i wanna do it TONIGHTTTT.

and i think i do need to add more. i guess the morning after?

ughhhgh sghdhgshgshdskgks dgshkld gsd hsd js dsdkskfhsdkjfs dksjkhdf ksjhdfks jdhfksj dfksjdhfkjshdfkjshdf

ok ok .

because, i do want to play with the fallout a little. i have ideas. but i am also so so tired. of this i mean. (the fallout is ofc that they fuck again. which i also won't write.)

ok current game plan.

i go back into the document. i have an hr n a half. i write up a short aftersex interaction and end it whenever it feels right. do NOT make it long enough to let them leave the room. it is a SHORT conversation. then i go back and finalize the fadeout sex.

at this point i probably will have to leave (friday niteee bb) (i am a very slow writer) but when i get back i can go over the highlighted text ive marked to edit / research / etc... clean it up quickly. then do the ao3 format stuff i suppose !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! add tags summary etc.

....yeah ! yeah i guess.

writing fanfic is all about learning who u are as a writer i think. id like to move on to personal projects someday yk... first thing ive learned: do not let urself edit the same 15 pages on an eternal ocd loop: u will explode and die before u get to the actual end

anyway after this i promise to write all that cousin sex. somehow i have never lost interest in that au. having friends to talk ab ur au with always makes them more fun

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bts-trans · 4 years ago

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201009 BigHit’s Tweet

[네이버 포스트] 다다다다이너-마잇트 프로모션 비하인드를 모아모아! 빌보드 핫100 3번 1위한 가수들 보러가기 👉🏻 (@ https://m.post.naver.com/viewer/postView.nhn?volumeNo=29662485&memberNo=51325039) #BTS #방탄소년단

[Naver Post] [BTS] Let's gather all the behind the scenes photos from the Dydydydyna-mite promotions! Click here to see Billboard Hot 100 three time No.1 Artists 👉🏻 (@ https://m.post.naver.com/viewer/postView.nhn?volumeNo=29662485&memberNo=51325039) #BTS

Naver Post Translation

Keep reading for a plain text version of the blog post! For a picture edit version, please check out our twitter post!

Title: [BTS] 다다다다이너-마잇트 프로모션 비하인드를 모아모아!

[BTS] Let's gather all the Dydydydynamite promotions behind the scenes!

아-하! (아미 하이! 라는 뜻)

Hi-A! (It means Hi ARMY!)

안녕하세요 여러분! 방림이 입니다 ^ㅇ^ 아미 여러분들 모두 추석 연휴를 잘 보내셨나요?! 맛있는 거 많이 드셨나요?! Epibomb.zip 도 잘 챙겨 보셨나요?! 소원도 야무지게 빌었고요?

Hello everyone! It’s Bangbell ^ㅇ^ ARMYs, did you all have a good Chuseok break?! Did you eat lots of yummy things?! Did you make sure to watch all the Epibomb.zip as well?! Did you make lots of fervent wishes?

방림이는 아미들에게 또! 새로운 콘텐츠를 보여주고 싶어서 이렇게 호다닥 찾아왔지 뭐예요! (찡긋)

Bangbell is here again! I wanted to show you new content, that’s why I rushed over like this! (Wink)

이번 소식은!

The piece of news this time is!

Dynnnnnanana ~ ~~ life is dynamite~!

여러분들의 마음을 펑! 하고 터트려버린 방탄소년단의 Dynamite! 멋있고_잘생기고_다_해버린_방탄소년단_모음집.jpg 입니다!

BTS’ Dynamite, that caused everyone’s hearts to explode with a boom! It’s a Awesomeness_Handsomeness_TheyveGotItAll_BTS_Collection.jpg!

다양한 Dynamite 무대로 아미들에게 수많은 심쿵사를 보여줬었는데요! 방탄소년단은 어떤 다양한 모습을 보여줬는지 지금 바로 확인하러 가보실까요?!

BTS set ARMYs hearts racing with their various Dynamite performances! Shall we go right now and see what different sides of BTS there are?

먼저! 무대에서의 모습!

First! How they are on stage!

(기절)

(Faints)

히야.. 본새 난다.. 멋지다…! 방림이는 더 이상 쓸 말이 없다고 느꼈습니다… 언어능력을 상실해 버렸거든요.. 이렇게 까지 멋있어도 될 일???? 방탄소년단. 이렇게 멋지면 나라 하나 밖에 못 세운다고요.

Ah... They’re so full of swag.. So cool...! I feel like there’s nothing more I could say... I’ve lost my language abilities.. Is it even possible to be this cool???? BTS. If you’re going to be this cool, we’re only going to let you establish one nation.

촬영을 준비하는 모습들은 또 얼마나 멋있냐 면요..

If you’re asking how cool they look while preparing for filming..

RM은 그저 신발끈을 고쳐 묶을 뿐 인데 방림이 마음도 함께 묶여버렸습니다...

RM is simply tying his shoelaces but my heart was tied up along with them...

요즘 기타에 빠져있다는 슈�� 무대를 준비하며 틈틈이 기타를 만져 봅니다

Suga has fallen for the guitar recently He tinkers with the guitar in the spare moments he has while preparing for the performance

정 팀장님, 무대 들어가기 전 이 날카로운 눈빛에 죽겠어요..

Team Leader Jung, your sharp gaze will be the death of me even before you start the performance..

선글라스 쓸 준비 하는 모습인데… 왜 이렇게 잘 생겼지? 역시 얼굴인가? 그것이. 잘생김 이니까. (끄덕)

He’s just getting his sunglasses ready.. Why does he look handsome? Is it because of his face? Since the face itself. Is handsome. (Nod)

엥? 예고 없이 다가온 그들의 장난꾸러기 모습들.. (feat.지진정)

Oh? Some shots of them joking around pop up without warning.. (feat.JiJinJung)

방림이는 그저 무대를 준비하고 있던 방탄소년단의 모습을 담다가, 아미들에게 보여줄 예쁜 사진을 찍고 싶었거든요…. (구구절절)

After taking some pictures of BTS preparing for their performances, I was just trying to take some pretty pictures to show ARMY.... (Excuses)

이거…. 눈치게임인가? 방림이를 위한 몰래 카메라인가? 일단 뭔지 모르지만.. 제가 잘못했습니다. 사진, 딱 한장만 찍겠습니다…

Is this.... the noonchi game*? Is this a hidden camera prank on Bangbell? First of all, even though I don’t know what I did.. I’m sorry. I’ll take just one picture...

(T/N: The noonchi game, also known as the ‘timing game’, is a common Korean game. The concept of having 눈치/noon-chi refers to the ability to read the room, or to catch on to things quickly. The objective of the game is to take turns saying numbers in increasing order, with the final number being the number of people playing (e.g. if five people are playing, then the goal is to count to five.) Each person can only say one number, and players must avoid saying a number at the same time as someone else or being the last one to say a number.)

과연.. 방림이는 아미들에게 보여줄 사진 찍기에 성공했을까요? 그 모습은 잠시 후에! 확인하도록 하고!

How will things turn out.. Will Bangbell be successful at taking a picture to show ARMYs? We’ll find out! in just a moment!

다시 돌아와서! 아니.. 무대 모니터링하는 모습마저 이렇게 멋있을 일인가요? 나 왜 드라이기 아냐? 양도 원합니다. 쪽지 부탁드립니다.

님 : 드라이기 저 : 방림이

Back to what we were doing! I mean.. Is monitoring the performance something you have to look that cool doing? Why am I not a hairdryer? I’m looking for one to trade places with. Please leave a message.

You: Hairdryer Me: Bangbell*

(T/N: This part of the post uses the same format Korean fans on Twitter do when they’re looking to trade photocards.)

뭐야… (웅성웅성) 영화 스틸 컷 아냐? (웅성웅성)

What is this... (Mumble mumble) Isn’t this a movie still? (Mumble mumble)

애-옹! 애옹이는 스탠바이를 기다리는 중 이라구 -ㅅ-

Me-ow! Kitty is on standby -ㅅ-

[속보] 서울 한복판에 롤러 스케이트 타는 대럼쥐 등장

[Breaking News] A squirrel wearing roller skates appears in the heart of Seoul

강양이는 몸 푸는 것도 심상치 않지

It isn’t everyday that you see a pupkitty doing warm up stretches

틈새 농구 놀이를 즐기는 V의 모습 포착! 이미 내 마음속에 골ㅋ인ㅋ

Seizing the opportunity to capture a shot of V having fun playing with a basketball! It’s already a slam (heh) dunk (heh) in my heart

고막인데요. 녹았습니다.

Hi, I’m an eardrum. I melted.

이거 이거 이렇게 멋있어도 되는 거예요~? 방림이는 사진에 감탄하며 글을 쓰다가 밤을 꼬박 새울 뻔했지 뭐에요..?

This, this... Is it possible to be this cool~? What’s going on..? I almost stayed up all night writing this because I kept marvelling at the pictures..

단체 사진도 빼놓을 수 없죠?

We can’t leave out the group photos either, right?

아차차! 과연 방림이는 사진 찍기에 성공하였을까요? 이제부터 사진 저장 할 준비 제대로 하시고 스크롤 내리셔야 한다고요!

Oh right! So did Bangbell’s picture taking attempts turn out successful? From this point on, if you’re going to keep scrolling, you’d better get ready to save lots of pictures!

여러분! 이번 포스트로 행복지수 충! 전! 모두 되셨나요?~ 이번 포스트로 황금연휴의 후유증이 조금이라도 치료 되었길 바라며!

Everyone! Did this post help you re!charge! your happiness meter?~ I hope this post helped to cure your post-holiday* woes, even if just a little!

(T/N: The Korean phrase used here is 황금연휴/hwang-geum-yeon-hyu, literally ‘Golden Break’. This usually refers to the long break for Chuseok.)

방림이는 다음 포스트로 찾아오도록 하겠습니다! 다음에 만나요! 바바이!

I’ll meet you again in the next post! See you next time! Bye bye!

아-뿅!

A-Poof!

(T/N: Short for “Bye ARMY! Poof!”, as mentioned in Bighit’s first Naver Post ‘[BTS] What? Do we look like Billboard Number 1 Artists BTS?’)

[Note]

본 포스트는 빅히트 엔터테인먼트에서 직접 운영하는 포스트입니다.

This Naver Post account is personally run by Big Hit Entertainment.

[End Note]

Trans & Typeset cr; Faith @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

#201009 #ot7 #bighit #official #twitter #naver #bangbell #blogpost #bts #bangtan #bts_dynamite #bangbell is a true ARMY

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wendimydarling · 4 years ago

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Count to Three

https://weheartit.com/entry/220987445

Title: Count to Three

Summary: Casey can’t fall asleep and Dean is there to help.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Casey Moore)

Word Count: 2110

Warnings: Fingering, Oral sex, external stimulation, female orgasm, protected penetrative sex, mention of bodily fluids.

A/N: So I usually post Henry Cavill content. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever posted a story that’s not for him. But this... this felt right. Please understand that this is the first smut I ever wrote, all the way back in 2012. I posted it forever ago on fanfiction.net, which I’m pretty sure doesn’t even operate anymore. I haven’t edited it save for some formatting that will make it easier to read, and I definitely cringed quite a bit while re-reading it, but it felt dishonorable to edit the original.

You’re not gonna understand everything that’s going on because it’s a snippet from a much larger fic, but the basic info that you need to know is that Casey and Dean are connected by a spell, and she sees his future in her dreams.

Now, there is a further continuation of the author’s note at the bottom of the fic explaining why I’m posting this that contains MASSIVE SPOILERS for the series finale, so if you don’t wanna know, don’t click keep reading. It’s that simple, I’ve done everything I can to defend you.

"Shhhh, shhhh... Casey, calm down." Dean strode across the room to sit next to her on the bed, uncharacteristically pulling her into his arms and putting his hand behind her neck. Casey wasn't even sure why she was crying, she was just so very frustrated at not being able to remember. The boys' life was in her hands, and her damn brain couldn't remember the dream.

"Casey, it's not gonna come back to you if you don't calm down," Dean whispered so she would have to quiet down and listen. "Now breathe." Casey closed her eyes and breathed deep, focusing on her other senses. Dean had never been this close before, and she could smell the soft musk of his soap. Sandalwood, leather, black pepper, a hint of scotch, and motor oil from his car, she thought to herself, letting the scent wash over her in soothing waves. She could hear him breathe, slow and steady, and she tried to match him as best she could. The hand she had on his chest could feel his heart, beating out a strong rhythm.

The muscles underneath that hand rippled at her touch, and for a moment she felt a small spark in the pit of her stomach. Casey opened her eyes and found herself eye to eye with the most beautiful irises she'd ever seen. She was normally such an observant person, how had she never noticed the piercing green she saw now? And his lips, they looked much softer when they were this close and not drawn into such a tight line. Her mind began to drift to things, inappropriate things, like how much experience he had and what he could be doing with those lips...

"Casey?"

Casey snapped back to reality.

"Sorry, I'm calm," she assured Dean quickly, not wanting to betray her thoughts. "I just wish I could remember. If I could just sleep, I would dream it again and remember, but I'm not even close to tired, so I doubt that will happen." Dean smirked, knowing full well what she had just been thinking (even though she very gracefully tried to hide it). He had been with enough women to know when they wanted him, and he had to admit he liked the idea of sleeping with Casey. She was a pretty girl, and feisty to boot. He'd been scheming for weeks, trying to figure out a way to get her to bed without it complicating things. Without realizing it, Casey had just handed him the solution on a platter, and he wasn't about to let it pass by.

"I could help you with that," he said, flirting. Casey looked up at him confused, so he went on. "With the sleeping... I know exactly what we could do to wear you out. All I have to do is count to three." His hand was still around her neck, so before Casey had time to register what he was saying, he pulled her to him and kissed her with a feather-light touch, making her question if his lips had actually touched her. He held his face right to hers and paused, waiting for her to put two and two together. Casey looked at Dean like he was crazy, and then suddenly it dawned on her.

"Oh," she breathed. "Okay." That 'okay' was all Dean needed and his mouth was on hers, lips moving together in a violent dance. He was normally gentle with his lovers, but this wasn't the time. The whole point was for Casey to be exhausted, so Dean was going to give her every move he had. She was going to beg before he let her have it.

Casey let Dean take charge; she was content to let him have his way with her, and the way he was moaning against her mouth, he seemed to agree. His hand left her face and came down to join its brother at the hem of her shirt. He lifted the fabric to reveal smooth skin, and even Dean was surprised at how soft it was. He paused the kiss to remove her shirt completely, stopping short once it was gone. She was even more beautiful than he had realized. Casey whimpered at the lack of touch, so he quickly pulled his shirt off and continued his attack on her lips; pushing her horizontal and climbing on top of her in the process. Casey was in heaven. She had never been kissed so forcefully, so passionately, and she loved it. The weight of his lips, the brush of his fingers, the firmness of his abs beneath her fingertips; it was all so wonderfully overwhelming. Her insides ached with desire, and she wanted more. She knew Dean was drawing this out on purpose, but she was getting frustrated. Wanting to move things along, she unbuckled his belt and whipped it out of its loops, surprising Dean and giving her the opportunity to unbutton and unzip his pants. Dean caught her wrists in his hands and brought them down to her sides.

"My timing," he scolded, laughing at her groan of displeasure. He gave her a little tease by undoing her pants and pulling them down just past her crotch. The cool air hit her exposed groin, fabric already wet with her desire, and she groaned again, this time in excitement. Pulling her arms above her head, Dean came back up to kiss her neck, skillfully running his tongue in the crease of her collarbone. He moved his head down to kiss her ribs, knowing that when he did she would arch her back, which would give him access to the back of her bra. Casey left her arms where they were as he undid the clasp, revealing her breasts. She wasn't a large girl, but she was proportioned in just the right way, each breast round with a small pink center. Showing no mercy, Dean took one of her nipples in his mouth as he pinned her arms again, sucking on the soft flesh to get it hard and then flicking it rapidly under his tongue. Casey cried out at the warm sensations, and tried in vain to get away from the teasing touches. Her breasts had always been slightly ticklish, and though it felt amazing, she couldn't help trying to escape his grasp. Dean held firm and continued the onslaught on her breasts, alternating between the two as her cries and squirms egged him on. He was having fun playing with her nipples, and seeing as though she couldn't go anywhere, he wasn't going to stop any time soon.

Casey could feel his cock growing harder against her leg, and her inability to touch him back increased her arousal. She wanted nothing more than to take his member in her mouth and torture him in return, but she was pinned, which only made her mound throb harder. "Dean! Dean pleeeease!" Casey screamed, the nerves in her breasts sending fire to her loins. "I can't... no more... I need... inside..." She couldn't even form a proper sentence. The fire was burning inside her, growing hotter and hotter as she begged him to give her release. It seemed as though her pleas fell on deaf ears as Dean ignored her request to enter her. Instead, he took both her wrists in one hand and brought the other hand down to tickle the breast his mouth wasn't currently sucking on.

The fire inside Casey erupted at the combination of the tandem touch, and she came hard. Her breath came out in strangled cries, and she bucked harder against him than she had before. Dean kept up his steady rhythm, licking and tickling and slowing only once she came down.

"One," he said with a grin, laughing softly at the expression on her face. He sat up quickly. Before Casey had time to reassemble her thoughts, Dean was tugging off her pants, and encircling her hips with one arm. The hand that had been pinning her arms slid down her side, past her hip, and came to rest cupping her crotch, thumb brushing against the skin he found there. Casey gasped against his touch, pleasure lacing itself through her veins. She tried to grab his hands, but Dean just smacked hers away. He pulled her panties down just enough that he could reach her bare clit, and stuck his talented tongue into the crevasses of her body. Casey keened as he began his torturous flicking again, wanting him to open her up and fuck her with that tongue instead. She felt Dean smile against her womanhood, and in vain she prayed he would give her more.

He didn't. Dean used his free hand to pin her wrists underneath her body so that she couldn't push him away and continued licking her up and down. He used two fingers from his other hand to move aside her underwear, slid them in between her lips and held them there, making Casey gasp, and pull against his firm grip.

"No, Dean please," she said, trying to persuade him to free her hands. Dean ignored her and held fast, shifting his body slightly to spread her legs a little further apart (which elicited another gasp from Casey). He brought his lips down to her button and sucked hard, shoving his fingers inside of her at the same time. Casey's brain exploded at the sudden warmth of his fingers. He pushed and pulled and twisted and scissored in every possible way, contorting his fingers to find every spot inside of her that made her scream. Of course, that wasn't very hard to do; thanks to his mouth on her slit it didn't matter where his fingers went, her orgasm stayed strong.

"Oh my God... Oh my God, Dean!" She cried out as wave after wave of pleasure continued to roll through her.

"That's right baby, say my name," Dean mumbled around her mound, trying his best to ignore how unbearably tight his pants were. He would have satisfaction soon enough, so he focused on her. She was still choking out strangled gasps of pleasure, so he moved his fingers faster, pumping her in time with his tongue. Casey's eyes rolled back into her head and she became rigid, her body locked in spasms and her mouth falling open into a silent scream. Her muscles relaxed and she went limp, eyes closed, head rolling slightly and chest heaving. She didn't even fight Dean's grip anymore, just moaned as he slowed down his pace. "Two," Dean noted quietly as he took the opportunity to stand up and remove his pants and boxers. He groaned in relief as his throbbing cock was freed from its tight bondage, not at all surprised to see he was already leaking. He bent over and pulled a condom from his wallet, tearing the wrapping with his teeth and then slipping the condom on with one hand. Casey hadn't moved, hadn't even felt him get up. Eyes still closed, she felt gentle fingers slowly tug her panties off, so she spread her legs wide, inviting whatever was to come next. She was expecting more teasing, more drawn out torture, so when she was suddenly filled with Dean's length, her eyes snapped open, breath catching in her throat. Dean growled, and began to thrust himself deep inside her. Casey's reaction was immediate, her body opening up to receive all of him, her arms coming above her head so her hands could grasp the sheets behind her. Dean was relentless, pounding into her with fury. He grasped the headboard for leverage, and kept up his pace, hard and fast. Casey cried out every time he was deepest, and Dean felt himself slipping over the edge. Casey's third orgasm rocked through her body at the same time Dean let go, his shout mixing with her cry. He continued to thrust through his orgasm, keeping her pleasure high, until it hurt too much to continue. Casey relaxed her body again, and let Dean clean up, too tired to move.

Dean finished in the bathroom, and came back into the room to find Casey fast asleep, still naked and sprawled across the bed. Dean looked at her tenderly, pulling the covers out from under her body and draping them over her so she would be warm. He climbed into the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her worn out frame. She snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth, and looked up at him through moon-slit eyes.

"Thank you," she mumbled to him, drifting back into sleep. Dean looked down at her and kissed her forehead.

"Three," he whispered.

A/N Continued: Okay, so I’m not here to get into a debate about what they did or did not do right in last night’s episode. I don’t care about your politics, I don’t care about what you think about the episode as a whole. I’m posting this as a tribute. A tribute to Dean Winchester.

Dean is... was, my first love. He introduced me to writing. He was my first boyfriend, he showed me things about my body that I wasn’t aware it could do. He showed me what it meant to keep fighting in the face of adversity. He was there to encourage me when all hope seemed lost. He reminded me that he too dealt with what seemed like an unloving parent, with a parent who no matter what you did, it was never enough. And watching him die like that broke my heart.

So, this story is for you Dean. I love you, I will always love you, and it’s okay.

You can go now. ❤

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction

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smediumsmeatbae · 4 years ago

Text

Try Me (Requested)

PAIRING: Chris Evans x Reader SUMMARY: You have a rule about not dating coworkers. Chris aims to change your mind. WORDS: ~1895 WARNINGS: Brief smut, mentions of a shitty relationship/relationship going sour, drinking, reader doing stupid shit, swearing A/N: This was requested by a person that shall remain anonymous at their request. This was a fun one to do and I hope they enjoy it! “Hi! Can you do one where reader worked on mcu too and Chris wanted her for a very long time but she was not having it and then a party happens and finally gets her.” I hadn’t done a POV from Chris yet so the format was a little weird to get used to at first but I wanted to challenge myself a bit. This was loosely edited so I apologize for any mistakes. You do not have my permission to post this outside of Tumblr. Likes are amazing. Comments and reblogs are even better. Tags will be in a reblog since Tumblr’s being really weird about it.

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Chris couldn't believe that you were there, in his arms. Your soft lips against his own. He felt like his chest was going to explode. He thought how lucky he was to be there, how happenstance and chance led you two together.

***

He met you on the set of the first Avengers movie. You had been cast as the new assistant to Tony Stark and quickly became a fan favorite. While Chris and you didn't have a ton of scenes together, it was enough for him to feel the chemistry between the two of you. You were vibrant and funny, always making jokes with everyone on set, making the time in between shooting go by. Beautiful and soft, he found himself longing to place his mouth on your shoulders and neck, feel the swell of your breasts. Chris wanted to put his hand on the small of your back, to hold you close to him, to smell your subtle perfume mixed with your citrus shampoo. He had a crush. He hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

He found himself looking forward to getting onto set when you two worked together, even through six in the morning call times. Chris would bring you coffee and when you went to thank him, he flashed that boyish grin at you. "I was goin’ anyway." When you were out of earshot, Mackie and Seb teased him that you were the only one that he brought coffee for. They would tell him to ask you out already, they knew he wanted to. If they only knew that he had tried a few times already.

The first time Chris had asked you, it had been after a long day on set and he was tired but he had finally worked up the nerve. He knocked on your trailer with a nervousness and waited for you to open the door. Once you did, you looked like you had been taking a nap- your hair was messy, eyes half opened. You were wearing a large baggy t-shirt that hit your knees. You still looked adorable. When he asked you out, you turned him down as gently as you could. Your beautiful bright eyes held a small sadness in them. “I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t date co-workers.”

He was disappointed and, he had to admit, a little crushed by the confession. He had to respect your decision, though. He told you before he asked that it would not negatively affect your relationship and he meant it. You had become one of his best friends on set. He loved talking to you, sharing inside jokes with you, loved getting tacos with you late at night after a long work day. He didn’t want to lose that.

The second time Chris asked you out, it happened under the influence of a few beers after work. You two had gone out with Seb, Scarlette, Mackie, and Renner to a dive bar on the outskirts of New York City where you all wouldn’t be bothered. You had gone outside to get some fresh air and Chris had followed you, needing the same thing. Back leaning against the wall, you looked up at Chris and smiled, whiskey flowing in your blood. He leaned his shoulder on the wall close to you and looked down at you, skin glowing from the lamp light, looking every bit like an angel. And he just… said it. “Go out with me.” He murmured in your ear. You didn’t answer, but pulled him by his t-shirt towards you and kissed him. It was sloppy and sweet, the kind of kiss that happens when two people have had a little too much. Fire igniting in his belly, he stood his body over yours, hands at your hips and kissed you good, nipping your bottom lip. Wolf whistles and shrieks of laughter broke the kiss where he spotted Mackie and Scarlett grinning at the both of you.

The day after, he had received a text from you, apologizing. The kiss was a mistake and you asked him to forgive you. And he did, but after having that kiss, after having you pulled so close to him, he couldn’t just give up on you. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Chris knew that you felt something for him, that kiss didn’t mean nothing.

The last time he asked you out, it was more of a question. It was after the wrap party for Infinity War. You were dancing and laughing, having a good time with Scarlett, Elizabeth, and Danai. Chris came up from behind and talked into your ear so that you could hear him over the music. He wanted you to follow him outside.

“I’m so glad shooting is over!” You laughed as you went outside. There was a nice breeze out and it played with the edges of your dress as you twirled around, seeming to dance to the music in your head. Chris smiled at you, loving you so care free. “Do you like me?” Chris asked, his blue eyes boring into you. “You know I do, Chris. You’re, like, my best friend.” You giggled at him. “People have been calling you my husband on set.” “But, do you feel anything else for me?”

You stopped twirling, looking at Chris, eyes wide. He had never outright asked you before how you felt about him. He was hoping that he could catch you into revealing something.

“I…” You trailed. “I know you said the kiss was a mistake, but I can’t help but keep thinking that you felt something.” Chris walked towards you and took your hand. “So, I have to ask. Do you?”

You sighed, dipping your head down but you didn’t try to pull away or move your hands. Chris thought maybe he had made it through. He waited for you to speak.

“I do. I do like you, Chris.” You admitted. “But I still can’t compromise my standards that I’ve set for myself and go out with you.” “Why not?” Chris let out an almost exasperated breath. “A few years ago, I went out with one of my coworkers. It was one of my first sets where I had gotten a role that wasn’t background. I was still so new to the industry and so naive… Anyway. We went out for a couple of months, almost got serious. And then we broke up. It wasn’t amicable and got pretty nasty. He made set a living hell for me. It got so bad that I almost quit acting all together.” You paused, shaking your head. “It was then that I decided that I would never date another coworker again. It just complicates things too much.”

Chris nodded his head. He understood then that it wasn’t about him, but about her experiences. He would never want to put her in a position where she felt uncomfortable or where anything he did had the potential to ruin something she loved so dearly such as acting.

“And I’m not saying that you would be like him, I know you wouldn’t. But I could see myself…” You paused at this, trying to find the right words. “Falling for you. You’re so sweet and gorgeous and funny. I just cant…” “It’s okay.” Chris stopped you with a sad smile. “I get it, really.” “Thank you, Chris.” You smiled at him and stepped away, still holding his hand. “Let’s go get shots.”

After that night, he did as you asked and stayed your constant friend. Though he also didn’t stop himself from being interested in other people either. If you wanted to be friends, that was fine, but he had to try to get over you. Maybe he did it slightly out of spite, maybe he wanted to make you a bit jealous. If he was truthful, he was trying to fill in the ache of not being with you with someone else. He also didn’t miss the hurt look on your face when he told you of his weekend plans of dates with different people, though he tried to ignore it. You didn’t get to be mad at him about dating other people.

You were about two and a half months into a five month shoot for Endgame. Chris was walking you back to your trailer after some reshoots between your two characters had taken longer than expected. He asked you if you wanted to go for tacos and before he knew it, you were yelling. Yelling at him. About dating all those women and flaunting it, flaunting it all over, flaunting it in front of you. And he could see the hurt in your eyes, the tears that you were trying not to slip out, whether it was from anger or sadness, he did not know.

“You can’t have it both ways, sweetheart.” Chris said calmly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “And THAT.” You continued on with your tirade. “I’m yelling at you and you’re just being so calm and sweet and… and…”

Chris heard you mutter a ‘goddamnit’ under your breath as you pulled his shirt towards you and landed a bruising kiss on his lips. It took him by surprise for only a second, then he was grabbing you by your hips pulling your body into him in turn. His one hand swept up your waist while the other grabbed your butt. You moaned into Chris’s mouth, grinding your hips into him. You pulled away, eyes lust blown, lips wet with kisses. Grabbing Chris’s hand, you led him up the couple of steps to your trailer and slammed the door shut behind you. You began kissing him again before he was backing you off of him.

“Wait, wait.” Breathless, he looked into your eyes. “Are you sure you want this? I don’t want another text later that this was a mistake. I’ve just wanted you for so long. I need you to be sure.” “Yes, I want this.” You whispered and nodded. “I want this so much.”

***

You had led him to the bedroom and kissed him softly, his chest still beating fast, a heated blush on your cheeks. There was a tangle of clothing and limbs, kisses on exposed skin, moans and whimpers. Every emotion that you two had wanted to convey for so long was flowing out. He said ‘ have me’ in the way that he held your body under him. You said ‘I’m yours’ with the fingers you carded through his hair. You called out his name as you exploded in ecstasy, a flash of brilliant light in your eyes that had squeezed tight. Watching you fall apart under him was the most beautiful thing Chris had ever seen. He buried his face in your neck as he came as well and he thought his soul had left his body.

As you laid there in the quiet, in the afterglow of your lovemaking, Chris held you in his arms and stroked your hand lazily as it laid motionless on his chest. He vowed to never make you regret this night, to always have you next to him. He was so lucky, lucky you had chosen him and he felt like a king in that moment. He bent down and gently kissed the top of your head as he drifted off to sleep.

#requested #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fan fic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female!reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans smut #chris evans rpf #rpf #actor rpf #american actor rpf

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

Text

Stolen Sunlight

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna and Varian

Notes: This is a fic I started writing many many years ago, during the hiatus between seasons 1 and 2. I intended to post it way back then, as a long one-shot. I continued to occasionally work on it over the years, however, it's proven one of the hardest fics I've ever written to edit, (mostly due to the amount of internal monologue).

I finally decided that probably the only way to get it actually edited and posted is to break it up into multiple chapters, despite the fact that it's essentially only one scene, and I feel like that messes with the format. Hopefully it'll help me edit, and end up making it easier for people to read too XD I might post the full version of this, unbroken up, too after I finish it. But I finally got fed up with my editing process and decided this was the only way.

I'm aware that plenty of other people have written Varian and Arianna fics over the years, but at the time I started this there weren't that many yet, and I worked so hard on this, I still wanted to post it, even if others have done things like it. Plus, I'm not sure how many people have written it this heavily from Arianna's perspective.

I hope you all enjoy it, either way! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know, if so!!

Chapter 1: Fractured Memory

Sun splinters through the castle windows, designing reflections on the newly polished floor.

When she walks into the library, her mouth drops open; The entire room gleams. That Corona sunlight bounces between the tiles, tables, and shelves like a little boy full of energy, laughing as he leaps around the room.

It may be a royal library, but there’s usually still a layer of dust draped over everything, sealing up the gaps, and clogging up the stories. The servants try their best, but it’s hard to get into all the crevices between the shelves, the cracks between the pages.

The tiles glitter, the shelves look new, the books don’t cough up dust when she lifts them, even a few of their bindings are mended.

She stays a while to admire it before heading back for her room, and as she does, Arianna smiles, her gait almost dreamy—so like her daughter’s.

Who would take such care to polish her library? She appreciates the gesture more than words can express, but she would like to say ‘thank you’ at least.

A curious sight down the hall interrupts her wondering; a laundry cart, moving on its own.

A very full laundry cart, that is…Cassandra doesn’t usually fill them so much.

“May I…help you?” she walks up to the cart, tilting her head, strands of hair falling to the side.

“Oh, no, it’s fine! I got this!” the laundry cart replies.

The ventriloquist reveals himself: a boy steps out from behind it. She guesses he must be one of Rapunzel’s friends, since she doesn’t remember seeing him here before, and he doesn’t exactly look like a royal servant, (despite the fact that he’s performing one of their jobs).

He pushes back his hair—black, with a streak of turquoise at the front—and smooths out his apron. Upon seeing her, his eyes widen with shock.

“Oh!” he stumbles, attempting to bow too low, too quickly, “Your majesty! I-I am so sorry! I didn’t realize—!”

She laughs, holding out a hand to steady him.

“Don’t worry. Please. I’m Arianna.”

“Oh—O-Okay. That…seems to run in the family,” he mutters beneath his breath. “I’m Varian.” He leans confidently against the laundry cart…which starts moving, so he pulls it back with all his strength before it gets out of hand.

“Oh! Varian! Rapunzel told me about you!”

He freezes, his eyes trailing back to her, like people talking about him is usually a bad thing. “She…She has?”

“Of course!” she steps closer. “You’re the alchemist, right?”

He pauses, blinks, then his face breaks into the biggest grin. He clears his throat, rubbing fake dirt off his gloves, trying to hide his joy, as he looks back up at her. “Ten points to the lady in the crown.”

She smiles.

“Are you here for the completion today?”

He nods. “I think I’ve got a pre-tty good chance of snagging that first prize if I do say so myself,” he pulls on his apron straps, then pauses, realizing how arrogant that sounds. “Not to uh…toot my own horn or anything. But it doesn’t seem like there’s anything like my invention in the running, so I think once Master Doctor St. Croix sees it he’ll be impressed! At least I hope so.”

“Well, if your invention is anything like the ones Rapunzel has told me about you’ll have no trouble snagging that blue ribbon.”

“Oh stop,” he flicks his wrist to wave her off, but is beaming from ear to ear.

She notes that she may be encouraging him a little too much. The experiments Rapunzel has told her about aren’t exactly all blue-ribbon worthy. Or, perhaps they would be…if they all worked properly. At the same time, she isn’t sure labelling him as dangerous, and reckless is really fair. She and Willow had tried out their share of inventions, which often failed in a grand array of explosions. If they had worked properly, growing up wouldn’t have been as colorful. At least he was trying his best to help people with his inventions. Without the explosive failures, there was no room for fiery success either.

“Wait, shouldn’t you be there with the other contestants now?”

“Oh, yeah.” He says nonchalantly. “But I figured since I’m going second-to-last I’ve got a decent amount of time before I have to present. Cassi—Cassandra has agreed to be my assistant, so I’m helping her out with her lady-in-waiting duties first.”

“Don’t let her make you do all her work.” She says in a motherly way. Then gasps, “The library!”

He winces. “Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it, don’t worry!”

“No, no!” she puts her hands on his shoulders, “So you were the one who cleaned it?”

“Yeees…?”

She pulls him into a hug. “Thank you so much.”—his eyes widen with shock—“I’ve never seen the place look so beautiful.” She releases him.

“Oh!” he rubs the back of his neck and the smile turns sheepish.

“That must have taken you hours!”

“It was no big deal. Nothing a little home-alchemy can’t fix.” He says like a salesman.

“How did you do it?”

“Just a compound of my own invention,” he digs in his pocket and holds up a little, blue orb between his thumb and forefinger. “Most people don’t understand the more practical uses for alchemy.” he marches forward, hands on his hips, in a hyperbolic show of pride, making his voice sound deep, “that’s why I make it a mission to show the world the value of alchemy! To boldly go where no man has gone before!” he laughs, his pose collapsing, “Or something like that.”

No wonder Rapunzel had such nice things to say about him. There weren’t a lot of people out there who were so…genuine. People who cleaned libraries because they needed cleaning, who created solutions for problems simply because they needed fixing.

“Maybe one day you can teach me.”

“Really?” He drops the ball and it explodes into a sudsy mess on the already polished floor. “I mean, not that I think a queen should be doing housework! But…really?”

“Please,” she waves him off. “I wasn’t always a queen, you know. If Willow and I had had tricks like this maybe our house would have always looked like a pigsty. Sometimes I think we started going off on adventures just to get away from the smell.” She leans in closer, whispering behind her hand, “One time, I set the kitchen on fire trying to bake a birthday cake for Frederic.”

He laughs, then pauses like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to. “I guess not every queen is scared to get her hands dirty, huh?”

“Uh huh,” she puts her hands on her hips, “You should have seen the look on his face.”

“Happy birthday huh?”

“Now make sure to always send someone to Monty’s for his cake…spare us all.”

He fails to keep himself from laughing again, then pauses.

“Well… I really should be getting back to these chores. This laundry isn’t going to clean itself, amIright?” he bobs his head and walks backwards to the cart. “But it was really nice talking to you, your Maj—I mean,” he points, “Arianna.”

“Let me help you! This cart is too heavy to carry on your own.” she rushes over to the other end—he’s so thin, she’s afraid he’ll snap in two if he does all the chores by himself.

“No no!” he comes dangerously close to slapping her hands away. “I mean,” he smiles nervously, pulling his fingers close to his chest, realizing his outburst to the Queen. “I wouldn’t want you to get your…er…royal hands dirty…Right?”

She smiles.

Well, if a little stubborn.

“As long as you’re sure.”

* The scene shifts, smearing like a painting left out in the rain. The reflection becomes more sinister; a glowing tower of amber, and encased within, a man reaching to the sky as if trying to catch rays of sunlight; as if light alone can break himself out of his prison of stained glass. The curtain to this godforsaken show is crumpled at the bottom. A giant machine stands in the middle of the room, made of metal, lightning, and cold, haunting music.

The room smells like sulfur, and rust, and a lot of other chemicals she can’t quite place. Things from the earth which don’t smell natural at all.

The same boy stands before her. The same, and yet…not the same at all. Along with the light from the windows, so too has disappeared the light from his eyes. The blue is something akin to moonlight; less the gleam of day, the reflection of the sunrise, full of hope, instead, more an eclipsed glow, shrouded by darkness.

She feels that rusted metal, the cold in his eyes, wrap like icy hands around her ankles.

She looks quizzically from her cuffed ankles to him. Doesn’t the warden usually cuff the prisoner’s hands?

He seems to understand her confusion, because he answers her unasked question;

“Please,” he scoffs. His eyes meet hers, and he smirks. The words, the smile, no longer contain compassion, they are manufactured with bite and scorn; “I wouldn’t want you to get your royal hands dirty.”

He tugs hard on the chain, showing that it’s connected to the lab’s floor, as if saying to a toddler You’re stuck here, understand? He walks back over to his desk—littered with bottles, liquid bubbling and seething like his emotions, an array of colors that tell nothing of what they contain.

If the color green is sleep, then what color is death?

She looks up at the golden tower in the center of the room. She doesn’t want to, but she can’t look away.

—Look away…like Frederic did, when people like Varian were crying out for his help against the rocks. Look away, like Rapunzel had to when the storm was coming, and Quirin was being imprisoned. Look away, like they all did after the storm passed.

She still couldn’t believe her husband would, could do something like that. That was the reason she was here, the reason the boy was hurt, the reason…the mistake, the poorly made choice.

No, she couldn’t think that way. Besides, she knew he had his reasons, that he wanted to make sure people didn’t panic, and he wanted to keep Rapunzel safe. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t fully understand the situation.

And she would never blame Rapunzel. Rapunzel had had to make one of the most difficult choices of her life that day, had had to learn too much about being queen, too soon: that it was about choices, and sometimes those choices would be leaving behind the one, for the sake of the many.

And the amber was the other reason, and that wasn’t Frederic’s fault...The amber Varian himself had mistakenly made.

Still, it would have been so easy. So easy to come back to him once the storm had ended. So easy...

So where did the fault lie, really?—

Was it amber? Was amber the color of death? Or just another kind of sleep?

The boy’s eyes shift, glaring at her with nothing more than bitterness.

Or was it blue? The color of the moon, a well-timed strike of lightning, an icy landscape. Was blue the color of death?

“What are you going to do?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “I’ll reveal my whole plan to you. Let me go into the tragic backstory of Varian,” he waves his hand grandly, “The poor boy, who lost his father to an experiment, a few rocks, a storm, and a princess’ broken promise.” He leans on the desk, resting his cheek in his hand in some mock-loving fashion, his eyes aimed on her like gunfire. “It’s simple; Rapunzel broke her promise.” He stands back up to his full height—which, admittedly, isn’t very high, but it’s more impressive from her place on the ground. “I tried asking nicely for her help, and I was denied.” He jabs a finger on the table to emphasize his point; the first sign of violence. “Now I’m going to ask” he smirks, tilting his head to the side, his eyes half-lidded in the dark, “not so nicely.”

He pauses a moment, glancing at the chemicals on his desk.

“I once said I’d teach you the ways of practical alchemy.” He reaches forward and takes up a flask. “Well, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I will show you something.”

He walked over to her, holding the flask full of something green and frothy that smells like dog breath.

Was it green? Was death’s color the same as sleep? The colors of leaves and grass and everything everyone thinks is a sign of life. ...It would be a cruel joke.

“This is a little solution I like to call…Varium.” There’s something hurt in his eyes when he says the word. “You see, when it reacts with the rocks,” he runs his fingers along the black spire jutting through the wall between them—one could be fooled into thinking in an intrigued way, but there was something harsh in his touch, resentful in his eyes, “it has this tendency to—” he held it over the stones, the liquid trickling slowly downwards in the flask, teasing her breath to catch itself and fall. He turns the bottle upright, and bites his lip, closing his eyes, willing himself not to turn around and look at what this has done before.

What he’s done.

“Well, you get the idea,” he mutters, returning the flask to his desk.

She doesn’t have to ask, and he doesn’t have to finish.

“You think if you threaten me Rapunzel will work with you?” there’s a bite to her words.

“Ten points to the lady in the crown.”

She pauses as he returns to work, her eyes trailing along the chain, the floor, jumping onto the windowsill—the rocks interrupting her gaze at every bend and break of the room—searching for any way out, any chance at rescue, anything her husband and daughter could use against him.

Was death black? The color everyone thinks it is. The black of these rocks, the low blue glowing beneath them, destroying his home, destroying their hearts, their chances at friendship and…It surely seemed like it.

“She won’t, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow as if to say oh, you think?

“Rapunzel.” She tries to urge her confidence, like a stubborn pet, to come out, but it shies away by the second. “She won’t help you.”

He smiles. “You make your hypotheses, I’ll make mine.”

“And what are yours?” her own eyes are half lidded.

He thinks over his words. “She can’t…help but help. She always had this sick compassion about her.” After a moment he adds softly, “…but only for her kingdom.”

Anger, injustice, bubble within her chest.

“You don’t have to be like this, you know.”

“And she didn’t have to break her promise,” he tilts his head, “ya know.”

She grits her teeth, clenches her fist. “I met you once. What happened to that boy who—”

He laughs a little, cutting her off. “Yeah, well, he learned a couple things about the real world.”

For a moment, just one brief moment, there is something there. Something in his eyes, a memory, a reaction, like the chemicals. Something real, something lost, something hurt, something…something not this. Incased within a prison of blue—

And then that moment ended.

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millennial-star-gazer · 4 years ago

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A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath: Chapter: 1 (Nalu Week 2020)

A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

Nalu week 2020 Prompts: Voice, Flirt, Charm & Smile(All implied)

Genres: Romance, Humor, New Adult Fanfiction

Pairing: Nalu/Endlu (Natsu x Lucy & E.n.d. Natsu x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature/adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Discretion is advised.(You've been warned!)

Summary: God knows it was all fun and games at an outdoor guild party until a drinking contest results in a not-so-great time for a certain celestial wizard much to the dismay of a protective dragon slayer and company. Even worse is Lucy's hangover with some kind of mild flu and busted ankle to boot . At least a doting Natsu is more-than-willing to provide his mate plenty of TLC. One of my entries for @nalu-week 2020 and part of the Nalu-centric anthology series The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology series (slight au/ canon divergent).

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Chapter 1: A Worthwhile Distraction

A/N: Hey guys, it's me again with my third entry for @nalu-week 2020 in the form of a new story and is also part of The Dragon Demon and His Celestial Princess anthology (TDDAHCP); series which is set shortly after the events of 100 years quest with said quest being completed in a matter of weeks or a few months (hence why it's slight au/canon divergent). Special thanks to @mannyegb again for helping me to edit and further develop this chapter. Now without further ado, here's the story-enjoy!

Scroll Down Past The Read More Button/cut for designated links and the actual chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own Fairytail which instead belongs to the one and only Hiro-sensei instead!

Read More of This Fic and on other Platforms

Note: Copy and paste links into another browser tap if reading on desktop site

1. A Fire Dragon, His Princess and The Not-So-Terrible Party Aftermath

A. Tumblr

Chapter: 1 Next (Chapter) (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/624773467606319105/a-fire-dragon-his-princess-and-the)

B. Fanfiction (Click Here:) (or here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13623735/1/A-Fire-Dragon-His-Princess-and-The-Not-So-Terrible-Party-Aftermath)

C. A03 (Click Here:) ( or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24802591/chapters/59983813)

3. Master Post Of All My Writing And Profiles (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend

Italics: Fantasy, flashback & literary/ song quotes

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: empathized word

Bolded Italics: outside of main story): A/N

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" The friction between my words and your fantasy is making the atmosphere erotic."

(Soraya Marcelo: Twitter)

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"There you go baby - everything's ready now. It should be perfect for tonight. A guild picnic at dusk and bonfire under the stars, was it?"

"Yep, that's what Mira told us. Even said so on the Magicbook * page for the event. My friends from other guilds like Sabertooth will be attending too— a bunch responded."

"Awesome baby!"

"It really is. Thanks for helping me get ready by the way, Cancer!"

"Anytime. Have fun tonight!"

"Will do— thank you! "

"All right-catch you later, baby!"

"See ya!"

" Wow—- You look beautiful, Luce."

Natsu's arms encircled Lucy's waist from behind with the soft pressure of his lips on her shoulder; which sent a tingly shiver down her spine.

"Not that ya' didn't before. He amended, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Not to mention those striking emerald eyes the celestial mage could drown in. "You always do."

Major fan of this whole look.

"I still can't believe I got such a gorgeous angel as my mate and queen. How am I this lucky?"

"Dunno. How'd you ever get so sentimental?" Lucy shot back, a teasing lilt to her words. (She couldn't help but lean back into his arms ). "If Gray could only hear you now ...but yeah, I really like all this too ."

Golden half-braided hair framed the face of Lucy's reflection in a floral-mini, skater dress; who was gazing back through a mirror. Topping the whole ensemble together was a pair of Grecian-style wedges on her feet that were to die for.

"Still can't believe you're officially mine" the dragon slayer breathed, voice thick with reverent awe. "I love you so much."

"L-love you too... hmm."

The celestial wizard let out a soft hum of bliss from the peppering of feathery-light kisses on her neck leading to her collarbone just after a nuzzle.

"Y-You trying to distract me Natsu?" she inquired, voice coming out as breathy to her own ears. God, the sensation of Natsu's scorching lips on the celestial mage's creamy skin was scattering all train of thought— almost too much to handle!

It's really hard to think right now...

"Hmm.. just maybe I am, sweetheart," came the dragonslayer's reply, timbre, a languid drawl against her skin. "Is it working?"

"Yes," was all Lucy could utter, eyes drifting shut from the sweep of his hand up the curve of her neck in a single caress. Oh and the appealing sensation of a blonde tendril being dragged through his deft fingers was an added bonus too!

"Good," The vibrations of the fire wizard 's throaty chuckle sent sparks ripping across the summoner's nerves; which effectively turned the celestial mage's knees to mush.

"That's what I was aiming for ."

"It is?"

"Yep. Did I mention how amazing you smell?" He rumbled, pulling another shiver out of his mate. "Your natural scent now permanently mixed with mine..."

Dear God, the enticing charisma of this man- so natural! Who was she deny the incredibly overpowering ecstasy exploding through her veins with how the demon hybrid's nose was pressed against the crook of her neck?.

"And is that a hint of jasmine perfume I'm catching a whiff of?"

"Mhmm..." Goddamn- how extremely apparent that Lucy was pretty much rendered incapable of forming any type of response other than a single ,answering hum.

"Thought so-pretty intoxicating if ya' ask me."

"Um..."

It was then Lucy couldn't help but wonder what Natsu's ultimate end game was. No doubt the man was successful in efforts to ensare her with his devilish charms— but where did he intend for it to all lead? Did any of his plans entail steamy kissing marathons on the couple's bed? Slow-burn love-making beneath the sheets, wild romps all over their apartment? Just what if it could be?

Holy hell— that pulsating of liquid heat pulsating that shot between to the keyholder's core from the scintillant flash of images flooding her mind .

Supple digits unzipping the back of her dress, an insatiable Natsu pinning her against a wall, being lightly tossed onto the bed by said dominant dragon slayer, all-too-welcome lips leaving a high-voltage trail of electricity down her bare form before...

"Crap... the time."

Just for that little fantasy bubble to burst once Natsu pulled away from Lucy; who bit back a noise of protest at the loss of contact.

"Eh sorry, Luce," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Didn't mean to lose track of the time like that. Either way, we should probably start heading over if we don't wanna be late."

"Okay..." Lucy let out a sigh, not able to stop the wave of mild disappointment from washing over her.

"Aw come on now, weirdo!" Natsu wheedled, light-hearted amusement coloring his tone. "No need to be so glum! Tonight's gonna be fun, remember?"

"I know." Lucy conceded, with a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Should be great to spend time with our friends from Fairytail and other guilds. " Her spirits couldn't help but be lifted by the pyro's sunny mood.

Him and that infectious grin of his...

"Great! That's the spirit!" He crowed , planting a light peck on Lucy's cheek;aka the reason for the slight flush of scarlet .

"Tonight's gonna be awesome !"

"It sure will ."

"Definitely!"

"Oh, and one more thing," Natsu paused to shoot Lucy a lingering glance. "Just a little tiny something."

" What that might be?"

"Your outfit. I was thinking that maybe it could use a little extra piece to complete the look? Like, say that necklace I gave you?"

" Oh… that gorgeous pendant? You know what, yeah! Great idea-Thanks Natsu!"

"My pleasure. And pretty sure I saw said pendant in your jewelry box. Lemme' grab it for you."

"Sure thing!"

"Great then- so it's settled!"

"You bet!"

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A/N: Magicbook is a fictional social media app and site for all magic users and citizens in Earthland- aka the Fairytail equivalent of its counterpart in real life Facebook- in case anyone was wondering. Just a little sidenote about the chronological order for the timeline each fic in my TDDAHCP anthology series.

1. Fire And Gold(prequel)

2. Tantric Flames

3. A Dragon, His Princess and the Not-So Terrible Party Aftermath(this fic)

Figured I'd provide a little guide about the chronological order in terms of how each fic in this series takes place. Anyway, that's pretty much all for now until the next chapter. Hoped you enjoyed the first installment and please free to let me know what you think by dropping a review/comment!

Once again, don't forget to check out my other Nalu week entries along with the rest of my writing! Also be sure to stay tuned for chapter 3 of Fire and Gold which will be posted ASAP once I have a chance to finish the edits and format! Did I mention my other upcoming Nalu/FT projects in the works! Bet you're all fired now as Natsu would say! Oh and why not check out the rest of Nalu week submissions from the other incredibly talented writers and artists while you're at it? (Corresponding links to all my writing and profiles can be found above in this post, the navigation bar and bio if reading this on tumblr. Also on my respective FF and A03 accounts.) Thanks again to everyone for their incredible show of support ! Until next time-take care!

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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Hit Or Miss || Morgan & Bex

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @inbextween & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to get to know Bex over a game of Battleship. Explosions may or may not ensue.

CONTAINS: brief references to transphobia

There were a few things that death couldn’t take away from Morgan: love, the view of a January day, and board games. She had never been much of a fan as a kid, they were bulky, hard to pack in a hurry, and as soon as you lost a couple pieces, all that mess became worthless. But at Karen’s house a lifetime ago, the novelty special editions of Monopoly and Life and the varnished wood sets of checkers and parcheesi had seemed like treasures from another world; one where the ground was steady beneath your feet and it never occurred to you that the nice things you loved would fall apart. Today, she ran her fingers over a battered edition of Battleship: Classic (was there a Battleship: passé somewhere?) and brought it down to the table by the window she was bogarting at Board to Death, grinning affectionately at the scuffed pegs and stained ships hiding under the lid. It was the only coffee shop in town that anything to offer besides food she couldn’t taste. Her triple espresso had a soothing bitter taste, but all the icing in the world on the danishes or dipped vegan scones couldn’t bring back her old sense of taste.

She sipped the just-below-boiling mixture and watched the living world shuffle by in their puffy coats and bright scarves. When she saw a nervous looking girl approach the window she smiled, nodding in case it was her. When she entered the cafe, Morgan held out her hand. “Hey, you’re Bex, right?”

The strangest part about being back in White Crest was that it felt so nice. There was something about this place that felt enough like home that Bex almost didn’t altogether mind her overbearing parents controlling her every move. Almost. They’d delighted in the fact that she was being scouted by a professor already, and she’d opted to not mention the part where said professor was gay and also recommended by someone who thought they were a witch. For some reason, Bex trusted Nell’s judgement, and Professor Beck seemed really nice. And, well, Bex couldn’t help but leap at the idea of meeting a real life queer person. Especially a woman. Who was out! And open! Even if she couldn’t really ask her about it today. The concept was novel. And so Bex really wanted this meeting to be good.

Therefore, she kept an excited demeanor about herself as she made her way to Board to Death, trying to push the anxiety away. Put on a smile when she opened the door, and glanced around for Professor Beck, seeing her through the window. She scooted herself over, taking her hand. “Hey! Hi, yes! That’s me! I’m Bex! That makes you Professor Beck, then! Unless you’re not, which would make this very awkward,” she chuckled, then stopped, clearing her throat. “S-sorry. Um, hi, thanks for meeting with me!” Glanced down to look at her refreshments on the table, then back up. “I never really knew Board to Death had food! I’ve only been here a few times. Do you come here a lot?”

“I am Professor Beck, yes, but you can just call me Morgan. Pretty much everyone does.” Morgan took another sip of her espresso and gestured for the girl to sit. It wasn’t every day she could tell someone she’d spoken with online just from their demeanor, but Bex was nearly vibrating out of her skin with anxiety. It was an excited kind of anxious, like her face might hurt from smiling so much, but it still gave Morgan some pause. This was a girl who had wrecked a whole computer lab with just the force of her emotions. Even if she couldn’t accept magic yet, some kind emotional release would probably be good for her. “I don’t come here much, no. Coffee tastes pretty much the same to me anywhere, and at least here it comes with something fun to do. You’ve played Battleship before, right? It’s only one of a couple of two player games I’m familiar with that doesn’t make you think too much.” Grinning at her, Morgan lifted the top from the game and started assembling her board.

“Oh, um--” Bex started, feeling that anxiousness already bubbling in her throat again, “-- I’ll try, but no promises. My parents sort of drilled it into me that it’s ‘Mister’ and ‘Misses’, or ‘Doctor’ and ‘Professor’ only!” Her face scrunched, as if she were trying to be angry and she lifted a finger to waggle. A poor imitation of her father. “You are a child, Odelia, and you will address your elders properly!” Not realizing she’d let slip her real name, she looked back across the table at Professor Be-- er, Morgan. “Oh, yeah, I’m much more of a tea person, myself. Coffee makes me jittery and anxious and I think I’m plenty of that all on my own, you know?” She watched as Morgan began assembling the game, not saying too much. Her father had made her play old strategy games like Risk and Chess for hours on end as a child, but Battleship had never seemed to reach their table. “Um, once, at school. You just kinda guess coordinates, right?”

Morgan couldn’t hide the arch in her brow as Bex gave a different name as she impersonated her parents. Did they not address her the way she asked to be? Did she keep the name she gave out to acquaintances as a secret? Still, she snorted kindly and finished setting up her board. “It’s good that you know yourself at least. I’m not sure if the world is ready for a caffeinated Bex just yet.” She finished setting up her board and started on her ships, keeping them mostly spread out from each other. “And yeah, it’s just a fun guessing game! If you know your opponent well, you can try and guess their methodology, but it’s, you know--” She held up the box lid, “Ages 6 and up.” With everything set aside on her end, she could lean back and relax. “So, I do hope you’ll take one of my seminars. My syllabus is way more fun than the other professors’, not to knock my colleagues, because they’re amazing, but I hand out movies and, occasionally, video games too. We look at what speculative and fantastical stories tell us about humanity, how we see ourselves and each other and why changes in those perceptions matter. And, you know, with all the writing homework, you’ll probably get a leg up on your fellow pre-law students. Anyone can have an idea or a feeling, but it takes work to give voice to it. But, that’s my one and only pitch. I’d much rather get to know you. Sometimes strangers can be easier to open up to than others.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not,” Bex agreed with a chuckle. She watched Morgan set up her side-- without peeking, of course!-- before working to set her own side up. She didn’t entirely know the best strategy for Battleship, but she decided she wanted to go for an out there one, sticking all of her ships right in a square in the middle of the map. “Well, I’m definitely six and up, so, I think we’re all good. Who goes first?” She looked across the table to Morgan as she continued to fuss with her pieces, wondering which formation was better, listening to her description of her course. “It sounds like a great class,” she said when the older woman was done speaking, but there was something vibrating inside of her. Something about the description, something about how free and open the course sounded, made her realize something else was going on here. Bex might have been closed off and insecure, but she was observant as well. It was one of the qualities that made her an actual decent law student. Her gaze dropped to her board and she pulled her hands away. “I’m ready to start, then,” she said, lifting her eyes just enough to gaze over the top of the board, the double meaning of her sentence not lost on either of them.

Morgan watched Bex thoughtfully, from the tightness in her shoulders to the shrill chirp of her voice. She was trying, eagerly, desperately, but for what? Morgan wanted to tell her to relax, there were no quizzes or grades handed out at the end of this meet-up. But having been that anxious herself more than once, she knew drawing attention directly didn’t always have the desired effect. “A-10?” She called. “Why don’t you tell me about why you like it here? I thought I saw you mention something about ‘coming back’ on main and I gotta say, I haven’t heard of too many people returning after they’d left. Well, not often by choice anyway.”

“Miss,” Bex said quietly, sticking a peg into A-10. “E-6?” she tried, waiting for the response. She chewed on her lip at the question, thinking a moment. It wasn’t that she really liked it here, but White Crest was home and she knew she had a place here. And even if she hadn’t gone to school here, or grown up with the other kids, or become a regular at all the diners-- she still felt like she fit in here. More so than at Penn State, where the kids looked at her with those eyes, and whispered behind their hands, and posted her private life online. “It just...feels like home, I guess. I went to private school as a kid, so it’s not like I really have any sort of connection to the town, but I just feel right here,” she explained softly, neither smiling nor frowning. She stuck a peg into the missed slot. “I came back because I had to.” Where she really wanted to be was far away from the East coast, maybe in Oregon or Washington or California. Somewhere she could start over brand new and be whoever she wanted to be. She cleared her throat. “How um-- how long have you been in White Crest?”

“Miss,” Morgan called. She let a round pass unremarked, taking in as much as she could. She was just bundled up so tight, it was no wonder she’d exploded in front of Nell. That much repression might do the same even to someone without magic. “Private school, huh? Like boarding school? I didn’t realize those were still a thing in this country.” She made another call, D-6, and took another sip of espresso. “I’ve been here for a year now. I’m starting to see how somebody could feel like they belonged here, even with all the terribleness. It’s not an easy fit, but I don’t think I could leave on a dime, not by myself anyway. But what--is it okay if I ask what made you have to come back? Or if not, maybe tell me about someplace else you dream of being. Those are good ideas to hold onto. The future, I mean.”

“Yep,” Bex said dismissively, “I went to a private boarding school. And they definitely still exist here.” And they suck, she wanted to add, but held her tongue. Uniforms and strict schedules and forced rules. Secrets and hush money and skirting around the fact that Bex was not born a girl. “My parents paid good money for it, it was a Jewish Orthodox school, a really good one, too,” she went on, swallowing down the hard feelings. They didn’t matter anymore. “The town certainly has a charm to it, doesn’t it?” She stuck a peg right between two of her ships as a miss. “Miss. Um...H-7?” She looked up again, contemplating which question she wanted to answer. They both would give away too much, and she was bad at lying. “There was an incident at my old school,” she finally said, the waver in her voice coming through, “my parents thought it best I come back home.”

“It’s okay, Bex,” Morgan said softly. “I want to know you, but you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t really want to. But I am sorry about whatever happened to you over there. It doesn’t seem like something easy.” She tilted her head, trying to meet the girl’s eyes. There was something there, something awful. Bullies, maybe? Did kids chase Bex and lock her in storage cabinets and call her names like they had Morgan? Or was there some kind of accident with her magic? “What do you want, Bex? However important your parents are to your life, however close you might be, your life is still yours. Your future should look like what you hope for. Why don’t you tell me more about that, huh? Or how the law firm fits into that idea.” Another sip of espresso. “Miss, by the way.” She scanned her grid and made a guess toward the middle. “F-6?”

Bexley swallowed hard, trying to make the worble that was building in her throat go away. “It’s okay, it’s kind of public information, anyway,” she stated matter of factly, moving away from the topic enough to not feel too overwhelmed, and thankful for Morgan’s offer. But the next question felt even harder, and Bex could feel the anxiety building in her stomach again. Her hand shook as she went to plug in the peg next to her ship, one hole away and she had to grip it with her other to make it stop. “I want to make my parents proud,” she stated, as if reading from a script, “I’m the sole heir to our business and fortune. That’s all there is to it. M-my future. That’s all I want. To be the perfect daughter for them.” And stop messing up. Since she couldn’t be their son. Since she couldn’t be the best. “Miss,” she said and her voice cracked. “F-5?”

“Miss,” Morgan replied. “And you don’t have to be perfect. No one is perfect. Perfect in terms of being flawless and incapable of improvement isn’t even a real thing. And your parents--” Morgan frowned. She had a lot of fairy tales about what parents should be like, but the more people she met, the more she wondered where she had cooked that one up. “The best way to love someone is to enable them to be the most themselves. The best, freest version of themself. And asking yourself those questions is the best way to find yourself loved better. I don’t know what your situation is, Bex, but you shouldn’t live to be an object in someone else’s story. You’re more than that. What is it that really excites you? What do you hope for?” Morgan waited, peering at this small glimpse of Bex’s pain with growing concern. Then, suddenly remembering that she had yet to call a move, she distractedly mumbled something a few spaces out from her last one. “E-5?”

Bex didn’t like this anymore. Morgan was saying things she already knew, but she also already knew that they were things she couldn’t have, so what was the point in thinking about them? In talking about them? She didn’t even bother putting a peg in this time. This was supposed to be a fun, easy meeting, not a deep dive into her extremely painful situation. “Please stop,” was all she said, hands folded tightly into her lap, “just...please?” Fingers began to pick at nail beds, still red and raw from every other time she’d done it. “All I hope for right now is to make it through each day without messing up or embarrassing someone,” she admitted quietly, but her voice was stern, an anger stewing inside of her that she rarely let to the surface, “And I just hope that I can make it through the week without some shit happening. And I hope that one day I’ll be able to look back on all this and put it behind me, but that’s not feasible right now so I really need to just not think about it and keep trying my best for my parents because they’re all I have.” And she owed them everything. Shakily, she lifted the peg and placed it on one of her ships. “Hit.” A loud whistle behind the cafe counter signaled steaming water and Bex startled. She let out a long sigh. “A-2.”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I don’t mean to-- I am being sincere in what I am saying and whatever me or my life looks like to you or anyone else peeking on main apparently, it’s-- I do know what it’s like to feel like your life isn’t yours and what you want doesn’t matter and keeping your head down and being small and left alone is the best you’re gonna get. I am deeply, intimately familiar with that feeling. I can only imagine what kind of suffering you’ve been through, but you were meant for more than that, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop, okay? Do you--” Morgan stopped as another kettle trilled, glowing with sudden heat. She made a note of the hit, but didn’t put the red peg on the board. Flustered and desperate to recover the afternoon, she pawed her pockets for her phone. “I have cats. Three of them. Do you want to see pictures of the cats? Or ask me something? This isn’t an interview. If there’s something you want to know you can--” The phone clattered onto the table. Deirdre and Anya’s faces bloomed on the lock screen. “You can do whatever you want, Bex, you don’t even have to stay.”

Everything Morgan was saying just made Bex tense up more and more. Kettle’s started shouting, left and right, even the baristas were beginning to panic, running around and removing them, but finding them still screaming, louder and louder, despite the lack of heat. A crack formed in the window next to Bex as she screwed her eyes shut and clenched her entire body. She didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her or tell her how much they understood or tell her how sad it was-- she wanted to pretend like how she was living was okay and fine and that one day she’d make it through and suddenly everything would feel okay. And just be okay. She unclenched and the whistles seemed to die down. Looked at the phone that had fallen to the table and saw the happy woman on it, smiling and beautiful. And the cat, so peaceful looking. Tears welled in her eyes. “I have to go,” she said suddenly, standing up. The chair scooted back and toppled over. People turned around to look at them. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat and the mug on the table shattered. “I’m sorry! I have to--” took a step back and all the teapots wailed again. Bex looked around frantically. “It-- It was nice to meet you, Professor Beck, but I--” she didn’t get to finish her sentence as one of the pistons on the espresso machine shot off and shattered a nearby tower of cups. Bex turned and ran before anyone had a chance to ask her anything.

“Bex, wait! You need to--!” Whatever half-assed plea Morgan was working on fizzled out under the crash of falling furniture and screaming machinery. Someone’s baby started wailing, the window buckled like it had been gut-punched, and the steam whirred louder. Morgan grabbed her coat and bag and phone. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen to downtown with Bex like this, if she could talk her down or if following would only make things worse. Shit, probably worse, right? But by the time she stumbled out the door, the girl was long gone and all Morgan had left were more questions. At least she would be able to tell Nell one thing for certain: Bexley was not okay, and under her nerves lay a sadness too deep for her to contain, especially in White Crest.

#hit or miss #wr bex #wr chatzy #wr bex chatzy #wickedswriting

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lamphous · 4 years ago

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*star thingy* literally any part of your richie stand up transcript fic

I picked a couple of sections bc rereading this actually made me realize some stuff I was doing but not thinking about. the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma !

(also: I hate reading blocks of bold type so you get this formatting I actually stole from jonathan bennett's edition of "vindication on the rights of women" because I thought it was really neat & easy to read lol.)

[original on AO3]

so, I wrote this in a daze in two weeks after a bad day on a stressful weekend, half sick with a perpetual cold and getting my ass kicked by the uk higher ed system. I wrote 13k of jokes in two weeks without thinking (plus half a sequel, which is still in my drafts) and realized it was... kinda good? so I did some fun formatting, posted it, and it exploded lmao. apparently some blue check fandom person tweeted it, but I didn’t find that out until almost a year later

•••

[Applause, minor microphone feedback, and the sound of a camera's digital focus.] • I looove a formal experiment. Every time I write something weird of center structure-wise it immediately becomes one of my all-time favs. The unfinished sequel does even more with this (I made a title card...) with intercut doc interviews with the other Losers (which I wrote BEFORE I watched Jenny Slate's special, THANK you very much) and like cinematography and shit lmao. Also I just love the sound of old video cameras focusing. •

Hello hello. Hi. Yeah. • As a general rule, I actually don't really picture, like, bodies while writing or reading, but I'm incredibly anal about characters sounding right, which is why I can only ever write one fandom at a time, otherwise my internalized character voices get all mixed up. So, while I'm not picture Mssr Bader while writing, I am 100% hearing him, and for some reason this line just locks that in for me. • [Applause continues.] Getting the feeling you guys are waiting for something—either that or you have no idea what's coming, which, honestly, makes more sense based on the excitement level. If you don't know who I am, sorry in advance. • While on the top of advance apologies, I really did write this to be... not totally funny? There are some very purposeful parts where the rhythm falters or things aren't as funny as they should be/Richie seems to think they are (some parts are even purposefully unfunny to him too, it's got layers) because I really wanted this to be a transitional state. It's not quite all there, and it's practiced, certainly, but not with an audience. He's trying something new! We're very proud. • [Laughter.] My name is Richie Tozier. I was a comedian, and then I was a hermit, • I love describing myself as a hermit. I'll admit, that hits different in 2021, but I stand by it: ideal occupation. • and now I'm trying to be a comedian again. So bear with me and get ready for more dick jokes and shitty impressions than you'd hope to hear from a grown man. [Applause and whoops.]

No, actually, things are actually gonna be a little different. Um, I don't have a ghost writer anymore? Which I'm not sure if I'm allowed to talk about, but who the fuck is gonna know but you, my hundred closest friends? [Laughter.] I feel like I trust you guys to keep a secret, but maybe that's the false intimacy of a darkened room talking. • I am a terrible actor, I always have been, friends would try to get me to do skits as a kid and I would giggle nervously through the whole thing because I just hated it so much, but I love the feeling of being on a stage with the lights up so all you can see are the other people there with you. My band geekery comes up later too, but this made me miss that so much. • Maybe we should just do therapy instead. Do you guys wanna do therapy? [Applause.] Okay, so my therapist says I use gross out sex jokes to project the kind of person I wish I was: a person who is funny and has sex. • This is one of my favorites of the not!jokes lmao. • [Like a tiny amount of laughter.] I don't know why she said it like some big revelation, but yeah. Duh. I am a human person, of course I want people to think I'm hilarious and that I fuck. And it turns out now that I am having sex, all the time—and I'm sorry, I know that sucks to hear when you've never felt the sweet embrace of a lover, I get it, but it's just so great to say that and not immediately get a laugh at the idea of you having sex. This is a level of self-esteem I didn't even know existed. • I'm imagining Richie's new comedy as halfway between Mike Birbiglia and Ali Wong (an insane combo, I know), but this is all Chris Fleming. He would love, "My self-esteem is never anywhere good. I'm either like a pre-teen at her Bat Mitzvah, dissociating doing 'Greased Lightning' choreography, or I'm on my way to the DMV to change the occupation on my driver's license to 'queer icon.'" •

But it turns out now that I'm not pretending to have sex I don't have to pretend to be funny either, I can just actually do both, and all my problems are solved! Thank you therapy for getting me laid and paid. • So glad to have this opportunity to remember this line before going back to therapy where I will be thinking it all the time. • And it's not like I'm gonna turn into a saint. I don't think they let saints be comedians. Mother Theresa never did a tight thirty. • This has unfortunately become one of those things I quote to myself, which is probably narcissistic but I don't care. After all, Mother Theresa never did a tight thirty. • [Little laughs.] And just because I didn't take that obvious cheap shot—except, I guess I just did. [Laughter.]

So yes, there will still definitely be dick jokes, just fewer— I feel like my comedy—"my" comedy, but whatever, I told the jokes, I'll own it—but my comedy appeals to a very... nerd-adjacent dudebro type. • Richie was on @/midnight. Look me in the eyes and tell me he wasn't. Look at me. You know that bitch was on the Nerdist podcast. • You know, the sort of guy who always wished he could crush a can of beer on his forehead but never could, and used to spam you with those shitty eCards where they'd, like, put your face over some cartoon elves chopping up a dead body or something for Christmas. Remember those? • REMEMBER THOSE?? The height of comedy. • Or like guys who make fun of gross Rick and Morty fans but are one breakup away from being gross Rick and Morty fans. The human equivalent of vaped PBR fumes. I'm just gonna keep throwing proper nouns titles etc until it sounds like I'm actually saying something. • This is how I talk in real life. Apparently people find it funny; I think it's just because my references vary so wildly that the juxtaposition catches people off-guard. • Can you tell that the reason I brought this up is in case these jokes uniformly bomb? [Laughter.] Guess applause for my possible failure still stings.

Basically, any minute now I'm expecting a thank you Edible Arrangement from Chris D'Elia for the sudden surge in fans defecting from Team Trashmouth. • Look, I'll admit, I used to watch @/midnight and always thought he was the funniest when he was on. I watched a few episodes of Whitney! Then three years ago I actually watched one of his specials with a friend (right after I made her watch Showpig) and realized I haaated him lol. And since then he's turned out to be a total creep! I love being right. • [Laughter.] I really am. Y'know, and he'll probably bribe someone to make all the pineapple dick shaped or something, [Laughter.] combining my two favorite things: gay jokes at my expense and novelty shaped fruit. • Fruit (novelty shaped). • Also it's just useful. My husband is always warning me about getting scurvy, and— [Laughter.] Yeah, it would be nice to avoid that speech for the night.

That's not a joke, actually. I know this is a comedy show, but that's one hundred percent serious, my husband has a lecture on scurvy, complete with statistics that yes, are "periodically updated to reflect new research," I shit you not. Which is obviously insane, because we live in a major metropolitan area and not on a pirate ship in the seventeenth century or a frat house in the any time ever, but it does mean we always have orange juice in the house. That's why I will never, ever seriously complain about the scurvy lectures, because the tradeoff is him keeping me in the finest orange juice money can buy, • This is partially based off that bit in Ronan Farrow's Catch and Kill where Jon Lovett says, "I'll keep you in finery and smoothies." When he's indignant that the surveillance guys gave up tailing him because he's too boring and he's like, "I'm interesting! I'm an interesting person! I went to an escape room!" Yeah, Eddie. • and that is absolutely fucking worth it.

•••

So then I called the Best Friend in my phone with the other set of heart emojis [Laughter.] and I said, "Hey, do you think it's cool if I refer to our middle school band director as a dyke? Because she definitely was." • I never had a Ring of Keys Moment the way apparently everyone else did, but I did have an INCREDIBLY cool band teacher in middle school who was the only woman I'd ever seen play the trumpet (for some reason it was a de facto Boy Instrument) and who had cool short hair and cool glasses and cool taste in music and ran the very cool jazz band. And then about four years ago, I went to a choir festival my dad was in, and one of the other groups was a gay choir, and lo and behold... So I'm retconning that as my Moment. Thanks, Kelly! • And Bev said, [Turns to one side] "You know I'm bisexual, and also l took choir." [Turns back.] "I know." [Turns again.] "Well, as long as it's not overly derogatory you're probably fine." • This is me and my best friend (except I'm also a dyke, so I don't need to ask for permission, but the rest is true). Whenever I write Bev and Richie/Eddie (which I am the unfortunate conflation of), it's based off our dynamic. •

I'm pretty sure half of why she said that was because she knew how hard joke writing was going already and didn't want to wreck my burgeoning confidence— [Laughter.] Hey, fuck you, I'm fragile! [More laughter.]

It's hard. Comedy is hard. I don't know if I'm allowed to only start complaining about it this deep into my career, but in my defense I didn't really know until now. Writing jokes? Sure, it can be tough. Telling jokes? Easiest thing in the world, just slap some wacky inflection on someone else's words. But writing your own jokes and then saying them out loud to people? So much harder!

Cuz suddenly it's all on you. • This is the realization I was talking about at the start. So, I was only sort of thinking about it while writing, but reading back it seems so obvious that the connection between the ars comedia theme of the first half and the parenting theme of the second half is this concept of doing something you know you're going to suck at and that's a huge, vulnerable responsibility. If I were to write this again now, I'd definitely make that more overt, but it's interesting to me that that's how it came out. Responsibility and vulnerability are two things I think about a lot wrt adult Richie, both in terms of where his career could go post-canon and in his personal relationships—having people you care about that care about you makes things changes a lot—but in this fic they're kind of split up: vulnerability goes with comedy, responsibility goes with personal life. But the impetus of both are present in each! The anecdote about his grandmother's stuff shows the vulnerability (or lack thereof) in parenting, the faux-glibness about the ghost writing implies responsibility (read: guilt). Very cool, good job, my own subconscious! • You can't blame it on the writer sucking, or the delivery sucking, because all the sucking is on you—and I'll have you know, I'm a pro at sucking, yes in all the ways you're thinking, • (Purposeful lack of "[Laughter.]") • but sucking in the bad way, in public, never feels good. [Quiet and contemplative.] Really prefer the other sucking... [Laughter.] Thank you. Thank you for confirming what I've known my entire life: dick jokes are the pinnacle of all comedy.

•••

• The following story is 100% true, except we were in Pennsylvania, there was no payphone (had to go outside for cell service, though), and my aunt lived even further upstate in New York. • Sometimes even the shit you thought you dealt with turns out to be bullshit. I actually was halfway through a bit about the time my mother and I emptied out her mother's storage unit before it got weird. I was, like, twenty-one, at college in New York, but they moved as soon as I left that first year to Toronto, of all places. • This was all a long con for the fic I never finished about Richie and Eddie's hurry-up-and-wait Niagara Falls shotgun wedding. Parts of it ended up in Brenda Lee duology, here and here, but there's more in my drafts somewhere that I'm sure I'll get around to finishing when I'm working on my thesis and thus thinking about these two lol. • She called a few weeks before the end of the year and said she wanted to come down and help me move out, which was weird until she mentioned that on the way back she wanted to stop and visit my aunt, and then, when she picked me up, that we were going to finally empty my grandma's storage stuff cuz my aunt didn't want to pay for it anymore. She's from New York, and her mom died when I was in middle school, and apparently all this stuff was just sitting there for years.

This doesn't— Every single face here is projecting, "Jesus, alright dude, is there a joke? Please tell me there's a joke," so violently I can feel how much psychic damage I'm taking, brain cells dribbling away. • This whole section is the Mike Birbiglia coming out, but like hell is Richie letting me get away with this much seriousness without making fun of himself. • It sounds super heavy, I know, but it really wasn't. There wasn't time for any of that. We spent all day either driving up and down New York or actually packing shit. My mom thought the key to the storage was with her uncle in Levittown, where the unit was, but it turned out it was up with my aunt up in Rochester, so we had to pack up all my shit, move out, drive up to Rochester, wait for my aunt to get off work, get the fucking key, spend the night at a motel cuz it's fucking torrential outside, leave around noon because it's still pouring, drive back to Levittown, through rush hour traffic, and only then can the shitshow begin.

By the time we got the thing open it was like three hours before they closed and raining again. Apparently since my aunt last checked like a month before some mold had gotten inside, and we had to work through every box with this clinical speed, running things out to the car or to the payphone just outside the storage place to call my aunt like, [A voice that, despite not knowing what Richie's mom sounds like, everyone can tell is exactly like the real life Maggie Tozier:] "Hey, did you want the carousel horse trivet or can I have that? Richie wants the ceramic frog—" It was a super cool frog, it had a huge mouth, I always felt a kinship with it. "Rich wants the frog, did you— Ohhh, she called dibs, sweetie, I'm sorry." • Actually she wanted the frog and I wanted the carousel horse trivet, but we are frogs and Richie eats bugs. • Standing out in the rain debating who gets what of the fucking cheap shit from the Jersey shore and filling garbage bags full of dried up Post-Its and expired makeup.

•••

[Richie sets the mic on the stand and leans on it contemplatively as the crowd laughs.] Who the fuck would even let me be a dad? I never even learned how to spell refrigerator, • One of the actually good things I remember of my dad growing up was when I was in first grade I knew how to spell "Wednesday" and he said that already put me ahead of most college students. • how am I supposed to teach a kid, like, how to lead a good life? I don't know shit. I'm pretty sure eighty percent of being a dad is knowing all the answers to "why" questions and, hopefully, not irreparably fucking up your kid, cuz the bar is underground. Me as a dad would be like the dad from Calvin & Hobbes but worse, just making up the most insane shit whenever the kid asks, "Why is the sky blue?" and "How do they get the ink in pens?" or whatever. • There's a part in the The Newsroom (which is not a great show, sure, but I am inexplicably convinced Neal and Jim should have dated so I rewatch it once every couple of years) where one of the characters suggests another teaches their kid a weird lie, like that birds are born from trees or something, to see how long they can keep it up before the kid finds out it's wrong. It's like two lines of dialogue in the last episode and a complete non sequitur that no one addresses and it haunts me. What. Like... what. • Which is great for a comic strip, and a stand-up comic, but probably not for actually raising a kid.

I think maybe I could be a mom. From what I remember, being a mom is about: step aerobics, knowing how to make mac and cheese not from a box, and watching old movies. That's... pretty much it. [Laughter.] • In order: something my mom remembers of my grandma, something they did together, and something me and my mom do together. •

My mom is definitely a mom for, like, after you're a kid. No shame, she just wasn't super great at parenting. Like— [Laughter.] No, I mean, guiding a kid through the process of growing up was not her forte. Which is fine! She's a great mom now that I'm a fully realized human being with opinions that she can talk to, but as a kid, like, I was weird, and she didn't really "get" kids in general, so we would watch fucking TCM and she would politely smile at my terrible imitations of whatever the fuck Katharine Hepburn had going on and that was pretty much the extent of our relationship. • I loooove Maggie Tozier in the books, I love that she's, like, not super great but also just completely fine. She's not a monster, she's not abusive, she just doesn't quite understand her kid. There's a tendency in fandom (or at least there was, idk if it's still a trend) to make her either the best, coolest mom in existence or, y'know, a monster. And I think that sucks! She's just a normal person in a weird town with a kid who's not quite what she signed up for. •

And then once I had, like, autonomy and opinions and shit, and could call her up like, "Hey, kinda fucked up how much food costs, have you heard about this guy called Bob Dylan, • My mom fucking loves to tell the story of how, when I was in the fourth grade and starting to Listen to Music after becoming obsessed with the Beatles, I asked her, "Hey Mom, have you ever heard a band called the Rolling Stones?" Like all the music I knew didn't come from her! She had only herself to blame. • what do you think about the new Scorsese?" • I had just seen The Irishman in a tiny theater in London with like three pensioners and a drunk grad student and my mom was so mad at me for seeing it without her. Once my mom and I had to rewind the opening of Goodfellas three times because we kept cheering too loudly when the title card and music kicked in. • Then we got a little closer.

•••

There are really way too many ways to fuck up a kid, • They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. • and I don't mean like colic or accidentally letting them eating batteries or whatever. • Haha, this is from the MBMBaM bit about kid firefighters, when Justin says, "Think of all the stupid shit you have to do as an adult. And I don't just mean lying to your mechanic that you know how to do things." • I remember being a kid and doing an impression of the grumpy neighbor for the first time and my dad laughing so hard he shot milk out his nose, and now I'm a comedian. • There are very few things more satisfying than making someone do a spit take or anything of the like. The ego boost alone... • [Laughter.] That one laugh set my entire path in life. When you're a kid you start out knowing nothing, so every time something happens it's like a huge proportion of all the things you know. • This line/concept HAUNTS me. I have no idea why, but it's stuck in my brain. I was writing a SPN fic last month and realized 5k deep in it, "Oh, duh, 'when you start out knowing nothing, everything is such a bigger deal'." • I had a cousin whose mom used to dress him in a lot of orange cuz he was always running off and she wanted to spot him in a crowd, and to this day, the motherfucker is still always wearing something orange. • This is my brother lmao. When he first started walking, he was always running off, so my mom would dress him like a traffic cone, and then his favorite color was orange for the first, like, eighteen years of his life. •

So much hinges on the tiniest things. What if we got a kid, like, space sheets and they grew up wanting to be an astronaut and then died in a shuttle explosion? I can't be held responsible for that! They were just on sale! [Laughter.] I didn't think they'd lead to an early death. Maybe if we'd gotten the dinosaur ones they would've become a paleontologist. That's a nice, safe career—well, Jurassic Park, but that would be cool. But still fatal! And now buying sheets is a matter of life or death. I don't think I can handle that kind of responsibility.

I guess that's the question, really. It's not "should we have kids, are we ready," but "how exactly would we fuck up a child and is it worth it to risk that." Maybe they'd end up way too much like me and get sent to the iPrincipal3000's office every week, or too much like my husband and become so convinced that they have asthma that they start genuinely having asthma. Maybe no matter what we do they'll get their own fun list of ways their parents fucked them up to never repeat. One thing's for certain, though: that kid would never get scurvy. • I was SO proud of this line. In my excitement, I spelled half of it wrong the first time I wrote it. It's my favorite part of every comedy show, when an earlier bit suddenly pops up at the end and cinches the whole thing together. •

[Wild applause.] Thank you everybody, my name is Richie Tozier and I hope you weren't disappointed. • In some ways, I guess you could hear this like the end of Bo Burnham's Make Happy, but to me it's always more... sweet? Not so sad, just suddenly very genuine, almost childishly so. He really does hope they weren't disappointed. •

[Richie smiles and sort of bows, in the way you do when you feel like this is a bowing occasion, but going all out would look weird and you're honestly not sure how to bow without being sarcastic. • Completely forgot til but but this was 1000% me making fun of myself for doing exactly that in front of this girl I fell head over heels for, not thirty minutes after we met. I deserve that. • The recording ends here. • And BOOM, last minute House of Leaves reference. Got it in right under the wire! • ]

#blargh my shitty keyboard keeps trying to post this too soon hang on #ok all fixed now !#thank you for the solidarity my friend (also i saw your dw community i might crosspost if i can remember my password lol)#avocadomooon #achievement unlocked: message answered #fic writer tag #it 2017

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mooksie01 · 5 years ago

Text

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends? (1/5)

Summary: Clover doesn't care what the other Ace Ops have to say, he absolutely does NOT have a crush on Huntsman Branwen. He just admires his skill on the battlefield. And the visible results of his obviously-excellent training regiment. And his gorgeous eyes. And his mysterious demeanor. And voice.

Okay, Clover might have just a little bit of a crush on Huntsman Branwen, but that doesn't matter, because if the other Ace Ops are going to tease him relentlessly for it, then he just won't pursue any relationship with the guy!

...Maybe.

Warnings: None, really, for this chapter. Death mention in the context of a joke. Gratuitous bullying of teammates. Spoilers for RWBY Volume 7.

AO3 Link: [X]

Notes: Hey, so... I haven't really written for fun in over four years. Which. Is pretty crazy to think about. But my New Year's Resolution this year is to get back into it because it used to make me really happy. With that said, I'm pretty rusty nowadays, so I'm sorry if any of this reads a little awkwardly. I'm hoping to get back to the level I used to be at with some practice, but I know it'll take time. This fic is mainly my effort at shaking the dust off with my current favorite show and favorite ship. I hope you all enjoy! Please like, reblog, and comment if you have the time to do so, I'd really appreciate some encouragement while I get back into the swing of things! FAIR GAME RIGHTS!!

---

Clover can’t say that he isn’t expecting it, but even he is a little taken by surprise when, only mere seconds after closing the door to the Ace Ops’ commons, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around with enough force to make him dizzy.

Elm’s ecstatic face immediately fills his entire field of vision.

Oh, Brothers.

“Clover!”

He attempts to wave her off, feeling his face grow hot. “I’m trying to head to bed, Elm. Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow, you know.”

Her shit-eating grin only grows larger. Her vice-grip tightens. He will not be escaping any time soon. His death warrant is signed and hidden somewhere in the mess that Elm calls her quarters.

Elm manhandles him to the couch and shoves him down to sit, then flops down next to him and tosses her wrapped feet onto the coffee table.

He wrinkles his nose. “Elm, please. I’ve talked to you about your feet and the table.”

Ignoring him (as she so often does) Elm simply continues to grin smugly at him. “Who would’ve thought?! Our very own captain!”

Clover rolls his eyes in what he hopes to be a clear sign of his exasperation.

“Elm, what are you even talking about?” Marrow pipes up from where he is leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed over his chest in a deliberate attempt to appear uninterested, though his faintly wagging tail gives him away. Clover hadn’t even noticed him until he’d spoken.

Looking around, he realizes that all of his subordinates are standing about the room, watching the interaction with varying degrees of interest. Just great. He considers whether or not it would be worth it to attempt to preemptively write Elm up for not-yet-conducted insubordination.

Hm. He probably isn’t allowed to do that.

He startles as Elm yanks her feet off the table next to him, instead throwing herself forward so she can bang her fist against the helpless furniture to punctuate her next statement, “Our captain has a crush on Huntsman Branwen!”

“Elm,” Harriet sighs, “stop being an idiot. Again. You know that he--”

Clover pulls himself away from Elm and her interrogation couch. He stands up, straight-backed, falling into a parade rest that has his shoulders held just a little too tightly to his ears, positive that his face is red. “That’s enough,” he orders, voice as firm as he can make it, “what I do is none of your concern, Elm. Nor anyone else’s. This conversation is… unprofessional, to say the least. And it’s over.”

Rather than be appropriately cowed by his scolding, Elm only flashes him an even bigger smile. On the other side of the room, Harriet makes a choking sound and starts to sputter, “Holy shit, you are--!”

Elm jumps to her feet, swinging a muscular arm over his shoulders. “I think you mean ‘who you do,’ Captain!”

Clover shrugs her off, scowling. “Elm!” His mind races, attempting to formulate a way to escape this horrible situation, but it seems that no amount of luck is getting him out of this one.

“Well,” Vine rubs speculatively at his chin, finally deciding to contribute something to this dumpster-fire of a conversation, and Clover makes the split-second mistake of hoping that he will be the voice of reason to shut the whole thing down, “you can hardly blame our captain. Huntsman Branwen is, objectively, quite conventionally attractive. Not to mention his skill-level and renown in the field and all of the good he has done in the ongoing battle against Salem….”

Clover feels his soul die a little.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Marrow throws his hands up in the air, his tail raised in visible agitation. “What are we, a buncha kids? You’ve known the guy for five minutes!”

Elm laughs uproariously, “And he stared at Huntsman Branwen for all five! Not to mention the extra twenty seconds when he was watching him walk away!”

Harriet gags. She looks incredibly annoyed and vaguely disgusted at this turn of events.

“That really is enough--!” Clover tries.

“Really?” Vine tilts his head, coming a few steps closer. He peers at Clover in a speculative manner. “It seems to me that it would be difficult to catch a glimpse of Huntsman Branwen’s posterior, considering that the cape he wears covers it quite effectively. Are you sure, Elm, that that is what Clover was doing?”

“Haha!” Elm raises her hand for a high-five, which her partner passively returns.

Clover is sure his skin-tone must faintly resemble that of the Atlas Academy mess hall’s tomato soup by now. He had not been staring at Huntsman Branwen’s ass. Even if he were interested in Qrow Branwen like that, he’s too much of a gentleman to do such a thing. Besides, there were plenty of other attractive aspects of Huntsman Branwen to focus on without having to drool over his “posterior” like some sort of mangy grimm. Like his soft vermillion eyes; or his trim waist; or his hair, which looked like the shining feathers of his namesake; or his elegant hands, undoubtedly calloused from so many years of handling his weapon so skillfully…. He swallows hard and feels his face flare up anew as he realizes what train of thought he’d been taking.

Looking up, he catches Elm smirking at him again. Marrow and Harriet have near-matching expressions of distaste. Vine is merely studying him with even more interest than before.

He opens his mouth to retaliate, only for Vine to cut him off, clasping his hands behind his back in a move so prim that it leaves Clover completely unprepared for what he says next: “I believe our captain was just lost in thought about Huntsman Branwen’s posterior again.”

Clover coughs hard, choking on his own spit. Vaguely, he registers the sound of Elm exploding into further laughter at his expense.

“Oh, ew, ew, ew!” Marrow covers his ears, baring his teeth at Vine and Elm and probably also Clover.

Harriet simply glowers at all of them, “I did not need to know that.”

After a moment, Clover pulls himself together. He glares at his attackers, “Elm,” he snarls, “Vine.”

Vine takes an even step back, cocking his head inquisitively, “I apologize, did I say something incorrect?”

Elm loops her bicep around her partner’s neck in a pseudo-chokehold that he makes no attempt to remove himself from. “No, Vine, but I believe that’s our cue to leave!” She extricates herself from him and once again brings her hand down hard on Clover’s shoulder, having apparently never learned that it isn’t wise to poke an angry bear. “Don’t worry, boss, I’ll make sure to keep an extra eye out for your little bird!” She winks and pats him a few times with enough force to jolt his entire upper torso. “Though I’m sure you’ll already have that handled!”

Then, in a blink, she has removed herself from the room, Vine following behind her at a more sedate pace.

They are going to be facing so much disciplinary action, Clover thinks furiously. They will be scrubbing the floors for months. He turns to face Harriet and Marrow, who are somehow still in the room, staring at him. He crosses his arms firmly over his chest, “Do either of you have something to add?”

Marrow merely shakes his head and turns tail to leave.

Harriet looks him over for a moment longer, then makes a sharp tsk’ing sound with her tongue. “Gross.”

She spins on her heel and walks down the hallway that leads to each of their personal rooms.

Clover sighs heavily and plops back down on the couch. It is going to be a long however-many-months with Huntsman Branwen and his students here.

Still, he can certainly make it easier on himself by avoiding working with the other man. Even if he is incredibly attractive….

(No! Bad Clover!)

Everything will go over much more smoothly if he just isn’t seen staring at or talking to or even vaguely thinking about Huntsman Branwen from here on out.

---

More Notes: So, that was the first chapter! I hope you liked it and that it made your day a little brighter :)

The first installment is already completely finished minus some light editing. Stuff from here on out will probably be formatted as oneshots rather than chaptered fics, but I wanted this first part to be a bit longer and explore the very beginnings of our boys' relationship, with particular emphasis on Clover being a Secret Gay Disaster. Is that actually my headcanon for the show? Nah. Is that what this fic turned into? Absolutely.

Anyway, I'm currently deciding whether I want to post one chapter everyday for the next four days to finish this story up or if I want to post every other day. If anyone has any opinions on that, I'd be glad to hear them.

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infinitesimal-grey · 5 years ago

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Here Be Aliens 3

I had this formatted on a computer and in my drafts but edited one thing for continuity and everything burned. Crackhead commentary in my inbox is welcome and appreciated, anon is on.

This story is a continuation of Here Be Aliens, previous chapters are on this blog and direct links to them are in the reblog of this post.

Co-writer: R

Warnings: Ro and Lo are very confused as to Virgil's gender (not malicious, just 🤦‍♂️), swearing

…

Logan huffed, folding his wings back in. “[You are the one that knocked the beaker over in the first place.]” He stated simply, watching over Roman’s shoulder. “[It is likely afraid of us. I suppose it could come from a much smaller planet of some sort.]” He adjusted his glasses, tail flicking idly. “[Considering the small size and apparent shock at seeing us..]”

“[Poor thing. I wonder how it got here.]” Roman stood back up and folded his wings flat to his back.

“[That I couldn’t say… I’ve done plenty of reading on planets in our solar system and so far there aren’t any that support life. That we know of, of course.f course, We could very well be missing something with current scientific instruments.]” He pushed his glasses up his angular nose.

Virgil, meanwhile, let out a strangled whine. From where he sat on the ship’s metal floor he could feel the repetitive thudding far below him. A few various lights along his visor flickered in the dark. The second Roman’s eye wandered he planned to bolt.

Wait.

Waiiit.

Go.

The astronaut darted forward, lunging for the hatch that would lead him out of hell; or at least somewhere without windows..

“[Yeah…]” Roman bent back over. “[Where are you from? Do you come in pea- !- wait where are you going??]” Roman reached out instinctively. He didn’t want them to run somewhere and get hurt!

Virgil’s body froze in the moment as monumental fingers filled his view of the outside world. “J-jesus H Roosevelt Christ—"

“[What’s happening I can’t see!]” Logan fluttered behind him, craning his neck like a child at the zoo.

Roman grasped each edge of the ship and lifted it with a huff. He lifted the airlock to eye level and looked in, able to see right down a straight hallway to the alien. “[Wait come back, we’re not gonna hurt’cha!]”

This only succeeded in getting Virgil to pry harder at the airlock. The lack of power on the usually hydraulic hatch was giving him terrible trouble, he was so frustrated and afraid his heart felt like it’d flutter right through his ribs.

Roman’s eyes widened and he tilted the ship towards him without thinking. Virgil slowly realized he was slipping against the smooth metal. He reached out desperately for the latch’s handle but it was barely an inch too late.

Virgil plummeted along the metal, kicking and fighting for purchase. His heart fell and exploded on the floor as his legs flew into the open air, but he somehow clung by his gloves to the edge of the airlock.

That is until a hand the size of a quantum ship engine lifted to become the ground below him. Virgil tried to pull away but the gravity was simply too much and he fell with a thwump back into the alien’s palm. The beast of an alien had the ship balanced on his hip and Virgil in his palm.

"[Oh gods-]” Roman reached for more to say but found his tongue had been taken at the surreal feeling of the alien’s limbs against his palm. It kind of tickled, and he closed his fist to pin the movement.

Virgil clenched his jaw and shook his head to fight oncoming nausea. When he opened his eyes the pilot found himself staring dead ahead at eyes the size of his head. Huge pupils mirrored his own terrified form back to him. He could’ve sworn what was visible of it's iris was shifting in both shade and color.

“[I’m sorry I… I didn’t think that I would actually stop you-]” he breathed. His pupils were wide and his ears were perked attentively. At the feeling of being hit in the back of the head by a feathery appendage, he lifted Virgil to where Logan could see as well.

Virgil struggled against Roman’s grip, but when he was lifted up he froze completely, staring wide-eyed at the two that now had him captive. “…I’m fucked.” He just had to desperately hope that they valued his life over being the scientific heroes of the century because he certainly did not want to become some marvel on a dissection table.

Logan, meanwhile, stared right back, eyes wide and ears twitching. “[Woah…]” He breathed, wings opening just slightly as he leaned forward and lightly poked the side of Virgil’s helmet–luckily, the controls were set to recognize his own fingerprints, so nothing on his suit was activated by the touch.

Roman had a similar dopey look of awe but tried to snap himself out of it. He loosened his grip so he the alien was in cupped palms; partially to give him space but also to see the rest of him. “[Are you ok? … Do you come in peace?]”

Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he found himself no longer in a fist. He instinctively turned to try and escape but skidded short when he noticed just how high up he was. He knew well enough to not bet on his jetpack when he didn’t know the atmosphere’s composition. “Oh god, I’d die from that fall..” He slowly backed away from the edge of Roman’s hands, spinning back around to look up towards the giants.

His suit was interesting, it seemed to melt around the form of his body and was a black gunmetal shade with purple shimmering underneath when it hit certain angles of light. The helmet looked to be tinted, hiding his face for the most part while various colors of light danced in the glass. "[Do you think it can understand us Lo?]” Roman couldn’t resist and let himself use a finger to feel Virgil’s suit, he had never seen anything like it besides superhero movies.

Logan adjusted his glasses, one of his ears twitching. “[It doesn’t.. appear to be registering anything we’re saying, so I don’t think so, no.]”

Virgil flinched and pushed against Roman’s fingers, though it didn’t serve to do much at all. “Noo no no get away!”

“[Awh…]” Roman held them up to Logan as if it were a kitten. “[Do you think it’s a girl or a boy alien? I don’t see any horns.]” Roman petted the alien’s oddly smooth head.

Logan hummed and ran his fingers over the alien’s head where horns might grow. “[Either way, the body structure and.. well, lack of horns, seems to indicate that it’s feminine in nature, so I would say that is a safe bet. It could also be a juvenile. But honestly, there is no way of knowing without being able to ask.]”

Virgil, meanwhile, was not a fan of all the touching. He struggled, trying to pull away from their poking and prodding. “Stop that–!”

“[Well pleased to meet you ma’am sir gentlealien.]” Roman sheepishly dropped his hand when he finally noticed the alien pushing away. “[Crap, how much longer do we have before school starts? We can’t hide here all day my parents would kill me.]”

Logan hummed, whipping out a glowing, thin slab of glass from his pocket. “[Still about ten minutes.]” Logan responded. “[Even despite the delay we got here much quicker than expected with your shortcut.]” He added on, pleasantly surprised.

Virgil shivered, pulling into himself as much as he could manage. “Put me back in my ship and let me le-eave.”

“[Told ya so, roads are for normies. Even so, we should find somewhere to hide the ship. Want to hold ‘em while I carry the ship?]”

Logan chuckled a bit, nodding and holding his hands out. “[Sure, why not. We can put the ship in one of our lockers for the day.]”

Virgil’s eyes snapped to Logan, glancing between the two before going stiff. “Oh hell–”

Roman bridged his fingers to Logans. “[Could you go with him, please? He won’t hurt you.]”

Virgil pulled back, pushing himself to the heels of Roman’s palms. “Nope, Nope, nooo nope. not doing that. No way.” He shook his head, feeling himself shaking slightly. “I want back in my ship.” He pointed towards the now more than powered-down ship, keeping his arm from shaking as much as he could manage.

Logan frowned slightly, his ears drooping. “[Come on, I’m not going to hurt you..]”

“[Come on, please, your ship is fine I gotta hide it for now though. If anyone sees it we could get into deep shit.]” Roman tilted his palm a bit over Logan’s hoping to encourage Virgil to move. He knew the alien couldn’t understand but he tried to keep his tone reassuring and calm.

Virgil stumbled, putting his hands down to help keep traction. “Hey–no! Lemme in my ship!”

Roman felt bad about, but they were running out of time. He ushered the alien onto Logan’s palm. Then he went and gathered the ship securely in his arms, making sure to stack on the severed doors as well.

Virgil yelped, falling onto his back in Logan’s hands, watching with a whine as Roman picked up his broken ship.

Logan sighed, holding his hands closer. “[My locker is cleaner, we can store it there.]”

“[I would argue but honestly that’s fair.]” Roman draped the jackets over the ship. “[Alright how should we go about this I doubt she wants to be paraded around the halls in the open..]” Roman looked wistfully at the alien, wishing she or he or they could talk or at least understand him to know he means no harm.

Logan hummed, nodding. “[I suppose you are right..]” He tapped one of his hooves on the ground a few times, before perking up. “[Ah, How could I forget? I’ve got a chest pocket on all of my shirts. And you said breast pockets weren’t practical,]” He added smugly. “[I'll be able to feel that she’s there, and she’ll be out of sight.]”

Roman wanted to explain it to the alien because of how scared they must be, but just nodded. It’d be easier to figure out a way of communication when they weren’t risking someone walking in at any given moment. Roman started out the door to Logan’s locker, keeping his head down and trying not to look suspicious despite the huge bundle he was carrying.

Logan nodded in return, carefully tucking a very frightened Virgil into his shirt’s chest pocket. “[Apologies, I’ll try not to have you stuck in there all day.]” He then trotted ahead of Roman so he could open the locker for him.

Virgil, meanwhile, was trying not to hyperventilate. He was in some crazy giant aliens’ shirt pocket, and there wasn’t much he could do to get out of it. He hadn’t exactly been able to grab much in planet-exploring gear in the process of being abducted. Thank god this crazy place had a breathable atmosphere.. Unless of course, he died later.

Roman waited on Logan to remove the lock before lifting and storing the ship upon the locker shelf. He slipped his jacket back on. “[So do you want to switch off with holding him-them during the day? I’m not leaving her—him-them? This whole not knowing thing is getting annoying— by themself in a locker all day that is beyond dangerous.]”

“[I completely agree.]” Logan nodded and closed his locker, much to the dismay of Virgil, who’d managed to peek out of the pocket in time to see his ship disappear from sight again. “[Switching out sounds like a good idea, I’d say.]”

Virgil let out a groan, glancing between the two. “What’reWhat’re they saying, what’re they saying…”

“[Want to have the honors of going first or shall I?]” Roman leaned casually against the wall of lockers.

Logan chuckled, slipping his jacket back over his wings. “[I’ve already got her in my pocket, it’d only waste us more time switching her back over. Besides, she seems pretty unsettled still. Perhaps after a class or two? Or maybe even lunch?]”

Virgil slumped back down into the pocket when his view was obscured mostly by Logan’s jacket. This was going to be a pain… Stuck in a giant pocket listening to alien school lectures all day. Joy. More than anything, he just hoped it wouldn’t end up too loud.. He didn’t trust his suit’s current power stores with music while he wasn’t in some form of sunlight, and his headphones were still somewhere back in his ship. Figures.

“[Yeah alright you’re probably right-]” Roman paused dejectedly as the morning bell rung, “[-Meet you in the back in the lab during 1st lunch?]” He straightened and readjusted his messenger bag so it wasn’t pinching a feather on his wing.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses “[That works for me. See you then.]” With that he turned, heading towards his first block class.

Roman waved and wandered off towards first period, sure he wasn’t going to hear a word of the teacher’s lecture over his own thoughts.

...

I'm really confused about tag lists and remembering who goes where for multiple stories so this is my last tag for Here Be Aliens, if youd like to see more of it and future stories please turn on post notifications (Prince starved taglist will continue for now, along with my general writing taglist)

#infinitesimal!sides #virgil sanders #gt sides #giant logan #borrower #gt community #au #here be aliens #hba 3 #collab: R<3 #roman sanders #prinxiety #infinitesimal sanders sides #giant!roman #giant!logan

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rhianbwatts · 6 years ago

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Endgame Spoilers

Sorry, had to delete the original version of this because I tried to make an edit on my phone and it messed up my formatting. So this post is full of massive spoilers for Endgame. Seriously. Don’t open it if you’ve not seen the movie yet - it’s not going to make sense to you anyway. If you have seen it and you’re confused by some of the sci-fi mechanics of the movie, this might help...

Alright I’m seeing a lot of confusion around what is happening with the time travel in Endgame, so I’m going to do my best to explain my understanding of how it works. This is based on one viewing that took place at midnight, so there are almost certainly mistakes. I hope you’ll forgive me for them.

Time travel in stories works in many different ways, here are some of the main ones:

A. Back to the Future style – changing events in the past changes the future, BUT doesn’t change you. So when you go forwards in time again you might find you no longer exist or your Mum has married an asshole, and you’re aware these things have changed. B. Almost Back to the Future style (sorry can’t think of a good example for this) – changing events in the past changes the future and does affect you. This could mean the future version of you just vanishes or you become a different person. Basically that future is wiped out but the actions relating to time travel that you took in that future still must have happened. It’s a paradox but we roll with it. The possible negative consequences of this for the time-travelling version of you are pretty limitless, but on a positive you’ll never know about them.

C. The Azkaban Approach – this is how time travel exists in the Harry Potter universe (we do not speak of Cursed Child). Basically you cannot change the past/present/future by time travel. Whatever happens has already happened. You may, however, have to make sure those things happen.

D. The Discworld Dilemma (sorry, I can’t resist alliteration) – basically history wants to happen how it’s supposed to happen, although you might try to change things it will basically begin to heal itself one way or another – unless wizards, Death, gods or mystical monks living in the mountains get involved. This is more or less how Doctor Who works too.

E. Multi-verse Mechanics – basically every possible action every person in the universe is taking is creating infinite other alternate versions of that universe ALL THE TIME. When you change something by time travel you end up in a different alternate. I guess this is really similar to A/B depending on what happens to the you skipping between the universes – it’s just a different way of thinking about it.

In the movie they specifically say that A and B won’t work – because this movie-verse won’t allow time-paradoxes. Version D also clearly doesn’t work. And we can rule out E based on the Ancient One’s comments to Bruce about parallel realities being BAD and damaging your current universe (although that in itself raises issues with a lot of other comic-verse stuff). I’m going to come back to C later. Which leaves us with what Endgame is doing:

F. Personal timelines must be linear – i.e. your personal timeline may take place in lots of different timeframes, going backwards and forwards in time, without issue UNLESS you affect a past version of yourself. In that case the A and B paradox issues kicks in and, as you may end up not being the version of you that went time travelling in the first place, you (and the universe) is probably fucked. - This is why they can’t bring the dusted back until after they complete the actions to reverse Thanos’ actions – i.e. you couldn’t have them dusted and un-dusted instantaneously. Because if you did that none of the things that happened in the intervening five years would happen and you wouldn’t become the people with the capability to undo the dusting and then you have a massive paradox. - Obviously it’s more complicated than just your personal actions, because any person who’s actions you change could end up altering the course of the future. Even moving an object a few feet could have massive unseen consequences. - This means that during the time travel heist the least interaction with the past they can manage the better. For example, if Steve had gone into the lift and killed or seriously hurt any of the hydra agents – that could easily change the future, because that person could have done something in the future that contributed to the circumstances in the present etc... - Because of this there is absolutely no way for people, primarily Steve, to go back and alter historical issues in his own timeline - i.e. he can’t stop the rise of Hyrda or save Bucky any earlier without fucking up the entire universe.

The team’s inability to not alter anything in the past and (possibly) their active decisions to change things obviously presents us with some issues, here are some of the ones I’ve seen discussed/was confused by myself and how/if they’re resolved in the story:

- Thanos and his chums – Thanos going forward to the future before he ever used the infinity stones and then being destroyed obviously creates a massive paradox. Luckily Tony is more than smart enough to realise this, so we can assume that what he actually did was send Thanos and his army back to before they intercepted Nebula’s consciousness. This puts all of Infinity Wars/Endgame into a fixed time-loop that will always play out the same. Although I can understand the symbolic significance of making what happened look like the dusting, I sort of wish they’d given it a green glow or mentioned the time loop or something to make this clearer. [RESOLVED – though not firmly stated in the movie]**

- The stones/Mjolnir not being where they need to be. Presumably we just need to accept Steve’s mission has put all this right, although I don’t remember him having anything big enough to be carrying the sceptre (it was 3am though, so maybe there was) – so we’re going to just have to imagine how he restored all the stones to their former states. [RESOLVED]

- Present-Steve telling Past-Steve about Bucky – luckily this was an easy fix as he was holding the mind stone at the time and we see him use it to wipe Steve’s memory of the encounter. [RESOLVED]

- Loki vanishing with the tesseract – both versions of the tesseract we see in this movie need to be put back and whilst the Shield base version is *relatively* simple (let’s not ask how many Steve Roger’s are running about New York at a time), Loki’s is not - this one we don’t see resolved in this story. We could assume that Steve fixes it during his mission, using the tesseract he has to track down Loki before returning it to the Shield base. However, I think it’s more likely we will see the solution to this either in the Loki tv show or Guardian’s 3. [UNRESOLVED]

- Impact of knocking out Quill/Tony’s heart attack/the lift people thinking Steve is Hydra etc. – basically I could see ways that all the “small” changes we see in the movie could have fundamentally important impacts. Tony thinking his heart is failing? Wouldn’t that impact his behaviour afterwards? Quill waking up and realising he was randomly unconscious for an unknown length of time? None of this is really resolved in the story, but we’re just going to have to assume it didn’t really as the universe didn’t explode. [RESOLVED???]

- Steve marrying Peggy – I think this is the one I’ve seen most people frustrated by, because it seems the hugest change, and this is where I’m coming back to C. I think the Azkaban Approach is in play here, with a side order of Doctor/River weirdness. Steve ALWAYS married Peggy. I went back and watched their meeting in the hospice again last night and if you look at her pictures on the bedside table, there are pictures of her with her kids but not her husband, BECAUSE her husband is Steve and they knew they couldn’t risk having photos of him on display/anyone finding out. The Peggy we see in that hospital bed knows she can’t tell that version of Steve they were married, because he hasn’t defeated Thanos yet. And she knows she has to allow him to suffer and lose everyone and defeat Thanos because the future-Steve that came back in time to marry her, told her about it. There’s the River and Doctor weirdness for you, their timelines are not in sync, they meet each other out of order (for Peggy at any rate) but with secrecy and carefulness they can make it work. And they know they can make it work because they already did. I love it but I can understand it’s a bit of a head-fuck. And, of course, there are cruelties to it. Steve can’t tackle Hydra taking over Shield or Bucky being tortured because if he does it causes a paradox and the universe is destroyed. That must be terrible but at least that version of Steve knows how it all works out, knows he left Bucky healthy and happy and as much at peace as it is possible to be. [RESOLVED – at least for me]

OK – what did I miss? What still doesn’t make any sense? Any other thoughts? – Although please be careful to tag things properly if commenting, so people don’t get accidentally spoilt.

** Extra note – I have seen a lot of discussion about where Endgame leaves Gamora and basically we don’t know. Which is cool. It all comes down to how Tony worded/understood his use of the infinity stones. If he wished everyone who was out of time back to their correct times, she’s gone and probably trapped in the time loop (although now time travel is an active super hero skill, who knows). If it was more along the lines of him sending the people they were fighting against back to their correct times, the fact that she had already switched times might have saved her. She’ll still be past-Gamora but she’s out there in the present somewhere.

#avengers endgame #avengers #endgame trailer #endgame spoilers #spoilers

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svtskneecaps · 6 years ago

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Blink and You’ll Miss It - Epilogue

Summary: Sanha’s been a curious shit her whole life. Jackson’s always told her she’s going to get herself killed at some point. She thought that was a bunch of bull, but he might’ve actually been right. She might be in way over her head on this one.

Featuring: A bunch of bull, a lot of cursing, merciless butchering of honorifics, and other things. Essentially, it’s a Comedy of Errors: Story Version.

Warnings: Cursing. Lots and lots of it.

First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

Masterlist

The news media went into a frenzy over the next couple days as the once exploded dorm building appeared overnight, along with the students which had been missing. Not to mention these students looked the exact same as they had when they’d gone missing. Scientists everywhere were scratching their heads, but nobody really pestered the kids. That must’ve been one of the spirit’s parting gifts; not having to deal with that bullshit (he also did end up posting a formal letter, although it arrived several months later).

The families of the missing flew in on the first flights they could, and videos of the heartwarming reunions went viral online for the next three weeks. It was the sweetest thing Sanha had ever seen, and too many times they’d find her crying into Youngjae’s shoulder while trying to get a hold of herself.

The kids finished out their years at the university, although they planned to get out of town the second they could. The campus was a bit of a bad reminder, and besides the small town didn’t offer much anyway. Until then, they chilled and caught up on the years of culture they’d missed out on.

“Hey Sanha noona, guess what Jaebum hyung taught me!” BamBam called, bursting into Sanha’s (now solo) dormitory. She looked up, and he dabbed so aggressively that he almost fell over, knocking over a vase as he did.

She was out the door before he could even start apologizing.

“The dab is dead, Im Jaebum!” She dared to drop honorifics as she slammed into the boy’s dorm.

“He already left.” His roommate, Jinyoung, gave her detailed directions of which way he’d gone, and smirked when he heard the raging argument through the floors.

Truly, Sanha lived a quiet life.

Mark had moved in with Jackson, since the school had caught onto Sanha messing with the arrangements. They seemed happy together, so she wasn’t mad about it, and she joined the throngs suggesting they just fucking kiss already. They hadn’t yet, but the jury was still out. It wasn’t as though anybody saw what went on in the dorms; the school didn’t have the budget for cameras.

After seeing that Jaebum had taken it upon himself to introduce the excitable younger boys to the wonderful world of memes, Sanha made it a point to show them all the ones which were still relevant. It took a while, since they still had to teach them how to use technology, but regardless of actual age, they were sweet little babies compared to her and she couldn’t stay mad.

Even though BamBam was a flirty little son of a gun.

Nobody had gotten seriously injured during the final confrontation. Jinyoung sprained his ankle, and Mark had been crushed under a thirty clone dog pile, but there wasn’t any real lasting damage. The worst the others got were some cuts and bruises, and Jackson almost broke his nose.

Overall, Sanha was satisfied with the results of the investigation. It was pleasing to get a happy ending for everyone, or as happy as it could get anyway. Nobody was majorly injured in any way, physical or psychological. She could happily commit her time to wandering around in other potentially dangerous places with new sidekicks to drag along wit her. It really made the expeditions fun.

And besides, now she could use one of her ‘Case Closed’ stickers.

LAST NOTES / THE TALKY BIT:

Holy hell was that a ride. It took me solidly three weeks to draft this, a week to edit it, and a full day to retype all 22,000 words onto tumblr for the sake of formatting. And yet somehow, I managed to finish it? This is actually the first thing I’ve finished drafting, ever. And I’ve been writing since 2010 or so. It’s been a damn long time. So, this is a really special moment for me.

Anyway, thanks for coming on this ride! Sorry if bits of it were underwhelming or the pacing was a little weird. I’m still a huge amateur. Also, sorry if Got7 was out of character. There’s only so much your girl can do to accurately portray them, since I don’t know them personally. I really hope I did well enough that you can enjoy.

A few things to say: I OWN THIS STORY. Please don’t repost it to any other sites; I have accounts on almost every other fan fiction site, and will post this story on there shortly, but tumblr is my main so I wanted it on here first, finished. I swear to god, I will actually cry if I see my story on your page. Do you want to make me cry? No you don’t. Just share the link if you want your friends to see it.

A quick disclaimer, I do not own Got7. I mean obviously. Just gotta get that one out of the way.

I also loosely based any instances of magic in this story after real life witchcraft; loosely because I don’t practice a lot of the things I used here personally, plus I don’t think a spirit would be flinging people around willy nilly in the real world. I’m not sure they’d be able to.

THE PLOT AND KIM SANHA ARE MINE! I SPENT WEEKS RESEARCHING, DEVELOPING, DRAFTING, AND EDITING THIS SHIT. PLEASE PLEASE DON’T STEAL; I WORKED SO FUCKING HARD ON THIS. IT WOULD JUST BE A SUPER DICK MOVE.

Thanks so much for reading! I love you lots!

#got7 #got7 au #mark tuan #im jaebum #park jinyoung #wang jackson #choi youngjae #kim yugyeom #bambam #bambam bhuwakul #bye bye~!#i love you lots!#Thanks for joining me on this adventure!

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pruebopruebapruebe · 5 years ago

Text

Found this in my drafts. Date unknown but maybe August 2019.

It's a letter (????) to my future sexual partners. Why sharing it? It may help me or someone else in the future. When I found about autism I thought "what is something I can not fake" so I searched for autistic afab and sex/orgasms. Thanks to that I get convinced. So, it may be useful.

This is in no way a guide of autism and sexuality. It's just about my sexuality at the time and I happen to be autistic and think that it has an effect in the way I experienced sexual relations. I'm not changing the format. I'm adding a read more so do interact with the post if you want. I haven't fixed grammar nor typos, I'm sorry for that.

20/V/2020

I have things to confess to my future partners, things I have never said because I was ashamed. I still am. But i have to say it.

So here we go.

For my future partner:

I like sexuality… The idea. The concept. The emotions involved. The pleasure. But i can’t really enjoy it. I can’t really enjoy the act of sex. Not freely. Not like normal people do.

So I’ll give you the option to look for sex outside our relationship, or the option of an open relationship when it comes to sex. It’s not that i don’t love you, nor that I want other experiences (that’s a lie, don’t believe me if I say that, it was the excuse to keep the secret). It’s because I’ll end up resenting you. I don’t want to keep having sex because i feel It’s what i have to do. That will transform love making in a choir and I’ll be thinking when and how is going to happen to end it quickly, so you will not leave me.

But, to be honest, i want to share sex with you. I want to believe I can do it. I want to believe I don’t need to be high or drunk to let myself enjoy it. It’s complicated and embarrassing and I don’t know where to start to explain it. But I’ll try.

>I can’t talk during sex. At best, I’ll avoid it, because it’s distracting. It’s an effort. At worst I won’t talk because i just can’t. I didn’t know why until very recently. So, if things are going bad, if I’m not enjoying myself, if I’m not feeling you, if I’m not having a good time, if it’s unpleasant, I won’t tell you because i can not articulate the words. And if I do, assume it’s taking me a lot of mental effort and strength. I’ll probably look at you blankly, do faces or start crying before talking. It’s not your fault. It’s not that I am mad (yet). It’s just the way it is.

>I need your voice. I need your sounds. If you are silent, if you don’t talk to me, you are making me suffer. You are making me feel like a piece of meat. I need to know what do you think about the sensations, about us, about me. About my body. About the things I’m doing to you. The things you are doing to me. What we have done, what we are doing and what will we do. I don’t care about the language you use, or if you don’t make much sense.

>If I’m asking you something it’s because i can’t ask you to talk to me, so the next “best” thing to do is to make you talk to me by doing those questions (”how does it feel?”, “Do you like it?”). Even if they come as casual, I’m doing a GREAT effort to make them. Don’t ignore me. Don’t answer with one word and then go back to silence. It fucking breaks my bloody heart.

>If I start crying, don’t panic! Don’t stop. I’m not hurt (just in the feelings). Take care of me, I’m desperate because i can’t tell you to do so.

>I may cry too because i feel like I'm going to die. The sensations are overwhelming and I feel like I can die from what my body is feeling, this strong sensation inside out, like a unreachable heat about to explode [and break your body, image, face, dignity for a moment, letting you vulnerable, exposed, ugly].

>I may or may not need to practice my breath during intercourse. I would love to extend on this item but it's embarrassing.

>Don’t squeeze the squeezable soft zones. Sorry not sorry [try with a gentle grip]. However, you can squeeze the hard zones, and you may touch the soft zones veryveryvery slightly. [Maybe you can wear gloves? I know is stupid and weird, I just thought that would be nice]. I LOVE TOUCH.

>No but really I starve touch during sex, I like a strong, dominant grip, makes me feel desired. And/or a constant caring touch in all my skin and body: limbs, neck, back, belly, face, hips (omg hips), etc, helps me relax and stay in the mood.

>I think I like to have pressure over me. I would like to try it.

>I zoom out a lot. That’s why I’m so awkward about the place… I get distracted very easily. If I can hear people, there is no chance for me to get confortable. If there is too much decoration, it will distract me. I have to be brutally honest here and confess that I have always wanted to be blindfolded during sex, but was to ashamed to say it. I am very self-conscious and having sight of my surroundings, your body and my body makes me think and zoom out and then feel guilty about it. I can’t just keep my eyes closed all the time consciously.

>Also, I don’t know if music helps me or not. It certainly can help if you don’t have a problem with me moving at it’s rhythm (another thing I feel ashamed for), but the lyrics must not be that good or i’ll get distracted. The television must be off.

>Sometimes I don’t know what to do with my hands. I confess that I have also wanted to be tied, so my hands would know where to be.

>Take the lead, I love it! And I appreciate someone in control who will give me the rules and decide the steps of the intercourse. Give me explicit permission or orders about what to do or what is ok to do, or what is ok to do "in this moment" (including orgasm) or what is ok not to do (including the possibility to stop).

>I would like to have a safe word, because most of the times I ask to stop is because I am at my edge and it's too much to lose control. So I would like to have a separate word to tell my partner I really want to stop, so they don't confuses it with the "it's feels so good I think I'll die keep doing it untill you break my resistance" stop.

>I care a lot about... Clean bodies. I know I shouldn't. I need my partner to tell me they don't feel disgusted by my body. By my body hair, and fat, and colours and smells. And bad angles. And genitals and other body parts all over me. You can told me what you like (it doesn't matter if you say the same thing multiple times). You can also go to the other extreme and tell me something nasty about my body as long as you can handle it and make it clear that you don't mean it/care about it so I'll know you know I'm ugly but still desire me. It's not an easy game, but having this kind of things stated at the moment (every moment/every time a moment repeats itself) helps me [or at least i think it does].

>I have no problem giving you oral sex, but I don't like to receive oral sex. Idk if I haven't met someone skilled at it or what, but I. Don't. Like. It.*

>I don't like fingers inside my vagina. Just don't.*

[*Unless you are very skilled or I am in the mood to give it a try OR I'm very drunk].

>Yeah I like drunk sex, it helps me enjoy it. Maybe we didn't pact it before, but it can happen, in fact, being drunk or high are the best ways for me to have casual sex. Just... No te pongas babosx.

>I don't like kisses. I'm sorry, that's very personal and intimate for me. Piquitos seh, pero con lengua no por favor, me da asco [sólo en circunstancias específicas lo permitiría].

>I don't like the conventional routine walk/cinema/fun - food - sex nor [the better option] food - walk - sex. Please! How do you expect me to make exercise after eating? How do you expect me to feel confortable with my organs being twitched and pressed with food inside of them?? The digestive system goes all over the way, sir. I prepared for this date but this was hours ago, I don't feel comfortable with my nasty body anymore. No. I like the opposite. Sex, then food and then the fun/walk/actualdate.

>I "wet" myself if I reach orgasm and that always stops me from it, or cut it at it’s begining because of the shame. It's just me squirting, but it smells a little like pee and that's a big deal for me. Yes, I go to the bathroom always before intercourse.

>Ice, please.

>I am very verbal. I moan until my mouth is dry and even say some things like yes, like that, it feels good, etc... in spanish usually but I would totally moan in english if I weren’t so self-conscious.

>Don’t expect me to accept as “normal” that I have to do things you don’t have to. We can agree certain things are most confortable for you, but don’t expect me to enjoy anal sex if you can not think of yourself as someone who can "be used" in that way just because “well I’m a man”.

EDIT: 19 XII 2020. For some time I have been wanting to change some thing from this post, but at the end, it’s more useful for me if it stays this way and I write something new that resembles better how I feel about this topic. Explain it better. Change some parts that now I think didn’t convey the idea clearly.

#Texto #Autism

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