#and there’s that unique feeling of laughing or sneezing too hard or just standing up you can feel it trickling

[quodekash]

okay I’m not saying everyone who doesn’t experience period pain should use a period pain simulator at least once in their life

but I’m also not not saying that

[redqueen-hypothesis]

misunderstanding ➳ gavin (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x gavin (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 6332

➳ GENRE: humour, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: you just really want a kiss

➳ REMARKS: for @cheri-translates​‘ late birthday present! i apologise for the disappointing quality-

i. her

It’s late at night when you finish working on your last report, and Gavin insists on walking you home.

“–and so Victor was saying that I have to work doubly hard this month if I want to keep the partnerships with other companies.” You rant to Gavin on the way back to your apartment, joined hands swinging back and forth between the two of you. “I mean, he’s probably right! But he talks as if I haven’t been doing my best already! I wish I could wipe that annoying frown off his face.”

Your boyfriend shakes his head, a slight smile on his lips and his fingers giving yours a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve been working so hard these last few days, I’m sure your boss sees that too.” Gavin says honestly, and you make a face at the thought of Victor even remotely praising you for your work without a snark remark thrown in somewhere. “I’m sure you’ll do great, so don’t worry too much, alright?”

Gavin’s words are earnest and straight from the heart. You smile, feeling more positive than when you had left the company building; no matter how many times Gavin says he doesn’t know how to reassure people, he always come through for you with his honest words. You’re looking up at his side profile, about to thank him, when a night gale sweeps through the empty streets and you shiver. The weather has been cold recently, but you had forgotten your jacket today on way to work due to oversleeping in the morning.

All of a sudden, you feel a slight weight settling around your shoulders and look up in surprise to see Gavin putting his denim jacket on you, leaving him in nothing more than a plain white tee. “Ahh, Gavin! You don’t need to, I’m almost home anyway. What if you catch a cold?” You begin to pull off the jacket, but Gavin’s large hands still yours before you can return it to him.

“I’m used to the cold since I fly around so much.” Gavin tells you simply, adjusting the jacket so that it sits nicely on your shoulders, protecting the bare skin of your arms from the cool night air. “There, all done.”

You flush lightly, tugging the well worn material more tightly around your body. It still retains his delicious body heat and his unique scent is steeped in every thread and stitch of the fabric. Smiling secretly to yourself, you look at Gavin’s concerned face to thank him. “Then I’ll return it to you the second we reach my apartment, alright?”

Gavin coughs lightly, turning away. “I don’t mind if you keep it. It looks good on you.” His short brown locks do little to hide just how the tips of his ears are burning red. You blink down at yourself, realizing then just how big his jacket is on you and flush lightly. “Well, I can’t have you catching a cold too!”

You grab his hand with both of yours and raise it to your lips to blow warm air over it, deciding that you can at least keep one part of him warm if you’re going to steal his jacket. To your surprise, however, Gavin’s body temperature already seems higher than average. He could have a bright future as a personal body warmer if the evol agent thing doesn’t work out, you think to yourself as you lace your fingers with his.

A small laugh leaves Gavin’s lips and he brings your hands down instead, putting your joined hands inside the pocket of the denim jacket. “Is this better?”

You can feel heat dancing along your cheeks, and nod eagerly. “Y-yes!” Your hand has never felt so warm and secure. Gavin smiles at you, a small, tender curve of the lips, but it makes his entire face shine with a contented glow. “Let’s go, then.”

Just like every time Gavin walks you home, the distance between your workplace and your apartment feels far too short - you want to spend more time with him. Unfortunately, you spot the familiar numbers of your apartment block and let out a small sigh, fingers instinctively wrapping around his more tightly. You don’t want to let him go.

“What’s wrong? Your footsteps have slowed.” Gavin asks in concern, and you startle when you realise that he’s looking at you with a worried expression on his face. You hadn’t even realised that you’d been dragging your feet in an attempt to make this walk last longer. Just how much more in love can you fall for one man?

“I-I was just thinking about how much work I have left to do once I head back home.” You say quickly, as the two of you near the lobby of your apartment. Gavin sighs and raises a hand to stroke through your hair gently, fingers combing through the flyaway strands tenderly.

“I don’t like seeing you so stressed.” He says softly, sounding almost pained, and your heart warms in your chest. You take both of his hands in yours, holding them between you as you turn to face him.

Silly man. He’s the one who goes on dangerous missions all the time and comes back injured or exhausted, and here he is worrying about you instead. Gavin looks down at you, amber eyes slightly downcast and a slight furrow between his brows, as if the thought of you being tired hurts him more than any danger he could face.

“I’m a big girl, Gavin. I can take care of myself.” You reassure him softly. Gavin gazes at you for a few moments, before one hand comes up to trace the dark circles underneath your eyes so gently. “I know you can.” He says, sounding a hint resigned. “But not at the expense of your health or your rest, alright?”

His hand shifts to cup your cheek, and you lean into the warmth of his palm with a contented smile. “Okay.”

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, too reluctant to let the other go. It’s only when another gust of cold wind sweeps around you and you let out a small sneeze that Gavin finally takes a step back, running a thumb over your cheek. “I’ll pick you up for a date once you finish your project, alright? Don’t hesitate to call if you need me for something.”

You stare at him a second longer, his amber eyes filled with such tender affection and concern, before compulsion wins out and you’re stepping forward to wrap your arms around his torso. Gavin makes a surprised sound at your actions when your face collides with his chest, arms instinctively coming up to encircle you. “Something wrong?”

“Just wanted to a hug.” You mumble into the thin white fabric of his shirt, glancing up to look at him. Gavin’s expression softens at your muffled words, fingers stroking your cheek gently and his eyes tracing your face with so intently that your breath lodges itself in your chest.

Ever so slowly, his fingers slip down to brush your lips gently, his touch so light it’s barely a breath of wind whispering over your mouth. Lips suddenly dry at his sudden actions, your tongue darts out mindlessly to wet them and the tip flicks over Gavin’s fingers.

Your eyes dart up to meet Gavin’s in shock, heart pounding painfully in your chest. He still hasn’t moved his fingers from your lips, although you can see the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows, amber eyes darkening a shade as they fixate on your mouth, unable to look away.

You vaguely wonder if you’re still breathing. Is he finally going to-

Gavin leans forward slowly, face coming dangerously close to yours without so much as a warning. You can feel a few stray strands of his hair dancing across your face each time the wind blows, but you’re so fixated on his mouth that you barely bother with the ticklish sensation. His breath, hot with each slow exhale, brushes your lips like a teasing, indirect touch, and at that moment, you find that you really, really want him to kiss you.

Your eyes slip shut, lips tingling in anticipation. Please.

“You have a little bit of lipstick smudged here.” Gavin’s soft voice interrupts you, and your eyes fly open to see him wiping carefully at the corner of your mouth, before showing you a bit of pink staining his fingertips. You stare down at it for a moment, unsure whether you want to scream loudly in disappointment or if you still have some shreds of dignity left to preserve, but before you can do anything regrettable Gavin leans over and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you soon.” He murmurs softly, eyes bright with affection as he smiles down at you, and you almost feel dirty minded for wanting a kiss on the lips of all things. “It’s late and cold, you should get going.”

Unable to say anything in response, you swallow the words trapped on the tip of your tongue before you kiss him softly on the cheek and step back to wave. “See you soon, Gavin.”

You feel his eyes on you until you’ve stepped into the relative warmth and security of the lift lobby, barely remembering to give a wave to the security guard before you enter the lift.

The second the elevator doors slide closed, you put your face in your hands and scream.

ii. a male perspective

“So, how good is my brother in bed?”

Shaw’s unexpected question in the middle of your conversation sends your mouthful of matcha latte going down the wrong passage. You immediately clap both hands over your mouth, trying to prevent the drink from spewing over the entire tabletop. Coughing and spluttering weakly, you reach out for help and Shaw instantly drops a tissue into your hand, a lazy, self satisfied smirk dancing on his lips. As he lounges back on his chair, he looks ridiculously out of place in the quaint cafe with his graffiti-ed leather jacket and skateboard propped up on the chair next to him.

“You don’t just ask about these kind of things!” You whisper to Shaw fiercely, sure that your face must be as bright red as a tomato. You can feel heat burning at your cheeks. Did anyone hear? “Why would you even ask about something like that?”

Shaw’s snicker of laughter is bright, teasing, and so, so annoying. “It’d almost be nice to have some tea about my dear brother. Anyways, what’s embarrassing about it? I could give you a few tips if you want.” He pours a measure of his can of coke into the teacup in front of him, before adding an equal amount of Pepsi and clicking his tongue in satisfaction.

You make a face at the thought of just how much action you’ve gotten as you dab at the corners of your mouth with the paper napkin. “Well...” You hesitate, not quite sure how to put it. Shaw arches a single perfectly groomed eyebrow as he raises his teacup to his lips.

“You mean, you haven’t fucked?” The question falls so easily from his mouth that you almost do a double take, before you’re glaring at him in embarrassment and raising your purse to smack him on the arm. “How far have the two of you gone?”

“...it’d be easier to ask how far we haven’t gone.” Your hesitant mumble has Shaw blinking at you in wide eyed surprise. The rare expression on his face would almost hilarious if it weren’t for the fact that it was so depressing. “He hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

“What?” Shaw says so loudly that a few patrons of the cafe you’re at glance at him with dirty looks. You slap his shoulder again with your purse. “Oi, how long have the two of you been dating already?”

You press your lips together, ticking the dates off on your fingers. “About a month now.”

“He’s gone an entire month without kissing you?” Shaw snorts, setting his teacup back on the table. You stare into his cup, watching the tiny bubbles fizz in his drink and pop at the surface. Who buys soft drinks in a cafe? “Are you sure he knows that the two of you are dating? He’s a bit dense, so he might not have gotten it through his thick skull-”

You give him a flat look. “Don’t insult my boyfriend like that,” you mumble, taking a bite of your strawberry tart. Shaw lets out a snort, resting his chin on his palm as he shakes his head at you.

“Am I wrong, though? The two of you are more hilarious to watch than a romance sitcom.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pointing your fork at him threateningly. “This is not,” you jab the utensil at his face for extra effect, “funny.”

This, of course, only has the opposite effect and sends Shaw into a fit of snickers and chortles. You glare at him, unamused, as he thumps a fist on his skateboard, laughing so hard you can see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “Shaw! I’m being serious!”

“That’s exactly why-” Shaw wipes his eyes, looking like he’s trying very hard to stop himself from dissolving into laughter, “-it’s so damn funny.”

“I will end you.” You mutter, stabbing the fork into your tart mutinously and wishing it was Shaw’s face instead. Massaging his aching sides, Shaw slides back into his chair bonelessly, the odd chuckle or two still escaping him. “Okay, okay, being serious. Do you want my dear old brother to give you a real kiss?”

The question is so obvious that you shoot him a glare, wondering if he’s making fun of you again. “Of course I do! Every time I think he’s going to kiss me, it just ends up on the forehead or cheek. This area,” you gesture furiously at your lips with your fork, “has gone completely deprived for months! And every single time he doesn’t go for it, I think oh, maybe I should try taking the lead instead, but then he smiles at me with that really cute innocent face of his and I just can’t do it.”

Shaw blinks at you for a moment before he pats you on the back sympathetically. He must have been a little surprised by your emotional ramble. “There there, it’s not good for you to get so worked up over something like this. You’re aging, you should look out for your blood pressure levels-”

You gape at him for a few seconds, before you reach for your purse and immediately start swatting at him furiously like he’s a mosquito that you need to destroy. “I am not old! I’m barely a few years! Older than you! The disrespect, you bastard!”

“Ouch, yeowch! Stop abusing me, woman!” Shaw scrambles out of the chair from under your flailing hands, trying to avoid your hits. You’re not usually so easily agitated, but Shaw just has that effect on you - you want to smack that annoying smirk off his face the second he opens his mouth. “I’ll be serious from now on. Strategies, strategies...”

You sink back into your chair, cheeks flushed slightly from the exertion. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” You bemoan, putting your face in your hands. “You’re of no help at all, Shaw.”

He has the gall to look offended. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? If I can get ladies, I’m sure I can help you get one man, even if he’s a little slow on the uptake.”

“I said, stop insulting my boyfriend.” You scold, taking a more careful sip of your latte now, wary in case Shaw decides to say something strange again. “And your ideas are terrible, if they don’t involve something illegal...” your words trail off, and you frown as you think back on all his schemes and plans. “Wow. I just realised that all your plans so far have been illegal.”

“Who cares if they’re illegal or not as long as they work? I have a hundred percent success rate. Guaranteed fucking by the end of the plan.”

You fix him with a dubious look.

“I won’t even charge you for it. Take it as a congratulatory gift or something.” Shaw props his feet on the table, ignoring the dirty glare you throw at him from the side. “So, do you want to hear this plan or not?”

You take one good, long stare at him, before you sigh and down the remainder of your latte. What else do you have to lose?

“Hit me with your worst, I suppose.” You say, defeated, and Shaw grins, pumping a fist in the air.

“Leave it all to me.”

You feel like you already regret saying that.

iii. numero uno

Plan Numero Uno is an absolute disaster.

You’d been at the location of one of your shoots, which happened to be the precinct for your latest police feature documentary, organizing the lighting and curtains for the interview room. After realizing that you would need some cleaning solution in order to wipe down the glass of the interrogation rooms, you decided to find some yourself in the storage room, not wanting to trouble the janitors. Gavin, who’d been at the station, offered to help you out.

“You’re really a lifesaver, Gavin.” You tell your boyfriend softly, as he walks in step beside you. He’s not touching you, maintaining just enough distance between the two of you to remain professional and appropriate, but you notice the way he instinctively leans towards you in some sort of subconscious attempt to stay closer to you. You giggle internally, giving an absentminded nod to a janitor walking past you, lavender hair peeking out from beneath the brim of a dark cap. He’s cute.

“You needed help and I know where the supplies are.” Gavin nods simply as if offering his assistance is nothing more than second nature to him, guiding you to a black, nondescript door labelled ‘cleaning supplies’. “Here, it shouldn’t be locked.”

He opens the door for you, and you switch on the lights as you step into the small, cramped room barely large enough for one person. A single bulb flickers overhead, and you squint in the dim light to read the peeling labels on the bottles. “Detergent... Hydro... Hydrogen peroxide? Ahh, glass cleaner.” You reach on your tiptoes to get it, but unfortunately are still too short to so much as brush the bottom with your fingers. Gavin smiles slightly at your plight, and you shoot a pitiful look at him that says ‘please don’t make fun of me’.

“Let me get that for you.” Gavin suggests, stepping over to the rickety shelves. His firm chest presses against your back as he reaches over your head to get the bottle of cleaning solution, and you freeze, chewing on your bottom lip as you feel him move about behind you. You hope the light isn’t bright enough for him to see the clear blush on your cheeks. His body is very warm.

And also very hard.

“I got it, I can carry it for you.” Gavin says, seemingly oblivious to your plight. You force a smile on your face as you thank him, desperate to get out of here as fast as possible before you pin him to the wall and kiss him senseless yourself. “That’s great! Then let’s get out of here, it’s far too cramped-”

Just as you’re reaching for the door, you hear a click of a lock.

You pause with your hand on the doorknob, before attempting to twist it. The door doesn’t budge in the least. What.

“Gavin, I think the door is jammed.” You say, shaking the doorknob a little more aggressively. There’s no denying it, it’s well and truly locked. It doesn’t budge in the least even when you pull and push with all your might. “Did you do something to it when you came in?”

“I didn’t even shut the door.” Gavin replies, surprise colouring his voice. “Let me see.”

The room was very clearly meant for only one person, because when Gavin squeezes past you to get to the door, you’re sure every inch of his body is brushing against yours. You try your very best not to let out any strange sounds, instead choosing to keep your mouth shut and watch as Gavin inspects the door carefully.

“This door is locked from the outside by the janitor at the end of each day, even though it usually isn’t at this time.” Gavin says seriously, inspecting the lock. “One of them might have made a mistake when they saw the door left open and locked it thoughtlessly.”

Locked in a cleaning supply closet together with Gavin... why does that sound so familiar, you wonder, before the words click in your mind together with a familiar smirk and bleached lavender hair hidden beneath a dark cap.

Shaw! You scream internally in realization. Just a week ago at that cafe he had been talking about the exact same thing, but it had clearly been such an awful plan that you hadn’t bothered shooting it down instantly, thinking that he was just making a joke.

Well, it seems that he has made a joke - only out of you.

Before you can think up a thousand and one ways to kill Shaw in his sleep, Gavin turns around and you instantly purge all murderous intent from your face, directing an awkward smile at him. In the cramped space of the room, the two of you are pressed so close that you can feel the body heat radiating off him. His face is barely inches from yours, and almost helplessly, your eyes flick down to trace the outline of his lips. You can’t help it - everything you’ve wanted for so long is right there, as if you could just reach out and take it-

Gavin calls your name softly, and you look up to see him gazing intently at you. Your breath hitches in your throat, and your lips tingle. Is he going to...

“Stand back.” He says firmly, and you blink in confusion. “I’ll take care of this.”

The next second, Gavin raises up one leg, and lashes out at the door with a single swift, powerful kick. Your yelp of surprise is drowned out by the sound of the door swinging wide open, allowing light from the hallway to flood into the dingy storage room. His show of controlled power has your mouth hanging open in a mixture of shock and wide eyed awe.

The door is open, and you’re more disappointed than you have been in weeks.

Gavin turns around to extend a hand to you, the other hand gripping the bottle of glass cleaner tightly. “Shall we go? They must still be waiting for us.”

With a pained smile at your dear boyfriend’s obliviousness, you take his hand, lips still very much kiss deprived and heart just a little bit heavy.

Plan one, bust.

iv. little black dress

“Shaw, this idea is somehow worse than the first.”

“What do you mean, worse? The last one was an anomaly, this time will definitely work.” Shaw clicks his tongue as he rifles through another rack with a cursory eye. You trail along behind him, trying to cover your face with your purse, cheeks flaming red. “Shaw... Shaw! What exactly are we doing in... in a...”

The words lingerie boutique simply refuse to leave your mouth, your face colouring in mortified crimson until you’re sure it matches the shade of lace underwear barely clinging on to the mannequin’s hips. “I thought you said you were going to help me!”

Shaw lets out an ungraceful snort. “Well, you don’t think I’m here to buy one of these for myself, were you?” He holds up a racy black leather bodysuit up to you, giving you a cursory once over. “Hmm, might fit. Doesn’t seem like your type, though. You’re not bold enough to pull it off.”

“What?” You hiss through clenched teeth, trying to hide behind a rack when the shop assistant glances over at the two of you curiously. “No! I said I want a kiss from Gavin, not all of this,” you gesture wildly at the entire shop, “this risque stuff!”

“Think about it, if the two of you bang, we increase the chances of him kissing you. Truly a big brain moment.” Shaw says very seriously, in the same tone of voice he uses when he’s rehearsing his archaeology project presentations. You stare at him for a moment in horror, wondering for a moment whether he’s being serious or not, before you catch one corner of his mouth quirking up in the telltale signs of a shit eating grin.

“You little bastard-” You begin, swatting at him with your handbag furiously. Shaw simply laughs outright, ducking out of the way of your swings. “What kind of woman do you think I am? I thought you were seriously trying to help me here-”

“I was just joking,” Shaw manages through his laughter as he dodges yet another swing, too quick on his feet for you to actually hit him. “But being totally honest here, I still think he’d like to see you in one of these.” He holds up a sheer white babydoll and you instantly make a face, but inside you’re a little hesitant, a little curious. 

Would Gavin really like... seeing you in something like this?

“Of course, we could always put you in a gift box and deliver you to his apartment.” Shaw hums, inspecting the lacy material a little more carefully. He seems far too familiar with it than you’re comfortable with. “Hmm, maybe something like this is a little too much fabric. Ease of access is priority, you know?”

“Too much fabric?” You squeak, glancing at the lingerie set. It’s more holes than lace, with very convenient slits in the fabric that would do little to cover, well, anything. You’d rather die than be seen dead in it. “What’s enough fabric, then?”

“Enough fabric means no fabric. Convenience is key.” Turning around, Shaw slips the lingerie back onto the rack, completely ignoring your flaming cheeks and the way your mouth is hanging wide open. “Oh, I just had the best idea. We pack you in a nice gift box to my dear old brother’s apartment, and you wear nothing but a bow. Pretty sure he’ll appreciate the view. I’m his brother, after all. We’ve got similar tastes.”

All you manage to let out in response is a mortified, choked noise. The sheer thought of Gavin seeing you like that has your head spinning, heart running at a million miles per hour. “I-I... I-”

“Cat got your tongue?” Shaw snickers at the expression on your face, and you simply let out another strangled sound. “I was just joking about the bow bit. We could always put it on the box instead.”

You gape at him, unable to think straight. “No.”

“You can be naked if you want to,” Shaw continues loudly, over your protests. The shop assistants are starting to stare, and you desperately wish the ground would swallow you in all your entirety. “In fact, wearing nothing would be the best, and you get to save money too- oh, fuck.”

You blink in surprise at the sudden shift in his attitude, before you turn to glance in the same direction that Shaw’s looking in. To your absolute horror, you see Gavin walking through the mall with both hands tucked in the pockets of his windbreaker, eyes focused straight ahead of him. He’s not looking at you, but the sight of him is enough for your heart to go from running a million miles per hour to absolute motionless in a matter of seconds.

For a second, you swear your eyes almost meet.

Just kill me now.

“Goddamn, Shaw, hide!” You whisper scream in desperation, shoving at him with a strength you never knew you had. Caught off guard, he stumbles over a rack of lacy underwear and falls face first into a changing room before you’re diving in after him as quick as your body will allow. You don’t chance a look back before you’re throwing the curtains shut.

“Ow, fuck, you’re stepping on my foot.” Shaw complains from the floor, and you barely spare him a glance, easing the curtain open a crack so that you can peer out of the changing room. “Shaw, if Gavin ever finds out about this, I will end you in your sleep.”

“That’s not really scary coming from you.” Shaw whistles, looking unconcerned. You turn your head back to give him the worst glare you can muster. “I’ll break into your house with the spare key and replace your shampoo with toilet bleach.”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll shut up.” Shaw raises both hands in surrender. He manages approximately five seconds of silence before he’s speaking again. “I’m sure brother dearest wouldn’t mind seeing you in a lingerie shop, though. In fact, he’d probably get pretty excited-”

You squat on the ground next to Shaw, put your hands in your face and let out a tiny cry of despair.

Next to you, Shaw only snickers.

v. the misunderstanding

When you leave work that evening, you see Gavin waiting for you outside your apartment, much to your surprise. He’s still dressed in his uniform, white button up and black slacks paired with fingerless gloves. At the sight of him, your heart flutters in your chest traitorously; you had once mentioned casually to Gavin that you very much enjoyed the sight of him dressed in any sort of uniform, and he’d taken full advantage of your weakness.

You wonder if today is one such situation.

“Gavin, you’re here!” You call excitedly and hurry over to him, before he can so much as turn around your hands are already on his chest, eyes narrowed. “Now, what sort of injury did you get this time? Don’t even try hiding it from me, just because you’re in a uniform doesn’t mean that I’ll let you off-”

Your wrist is suddenly grasped in a firm but gentle grip, and you look up in surprise to see Gavin gazing at you with a sort of melancholy smile. Slightly concerned, you reach up with your other hand to cup his cheek lightly and he leans into your touch, his amber eyes fluttering shut. “Gavin?” You ask, suddenly hesitant. “Is something wrong?”

At your words, Gavin draws backwards and straightens up, before smiling down at you as if nothing is wrong. “I’m alright.” He says, but he sounds a little... off. “There have been reports of a suspicious figure in a black cap loitering around here recently. Come, I’ll walk you home.”

Peering up at him, you want to ask him what’s wrong. While Gavin has never been the type to wear his emotions freely on his sleeve, he’s also never explicitly tried to hide them from you, nor has he ever been very good at doing so. However, he doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking, so after a minute or so of mindless chatter from you, you fall into a contemplative silence, wondering just what on earth has made your boyfriend mope like this.

As the two of you near your apartment block, you decide that you are unable to stand this awkward silence between you and Gavin. You can’t possibly stand letting him go tonight without figuring out what the problem is. Mentally pumping yourself up, you force your feet to a halt, and turn around to look at Gavin in the eye.

“Gavin, I-”

“I have something that-”

Both of you speak at the exact same time, and you blink at him in surprise. Gavin looks equally perplexed, but opens his mouth to speak again.

“You go first-”

“No, you first!” You insist, suddenly very nervous with his attention all on you. Better later than never, right? Gavin swallows, his eyes darting over your face for a moment, before he suddenly grabs both of your hands and squeezes them tightly in his.

“Am I...” His voice trembles ever so slightly, and you look up at him in alarm. “Am I... not enough for you?”

You stare.

You’re not sure if you heard that right. Gavin? Him? Not enough? For who? You?

Too stunned to reply, you simply gape at him, mouth hanging open uselessly like that of a goldfish on land. Clearly taking your silence to mean something else completely, he starts to ramble in a way you’ve never heard him before, gaze downcast as he speaks. 

“Today... I saw you and my... brother... in a...” He struggles to get the words out, cheeks dusted a dark pink and you immediately cover his mouth with both your palms, completely mortified. You’re not sure your ears (or your dignity) can take hearing Gavin say the words ‘lingerie boutique’. 

So he had seen you in that shop with Shaw after all!

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or scream. Perhaps both. Both is good.

“I... I didn’t know what to think, so I tried to ignore it. I know you probably have your own reasons, and I trust you, but I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. So I... here I am.” He finishes, looking completely embarrassed with himself. “I just... I just couldn’t bear the thought of someone else taking you from me. Because I...”  His voice grows tiny, but his words echo so loud in your heart. “Because I love you very much.”

Unable to stand how hotly your cheeks are burning, you dart forward to wrap your arms around Gavin’s waist, burying your face in his chest. His voice is a warm timbre above you and you feel his breath on the top of your head, soothing and familiar. “What’s the matter?”

“Today!” You shout into his chest, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I was with Shaw, because he said that he had an idea for me!”

Gavin’s hand comes up to rest in your hair, his long fingers combing through the strands carefully. “Idea?”

“Yes, an idea!” You can feel your face ready to spontaneously combust, and hope that he can’t feel the heat on your cheeks through the thin fabric of his shirt. “An idea to... to get you to kiss me.”

Gavin’s fingers still in your hair. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

You pull back to stare at Gavin in the face, stunned. “That’s all it would have taken? All I had to do, was ask?” You repeat after him, incredulous, but apparently Gavin is totally serious, because he nods earnestly in response. “I was waiting for you to be ready because I didn’t want to rush you.” He explains, and you bury your face in your hands, ready to be dive headfirst into the concrete of the sidewalk.

“All that effort, for nothing!” You shout at the bushes lining the road, and Gavin stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “I just wanted a kiss, and you tell me now that all I needed to do was to ask? Damn Shaw’s advice to hell! I agonized over this for weeks, I still haven’t gotten my kiss, and now I find out-”

Before you can carry on with your embarrassed and angry tirade, Gavin’s rough hands are cupping the sides of your face. You barely have time to so much as breathe before his lips touch yours gently, the merest brush of his mouth sending your pulse stuttering dangerously in seconds.

Gavin slowly pulls away and you see that his cheeks are stained red. His eyes are fixed very firmly on the spot just behind your shoulder. “Was that... enough of a first kiss for you?”

Your own cheeks flame and you nod, too embarrassed to say anything else, your lips still burning hot. “Come on... let’s go.” You tug at his sleeve. “You haven’t had dinner, right? I’ll cook something for the both of us.”

Gavin beams at you warmly and you try to stop your heart from leaping out of your chest.

When the two of you step into your apartment lobby, the security guard uncle waves you over, much to your surprise. “There’s a package for you.” He informs, passing you a nondescript box wrapped in black paper. “The sender wanted to remain anonymous but said he was a friend of yours. It’s a congratulatory gift, apparently.”

You frown down at the box in your hands, shaking it gently; the sound is muffled, and it doesn’t sound like there are any hard objects inside. Before you can tear the paper off it, however, Gavin covers your hands with his, shaking his head.

“It could be something dangerous.” Gavin says seriously, eyes narrowed as he stares down the package in your hands. “Let me open it.”

You hand the package over to Gavin, and watch him open the package methodically with practiced hands, heart beating in your chest rapidly as the contents are revealed only to finally... stop dead.

Inside the box is a familiar scrap of white lace tied with a big red bow, a clean white card resting on the fabric.

Congratulations on finally face fucking! Now go bang your man! - Lightning Boi

Gavin doesn’t move for a moment, deathly still as he stares at the gift in his arms. Outside, you think you hear the wind howling. One sentence leaves his mouth. “I’ll kill him.”

You’re not going to stop him.

On the sidewalk outside, beneath a lamp post, the wind lifts the cap off a man dressed in black to reveal shocking purple hair and a cheeky grin. 

“Hundred percent success rate.” He hums to himself, pleased.

[cruisinwritealong]

R/S CandyHearts Challenge

Thank you @goodboylupin​ for this wonderful challenge! I had so much fun thinking this through. I hope you enjoy it! ♥♥♥

Thanks to @starstruck4moony​ and @kattlupin​ for the beta 😘

Remus hauls his backpack strap back up his shoulder with a frustrated groan, tightens his scarf around his neck, and then shoves his mittened hand back into his coat pocket. The bitingly cold wind blows hard and he hunches his shoulders against it. 

AAah-choo!

Shit, he feels like death. His throat is on fire and all his joints ache. His nose is raw and red, his eyes are puffy and heavy, and all he can think about is the warm blankets draped over his comfy sofa that he crawled out of this morning to trudge across the freezing campus to this fucking final. 

Last. One. 

He just has to get through this exam. One last final exam and then he’s free to sleep for the rest of his life...or until next term but still. If he was feeling well he’d be all but skipping to class. He knows this material backward and forwards. But his head is swimming and he keeps on snee- sneez-

Ah-CHOO! 

Uuuuugh.

He just has to get there, regurgitate it onto the page, hand it in, and then he can go home. He can do this. 

The snow crunches under his boots as he trudges along, forcing his feet to move one in front of the other towards his building. He’s probably sick enough to call in, but this test is with Professor McGonnagal and she only accepts death as an excuse to miss her class so she’ll definitely fail his exam if he doesn’t show and then he’ll fail the class and he could lose his scholarship and have to drop out. Then he’ll never get a job and end up on the streets and then people will look at him with pity in their eyes and hopefully toss him a coin and—oh, the coffee shop. 

Tea.

Fuck yes. A huge ass cup of tea will get him through this. That’s exactly what he needs...aaaaand if he gets the chance to see Sirius Black real quick well, that’s always good medicine—even if he doesn’t know that Remus exists. 

Sirius Black has only said six words to Remus in his whole life—“Would you like a honey bun?” And Remus had stared at him for an alarmingly long time just thinking to himself, “As long as it’s you,” but then Sirius looked confused and all Remus’ blood rushed to his face and he only mumbled a quick no thank you, grabbed his tea, and ran. Sigh. 

That was exactly 5 weeks and 3 days ago, not that Remus is counting. Or going to the coffee shop on the daily to see if he’s working. Or ordering a honey bun almost every time. Or dreaming about calling Sirius his honey bun or—

Cough Cough COUGH

Ouch. 

On second thought, maybe a coughing, snotting, feverish mess isn’t his best look. But fuck it’s freezing and he needs that tea. What time is it? Yes, he’s got plenty of time to duck in, warm-up, and make it to class. 

As soon as he’s inside the shop he pulls off his mittens, loosens his scarf, and unzips his coat a bit, all while stomping the snow off his boots before walking further in. The heat from the cozy little coffee shop defrosts his bones and hugs his aching muscles and it feels so nice that Remus moans out loud before he can stop himself. He hears a throat clearing from behind him.

Shit.

“Come on in, I got the heater cranked nice and toasty just for you.”

When he looks up, none other than Sirius Black himself is standing there in all his glorious perfection. How he can even make a barista apron look sexy is beyond Remus’ comprehension and really, really unfair.

Everything about Sirius Black is simply gorgeous. Every inch of him, down to the last detail just does it for Remus. The wisps of hair that fall around his temples, the silky look of his longer raven hair, the piercing, unique silver-blue of his eyes outlined by the curving, eloquent lashes. Remus could and has written poems and pages about just his face. Not to mention his sharp, stubbled jawline and pouty rose colored lips. And then there’s the strong, wide shoulders and strong, toned arms, and long fucking legs and that goddamn body and OK Lupin focus! He’s talking to you!!

“Umb, h-hi. It’s really cold.” Remus internally cringes at his horse and stuffy sounding voice and lack of intelligent conversation and when he looks to Sirius’ face he sees his easy smile falter a bit.

“Hey, are you ok? Don’t take this the wrong way please but, you look miserable.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he tries to laugh it off, “I habe a co—a col—AH-CHOO!” He lowers his handkerchief, “A cold. Sorry aboud that. I—”

“Remus, you should be home in bed. What are you doing out?”

“Well I juss needed some tea before my final. Trust me, I’d much radder be in bed—wait. You know my nabe? How do you know my nabe?”

“Oh, um,” Sirius’ laugh sounds forced and almost embarrassed. He scratches the back of his neck. “The red head you come in with sometimes is sort of hating, sort of dating my best friend. So...I um, I asked her who her cute friend was.” He swallows hard.

Remus has forgotten how to have a coherent thought and just stands there in silence with his jaw dropped open a bit. He blinks. 

“Buuut I’ll just get you that tea,” Sirius spins away on his heel, completely misinterpreting Remus’ silence. “Still on a cinnamon kick? I can make you your usual. Or I could make you something herbal with some ginger. I hear that helps with a cold. But I’m sure you know what’s best.” Sirius talks rapidly as he walks behind the counter and fusses with the equipment. 

Remus realizes Sirius is trying to fill the silence and quickly move on from what he just said. Because Remus is still gaping at him with his mouth open and still hasn’t said anything because motherFucker he thinks I’m cute! Cute. I’m cute. Cute friend? Oh, that’s me. Nice to meet you.

All he’s ever said to me is “honey bun” and now he knows my fucking name and I’m the cute friend and am I awake? Maybe I’m still on the sofa at home? I must be asleep because he knows my fucking name. He said… shit breathe. I have to breathe. I have to breathe and I have to talk!

“Honey bund,” blurts out of Remus’ stupid, traitorous mouth. Fucking hell.

Sirius stops the frantic tea making and lifts an eyebrow in confusion, “Honey bun?”

“I mean... I didn’t dow you dew my namb. And you asked me if I wanted a honey bund. Before. When I came in before, but that’s it.” Remus scrunches his face and tries again. “Sorry, I took bedication and I think it’s eating my brain. You said …I’m cute?”

A smile unfolds on Sirius’ face and it is like sun rays breaking through the clouds. It is breathtaking and Remus can only stand there and bask in him. Without conscious thought the corner of Remus’ mouth pulls up a bit too.

“You’re sweeter than a honey bun. And very cute.” 

“I...No that’s...You—Ah-Choo!”

“You’re also pretty sick. And as much as I want you to stay, I’m thinking you should probably be resting, yeah?”

“You’re sweet doo.” Remus smiles. “Um. I have to go take this stupid test and then sleep for a few days but...um, could we maybe, um—”

“Yes.”

They both laugh and smile at each other.

“I’d love to go out with you Remus. As soon as you feel up to it of course.”

“I’d really like that Sirius. May I habe—hab—Ah-Choo!”

Sirius frowns in sympathy. “Well I hope you can rest really soon. Here. It’s not actually tea, just um, just hot water with some cloves, lemon and ginger because my friend swears by this when she’s sick. I hope you like it. I can make something else, I just thought—”

Remus reaches out to take the cup but when his fingers wrap around the cup and Sirius’ fingers, he doesn’t let go. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

“Good. ...Good.”

After a moment Remus lets their fingers slide apart and wraps both his hands around the steaming cup. Now he’s warm for more than one reason.

“Oh,” Sirius says, “I um, I wrote my number on the cup. You can call me if you need more tea or anything. Soup even. Or a date. Whatever you need.”

Remus laughs. “Sounds good...I’b glad I stopped in.”

“Me too.”

“See you soon Siri—Siri—Ah-Choo! Uugh.” He does his best to smile back at Sirius while he bundles up again. “Bye Sirius.”

“Feel better, Remus.” 

Sirius’ sweet caring face consumes his mind as he walks to his building, somehow not as cold as he was before. When he enters the classroom he nods hello to Lily and she waves him over to his saved seat. When he reaches his desk he sets down his tea, pulls off his mittens, scarf, and coat. Lily begins giggling to herself and Remus is very confused.

“What?” he asks her quietly. All she does is rotate his cup around so he can see the writing on the side and gives him a very knowing look.

438-9713

Feel better soon Honey Bun 

xo SB

[milknette]

day 13 - flower crown

like a petal on a stream, a feather in the air.

tumblr month: @marichatmay links: ao3 | ff.net

“Is Marinette okay?”

Adrien looked over at his groupmate with worry, as he noticed the girl hurriedly walked over to what he assumed was a nearby bathroom.

Alya had the same level of concern, as she only offered the boy a sympathetic smile. “It’s nothing, she’s really just not good with these kinds of places.” She frowned, confusedly braiding the stems together. “Ugh, how do you do this?!”

“What do you mean?” Adrien prodded, only growing even more worried. He wasn’t sure why here, of all places, would make anyone uncomfortable, finding for himself the place quite beautiful and refreshing.

The place in question being the local greenhouse and conservatory, some distance away from their school.

Miss Bustier decided that it would be a good place to have a field trip, since their class was currently learning about nature and botany. Everyone, of course, was excited— save for their class representative, who looked less than happy over the choice.

Adrien originally thought that maybe he’d imagined it, but was finally convinced by her behavior once they arrived. She couldn’t really hide it that well, after all.

He sighed, reaching over to get Alya’s flowers. The girl in question raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged. For some reason, he was pretty amazing at making flower crowns.

In response, Alya tilted her head, pursing her lips in thought. “I’m not really sure,” she finally replied. “She just tends to avoid super forested areas? But I know she loves flowers and nature, so it’s probably not that.” Alya suddenly shivered, feeling a grasshopper jump onto her shoulder. “Maybe it’s the insects? I know I’m not a fan of all these creepy-crawlies all over my business.”

Still noticing his worried look, Alya put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Adrien. She just needs a minute, and she’ll be back. She’s not the type to just leave us hanging!”

He was about to respond, until Miss Bustier’s voice cut through the garden. “Everyone who’s done with their flower crowns can come with me to the butterfly conservatory!”

The two stared at each other for a moment, before Adrien spoke up. “I’ll wait for her; she might not have heard Miss Bustier from the bathroom.”

Alya only took a moment before nodding, running after the rest of their classmates to catch up.

As soon as she left, Adrien took his flower crown and immediately went to one of the empty sheds, calling out his kwami.

“Adrien?” He asked, confusion on his face. “What are you doing?”

“I need Chat Noir.” He simply stated.

“Why? There aren’t any akumas here.”

Adrien faced his kwami, the concern evident on his features. “It’s Marinette.” He finally shared. “I’m worried about her.”

“Then why not just talk to her as Adrien?” Plagg pressed him. “I don’t understand why you have to transform.”

He sighed. “It’s just… Marinette’s still awkward around me. Adrien me, at least. But Chat, she’s much more comfortable with. Maybe she’d be more willing to talk to him.”

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “You know, the miraculous shouldn’t be used for personal purposes or to flirt with your crush, right?”

Adrien turned red. “I don’t have a crush on her!” He protested, immediately shaking his head. “This is just friendship concern. And just think of it as me trying to avoid the possibility that she’ll be akumatized. Precautionary measures”, he pointed out.

“I still don’t think—”

“Sorry what I didn’t hear you, did you say go for it? I’m assuming yes! Okay... Plagg, claws out!”

“Adrien, wai—!”

The bright glow of a transformation filled the area, as the hero began to stealthily make his way to the bathrooms: only to find an all-too-familiar girl run into the very shed he was already inside.

The warm push of her body sent them both tumbling inside, his crown falling out of his hand.

“Ack! I’m so sorry, I— Chat?”

Marinette held her head, finding that she was sitting right on top of her unknowing superhero partner.

He smiled sheepishly— awkwardly. “Marinette!” He started. “What are you doing here?”

She stared, suspicion on her features. “I’m on a field trip.” She finally responded, suddenly pulling up the hero by his bell. “The more accurate question is, why are you here?”

Chat Noir felt himself sweat, immediately rattling off an excuse. “I heard that an akuma was here, somewhere, so I came to check it out!” He began. “But everything seems fine, so I was just planning to leave! Everyone seems to love it here?”

Marinette stared for another moment, before sighing and letting him go. “Not everyone,” she muttered, getting up to sit next to him.

At that, the concern returned to Chat Noir’s face full force. “You’re not okay?” At her doubtful look, the hero continued. “If you want to talk, of course. I’m ready to listen.”

Against herself, Marinette found a smile form in her face. “Thanks, Chat.” She finally stated, another sigh escaping her lips. “It’s just… I’m not great with these places.”

“I’m not great with dark sheds, either.” He joked, before immediately shutting up at her pointed look. “You’re more of an indoors person, then?”

“It’s not like that,” Marinette protested, shaking her head. “I’m not great with… what comes with that territory.”

Chat Noir knitted his eyebrows, before recalling what Alya had told him previously. “Oh, not a fan of insects, then?”

Marinette sighed. “Well, I guess that’s somewhat right.” She paused, a look of pain flashing in her eyes before disappearing almost immediately. “I’m not that great with butterflies.” The girl finally confessed, hugging her knees to her chest.

Chat Noir could already tell where this was going.

“It’s definitely not a big deal!” Marinette was quick to amend, shaking her head. “I just can’t stand them now… with all the akumas and everything, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell the difference…” she winced, as if her body recalled the sensation of something terrifying. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re here to akumatize me or my friends, and that feeling just doesn’t go away no matter how hard I try.”

Against her will, Marinette felt tears welling up in her eyes, and it broke Chat Noir’s heart to see it.

He typically underestimated how damaging Hawkmoth could be; not just physically, but mentally. It must’ve been difficult to see her friends get akumatized; or even to have the fear of being akumatized yourself— to have to be so careful not to feel any negativity else you become villainized and cause more damage than what was already done.

It was difficult for him, too (and he couldn’t even begin to imagine how he could have coped without Ladybug’s presence).

Wordlessly, he pulled her over to him in a sudden hug, much to the girl’s surprise.

“Hawkmoth is a total d-word, isn’t he?” Chat Noir finally stated, earning surprised laughter from his friend.

“He really is,” she muttered into his chest, finally laying her head on his body.

Chat Noir smiled, one hand comfortingly rubbing at her back, the other on the ground; noticing a familiar item sitting next to him.

Suddenly, he grabbed it and put it on his partner: who was all too shocked with the sudden weight on her head.

She sneezed, moving her hand to feel the strange object.

“Chat? What’s this?”

“I found it lying around,” he lied. “It’s a flower crown.”

She laughed, then shook her head. “And what’s it for?”

“As long as you wear it, you’ll be safe from Hawkmoth.” Chat stated, ignoring the disbelieving look of his partner. “Because I’ll always be here to protect you.” He continued, smiling softly. “I– me and Ladybug, will always foil his plans; we’ll never let him take our miraculous and over Paris.”

Marinette smiled, about to respond until the all-too-familiar voice of her friend pierced the area. “Mari… where are you!?”

They both paused, Chat Noir abruptly standing up and scratching his head. “Well!” He laughed, awkwardly. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He smiled, bowing down to kiss her hand, then saluting before he ran out. “See you, Marinette!”

———

Marinette waved absentmindedly, before stepping out of the shed. She smiled, recalling how goofy and kind Chat Noir was— not just to Ladybug, but even to Marinette (who, as far as he was concerned, was just another civilian). She found herself absurdly happy, taking the flower crown down to look at it with her own hands.

Red roses, dark blue irises, and light blue hydrangeas… it was a unique choice, but it was beautiful.

“There you are!” Alya suddenly cried, running over to her best friend. “I thought you went to the bathroom!”

Marinette looked away awkwardly. “I– uh— took a detour.”

Alya folded her arms, disbelieving, before she noticed the crown carefully held by her friend. “Oh, where’s Adrien?”

“What?”

She smiled, almost smug. “He was waiting for you.”

“I haven’t seen him anywhere. Maybe he’s still making flower crowns?”

Alya scoffed. “Yeah, sure.” She nudged her arm towards the item in her hand. “And that’s not his flower crown, somebody else just made one exactly like it.”

Marinette looked at her in confusion, immediately shaking her head. “No, this was given to me by—“

And suddenly it clicked.

Chat Noir suspiciously being in the greenhouse. Chat Noir being unnecessarily worried about her. Chat Noir, who had a flower crown that was exclusively and uniquely made by her long-time crush and arguable love of her life…

“... ADRIEN?!”

[ftcoye]

xue yang knife problem au, J 👁️👁️

When words aren’t enough.[Ao3 Link.]

It starts out with a sneeze.

Xue Yang is playing swords with A-Yuan – smacking wood against wood, pretending to fight. It’s a game that Xue Yang actually enjoys, even if he has to baby himself for A-Yuan’s sake. The Ghost General had suggested it when A-Yuan had wanted to play with Suibian, and the fierce corpse was correct when it proved to be a much better game than butterflies or whatever else A-Yuan wanted to play.

Most of the time, Xue Yang has to be the bad guy. He’s okay with that, he just doesn’t like when A-Yuan says he’s a bad guy Jin – because Jins are, as they both agree, the worst – and he always smacks the brat on the head for that one, so he’s mostly stopped doing that. When Xue Yang is the bad guy, though, he has to pretend to die after a while when he’s done playing, let A-Yuan “slay” him, or the kid’ll cry and Xue Yang won’t get anything productive done for the next way-too-long. (Because if he doesn’t at least TRY to make it better, A-Yuan will go tell someone like Wen Qing who will do something about it and then Xue Yang will have his time wasted doing whatever she wants him to do.)

Right now, he’s pretending to die. He’s on the ground, his wooden sword dropped the ground, and A-Yuan’s shoved between his arm and his ribs, buried in the dirt. “If only you coulda learned to be good…” A-Yuan is saying sadly, because he’s listened to too many of Third Uncle’s awful stories, and then Xue Yang sneezes.

They both blink at each other for a moment. A-Yuan points. “Dead guys don’t sneeze, Gege!” he protests, folding his arms and holy fuck Xue Yang hates him soooo much.

“I didn’t try to!” he defends immediately, scowling. “Look, just start again, I won’t-“ And he’s interrupted by another sneeze.

Xue Yang doesn’t sneeze and apparently the look on his face is ridiculous, and A-Yuan starts giggling. Better laughing than crying, he guesses. “I guess dead guys do,” Xue Yang says instead, pasting on one of his brand new I-swear-I’m-not-a-killer smiles. (A-Yuan doesn’t fall for them easily, so he thinks they need more work because the kid’s an idiot. A clever one, but gullible.)

A-Yuan apparently thinks this is the funniest thing in the world. “Do- Do you think Uncle Ning sneezes?” he asks.

He definitely doesn’t because he’s a corpse – and has only reluctantly graduated from a “he” to an “it” in Xue Yang’s mind, mostly because Wen Qing threatened him when she heard him call the Ghost General an “it” – but Xue Yang will take the bait. “Why don’t you go ask him?” he suggests, and A-Yuan is more than willing to scamper off in the direction of the buildings, looking for the Ghost General, and that means Xue Yang is free.

Fucking finally.

He gets up and brushes off the dirt, leaning the swords against a rock to take care of later (maybe), and heads off to track down Shifu and a real sword for practice.

Xue Yang sneezes again. He doesn’t think anything of it.

The next day he’s stuffed up and it’s the absolute worst. He’s sniffling and he thinks Shifu is privately laughing at him and it’s seriously the worst.

Wen Qing scowls at him. “How do you feel?” she asks, and if he were stupider he’d think maybe she cared but she just sounds angry.

“I’m fine,” he hisses, and no his cheeks are not turning pink, fuck you, and she flicks him in the forehead.

“Stop acting like a child, then, A-Yang,” she says, and he haaaates her.

“Aww, A-Yang is a child, Qing-jie!” Shifu says with a laugh. “He’s so little, it’s okay.”

Xue Yang glares at him and thinks about running him through with Suibian. “I’m not a child,” he hisses. “I’m not A-Yuan.”

A-Yuan looks up from his congee. “What’s wrong with A-Yuan?” he asks, picking up on the tone and squinting at Xue Yang.

Shifu breaks into more laughter and Xue Yang does not sulk he does not sulk.

By the fourth day, no one’s laughing at him anymore.

His nose only stops being stuffed up when he’s desperate enough to eat some of Shifu’s peppers or cooking, and Xue Yang thinks the lack of breathing is getting to him. He’s a bit more tired, forcing himself up the hill after A-Yuan and panting heavily. His mouth is dry, tongue thick, and he shakes his head to try to rid himself of the faint dizziness that sticks to him.

He’s fine, though, even if Shifu won’t let him do any practice, and even if Wen Qing stops him at the top, A-Yuan already propped on her hip.

“You look awful,” she tells him, frank.

“Fuck you,” he says, without any heat, and he presses his hands on his knees and bows his head a little and tries not to look as out of breath as he is but knows he’s failing miserably.

A hand touches his forehead and he wheels back instinctively, surprised, only to be met with the force of Wen Qing’s glare. “Stay still,” she snaps, and Xue Yang knows better to defy her so he does. She presses her hand against his forehead and frowns slightly – he doesn’t like the touch but realizes what she’s doing and relaxes just a tiny bit. “No fever…”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes and now pulls back, making himself stand up straight. “I keep telling all of you, I’m fine,” he says, as if he hadn’t just gotten out of breath climbing a hill.

She gives him a look that A-Yuan quickly mimics and if Xue Yang were that kind of person he’d say it’s cute but he’s not so he just glares back. “Go to sleep,” she says flatly. “I’ll have your Shifu bring you some food and water later. We’ll see if you feel better in the morning.”

They only had lunch a few hours ago, and it’s plenty bright out and Xue Yang really does not want to go tuck himself in the cave and pass out. He’s about to say so but the look on Wen Qing’s face makes him swallow his tongue and he sulks. “Fine,” he bites out, and storms off.

When Shifu wakes him tiptoeing in, it’s dark, and Xue Yang has no idea what time it is. “Shifu…?” he murmurs, and his mouth is so thick and dry it comes out sounding odd and a little slurred.

Shifu is there, immediately, tucking a hand behind his back and helping him sit up and Xue Yang wants to protest but he’s really tired so he ends up leaning into the man’s chest. “Here, have some water,” he says, and he gently presses a jar into Xue Yang’s hands.

He drinks it all and when he finishes, Shifu has a second one and Xue Yang drinks that, too. He spills, just a little, dripping down his throat – when he doesn’t wipe it off immediately, because he needs to breathe, Shifu does it for him and that’s when he glares at the man and pulls away from his half-embrace. “I’m not an invalid,” he tells him. The water woke him up and he’s. Not embarrassed but he’s also not happy, and he wipes at his throat himself.

Shifu just ignores his words, though, reaching up to pull down Xue Yang’s hair – which he had forgotten to do before sleep – and then pressing his hand to his forehead. Whatever’s there makes him frown a little, even though he doesn’t say anything. “Does A-Yang need more water?” he asks. “Or some soup?”

Xue Yang could probably have some of each, his stomach wouldn’t mind, but he doesn’t really want to right now and he shakes his head. “Just let me go back to sleep,” he absolutely does not whine, and a tender expression (that Xue Yang does not want to see under any circumstances) spreads over Shifu’s face as he looks at him.

He recalls one of his first guesses with Shifu. Baby fever. He… still doesn’t know if he’s wrong?

Instead of thinking about that one too hard – because it makes him want to squirm and Xue Yang does not squirm – he flops back down against his mat. “If you wake me up again, I’ll gut you,” he informs Shifu promptly, but before he can see if the man actually leaves him alone and doesn’t sit creepily by his side, he passes out.

More tired than he thought.

Xue Yang is cold when he wakes up.

He shivers, curling up in a ball, and bats away at A-Yuan when he comes to try to wake him up. “Gege, it’s time for breakfast!” A-Yuan says, and his voice is like needles stabbing right into his brain and Xue Yang waves a hand at him and thinks he might connect. He can’t tell – he hasn’t opened his eyes.

“Go ‘way,” he says, and when A-Yuan pushes him a little bit, he rolls away. Right off the mat, taking the blanket with him. “Go away,” he says, and opens his eyes just a fraction but regrets it because the sunlight is the most painful thing he’s ever seen.

The brat doesn’t try again and Xue Yang lays there, shivering and fruitlessly trying to get back to sleep until a hand settles on his forehead. He jerks, instinctive. “It’s okay,” his Shifu says, and that makes him still as the hand presses.

“He’s hot,” Shifu says, talking to someone else, and his hand moves to be replaced with someone else’s. The smaller hand is cool and Xue Yang makes a quiet noise that might be a whimper if it were from anyone else.

“Alright, grab him,” says a voice that Xue Yang thinks is Wen Qing, and then he’s being scooped up like he’s a child.

Xue Yang can’t remember ever being carried like this, one arm behind his back, and the other under his knees, but it’s not… bad, and he leans into Shifu. He’s warm, he knows it has to be him, because it’d either be him or the Ghost General and the Ghost General’s obviously cold. “How do you feel?” Shifu asks, but Xue Yang doesn’t respond in favor of pressing his face into Shifu’s robes and breathing in the scent that’s… uniquely Shifu.

He smells of ink, of dirt, alcohol, spice, and this simmering sharp heat that Xue Yang has come to recognize as the tint of resentful energy and it makes him relax, just… just the faintest bit. The blanket came with them, wrapped around Xue Yang, and he can’t really move a lot but he lets one hand slip out to curl in Shifu’s robes – just to anchor himself, just in case – and he lets himself drift.

There’s the murmur of voices over him, of people talking back and forth and Xue Yang can’t really bring himself to focus on them, to listen and have them snap into clarity. He’s tired and his head feels fuzzy and he just wants them to let him go back to sleep.

Shifu does set him down, eventually, on a mat that’s not his own – Xue Yang doesn’t let go, refuses to remove the hand curled in Shifu’s robes and the man’s hand covers his own, pulling off his fingers one by one and Xue Yang makes some sort of noise that’s a protest and their hands still. Shifu goes right back to pulling off his fingers, though, no matter how hard Xue Yang tries to anchor them – but when he’s done, he keeps a hold on Xue Yang’s hand, holds it and gives it a squeeze and that’s… acceptable so Xue Yang gives a little trembling squeeze back.

When… when did he start shaking…?

Blearily, he blinks open his eyes, and Shifu swims into focus above him. Ah, right – he’s shaking because he’s cold, trembling because he needs more blankets. Shifu looks more worried than… well, Xue Yang has ever seen him, since Shifu’s not usually a worrier. There’s a crease in his brow, a lip worried between teeth, but when he realizes that Xue Yang’s squinting at him he gives him a soft smile, smoothing his free hand over Xue Yang’s hair.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, again.

Xue Yang tries to think about it. Make some sense of it in his thick thoughts. “Awful,” he says finally, and it’s so honest that Shifu chuckles.

“I can tell,” he says, and Xue Yang manages a glare which only makes the man relax. What, if he’s not being rude then the man’s going to worry? Yet he tells Xue Yang off for being rude? What does he want, even!

Why is that what he can focus on of all things right now…?

He sees Wen Qing appear, lean over Xue Yang to pass a bowl to Shifu and murmur something lost to his stuffed ears, and Shifu nods. He reaches and helps Xue Yang sit up, except he just wants to pass back out so he ends up sitting on his Shifu’s lap, leaning back against his chest like A-Yuan does. Xue Yang is too tired to be embarrassed, and just wants his blanket back, but Shifu brings the bowl up and presses it to his lips.

“Drink this,” he says, and Xue Yang does. It’s bitter.

He drifts, the next few days. It’s hard to tell what’s what, who’s what, even what he’s hearing.

Shifu is there the most. Holding Xue Yang’s hand or helping him drink whatever weird thing Wen Qing wants him to drink, but sometimes it’s just food and water. Wen Qing is there, too, probably just as much just out of sight, checking his forehead and giving him water and making the bitter, bitter tinctures he has to drink. When neither of them is there, it’s the Ghost General, which Xue Yang realizes makes sense in a moment of clarity – he can’t get sick.

He doesn’t see A-Yuan at all, and it… he’s fine, of course, A-Yuan would just make it worse.

When the Ghost General is helping him to relieve himself one time – which even if he’s extremely polite about it to try to make him feel better, will be memories that come back to haunt him for the rest of his life – he brings it up because he’s coherent enough. “How’s… A-Yuan?” he asks.

He looks at him and gives a faint upturn of the lips that passes for his smile. “He misses you,” the Ghost General says. “So get better for him, okay, A-Yang?”

It’s not as if Xue Yang tried to get sick and bedridden for like, a week, but he gives a slight dip of his head, anyway, as the Ghost General sets him gently back down on his mat and covers him with his blankets.

The… Wen Ning gives him another one of his small smiles, and then stands back up to watch outside, because he knows Xue Yang doesn’t like being watched.

Wen Ning doesn’t watch him and A-Yuan misses him and Wen Qing comes in in a few minutes to fuss over him and press her hand to his head and adjust his blankets and when it’s dinner Shifu will come in and hold his hand.

Xue Yang sleeps.

He wakes in the middle of the night, and he’s not sure why for a moment.

A hand cards through his hair, gentle and soft, and- ah. It’s Shifu. Xue Yang doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t give a single motion that he’s awake, and Shifu does it again. He’s humming something quietly, an unfamiliar song, and he gently brushes a hand across Xue Yang’s face, thumb stroking his cheekbone. It rests for a moment, warm and familiar even if he’s never been touched like this before, and then withdraws.

He doesn’t move. Xue Yang wants to know what more Shifu will do, and he’s very good at faking sleep.

It takes another moment, Shifu still humming all the while, and then he stops and there’s a gentle touch on his forehead – not the touch of a hand, but the brush of lips. Shifu… Shifu is kissing his forehead.

He’s only done that, one other time, after they returned from killing Chang Cian – just a press of his mouth against his hair, holding him tight, but this feels… Shifu starts humming again, hand gently brushing through his hair again, and Xue Yang can’t help the little tears that collect at the corners of his eyes but go no further because damn him if he’ll let this show.

Shifu doesn’t say a word the whole night. He doesn’t need to. Xue Yang breathes and listens and feels until he slips back into sleep.

When Wen Qing finally – finally – declares that he’s made it through the worst, that his fever’s gone and he’ll just be shaky and tired for maybe another day or two, Xue Yang is so ready to go it’s not even funny. He wants to go back to his own mat, be alone for maybe a moment to breathe, and… maybe see the brat, too. She flicks his forehead. “You probably picked it up in Yiling,” she says, which does make sense – the timing’s right. “Stop wandering away from Wei Wuxian.”

Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says, which he doesn’t actually plan on doing. This was just bad luck. He will continue to wander, thank you very much.

She flicks him again and Shifu laughs from where he’s hovering. He’s blatantly ready to catch Xue Yang if he so much as stumbles on the way back, and Xue Yang is determined to not give him the satisfaction. “Thank your Auntie, A-Yang!” he chirps, and both of them stare at him.

“…my what.” Xue Yang hates this man, he really does.

Shifu taps him on the nose, ignoring the way he makes a face and pulls away. “Your Auntie! Since A-Yuan is your didi.” He still has yet to call A-Yuan that – probably never will, ew – so Xue Yang has… no idea what’s running through the man’s head. Shifu seems to be thinking, rocking back and giving a grin. “Ah, wait, then-“ His grin grows and Xue Yang’s heart sinks. “You should be calling me Dad!”

Xue Yang blinks at him. Breathes in, breathes out, and turns his back on the man without saying a word. “Thank you, Wen Qing,” he says, with an emphasis.

She is his ally in this insanity. “You’re welcome,” she says. “Your Shifu will help you back.”

Shifu pouts and they both ignore him.

After Xue Yang sleeps another day away, he slips out of the cave without anyone noticing to make his way to the river. It’s a small one, the water brackish, but it’s a good place to wash himself up because he feels gross. Shifu had helped wash him while he was sick and that was embarrassing and awful for way too many reasons and Xue Yang promptly added it to his ‘Why I Hate Shifu’ list in his head.

It’s a very long list.

He strips and wades in – it’s hardly deep, and heading down to the pond? Lake? Whatever, he doesn’t know water, is usually better but he doesn’t like to wash when people are around and he really doesn’t want to now because he’s gross. He gets down on his knees to dunk his head underwater and of course. Of course.

That’s when A-Yuan shows up.

The brat grins at him. “Gege!” he chirps, and he immediately starts tugging on his own robes. “A-Yuan wants to wash with Gege!”

Xue Yang sighs. He’s struggling a little, so Xue Yang wades to the side and helps A-Yuan out of them, tossing them on the ground next to his and the child immediately splashes into the water with a grin.

It’s… okay to wash with A-Yuan, he supposes. The kid’s young and barely knows anything so it’s fine, and A-Yuan has probably bathed with Shifu before so even if he did know more it probably wouldn’t matter. Whatever. It’s not like he has anything to figure out since Shifu…

A-Yuan hugs Xue Yang’s leg and beams up at him. “A-Yuan missed Gege!” he crows, and Xue Yang… he pulls A-Yuan away, but only so he can squat down in the river, so the water comes up to both of their chests. A-Yuan blinks at him, very seriously. “Did Gege miss A-Yuan?”

Xue Yang considers him for a moment, and then grins. “Can A-Yuan keep a secret?” When A-Yuan nods, he leans in. “Yeah, Xue Yang missed his didi.”

A-Yuan starts crying and throws himself at him – Xue Yang is only on his toes and they both fall backwards, going underwater and come up sputtering together. A-Yuan still won’t let go of him, the little gremlin, and Xue Yang makes a face as he tries to pry the leech off his front. “Never mind,” he says. “I was lying.”

But A-Yuan isn’t listening, and Xue Yang resigns himself to bathing with a four-year-old attached to his chest.

There are worse things, he supposes, but he really can’t think of any.

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 5)

Still November 16, 2038 Android Zone store at Capitol Park

Daniel looked around. He noticed another lone figure looking into the store, a male human dressed in a casual grey suit. When the android walked up closer to him, the man turned towards the arrival. The first thing Daniel noticed was the human’s t-shirt under the open jacket. It sported the print of a Japanese garden landscape that changed its lighting with the time of day – a reasonably expensive gimmick that had been within the means of the Phillips family, but was no longer in Daniel’s. Now that the deviant was able to wear whatever he wanted, no longer confined to his PL600 polo, he was walking around in a used sweater that had cost much less than his old uniform shirt.

Why does that matter to me all of a sudden? Was Raj right? Do I really take after the materialistic bastards?

Then Daniel beheld the man’s face and he gasped in surprise:

“A Kamski-lookalike! How cool is that?!”

Maybe the encounter with the singer had bolstered the deviant’s spirit, or perhaps there was only so much hatred and anger one could feel in any given period of time. Whatever the case, for a moment the old Daniel, the one who had been able to keep up with an enterprising nine-year old and win her admiration, was very much alive again. Daniel took out his phone and waved it around in front of the man, who was the spitting image of his creator.

“Selfie, please?”

The human looked him up and down. “What do you mean, “lookalike”?” he stammered.

“Hahaha!” Daniel laughed. Androids weren’t built to do that, but deviants stubbornly did it without consciously planning to, therefore the result was a lowkey frightening industrial sound. “Don’t tell me people never point out the likeness? No way! You could totally perform as Kamski at Comic Con!”

And thus, before the man knew what was happening to him, he already found himself grabbed by an outdated, slightly oozing PL600, pulled into a hug and subjected to the selfie-taking process. Daniel repeated the procedure a few times, then held his phone for Kamski to see the pictures that had resulted from the assault.

“Looooook at that! The likeness is stunning! You’d really think I was standing shoulder to shoulder with Elijah Kamski.”

“Of course if the real Mr. Kamski was here, you’d…”

“Lol, right, I’d shove that phone down the bastard’s throat ‘till he choked on it!”

The effect was profound. Kamski looked from Daniel’s phone to the android’s hands, into its eyes and back to the smartphone. There was some doubt as to how the device would fit into a human gullet, but then again, this deviant seemed to mean what it was saying. If there wasn’t room inside a body to begin with, it would see to it that there would be.

“Actually, Kamski would choke not on the phone, but on the blood emerging from his ruptured throat”, Elijah said.

“Ugh… you just HAD to draw me a picture, had you? Thing is, I hate that man so much… like everything else I hate combined!”

That, the human concluded, amounted to a pretty substantial hatred. Enough to condense and walk around on its own, in fact. And wasn’t that was he was looking at anyway? Thinly veiled loathing and anger walking on two legs…

“But why?” the man asked Daniel. “I mean, Elijah Kamski was only the founder of CyberLife. He didn’t exactly pull the levers in the production plants himself. So what has he done to you and how did he manage to do it without ever having met you?”

“You know Jericho? Yes? Well, the motherfucker knew about it, too, but didn’t so much as leave a single blood bag at their doorstep!”

“But neither did he sell the deviants’ location out to the authorities”, the human replied. “I mean, that’s what I’d reply if I was Kamski.”

“Yeah, sounds like something the sucker would say”, Daniel agreed. “Feeling all enlightened about taking a “neutral” stance.“

The android was about to put away his phone, but Kamski grabbed him by the wrist.

“Wait! I have an idea! You’ll like it, it’s fun for me, too…”

With these words the man led Daniel away from the square into the row of stores. Between a coffee shop and a travel agency there was a multimedia terminal welded to the wall.

“Print out one of the selfies we took and I’ll sign it!” he suggested. “As Kamski! - There, done! A genuine… almost genuine autograph of Elijah Kamski, man of the century. Could be worth a small fortune.”

“Heh”, Daniel grinned. “You practiced to fake Kamski’s signature? Figured you weren’t as innocent as you were pretending to be!”

The photograph then wandered into the sweater’s pocket, right next to the picture for Emma.

“I’ll hang on to it for the time being”, Daniel said. “The last thing I need at the moment is a nasty surprise when I try to sell that pic.”

Kamski nodded.

“I daresay there could be one…”

There was a certain amount of awkward standing next to each other. By right everything had been said and done and the android and the man should part now. But each was too fascinating to the other. Daniel saw an outcast in the man whom he took for a con artist, a human not fitting in and thus maybe, just maybe, someone bonding with at the same level was possible. As for Elijah, despite being the species’ creator, his experience with androids was limited. There were the Chloes, of course, he knew more about Markus’ digital childhood than the RK200 would be comfortable learning, and he had met the weapon CyberLife had created from his masterpiece, the RK800 unit named Connor. This deviant, however… what was it even? Sporting a face that the firm re-used over and over and having deviated from its original code Daniel wasn’t easily identifiable as a PL600. Elijah couldn’t even rule out that he was dealing with Simon, Jericho’s presumed covert ops operative.

 “Thank you”, Daniel eventually broke the silence. “I expected to spend the evening brooding. But so far it has been… enjoyable, actually.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Daniel. Just Daniel. There used to be… But it doesn’t matter anymore. You?”

“Neil. Neil Newbon. Say, Daniel, would you accompany me into the coffee shop? If I’m with you, there’ll be less chance of people mistaking me for the real Kamski.”

And indeed, the moment the duo entered the café, a photographer rose from a seat near the door, brandishing her camera. It was blocked immediately by an android hand of unknown origin, currently attached to the PL600 model name of Daniel.

“That’s not Kamski”, the android said, while pushing the camera away. “That’s a lookalike.”

“Oh, really? Bummer!”

Daniel grinned. “You don’t believe Kamski would come into a public space, where he has to interact with real people? That man is afraid a sack of rice will drop in China, if he sneezes in Detroit!”

Elijah adjusted his posture a little, trying for an impression more like his half-brother. He hadn’t seen the lout in a long time, but some images stuck with you for a lifetime.

“Fuck, yeah”, Kamski said, waving his hand around. “What he said!”

He was standing slightly slouched now, but still radiating confidence. What exactly had fueled that confidence in Gavin, the android inventor wondered? That man was a Nobody! Was it the fact that Gavin had been conceived naturally, while Elijah was a sperm donation baby? The Reeds had sold him… like cattle… and the other students at university had never let Elijah forget that little fact. Obviously, the older adolescents had argued, someone had seriously messed with the sperm to create the out of the world kid genius they were sharing their benches with…

“Yeah, you’re probably right”, the paparazzo agreed with Daniel after a good look at “Neil”. “Should have figured that out myself.”

Neither Daniel nor Elijah particularly like the expression the journalist displayed after the realization. It was reminiscent of a tiger that had lost the goat, but still heard a chicken scratch the ground somewhere near. She adjusted the grip on her camera, raised it again, but this time aimed the lenses at both of the arrivals.

“Don’t just stand there, guys! Give the patrons a show!” With these words the woman pointed towards a karaoke podium. “Two guys who look like the spitting image of Kamski and Simon are simply obligated to!”

“There’ll be free coffee and croissant for my mate if we do this?” Daniel prodded.

“’course!”

“Then we have a deal!”

“What were you thinking? I’ve never in my life sang karaoke in public!” Elijah hissed, while Daniel dragged him towards the pedestal. “I’ve never in my life sang karaoke! I’ve never in my life sang in public!”

“For my part I’ve never in my life shot a man, before I did”, the deviant replied.

“That’s far less embarrassing!!!”

Blue-grey eyes were piercing into Kamski’s, as if to dissect him alive. Elijah knew exactly what was really staring at him: just a textureless blue embedded into a light grey chassis that had a serial number etched into it and the occasional advertisement sticker attached. Everything else, the skin, hair, even the sweat android bodies could produce under duress, was just glamour. But now that Daniel’s eyes bore into him, the human had a hard time differentiating the illusion from a living being.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Neil!” Daniel growled.

“Oh, come, “killer”! Everyone would shoot back when the enemy storms their base!”

“You mean Jericho? I TOLD you, you had no idea!” Daniel insisted.

He ripped the microphones out of their holders and tossed one Elijah’s way.

“You choose a song!”

Elijah scrolled all the way down the list of available songs, until he reached the titles that started with numbers and special characters. When he didn’t find there, what he had been looking for, the man considered, and scrolled back to the letter “O” instead of the digit “1”. It was giving Daniel the impression that his human acquaintance was an indecisive one, while in truth it was just testament to Elijah’s unique way of thinking.

Is it getting better, Elijah sang, Or do you feel the same? Will it make it easier on you / Now you’ve got someone to blame?

There was a telltale pause that communicated Daniel to take over at this point.

Really, Neil? After just two verses? Coward!

The deviant sang:

You said One love / One life When it’s one need in the night / One love, we get to share it It leaves you, baby, if you don’t care for it

Elijah picked up again and it made sense, in a warped way:

Did I disappoint you / Or leave a bad taste in your mouth? You act like you never had love / And you want me to go without.

This time Daniel needed no nudge to take over. It came naturally:

Well it’s Too late / Tonight / To drag the past out / Into the light We’re one, but we’re not the same / We get to carry each other Carry each other…

On and on duel went, all the while the paparazzo’s camera flashed.

“Why is she still taking pictures of us?” Daniel whispered. “Now that she knows you are not the real Kamski?”

“People need their dreams and illusions. Do you have any dreams, Daniel? Other than plotting Kamski’s death, I mean?” “Nah, I’m doing nothing of that sort. That little piece of shit isn’t worth wasting mental capacity on.”

“But if you met him by chance?“

“Well, you know how some call us androids toasters? Kamski would be toast!”

Song used:

One: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftjEcrrf7r0 I imagine Kamski doing the covered version with Johnny Cash’s gravitas while Daniel is singing the more desperate original version.

[wahbegan]

Red’s Retro Reviews - Condemned Criminal Origins

Hello and welcome to the tag where I use my otherwise useless and time-consuming habit of taking very old classic games that I’ve wrung all the enjoyment out of like a troubled child with an injured bird and turn it into entertainment! Maybe one day the editor of some chic magazine will hire me to talk about how much I know about Batman: Arkham Asylum and how much I hate myself for it.

Anyway, this week I thought I’d start off with an overlooked little gem that had a bit of cult notoriety and good critical reception, but which otherwise nobody gave an ounce of rat shit about: the Condemned series. More specifically, the original game.

Now, when I ask you who started the extremely lucrative habit of live-streaming themselves hilariously over-reacting to horror games, you might be tempted to say the Game Grumps, or Markiplier if you’re younger, or Pewdiepie if you’re the kind of person who unironically uses the phrase anti-white racism. But you’d all be wrong and stupid. Also possibly nazi sympathizers, but I digress.

NO! The first college-age white boys who decided it would be a good idea to beam them fucking up a video game to thousands and thousands of people online are..........lost to history because archiving of the exact history of internet trends is such an enormous clusterfuck that for years people were convinced, and some still are, that Slenderman was a real urban legend and not something some dickhead made up for a photoshop competition circa 2009

But ONE of the first was the 4 Players Network, or 4 Players Podcast, or 4PP. I know very little about these guys, so if they all turned out to be nonces and serial killers please don’t @ me, but what i DO know, is that they uploaded a video that changed my life forever. This video was “Holy Crap That’s a Bear !” Certainly not a name that would stand out in today’s massively oversaturated Let’s Play market, but this delightful video documented these two dumb assholes losing their shit over a game. The game of course, being Condemned 2: Bloodshot. Specifically, the level in which you are chased through a hunting lodge by a rabid bear. As an aside, I looked it up, having never heard of the phenomenon, and apparently it’s very rare, but yes bears can and do get rabies, usually with just about as fatal results as you would expect. So sweet dreams!

Anyway, watching this couple of dipshits get jumpscared and mauled to death by a poorly rendered bear again and again as they were repeatedly outwitted at every turn by an entity with a few lines of programming instead of a brain was, in y’know the year 2008,  the absolute most fun a 14-year-old boy could have. Clearly it still is, but you always remember your first time, particularly when the only LPs i have watched since were a handful of markiplier videos with a girl in college who liked to get me very stoned and then put them on because she thought that counted as courtship.

A n y w a y, apart from the unfortunate and definitely a mistake innovation of streaming video games, the sequence of being chased through a claustrophobic environment by a bear which can rip down doors, break through walls, run faster than you, shrug off 15 shotgun blasts to the face without so much as sneezing, etc. seemed incredibly tense and original, an amazing concept for a game. Once again, this was circa 2008 before “Run for your fucking life” had become the norm for horror games.

So then why the fuck are you not reviewing that game?? You might be thinking if you’re still reading this which someone clearly is or my narrative voice would have ceased to exist by now in that tree falling in the woods kind of way. Well, dear reader, while Condemned 2 was better than the first game in a LOT of ways, it’s always worth taking a gander at the one that started it all. Also, Condemned 1 is, if only slightly, probably better known. Also, Bloodshot commits the cardinal sin of over-explaining the first game’s mystery and a result making it kind of goofy and ridiculous see also the entire history of the Halloween franchise, and as a result the ending is....well, a bit shit, to be honest. Finally, and most importantly, it’s not on Steam for 3 dollars, so shut up

The thing about Condemned is that while Let’s Plays and seemingly inanimate objects moving only when you’re not looking at them and unstoppable juggernauts of wanton death have now become the norm for video game horror (and thanks a fucking bunch, Doctor fucking Who, for always being what people say started the inanimate object fuckery even though Stephen King did it in The Shining in the FUCKING 70s and let’s be honest it’s just a primal universal fear and i’ll be in the cold fucking ground before that bloody show sees one ounce of credit where it isn’t due), Condemned as a whole has remained remarkably unique. Not wholly unique, the developers have heavily borrowed from genre-straddling crime horror movies like Silence of the Lambs and Se7en and in fact almost beat-for-beat stole the most infamous jump scare from the latter, but if it still ends with shit in my pants, and it does, I can’t really call it a failure.

Most of the creativity the game DOES have is in the gameplay itself, or rather one aspect of the two aspects of the gameplay. It’s the combat I’m talking about the combat, seeing as that’s basically all there is. Let’s just get this out of the way first, the forensic investigation shit is........well, it’s a bit shit. Oh yes, there’s a couple crime scenes you have to “solve” in a cursory almost a cutscene sort of way, where you have helpful premonitions about where you’re supposed to look and, as your lab tech helpfully informs you, “the system will choose which tool you need for you, so don’t worry about that!” Well, Christ kill me, thank God YOU know between the three fucking tools I have, one of which is an everything sensor and one of which is just a fucking camera which I’m supposed to use, God knows I wouldn’t have liked to have solved that mystery myself. It’s a shame because some of the crime scenes are quite intricate and yes, I would have liked to have put together myself that “wait a minute there’s a handprint in the paint here that matches the killer but the UV light shows an old blood spatter on the wall right above where he’d be sitting to make it, THAT MUST MEAN-” but nope. No you just have a premonition of the guy getting clobbered over the back of the head because the game is so terrified you won’t be able to put two and two together that it points out both the twos and hands you a multiplication table and nudges you and looks meaningfully at four every few minutes if you hesitate.

Anyway, that’s all the whingeing about the gameplay out of the way, because the rest of it is just delightful. Condemned is the rare first person game that focuses almost solely on melee combat and the almost unheard of one that does it well. In fact, it is the only example I can think of that’s not shit. Weapons all have individual stats to do with their heft and how far they can reach and how much of a man’s skull you can cave in at once with it and you have to choose between the plank with nails sticking out of it you can swing three times a second but you have to beat a man so badly with it it’s tiring just to watch and the sledgehammer, which demands a two weeks’ notice in writing if you’re planning on hitting someone with it, but will basically render every living thing in its considerable swing arc sent to the fucking Shadow Realm upon impact.

Something about the sound effects and the way the weapons in this game control really gets under my skin, I was killed by a 300-pound Subway-dwelling crazy survivalist wielding the aforementioned sledgehammer, and when I went down, I was sure I was familiar with the sound effect that played when it struck my skull, a sort of distant, muffled ringing of bone hitting metal. Wait a minute, I thought, I know I’ve experienced this in real life, how did they get this sound effect? Did they kill a man with a hammer to get this sound effect? Was I killed with a hammer in a past life? Killing people is equally fucking unpleasant as even the most vicious and inhuman looking ones don’t go down easily, and you can see them spit gobs of broken teeth and blood and god knows what, hear the lovingly researched impact noises, and almost feel the impact as you necessitate years of reconstructive facial surgery with one swing of your mighty chunk of concrete attached to a rebar. Then some of them have the gall to shakily get to their knees, not quite dead, trying to mumble something and you’re required to hit them AGAIN, which is always harrowing. To quote another underappreciated piece of media about the joys of gruesome murder: Why won’t you just die?! This is hard enough for me!!

The guns you do get are absolute balls, generally having about three bullets in them, you can’t reload them even if you find the exact same type of gun later, you can’t hold them in your inventory, and if you want an aiming reticle you have to actively turn it on in the options menu, and you can almost hear the game laughing at you for being such a shameless pussy.

Well, you now might be thinking to yourself, cheers for making the effort, but I’m not an insane person and therefore do not think the idea of a brutally beating people to death simulator sounds very enticing, but that’s the thing, it’s not really supposed to be. It does have a strangely addictive quality after a while, but for the most part it’s panicky and harrowing and grotesque and you really don’t want to do it but you have no choice, which is absolutely the best kind of survival horror. See, the combat in survival horror is always a bit of a sticking point, isn’t it? Because if you give the player too much firepower it just becomes an action game with spooky set pieces, but if you give them none at all, as is chic today, you better have loads of other surprises in store buddy boy, because the sheen on that trend has died and now you’re just likely to get slapped with the dreaded WALKING SIMULATOR sticker.

No, the best kind of combat for a horror feel is exactly the kind Condemned delivers, so of course they never FUCKING did it again. You leave every fight low on supplies, exhausted, badly wounded, and a bit sick at what you just reduced a human being’s skull to. Too often, the combat in games is, even that word “combat” it’s clean, it’s cold, it’s detached, it’s a very unique euphemism for butchering God knows how many people. I play this little game in my head when I go through games sometimes trying to keep track of how many unique, thinking, feeling entities I’ve just reduced to a mess for the janitor to mop up, and I always lose track around the third level. Condemned isn’t like that. Its violence is violence: horrible, awful, terrifying violence, and it doesn’t let you forget it. 

The graphics also add a lot to the horror if you can get past the dated polygonal weird-ass xbox 360 at launch faces and cutscenes, which is actually pretty easy once you get used to it. The level and character design is fantastic, and really adds a lot to the whole feel of the game. Everywhere you look is dark and labyrinthine, crumbling with rebars jutting out and exposed paneling and plumbing beneath holes rotted in the walls and grime and blood and god knows what just staining everything. This game is really nihilistic in tone, and you get the sense just from the graphics that you’re somewhere nobody gives a shit about, in a part of a city that’s just been left to die and rot. One almost gets the feeling moving around the fourth or fifth condemned (ohhhhh I see what they did there) building that the whole city is just a ghost town full of nobody but violent lunatics, and also that if you keep playing for too long you might get hepatitis just from exposure.

Plot-wise, I could fill another twenty paragraphs with petty gripes. It’s a bit Kill List which i’m sure is a reference you all understand in that it starts as a crime thriller about catching a serial murderer and ends in some bizarre insane bullshit halfway between Hereditary and Hellraiser, and leads you into it gently enough that you never really notice a sudden lurch.

You play as Ethan Thomas, a very boring and generic FBI Agent called in to investigate a serial killer case by two cops who are REMARKABLY blithe about murdering people, and it’s a bit jarring in today’s political climate. Though distrust, fear, and hatred of the police isn’t exactly new, and violence amongst police officers is brought up at one point, albeit in a loading screen, so honestly I can’t be arsed to speculate on what level of self-awareness we’re operating on here. Regardless, it’s bothersome.

“Oh yeah, this place is full of addicts, hopped up on something, I think, just shoot ‘em. What? Lost your gun, eh? That’s fine here’s a fire axe go nuts, kid, we’ll deal with the paperwork later”

Anyway, you are ambushed by a man you believe to be the killer for.......no real reason, really. He was spying on you checking out the crime scene, but we just established this place is full of squatters, what if one of the 8 people I murdered on the way into this ambush was the killer??? Case solved! 

Anyway, needless to say, without wishing to spoil, the dude IS the main antagonist the yellow eyes are a helpful giveaway, and he takes your gun and swiftly shoots Generic Beat Cop and Generic Dick with it, then throws you out a window, whereupon some other asshole whose main role in the game is to be enigmatic and plot-convenient, you know, one of THOSE characters, spirits you away from the scene, making it look like you just killed two cops and fled.

Now, in real life, as we all know, a cop can’t be indicted for murder even if 50 people saw him do it, but in this world, it means you have to go on the run from the FBI (not your lab tech, though, who is somehow assisting you from the lab and sending confidential data to your phone unnoticed??) while trying to solve the murder.

Meanwhile, in the background, in an “I’m sure this isn’t important and will in no way inform the last level of the game going batshit bonkers” kind of way, all of the people, including the cops, in certain dilapidated and neglected areas of the unnamed City City appear to be going what is medically known as balls-to-the-wall kill crazy, and birds are dropping dead from the sky by the thousands. Even you, protagonist, are prone to horrible screaming nightmare visions coming right the blazing blue fuck out of nowhere and that you never feel the need to comment on or go take a lie-down. I’m sure it’s nothing.

The voice acting is what you’d expect from this era of video games i.e. not good and the writing has an absolutely DESPICABLE habit of having characters tell Ethan things he should already god damned well know for the sake of gameplay or exposition, leading to my current theory that Agent Ethan Thomas has some kind of horrible head injury and can’t remember anything from over 2 minutes ago like Guy Pearce in that pretentious movie where he accidentally kills his wife and then runs around for two hours terrorizing random-ass people about it.

The game never full-on plays the AND THE MAN YOU’VE BEEN PLAYING AS WAS CRAZY THE WHOLE TIME card and leaves things a bit ambiguous, but after caving in the 15th vagrant’s head and the 7th vision you’ve had of being murdered by some Cenobite-looking motherfucker while conducting an unsanctioned investigation during a suspension prompted by you presumably murdering the shit out of two guys, you start to think this may not be standard FBI protocol. 

It’s all a bit hard to swallow is me point, a bit hard to sympathize, and a bit muddy if we’re supposed to or not. But you know what? It certainly isn’t boring, and I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t effective. This game is now one of only two to have genuinely given me nightmares, and I think it’s rather telling that after I played the hallucination part I had the nightmare about, I was having genuine trouble remembering if something happened in my nightmare of it or in the actual version.

Condemned is batshit crazy, hilariously easy to write off as “that game about killing hobos”, and very, very dated. But it is genuinely harrowing and unpleasant, and was clearly genuinely made by artists with the intent of saying.....errr i’m not exactly sure what, but SOMETHING! It’s about as far a cry as you can get from the Triple A crawling with microtransactions like your MCM is with crabs milk-you-for-money-until-your-udders-bleed look-at-how-shiny-we-are games, and even a lot of indie horror games who think it’s a measure of a masterpiece being able just to constantly trigger your fight-or-flight response again and again and again so you can make a hilarious Let’s Play out of it not to name any names Five Night’s at Freddy’s. It’s a relic of a different and i think a better time in gaming history, where big-name publishers were still taking chances and hadn’t quite yet worked out the formula for how to distill games into their most skeletal, malnourished, corporate, addictive, glorified gambling form.

Also it’s 3 dollars on Steam and you can finish it in like ffffffffucking...two days? So really why the fuck not. I have no idea how to assign numbers to things i’d probably give ir a 7 or 8 or 4 out of 5 stars but i’m bad at systems like that, just play it if you give a shit. If nothing else, a bunch of people snapping it up out of nowhere will really fuck with marketing, which is always a noble pursuit

[dlamp-dictator]

Three Houses Quick Thoughts

Just finished the Black Eagle’s route today and wanted to give my quick thoughts before I finally start drafting that Rambling. Mostly to get some of my thoughts together somewhere accessible so I have something to reference back to when I actually start drafting the danged thing. Don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil anything here... no story spoilers anyway.

Anyway...

The Bad

I was hesitant to say this at first, but now that I finished this game I can confirm that I hate Byleth as a character. They're honestly worse than Corrin to me due to their lack of personality and agency in their own story. The mystery surround their birth and general existence just muddies the whole plot when it tries to make them out as important when I, the player, barely know anything about my own damn character aside from being the father of a great mercenary. I didn’t like their designs either, but I wasn’t a fan of Corrin’s or Robin’s so... I guess their consistent in making player character designs I dislike/am apathetic for.

While I think the system for class advancement is good in the early and mid game, it fell a little flat as I got to the late game. Class mastery really needs to happen a bit faster, at least to a point that I don’t have to actively grind for mastery points. I pity those trying to optimize on hard mode when you don’t have endless auxiliary battles.

On that note, as of 2019 gender-locked classes are dumb and the one good thing Fates did was remove it. Why bright it back? Why deny me War Master/Punch Queen Edelgard? Why deny me a Dark Mage Lysithea? It just makes no sense to me.

Why is there no Dread Fighter class so Petra doesn’t die from a mage glaring her?

Why is there no Kishin Knight class so Bernie be more useful with a bow as a flying archer and have Amaterasu?

Why is there no Malig Knight class so Hubert can ride dragons with his waifu?

Why is Edelgard’s unique class an armored unit with 5 movement when the maps basically require two flying unique to be playable?

Oh yeah, these maps really remind of Echoes given how useless and slow the armor classes are without someone to warp them. These maps really want you to maneuver around them and can get very large. I feel like I’m playing Echoes again for the wrong reasons.

The Good

The soundtrack is great.  For all my complaints (and believe me, that’s just the tip of the iceberg), I do love this game’s music. Especially some of these battle tracks. The Edge of Dawn is probably one of my new favorite songs now.

While I didn’t like the class system in the late, the early and mid game is where it shines and I had the most fun testing things out and experimenting. As a casual player, it was fun to mix and match class and see what worked.

The supports were all done very well, some of my favorites came being Edelgard, Caspar, and Hubert. They really fleshed out all of these characters and I’m looking forward to a second playthough and seeing how all the rest are going to play out, especially when I’ll start actively recruiting now.

Speaking of, I like that recruiting classes has a real effect in the time skip, as it keeps those characters in your house after things go down and... well,  as I said, I won’t spoil things, but just know it really makes you think about what it means for some of your newer members stay on board despite what happens and it does wonders for storytelling.

While I had my hesitations about weapon durability being back it worked out for the better. It keeps the some of the strategy fresh and makes really decide between a strong yet fragile weapon versus a weak but reliable weapon that can take 20+ more swings, especially with the special relic weapons. Though weapons breaking in a story mission sucks.

The voice-acting was great, much like in Echoes. Nothing much else to say save for the fact that there’s more of it and it’s all great.

As conflicted as I feel about the Black Eagles storyline, I like the overall theme individuality, standing up for your own beliefs on your own two feet, and making a name for yourself with your own effort. The execution... well, again, not going to post spoilers, but I’ll just say the journey was more exciting than the destination. 

Again, my conflicting feelings on the story aside, I do like Edelgard as a character. I can really understand why she did the things she did in the time skip, especially after some of her later supports with certain characters. It makes me really wish the story itself was written to focus more the House heads than Byleth.

The fact that all the characters canonically have last names is a nice touch too.

Byleth aside, I did like a lot of the character designs, especially after the timeskip.

The ability to dismount is outright broken and I love it. My Pegasus Knights can look an archer in the eye and laugh at them before getting off their mount and stabbing them to death and climbing back on their flying horse.

Canto is also outright broken and I love it for similar reasons. 

General Advice

Because I feel like being nice and I wanted to just give some pointers after finish a playthrough.

According to people far better at this game than me, Master Classes are honestly optional unless you plan on being a flying class. A lot of the growths and abilities aren’t really worth it unless you’re specifically grinding for them and at least on the Black Eagle route, horse mounts can be more of a hindrance than a help with the maps of the last few chapters. I couldn’t tell you how many times I had to dismount half my army just to get a few extra movement spaces.

That said, War Master, Wyvern Lord, and Falcon Knight are generally seen as good classes overall.

Like I said, at least on the Black Eagle route, mobility is probably the best asset you can have, especially for flying units. Combining flying units, Stride, and Warp can outright break some of these maps in the right situation. You can clear a map in one or two turns if you play your cards right.

Again, coming from people far better at this game than me, don’t prioritize recruiting other students, especially on your first playthrough. Your original group is honestly all you need and I believe you can get the teachers after a certain point for free if you need some extra magic on your team.

That said, general consensus from people far better at this game that I am is that Felix, Ingrid, Bernadetta, Ferdinand, Leonie, Lysithea, and Raphael are good targets to go for. Though given my Black Eagle route I’ll say that a War Master Caspar and Dancer Dorothea are nothing to sneeze at.

Use Divine Pulse, it’s there for a reason.

And that’s it for my quick thoughts. Rambling for this will be come... eh, later this week.

[jazzraft]

Noct going into the crystal at age 10 instead?

okay… so… bear with me here… it’s dissidia… but it’s ffxv… buckle up, buttercup, this is gonna be a bumpy ride. and hopefully the last bit isn’t too rushed, I just didn’t have it in me to do a big, epic fight scene a la final boss battle. also, very possibly ignoct if you squint, but otherwise pairing-less

He was afraid.

Even though he knew that he shouldn’t be. Even though heknew that his position all but demanded unflinching fearlessness, and that,while his duties came with their own set of unique challenges, thosedifficulties were a pittance to pay in comparison to the tolls disbursed by theCrown.

Ignis wasn’t usually prone to fidgeting. He wasn’t usuallyprone to bouts of paralytic terror, either. But standing before the Crystal asa part of the royal assemblage, beside his benefactors and his peers and stillfeeling so unfairly afraid in the face of such larger, collective fears… itfelt like all he could do not tofidget.

He felt as nervous as a ten-year-old again, trying so hardto look and act as big and as strong as all of the adults in the room. Eventwenty years old now, and even taller than the wizened old stoop of the Kinghimself, Ignis still felt like the smallest person in the room.

He wondered if that was how the Prince would feel.

He wondered if he would feel as small as a child in a youngman’s body, or if he would still be that child from ten years ago. He wonderedif Prince Noctis would step from the Crystal wholly changed, or entirely untouchedby time.

He wondered if he would remember him.

Ignis remembered a little boy, mop of charcoal hair in hiseyes, which were big and blue and full of wonder. He remembered the innocenceof a shared youth, of climbing trellises in the royal gardens, of nicking kneeson rose bushes and ruining stealthy escapes by sneezing over chrysanthemums. Heremembered star charts and finger paintings across glossy, mosaic floors;primitive portraits of the spirits Noctis imagined in the constellations theystudied. He remembered sulking over split pea soup for dinner, and breakinginto the Citadel kitchens after midnight to bake mint cupcakes to prove thatsomething edible really could comefrom green.

He remembered when he was unafraid. He remembered feelingbraver when he was ten than he was now that he was twenty.

He remembered the carefree days before the King came homewith ashes in his hair and a limp doll of a son in his arms. He rememberedfairytales before prophecies, hope before doom; light before dark.

He remembered when the King’s spine had been so muchstraighter than the brittle hunch of it beside him now. He remembered jet-blackhair before the wisps of ghostly gray. He remembered the laugh lines at thecorners of his eyes before the purple bruises of restless nights beneath them.

And he still remembered the empty, colorless void of hisstare when he walked from the Crystal’s chamber, raiment still dark with his son’sblood, but no Noctis in his arms to bleed.

Now, the anxiety in the chamber was frenetic. Maybe Igniswouldn’t be blamed for being so nervous when members of the royal council thatwere of such higher esteem than he, were just as frantic in their silence.

The King’s Shield – his oldest, most impenetrable ally –stood wired to snap, forcing his face into such a stiff mask of indifferencethat it was almost comical if not for the seriousness of the circumstances. Hisson beside him was constantly shifting, arms crossed behind him, then in frontof him, then flexing at his sides, adjusting his feet beneath him as if hecouldn’t find sturdy enough ground to stand on; a reflection of the nervousnesshis father was trying so hard not to show.

The King’s Marshal paced.The immovable stoic, the stone sculpture of the Crownsguard ideal, who neverbudged for anyone lest he was one inch too far away from protecting the King,now marched behind the line they made like a caged coeurl; like he was ready tobe the first to run – either to Noctis when he came, or out the door before hedid. Ignis couldn’t tell. Not how Cor felt, or how he himself did.

No one knew what to expect. Try though they may tocomprehend the power of the Crystal, the secret of its magic remained behindthe King’s hollow stare. And though they might be free to ask, he could nevertell them what compelled him to beg the artifact for his son’s survival, why it could function as his savior whenall other hope seemed lost. Whether it was because he was bound by some sacredlaw to keep the Crystal’s secrets, or he was too afraid to tell them the truth,once more, Ignis didn’t know.

And it was the unknowing which scared him the most. Whichscared all of them the most.

When Noctis was given to the Crystal, he was a ruined body,comatose, plead for by a desperate father. A father who, various timesthroughout the past ten years, had lost hope that he would ever see his son again.

Then, on a slightly overcast, summer day of no particularsignificance, with the Citadel workers droning along their business circuitswith manila folders and paper coffee cups, the Crystal called to the King.

Their prince was ready to return.

But Ignis wasn’t sure hewas ready.

His chest thumped in time with the Crystal’s pulse, primal,eldritch breath exhaling from the obsidian stone. This was the first time –and, gods, he prayed it was the last – Ignis had ever been permitted within theCrystal’s chamber to see it. The communion between Kings and Crystal was asacred rite, unsullied for two thousand years by the influence of outsiders tothe bloodline.

But as the years had circled on, and as the King’s brokenheart turned bitter with each passing season reminding him of a childhood absentfrom filling his hollow halls with laughter, he cared little for the ceremoniesof the past. He cared only that his son lived. That he himself would live tosee him again.

King Regis stared down the heart of the Crystal, his gaze asunknowable as the secrets he kept about Lucis’s oldest treasure. The Crystal’spulse quickened, not unlike a nervous heartbeat itself. For a moment, Igniswondered if it might be Noct’s heartbeat, growing more anxious as heapproached.

He wondered if Noctis was just as afraid as all of them.

The Crystal’s beat grew faster and faster, a hum bumpingagainst the back of Ignis’s consciousness like a headache behind the eyes. Andthe light of the Crystal itself was blinding, whiting out his vision in sharpbursts that culminated into one, long swathe of sightless white. He raised hishand to shield his eyes from it, like looking too long into the sun. And whenhe lowered it, blinked the spots from his eyes, and was able to see again…

There was Noct.

Ignis recognized him in an instant. He was so, so different, but Ignis only reallynoticed that he was after the first glance. Because in that brief flash of blueeyes skating across his, meeting his across the white-out for just a momentbefore reality settled once more, Noctis was completely the same.

He wasn’t eight-years-old anymore, standing instead inlanky, eighteen-year-old skin that he wore like a coat that was two sizes toobig for him. But Ignis still recognized the boy he knew in the wide-open blueof his eyes. The lines of his face were a little sharper now, more angular,traits from his father just starting to stand out, but there was still asoftness to his cheeks, still a fairness to his features that spoke to achildhood not yet shed for the cynicism of adulthood.

He stood a little crooked, one knee slightly bent, narrowshoulders lop-sided and stiff, fists at his sides, holding tight to hisdisquieting calm. Pale-skinned and shaggy-haired, dark locks a bird’s nesttangle about his face, but though there was a wildness about him, a sharpnessto his curious gaze left without blunting by the Citadel’s monotony, there wasstill that same wonder. Those same questions Ignis never remembered having theanswers for during playtime, or homework, or just talking about everything pastbedtime.

The King moved first, hobbling one step forward with hiscane. His son’s name bled like an old scar from his lips. “Noct?”

Noctis tentatively stepped away from the Crystal, towardsKing Regis. He had an awkward gait, not quite limping, not flinching with everystep like he was in pain, but his steps had a discordant rhythm to them, aheavier tread to one side that made it uneven. His fists trembled, like anchorsstraining to keep a ship from sailing away, and as he drew closer across thewalkway, Ignis realized he was holding something in one.

He stopped a foot away from his father, drew in a reedybreath, and opened a hand in front of him. Offering them both proof that theywere father and son, not a hopeless man and his hallucination. A token in hispalm that only the two of them would understand.

It was a tiny, wooden fox. Chipped and misshapen with tenyears of use, but a symbol they both recognized as clearly as they recognizedeach other.

King Regis’s cane clattered to the floor, and he embracedNoctis so fiercely, Ignis feared he might break the both of them in two. If not,then it certainly broke Ignis’s heart to see the King’s tears. Broke it evenmore to see the delicate smile wavering on Noct’s lips.

He was so happy to be home.

“Hey, Iggy.”

His voice was different, obviously. Lower, darker, huskingthrough the afternoon umber of the sunset like campfire smoke through pineneedles. And yet, the way he said it – “Hey,Iggy” – greeting him with that shy brightness which transformed his olderface into the memory from his childhood… it was all the same.

It had been days since his return that Ignis was able torequest an audience – until he could bear to tear the Prince away from hisbereaved father, so overwhelmed with gratitude for his return that it was as ifhe was grieving all those ten years at once, all over again. But as acute thepain of their separation was felt between them now, just as great was the joyin their reunion.

Ignis couldn’t take him away from that. He couldn’t take himaway from any of them. Not his father, not “Uncle Clarus,” and not “Uncle Cor,”either – especially not Uncle Cor;there was a katana through the midsection just waiting to happen.

Ignis was the last to reunite with Noctis. And it was justas well. It gave him time to reconcile the hollowed out feeling in his gut whenall of his terror in the Crystal’s chamber had been carved out and dumped tothe side in a bucket of relief.

Now, he could finally remember his manners; the etiquetteexpected of him in his position. He remembered to rise from his chair beforethe Prince reached the table, remembered to press his palm against his chestand bow, remembered to greet him as “Your Highness,” and remembered to put hiscomfort before his own – to pull out his chair, to make sure the sun-glarethrough the windows wasn’t in his eyes, to help him sit when he noticed therigidity with which he levered himself down into his seat. Noctis gently wavedoff his obligatory courtesies, pressing himself into his seat and gesturing forIgnis to retake his own.

They were high above Insomnia on the dining floor oftenreserved for upper-class galas, but occasionally used to host the staff forholidays and other such labor appreciative events. The room circled the base ofthe Citadel’s tower, like a disk held aloft above the clouds, the vast cityspread out underneath them like a miniature replica. The long bridge to Luciswas a silver needle sewn across the bay in the distance, the dark waters burntgold in the dusk.

They sat down by the window, Noctis making a visible effortnot to gaze out at his old home in wistful recollection. Ignis couldn’t imaginehow overwhelming everything was for him; to return to a world that, while mostlyunchanged, looked so much different from behind adult eyes.

He’d been given fresh clothes, of course. Custom-tailoredLucian fatigues that the King had commissioned well in advance – he’d hadvarious outfits meeting various measurements made, trying to predict how tallNoctis would be when he came back – ifhe came back – how wide he might be, how soft the fabric should be depending onhow his skin might have changed – would it still be as soft as he rememberedwhen he held his tiny toddler to his face to kiss him goodnight? Would it betougher after being molded by the Crystal’s magic? Would it be delicate afterthe injury which had forced them apart in the first place?

Noct’s hair was combed out – an effort that no doubt tookhours to smooth it from its snarled state. It fell in soft waves around hisface, still a little wild, but clean, cut, and more comfortable than theknotted mess he’d first stepped out with. He looked healthy, fed, doted on bythe father that missed him so painfully for the past ten years.

Though, while he’d been groomed and pampered to acclimatizehim to modern Lucis, he still looked like a man out of time. Still looked outat the world with uncensored fascination – and a little edge of fear. Fear thathe might never catch up to all that he missed, that he might never regain theidentity he was stolen from.

That he might not have a place in his old life.

Ignis didn’t know how to tell him that there was no way hisfamily wouldn’t accept him. That his whole kingdom wouldn’t accept him! That hewas never once forgotten for the past ten years. That he was always in Lucis’sthoughts, honored everywhere with memorials crafted like altars for the peopleto pray for his safe return.

Instead, Ignis could only default to the stupid, insensitiveice-breaker to their silence that he’d learned to ask of every guest to theCitadel.

“How are you settling in?”

As if he’d only been gone for a week. As if he’d only beenacross the bay, vacationing somewhere on the coast of Caem. As if this was justanother day, settling back into the routine of Citadel life. The past ten yearshad, evidently, not placed only Noctis out of place.

“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Noctis replied, and Igniswas so not used to the eloquence with which he spoke. “It’s been…”

“Overwhelming?” Ignis stopped himself, bit the inside of hischeek – don’t interrupt the Prince whenhe’s speaking – “My apologies. I can only imagine how strange all of thismust seem.”

Noctis didn’t seem to mind the interruption. In fact, itseemed to hearten him a little, lifting his small smile at the edges. Finishinghis sentences had been a habit Ignis thought had been long broken from theirlost childhood together. Ignis’s chest swelled when Noctis smiled like that.Noctis remembered, too.

“It’s going to take a while to get used to it,” Noctis wenton, distracted once more by the expanse of the city below. “It’s all different,but a lot of it’s the same, too. The important things, anyway. Dad’s still Dad.Cor’s still Cor. And you’re still you.”

Ignis blinked once, a reflex when Noctis met his eyes andsmiled at him. It was as if he couldn’t look directly at him, too unused to thelight in his face to focus properly. Ignis told himself not to be ridiculous,and maintained eye contact like an adult.

“As are you… Your Highness.”

The honorific came as an afterthought. As did thepresumptuousness of his reply, the informality that, for some reason, he couldn’tseem to get under control. He was still treating Noctis like his childhoodfriend, not like his liege-lord. It appeared they both had some adjusting todo.

“You can still call me Noct, you know. If I can still callyou Iggy?”

Ignis’s conflict with decorum came to a ceasefire for amoment. He swallowed the social platitudes that were backing up his throat andheld Noct’s stare. There was an entreaty there. A plea for the familiarity of theirchildhood camaraderie. Of being friends more than being positions in the royal hierarchy.

Yes. He was still Noct. And, of course, he was still Iggy.

“Always, Noct.”

That made the Prince smile. Really smile. Smile like the little boy Ignis remembered, eyesclosed and cheeks round and overjoyed to be accepted as he always wanted to be.Ignis could have bust out and bawled for how happy it made him to see his oldfriend again. To know that he didn’t have to be afraid of change if Noct wouldstill have him as “Iggy.”

Because he really didn’t know if he was ready to be “Ignisthe Chamberlain.” Ten years of preparing himself for that title, of traininghimself to be ready for the day of the Prince’s return, and the second it came,the instant it was real, the foundation he’d built for himself in preparationcrumbled underneath him.

“I missed you, Iggy.”

“I worried about you, Noct,” Ignis sighed, deflating all ofhis adult responsibilities down into a slouch in his chair. “If it’s… If it’snot a sore subject…”

“What was it like?”

Ignis lowered his eyes to the table and the empty plates setout between them. He had meant to have some food brought up for the two ofthem. But talk of the Crystal eradicated his appetite. And Noctis didn’t seemtoo keen on eating, either. When Ignis looked back at him, he was looking downat the Carbuncle figurine in his hand. Ignis hadn’t even noticed he had it.

“I still remember the first day I woke up in there,” Noctismused, eyes hooding like he was trying to shade himself from the memory. “Itwas scary. Everything was empty. No one around. Not my room or the trees in thegarden or anywhere I could recognize. I thought I must be dead.” While he didn’tsay it, Ignis could envision the scared little boy in a strange, empty void,crying out for his father, his friends, anyone to come and find him. It madehim want to throw up. “That first day was the worst of it, though,” Noctis wenton. “Because after that, I wasn’t alone.”

He set the old totem on the table between them, fingerbrushing gently across the chipped ears. He smiled.

“This little guy kept me company. He made me worlds to dreamthrough, places to travel, toys to play with; a friend to guide me through itall. It’s… a little hard to explain, how ‘growing up’ really worked. How timepassed. Because it didn’t feel like ten years like it would feel out here. Ihad someone explain that to me. I had lots of people help me understand. Peoplethat… weren’t from around here.”

“Not people from Lucis?”

“Not people from Eos,Iggy.”

Ignis stalled at that. Beings from another world? Was thatthe magic of the Crystal? Was it a portal to other dimensions? Were there dimensions beyond their own?Dimensions beyond the Astral Realm?

“These weren’t the Six, then?” he asked, leaning forward onthe table, hands clasped as he tried to comprehend what Noctis experienced. “Andnot the Lucii from your father’s Ring?”

Noctis shook his head.

“No Astrals. No Lucii. Just Carbuncle. And the voices ofpeople through other crystals.”

Noctis told him about strangers from other worlds. Soldiers,summoners, warriors of light, knights of dead goddesses, thieves and pirates,lost queens and time travelers. Fantasies crafted by Eos’s own dream god, Ignisthought. Noct’s fairytales from the childhood he was missing, come to life tocomfort him while he healed.

But as Noctis talked… Ignis doubted. He couldn’t pretendto understand the Crystal, couldn’t fathom what it was capable of. He read oncethat it was the “soul of Eos.” He read somewhere else that it “had its ownwill;” as if it were an organic entity capable of thought. He read that it wasthe heart of a dead goddess, a gift from the Six they all knew, and, in old, old texts that were nearly impossible totranslate, that it was an omen of misfortune, a curse upon the Kings of Lucis.

But the way Noctis told it, it wasn’t any of those things.It was a gateway. A conduit to other lords and ladies, knights and thieves,heroes of crystals scattered across the cosmos.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Noctis mused, his face fond as heplayed idly with the totem on the table, tipping it back and forth on its frontpaws. “I learned a lot. They taught me how to fight, how to cast spells – one taughtme how to heal. And they taught me about gods. About fate. Destiny.”

He pursed his lips, then. His gaze darkened. Ignis hadlearned about Noct’s destiny as the “Chosen King” since his absence. That hewas destined to save their world from the scourge which infected it, whichlengthened the nights, and which the Oracle of Tenebrae, barred in her countryand forbidden from aiding Lucis in its time of need ten years ago, combatted tothis day with her gifted magic from the gods.

“Iggy… this is going to be an odd question… Don’t be mad?”

“Of course not, Noct.”

He almost reached across the table to hold his hand. He almostbreached boundaries he knew were well beyond the friendship they were workingto rekindle with this outpouring of trust. Instead, he kept his hands together,and he listened.

“How much do you believe in the Six?”

It was an oddquestion. One might consider it philosophical, if he was talking to anyoneelse. The kind of controversy family fought over at holiday dinners.

“I can’t really say, one way or the other,” Ignis answered,slowly – he’d never given his faith much thought, if he even had one. “Isuppose I feel as most Lucians do. The legends state that the Six must at leastexist. Whether or not I believe that they’re of celestial rank… I can’t becertain. I’ve never seen one.”

“You believe that they could be terrestrial?” Noctis asked,and Ignis was struck again by just how much olderhe was. When they were kids, they talked of the Astrals like made up monstersin their games of pretend. Powers to obtain or beings to slay to save animaginary princess. “Do you think they’re not infallible?”

“All I know is that my belief lies with the Crown,” Ignistold him. “I believe in your father. And I believe in you.”

That made Noct’s eyes brighten, the weariness of a knowledgehe couldn’t fully articulate losing some of its weight. Ignis was proud that hecould provide him with that much relief. That he proved he could trust in himafter all this time apart.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,”Noctis laughed, raspy with relief.

“I’ve got your back, Noct. Whatever you ask of me, you haveit. Without question.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

This time, Noctis reached across the table to take his hand,uninhibited by the social constructs of Insomnia like Ignis was. His touch waswarm and familiar over Ignis’s cold knuckles. Like Ignis was coming home asmuch as Noctis was.

“Thanks, Iggy.”

It would be years before Noctis collected on that promise.

Years of convincing his father to forsake the Ring of theLucii. Of teaching him how to commune with the old gods. They weren’t like theSix. They didn’t need an Oracle to serve as their mouthpiece. They didn’tdemand the sacrifice of kings to save them. Carbuncle only traded in gooddreams for good deeds.

Noctis harnessed the Crystal, a bond shared with anotherworldly element that he could never quite explain. He was connected withthe Crystal in a way no king before him had been. He used it differently thanthe Six vaguely suggested they should.

He didn’t use the Ring. He didn’t heed Bahamut’s prophecy. Ignisdidn’t know how he made it work, how he made a different voice more prevalent throughoutthe Crystal’s maw than the Draconian’s. How he entreated a forgotten dream godto serve as his courier between worlds.

How, instead of fourteen Kings before him, he fashionedhimself the powers of fourteen souls from other worlds. Fourteen powers offourteen heroes whose names Eos would never know. Fourteen heroes who, Noctiswould sometimes try to explain to Ignis, had been in his position before.

Who slayed gods,who changed destiny, who took fate intheir own hands, seized their own lives from pretender gods and still savedtheir own worlds.

Ten years had taught Noctis more than two thousand years ofhistory had seemed to teach all of Eos.

There was still much to do on their world. There was stillthe Oracle to rescue from the Empire, and there was “the Accursed,” thestarscourge, vague references to figures and legends in ancient texts that theystill needed to fully understand before Noct’s destiny could be realized andspare him its grisly end.

But things were better with Noct’s new insights into olddogmas. King Regis was in better health than Ignis could ever remember seeinghim in when he discarded the Ring of the Lucii. A gamble, taking down the Wallwhen the Empire was so eager to seize them. But, surprisingly, as if the Empirehadn’t been prepared for that move, they didn’t move themselves.

When the Lady Lunafreya of Tenebrae had learned of Noct’sreturn, she sent forward Messengers that could pass through enemy blockades tocommunicate with him. And over the years, the two of them learned from eachother. She told him of the gods will, he told her what one of his phantomfriends had to say about gods demanding a woman’s sacrifice to save the world.

Then, there was the matter of this enigmatic “Accursed,” afigure in Luna’s head that she could only describe in her notes as a patch ofdarkness the gods all feared. They could give her no face, no name, nothing tohelp her discover its identity – if it even had one. The key to the starscourgeseemed to lie with this figure – one of Noct’s phantoms, though quiet in hisdemeanor, seemed to relate to that all-powerful ancient evil traitor card.

Things were less frightening with the context of otherdimensions at Noct’s beck and call. Things were easier to understand, easier topuzzle out and solve.

And when the day finally came that all the pieces felltogether, when they learned the Accursed’s name, devised the lure to bring himto the Crystal – a peace treaty signing with the Empire, a trick on Insomnia’ssoil, and a gamble for all their safety – Noctis was ready.

Noctis stood tall at the base of the Crystal, such a longway from the injured boy that had been taken from them by Niflheim’s malice. Somuch older than the nervous, out of time man that returned to them so manyyears ago.

And when the Accursed came, slinking through the chambers ofthe Citadel through shadows that no Glaive or Guard could see to come to mockthe Crystal and its servants…

They were ready.

“Hard to explain?”

Noctis nodded, head heavy as Ignis pressed another warmtowel to his forehead. He hadn’t been there when it happened – Noctis insistedit was too dangerous for any of them to be there to help him, and promised thathe wasn’t alone.

That he would return when it was over.

And he kept that promise.

Though he came out of the chamber limping, smoking, clothesin tatters like he’d been in a long, hard battle, eyes shifting with thethousand colored stars which they’d come to familiarize with the souls of theother worlds.

He was weakened by the ordeal, as they had expected. Andnow, Ignis was there to care for him like he couldn’t when they were kids. Hestayed at his side as he rested, the blinding gold of a rescued dawn streamingthrough the curtains.

“It’s over, Iggy,” Noctis assured him. “Quick and painless.”

“Hardly either.”

Noctis smiled. He was proud of himself. As he had everyright to be. Ten years of isolation had not gone to waste. Ten years of hisfather’s heartache and Noctis had returned with the gift of a long lifetogether for them both.

He had returned their savior. In more ways than theprophetic Chosen King.

At last, they were all ready to live again.

The Carbuncle totem sat on the bedside table as Ignis urgedNoctis to rest. He could have sworn he saw it’s faded ruby horn glow withpride.

[royal-writer]

a little ‘what if’

no fancy title idea for this. I’m feeling the onslaught of sickness coming on, so I’m cutting this short. massively short but oh my god sleep.

Mama don’t just ‘like’ any man that steps up to win her daughter’s hand. Nah, you have to EARN her respect and blessin... what’s better than to see the genuine trust and love of two people, and knowing that someone has your kids best interests at heart, and that they can make them smile and laugh and bring joy to their life? true, real joy. that’s all mama wants for her child. Yee ;;

Hepsiba Medüza did not like him. Lord Amon saw it in the way she behaved with everyone, but himself. Where she was maternal. How she was warmhearted. Her elaborate actions to please. Yet it felt like all was different and reserved the instant she observed a glimpse upon him.

There were moments when she held to a toothy grin and a mother’s wisdom while fretting over their team all between her teases. She held much of Essätha in her actions, he came to realize swiftly. They had the same sort of joy in their faces when they were happy; where it gripped every feature on the face and exploded into frenzied gestures and boundless energy. They even had a similar laugh, and grinned with the same effort that would at times, peek out the extended length of their cuspids. So like mother, so was like daughter.

But despite their likenesses, they were equally different. Essätha sneezed loud, while her mother sounded like a squeaky door hinge. Where the young Yuan-ti was bold and impulsive; the wild of a raging storm, her mother was timid and soft-spoken like a doe. When tired, his dear heart curled up to conserve heat and her mother oppositely lounged to stretch over her sofa and twitch as she slept.

Essie craved adventure and freedom. She fought with passion, and would do so until her dying breath. Always a burning inferno whipping nearly out of control. Brilliant and hard to grasp or understand. Hepsiba was polite beyond measure, in contrast. Her battles were fought with kindness, or abandoned when she felt the purpose beyond lost. She held a mysterious tongue, but was generally revealing and open in nature.

Both Medüza women were their own unique type of lady. From the tight coils of light brunette in Hepsiba’s hair, to the loose curls and bouncy wave’s of Essie’s light black that the Briarton Lord’s fingers grew tangled in.  Their eyes told different stories of tragedy. One he he knew well; saw the summer solstice burn gold around the iris and fleck throughout a soft coppery tawny. The other a bright green; aloe leaves that were showing the wear and tear of time and age.

The illness that had at one time tried to consume Hepsiba had left a great toll as much as aging did. Her eyes appeared to have a wash of discolored fog faded faintly to them. The thick texture of her mane had, according to his Essie, had grown thin (which left Amon astonished; it appeared lethally dense as it was). Her skin looked paper thin and the appearance of veins were in some areas, dark in contrast. She grew fatigue at the simplest work; and if not for the kindly neighbor a bit down the way who visited frequently to help her out, it left Amon to wonder how the elder woman managed. Her body was a fraility, but her mind was sharp.

She had a knack for pushing through exhaustion. When Hepsiba was sure she could manage something; despite the lack of belief on any other, she did so. Her words would come out cutting in a way that was haunting when you did not heed her first words to back off. She was feisty in her independence, he’d give her that. The string of words she could put together sounded like the teachings of scholars; lengthy and astute.

Yet try as he might to connect with the slender aged woman, she did not try to connect with him. Her studious remarks were clipped. Her mannerisms respectful but distant. She would curtsy or bow, accept a kiss on her hand in the deepest level of respect with a smile. It was an echoed version of Essätha what felt like centuries ago. Disconnected and unwilling; not lining up with her eyes and disjointed.

Hepsiba squeezed her daughter with all the fond love of a mom; her every dream and affection put into her child. Dotted over her, but held herself back as she watched Essie continuously grow and make her decisions and become her own person. She was devoted and endlessly proud, as one should be to watch such a magnificent woman grow into her own. The haze-gloom over Hepsiba’s gaze could not stop the saturation of merriment when she looked to her daughter in a way that enticed a slice of envy in the soul of anyone who noticed. It was the kind of relationship every child longed to have with their parent. It held notes of the kind of connection you wanted to hold with everyone you held dear.

She treated Abernathy like an old friend within moments of meeting him. He was invited to return as often as he’d like with his husband for brunch, for lunch, and so on. They chatted of ‘younger days’ as if they’d lived them together. The laughter hardly ceased. He seemed to be the only one aside from Sulhadur she accepted help from in rare occasions.

The Dragonborn held her attention for his polite qualities. Hepsiba glorified his heroism and innocence with trusting pats. When dinner came, there was always an extra slab of meat cooked up and added to Sul’s plate so he wouldn’t have to eat so much of the grain and vegetables she steamed (which was fine with Amon, he found himself sneaking seconds like a ravenous wolf for her well seasoned cooking).

Quite the opposite, Rava got the disciplining gentle motherly hand. Sometimes Hepsiba’s words mingled in with Essie’s in a h soft reprimand that had everyone laughing. She scolded the young elfling when her curiosity had her leaping and taking without thinking of the consequence. She frequently pushed more health-optional food the young girl’s way, too. It didn’t stop Rava from grabbing something sweet or drinking a bottle of syrup when they left the private home at the far reaches of the village, but Hepsiba tried.

Aylin she held politeness to, even when he slipped Rava treats. When he inquired about her and the culture of her kind, she answered what Essätha would not or could not. The straightforward notion of his race’s harsh beliefs seemed to cause her unease and discomfort, but nevertheless, she smiled patiently through their chats.

Courteous she might be to the Drow, it was nothing compared to her admiration for Pri’cha. She adored the well-mannered cleric at first glance. When Pri offered prayer before supper, Hepsiba gladly joined her. She sung a few hymns of Pelor with the Radiant One; the parts said she could remember, anyway. It seemed to take no effort to like the humanoid insect. It was a sentiment Amon could agree with.

There was no judgment on behalf of Adela. The name of another Tiefling came up upon first greetings that made Amon wish to curl his lip, but he refrained. Solace contained none of Adela’s refined decency. They spoke over a small, unimpressive collection of the Medüza matriarch’s jewelry and trinkets, and when Adela presented her with a custom bracelet; simple but elegant, she’d been ecstatic and clung to the pale reddish-pink woman with boastful lines of flattery. They did not connect as deeply as she did some of the others, but there was no denying the friendliness.

Although startled by Penimra’s horrifying demented mouth as he ate, the old Yuan-ti woman tried to associate with the arrogant elf and understand him. When his euphemisms came out unintentionally biting, she remained polite and thanked him for his opinion. Penimra was given more notice than he was.

Amon tried not to suffocate in his desire to impress the mother of the woman he adored. No amount of honest compliments, or generous gifts, seemed to make her smile past a flat line. Hepsiba thanked him, offered him questions and concerns, and moved on to the next party member. Every now and then, he caught her sights upon him. The shadows made it hard to identify her true feelings, but they were watchful. Studying him intensely.

The next moment, she would be offering kisses to K’varr, or stroking Caesar’s head as the animals paraded around the small house. Although her eyes were no longer on them, he could still feel a tension in the air. Clenching to his aching jaws, setting in his taut pulled shoulders. Trying not to stare too hard as she cooked and cleaned, or performed smaller feats of magic. When she walked past, and he held his breath for fear even just being too loud would upset her.

What future would he have with the woman he loved, if her mother didn’t like him? Would she hold it against him? Would she tell Essie he was no good for her? Would there be a future for them at all, if he couldn’t convince Hepsiba he only wanted happiness for her daughter?

He had to know what he was doing wrong. Some way, some how, he would try and try again as much as he could, in hopes of getting her to like him. After all, it was going to be rather difficult to get her approval and blessing for her daughter’s hand, if he could even manage that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“More tea, Abernathy?”

“No thank you, Hepsiba. I’ve had enough.”

She smiled over her shoulder, rinsing out her mug in the deep bowl filled with water in front of her. The cracked window before the counter where she often chopped vegetables was letting in a lovely breeze today. Outside, she could make out the shape of the many house visitors. Some were sitting around talking, some were goofing off, and others were packing and unpacking items from their wagon.

The firewood Amon had chopped for her the other day still had a sharp smell sitting just outside the window. It was blowing directly into the household. Hepsiba sniffed softly, setting the glass aside to air dry. Her legs ached from standing making the massive breakfast she’d worked on since before dawn to serve her hungry new children. They came and went often, since their current work was nearby. Essätha had been sure to stock the tiny cottage with enough food to fill an army, which is what it felt like she was often doing.

Try as she might, Essätha continued buying her things and stocking the house, without taking any reimbursement. That child of hers. She’d been sending bank slip notes home ever since she took flight and left the nest. Though Hepsiba scolded her for it, it was a large help. After she’d managed to make it out of that wretched city with her daughter and failing health, it had taken a long recovery process and many clerics to nurse her back to some functional state.

Work always remained hard. Raising a rambunctious girl had been tiring to the bone, but it never made her love her spirited daughter any less. She made their lives doing small jobs; sometimes picking up a seamstress service, other times actually getting hired on for a ceremonial event as a cook when people were desperate. Her body hurt as if it was much older than it was for years, and only grew worse as time went by.

She’d raised a wonderful, brilliant adult though. Essie had made it all worth it. Labor intensive or not. She’d grown up so much; much too fast in so many ways Hepsiba wished she could take back. The youth of her brave little girl, never understanding why people were so cruel to her for being different. The nurturing ways she sometimes had to look after her when too many days of hard, grueling work left her bedridden for a day or two.

Now she had Ethan down the lane, who was a perfect gentleman and helped all the neighbors. He brought her clothes from the villagers, and she would mend them up and he would return them. They exchanged meals; his kind wife Helen visited with their kids and they helped clean up and she’d offer her help where she could.

Life was simple and quiet, but it was just the way she liked it. She was left to long for the days when her little serpent would visit again, but she had wielded her own life now. An extraordinary life of grand adventures that people spoke of even among their little town. Essätha was a name among many, with her comrades that swirled around gossip and news. What a delightful surprise for her baby to visit home, and bring all these interesting and lively people with her for her to meet.

What a courageous daughter she had. She worried for her, the more the rumors spread. It made her look around as she wiped her hands dry, but there was no sign of her pretty little girl among those outside. There was no Essie at the table, either, where Abe and Adela still sat speaking softly to each other.

The front door opened, and Hepsiba looked that was expectedly. Though she did not see her daughter, the dark-haired nobleman entered cautiously. He pushed the door closed with a gloved hand; the bottom trim of fur on his cloak brushing the floor as he stepped through the house without a glance in their direction a few yards from the door. One arm was kept firmly down to his side, not swinging as was natural to people in motion.

Hepsiba moved to follow after Lord Amon; unnoticed. He disappeared behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting area, and from there she spotted the wide shape of his frame move into the hall to the bedrooms.

Adela and Abernathy were still speaking to each other in a deep conversation when she shuffled quietly after the man.

It had nothing to do with a lack of trust in him moving through the home, but she was curious. Wherever that man seemed to wander, her Essie didn’t seem to be far.

She was close to the archway when she heard voices. Hesitantly, her eyes peeked around the extended wall to spy. It was her house. She tried telling herself there was nothing wrong with a bit of snooping.

It was dark. The only lighting was the natural lighting cutting through from the open doors to bedrooms with windows. In the shaped silhouette outlines, her vision began to pick up the details of two people standing nearly in the doorway of Essie’s old bedroom.

A girlish giggle escaped Essätha shyly. She pressed a self-conscious hand across to hide her face as Amon tucked the folds of a fully bloomed pink lily behind her ear. He retrieved that same hand moments later, bringing it to his face to rest his lips against the patchwork of scales. A radiant and genuine smile was broadly displayed on her daughter’s face, where it glistened up into the sunspecks of her eyes.

As they shifted, Hepsiba pulled herself out of the line of sight from the pair just as her Essie leaned in to kiss the man.

“I love you.”

Hepsiba exhaled quietly. The whispering husk of the man was hardly audible, but those words were hard to mistake for anything else.

“I love you too, m’lord.”

She’d seen what she’d needed to see. Even with the words, she’d seen enough.

There was long silence, and then a scrap of boots against the floor. That’s when Hepsiba made her move.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a glow about Essätha’s eyes that only seemed to shine brighter the moment he expressed his feelings. He hadn’t been able to stop the compulsion when he’d seen the blossom, at the peak of it’s life. With a steady drag of his blade to the steam, he’d nipped it free and knew just where it should be, to compliment an even more graceful beauty than even it.

Her smile was warm and enticing. It fastened him like gravity to the ground even as he felt weightless and life beneath such a longing gaze. He held upon her delicate fingers with a careful grip, pressing her fingertips to his lips next. The shape of her face she tried to hide; tucking her chin in with a shy blush and sections of curls hanging over her eyes and cheeks.

With a little tug on her hand, Essie took a step down the hall to encourage him to follow. He felt instantly pulled to the traverse of the sun as she moved; her ethereal light beckoning him.

A figure moved into the hallway suddenly, beaming brilliantly. They moved with a slowness; and stalled Amon’s advance even as Essätha’s hand slipped from his fingers.

“Ma,” the younger Yuan-ti greeted quietly, leaning in to kiss her mother’s cheek.

“Oh Essie my little viper,” the elder Yuan-ti laughed, pecking her daughter in return as she took hold of her hand in a squeeze. “Would you mind going and finishing the dishes? I’m a bit sore today, I’m sorry.”

“I can do that mom, you go sit down and rest a while, okay?”

“Yes, I think I’ll do that dear, thank you.”

The Lord of the Emerald Expanse almost dared to think to call her back. Instead he stood uncomfortably still, and watched his darling float out of sight. It left him awkwardly alone, with the adoring look of her mother staring after her.

Maybe he’d be lucky, and she would not strike at him like a furious cobra.

When she turned to him, the expression on Hepsiba’s gaze grew calculating. He stiffened considerably more under her evaluation.

He grew even more rigid as she broke into a wide grin.

“Oh, Lord Amon!” she gushed with delight. “My word, you stepped in without a single hello or good day.”

This felt an awful lot like a setup. Unsure which card to play, he moved to bow politely to the elder woman.

“I apologize, lady Medüza-”

“Oh stop with the ‘lady’ this and ‘lady’ that,” she scoffed, shambling down the hall towards him. “‘Hepsiba’ works just fine.”

Amon was numb as the woman reached for him. Linking her arm through his, he looked on with bewilderment to the fragile looking lady of the house. Her smile was full, and worked its way up into the glint playing off her eyes.

“I- uh-”

“Would you mind helping me to the couch, Lord Amon?” she inquired in a fast-paced voice of joy and excitement. “I would appreciate the help so much.”

The sudden change in demeanor made no sense. What had he done differently today? He was perplexed by her joy, which was in that state of resembling Essätha’s bubbly glee. He’d seen that look plenty, but never was it directly aimed to him.

Swallowing his confusion and his nerves, he spoke briskly but politely as he inclined his head, and reached across to carefully place a hand over the bend of her arm.

“It would be my pleasure, lady Medüza.”

“Hepsiba, please, young man,” she taunted him playfully, patting his hand.

With all the bewilderment in the world to this sudden change, Amon took full advantage in guiding her carefully around the jutted out wall in the direction of her sofa. Whatever the reason for her change of heart, he had a foot in the door, and if this was all the chance he was going to get, he was going to make the best of it.

[bunnyravit]

Red Silhouette

Who: Ravi & AU

What: You're an art student in Seoul with a femdom streak, and you turn his world upside down when you show him what it's like to be dominated. Despite the BDSM nature, this actually ended up being quite fluffy. Warnings: NSFW, foul language, graphic smut, awkward flirting, oral sex (reader receiving), sub Ravi, light bondage. 

You met so innocently. You were sitting on the grass in the park, a sketchbook in your lap, trying to come up with something for your final. The sun setting behind city buildings flooded the park with a hazy orange glow. Tapping the page with the wrong end of you 2H pencil, you sipped your now lukewarm mocha and set it back down on the patch of dirt beside you. A chilly autumn breeze swept through, and with one hand holding down the page you were working on, you tried to pull your dark denim jacket tighter around you. Balmy, bright summer had left so suddenly, but you liked it better this way. The cold reminded you of home. And you looked damn fine in your black fall boots.

You heard a husky voice calling out, somewhere far away, over your right shoulder, but didn’t think anything of it, until a little French bulldog pattered up next to you. Heavy short breaths and a scrunched up nose, black leash trailing behind --he was so cute. Then he started pawing at your messenger bag. "You looking for something, little guy?" He pulled down at the corner and your open pencil case tumbled out. You groaned. But then he sneezed and shivered so pathetically, that you couldn't help but close your sketchbook and pull him into your arms. "Poor baby, are you cold?"

"Ongdongie!" A man stopped suddenly at your side, bent over, catching his breath. "I'm sorry," he huffed. "He...slipped...out of my hands." Out of the corner of your eye, you see him pantomime how the leash flew from his grasp between labored breaths. 

"That's all right," you laughed, smiling down at the little squirming mass, now burying his face in the crook of your arm.

"Oh!" the man got on his knees and started to collect the spilled pencils and erasers from the grass beside you. "Did anything break, or...?" 

"No, no," you said, and then you finally saw his face. He had sharp, sad eyes, softly pouting lips offset by a masculine jaw, and smooth, tan skin so flawless it was almost glowing.

His eyes met yours with such concern as he said, "If anything was damaged, I promise I’ll replace it."

You remembered to breath, and started to help him pick everything up. “Really, thank you, but I think everything is fine—” at that, Ongdongie squirmed out of your lap, darting behind you, and knocked over your coffee. You gasped, saving your sketchbook as you jumped to your feet. “Ongdongie!” the man cried again, and grabbed the dog’s leash. Ongdongie just looked up at him and whined. He knew he was in trouble. “Miss, I am so sorry. Did you get wet?" He looked close, examining your skirt. You felt your heart suddenly pound at the close attention.

The breeze picked up again, and you put extra effort into smoothing the fabric against your leggings. "No, I'm fine. And really, it's all right. I have a three-year-old terrier back home, so I know what it's like. In fact, that's probably what your little guy was smelling. Were you looking for a friend?" You asked the puppy in a cute voice. 

"Please, let me at least buy you another coffee.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. You weren’t one to go out with a stranger, but aside from being so handsome, he seemed genuinely frazzled. “Sure, why not. I wasn’t getting any work done anyway.” While you packed up your sketchbook and the rest of your things, he ran your empty coffee cup to the trashcan, and then returned to walk you to a coffee shop he knew nearby. You recognized the name—it was a cool, upmarket place with fancy drinks, but you were always too afraid to go in. It was so full of Seoulites, you worried a waygook would stand out too much.

Unfortunately, just as you suspected, you were the only non-Korean in the shop, and people kept glancing your way as he walked you to a table on the patio. He ordered two mochas at the counter while you played with Ongdongie, thankful for the heat lamps that made the outdoor space almost cozy. There was a soft thud against the table, and you realized he’d returned and set your cup in front of you. Despite how clumsy he seemed when you met, there was something quiet and graceful in the way he moved. “I realized when I was ordering,” he said, “that I still don’t know your name.” You picked up the cup, and realized it had Miss Pretty written down the side.

You laughed, and he seemed relieved. “It’s _____.”

“It’s nice to meet you, _____. I’m Kim Wonsik, but people know me better as Ravi.”

“Know you better…?” Then you recognized that handsome face, and realized the real reason people were staring. “Oh!” You said too loudly, and then looked around apologetically. “I…I can’t believe this. I actually know your music. It’s beautiful. It’s truly so different from anything else you hear.”

He looked down at his coffee, a faint blush in his cheeks and a slight smile—but not a genuine smile. More like a polite one. “Thank you. But what about you? What were you working on in the park?”

You sighed, the frustration you’d momentarily forgotten returning. “My final project for a painting class. I’m an MFA student at K-Arts. The whole semester I’ve been working with the theme of duality, mostly power and fragility, but…I’m burnt out, to be honest.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting concept though. How did you come up with that?” 

You slowly sipped your mocha, trying to think of a lie. You knew his music could be kinky —in fact, you only discovered him because a fellow student recommended “Secret Night” and “Chained Up” to you— but you didn’t know this man. And Korea was much more sexually conservative than home. You couldn’t just start talking about your BDSM awakening at a coffee shop on a weekday evening. “Um, it’s just…I…it’s based on a personal experience I had," was apparently the best you could come up with.

“Oh…ok,” he answered softly, clearly embarrassed by your embarrassment. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it’s me. I’m not good at talking about my work. Especially when it’s been giving me trouble.”

“I understand that. Really well, actually. Let’s not talk about work then…” he went on to ask what made you want to get your masters in Korea, and you told him Korean art had inspired you so much in undergrad that you ended up minoring in the language just to feel closer to the artists. And you’d always loved traveling, ever since you did a year abroad in Paris. “You speak French?” he asked with genuine enthusiasm.

“Bien s��r je parle français. Si vous étudiez l’art coréen et l’art français ensemble, alors qu’ils ont tous les deux des traits uniques, vous voyez vraiment comment nous partageons tous une seule expérience humaine.”

His mouth gently fell open as you spoke, a blush spreading all the way to his ears. A strong emotion swelled in your chest. Oh god, you thought. He was so cute. How dare he suddenly be so cute? He cleared his throat, and then sipped his coffee, Adam’s apple glistening in the lamp light as he swallowed. “That’s…that’s really cool. I'd like to learn French. I speak some English, but I don’t really have enough time to study and become fluent.”  

A few years ago, you would have salaciously offered your services as a live-in tutor, but you’d attracted enough of the scum of mankind to know to keep your walls up a little longer. You both heard a little snore, and realized Ongdongie had curled up at Wonsik’s feet to sleep. 

You asked him what else he studied, and he talked about his composing classes—everything he studied past high school was while he was working full time as an idol, and it had messed up his sleep schedule eternally. You had terrible sleep habits too, but it was all your own fault, staying up late working after partying too hard. You mentioned one time in Paris when you and your classmates tried to paint together outside of class, but ended up drinking the entire Saturday before the assignment was due, and then drinking the entire Sunday to avoid a hangover while you hastily finished your projects.

“Did that really work?”

You sipped your mocha. “No.” You laughed together. “We were miserable! Do you ever look back at the things you did just a few years ago and think ‘WOW, that was so dumb. Why did I do that?’”

He covered his eyes, laughing and grimacing in embarrassment. “Next time we see each other, maybe I’ll show you some pictures from my early days as an idol. You’ll feel better about your mistakes.”  

You felt a grin pulling at the corners of your lip, and raised your cup to hide it. “Next time we see each other?”  

His fingers twitched against the table. “Yeah. I’d, well, I-I’d like there to be a next time. I-If you would.”

His stutter stirred something in you. You just wanted hold him to your chest and take care of him. “Yeah, I’d like that too.” 

You gave him your number, and you parted ways. You half-expected to never hear from him again. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it wouldn’t have been his fault. He was busy, and so were you. Just two busy ships passing in the night. Besides, as an idol he was already surrounded by beautiful women all the time. He probably even had a girlfriend. You forced yourself to keep your expectations low. But then late that night, you got a text.

Hi, _____. It’s Wonsik :)

You smiled so hard it hurt your cheeks, and you thanked God your roommate didn’t notice. You weren’t ready to tell anyone about him.

It was all so innocent.

You streamed his mixtape on your way to class the next day. His music could be so strong and angry, and yet so soft and sad and warm. You listened to more as you worked in studio, and felt like you were developing a fetish for his voice. Gruff and powerful, but cozy and sweet. This was the sound you needed in your life.

You waited to answer his text until this morning. You didn't want to seem like you’d been waiting up for his message. "Play it cool," and "low expectations," you told yourself. But then that afternoon he texted you, How is your work coming today?, and you couldn't stop the glee brightening your cheeks.  

A little better. I've been working on some of my other pieces, but I had a little inspiration. Oh God. You couldn't believe you just said that. How is your work going? You texted quickly, hoping he wouldn't ask you what you meant. It would be so corny and embarrassing if you admitted you were listening to his music.

Tiring. We've been rehearsing all day. I love the choreo, but I'm a little jealous you get to work on your own stuff right now.

I'm a little jealous you're in a room with six beautiful sweaty men, you thought. Haha, don't be, you texted instead. Everything is on me. I'm jealous you have a studio and five other members who care about your success.

It's true, and I'm very grateful. But you have so much freedom! You can do any concept you want. When will I get to see your work?

You left the last message on read and went back to your mostly finished painting. You didn't know the answer. You didn't know if you ever wanted him to see it. But you kept glancing at your phone, vacantly hoping the right answer would just come to you, and soon your roommate came over from her desk and laid her head on your shoulder. "Who are you texting that made you show the full range of human emotion in three minutes?" Maya whispered. "And I can tell it's a boy, so don't lie to me."

"Fine," you sighed, and explained everything that happened last night.

"Get it!" she whispered at a harsh speaking volume, beaming and slapping your arm for not telling her.

"But now he wants to see my work...."

"Ooooh, he doesn't know about your dirty, perverted soul."

"Maya."

"Look, if you like him at all, which I can tell you do, he's gonna find out sooner or later. You might as well let him find out sooner. Otherwise, if you wait until you catch real feelings, he could still leave you over it, and it'll hurt you more."

You groaned. She was right. After half an hour of trying to find the right words, you told him about the university's show in two weeks, and that if he was free that night, he could come with you.

That'd be really cool! He answered, and then after a minute texted, But I'll get to see you sooner than that, right?

You went to dinner together a few nights later, a cozy table in the back of an upscale French restaurant. It was different than the French food back home, or in France, but so delicious. You shared a bottle of rich red wine that went right to your head. As he told the story of how he adopted Ongdongie, his deep, gruff voice became so cute that you had to reach across the table and squeeze his hand. His eyes lit up at the contact, and he interlaced his fingers in yours as he went on, staring at the table with a sweet smile. His hand was big and warm, and there was so much electricity in his touch it made you giddy.

It was hard to resist kissing him in the cab ride home, legs touching, hand in hand, speaking softly in the dark. But you managed to stop yourself. What if he was the kind of guy who needed to be the instigator? He was ok when you touched his hand, but kisses were different. Then he whispered something in your ear in that beautiful voice, and you melted into the backseat upholstery. You wondered if he knew what his voice was doing to you. You didn't think you were hiding it all that well. 

He walked you to your door, and you felt your knees slightly shaking, unsure if it was the wine or him. He held your hand firmly, stroking your thumb with his so sweetly. You wanted to pull him down by the collar and kiss him and invite him up, but Maya was home tonight. It was a conscious plan you two had made, to stop you from moving too quickly. But you didn't account for just how well you and Wonsik would get along. 

You slowly approached your front door, and turned to face each other, him still holding on to your hand. "I had a really great time tonight," you said.  

Grinning, he met your eyes, and there was a spark of heat in them that threatened to make your knees buckle completely. "I had a really great time too. I don't think I've ever met someone with a life as interesting as yours. And I can't wait to see your work."  

You giggled and glanced at the ground as you stepped closer. "I'd love to give you preview...but it's getting pretty late."

"Oh, I wasn't trying to—that's not what I meant—"

"I know. It wasn't you, I was the one..." you chuckled awkwardly, and then licked your lips as you waited for his reaction.

He covered a surprised laugh with the back of his hand, and looked around embarrassed. "Oh," he said softly. "You're right, though. I work early in the morning, and I know you have projects to work on..." you nodded and felt yourself moving closer. He started to lean in too, swallowing as he met your eyes. "You look…really pretty tonight. I guess I said that already."

"A few times, but it doesn't get old," you grinned. He glanced from your lips to your eyes a few times, and you knew it was coming, but it was coming too slowly. You slid your free hand up to his neck, and cradled his jaw—suddenly his lips met yours, like a magnet. He started gently, but then he was ravenous. He held your waist, but then you pushed your body against his, and his hands raked up the back of your coat to hold you there, taut against him. You ran your hands up through his thick black hair, and then your fingertips slid down the nape of his neck. He sighed lowly, and then he pulled away. 

He gazed at you silently, lust-darkened eyes, but then he cleared his throat and looked away. "Um, we should...we should stop."

"Yeah, ok," you barely managed to whisper.

"I-I'll text you."

"Yeah," you grinned.

"And then, I'll see you soon," he said, smiling back.

"Right," you laughed, hesitantly pulling away from him to put your hand on the keypad. "Good night."

"Good night," he echoed, and slowly backing away as you got inside.

A few hours later, after you'd told Maya everything that happened and you were getting ready for bed, you got a message. It was a picture of a curled-up Ondgongie, with Ongdongie hopes you sleep well written across it.

You laughed, and texted back, Lol, cute. Aren't you going to sleep?

I had a little inspiration. Besides, you can’t expect me to sleep after a date like that.

You texted every break either of you had, sharing workplace selcas and funny things your classmates said. Your conversations often climaxed late in the night, when you were lying in bed. It started with you checking up on his sleep, and he yours. Then you shared your fears about whether or not your art was really worth it, whether or not your ideas were actually original, or really worth sharing. He told you every artist feels that way at some point, like you're just another voice in the crowd. But you're not, he wrote. I haven't seen your work yet, but you're unlike anyone I've met. Your voice is different. Your art matters. 

Warmth spread through your chest, and you felt yourself blushing to the roots of your hair. 

Was that too cheesy? He asked, when you didn't answer right away.

I want to see you, you texted back. Send me a selca?

Lol, why? My hair is all messy, and I'm in my pjs.

I'll send you one, if you send me one, you answered. A half a minute later, you got a picture. Black hair hung in his face, with one eye closed and a small smile on his pouty lips, and the hint of a collar bone peaking out from his low neckline. He was so cute, but you were never good at that. Instead, you smoothed out your hair, and laid on your stomach so you could get a little bit of cleavage in the shot.

Ahh, you're so sexy. How am I supposed to go to sleep now?

Payback for those sweaty rehearsal pics you sent me earlier.

Hahaha, you liked that?

Of course I liked it! You're a very sexy man.

He sent back a smiley emoji with closed eyes. I can't wait to see your artwork.

I just hope you're ready for it, you answered. Truly, you did. You hoped it wouldn't scare him away.

The night of the show, he picked you up in a sleek black car. Maya was already at the gallery setting up, so you didn't have to feel weird about not sharing the ride. He held the door for you, and helped you in, eyeing the way your dark red velvet dress clung to your curves. "You look perfect," he said as he slid in beside you. The chauffeur pulled away from the curb, and your body swayed into Wonsik's. You steadied yourself by placing a hand on his knee, and looked up at him—then he was kissing you, soft and sweet, and almost innocent. 

"Thank you," you said, smoothing out the collar of his crisp white shirt and then the lapel of his black suit jacket. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a subtle hint of eyeliner, simple silver studs and a few thin rings. You grinned. He looked so elegant and tame, so unlike the impression he usually made on stage, but so true to the man you knew. You grinned. "You look absolutely irresistible." He smiled shyly, whispering more compliments into your ear as he held your hand.  

As you walked into the gallery, your hands kept ending up together, even while you were checking your coats. You saw Maya there with her girlfriend, and she flashed a thumbs up in approval. You turned him away so he wouldn't see and mouthed stop. "Hey, let me get us some drinks," he said, touching the small of your back. You nodded, and he left for the bar. As soon as you turned around, Maya was there.  

"Oh my God, nice work, babe," She said, watching him leave.

"Do you know where my stuff is hanging?"

"In the next room over."

"Think he would notice if I didn't let him leave this room?"

"Don't chicken out now," Maya urged, poking you in the ribs. Wonsik came back and you introduced them. Then the two of you walked around the gallery, hand in hand, your palm getting sweatier the closer you got to yours.

"Don't be so nervous," he whispered. "Everything in here is amazing, but I'm sure yours will still stand out."

"Yes. Yes they will." Then you saw them, in the back, with the rest of the more adult-themed works: a series of paintings of strong male bodies in submission. The light and colors were high contrast, and every expression, for the ones with faces, was one of willingness and ecstasy.

You watched his face as you approached them, and it terrified you when he let go of your hand. Was this the end? He got even closer to your work and studied them. You stood behind him and waited for his reaction, tapping the side of your glass furiously with dark-lacquered nails. "These are yours," he stated as fact.

"Yes."

He glanced back at you, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. "The posture, this emotion...what you capture in their expressions is really strong."

"…Thank you?"

He looked back at you, questioningly, but you still couldn't read his face. "These are really fantastic. Why are you so shy?" he said with a chuckle of disbelief.

You sighed nervously and took a deep drink of wine. "It's just...most guys don't really like this kind of thing."

"You've been dating the wrong men," he said definitively. 

"You think so?" you asked quietly, venturing a step closer. "You don't have to say you like it if you don't. I understand."

He turned around, smirking at you darkly, and sipped his drink. "Tell me," he whispered, leaning close and pointing effortlessly to the one at the end. "What exactly did you do to inspire that reaction?"

You rushed back to your apartment, making out the whole ride home, his hands sliding up your velvet bust as you whispered his name. You briefly discussed safe words, but it was difficult to speak. When you finally got home, you shoved him back against the closed door. He grunted in response, and smiled when you pulled his face down to yours. You kissed him roughly this time, your tongue pushing past lips and teeth, and he moaned as you bit his lip, pulling away. His eyes were glassy, and you could already feel how hard he was growing against your thigh. You left him there, slowly walking to your bedroom, and stopped in the doorway. "Come on," you said, and nodded inside. He quickly followed you. 

Softly shutting the door behind him, you turned and cupped his cheek. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

He took your hand from his face and pressed a hot kiss into you palm. "Oh yes," he said roughly. The sound of that deep, needy agreement resonated in you and you became extremely aware of how wet you were. You needed him now.  

You sat on the edge of your bed, just in front of him, tossing your hair over your shoulder and crossing your legs. “Strip for me.” He instantly shed his jacket and threw it across your office hair, and then started hastily undoing the buttons of his shirt. You dragged the pointed toe of your shoe along his inner thigh. “Take your time. Maya isn’t staying here tonight.”

“We have the whole place to ourselves?”

“I didn’t say you could speak,” you sighed, in mock disappointment. He nodded, lips sealed with that shy smile of his and you felt a shock of electricity travel up your spine. “Good boy.” He undressed all the way to his boxers before you told him to stop. You slowly took in all of him, chiseled abdomen, tan skin smooth as butter, clavicle and shoulders like cut marble, until you met his expectant gaze. You stood and walked around him, grazing your fingers along his perfectly muscular body, and then briefly into the waistband of his boxers before heading to your nightstand.  

“On your knees,” you said. He obeyed, his eyes growing darker when he saw the black handcuffs. “Hands behind your back.” He breathed heavily as you cuffed him and he audibly gulped when you whispered “good boy” into his ear. Grabbing the hair at the back of his head, you pulled him back to kiss him, and he submitted to your violent kiss with a deep groan. 

You stripped yourself slowly, holding his gaze as you dropped the red velvet dress to the floor, and your bra and panties after it until you were only wearing your heels. You pulled him close to the bed and sat on the very edge. He swallowed roughly as you parted your knees, eyes fixed on your glistening core. With one hand on his shoulder, you ran a few fingers once over your slit and held them out for him. He sucked the tips of your fingers clean, his eyes so clouded with desire. “Are you going to do everything I ask of you?”

“Yes, mistress,” he whispered.  

You softly ran your hand back through his hair and gripped the back of his head. Then you parted yourself for him and pushed his face into you. He obeyed readily, first swiping his tongue up your slit to collect all that built up arousal. Then he circled your clit rapidly, before sucking on it. “You’re so hungry for it,” you said barely suppressing a moan, and lifted one leg over his shoulder to dig the stiletto heel into his back. He sucked harder. It was so good. He started roughly flicking your clit, bringing you so close. You pulled his hair and he moaned into you, the vibration bringing you dangerously to the edge. “Enough.” You pulled him off of you and he gasped, licking the moisture still on his lips. You stood, trying to hide how much your legs were quivering. You didn’t think he’d take you that far that fast. 

Slipping a pointed toe between his legs, you grazed his neck with your fingernails. He grimaced, as you pressed your foot firmly against his rock hard cock, and rocked back and forth. He whined as you pressed into him more, looking up at you so desperately, but he said nothing. 

“You’re being so good,” you whispered. You unlocked his cuffs and ordered him to his feet. He rose unsteadily, but then he held your waist and leaned down—you slapped him across the cheek. “I know you did not just try to kiss me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still grimacing from the sting. “Please, mistress, forgive me.”

You dug your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling the most delicious sigh from him as you took off his last bit of clothing. “Get on your back,” you waved toward the bed. He shot to the bed and laid back. You straddled him, high on his hips, and felt the leaking tip of his cock against your skin as you cuffed him to the bed frame. You slid yourself back, and after grinding against his cock, you grasped it in your hand, to his needy cries, and slipped the head inside of your saturated core.  

“Ah-aaaaah!” he cried, hips bucking up, but you sharply slapped his hip bone. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You’ll take what I give you and be happy for it.”

“Yes, oh God, thank you. Thank you, mistress.” At that, you slowly sank down, taking in all of him. You waited there to see if he would try to thrust again. He didn’t. But his breath was rapid as he intently watched where your bodies joined, his wrists straining against the cuffs.

You smiled. “Good boy.” Not wanting to hold back any longer, you pounded down on him. He cried out with almost every breath, his head pressed back into the pillows. It wasn't long before you could feel your orgasm mounting, and with the way he squirmed beneath you, you knew he was close as well. With one hand circling your clit, you slid the other up his chest, and then with most of your body weight, you pushed down on his heart. He gasped first, and then groaned. He looked you in the eye, nodding so desperately. 

You rolled your hips quickly, your heart pounding in your ears. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes…yes, mistress…oh God,” he choked before his body went stiff, and as your own climax burst suddenly and intensely, you felt him jet inside you. You stopped pressing on his chest, but rode him a little longer, until the last waves of ecstasy had subsided and he started to spasm with oversensitivity. Then you carefully climbed off of him and undid the cuffs. 

You laid beside him, examining him in worry. He hadn’t use his safe word. Was it ok, or was he about to bolt? Thankfully, he showed no sign of running. He was limp in the sheets, looking thoroughly fucked up. “That was…” trying to catch his breath, he gazed at you with a sincere, unguarded smile. “That was amazing.” You sighed in relief and looked at the ceiling. But then his brow furrowed at your silence. "W...was I...?"

"You were wonderful," you said softly, and rolled onto your side to kiss his forehead. You brushed a few strands of silken black hair out of his face, and then laid your hand on his chest. "Are you sure it wasn't too much?"

“Oh god, it was perfect. Honestly, I’ve…” he bit his lip and glanced away, “I’ve always wanted to try that. But there aren’t a lot of women who are into it, you know? And you were...” he widened his eyes and exhaled meaningfully. "Thank you." Hand still quivering, he caressed your arm, and you caught sight of his reddening wrist.  

You interlaced your fingers in his and kissed the thin red line. "Does it hurt?"

"Not much. It was worth it."

You smiled down at him. He was holding your gaze so intently. So real, so sweet.

You showered together, carefully caressing his chest and arms, and then his legs that must have been aching from kneeling so long. Then he gently grabbed your wrists and pulled your arms around him. You laughed, and called him, "my sweet boy."

His eyes suddenly grew fervent, and you thought you felt him stirring to life again against your thigh. "Say that again," he said. 

Your cheeks flushed. "You're my sweet boy."

As he stroked your back, he whispered into your ear, "you are my goddess. I'm so lucky I found you." You buried your face in his chest. He laughed. "How can you suddenly be so shy?"

"I, um..." you started uncertainly. "I'm not used to men sticking around."

His serious eyes swept your face, and he tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear. "Like I said before, you've been dating the wrong men. This isn't just a fling for me. You are the sexiest, most interesting, cutest girl I've ever met—"

"I'm not cute—"

"Yes, you are. Normally, you're this beautiful, charismatic queen, so it always takes me by surprise, but sometimes the way you laugh or the way you look at me is so cute I can't think." He lightly pinched your cheek, and you frowned playfully, turning away. "I'm not going to walk out on you. I want to be yours." He leaned close, but didn't kiss you. "Will you take care of me?"

You slid your hands up into his hair and pulled his face to yours. This wasn't like your other kisses. It wasn't innocent or rough, but passionate, and firm, and real. You were pretty sure you could love him, but you weren’t ready. Not yet. At this moment, you were happy to have him in your arms, holding you like he would never let you go.

[headmycanon]

MC Who is Really Bad at Makeup

Jumin

You and Jumin had been married for a couple of months. He made sure to hire the best fashion designers and makeup artists to make you look unbelievable for your wedding. When you first started living at Jumin’s studio, he assumed that you couldn’t bring your makeup from Rika’s apartment, so you didn’t bother. Shortly after the RFA party, he realised that you never wore makeup, even when he offered to purchase you high quality products. He was confused- all girls wear makeup, don’t they? He began taking a closer look at his female colleagues, leading to some angry outbursts from Jaehee- apparently women didn’t like to be stared at. The fact that you didn’t wear makeup didn’t bother him, he just found it odd. Whenever you had outings, he would always just hire someone to do your hair and makeup and the media never really paid mind to your face. It wasn’t until you were meeting Jumin’s father at a fancy restaurant and your makeup artist had to cancel last minute that you had done your makeup by yourself. You never went through the acne stage of puberty, so you never bothered wearing it. The last time you did it yourself was as a little kid when playing with makeup at a sleepover party.  

Now, you were stuck, standing in front of the mirror, surrounded by beauty supplies. “What’s that?” You thought to yourself, picking up what looked like an eyeshadow pallet. “Highlighter? And this isn’t a brand name… I guess I’m not using this.” You skipped a lot of steps a woman of your age would typically go through to do her makeup as you simply didn’t understand the purpose. You gave up on the eyeliner because it was crooked no matter how many times you’ve done it and you almost poked your eye out on several occasions; you gave up on concealer because what the fuck is a concealer?

When you were finally done, you sighed. “Good enough.” You fixed your hair that the hairstylist had completed about an hour ago and smacked your lips together after one last coat of lipstick.

You walked out of the bathroom, into your bedroom to show your husband. Upon seeing your face, he turned pale as a ghost. “Um… it’s nice, kitten… what a unique choice of colours for your eyes. Are you sure this is practical?” You assumed that purple eyeshadow would be a good asset to your purple dress. Unfortunately, the purple from the eyeshadow kit Jumin gave you was very subtle when placed on the face so you needed to apply multiple layers. “I believe you have applied too much foundation, as well… you look like Elizabeth III.” Elizabeth meowed from between his dress shoes.

“Um…” you didn’t know what to say. You weren’t angry at him. Your husband was always incredibly blunt, which either made arguments extremely easy to be sorted out or even easier to begin.

“I will need to reschedule…” Jumin looked down at his phone and sent a text, probably to Jaehee to cancel. 

Jumin felt bad that you didn’t know how to apply makeup as he felt all girls should be able to. When he had handed you the makeup, he assumed you knew what you were doing and left it at that. He decided he would sign you up for basic makeup classes just in case one of his stylists cancelled again.  

Seven

Being married to Saeyoung meant a lot of commitments. While this required emotional support, for not only your husband but also his brother, there were tons of fun commitments. One of Saeyoung’s favourite things to do was cosplay…or should I say crossplay? Whether it was for the hell of it, or to mess with the RFA on the messenger, or for...um…intimate times, he was intent on dressing up. This never bothered you. You’d often go along with it and help him dress up, occasionally dressing up yourself. It was fine until the day Saeyoung broke his arm. You don’t know what he did and questioned if you even wanted to know. According to Saeran, he was paying too much attention to his phone and ended up jamming his arm hard with his car door… you figured there was more to the story. Since he was left without his dominant arm, Saeyoung relied on you and Saeran to complete a lot of his everyday tasks. You were fine doing all of these chores- you did most of the chores anyways, but trouble came when he asked you to do his makeup. Whenever you cosplayed, Saeyoung always offered to do the makeup. You didn’t bother telling him that you don’t know how to put it on properly, but never considered he would break his arm.

“Baaaaaabeeeeee” he whined, more to annoy you than anything else.

“Whaaaaat? You whined back.

“I’m gonna dress up as a magical girl! Can you do my makeup?”

“I guess...” you hesitated.

So there you were, standing in front of his never ending pile of makeup supplies- surprisingly even larger than his load of Honey Buddha Chips. You sifted through his supplies until you could find some items you recognized and went to work. Unlike his normal hyper self, Saeyoung was very calm when applying makeup, to be as precise as possible. You hoped he didn’t notice your shaking hand when you applied his eyeliner because he definitely would when you were finished. He noticed there was an issue when you spread way too much setting powder on his face, causing him to cough and sneeze. He quickly felt around beside him to find his glasses and picked up the mirror in a hurry. The smirk on his face was not satisfaction but of amusement. You couldn’t get him to stop laughing and you couldn’t reach his phone in time for him to post a bunch of selfies on the RFA chat, showing off your “makeup wonders”. 

Yoosung

You and Yoosung had been dating for a couple of years. He had finished his degree and was opening his veterinarian office very soon. The boy never noticed that you didn’t wear makeup. He didn’t notice a lot of things, but that’s because it’s difficult to get him to think. Due to the grand opening of his veterinarian office, you decided that you would dress up and put more effort into your appearance. You knew Yoosung would find you beautiful no matter how you looked, you just wanted to try a bit harder and maybe give him more of a reason to show you off to his friends. After all, he was the first of his friends to get a girlfriend.

You got up around the same time as Yoosung did that day, something Yoosung found a bit odd as it was your day off. Nonetheless, he made you a quick breakfast before heading out to the office. When you heard the door shut, you got all excited and had to find a way to control yourself before you started your makeup. It took a couple of hours, but you were ready to see your boyfriend.

Upon walking into the clinic, you received a few stares from the visitors to the party. You shrugged it off, assuming they were confused how Yoosung could land such a pretty girl. It was not until you reached him, that you realised something was off.

“Hey, MC!” Yoosung exclaimed, trying to hold a smile and bite back his laughter.

“Yoosung! I’m so proud of you!” You ran up and hugged your boyfriend.

“Thanks! A-and you look… um… different? Did you do something with your face?” he asked hesitantly.

“Um, yeah. Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, aha, no. You look lovely, but I think you have something on your cheek…you should check it out in the bathroom…” You realised all of the stares you had been receiving- it was the makeup! How did you mess up? Wasn’t it in a girl’s genes to make the perfect eyeliner wing? Your face turned bright red as you looked down in embarrassment. “Oh, um. Can everyone excuse me?”

Yoosung took you to the side and lifted up your face to look eye to eye. “Uh, you wore makeup!” he tried so hard to sound enthusiastic.

“Yeah… I guess it didn’t turn out how I wanted it to…” you giggled.

He giggled, too. “You know you don’t have to do that for me. You look beautiful just as your natural self!”

You nodded but looked down again. “I wanted to impress you and make you happy…”

“How can I not be happy? My girlfriend tried to put on makeup just for me! I bet all of my friends are jealous!”

“Should I take it off?” you asked, meekly.  

“Let’s go to the bathroom.”

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly. Nobody brought up the makeup fiasco and Yoosung was extremely happy with how many potential clients turned up. You were given several compliments from Yoosung’s friends, including some hitting on you to Yoosung’s demise. You decided you would never attempt to wear makeup before making sure you didn’t look like a clown.

Zen

Dating Hyun had its ups and its downs. He was a semi-famous theatre actor and constantly had girls flocking to him, whether you were present or not. You knew Hyun was faithful and loved you dearly, but you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by some of his gorgeous fangirls. They were lovely, while you were plain. You often visited Hyun directly after your long day at work, so you never exactly looked your best. He seemed happy to see you regardless, but you felt that you should put in a little more effort in the case that he was having second thoughts about you. On a day when you were allowed to leave work earlier, you decided to stop by your shared apartment and “doll yourself up”. You were never one to put too much effort into your appearance. You would wear light makeup to make yourself look presentable in an office environment, but never felt the need to do anything extravagant. This time was going to be different. You pulled out the eyeshadow kit your sister had given you for Christmas years ago, unopened but ready to be used.

You breathed in, ready to open the doors to Hyun’s studio. You were a bit nervous about showing up earlier than expected, but figured the surprise would make him happy. However, this was not exactly the case…

Hyun screamed higher than you knew was possible, almost high enough to be a dog whistle, when you walked into the theatre. “O-oh! MC! That’s you! I thought you were- um…. Is it October already?”

That was the moment you realised you fucked up. “U-uh…I gotta go!” You quickly ran out to the streets, ready to walk home, ready to try and convince Hyun it was an allusion…but you were stopped.

“Jagiya! What’s the rush? Didn’t you want to see me?”

“Oh, um… I realised that something sudden came up-” You went to leave, but were stopped by Hyun’s tight arms.

“Jagiya, you don’t need to hide. I was just surprised. I feel so bad for reacting like that! Please forgive me! Turn around, please! I want to see you!”

You gave your panicking boyfriend a break and turned to face him, with a sigh. “Yeah, I look stupid, I know… I just figured I needed to look pretty to be-”

“You’re too perfect for me!” he interrupted you. “Don’t you ever think that you’re not pretty or smart or charismatic or anything! I don’t deserve such an angelic soul! You were the one who loved me from what was inside and not for my face! Jagiya-why are you crying?” He grabbed hold of your head and pressed it to his chest. Hyun ran his fingers through your hair until you calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I wanted to be like the girls you are surrounded by, Lovely Zen…but I’m not like them at all.”

“You not being like them at all is why I’m with you and not them! Do you think they’re able to make me smile as much as you do?”

In the end, Hyun decided that he would teach you how to do makeup properly in the case that you wanted to try it again. This fiasco was a thing in the past that you both learned to laugh about. You knew that Zen loved you no matter what and you loved him.

[malevielonnie]

Mal Headcanon

Okay so this is just a quick, fun little thing I thought up the other day. Seeing as Mal is Fae, I imagine ordinary things would affect her in different ways than they would humans, so here’s one of those.

- So basically, her natural hair color is the deep purple we see in the first movie 

- (Unlike Evie’s hair, which is dyed, but since she loves it so much and Mal loves her so much one of the first things she does when off the Isle is use magic to make Evie’s permanent color blue, but I digress)

- She’s always loved her hair color, especially following the events of the second movie. After all, it makes her unique - she may be part Auradon, but she is still part Isle, too, and that will never change.

- That’s not to say she doesn’t really hate her hair sometimes.

-  She’s sitting on her bed doodling when she first feels it. A little tickle in her throat, a sneeze coming on. The onset of a cold. Sure enough, when she looks in the mirror later, there are tinges of red in her hair, close to the ends and barely noticeable, but still enough to make her groan. She always hates when this happens, but figures she’ll try to sleep it off, and just deal with it in the morning if she doesn’t. 

- If either she or Evie had woken up in the middle of the night, they would have noticed the red start to creep up to the roots of her hair and eventually, her entire color changing.

- When she wakes up, she feels terrible. Her body aches, she’s got a headache, and she can’t breathe out of her nose. Yup, definitely have a cold. She steps into the bathroom to wash her face and quickly glances into the mirror before doing a double-take.

- Her scream of shock wakes Evie up. Worried, she runs to make sure Mal is okay.

- “Mal, what’s - oh. my. gosh.” Shocked at first, Evie then bursts into laughter when she sees Mal’s full head of yellow hair.

- It’s not blonde, like when Mal spelled it in order to try to fit in. It’s not gold, like on the crest of Auradon. No, it’s yellow, and the worst shade of it, too. The color of mustard or rotting wood and Mal hates it.  (more under the cut)

- She was aware that her hair cycled through colors whenever she got sick. It was one of the few but unfortunate drawbacks of being Fae, but back on the Isle, it was never this bad. Her purple would be duller and she’d get a few streaks of the other colors, but this is her first time getting sick in Auradon, and the magic is a lot stronger here than it was on the Isle.

- So now she has a full head of yellow hair. The exact opposite of the purple she’s so proud of.

- As soon as Evie’s fit of laughter subsides, she tells her to stay in bed until she gets better. She’ll bring her notes and food throughout the day, and she’ll get Jay, Carlos, and even Ben or Lonnie to help if they’re not too busy.

- Mal insists on covering up her hair. She knows the yellow won’t go away until the worst part of the cold is gone, and she is not risking anyone else seeing it. Not unless they want to get slapped by a giant dragon wing, that is. 

- Evie gives her this hat that looks absolutely ridiculous on Mal, but hey, at least it covers up her hair.

- Jay and Carlos stop by later on in the day to bring her lunch, and when they see that hat, they immediately burst into laughter just as Evie had that morning. Mal glares at them and tells them to shut up. Carlos actually does, but it’s only because he remembers what happens to her hair when she gets sick. Putting two and two together, he asks, shocked and amused, “Wait, is your hair - what would it be, yellow? Like, all of it?” 

- Her silence is confirmation enough, and the two start laughing again, so hard they can barely stand. Mal throws her sketchbook at them and they leave the food before she has the chance to pummel them with more of her belongings, exiting her room as tears start to stream down their face. 

- After school ends, Evie spends the entire afternoon trying to distract Mal and wipe that pout off of her face by showing her some of her new designs. Mal starts to brighten up when Evie tells her she would love for them to work together, Mal using her artistic skills to design some sort of patterned fabric, and Evie sewing it into a garment. 

- By the time night rolls around, Mal’s not only distracted from the symptoms of her cold, but she's not even that upset about her yellow anymore. 

- The next day, she’s feeling a little better and sure enough, her hair is a deep, mucus-like shade of green. She’s still not happy with it, but at least it means she’s getting better and her beloved purple will be back soon. 

- Her friends all come over that day to help Evie take care of and cheer up Mal. Ben and Lonnie tell her that the color changes are actually kind of cool. Although there are other Fae in Auradon, like Jane and Tara (Tinker Bell’s daughter), they’ve never seen anything like it before. Mal tries, and fails, to hide her blush when they tell her they think it just makes her more unique. 

- The following day, Mal feels a lot better but is still just a little congested. She can guess what comes next and is actually a little excited to check her hair, though she tries to act like she isn’t.

- But then she smiles when she sees her hair is the exact same shade of blue as Evie’s. Mal is so stunned she doesn’t even notice when Evie walks up behind her, a smile even bigger than her own plastered on her face. “Now this one is definitely my favorite.”

- Mal’s well enough to go back to class, so she and Evie proudly walk through the halls together, matching blue hair and all. Some are confused, some are stunned, but they don’t really care.

- Mal’s favorite color may be purple, but if she had to pick, blue is a pretty close second. 

- She’s fully recovered the next day, and her hair is purple once again. Finally.

-  As she and Evie are about to leave for breakfast, Evie turns to her and smiles. “As much as I loved the blue, the purple is what makes you, well, you.”

- “Maybe I could get you to try it one day. It is the color of royalty, after all. Fit for a princess.”

- Evie shakes her head, but smirks, “There’s the Mal I love. You’re feeling better all right.”

- (Mal still makes sure to ask Evie to make her a nicer hat. You know, just in case.)

Okay so that turned out to be way longer than I thought it would be. Maybe I’ll turn it into an actual fic one day. Hope you guys enjoyed!

[kierarutherford]

Blood and Lust

Idea was what if Cullen went with the Inquisitor (When romanced) into the field. Originally, he’d be concerned about them until he saw how impressive their abilities were. -From @dapromptexchange I wanted a twist on this. What if Cullen saw her fighting and it turned him on. Hmm… so we have for your enjoyment: Cullen and my OC Diana Trevelyan. NSFW and I like it that way. Word count - 2929 (it kinda just ran from me, and that’s cool) Some mention of blood and gore, death, and smut. Under the cut for length. Thank you! AND tagging @princessvicky01 because she wanted to read this piece, so for you hun! Enjoy!

The entire journey to the Shrine of Dumat had been quiet. More so than she was used to and in stark contrast to the clatter of metal and scent of blood that awaited them at their destination. Cullen had been too focused on fighting, too honed-in on finding Samson that he didn’t even think about Diana while he hewed down red templar after red templar.

Searching the burning ruins, it became reality that once again, Samson had evaded him. Once again just outside of his reach. Collecting everything they could use they settled camp a few kilometers from the smoking building.

Everyone was on high alert and exhausted from their fight having also endured the thrum of red lyrium. Cullen in particular, found his mood much improved once he put distance between himself and the angry crystal. Taking shifts, they all kept vigil less any of the red templars were lurking in the near by woods. To his surprise it was an uneventful evening. With everyone rested they began the trek back to Skyhold. It would take several days and while there was no immediate rush, Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling they were being followed.

“We are being followed,” Diana lowered her voice as she steered her horse close to his, “they intend to ambush us at the pass, ahead.” She maintained her calm demeanor as she smiled, “don’t fuss too much, they’ll know we’re on to them. I haven’t got a proper count of their numbers but I believe we are out numbered.” Looking back over her shoulder she smiled to Bull, “the Commander wishes to stop up head, he needs a moment.” Turning back, she hissed, “play along.”

“Yes, if you don’t mind of course,” Cullen nodded over his shoulder. The hairs on his neck were standing as he followed Diana’s lead. Hoping down from his horse he handed the reigns to Diana. “I don’t understand your plan.”

Stifling a giggle, she tied the horses together and passed the reigns around a tree along their path, “take the advantage away. If we linger, they will grow impatient. Striking us in anger and hurry, losing their edge. It may not be a perfect win, but it assures us less aches come the morning.” The others clattered up to them jumping from their horses. “Be ready, it won’t be long. The fat one over there just sneezed,” she lilted her head towards a massive oak. “There’s at least a dozen of them, if not more. I can’t be sure. Lost count last night.”

“Last night?” Cullen half squeaked out as his thumb traced the pommel of his hilt. He had thought they had been lucky to walk away from the Shrine with no one giving chase. Now here was Diana pointing out too much for his brain to focus on.

Clicking her tongue Diana patted his arm, “don’t take it personally, Commander, you are an ex-templar not a seasoned tracker. I’m sure only the Dalish rival my skills. Now if I were you,” she pulled her sword and unhooked her buckler from her shoulder, “I would prepare. This is going to be a close one. Thankful they didn’t bring any archers.”

No sooner had she leveled her shield did the red templars spring from the woods. Cullen braced himself best he could but panic rose in his chest. In the rush before he hadn’t seen her skill, and while her tracking and estimates of the red templars were accurate, could she back that with sword skill. His questions were being answer before him as she charged the first soldiers, her blade glinting in the late morning sun.

Shields clashed as she slammed head long into the templar. Not risking a power struggle, she slammed into his shield and using the momentum, sprang off her feet and rolled around him. With no time to react she quickly found the weak spot in his armor and drove her blade in deep. Crimson splattered down the grooves of the blade, splashing along her gloved hand and the dirt path.

Cullen couldn’t help the swell filling his chest and travelling even lower. There was a fluidic and gracefulness to her movements. Acrobatic strength and raw beauty as she dealt death. Giving his head a shake he refocused on the men pouring from the woods.

Magic and metal singed and sang as they battled on. Smoke and blood filling the air as their group dealt measured death. Diana felt herself tiring, “we need to finish this, Dorian!”

“I’m too pretty to die,” he howled as he cast out. Reaching in his robes he pulled another lyrium potion. Sucking it back quickly he shivered under the rush of power, “get behind me!” Everyone rushed towards Dorian seeing his hands pulse and swirl in a sparkling purple flare. Focusing the energy his lip quivered in a grand smirk. Casting out towards the largest guy he thrust the magic forward. “You may want to take cover,” he grunted forcing out a barrier before them, “and for those with tender stomachs, I wouldn’t look.” As he spoke the vibrant ball of magic entered the body before them. The red templar twitched, doubled over and let out a feral yelp before his eyes started to glow. “One more second,” Dorian grinned holding his open hand out. “and, now.” Dorian clenched his open hand into a tight fist. Magic flickered from his palm. The red templar’s back bent backwards sharply as he howled again. His howling burst as his body bubbled and his armor squealed as the metal twisted. In a bright flare of light, the man exploded, sending a shockwave of bone shards into the unsuspecting group of red templars surrounding him.

“Dorian…” Cullen groaned as blood sputtered out of the wretched corpses laying on the ground. Some of them still alive as they groaned and twitched along the ground. Gripping their wounds, sections of the man’s ribs imbedded in their faces, chests, limbs.

“Let’s finish them quickly, they’ve suffered enough,” Diana smirked as she kicked at the one before her, “perhaps not quite enough.” Going about the wet work they finished off the men quickly. Looting through to salvage anything useful. Once that was done, Diana slashed a section of fabric from a fallen templar and calmly strolled over to the small stream running by the road. Dipping her blade in she hummed to herself as she cleaned off the blood and matter. Wiping herself down she sheathed her sword and hooked her shield to her horse, “we should get to our campsite before the stars are forced to light our way.”

Cullen was dumbstruck. Her calm demeanor, a cool sense of strength and sureness that lit a sense of wonder and adoration deep in the pit of his gut. Clumsily following her lead, he climbed atop of his horse and followed closely behind her. He was mesmerized by the sway of her fiery hair as he hung down her back. How her shoulder rose and fell with the cantor of the stallion beneath her.

“See something interesting, dear Commander,” Dorian bristled next to him. “Perhaps you should take the night off watch, you’re of little use to the group if you can’t focus.”

“I… I… uh…” he rubbed at the base of his neck, cheeks blooming a brilliant red.

“Hush, you are adorable, indeed,” Dorian chuckled as he kicked his horse up to meet with Diana.

Cullen fumbled with the reigns as he tried not to look up. Keeping his head down he stumbled over what he would say to her once they made camp. Surely by now Dorian had told her of his boyish fawning. Trotting along he maintained his position with the group, only lifting his head once he caught the sound of feet hitting the ground before him. Stumbling along he jumped from his horse too. They must have arrived at their site.

Everyone did their chores from collecting firewood, to setting up tents and setting out cooking gear. Things moved rapidly as night began to creep over the horizon. It flowed smoothly and without much hassle dinner was bubbling away in the pot upon the crackling fire. Crowded around that fire they all laughed and tittered about the day, Diana’s unique catch of the fat templar, and the extra half day it would take to reach Skyhold.

“Dearest cousin, please, get some rest. Bull has offered to take the first watch. Varric is going to assume the second and,” letting out a groan Dorian rolled his eyes back at Bull, “I shall take the final watch.”

Letting a coiled grin kiss her lips Diana peered towards Cullen as she spoke, “well dearest cousin that is quite generous of all of you. I appreciate the efforts put forth.” Rising she tipped her head to everyone, “I should bid you all good night then, since I’m sure the Commander will want to make up for lost time.” Hiding the grin cracking across her face she licked her lips, “I’m certain he will want to ride hard tomorrow to reach Skyhold.”

Cullen furrowed his brow, not picking up on the subtle innuendo of her speech. Feeling a stubby finger poke his side he glanced over to Varric. “Follow her Curly, Maker’s breath you’re slow tonight.” Eyes flashing wide Cullen staggered back as he watched Diana slip into her tent, “what?” he barely mumbled.

“Bull would you kindly speak to the man,” Dorian waved his arm as he disappeared into his tent.

Bull slapped Cullen across the back as Varric threw up his hands and sauntered off to his tent, “Cullen, go get her. A little after battle sex, hot and heavy. Best way to cool off.”

Cullen flushed red as he stood sharply, “I… uh… well…” turning about he realize he was alone with Bull, “good night, Bull.” Keeping his head low he rushed off towards the tents. Peeking over his shoulder he saw Bull’s face down adding another thick log to the fire. Clenching his jaw tightly he went for it, ducking into her tent.

“I was wondering if you were going to figure it out,” Diana lay upon the top of her bedroll, in nothing but her smalls and bra band.

Lips pressed tightly together Cullen stifled a long groaning grunt as he began tugging at his armor. Practiced hands slipping buckles and clasps as he watched her toy with the lip of her bra band. Her finger dipping under the fabric and ringing around the edge plunging between her bountiful bosom.

Kicking at his boots he nearly tumbled to the floor. Righting himself he pulled the last pieces of his armor off and discarded them to the side. Pulling his shirt over his head he let out a throaty half growl, “I don’t wish the entire camp to know what we’re doing tonight.”

Reaching behind her she unclipped her bra band, catching the material against her breast she sighed, “of course. Believe me when I say you don’t want to give Iron Bull ideas when Dorian is around.”

Finishing with the ties to his pants he hurriedly hauled them down. Standing before her, naked and ready he licked his lips, “good. Take it off, now.” His voice was low and smacked of his stern Commander tone.

Purring she tossed the bra band at his face. Looping her finger tips in her smalls she stood up, “yes Commander,” turning sideways she shimmied her hips, dragging the clothe inch by painstaking inch down her toned, bronze thighs. It was too much as he sucked in his bottom lip, sinking his teeth into the stubble patch of skin beneath. Tossing her bra band towards his armor he stalked towards her, half primal predator half remaining in control. He knew she loved to unleash this side. Pure carnal sin and animal ferocity nestled just underneath his cool veneer.

Sinking to her knees she licked her lips, waiting for him to come closer. Taking as much joy in teasing her as she did in tease him he got down to his fours. His eyes never leaving hers as he crawled towards her, the beast in steady pursuit. His eyes drove her back, upon her elbows and down to the bedroll, where he loomed over her. Kneeing her legs open his breath heavy, he pressed her down into the woven blankets, “I’ve wanted you all day.”

Dragging her nails along his shoulders and up into his hair she sighed, “seeing me fight turns you on?” It was less a question, and more a sinful statement as she nipped his bottom lip, drawing a harsh moan from him.

“You are grace and death,” he sealed his lips to her, eager and forceful, just how she always craved him. Leaning further into her he craved the sounds she could make. Low and wicked murmurs that made him weak. Taking her lip in his teeth he graced them over the sensitive flesh, “you are sin and base, a demon wrapped in sweet promises.”

Licking his upper lip, she grinned against his mouth, “I love when you talk dirty to me.” Pulling him back into herself she snaked her hands down his neck, over the taut muscles of his back, passing countless scars as she reached over the small of his back to grasp his rear tightly in her palms. Forcing him forward she felt his tip twitch at the sudden dip into her warmth. Shuddering she threw her head back, “fuck, yes,” she gritted out between her teeth. “Fuck me hard, Cullen. Lay claim to me.”

A thunderous bellow held tightly in his chest as he thrust into her, driving himself as deep as he could. Gasping above he, he seized her wrists. Pinning them over her head in one hand he grinned, “how do you ask for such things?” His face loomed over hers just beyond her reach. Struggling would be ineffective against his size and strength but he knew she would. Knew she loved the chase, the callous and naked approach to their love making. She bucked under him, twisting her hip against his, forcing him in and out of her. Leaning back, he grinned, “that’s not being a very good girl, is it?” He tugged on her nipple, earning another low hiss and curse. “How do we ask for such things?” He enjoyed being in control, enjoyed commanding her in such a way. A way he never thought of until she came along, equal parts fire and tempered water, and only for him.

“Fuck me hard, Commander, please,” her doe eyes batted their long lashes as her lips pouted.

He twitched hard inside of her, so much so she gasped at the sudden shift. How he loved this game, how it drove him higher. He couldn’t last, wouldn’t last much longer and by the tightening around his length, she couldn’t either. Giving her breast, a firm swat he grinned, “did you want your hands back, temptress?”

“Mhmm, please Commander. I wish to touch you,” licking her lips she eyed him like a hungry wolf prepared to devour him whole.

Slapping her other breast, he released her hands, “good girl.” His voice was low as he rocked his hips, “come here,” he opened his arms to her as he leaned back upon his knees. Helping her into his lap he thrust up into her, her own hips matching his rhythm made the tent spin. Light was fading, the tent whirled and the delicious sounds of her sighs and moans were in his ear as he clutched her to him, “damnit Di…” he panted. His walls were closing in, sound and atmosphere washing away in the cloudy haze swirling about him. Her voice broke the sensation, “fill me, fuck me.” Burying his face in her breasts he sucked one of the stiff peaks into his mouth hard. Her half cry was muffled as she sank her teeth into her palm to muffle herself. Squeezing her rear in the other hand he could hear her heart hammering in her chest. Another thrust and both were squelching their wails. Riding their climax together, their breaths frantic and gasping. He released her breast and rested his forehead against hers.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she let out a soft giggle, “you are a delectable prince.”

Chuckling along with her, he struggled to catch his breath, “I love you, Diana. I hope you know that.”

Giving his rear, a firm swat she let out a chorus of giggles, “of course I do, silly. I would never allow anyone else to ride me like you.” Seeing his face twist up in an odd assortment of confusion and amusement she laughed again, “oh Cullen, you are such an innocent little creature. Never change.” Carefully slipping off his lap she swiped a rag from her bag and tidied them off, “come, sleep. I’m sure you’ll be marching us at a wicked pace come morning.”

Giving his head a shake he sighed, “I shall never get used to your humor and sense of carefree flippancy.”

“Flippancy?” she laughed again, “Maker Cullen, I’m only getting started,” winking she patted the bedroll, “come on. There’s room for two.”

Sinking into the bedroll, he cradled her in his arms, “thank you.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow she nestled into his chest, “no thank you my dearest. I love you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Even if I don’t say it nearly enough, know I do. Now hush before you make me get all mushy.”

Snuggling her tightly he sighed, “perish the thought.”

[imgilmoregirl]

A Thing Between Light And Darkness (Chapter 2)

AO3 Link

That was it, Alice thought, angrily kicking the Cadillac's wheel. Her hair and clothes were damp because of the pouring rain that persisted the whole morning and she wanted to scream in frustration. Damn Storybrooke, damn stupid Gideon that spoke to her once just to pretend she didn’t exist for the next two weeks and damn uncle Rumford’s old car, so useless as his basically inexistent ability of speaking openly.

She had tried so hard to take something from him, but he just wouldn’t speak. Her very first theory that day after she touched Gideon’s hand and found out that he beard magic, was that he could maybe be related to them, since he looked so much alike her uncle, maybe even a son, but then, she remembered about how he took care of her for years and felt pretty sure that he would never abandon a child of his. It leaved her with no clue about that boy’s origins, but she had heard from someone that he was the son of the town’s librarian and had lost his father just a year ago.

Pure nonsense to her, but Alice liked a good mystery. What she didn’t like, however was standing in there tipping her uncle’s number repeatedly and groaning every time he didn’t pick up. Looking angrily at her phone Alice was about to grab her bag and start to walk all the way home when she heard the loud noise of a car skidding through the road to stop just millimetres from her.

"What the hell are you doing here?” Gideon asked, stretching himself through the window. “Nobody takes this road!"

"Well, I do and apparently, you too."

"It's the quickest way home," he answered. "What are you doing in the middle of the rain?"

"Taking a bath," she returned, sarcastically. "Ugh, the freaking car broke!"

Oh, if she was just able to get full control of her powers... But right now, she wasn’t. Actually, Alice was fighting to keep herself from doing any harm to anyone with them as they were growing stronger. Aunt Regina had alerted her about this; their whole family struggled with the same at some point and for what she knew, her mother, Eloise, had tried to deal with hers until her very last breath.

"Do you want me to drive you home?" Gideon screamed from inside the car.

"No. I'm trying to call my uncle," Alice affirmed, her attention turning back to the wet phone again, struggling to tip with the number as the drops fell against the screen.

"You're going to get a cold," the boy insisted. "Get in the car, please."

That was the last thing she wanted to do. Gideon was nice, too nice, when he wasn’t ignoring her and that combined to the fact that he looked like uncle Rum, simply got her mad. So, breathing in, she opened the Cadillac’s front door, grabbed her backpack, and turned around, shutting it close behind her.

"Forget it, I can walk."

"Alice!” Gideon exclaimed, impatient. “Come on, don't be so stubborn."

She sneezed twice, feeling her body start to tremble with cold, making her sure that by the end of the week she would be burning in fever if she didn’t warm herself soon. Swallowing her pride, she slid inside Gideon’s passenger seat.

"Your car seat will get damp," Alice remarked.

"That's alright."

"I hate this place," she complained as he started to drive.

"There is two of us, then."

He smirked and for all the gods sake, she could see the phantom of her uncle like he was sitting in there beside her and that was just maddening.

"Can you stop this, please?"

Gideon furrowed.

"Stop what?"

"Looking like my uncle," Alice freaked out.

Alright, now she sounded like the crazy people had been saying she was. Apparently, a woman called Victoria Belfrey had convinced the whole town that she had spent three years in an asylum, her aggressive behaviour controlled by a bunch of pills, which clearly was a lie. Alice though herself a little bit crazy, yes, and she had a pretty odd family with pretty unique gifts and maybe a tendency to madness, but she had never been in an asylum and those rumours only server to get her irritated most of time.

Gideon, however didn’t stop the car and told her to get the hell out, instead he laughed out loud.

"So that's who I remind you about?" He inquired, still chuckling. "You know, I have never set eyes on him and I live here since I was born."

"He doesn't like the town too," she shrugged.

The car drowned in silence of a moment and she noticed that he didn’t ask her for her address, but in that stupid town, everybody already knew where she lived and even though the big salmon house, very distant from the others, it was a part of Storybrooke and the mental map its residents probably had by now.

"So, what's your story?" Gideon started. "Do your parents live any near here?"

"Their ashes are resting somewhere in Seattle," she said, slightly laughing humourlessly in her own answer. "They died in a fire."

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know," the boy replied. "I lost my father a while ago too, he got himself into a car crash, but he was kind of a bastard so nobody truly mourned him."

"Well, sorry for you."

And her theory about a lost son confirmedly failed. She really wanted to ask Gideon if he knew he had all the power she could feel on him, but Alice wasn’t going to do so. At least, not now.

"Yeah, well we are better without him."

Alice sighed, looking through the window as she mumbled bitterly: "You really don't need to speak to me now if you're going to ignore me tomorrow."

"I...” Gideon swallowed. “Oh, I didn't want to ignore you, but Mrs. Potts keeps babbling into my head saying that your family is danger and I should stay away."

"Who is Mrs. Potts? A teacher?"

His cheeks got a little flushed and it took him a while to answer, but as soon as the words left his mouth, Alice knew why.

"No, my nanny."

"You have a nanny?" She guffawed.

"I did, when I was a kid, now she is just like part of the family."

The girl was still suffocating some laughs to think of a boy his age being watched by an old rigorous nanny, but as the car rolled down the road, the chuckles eventually died and she calmed herself.

"Right," Alice whispered. "I was planning on looking for a job today. Any recs?"

"Actually, yes. My mom needs an assistant at the library. If you appear there tomorrow after school, I'll make sure the job is yours."

Money sounded good. Something else to do other than watching her uncle read and play piano during the whole after, sounded even better, but spending this time locked between shelves didn’t appear to be much fun, even though it was better than ending up on a grocery store.

"I don't know, libraries are not much my style."

"You'll like, I promise."

As he said those words, the car reached the gates of the Gold Manor, and she opened the door to find Pongo sitting there, looking straight at her.

"I'll think about that,” Alice promised, “thank you for the ride."

Gideon nodded, watching as she disappeared with the Dalmatian trotting by her side, looking back at him at each few steps.

Rumford watched through Pongo’s eyes when Belle’s car parked outside his house, his heart flipping painfully in his chest. He saw Alice getting out and noticed that there was a boy inside there, instead of the woman he still loved even after all those years. It was her son, he was pretty sure.

He had never caught a good look at him, even though Pongo constantly followed the librarian through the town, to make sure she was alright and not bad could reach her as he knew that most people who knew about their past secret relationship wanted her dead. The very reason he couldn’t be with her.

However, it was always a relief for his loneliness to watch the years pass for Belle through the dog’s eyes. He had seen everything, watching from distant as she lived the life he wanted for them with another man, just like he asked her to do the last time they spoke to each other face to face. Blinking, Rumford, reached for the book he was reading, hearing Alice get inside the house as he found the last note she left for him, a little gift of communication they had been sharing weekly for the last sixteen years or so.

He kissed the paper with her handwriting in which she professed her eternal love for him. But unfortunately, their love couldn’t go any further than in paper; it didn’t matter for Rum, he would get any bit of it he could and he would be grateful, even knowing that she would never truly belong to him.

[treehoes]

Tree Bros Oneshot

Word count: 1683 Connor and Evan are hanging out with weed and beer and Evan is a lightweight and a very talkative drunk. (Gay) TW: smoking, weed, alcohol, mentions of depression, anxiety --- "I want to get high. Or drunk. Or both" Evan stated bluntly. Him and his friend, Connor were sitting in Connor's bed, watching tv. "What?" "You know how life fucking sucks? Like really fucking sucks with school and anxiety and depression and all that, well it's being shittier than usual right now and you use weed or alcohol to take the edge off when life is being a bitch, and life is being a bitch so I want something to repress it for a couple hours. It's ok if you don't want to give me anything because they're yours and not mine but I was just wondering and you know what, you don't have to give me anything, it's fine I'll live without it. Sorry for even asking." "No dude it's fine. I got you." He said as he got up from his spot on his bed. He crossed the room to his closet and shuffled through some clothes and boxes until he found what he needed. He pulled a joint, a black lighter, and two bottles of beer. He lit the joint and handed it to Evan along with one of the beers. "Here you go." "Thanks." Evan grabbed it gingerly and brought it to his mouth. He breathed in and started coughing immediately. "That's normal, you'll cough for the first couple hits. Then you'll hopefully get used to it. " "Ok." Silence. "I feel edgy like I'm doing bad things without my mom's knowledge. Do you always feel like a rebel 'cause this is cool. We should go rob a bank or steal an old lady's purse. Something like that!" Evan exclaimed. "I think someone's getting too edgy, do I need to take that away from you?" "No, I'm sorry." "Don't apologize you didn't do anything wrong." "Sorry." "You didn't do anything, if fine!" "Are you sure?" "Yes! I'm 147% sure. Now can you pass the joint?" Evan handed over silently. The two boys sat and drank and smoked and just talked and laughed until everything was gone. Evan was wasted after the one beer and half a joint because he is such lightweight, while Connor was barely tipsy. Evan was giggling in Connor's bed over how funny the wall looked. 'Damn he looks cute,' Connor thought. "Hey Ev, I'm going to the bathroom I'll be right back. Don't leave this room, ok?" Evan, who was now laughing uncontrollably, managed to say an ok through his hysteria. Connor was only gone for two minutes, at the most, but when he came back Evan was sitting on the bed, a different person, as he was yelling at the taller boy. "AH! Who are you? Get out of my room!" He pointed "Ev, I'm Connor, and this is my room." He said slowly crossing over to Evan, trying to assure him that he was ok, but also getting kind of annoyed because this could potentially be a big problem. "This isn't your room you're a liar!" "What the fuck Evan, it's Connor. I was gone for two minutes how'd you forget?" Connor was now standing at the edge of the bed next to Evan, who was sitting as far back from Connor as he could. "You're not Connor you imposter! But woah. You sorta look like him." Evan crawled up to the edge of the bed and cradled his hands around the other boy's face, feeling the features. "What are you doing?" "Touching you." "Why?" "Because you look like my friend Connor." "Oh do I now?" Connor asked, now playing along with Evan's drunken state. "Ya, but you're not as cute as him." Connor blushed, "he's not that cute." "Oh but he is! His hair is long and beautiful and so soft, I could run my hands through it all day. And when he has it up in a bun it's gorgeous and it makes his face look even better, and his face, oh his face. He doesn't smile much, but when he does, there crinkles around his mouth that make his smile ten million times more beautiful. He also has the most amazing eyes. The most beautiful things in the world. I could stare into them for hours but I can't because he'll think I'm weird. But they're a pale blue, kinda like the color of faded jeans or the sky, and the right one has a spot of brown in the corner. I don't think he likes it because whenever it's brought up he gets a little mad, like he never wanted because it makes him the 'kid with the weird eye', but I think it makes him different and unique and beautiful." "What else do you like about him?" Conner egged Evan's drunken rambling on to see what else he'd say about him. "Connor Murphy is nice, and he's getting better and further away from mean secluded Connor, but nobody cares to see that in him, but they still think of him as old Connor and that makes me mad. I just want Connor to be happy because of all the shit he's been through, he deserves it. And Connor is also really funny too! His jokes make me laughs hard, that one time milk shot out of my nose. It really hurt, but it was a really good joke. I think it was about Jared. He's so amazing and he deserves all the love in the world and I love him so much, since the day I met him I felt something for him, but he'll never reciprocate my affections because he's probably straight, and even if he liked boys there are better ones than me, so it's pointless but I can't let go of it. Just don't tell him that I said all this because he might get mad and not want to hang out with me anymore or be my best friend and I don't want that so I'm just going to keep quiet." Connor was flabbergasted. Evan, his crush since forever, his unrequited love, just drunkenly admitted his feelings about him. Connor was blushing so hard, he probably looked like a tomato. "You really do like him huh?" "More than anything." Connor blushed harder than ever, and was probably brighter than a tomato. "Wow. I think he likes you too." "Really! You think?! No way, you're lying." "He told me." "Holy shit." Evan's face glowing with his beautiful, radiant, signature Evan Hansen smile. He couldn't believe it. "Hey, I'm tired, I'm gonna go to bed." Evan laid down on the bed and instantly feel asleep. "Holy fuck." Connor muttered to himself. Evan talks a lot while drunk, but damn, he just admitted his love for Connor freaking Murphy of all people. He looked over at the boy in his bed, his eyes closed and he looked peaceful and adorable. He just wanted to hold him and protect him. Connor put a blanket over Evan's body and crawled into the spot next to him, but leaving space between them, and fell asleep, smiling. The next morning, Evan awoke with a pounding headache, reeking of weed, and no recollection of anything after he started drinking and smoking. It took him a minute to realize where he was, in Connor's room, in Connor's bed, with his arms around Connor. Shit. Did they sleep together? No, they both still had on their clothes. But Evan was holding a sleeping Connor in his arms. What is he suppose to do, take his arms away, and wake up Connor and have to explain that he had his arms around Connor, or does he stay and have to explain why he was holding the other. Evan decided that he'd do neither and pretend to fall back asleep and deal with it later. He was a minute deep into his plan when he sneezed and woke up the boy in his arms. "Sorry," Evan squeaked, unwrapping his arms from the other. "About what, I just woke up." "For waking you and having my arms around you I didn't even know I did it I woke up like that a-" "Evan." "Ya?" "It's fine, don't worry about it." "Are you sure?" "Positive." “100%?” “110% sure.” "Thank you, also, sorry to ask, what happened last night, I don't remember anything." "Don't apologize, but you don't remember anything?" "Nothing, the last thing I remember is taking a hit." "Really?" "Yes! Did I do something terrible? Please tell me! From what it looks like I did something bad, please tell me I didn't do anything bad. " "No, you just talked a lot.” “Oh god, sorry if I said anything embarrassing.” “No, you just went on and on about how beautiful I was." "Did I? That's embarrassing! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I don't like like you in a gay way because you're not my type or anything but I'm not saying that I don't like you, I like you but not that way." Connor was kind of hurt that Evan was denying everything he said. “You said you loved me last night." Evan started to panic, but tried his best to not show it. He couldn't believe he did that. Evan decided he'd never get wasted again. “I didn't mean it I swear I didn't I was just out of it. Please don't hate me.” “You seemed pretty sure last night. Talking about how beautiful my eyes were and how much you loved my personality while you were holding my face. To me it seemed pretty legit.” Connor tried to see if Evan was was truthful in his drunken moments or not, hoping that Evan really did love him. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I do really like you a lot and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I understand if you hate me now and want me to leave I should go r-" Connor smashed their lips together. Evan was so shocked, he forgot to kiss back. "I love you too Ev." Connor said after they parted. Evan was a blushing mess, "Can we do that again?" Connor nodded and connected them again.