#but I can't shadowboxing at the moment

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

BG3 Confessions

Sometimes I cope with life through playing Baldur's Gate 3.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

What You Do

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.

But the asshole is still going to try.

Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!

Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 7.6k

Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person. 

He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person. 

He’s not. 

Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-

You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.

But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual. 

You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.

He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.

“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“

“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck. 

You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.

When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.

There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer. 

But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there. 

His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.

Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.

It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.

But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.

Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed. 

And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.

And you’d be left in pain and want again.

He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it. 

“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“

You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-

“Shit, are you-“

“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”

You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.

He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning. 

And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.

But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking- 

“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“

You’d passed out. 

When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone. 

The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.

You’d never moved faster in your life.

You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“

“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“

“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“

“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”

You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“

“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.

“When I’m what?”

 “I don’t wanna say it.”

“Sam-“

“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.

He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-

“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”

He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.” 

“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”

“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“

“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned. 

“Are you-“

You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“

“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”

 You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“

“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.

Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.

And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better. 

Until Dean made it better. 

So you were fucked. 

“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“

You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.

Tell him.

You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through. 

Please.

And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.

He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.

Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years. 

What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love. 

And he still won’t stop being a good person.

He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.

“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”

You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna-“

“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“

Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“

“No.”

“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“

Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that. 

“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress. 

You can’t look him in the eyes. 

You can’t really do anything at all.

“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.” 

Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.

“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.

“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.” 

“Bored?”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”

“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”

“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“

“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”

“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“

“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“

“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”

Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”

“No.”

“Your room?”

“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“

“My room?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.

“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“

“Shut up.” 

“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“

“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.

You fall out of your seat with a moan.

Dean catches you. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“

“Dean, no-“

“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“

You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-

“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”

Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“

“It won’t work-“

“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“

“That’s not what Sam said.”

There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-

“What are you talking about.”

“He said I needed an intimate connection.”

“Yeah, sex-“

“No-“

“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“

“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”

The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-

Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”

“Dean-“

“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”

You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”

You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“

“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”

“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“

“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“

“And mean it? I always mean it-“

“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.

You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.

But you’d said it. 

And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be. 

But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.

You pass out again.

It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body. 

There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.

Oh.

Oh, no. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“

“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”

“Dean-“

“You want me.” 

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.

His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.

“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“ 

Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him. 

This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-

There are worse deaths that this.

“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-

You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.

“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body.  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you. 

And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse. 

But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.

He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.

He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“

“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“

You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.

“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”

For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut. 

But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-

You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.

You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-

There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun. 

Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.

He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.

“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”

Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.

Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.

It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you. 

You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-

You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair. 

He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes. 

“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”

You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean. 

You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs. 

But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.

You need him. Now.

When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“

You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat. 

You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“

“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-

“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“

“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”

You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head. 

“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“

You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.

It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean. 

“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“

He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-

“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“

“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“

This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“

“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.

But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock. 

You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.

He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.

“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“

He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”

“Dean-“

“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”

“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“

The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss. 

His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge. 

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“

You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.

“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“

You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“

“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“

“Dean-“

“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“

You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.

“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”

The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.

He loves you. 

He needs you.

And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.

Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying. 

You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“

He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.

“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”

You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“

“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“

“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”

“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”

Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And did you mean it?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“

“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“

“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“

“Neither had you-“

“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”

“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”

Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“

“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“

“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sam is not little.”

“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“

“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”

“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin. 

You could get used to this. 

You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.

“Dean?”

He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.

“How long have you… loved me?”

“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”

“How long is-“

“Long enough that I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“How about you?”

“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before. 

And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.

You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.

“Are we- Is this it?”

“This-“

“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”

“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”

“More than anything.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.

“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“

It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.

“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”

Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known. 

A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.

“You and me, baby?”

“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”

“Awesome.”

End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??

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[notmorbid]

these violent delights.

dialogue prompts from these violent delights by micah nemerever.

i never told you my name.

who puts those awful ideas in your head?

you're forever assuming the worst.

what's that face? you look like you're going to cry.

you're one of those people who worry all the time, aren't you?

i don't worry, i ruminate. they're distinct actions.

nothing made you. you just are.

beautiful things are supposed to hurt.

people tell you you're shy all the time, don't they?

i don't know how i ever got on without you.

a little trouble is a good thing for a young person.

i wasn't born yesterday. i know what kids get up to.

it's good to have guns to stick to.

you could do anything to me and i'd let you.

i'm not ready to be seen. not yet.

i don't need you to treat me respectfully. i'm not made of glass.

tell me you love me, at least. please. i need to know somebody does.

do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal.

you can get away with anything, as long as you act like an authority on the truth.

don't tell me what i want.

you know you're just about the worst liar i've ever met.

i don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you.

you're so square, you're a cube.

i just want you to believe me when i tell you you're worth something.

there are limits to what you can expect people to understand, without living it.

you can't fight everybody all the time. you still have to live with them.

i forget how blue the sky can be outside the city.

i'm going to push you off a cliff, you fucking boy scout.

thank you for trusting me with this.

be a kid while you still can.

please believe in the things i try to tell you, instead of the things you think you deserve to be told.

if the sun touched you for even a moment, you'd go up in flames. like a vampire.

your voice changes when you're angry.

what a lonely, dreary thing it is to know the truth.

you never look away, even when your eyes are closed, but i'm never certain you can see what's really there.

tell me you need me. in those words.

can i tell you something? that i'm all but certain you won't believe?

i never lie to you. but sometimes, i wish i could.

you never let me pretend the truth is alright when it isn't.

you have a profound, elusive sadness about you.

you didn't. please tell me you didn't.

you and your awful little games.

why would i bother to grow my own conscience when you're always around to pester me?

you're going to help me escape.

this house is a shadowbox, never meant for human things.

you have no right to stop me, and you're not going to try.

you're sweet, when you want to be.

do you want me to kill ____? i mean it.

it might do you good to be an orphan.

you're just so sincerely creepy.

wealthy people pay handsomely for the privilege of ignoring cries for help.

i've never seen you like that before. not once.

i've decided to learn to be impulsive.

the worst damage humans do isn't rooted in malice, but in thoughtlessness.

there's such a thing as right and wrong. anyone can figure out the difference if they're willing to think for themselves.

there's no part of you i can't see.

i don't want to hurt you. please don't let me.

you're ridiculous, sometimes. but that's alright.

i don't want you right now. go home.

i'm not like you. i don't even have a shape of my own to hold anything else in place.

i'll never matter the way you do, and you know it.

say what you need to say.

if you say the word 'deserve' one more time, i'm driving us off a bridge.

i've been meaning to talk to you about ____.

i'm worried about what you're getting into.

you don't see me. you can't. you never could.

it's your life. you're entitled to make your own mistakes.

i want you to know you deserve better. you don't have to put up with ____.

you scare the hell out of me. you really do.

you look the same way you always have.

i was worried i'd lost you.

i'll take care of you. i don't need you to be brave.

all i want to do is make you happy, and you're the unhappiest person i've ever met.

i would rather be cruel than weak.

i want you to let me be nice to you today. i don't care if you think you deserve it.

this place looks like somewhere in a jigsaw puzzle.

it's always been real for me. every second.

please don't say anything to my mother.

we can't fix it if you don't tell me what happened.

i'll call you when i can stand the sight of you. don't hold your breath.

hiding the truth is still lying.

i thought you'd finally trust me if you knew i'd kill for you.

i'm just as much of a monster as you are.

i was missing part of myself my whole life, until i met you.

righteous fury leaves no space for fear.

you can always talk to me. about anything, okay? i love you no matter what.

you played [game] in school, didn't you?

no one tolerates boredom worse than the idle rich.

someone needs to be looking after you.

you know you can't actually stop me, right?

i want to be able to look at you.

when you need to, you will understand.

i'm only ever early when i'm afraid.

people talk themselves into the strangest things when they want to look impressive.

in the end, there's no difference between trusting someone and underestimating them.

[anotherwvba]

Dreaming After Midnight pt. 1

Author's Note: This is a side story taking place between parts 7 and 8 of "By Blood or By Choice." It was originally meant as a Halloween special, but I didn't finish it near in time. Within the story, this takes place in the early morning hours of October 31st.

The party had been over for a few hours. Now, it was just after midnight and the gym of the WVBA Boxing Academy was eerily silent. Only the dim glow of the security lights lit the gym. Niki Binary came through the doors pushing an empty equipment cart, talking to herself amidst the unusual quietness of the gym. “This place feels awfully creepy like this. So quiet… and empty.”

She stopped the cart by the table she had set up for to run the projector and sound for the party, then wistfully walked over to one of the rings. Leaning against the ring apron, she lost herself in thought. Aloud, she mused, “It’s still so surreal. I’ve been a fan of the WVBA all my life. Now, I’m part of it. I train here. I’ve fought in The Omni in front of thousands of fans. God, that tournament can’t come quick enough.”

Niki turned her attention back to the task at hand and started disconnecting cables as, suddenly, the security lights flickered a strange pattern. A brief shiver ran down Niki’s shine before the lights returned to their normal, dim glow. “Weird,” she muttered, trying to shake off the spookiness.

As she went back to unplugging cables, a noise from behind startled Niki. It was an all too familiar sound in this place, but an unexpected one given the circumstances. The sound of boxing shoes squeaking on a ring canvas. Niki stood and turned to the noise to see the ring she had been leaning on just moments before was now occupied.

A woman, maybe in her thirties, was shadowboxing with the grace and ferocity of someone born for the ring. There was an ethereal, otherworldly presence about her. Niki couldn’t quite place her ethnicity. She looked to be a blend of East Asian and Western European. But, perhaps most telling, she was dressed for a fight.

She wore a high neck sports bra and boxing trunks in a shimmering midnight blue, silver accents, trim, and fringe catching the dim lights. Her silver boots danced along the canvas and her silver gloves cut through the air with precision and power. Her light brown hair was pulled into a tightly braided ponytail and a smile graced her face and showed the mouthpiece beneath.

Taking a breath to compose herself, Niki steadied herself, gripping the handle of the cart tightly. “Hey! Who are you? I don’t recognize you from the gym.”

The woman stopped herself mid-punch and looked at Niki. She removed her mouthpiece and a warm smile played on her lips. “The name's Mister Dream. Well…” She glanced down at herself and chuckled lightly, in a friendly and welcoming manner. “Let’s just go with Dream.”

Niki’s curiosity was piqued. “Alright… Dream, and what are you doing here? Especially dressed like that?”

Dream’s smile broadened. “Isn’t it obvious? I'm here to box. And you, Niki Binary, have caught my eye. I want to box you. Right here. Right now."

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Niki couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “I’m not fighting a person I’ve never even heard of in an unsupervised match. Even if I wanted to, I’m not prepared for a match and I don’t have my gear.”

A knowing twinkle glinted in Dream’s eyes as she nodded behind Niki. “Look again.”

On the equipment cart, Niki found her ring attire. All of it. Her wraps, gloves, mouthpiece, boots, trunks, bra, everything! “Now you’ve got your gear. Any more excuses or are you gonna get dressed and get in the ring?”

Niki’s shock and surprise turned to annoyance. “Excuses? You think wanting to get ready for a fight is an excuse?”

Dream rested her gloves on the ropes, her voice dripping a challenge. "If the glove fits, ‘I.T. Girl.’ You afraid to face someone you can't size up first?"

"Afraid?" Niki’s anger was rising. "I’m not afraid of anybody, especially not some mystery boxer who shows up out of nowhere."

Dream’s smile turned a bit smug, beckoning Niki to join her with a wave of her glove. "Prove it. Get in the ring and show me what you’re made of. Or are you all talk?"

Niki's fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. "I don’t need to prove myself to you. Now I think you should leave."

“Make me.” Dream was now leaning over the ropes, looking down at Niki. "Backing down from a challenge? What would Cutie say if she saw her sessatakuma now?"

That was the last straw. Niki's eyes flared with a mix of anger and determination. She grabbed her gear and faced Dream. "Fine. I’m dropping your ass."

Dream straightened up, her smile satisfied yet a touch sinister. "Excellent. I look forward to seeing if you measure up, Niki Binary."

An Hour Later

An hour had passed since Niki headed into the locker room to prepare for this unusual challenge. The dim security lights seemed to have focused on the ring, as though it were an arena for a championship bout. Dream had returned to shadowboxing, feet gliding across the canvas in a mesmerizing dance, a surreal elegance to her movements. 

Niki, now decked out in her ring attire, her black and neon green sports bra and trunks catching the lights on their circuit inspired accents, her neon green gloves securely in place, her mouthpiece in her clinched left glove, was radiating determination as she approached the ring. She’d already worked up a good sweat, obviously having warmed up in the locker room.

Dream caught sight of her opponent and grinned through her mouthpiece. Never stopping her shadowboxing, but now facing Niki, “Finally! I was beginning to think you might have chickened out. But, you’re looking quite ready, I must say.”

Niki climbed into the ring, her tone laced with irritation and bravado. “Of course, I am. I was taught better than to jump in the ring cold. Boxing 101, always warm-up.”

A chuckle escaped Dream’s lip, her voice dripping with amusement, “Ah, that’s Von Kaiser’s influence. Good to know he’s a better coach than he was a boxer. He spent more time on the canvas than a painter’s brush.”

Annoyance began to bubble deep inside Niki as she inserted her mouthpiece and started a boxer’s bounce. “I thought you challenged me to a fight, Dream, not a debate. You gonna throw insults or throw hands?”

Dream’s smile took on a predatory edge, but there was a hint of something more. “Oh, I'm a woman of many talents. I can multitask. But make no mistake, I'm not here to fight. I’m here to box."

Niki’s reply was sharp, a certain youthful confidence and fire coming through. “I wouldn’t split my attention too much when that bell rings if I were you. I’ll be more than enough to demand your attention. Now, rules?”

“Standard WVBA fare. Three rounds, three minutes each.” Dream seemed to be reveling in the moment, in Niki’s fiery demeanor.

Holding her gaze on Dream’s ice blue eyes, Niki nodded. “That works. What if we go the distance? It’s just us in here. There’s no ref, no judges.”

Dream threw her head back and laughed loudly, an uneasy sound with the echo of the empty gym. “You? Going the distance with me? You’re getting ahead of yourself, girl. But, let’s say somehow, by some miracle, you’re not sleeping off one of my uppercuts before we’re done, then you win.”

Niki’s eyes narrowed, taking a dangerous glint, her fighting spirit flaring. “You think you’re gonna knock me out that easy? Really? You're gonna find I'm full of surprises.”

A sly grin spread across Dream’s face as she extended her gloves for a touch. “Considering how you fared a few weeks ago against Cutie, I give you two rounds, tops. She dropped you what? Four times? But please, by all means, Niki. Surprise me.”

A loud thud reverberated throughout the gym as Niki slammed her gloves down on top of Dream’s as hard as she could. “I learned from that fight. I’m not the same boxer. And you better not underestimate me.”

Dream backed to her corner, still smirking. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Niki. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Back in her own corner, Niki’s heart was pounding. There was a mix of anticipation and anger running through her. If she thinks because my one fight was a loss that I’m an easy target, then she’s got another thing coming. Just keep your cool, Wenig Stahl. Don’t let her play you.

Across the ring, Dream eagerly smacked her gloves together. “Just remember, Niki, let’s keep it clean and come out boxing at the bell.”

Tension filled the air as Niki nodded to her mysterious opponent. A bell rang from somewhere in the darkness beyond the ring and Niki pounded her gloves. Alright, Niki. Showtime!

[cypheroxide]

Found a journal entry from 8 years ago when I was struggling with depression and existentialism trying to coexist in my head. I don't *think* I was taking medication at the time.... But I *did have* memory struggles back then.

"There's been this nagging feeling I can't shake, like some cosmic, universal break occurred that shattered the proper flow of time and sent our universe careening down a twisted path. Little things seem off, uneven, like they don't quite line up with how things should be. Major events play out strangely, wrong people vanishing and others reappearing. The logic feels fractured, as if reality itself glitched and we're living in the fragmentation. Planes frozen in the air, reality around buildings turning to hazy mist...

I can't pinpoint when or how this happened, but it feels like there must have been some pivotal moment that split our timeline to this weird course. Our present day seems too far removed from what the world should be. It's almost as if we're not quite in the right universe anymore.

The more I think about it, the more apparent the cracks become. Pieces of our reality that don't quite fit, synchronistic echoes of better days whispering that all is not as right as it appears. We're shadowboxing our way through the ashes of a broken world that may never be made whole again.

At least there are small comforts that help me cling to hope. Laughter, nostalgia, the reminders that beauty still blossoms in unexpected places. A pokemon card collection found at the bottom of a bin after a decade of believing it lost to a flood. And there's always imagination to light the way forward, even on the darkest roads. And yet, I wonder what the break was...

Robin Williams, perhaps? He's no longer with us and how can that make any sense in a just world? His absence is a cosmic injustice all its own, a glitch that darkens every day. The broken timeline theory feels true every time I realize again that his light is gone. Could it be that his death caused the fracture that destabilized everything? Is this spiral of chaos and confusion simply the aftermath of that loss slowly unraveling the fabric of reality itself?

I guess some things just can't be fixed once they shatter. The most we can do is gather up the pieces, hold them safe, and try to make sense of how they might fit back together in some new mosaic. Cherish the memories that linger and build something new from whatever remnants remain. But the true whole is gone, that original radiance forever lost in the break.

We're left now to navigate this splintered world without one of our brightest stars to guide the way. The happy moments feel more bittersweet, each laugh touched with the echo of one now silent. All we can do is trudge on down this irregular path, remember the lights that illuminated it once before, and try to conjure up some light of our own as we go along to find our place over the stars."

[the-cooler-vigilante]

I legit don't know how to explain it, but the first Fark fight back in Spark TEJ 1 is like one of the biggest peaks of the entire series. For me at least.

The player knows that at some point we're going to fight Fark, it's basically guaranteed from the moment we see/meet him. It's the perfect case of Chekov's Gun. Freom, the final boss of the first game, comes second in priority to both Spark and Us, the Player. We only really care about fighting him after we deal with Fark, the guy who's been getting away from us basically the entire game. So when we get to the end of the final ship in the Megaraph Fleet, and the music stops as the elevator rises towards the boss fight we've been waiting all game for, the tension is at a crescendo, this is the biggest moment in the entire game if not the entire series. So Spark and Fark have one last short exchange, and then the music kicks in as the fight begins.

Everything comes together in that fucking moment, the electric guitar track blasting in your ears, Fark literally bouncing off the walls, the space battle taking place in the background. Chekov's gun has been fired, and it is fucking glorious. Vs Fark has got to be one of the BEST video game soundtracks of all time, Falk Au Yeong knocked it out of the park. I legitimately cannot sit still whenever I listen to it, I have to get up and start shadowboxing and moving around. That's how good it is. I haven't even mentioned that in the second phase Fark literally goes super and blows up the room (maybe even the entire ship?) you two were fighting in.

For me there is no better moment in the entire series aside from his transformation in Spark 3, and even that comes in a close second place compared to Vs Fark in my opinion. Don't get me wrong, I love the entirety of the series, but that moment in the first game is where it peaked. For now.

If we ever get Spark 4 I'm sure Lake Feperd will blow it out of the water gameplay, story, and soundtrack-wise. The man's got it all down basically perfectly, and I can't wait to see what he does next.

[second-wife-playbook]

It had been a very blue kind of day.

Nothing had fundamentally changed. She sat in silence through breakfast, sat in silence with her parents in the library as they squabbled, ate lunch alone in her room. Whiling the hours away trying to read a book before it was back downstairs to endure another long, quarrelsome dinner and then back upstairs again to return to her place of peace and solitude.

Just yesterday she had, for a moment, owned something very beautiful that she had made with her own two hands. And just as she had started to be proud of it, she had to give it away.

It's my own fault. She chided herself, sitting at her desk. The embroidery kit was there, and a fresh slate of blue fabric, but she couldn't bring herself to pick up the needle. I shouldn't have made assumptions about little magic balls popping into my room.

Still. It had been a very lovely surprise.

Forget it. She sighed over her desk, standing up. I can't work on anything tonight. I'll just take some sleep aids with a whiskey and go to bed-

POP!

She jolted.

Another delivery. A box this time.

And though the first time something materialized in her room like that had been magical, she couldn't help that exhausted groan. Not again!

The box had clunked onto her desk just as she was leaving it. But this time she was almost too afraid to open it. Maybe my address is similar to the actual recipient- She fretted, wringing her hands over it. -I...I shouldn't accept it this time.

......

......but there was a note.

Surely just reading the note couldn't do any harm. And she could find a way to return it, if it was wrong.

With great hesitation, she took the note, gently unfolding it. The print on it was...very cute. Starry symbols on it, and written in a tidy hand that suggested someone much smaller had written this note. She read it. And when the disbelief set in, she read it again.

"It's..." She looked to the box. "Mine?"

They had actually gone to the trouble of fixing, mending it, sending it back, and even improved on it. Coronis couldn't help the sparkle in her eyes, the buzz of excitement as she looked to the box. Mine.

And when she opened the lid on it's hinge, the ceiling of her room was illuminated.

Like something out of a dream, that beautiful solitary castle was projected like a portal to another world. It looked even more realistic than when she'd sent it in. And the glow was so soft, so gentle, that it was the kind you used as a nightlight, to keep little nestlings from being afraid of the dark.

It's...really for me. Coronis thought, laying in bed and looking up at the shadowbox's projection. I get to keep it.

.....!

The letter!

______

Dear Mr. Reed Warbie, Thank you for returning my embroidery. I understand it was just a harmless mixup, but I'm sincerely grateful to have it back, and in such a superior condition. I have been enjoying it immensely and thank you from the bottom of my heart. Forgive my curiosity, but if you would have the time to send me a pamphlet or information on this Department of Wishful Thinking, it would assist me better in preventing future mixups like this. Do you have a Hell Division? Do keep me posted whenever it's convenient for you. Thank you again for all your kindness. Yours affably, Coronis

[X] @second-wife-playbook

Warbie waited at his makeshift desk for the item to come back. The spool of thread was suppose to go to Earth but one of his coworkers had accidentally sent it to Hell or was it on purpose? Considering his current situation he would not be surprised if the mistake was intentional just so they had a reason to keep him in Hell or dismantle the Department even more.

It had taken a few months to work out the kinks with his small team back in Heaven, but the plan was they would forward the the less than desirable wishes down to him. Surprisingly Hell, had more readily available resources to piecemeal wishes. But today was different, an Earthlings gift had been sent to a resident in Hell and he nervously drummed his feathers hoping with all his might that the recipient wouldn't send some monstrous curse back in the return box.

His phone buzzed and the screen spat out the box. He quickly opened it and let out a startled squawk as he was immediately blinded by the light. He slammed the lid back down with a gasp tipped the box and opened it again, reached in and pulled out a-

"Fabric?! Oh! Oh nonononono!" He held the piece out and could see the careful needlework that had went into the piece. "They've already used it! Though that was incredibly fast. They must have alot of skill and...a lot of time, oh no but this is bad!" It was stunning and beautiful and the clouds that they had embroidered translated into a shifting series of clouds above. But that was the problem! He folded it and the light immediately dimmed.

He paced around the dusty old office for a few rounds trying to figure out what he could do. He could not possibly undo all the stitches and reclaim the thread nor could he send the piece directly to the human client. What to do? What to do? What to do? Then what felt like eons, an idea struck! He shuffled across his feathers and pulled out a needle. He didn't want to do it, but it was the only thing he could do to reclaim a part of the delivery. He slowly and carefully began to pick at the stitches until he managed a 3 strands of thread that Cori had cut to length. With a bit of magic he managed to smooth out the strands and reattach them, wind them back up onto a small spool. It wasn't as brilliant as the original, but it was still quite stunning. He looked back at the embroidered piece canted his head. He could not let this lovely piece go to waste. With a pen and paper he carefully traced the image, and holding his palm over the clouds, a dusting of the glimmering light transferred into the pattern. "Th-this might work. "He stammered and packaged both the pattern and tiny spool of thread into a small orb, addressed to the right person on Earth with a tag that read, [A rainbow that you can hide in your desk drawer.] With a tap, off it went streaking upward to the sky, very unlike how they would streak downward when he was in Heaven. Crisis averted. He knew how much effort his coworkers had put into that spool. It had taken them months to put enough energy to give it that effect. Warbie looked upward at the walls to the dusty old study where the lights danced like the northern lights. Maybe too much energy. "I should return this, but it is a little too bright, and its missing stitches now." he muttered with concern.

"Oh! What if I made it like...this." He said flying up to a shelf and pulling out an old antique double cover shadow box, then bringing it back down. He placed the embroidery piece down inside of it, then layered a thick piece of canvas above it, then closed the glass lid and stood it up. The little song bird warbled with a smile as he laid his head down for a moment to enjoy the now softened sky with the silhouette of a forlorn castle in the background, it now glowed a warm dreamy light rather than the harsh sunny one from before. He then closed it the final lid, hiding the light within and placed it back into the return box along with a note that read: ┈━═☆ To Our Generous Unintentional Client.

Thank you very much for your cooperation. You have blessed us with your skill and impeccable needlework. We did not have the heart to unravel all your hard work, so we reclaimed just enough thread for our client along with a small example of your piece. We realized we could not send back your piece as is after tampering with it, and we did not realize how bright it could be, so we have mounted it in this double lidded shadowbox to preserve your work, so you may view it at your leisure- and not get blinded, so sorry for the intensity of it. We hope it did not harm your eyes and you will enjoy this shadowbox.

If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to contact us, just swipe the comet on the letterhead."

Sincerely, Reed Warbie

Recollector : Department of Wishful Thinking

With a tap, the box was packaged into a silver orb with a star embellishment. "Back you go. Do make someone happy and not angry." He whispered carrying the orb towards his phone. He tapped it and in it went and back to Cori.

[giggly-squiggily]

Blue Lock Dancing Headcanons

Hi hello I drank coffee and got into a dance off with my dog (I lost) so here are some Dancy pants headcanons for our boys! (Unfortunately I didn't include Yudai in this one- I don't know him very well, sorry!)

Isagi: Mr. Clappy hands! Isagi has zero sense of rhythm and is fully aware of it, but he's having the best time so it all kinda works out. Tries to sing along but doesn't know any of the words so he just kinda mumbles along until he gets to a part he knows.

Bachira: A literal snake, his moves are so fluid it's like he's made of water. The one to run up to random people- familiar or not- and dance with them. Claims the monster is the one who taught him how to move like that.

Kunigami: Somebody come get your grandpa. Has the potential to dance fairly well but underestimates himself severely. Lots of shimmies and feet shuffles, nodding along with the music and does the occasional fist bump. Will loosen up some the longer he's out dancing.

Chigiri: Simple but pretty with it! He's shy- it takes him a moment to warm up to dancing, but when he does he has a great time. Kinda scared to re-injure his knee so he never goes all out, but he has the ability to dance fairly well. Kinda vibes with it.

More under the cut~

Gurimu- The stomper to Isagi's clapping. An absolute mess on the dance floor, he and Isagi make quite the sight. Like his friend, Gurimu's having the time of his life, even if he looks like a drunk tap dancer. Unlike Isagi, he knows all the words to the songs playing- he just can't sing.

Gagamaru- Too much ass. He's not even trying to be sexy, he's just doing whatever everyone else around him is doing. He looks like a dog trying to rub it's butt against something to scratch an itch. Put on Southern All Stars however and he's in his feelings, singing along and rocking to the music while leaning onto whomever's closest.

Kuon- Not enough ass. Frankly, not enough anything. He's so stiff it's like Iida from MHA only even more so. Kinda looks like someone wiggling a cardboard cutout. Warms up in time so he does loosen up some. Would be great at concerts though- the kind where everyone just kinda jumps around is more his vibe.

Raichi- A catastrophe; he looks like Rocky shadowboxing combined with a two year old having a tantrum. Thinks he's absolutely killing it but is way, way too aggressive. Has gotten kicked out at dance parties because people thought he was trying to fight them.

Naruhaya- The most fun dancer! Dance parties were his way to distract his siblings when the times got tough, so he's got quite a few moves under his belt. Ranges from Fortnite dancing to swinging his dance partners arms around with him. Never fails to make the people around him laugh.

Lemon- Surprisingly a phenomenal dancer! He's like Bachira- smooth like butter in his moves. Believes like his handwriting, his dancing reflects his soul, so he worked on it for years. Kinda embarrassed by it so he's not the first one to dance, but enjoys himself for the most part!

Barou- Stiff- he doesn't know how to cut loose and relax. Has a set number of moves he follows when dancing- if even one gets thrown off he'll quit. If he can loosen up even a little bit, he'd be a rather decent dancer.

Nagi: Would be a good dancer if he put more effort into it. He's always playing on his phone on the dance floor- just kinda bops to the beat halfheartedly. If he does commit, he's a bit awkward at first but warms up eventually. Knows a surprisingly large amount of dances- including Irish step.

Reo: Will only dance if Nagi's dancing with him. He spends most of the time trying to get the other moving with him. If Nagi's dancing with someone else he'll either pout the whole time or dance extra hard to make Nagi jealous. Also knows a wide variety of dance moves.

Aryu- Makes every move a glamorous one. Think Metatton from Undertale- every move is absolutely extra, hair tosses and poses are very common. He's living his inner diva and makes it everyone's business.

Tokimitsu- Constantly cycles between having fun and panicking for having too much fun and going back to having fun. Tries to take up as little space as possible when dancing, worrying he'd accidentally bump into everyone around him.

Rin- Excellent dancer but hates dancing. It takes a lot of convincing to actually get him on the floor, and even more to make him stay. Kinda stays by himself for the most part, nodding along with whatever's playing. Might dance with Isagi if asked- even if he's trying not to laugh the entire time at the smaller boy's dance moves.

Thanks for reading!

[bettycanavosio]

well, you asked for another novel... i do wonder if the reason henry's so nervous around vito is the same reason henry ends up letting leo go–he just can't stand to hurt him, and keeping his distance is a way of keeping him safe. like...it's joe who stays with him at el greco's, not vito–for gameplay reasons obviously, but it still implies henry doesn't want vito to watch him get a bullet dug out of him. idk i feel like that's a lot of pressure, the fact that vito looks at him like he hung the moon in the sky, and henry has no idea how to handle that so he just tries not to get too close and ruin it. (i wonder if vito looks at him how betty did.)

also it's interesting to me that in the moments they do get closer, it's for very different reasons. vito calls henry as his friend 3 times, all in times of crises (when henry gets shot, when vito's pleading with him to spare leo, when henry's already dead), whereas when eddie and leo ask like "he a friend of yours?" vito gets cagey and won't use that word; it's like he can only claim henry when he's under pressure. same thing with how he runs to scoop henry up when he's hurt but otherwise won't touch him. henry, on the other hand, seems to do it as an act of affection–that pat on the shoulder when he says "you owe me big for this one, pal," seemed like he was trying to put every ounce of love he had into that one gesture, and honestly it seems like kind of a goodbye the way "thanks for everything" does, because he doesn't know how eddie's going to react. and then when he's goofing around in ch12 obviously, he's in a very good mood (and i think when joe bribes the cops, you can see henry in the background kind of nudge vito in the arm or maybe like shadowboxing with him? but he at least leans over to whisper something and gets very close).

i dunno. maybe i'm projecting but it really does come across like henry's just head over heels in love with vito and terrified to ruin things by admitting it. there's so much affection in the way he acts around him, but you're right, it seems like there's this unspoken boundary. i think vito's as scared as henry is.

i did!!!! imagine my joy when i saw my inbox <3 ah fuck. you’re right. henry’s main method of not hurting people is just staying away completely, which does more damage than he realises… i guess it’s better than every other time he’s gotten involved since he just. loses things/himself when he tries. i think i said this but honestly the gameplay part could’ve been bypassed. like i get it was easier but even just cutting it after henry’s been treated, showing vito stayed, maybe a scene of him waking up in a chair next to henry… it’d be interesting idk. but you’re right, henry is just so terrified of ruining things with him (and even though i’m HURT by that, yeah, i bet the last time he was seen like that was by betty, and he can’t afford to lose someone like that again. also. i wonder if they said the same things, had the same mannerisms…)

YEAH HOLY SHIT. “damn it, henry, i’m your friend here. i’d do the same thing for you and you know it.” can actually be so personal. i think it’s the only time (we see) where he says it to henry’s face, too, but i could be wrong. maybe vito uses emergencies as an excuse to touch him since it’s a convenient way of displaying love without being judged. also, what if it’s the last time he gets to? i think he’s scared of what henry would do or say if it was outside of that context (especially since he thinks so highly of him), but in times of crisis he doesn’t have to worry about that. oh god, the way the only time henry shows affection towards vito is during a goodbye… and when the real goodbye comes he doesn’t even get to say anything. he just watches him leave. so i guess henry shows his affection in crisis too :( but unlike vito he tries to be affectionate outside of it like you said, just with really small gestures, like he’s constantly checking where he stands with vito. he isn’t sure if he’ll reject him, but vito’s also stupid and probably realises henry’s acting different but is like no, not henry, why would he? while henry’s doing the exact same thing, going over every time vito has touched him, wondering if it means anything, or if vito’s just like it with everyone. joe facepalming because god they are so STUPID but it’s sweet.

if they had more time and one of them (or both) confessed it would just be so <3 <3 like imagine a lighthearted argument. “how was i supposed to know? you never said anything!” sigh. idiots in love. or. i just had a terrible thought: vito high off the euphoria of the job in ch12, and with a push from joe, he’s ready to tell henry how he feels in ch13 but then…..

[blaiddllodi]

The suggestion to dismount could not have come at a more opportune time – Dimitri's own mount, in spite of the murmured words and gentle pats, had moved on from merely flicking its tail to flicking its ears, swiveling them to and fro as though they had gotten themselves surrounded, in spite of the emptiness of the road before and about them, and the very moment he slid from the saddle and his boots made contact with the dirt of the road his horse screamed, jerking backward to its hind feet as though it had been stricken by some great force.

"WHOA!" From the corner of his eyes, he saw that Hubert's mount seemed just as well to be skirting back, ready to jolt and toss its rider. Swiftly, leather of the bridle still in hand, Dimitri tugged his horse down from its erect stance where it had pawed at the air, as though shadowboxing this invisible threat, and before the situation worsened he grabbed the bridle of the other man's mount as well, taking them firm in one hand and keeping the beasts well on the ground.

"Calm, now, calm." The gentle murmurs only seemed to do so much, the horses still glancing this way and that, their eyes more white than iris for the strain. Bringing his other hand up, he attempted to soothe them with a calm press of his palm to nose, giving Hubert the opportunity to dismount safely.

Sighing, Dimitri shook his head. "I see the rumors weren't exaggerating, were they? I can't say that he's ever behaved in this way... Apologies, we were discussing Count Varley. You...said he is not fond of the Church?" His brow beetled before he met the eye of the other man. "Is he not minister of religion for the empire? I trust that this information, at least, is not outdated?"

The road sprawled out before them, but in the distance he thought he could see the silhouette of the outskirts of the town.

"Ah...almost there. I..." A glance, a frown, a nod. "I will do as you suggest. This is rather your arena, isn't it? For all intents and purposes while we are here, I am merely another student of the Blue Lions, to assist with the issues in this territory."

Wait a second this isn't Disneyland

[lesbiancarat]

Yay!! Im happy to hear that! Hopefully you can rest up well from your semester!

Ahh by that I meant like you know how kpop albums have concept pictures included? Thats how I view what the TTT magazines are just minus a physical disc cx sorry for the confusion!! Honestly this is all so new and interesting, seventeen never really done something like this. Yes we had mixtape songs but not in this way so promotion will be different. I saw wonwoo and mingyu are doing a song but that isn't related to spider so that means its like jun's and minghao's songs. Which makes things a bit confusing lol, not complaining since hey more content for us ^_^ but yeah guess we have yo see when the next solo actually is. Oh and seventeen coming back!! This is the kind of news I needed, I'm shocked they actually have their own usa site to buy stuff (sort of like nct has) because I know bts nor txt don't. Well bts USED to but that was before bighit decided to shut it down in favor for weverse which sadly I don't see the need for (plus call me old and weird but I don't trust buying stuff from apps? Like I feel a bit more comfy on a computer which Ik doesn't mean its not safer but meh, apps make me fishy lol) also Walmart is selling the albums, bless my family uses Walmart alot (like we used it last night xD) so maybe I can squeeze it in next time? Granted I want to wait for the concept photos first because while I do like a surprise, its also just nice knowing what the vibe is. Or be the complete opposite of what the mv will be about lol.

Ahh as much i was being hopeful and had her eat, sadly my bunny didn't make it =c she passed away on the weekend. She was a strong bunbun, she tried her best to make it out but alas she didn't win. I'm a bit happy my gut instinct told me to spend time with her because at least I got to be with her for her last hour. It kinda sucks because I feel slightly guilty because I couldn't get her the proper help so I feel like I let her down (especially after I found out from reviews the food I bought for her is actually not good for bunnies and can cause problems so I feel dumb) I shouldn't since I gave my bunny the best love I could give while caring for her so she wasn't in a bad place with me. Still can't shake that off, feels weird not waking up and seeing her around or like when I play games she isn't near me chilling. Healing takes time of course so I'm making myself busy with enjoying content from my favorite artists. I made a lil promise that I would finish a game that I played alot while she joined me (it sounds silly but I viewed it as like "our game" ya know?) For her in memory. Sorry for babbling about this bsksbsjd. Losing a pet isn't fun at all. I am so sorry about your cat *hugs you* im sure that furry buddy was well loved!! If I may ask of course, do you have a favorite memory of your cat? Like any funny moment or cute ones?

ahhh ok i get what you mean! it will definitely be interesting to see how it all plays out since SVT haven't done a project like this before. I'm really curious how spread out all the solos are going to be. esp with a cb coming up it seems unlikely we'll get a TTT solo any time soon? but then again SVT are always surprising us these days. but i wonder if they'll come out just whenever a member happens to prepare it or if it's all scheduled out at semi regular intervals 🤔

but yeah it looks like bittersweet is part of the power of love project as opposed to TTT... it's getting complicated real fast! and yeah SVT is definitely expanding into/focusing more on US promotions now... it will be interesting to see how it all plays out! but i totally get what u mean about preferring to buy things on the computer it's funny how that is sometimes djfkgj i had been thinking about preordering the other day since it seemed like we wouldn't be able to pick the version we want anyway, but now that there are some shops that let you i definitely want to wait and see the teaser photos. every day i keep expecting them to start releasing but we get a different surprise instead OTL

I'm sorry to hear about your bunny :( but it's good that you were able to spend time with her at the end, I'm sure it made her feel safe to have someone who cared for her by her side rather than being alone <3 try not to feel too guilty about it, since what's done is done and there's no way to know for sure if it was the sole reason for her failing health. it's good that you're able to recognize and work through your grief, and i think finishing that game is a great way to do that and to honor her memory :')

and thanks, we lost her a little while ago now so luckily thinking about her is more nostalgic than sad. but as for a funny story Riley was a gremlin. she got up on the counters and kitchen table a lot when we weren't looking. she also liked eating paper and we had to be careful where we left things bc once she ate my sister's homework. which, ok, she didn't eat the entire paper but she did eat a corner of it and sort of ripped and crinkled the rest. i can't remember if my sister turned it in like that or if she had to redo it djgkgj

here's a picture of the frame/shadowbox thing my mom made for her after she died with photos, her collar (which she hated and hardly ever wore dhfk), and her favorite toy ;-;

also u didn't ask but here's my other cat liberty from a few days ago :P (she's getting older and has arthritis and kidney issues but she's still alive and kicking!)

[brooklynislandgirl]

Favorite way to receive affection? 

Try A Little Tenderness || Accepting When Beth was a little girl, the sister who taught her first grade class had a Precious Moments figurine in a shadowbox. It was the figure of a little girl with straw blonde hair drawn up into a very short ponytail, with great big eyes, and painted in gold around the base were the words: Ask and Ye Shall Receive. A portion she would later learn was from the Gospel of St Matthew, chapter seven, verse seven: Ask, and it shall be given you: seek, and you shall find: knock, and it shall be opened to you.

Every day Beth would limp into class ~her leg was still healing from the shark bite and the surgeries that followed~ and she would stare at the little figure. She sounded the words out. She yearned to reach out and touch it. She never did. It wasn't hers to touch, and she feared breaking it more than she feared the wrath of the Divine, or more credible and more human disappointment. But she never forgot it.

Those were the days where the Admiral still held a different name; long before 'sir' entered her vocabulary. She'd knocked at his study door and waited for permission to enter. Somehow she thinks now that he'd been expecting Andy. She was told she to come in. And she did as she was allowed. She marched her little quiet way to his desk, where she again stood and waited for acknowledgement. "What do you want, Elizabeth?" He didn't bother to look at her. "M-may I have a hug, Daddy?" She was a polite child, drilled in good manners. His pen paused mid-stroke. Her heart rose up in her throat, swollen with hope. "Andrew! Come collect your sister, and don't let her interrupt me." Twenty-seven years later...Beth is still waiting. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Beth watches as Tony's coworkers as she waits to take him to lunch. There's something about the way they touch each other: brushes of hands, short hugs, soft smiles, gentle laying of fingers on someone's shoulder, that just breaks her heart. She clasps her own hands before or behind herself, her fingers tightly clenched by each other. She doesn't want to seem eager. That's unseemly. She tries to keep the wistfulness off her face. And when they're at his home or hers, Beth tentatively leans into her cousin. Shoulder to shoulder when he plays music. Feet in his lap or under his leg if they're watching a movie. Sometimes if she spends the night or he does, she'll creep into his bed and folds herself as small as she can be. If she doesn't ask, she cannot be denied. If she doesn't ask, she can't be a bother. People like her because she's low maintenance. It's her best quality by far.

[anotherwvba]

An Origin Story pt. 9

Inside the state-of-the-art WVBA Boxing Academy Gym, Niki and Cutie were in the midst of a sparring session, their gloves meeting in a rhythmic dance of jabs and hooks. Von Kaiser, Niki's coach, stood at ringside, his eyes narrowed as he assessed each movement.

"Come on, Niki, keep those feet moving. Defense, defense!" Von Kaiser barked, his thick German accent filling the air. “Cutie, try to corner her!”

"You can't dodge me forever, girl!" Cutie teased, throwing a playful jab that Niki deftly sidestepped.

"Who says I'm trying to dodge? Maybe I'm just giving you a workout," Niki retorted, ducking under another of Cutie's punches.

In a nearby ring, Glass Joe was shadowboxing, his movements precise and fluid. He couldn't help but think about the enthusiasm Mika and Skye had shown earlier. Their eagerness was a refreshing reminder of why he loved this sport.

Just then, the gym doors burst open, and Mika and Skye raced in, gloves in hand. Mika was in the lead, but then Skye managed to slip past her in a burst of speed at the last moment, reaching ringside first.

"I won!" Skye exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement.

Glass Joe paused his shadowboxing and looked at them curiously. "Qu'est-ce que c'est ça? What is going on here?"

"We couldn't decide who'd spar with you first, so we raced for it," Mika explained, catching her breath.

“And I won!” Skye did a little victory dance, "I guess I'm up first, Mister Joe."

"S'il te plaît, Joe will do,” Glass Joe chuckled. “I prepared some water for both of you," he gestured toward their corner where two water bottles sat. "You may want to hydrate and catch your breath."

Mika looked at the water bottles and then back at Glass Joe. Something about his thoughtful gesture made her feel...well, she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Stand still and take your beating like a champ, Binary!"

A playful yell from Cutie startled them as Niki was getting better at dodging and parrying Cutie's relentless attacks.

"Sorry, Cutie!” Niki laughed, “I thought the point was to avoid getting hit!"

Von Kaiser nodded approvingly. "Sehr gut, Niki! Your footwork is improving."

As they continued their sparring session, Gabby Jay ambled over to where Mika, Skye, and Glass Joe were standing. "Pardon. When José asked if you two could spar with him, I simply had to come and see for myself. May I?”

Mika and Skye exchanged humbled and amazed glances. "Really? That's awesome," Mika said.

Skye chimed in as she slipped on her bright red gloves, "We're honored you're going to watch, sir."

Glass Joe turned to Gabby Jay, his eyes filled with respect. "To be observed by Le Maître? Of course. Would you be willing to give us some pointers?"

"Of course," Gabby Jay replied, his thick French accent tinged with warmth. "It's always a pleasure to help young fighters."

Glass Joe looked at Skye and offered his gloved hand to help her up the ring steps. "Shall we dance, Mademoiselle?"

Skye's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Such a gentleman," she said, taking his gloved hand.

Mika gave her a fist bump. "Knock 'em dead, girl."

Skye grinned. "I'll do my best."

With that, Skye climbed into the ring, her heart pounding with excitement. She slipped her mouthpiece in and looked across at Glass Joe.

"Any last-minute advice?" Skye raised her gloves, a slight tremble of nerves shaking her.

Glass Joe smiled, his own gloves coming up in a defensive stance. "Mlle Skye, enjoy yourself. That is the point."

And with that, the bell rang, and the first chapter in Skye’s journey was beginning.

[anotherwvba]

An Origin Story pt. 7

Gabby Jay led the group of new and prospective fighters into the WVBA Boxing Academy Gym, the last stop on their tour. The gym was a sprawling, state-of-the-art facility, buzzing with activity. Fighters and trainees were everywhere, some practicing their craft in hopes of getting signed one day, others preparing for their next bouts.

"Mes amis, this is where the magic happens," Gabby Jay announced, his voice tinged with a thick French accent. "Here, you'll find everything you need to become the next WVBA champion."

Mika and Skye, who had become fast friends during the orientation, looked around in awe. "This place is incredible," Mika whispered to Skye.

"I know, right? It's like a boxer's dream come true," Skye replied, her eyes wide with excitement.

Gabby Jay led them through the different sections of the gym, showcasing the strength training area, the cardio machines, the boxing bags, and the eight rings designated for classes and sparring. "I look forward to seeing you all at 6 am in the cafeteria for breakfast. Make yourselves at home, and welcome to the WVBA," Gabby concluded, dismissing the group.

Mika's eyes caught sight of Niki Binary in one of the rings, shadowboxing under the watchful eye of her coach, Von Kaiser. "Come on, Skye, let's go say hi," Mika said, grabbing Skye's arm and leading her toward the ring.

Von Kaiser was intently focused on Niki, his thick German accent filling the air. "Gut, Niki, focus on your footwork. Remember, a strong foundation is key. Wenig Stahl, show me what you've got."

Niki moved gracefully around the ring, her feet gliding over the canvas as she threw a series of jabs and hooks into the air. Her concentration was palpable.

"Hey, Niki!" Mika called up to her.

Niki looked over and nodded, finishing her drill with a swift one-two combo. "Alright, let's take a quick break," Von Kaiser announced.

Niki jogged over to the ropes and sat down, her eyes meeting Mika's. "Hey, Mika! How's orientation going?"

"Great! Oh, this is Skye. We're roommates at the Campus Lodge," Mika introduced.

Niki extended her glove to fist-bump Skye. "Nice to meet you, Skye."

"Wow, you're Niki Binary, right? I saw your fight with Cutie a couple of days ago. You were amazing," Skye exclaimed.

"Thanks, it was a tough fight. So, how's orientation treating you both?" Niki asked.

Mika and Skye launched into a detailed account of their day, from the physicals to the tour of the campus. "The facilities are amazing, and the people seem really nice," Mika said.

"Yeah, and the gym is like something out of a movie. I can't wait to start training," Skye added.

Just then, Glass Joe approached, dressed in his workout gear. "Pardon, mesdemoiselles, but may I have a moment with Niki?"

"Of course, what's up, Joe?" Niki responded.

"My sparring partner couldn't make it today. Would you be able to help me out?" Glass Joe asked.

"I'd love to, but I'm training with Von Kaiser for the rest of the afternoon and sparring with Cutie later," Niki explained.

"We can spar with you!" Mika and Skye blurted out in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.

Niki chuckled. "Joe, meet Mika and Skye. They're here for orientation."

"Ah, bonjour, mesdemoiselles," Glass Joe greeted, his French accent lending charm to his words.

"Hi, Glass Joe! We're really excited to be here," Skye said.

"Yeah, we can't wait to start training," Mika added.

Glass Joe looked thoughtful. "Normally, we don't allow sparring with new boxers during orientation."

Both girls' faces fell, disappointment clouding their eyes.

"But," Glass Joe continued, "I'll go ask Hoy if we can make an exception."

Mika and Skye's faces lit up again. "That would be awesome," Mika said.

"Yeah, really awesome," Skye echoed.

Glass Joe nodded and headed off to find Hoy, leaving Mika, Skye, and Niki excitedly chatting about the possibilities that lay ahead. The WVBA was proving to be everything they'd hoped for, and they couldn't wait to dive in.