#but its disappointing that EVEN WHEN the writing seems to be making an earnest attempt at exploring eris' relationships with women

[synnthamonsugar]

Hello, Eris Morn Fan... I want to play a game.

The rules are simple: You have 6 hours to write a fanfic, draw fanart, construct a lore essay, meta post, or other piece of Eris-centric speculative or creative content. However, in the course of creating this ... you must exclude The Drifter from her narrative. Platonic or romantic. As a co-starring character, or referential callback.

Not even a "trust" will be permitted.

Should you fail, Seth Dickinson will write into the next Collector's Edition booklet a scene where Eris comes out as lesbian and/or some combination of aro/ace, instantly collapsing both the D2 team's and fandom's interest in her as a beloved piece of M/F ship-bait and romantic prize for the funnyguy of the moment, the only two things women in this fandom (like most fandoms) are allowed to be.

Work quickly... time is running out.

[w3tn3t]

[2021 Mortal Kombat Movie AU]

I think Shang Tsung granted Bi-Han his immortality after he killed Hanzo & the Shirai Ryu, so this time Bi-Han adds one more thing to their agreement: his brother will also become immortal. (Kuai Liang is probably the only thing he feels something for)

He wants Kuai to fight beside him, but Kuai can't bear to see what his brother has become in action so Bi-Han convinces Shang Tsung to let him go and live his life, even if he's not happy about it. Bi-Han is capable and vicious enough to do whatever the sorcerer asks of him on his own.

So Kuai spends centuries in different countries, doing different jobs, eventually settling down somewhere in America. Maybe he owns a farm, lol. Living in a remote location would help him go unnoticed on how he's not aging. All the while, Bi-Han keeps an eye on him from afar, getting rid of people who get too close to blowing Kuai's cover, not that he knows about it.

Anyway, after Cole escapes Bi-Han for the first time, Shang Tsung decides to play dirty and has Bi-Han bring Kuai Liang into the fold. He glamors a kombatant mark onto Kuai and has him run into Sonya while "escaping" Bi-Han. He joins her, Cole and Kano from there on. He strikes up a friendship with Sonya, but it's Cole he really hits it off with. Kuai was already doubting his mission but it's getting worse every moment.

They do the whole arcana thing, and the defenders are kind of put off when he "unlocks" his ice powers, but he's nothing like the creeping menace Bi-Han is so they write it off.

Kuai does his best to support Cole as he tries and fails to unlock his. Having lived so long without regular human contact, Kuai can come off as a bit intense, but he makes up for it with how earnest and genuine he is. (Cole might be starting to doubt his sexuality, a little.)

Kano still betrays the team but he runs into Kuai when he's about to destroy the relic that keeps up the force field. Kuai has a change of heart and attempts to stop Kano, but they destroy the relic anyways during their fight. Kano gives Kuai "a chance", to keep what happened to himself as long as he won't get in Kano's way again. Afraid of what the sorcerer will do, Kuai goes with Kano. He stands by Bi-Han's side before the defenders, to the tune of betrayed shouts. Sonya seems angriest while Cole is just disappointed.

The next time he's seen again is in the final scene with Bi-Han. Allison and Emily are still frozen, but the reason they aren't completely encased in a block of ice like Bi-Han might've done by himself is Kuai's coaxing. They can still be saved by design.

Hanzo's appearance was a bit funny imo, so I'd turn that into just him "possessing" Cole to a degree, or enhancing his abilities/guiding him like Sento does for Kenshi. Even with all that, Bi-Han gets Cole into a "say your last words" position. So Cole does a bit of a BotR speech that finally gives Kuai the push he needs and he turns on Bi-Han. He freezes Bi-Han solid but has to keep at it lest Bi-Han break free. He tells Cole to tend to his family, and that he'll deal with Bi-Han.

The defenders arrive, thaw Allison and Emily and get out of there, reluctantly leaving Kuai behind. The rest goes as normal.

After Shang Tsung is defeated, Bi-Han and Kuai go missing. The good ending is the brothers' lifespans becoming normal in the absence of Shang Tsung (if they were 30 they still have like 40 years to live), and Kuai taking steps to rehabilitate Bi-Han. Maybe his path crosses with Cole again, someday.

The sad ending is the brothers perishing immediately without Shang Tsung's magic, lol

(I wanted to make Kuai the Kitana to Cole's Lui Kang but the plot had a mind of its own, lol)

[kulemiwrites]

How about how they react to lewd texts ;p

Characters: Masato Aizawa, Akira Nishikiyama, Reina, Osamu Kashiwagi, Kazuma Kiryu, Goro Majima (Nishida makes an appearance), Taiga Saejima, Shun Akiyama | GN!Reader

Rating: Some of these are suggestive and some are actually kinda explicit. Use your own discretion!

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the request! This was so much fun to write omg, you have no idea. I lost my mind on some of them.

MASATO AIZAWA

When he first gets the texts, he would do that double take thing where you read a text then but the phone down for a split second until it registers then bring it back up to reread it before locking the fuck in. He’s not good with words in the sense that he could keep a good sexting sesh going. He’ll be okay at first then somewhere down the line say something sorta wild that derails the conversation and makes you laugh more than it’d make you horny. He’s learned that it’s best to just lean in on his partner and let THEM do all the talking by saying stuff like “Oh yeah?” “Keep going. What happens next?” “Tell me more.” Then when he thinks there’s enough build up, he’ll slide in a “Wanna see what you do to me?” before sending a horribly angled dick pic. Guess it’s a good thing it’s pretty because he’s no photographer.

AKIRA NISHIKIYAMA

Send him the right thing and you will open the floodgates for his filthiness. He can either be a taunting little tease, leaving you literally aching to see him or he will be downright disgusting. He lets you set the tone and then he follows suit. In truth, he’d ask for pics of you all the time if you were down. If you’re apart for a bit he’ll ask you to snap a few in that cute little number he bought you and when he gets it, he’ll be like “fuck, im omw” and while you thought he was joking, he disappears on you for like 20 minutes before he’s knocking at your front door. He can’t leave sexting as just sexting for too long before he has to have a slice of the real thing.

REINA

God, do not send this woman overtly lewd texts! Please, she does not have a good poker face. She will read the text, her ears would turn red and she’ll send back a quick, “You stop that.” And while she seems unreceptive to the text, it certainly had its intended effect. She’ll spend the rest of her work day fanning her collar, fiddling with her necklace and rubbing at her neck in an attempt to soothe herself. Rile her up enough and she’ll find herself uncharacteristically spacing out when she should be fulfilling drink orders. She’ll be annoyed at you about it but surely you can make things right somehow?

OSAMU KASHIWAGI

He will just not respond.😭 He’ll read it and it might even do a little something to him but he will not dignify that text with a response. He’d be lying through his fucking teeth if he said that it didn’t make his mind wander though. When he finally gets to see you, or if he can’t get to you, he’ll give you a call and grumble something along the lines of “Just what did you think you were getting at with that little message of yours?” Feel free to continue teasing him but he can only take so much before he’ll want you to ‘do something about it’.

KAZUMA KIRYU

It’ll sorta throw him when you first send him something of that nature to the point that he’s not even sure what to say in response. He’d probably just send a single emoticon and (accidentally) immediately nip whatever mood you were hoping for in the bud. He won’t say so but he’d be a little disappointed that you didn’t say anything back. He didn’t want you to stop, he just didn’t know how to participate. Once he gets it though, he will try in earnest… Even if it doesn't quite get the job done. Prepare for short responses like “I want that too.” “Mm, sounds good.” “Ha, seems you know what I like.” “Hope to see you soon too.👍” He’s TRYING for the love of God! He’s doing his best!

GORO MAJIMA

There… was a time when he left his phone with Nishida because he couldn’t be bothered to keep up with it. He lost it all the time or he’s had to replace the screen because he was uh, roughhousing, for lack of a better word. The day you texted him something a little risque, and put both him and Nishida in a particularly awkward position, things changed. That when a little something like this:

Nishida: Excuse me, boss! Uh, looks like you just received a text from _____-san.

Majima: Oh, yeah? What’d ____-chan say then?

[Nishida opens the text thread. His eyes widen after reading the contents of the text. Red rises from his neck to his forehead and he’s looking at his boss with a horror unlike anything he’s ever shown the man before. Majima pauses what he’s doing for a moment and shoots a particular nasty frown at the younger man.]

Majima: The hell’s your problem? Ya got diarrhea or somethin’? Read the damn message shithead!

Nishida: B-Boss, I, uh.. I think it’s better if you read this one yourself.

Majima: What? Ya forget how to read all’a sudden? READ IT!

Nishida: C-C… *sweating profusely* C-can’t w-wait to.. Uh, Ehem… 

Majima: Yer pissin’ me off. *stomps over to snatch the phone from Nishida* It ain’t that hard ta read a damn message! *clears throat* Can’t wait ta get my hands all over you. Dying to let you fuck…my throat… Huh… *sees there’s a pretty risque pic attached and immediately wacks Nishida in the head* YA LOOKED AT _____, ASSHOLE?!

Nishida: B-boss! I HAD DO IDEA IT WAS THAT KIND OF PICTURE OR I WOULDN’T HAVE OPENED IT!

Majima: FORGET WHAT THE HELLA YA SAW AND DON’T EVEN LET ME CATCH YA LOOKIN AT _____ WRONG OR I’LL SLICE YER EYES OUT MYSELF! *still whacking poor Nishida*

He, uh… He keeps his cell on his person these days.

TAIGA SAEJIMA

He’s like Kiryu in that he’s not good at responding to texts. Lewd or otherwise. When you send him any text, he will simply react to it. It’d take you telling him that he should say something back because otherwise your racy text thread would look a little something like this:

Probably best to keep the dirty talk to bedroom for this one, huh?

SHUN AKIYAMA

You’re pretty much the reason Hana refuses to allow Akiyama to use his cell while in the office. He sends you pretty racy messages himself throughout his work day and if you play along, he pretty much forgets anything but the conversation he’s having with you. He’s sent Hana on a “lunch run” just so that he could lock himself in the office, call you and pick up where you left off while he “took care of himself” before. Hana was none the wiser thankfully, otherwise she’d be a little hesitant about what she touches in that office.

Please do not reupload/repost/rewrite but likes and a reblog go a long way! Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this, you're welcome to check out more of my work! I have a masterlist to save you browse time!

[theghostpinesmusic]

Since my last Goose-related post, the news dropped that Ben is leaving the band. As is apparently to be expected these days, this news was accompanied by all sorts of ugly internet speculation, gross rumors, and attempts by randos on the internet to use the band's interpersonal struggles to grab tiny little bits of attention for themselves.

I don't really intend to write about all that any further, but suffice to say that because of it - and, thankfully, also because of a really fun holiday vacation with family - I haven't listened to any Goose for the last few weeks. Ben's drumming was one of the first things that caught my attention about the band, and I was really bummed to learn he was leaving, but I'm looking forward to whatever the remaining band members do next instead of putting my time and energy into choosing sides in a made-up internet fight. It's likely the band comes out of this playing as strong as (or even stronger than) they were during the fall tour. And, if I'm wrong and the next iteration of Goose no longer clicks with me, I'll...find something else to listen to.

To put that attitude into practice, today I'm going to write probably-a-lot about the Brussels "Animal."

"Animal" is a new-ish Goose song, having debuted at Legend Valley on 6/11/22. It's been a frequent part of setlists since then, being played forty times so far. In my memory, it was a jamming juggernaut from the jump, and continued to be one throughout 2022, but in 2023 it seemed to become a bit less of an exploratory vehicle and more of a straight-up rocker.

Now, as much as I always love the jams, I think "Animal" fits both roles well. It's one of the absolute catchiest songs in the band's repertoire of originals, and most nights I will absolutely welcome an eleven- or twelve-minute version of the song that's basically just a feature for a shredding session from Rick. That said, in the last few months the song has been getting weirder and weirder within its typical structure (Peter including animal sound effects, longer and longer "space" jams introducing the song, heavier use of synths), and before Brussels I was often a little disappointed with shorter versions, wanting to see where 2023's take on "Animal" might go if the band really let it off the leash.

Then they played a twenty-six minute version, and answered my question. It's a truism that length isn't everything when it comes to jamming. Throughout my decades of listening, I've certainly heard many memorable twenty-, thirty-, and even forty-plus-minute jams that were great because the band stayed in that improvisational zone for that long. But of course, I've also heard many thirty-minute jams that could have been much shorter and gotten the same point across. I've heard twenty-minute jams that maybe didn't need to have been a jam at all. And I've heard (especially with Goose and latter-day Phish) ten minute jams that blow most longer improvisations out of the water.

That's all to say that it's not the twenty-six minutes that matters here, it's what they do with it. This is what I think of in my own dorky personal jam cosmology as a "hydra jam" (i.e., you cut off one head and two more take its place): it's a jam with multiple distinct sections that are all separate from the original composed song musically. There are little transitions between these spaces, but mostly the performance as a whole has a string-of-pearls quality, if that makes sense.

This version starts with the now-typical spacey intro, then we drop into the song proper. Almost immediately, things are different than usual here: normally the vocals come in right away, but instead the band vamps on the opening chord progression for a few minutes. It's not until the 4:20 mark that the song starts in earnest. While this jam isn't exactly top-shelf improv in and of itself (it's really just an extension of the usual intro), it's a nice mellow groove and a sign that the band is feeling it, which is never a bad thing.

As I said above, the song proper is catchy as all hell, and I always hear shades of Yes's "Owner Of A Lonely Heart" in the chorus, though maybe that's just me. We start in on the jams at the 8:15 mark, with Peter taking the lead on the piano at first, pulling things in a jazzy direction.

There's a mini-breakdown around 9:00 as the band quiets things down, and we stick with the jazz feel for a bit. We haven't necessarily departed from the structure of the original song yet, here, but one of my ongoing wishes when it comes to Goose jams is for Peter to play more jazz. So I love this part, though it's possible that's just personal bias. For my money, this section is also a great example of Rick's always-improving ability to play song really engaging rhythm guitar as second fiddle to Peter's soloing. There's a smooth hand-off at 11:45 as Rick takes over the soloing duties, and lays down a nice, peak-y bit of playing...

...until 13:20, where he signals a change in the direction of the jam, and shortly after everyone backs off and slows down, the band moving as a whole into a really beautiful almost-but-not-quite ambient space (Ben's drumming provides a really neat, driving counterpoint here to the atmospheric playing everyone is doing).

One of my all-time favorite Goose jams is the version of "Time To Flee" that they performed on 10/2/20 with Dave Grippo guesting on saxophone, and a big reason for that is a gorgeous, extended sequence that sounds like it's riffing off of the outro to "Reuben and Cherise." For what it's worth, this section of the Brussels "Animal" echoes that previous jam for me, in a great way.

Also, watching Rick absolutely feeling the band's groove here while not just straight-up shredding over it is great. It feels like one of those great moments where everyone is perfectly on the same wavelength. The energy rises slowly but surely over a few minutes before peaking around twenty minutes in, and then Rick takes a bit of a left turn at 20:30. The camera is on Ben here, and it's neat to see him quickly switch up the beat in response to the change. Peter hangs on the organ for a few beats, then heads back over to the piano as a new jam space coalesces.

At first, this almost sounds like something from 2021's Ted Tapes, with both Rick and Peter jumping into and out of complementary riffs while the rhythm section dances around them. Rick gets a bit more chord-y around 22:50, and now the jam almost sounds like "Butter Rum" for a moment, before Ben switches up the beat again and now, somehow, we're in a bluegrass-sounding space. Well, that's fun!

When Peter switches over to the organ at 24:40, things really start to gain momentum, and shortly after we sprint to the top of the mountain, so to speak. The lights are great here, too.

Typically, even after extended jams, the band is pretty dedicated to going back and finishing up the song proper; however, in this case that doesn't happen. Rather than segueing back into the "Animal" chord progression, they bring the energy back down one more time and slowly and gently fade out to wrap things up. So that's pretty cool.

I have no idea what 2024 Goose is going to look or sound like, but hopefully they keep having this much fun taking "Animal" deep!

[masterjedilenawrites]

I’m not good at making requests, so forgive me if anything come out wrong.

But, could you do something were reader and Tech are fixing some eletronics and listening to cientific things, and start talking about a wrong thing people said there, so they get distracted and when realize, they’re in to a awkward position (like him btween her legs or sth like that)

I love your writing and thanks (: <3

Omg I've been so soft for Tech lately and this prompt is perfect 💚 I hope this is what you were looking for, I really enjoyed writing it!

Tech x reader | 2k words

...making bacta the most important scientific achievement in history...

"Dank farrik," Tech huffed beside you.

You came out of your daze at the sudden exclamation and looked at your friend with concern, trying to quickly figure out what had gone wrong. You were helping him with a project, though what it was exactly you weren't completely certain of. All you knew was it involved digging into the walls of the ship and untangling a lot of wires. You'd been instructed to hold onto several of them, keeping them pulled taught out of the wall so Tech could fiddle with the other ends, and the dullness of the task had caused your mind to wander.

"What's wrong?" you asked, doubtful you'd understand any explanation, but wanting to be sure you hadn't done anything to mess up his progress.

He waved a hand at you dismissively, not pulling his attention away from the work in front of him. "Just the radio," he mumbled.

You hadn't been paying attention; it had only been turned on as background noise to keep you from going insane with boredom. And since it was tuned into some kind of scientific news frequency, you didn't really understand much of what was being said anyway.

...with the most influential application simply being in the field of medicine, providing us higher life forms with a versatile tool in maintaining our quality of life, and potentially even prolonging it...

Tech huffed again. Scoffed. Your mouth quirked at how upset he was getting. It was kind of cute.

But, you had to debate whether engaging with his frustration would be worth it. He had only recently calmed down from his outburst earlier that day, the only time you had ever seen him genuinely upset. Wrecker had accidentally knocked over a piece of machinery that was... well, something very important, apparently. No one was too sure. But Tech had spent most of the week carefully arranging its parts just-so, so that when all his hard work went crashing onto the floor, his breathing had suddenly resembled that of a charging Nexu. He'd drawn himself up, trying to match his brother's height, and ordered the poor guy to never step foot in this part of the ship again. The other Batchers had tried to defend him and were subsequently banned as well.

That left you as the only option for help.

Maybe that meant he wouldn't kick you out for debating him....

"Sounds like they're saying some pretty reasonable things. Am I missing something?"

Tech's fingers, which had been deftly working through the wires before him, clipping some and splicing others, finally froze. The clone's face tilted over to you, his eyes looking a little too judgmental through those glasses for your liking.

"You think bacta is the most important scientific achievement?" he asked. You didn't like his tone, either.

You scrunched your mouth in thought, actually giving the question serious consideration. While you mulled it over, Tech stood up from his hunched position in the wall and started pulling on some of the wires, unraveling them from their tangled mess.

"Yeah," you finally decided. "I think medicine in general is pretty important. And bacta specifically is the strongest known substance to deliver fast and effective healing."

Tech was mostly focused on the wires, but he spared you a glance.

"And treating symptoms is the most important thing for humanity? Here, hold this." He added another wire for you to hold in your hands.

You knew it was a loaded question so you chose to answer it with one of your own. "Well if it's not bacta or medicine, then what would it be?"

"Electricity," he said quickly and assertively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. He continued to focus more on his work and you were annoyed he didn't seem to want to offer up an explanation to his opinion, despite having made you give one. He'd finally untangled the wires and was back to leaning into the cavern in the wall and setting them into their proper places.

"Why electricity?" You hated how dumb your question sounded; obviously you understood the concept and understood its importance. You just really wanted to challenge him to give you some explanations.

"For one, most medicines would not be able to be mass-produced were it not for the electrically-run vats in which they are made." He held his hand out behind him and made a grabbing motion. "Blue, please."

You sorted out the blue wire and passed it over.

"For another," he continued, his voice sounding distant as he leaned further away into the wall, "we must ask what constitutes a quote-unquote important achievement. For example, is an achievement worthy of the title simply because it improves our quality of life? Green, please."

You handed over the corresponding wire. "I'd say it's more about preserving life. Even outside of war, there's enough injury and illness that would end life were it not for medicine to heal them."

"Ah, but in that same reasoning, electricity also sustains life. It powers sources of light and warmth, which can also provide a means of boiling water and cooking food. All keys to survival. Yellow, please."

"So does fire," you shot back. "People survived long before electricity, and there's still plenty of civilizations living fine without it."

Tech finally emerged from the wall and took the last few wires from you, the red and black ones. He met your eyes with an earnestness that let you know how much he was enjoying this conversation. "And people have survived without medicine. At least the manufactured forms that you're arguing for, like bacta. Traditional medicine is as sufficient as fire."

Before you could respond, Tech moved to the side, motioning toward the wall with his head and holding up the remaining wires.

"Now, unfortunately these last ones need to be clipped in down below. I'm not able to fit through the lattice of the floor, but someone of your stature easily could."

You stepped forward and peered down. It was a mess of machinery and pipes and beams, but you could clearly see the port where the wires had been yanked out earlier. You knelt down, resting your stomach on the edge of the wall, but paused before bending over.

"If it wasn't for bacta, you wouldn't have been born." You were confident in your comeback and thus didn't linger for his reaction, turning to bend down into the ship with your wires instead.

You were disappointed to hear his soft chuckle from above you.

"And what do you think powers the bacta tanks that hold the clone embryos?"

You were glad he couldn't see the frustrated frown on your face. While you tried to think of a new point in your debate, you snapped the red wire into the proper port. But then you realized you couldn't quite reach the black one, and started carefully shimmying forward, deeper into the wall.

"It seems we have circled back to the initial question," Tech offered in your silence. You felt his hands hold on to your hips, steadying you as your legs lifted from the floor, most of your body now inside the ship. You didn't think anything of it, though, your focus split between your task and his words. "What makes an achievement the most important? Both medicine and electricity are capable of preserving life, but neither are essential to survival. So, what criteria are we left with?"

You were finally within reach of the last port and pushed the wire into it. "Sounds like you already have the right answer, so why don't you stop teasing me and just say it?" you called up to him.

"I...I didn't mean to sound like I was teasing."

You could hear the apology in his voice, how truly caught off guard he was to hear that you had perceived his attempts at a friendly debate, a conversation, as mocking or disrespectful. Your stomach knotted up in guilt, making your journey to wiggle back out of the wall a little more difficult.

"I'm sorry, Tech," you said through a grunt as you tried to push yourself back. "I didn't mean to sound rude. I just don't know the answer."

You felt his arms snake around your middle, pulling you the last of the way out. You came to rest on your knees, breathing heavily at the sudden increase in air supply. Tech was crouched alongside you, his chest against part of your back, his arms still holding you.

"I honestly don't know the answer, either," he blinked down at you, speaking quietly. "I don't know what criteria would constitute the most important scientific achievement. I thought maybe we could figure it out if we kept discussing it."

You craned your neck around to look at him, unconcerned about the discomfort it took to do so. You needed to face him fully. "Or... maybe we don't need to figure it out? I mean, does there need to be one achievement labeled more important than any other? Can they not all be valued equally?"

"I suppose..." he relented. But only a little. "It is a fun thought exercise, though."

You smiled at that, and it made your heart flutter a little to see him return the expression. There were a few seconds between you where you sat pleasantly in each other's arms... before the realization hit that you were in each other's arms.

"Uh," Tech stuttered first. His eyes looked about frantically as if the more he saw of you practically sitting in his lap, the more he would know what to do about it.

Your face was hot and your heart thumped forcefully in your chest. But you weren't panicking. Even though you'd been around the Bad Batch for a while now, this was the first time you'd gotten physically close to any of them, especially this dorky genius, who made you feel just a little better about life than the others did. You hadn't been sure why, not until this moment, your face being mere inches away from his own. Now it clicked.

His arms had removed themselves from your frame and he was starting to crawl backward on the floor. You quickly grasped his shoulder to stop him.

"Tech, wait."

He froze, looking at you with wide, apprehensive eyes. His shoulder was tense so you relaxed your grasp and simply let your hand rest on it gently. You gave him a small smile. Thankfully these little gestures were enough encouragement for him to lean back to you. He still looked at you timidly, but he wasn't pulling away anymore. It seemed like maybe he had been feeling the same things about you.

"Yes?"

He was waiting for you to make the next move.

"So, this project," you stalled, needing just a little more time to work up the courage. "What is it again? Why did I just crawl into the bowels of the ship?"

Your face was creeping closer to his, breath gently fanning across each other, warm but refreshing.

"I... I..." Tech seemed to be short-circuiting. "I was just, uh, re... redecorating."

Your nose had just brushed his when you suddenly frowned and moved back to look at him questioningly. "Redecorating... wires?"

You were very amused at how flustered he seemed to be in this situation. But then the tables turned as Tech rolled with it.

"Yeah, I didn't like the way they looked in there. Wanted to change things up. You know me."

The smile on our face spread as he talked and you couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. You bent forward, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck while your body convulsed with giggles. Tech laughed along, bringing his arms back around you to hold you in place. When you finally looked up at him and the shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face, you knew you'd finally found your courage.

"Oh, Tech..." you chided, pressing your smiling lips against his own.

[genshin-impacted]

empress of the first water // Zhongli x Reader (1)

Word Count: ~2.2k

Palace/Harem Imperial Drama AU: You are a princess, soon-to-be-Empress, and Zhongli is the teacher invited by the royal court to show you the ropes before you ascend to the throne after a royal tragedy. 

Notes: female!reader, eventual mutual pining, fake political maneuvers, mentions of death (yes, this is a set up to a harem drama, but Zhongli is focused in this), Zhongli POV

[Next]

hello welcome to the AU I made up; hope I finish this someday :)

“You are unfit to lead this country.”

Not two weeks after a tragedy that hits the royal family, leaving you the sole heir to the throne, that is what has been said to you over and over again. The royal court adjourns without delay, placing you in the middle of it-- though you could care less.

You hold whatever you have been able to salvage from the fire: a necklace momento from your father, the dress that your mother had woven herself. And in your hands, you hold in an urn the ashes of what remains of your family. 

There is nothing else on your mind except for the fact that you are alone as the lone heir to the throne, the only living princess of the royal bloodline, and soon-to-be Empress of a nation that you are not prepared to lead.

You just want to mourn.

.

.

.

Zhongli has lived long enough to understand that politics will always be the determining factor in which his life will be led. It does not matter what he dreams of doing or what he desires. As the only born son to one of the oldest and most prestigious families in the nation, his life has never been his own-- though he supposed no one born of royalty has ever been truly in control of their path.

Still, Zhongli finds ways to play what cards he has. He earns praises for his wide array of knowledge in tradition, politics, and culture alike, but it is easy to know something if you are interested in it. He remembers vividly when Guizhong teased him, calling him an old soul when he delved personally into the traditions of tea ceremony, of calligraphy and poetry, out of his own volition because he enjoyed learning. His skills in the polearm-- also passed down in his lineage-- have also not been neglected, for he finds that it is similar to dancing, an elegant and respectful pastime that he often admires in operas and shows that he indulges himself in. If he could do anything with his life, Zhongli thinks he would be a writer or a teacher, or possibly even a historian.

("Old man," Guizhong had said to him affectionately for the last time before she left the compound to serve her duty as a princess, like many others. "One day you'll find yourself someone who listens to you and you'll talk their ear off."

"I doubt anyone would listen to what I have to say willingly," he had said, and his friend had only given him a soft look and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"I don't," she said.)

It has been years since he has entertained the idea of living a quiet life writing his knowledge onto paper and even longer still since had long last seen his childhood friend. Zhongli finds himself in the fray of politics that he knows so much of and has no choice but to delve into when he is invited to the royal capital.

"It is a great honor," his father had said to him, hands behind his back, "to be meeting the Princess of the royal family. Make a good impression; this is of the utmost importance."

Political maneuver, Zhongli thinks immediately, not doubting the intention of an invitation coming from the palace, especially after the incident he has been told of. A fire of great destruction, the burning of a whole wing with the royal family trapped inside-- one would think it was a plot to overthrow the Emperor, but if anyone were to stage a coup, they would have burned the inner walls of the palace where the man resides, bedridden. A great coincidence to have the royal family unable to escape, but it almost seems too malicious to call it that. Gross neglect? Bad luck? Karma? Truly, a tragedy as the death of many could not be described worse than as an accident. 

Zhongli thinks it is much too early to be moving the chess pieces so soon after half the board has been razed to the ground, but he supposed the world has never been that kind.

With a trained expression, Zhongli picks up the tea that had been brewed and takes a sip (too bitter, stepped too long, he thinks, wincing slightly, and putting the cup down). "I understand, father." He pauses for a moment and considers his words. "Is there a particular reason for this invitation?"

"The Princess is in need of education due to her lack of preparation as an heir," he says, "though I also hear she is in need of a husband as well."

The tea leaves in the cup trembles for a moment before sinking. "Father?"

"This is an opportunity of a lifetime, son."

And Zhongli thinks about his role, his abandoned journal, and books yet to be read and nods. "I understand," he says, wondering why, even though he expects where his life has been leading, he feels disappointed by the outcome anyway. "I will bring honor to our family."

"I expect nothing less," is what is said to him, and Zhongli swallows the bitterness of the tea down.

.

.

When Zhongli arrives at the palace, he is welcomed with all the excitement that is to be expected from the arrival of a son whose family holds prestige. Maids of many numbers cater to his every whim, and the few court officials who seem to favor him welcome him to the royal palace, which is broad and grand just as history would describe them. 

Briefly, he wonders if it is professionalism or greed that maintains the palace’s daily businesses after an evident tragedy.

"I would like to extend my greetings and gratitude to the princess for allowing me in her castle," Zhongli says carefully, his voice even and words like silk-- just as he was taught as an educated man-- and watches in confusion as the nobleman who had barely kept his pleasure at his presence suddenly deflate. 

"Ah, yes, of course, you would like to see the Princess," he says, a nervous lilt to his voice. "But I'm afraid she is preoccupied with another commitment at the moment. My apologies."

Invitation from the Princess, he remembers reading from the telegram, thinking it strange that someone would invite someone without intentions of welcoming them. It's easy to come to the conclusion that the Princess had not sent the message-- and the thought that she may not even know of his arrival also comes following after. Instead of speaking, Zhongli nods, much to the noble's relief as he continues to parade and provide him the tour that he has not asked for but appreciates nevertheless.

His room is two halls down the main chambers where you live. If the location and proximity to royalty were not enough, the room itself was also vast and much too big for one person, but he supposes luxury and decadence can be shown in empty space as well as it can with beautiful trinkets and trophies. Zhongli has always admired such things, as he does with the ornate statue sitting on top of his vanity and wonders when, if he ever does, he will be able to explore the castle in between whatever responsibilities the court deems him in need for.

"Maid," Zhongli says gently, but the young maid startles anyway when he addresses her. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Would I be allowed to stroll the gardens of the west side of the palace?" He says, "The moon is to be full tonight and I wish to view it."

She flushes, for reasons that Zhongli knows not for. "I-I believe so. The guards should be patrolling at the moment, but you are a recognized guest of the palace, so all should be well."

When Zhongli steps out onto the carefully maintained rock garden, he spots a few men walking down and up the inner walls of the castle. He briefly thinks about the number of them but thinks no further, for now. Instead, he thinks the moon is best viewed when its reflection is in the water, clouds are nowhere in sight, and all is quiet. He comes close to the perimeter of the garden inner castle, expecting to see no one. 

Zhongli steps into the moonlight and watches as you sit onto the grass and lean your head against the lone lantern post.

Perhaps you are here to moon-gaze as well, he thinks and goes to alert you with his presence by clearing his throat. He doesn't know why his earnest attempts to be unalarming go unwell, but he startles you into turning around. 

Zhongli does not know what the Princess looks like, nor has he had anyone describe you to him. But Zhongli knows who you are if not solely from the emblem you carry on your headpiece and the way you hold a funeral urn in your lap like it is the only thing tethering you. As such, he expects the caustic demands of his name and stature, as expected of a Princess, but he is surprised to find that you look at him instead like a deer in headlights, arms tense around the urn.

"My apologies for startling you, my lady," Zhongli begins, "that was not my intention."

"Oh, no, it's okay," you stammer, and he has to blink for a moment at the manner in which you speak. "I should have probably noticed you coming. I was distracted."

Princesses and princes of the royal family are taught three things from birth: power, manners, and tradition. Nothing says more about your status than the way you hold yourself and the way you speak, especially if you are of royalty, and so every word that one must speak seems carefully crafted and intricately woven with elegance. A tad bit obnoxious, if anyone could say, but it is a mark of the elite, regardless of the former. 

But you, who hold possibly one, if not the most, powerful title in the country, speak casually and without bothering with a mask of neutrality, as though you are unused to the burdens of sovereignty.

Your eyes are gentle, almost excessively so, and the way you hold yourself as though you want to be unnoticed are both strange but corroborating evidence of your peculiarities of a noblewoman. Though Zhongli has yet to understand why this is so, the instructions his father listed and his role in the castle has become clearer.

Zhongli has many questions, too many to ask about to a person who has no idea who he is. 

Decorum takes him before his curiosity overwhelms him, and he lowers his head in deep respect. "My name is Zhongli, Princess. Thank you for allowing me to stay as a guest within the palace.”

"Oh," he hears you breathe out, "you're the one that came today." You turn your head toward the koi pond that beautifully reflects the moon. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to greet you," you say mechanically, trained.

"No, that's quite alright," Zhongli says mildly, glancing down at the urn still in your hands. "I'm sure greeting a stranger would be the least of your concerns at the moment."

At this, you smile at him. It is not a happy smile, but rather a pained one that strains your lips and pinches your eyes. Zhongli thinks back on his first lesson to maintain his expression, to keep composure, and almost marvels at the emotions clear on your face for him to see. 

(He thinks this may make your life harder for you, to wear your heart on your sleeves. But he finds himself selfishly wanting you to stay as you are.)

"I've been told one week is all I should be given to mourn, as typical of a funeral ceremony. My parents' ashes should be released but…" You glance up at the night sky dim with stars. "I know in my heart this is not the place for them."

"Then what is the place?" Zhongli echoes and holds his breath when the smile you give him is gentle beyond measure.

"Some place where the wind blows," you say, "where the earth is clean and the ocean is near. That way, my parents can choose freely where to find rest." You laugh. "That must be a pretty tall order, isn't it?"

"You are a Princess," Zhongli finds himself saying, and you turn back to him. "I believe you are allowed to demand only the very best, for yourself and your loved ones."

"I believe," he continues, when he sees your eyes mist over, "that I am here to tutor you in the ways the court deems fit. I have been praised to have a wealth of knowledge and the privilege of history in my family as well as the power of my lineage; I will guide you as best as you need me to." He pauses. "And… if you require a geographical lesson on the highest peaks, the widest oceans, and the most open plains, for reasons beyond academic, I will be available to you."

.

.

.

Zhongli returns to his room (two halls away, he reminds himself, from you), and it is only then he realizes that he has not looked at the moon at all. Not directly, he thinks, but he supposes he did see a glimpse of it, as it stands behind you as a backdrop to frame the smile you gave him that was as bright as starlight.

[alkhale]

Typetober Day 8: encounters and partings

In light of a Memos update coming veeeerrrryyyyy sooooooon (to the reader who asked for an update because today was their birthday, i’m sorry i wasn’t able to make it :( but i promise i’ll make it up to you! hope you had an amazing one <3)

A flurry of bodies rushed past her legs, nearly toppling her over. Hoku wobbled, grabbing the wooden pillar of the shop beside her before she could fall flat on her face. She scowled, whirling around with one hand curled into a fist. “Hey! Stupid brats, watch where you’re going! You could get someone killed!”

“Sorry, lady!” one of the boys hollered, breaking out into a chorus of laughter as they ran. The smallest one tripped, forcing the other two to brake on their heels. They quickly rushed back, hauling him up by his arms and running away with him in tow.

Hoku stopped at the sight, fist loosening in the air. She felt a little quiet all of a sudden, staring at their backs as the three boys laughed, heads tossed high and smiles bright until they disappeared entirely from sight.

“Hoku, you’re too slow!”

“Put more effort into it!”

“We’re gonna leave you behind!”

“My star, is something wrong?”

Hoku’s fingers uncurled from her fist. She dropped her hand back down to her side, staring after the empty space between the crowd. 

No. She thought back, reaching behind her to touch Mau’s hilt before she shook her head, turning toward the shop and stepping inside. “It’s nothing.”

Hoku fixed the tie under her chin. Her hood stayed well in place, hiding the bright white hair she’d tucked away for the sake of a little stealth. The island ought to be fine for now since she was just picking up supplies before her next raid, but she couldn’t be too careful. I have to think ahead. I have to be smart.

There wasn’t anyone else around to do it for her.

C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t done this solo thing before. Hoku shook her head, making her way to the back counter of the shop. Her order from last night should be ready by now, so she’d be in and out without a hitch. It’s nothing new.

But it was a bit new. When you’d had something for so long and were forced to live without it, everything became new.

You know what you’ve got to do.

“I’m here to pick up an order from last night,” Hoku said to the man at the counter. 

His eyes flickered in recognition at the mark around her eye and he nodded, shuffling to the back. There was another man at the counter, waiting for his own order. Hoku stopped a polite distance away from him, folding her hands in front of her and waiting, trying to map out how she’d make it to the next marine base without setting off an entire armada. It’s located at the center of the island, so it’ll be a little harder to make the runaway. Can I really handle just going in and getting what I need without causing a fuss? Not causing a fuss had never really been the Straw Hat Pirate’s motto. 

Hoku ignored the tightness in her stomach in the heavy weight in her chest. You’re just getting sentimental. Suck it up.

She glanced to the side, watching the other man at the counter inspect bottles of ink in an attempt to distract herself. He was pretty well-dressed for this part of town. Maybe from the rick mansions up the hillside? Hoku blinked once, watching the thick, gloppy substance churn inside. Ugh, that’s not going to sit well on paper. It would probably bleed right through. It’d stain the brush too. Terrible quality. Don’t buy it, man. It’s not worth it.

He ran a gloved thumb over the label, seemingly fixated on it. Hoku’s eyes swept along, squinting suspiciously when his gloved fingers rolled a heavy bottle to the side, showing its brand.

“Pokian ink?” Hoku said out loud in disbelief. “That’s supposed to be Pokian ink?”

The man paused, his fingers halting over the bottle. Hoku flinched in realization, cursing herself as he started to turn toward her. She quickly whipped her gaze down, making sure her hood kept her covered from his line of sight. There’d been a flash of wavy blonde from his hair underneath his top hat, the collar of his dark coat folded down over his carvat. Don’t make a scene, you dumbass.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was amiable, nice and pleasant. She’d almost say charming, but Hoku had the displeasure of meeting plenty of people with personalities that didn’t match the nice tone of their voice. “Did you... are you familiar? With ink, I mean.”

Hoku considered keeping her mouth shut and just coming off as some rude weirdo. He probably wouldn’t bother her if she just kept quiet and let it go.

“What do you need it for?” Hoku said. She should stab herself in the foot. She really should. “Just for writing?”

“That would be ideal,” he said, sounding a bit relieved for the conversation. He turned his entire body to her, opening up his body language but Hoku kept her gaze forward, refusing to turn her face. “I... I was looking a bit into ink that might be good for painting, though I’m not very good at it.”

“You should buy paint then, not ink,” Hoku said automatically. He seemed a bit surrpised. “If, I mean, you’re going to paint. You can paint with ink, but they’re different for a reason.”

Hoku pointed a finger to the jar in his hands, not turning once. “That’s not good quality for either. Real Pokian ink doesn’t look like that. It’ll have a smooth, thick texture, depending on what it’s for. It might even seem clear sometimes, pinkish. Usually it can be found in black though, but you can tell through a jar by the way it slides when you turn it. Should move like blood.”

“I see,” he said, sounding a little amazed. Hoku nodded, curt. “I... You’re very knowledgable. Are you well-versed with Pokian crafts?”

“...I know a bit,” Hoku said, giving herself a pat on the back for not saying anything else. “Just trust me on this though.”

“I will then,” he said warmly. Hoku blinked, a bit pleased by his compliance. “Sorry,” he laughed. “Do I seem gullible?”

Yikes. Am I that easy to read? “No,” she said, “I’m glad you trust me.”

“It does seem like someone who wouldn’t know the truth wouldn’t have much to say,” he said, a little sly as he dragged his finger down the ink bottle and set it down. “Do you see fraud like this often?”

“Too much,” Hoku said instantly. She pressed her lips into a tight line at his boyish laugh. “Just... Just know most real Pokian works won’t typically say they are.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said with a small laugh. “Do you have anymore tips?”

“Not really,” Hoku forced herself to say. “If you’ve got a good eye, you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Hoku tried to stifle her curiosity. “...you a collector of some kind?”

“No, nothing of the sorts,” he said quietly. There was something a bit sad to his tone, a little lost. Hoku raised a brow, turning a tiny bit. “I’m... I’m fond of the culture, I suppose. It... It feels like knowing more will help me find something I’ve lost.”

“...oh, yeah?” Hoku said, turning a tiny bit more. He hummed, soft in response. “What did you lose?”

“...something very important,” he said quietly. Hoku fell silent. “I wasn’t able to... no, I’m going to try to think a little more positively. I’m still looking. I have to keep looking.”

Hoku said nothing, keeping her eyes forward, hoping a bit for his desperate sake he’d find what he was looking for too. Lost something important, huh. 

Her chest ached.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said politely, reaching his hand over to catch her attention. Hoku half turned. The man behind the counter was returning with her bag as well. “I... Feel free to say otherwise, but if I were to be looking for someone of Pokian descent—not for bad intentions! More... more for a specific person, do you know what would be the best way to find them?”

Hoku debated the words on her tongue. Half of her had a mind to just grab her bag over the counter and leave. He seems earnest though. His questions were weird and she didn’t like people poking around into Pokian business with unsavory intentions. But is it even my business if it’s just one person he’s looking for? What if it’s an old flame or a friend or maybe even family? Distant? Who knows?

She didn’t really owe him anything either.

“It depends on the person, you never really know unless you’ve got the right information,” Hoku decided. She grabbed her bag across the counter, already sensing his disappointment in waves. From the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump, hands falling down in front of him. “But if it’s just one Pokian in particular you’re looking for...”

Hoku lightly tapped the side of her head on the outside of her hood. He paused. “You should look for their coming of age mark. If you remember what it looks like or where they had theirs... you can’t miss them.”

“...I’ll remember that,” he said, sounding a bit more hopeful, a little... a little curious? “I... Thank you, miss.”

“You’re welcome,” Hoku said simply. She threw her bag over her shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thank you—“

The doors to the shop slammed open, smacking into either wall. The shopkeep fled to the back of the store and Hoku froze, staring at the entrance as three marines searched before their eyes landed on her.

“There she is!”

Son of a bitch! The man beside Hoku froze, growing rigid as he raised one hand. Hoku whipped her head to the side.

She didn’t hesitate, taking off. The marines flooded into the store and the man at the counter turned, his eyes following her in wide surprise as she jumped onto a table and leapt through the window feet first, boots smashing through the glass and flinging herself outside.

The wind ripped her hood back. Paper white hair spilled out, brushing over her face.

He stopped, frozen.

Wait.

Hoku ran, ducking into an alleyway as the marines tried to tail after her. If there’s a few, there’s more. They’re like cockroaches. She clambored onto a roof, ducking as a group ran past. She quickly took out her brush, drawing onto the thatching and pulling the bird free from the wood. Hoku blew across it, mumbling under her breath as it expanded, unfurling its wings with a resounding flap.

“Excuse me!” Hoku whirled around in surprise. The guy from the shop? “Excuse me! Wait! Please, wait a second—”

Hoku’s eyes caught the flash of blue and white uniforms. She shook her head, jumping onto her bird and taking off. It beat its massive wings once, shaking its beak in protest before it took off into the sky, leaving everyone behind.

“Wait, please! Wait! Wait! Please, wait—“

Hoku didn’t look back.

“Hoku?”

Hoku stopped. Her bird continued to fly beneath her, taking them further and further away from the marines. She blinked, mind whirring as she quietly turned behind her, staring in confusion.

“Guess I heard wrong,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “Let’s go.”

Her bird banked beneath her, taking them far, far away.

“There he is! Hack! I found him! Where did you run off to—huh?” Koala’s eyes went wide, hands flying up into the air as she stopped just short of giving her friend a playful shove. “I—oh my goodness, are you okay?”

He sat, slumped over the top of the roof. His hands hung limply in his lap, gloved fingers clinging to a loose leaf of paper he’d tugged hastily out of his breast pocket. He stared out into the sky, looking forlorn and lost.

“What happened?” Koala asked, crouching down beside him. “Are you alright?”

“...I,” he stopped, looking down at the paper in his hands. “I don’t really know.”

Koala frowned, lightly rubbing her hand against his back. He ran his thumb across the carefully inked marking, curved like half a heart and smeared at just the bottom, like someone had bumped into them in the middle of it.

Sabo gently folded it back up, tucking it into his pocket, right beside his heart.

Was it even you?

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Whenever commie is no longer busy and have time (and ofc would want to write it), would you be willing to make a complete list of those who would kabedon; and the list of "who would and would not say the f/curse word"?

Oh man, you want a complete list? Well, ok, let’s go show by show here, I’m gonna get really lengthy with it. Like, I can’t go through every character in every show, but I’ll hit what I think are the major points.

Fair warning before you mash the read-more: I did, in fact, go through nearly every show I’ve seen. This post is long.

We will start with Kamen Rider.

Kamen Rider 1号: I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you heard my grandpa say a cuss. Go on. I dare you.

Kuuga

Godai Yusuke: is capable of saying fuck, but does not, because he’s too polite. He might kabedon, but not for any romantic or sexual reasons, just because he likes to be close to people and he gets excited about stuff.

Ichijo Kaoru: says fuck on a regular basis. I think he would kabedon unironically but only in the heat of the moment.

Ra-Baruba-De: doesn’t cuss because it’s beneath her. She’d kabedon Ichijo, but would follow this up with an attempt to kill him.

Agito

Tsugami Shouichi: does not swear and cannot kabedon, although someone else might do it to him.

Hikawa Makoto: might say fuck in a moment of stress, but rarely swears otherwise. He could and would kabedon, but only in situations where doing so would get a comedic result related to his strength and clumsiness.

Ashihara Ryou, the sexiest man in the world: probably swears like a sailor and would absolutely kabedon. The very thought makes me go weak at the knees.

Kino Kaoru: definitely says “fuck,” but I don’t think he does fuck, and he certainly doesn’t kabedon.

Ozawa Sumiko, however: both says “fuck” and does it. She will kabedon, and she will stand on Omuro’s shoulders to get enough height for it.

Ryuki

Kido Shinji: always wants to swear, but doesn’t actually do it. He could kabedon, but only in anger; the thought of doing so in a romantic or sexual context would make him blush and stammer.

Akiyama Ren: can and will say “fuck” at a moment’s notice. You know he kabedons.

Kitaoka Shuichi: says “fuck” quietly, when no one can hear him except maybe Goro. He would kabedon gently and think himself very sexy.

Yura Goro: is a sweet, sweet man who neither swears nor kabedons.

Asakura Takeshi: is saying “fuck” at this very moment. He would only kabedon as a prelude to stabbing.

Tezuka Miyuki: is on this list because I love him, but he does not say “fuck” and could not be induced to. He could be kabedon’ed.

555 (we haven’t finished this one so I can’t guarantee that all characters will be included)

Inui Takumi: I’m pretty sure he could say “fuck” but I don’t think he’s actually inclined to. Kabedon’ing requires a level of investment in whatever situation that I don’t think he’d want to admit to.

Kusaka Masato: oh, absolutely.

Sonoda Mari: swears all the time. Doesn’t kabedon because she expects someone to do it to her.

Keitaro Kikuchi: is a very nice boy who does neither of these things.

Kiba Yuji: contains vast lakes of suppressed rage, and if he says “fuck” even once it might all come out. Does not kabedon for the same reason.

Osada Yuka: says “fuck,” but only in her heart. Does not kabedon.

Kaido Naoya: says “fuck,” but only when he can’t find a more ridiculous option. Absolutely kabedons at a moment’s notice.

Smart Lady: does not say “fuck.” Will definitely kabedon you, and moreover she’ll do it with her leg to make sure that the situation is just, uncomfortably sexual.

Blade

Kenzaki Kazuma: is breathtakingly earnest but nevertheless does, on occasion, say “fuck.” Doesn’t kabedon because he’s too sad.

Aikawa Hajime: has neither the inclination nor the desire to say “fuck” or to kabedon.

Tachibana Sakuya: can say “fuck,” but mostly doesn’t. Also too sad to kabedon.

Kamijou Mutsuki: would say “fuck” to get someone’s attention. He wishes he could kabedon.

Kurihara Amane: is in so much trouble with her mother for saying “fuck.”

Hibiki

Hibiki/Hidaka Hitoshi: is An Dad, and thus is theoretically capable of saying “fuck,” but if he does then it means the situation’s gotten pretty serious. (Or he’s hit his thumb with a hammer.) He can definitely kabedon, but we’ll never see him do it, because that means the situation’s gotten a different kind of serious.

Ibuki: has too much self-control and dignity to say “fuck,” but said it when he was younger. Doesn’t kabedon because it’s just...not the right vibe for him.

Todoroki: has considered saying “fuck,” but the prospect makes him blush. Cannot kabedon to save his life but desperately wishes that he could.

Zanki: comfortable with the word “fuck” but uses it sparingly. Doesn’t seem like a kabedon type.

The Children: Asumu, Kyosuke, and Akira can all definitely say “fuck” just by dint of being high schoolers brimming with all kinds of messy emotions. Kyosuke would definitely attempt to kabedon someone, although he might not do it well.

The Tachibana Sisters: anyone who runs a restaurant can say “fuck.”

Kabuki: like Miyuki, above, is included because I adore him, even though he’s a movie-exclusive character. Definitely says “fuck.” Might kabedon in the process of tricking someone, but wouldn’t do it seriously.

Kabuto

Tendou Souji: feels that saying “fuck” is beneath him. Wouldn’t kabedon so much as he’d very gently brace himself against the wall and lean in, which, let’s be real, is much sexier.

Tendou Juka: you know that comic that people have done all those redraws of? I think this one is the original? This is an accurate representation of what would happen to someone, possibly Kagami, if Juka said “fuck.”

Kagami Arata: is all the time saying “fuck,” at least in his head, but doesn’t often say it out loud because it would draw the wrong kind of attention. Would kabedon Souji, probably, who would be surprised and then quietly delighted.

Kusakabe Hiyori: unlikely to say “fuck,” and if she did I suspect Tendou would take it badly (see above entry for Juka). Might be kabedon’ed, but would definitely knee the perpetrator in the groin.

Kamishiro Tsurugi: my beautiful son does not know what the word “fuck” means, but would definitely kabedon because he’s excitable.

Yaguruma Sou and Kageyama Shun: get one line because they do things together--imagine, if you will, Yaguruma saying “fuck” and Kageyama echoing him quietly a moment later. They would also kabedon together.

Kazama Daisuke: would say “fuck” very quietly. Does not kabedon.

Den-O

Nogami Ryotaro: cannot say any swear words without suffering a potentially fatal nosebleed. May have kabedon’ed once in a dream, but the thought of him attempting it in real life is actually laughable.

Hana: says “fuck” as an adult. As a child, says it more. Does not kabedon, because why bother?

Naomi: can do whatever she likes and I will support her.

Momotaros: says “fuck” regularly and with gusto. Kabedons as a greeting.

Urataros: does not use any curse words because women find them off-putting--unless the woman he’s with swears, in which case he does too. Will kabedon if it is situationally appropriate for getting laid.

Ryuutaros: see, again, this comic, but this time the person doing the shocked face and then later the punching is me. He does not know what a kabedon is.

Kintaros: is probably asleep. Believes that excessive swearing is unmanly. Doesn’t see the point of kabedon.

Sieg: believes that excessive swearing is unfit for a prince, but will very occasionally say “fuck” if it’ll get every eye in the room on him. Unaware of kabedon.

Kiva

Kurenai Wataru: does not.

Kurenai Otoya: does both, vigorously.

Asou Megumi: says “fuck,” doesn’t kabedon. Would encourage someone else to kabedon her though.

Asou Yuri: absolutely says “fuck” all the time, might kabedon Otoya to shut him up.

Jirou: I actually don’t think he swears? Definitely kabedons though.

Nago Keisuke: says “fuck,” but feels bad about it afterwards. Might kabedon from anger, or if induced to by Megumi.

Nobori Taiga: is far too polite to say “fuck,” but occasionally thinks it. Does not kabedon.

Decade

Kadoya Tsukasa: there is no question that he says “fuck” all the time. Not the romantic kabedon type, much to Daiki’s disappointment. May kabedon in other situations, though.

Kaitou Daiki: says “fuck” only occasionally, but with feeling. Would like Tsukasa to kabedon him.

Hikari Natsumi: says “fuck” regularly and energetically. Will sit on Yuusuke’s shoulders to kabedon Tsukasa.

Onodera Yuusuke: does not say “fuck” at all. Cannot kabedon because he is too busy giving Natsumi a boost.

W

Hidari Shoutaro: believes that saying “fuck” is unbecoming of a true man, but still says it if he stubs his toe. Kabedons unintentionally and then blushes when he realizes what he’s done.

Philip: has said “fuck” a total of once and then went down a rabbit hole looking into its etymology. Kabedons intentionally and with forethought, and then completely loses the thread of things as soon as Shoutaro starts blushing.

Narumi Akiko: says “fuck” just to shock Shoutaro. Definitely kabedon’ed Terui at least once, which he was unspeakably charmed by.

Terui Ryuu: is not open to questions about whether or not he says “fuck.” Only kabedons out of frustration.

OOO

Hino Eiji: neither says “fuck” nor kabedons.

Ankh: both says “fuck” and kabedons, and both are generally directed at Eiji. In fact, since he is only a hand, kabedon is an important part of his physical vocabulary.

Izumi Hina: does not say “fuck.” Would break a wall if she kabedon’ed, and thus it’s fortunate that she isn’t inclined to anyway.

Gotou Shintarou: would blush terribly if he ever said “fuck,” or for that matter if he attempted to kabedon.

Satonaka Erika: considers the word “fuck” an important part of her vocabulary, to be used sparingly. Kabedons Gotou, and at least once Date.

Date Akira: says “fuck,” but not in, like, an aggressive way? Just as an expression of mild distress. It does not occur to him to kabedon.

Fourze

Kisaragi Gentarou: is not legally allowed to say rude words. Would kabedon out of an excess of enthusiasm and then be deeply confused if the recipient blushed.

Sakuta Ryuusei: says “fuck” sparingly and only when it’ll have an impact. Does not kabedon.

Utahoshi Kengo: says “fuck” frequently and with enthusiasm. Doesn’t see the point of kabedon.

Jojima Yuuki: like Gentarou, is not legally permitted to curse. Kabedon would not occur to her unless it could be some way related to space.

Kazashiro Miu: says “fuck” occasionally. Kabedons when appropriate, which is rarely.

Daimonji Shun: wishes he could say “fuck,” but can’t quite bring himself to.  Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but he used to.

JK: only says “fuck” deniably. Strictly a receiver of kabedon.

Nozama Tomoko: doesn’t use curse words, she uses curses. Doesn’t kabedon, but appreciates it when she sees others do it.

Wizard

Souma Haruto: definitely says “fuck” sometimes. Prefers a flirtatious lean against a convenient wall over kabedon.

Nitoh Kosuke: says "fuck," but only if his grandma can't hear him--unless there's a notable archeological discovery in the offing, in which case all bets are off. Thinks he's too slick to kabedon, but he's not.

Fueki Koyomi: no.

Nara Shunpei: absolutely not.

Daimon Rinko: has said "fuck" on occasion and would certainly do it again. I can't imagine a kabedon from her though.

Gaim

Kazuraba Kouta: seems like he secretly swears kind of a lot. Does not kabedon because he is, at base, a deeply non-aggressive individual.

Kumon Kaito: says "fuck" at least once a day. Absolutely kabedons, but mainly because he's annoyed and slapping a person seems tactically unsound.

Kureshima Mitsuzane (Micchi): says "fuck" to sound edgy. Would like to kabedon but no one would take it seriously.

Kureshima Takatora: will use the word "fuck" sparingly, and only to indicate that The Situation Has Gotten Bad Indeed. Does not know what kabedon is.

Sengoku Ryouma: says "fuck" occasionally, and with malicious good cheer. Does not kabedon, but if he would like to give it a shot, I am available.

Takatsukasa Mai: says "fuck" quietly but with frequency. Doesn't see a good reason to kabedon anyone.

Oren Pierre Alfonso: only swears in French. Dismisses kabedon as a thing for callow youths, but despite this he did once have a heated dream of doing it to Takatora.

Drive

Tomari Shinnosuke: says "fuck" if he's hit his leg on a table or something, but in more serious situations he does not curse. I cannot possibly imagine him trying to kabedon, it's impossible.

Shijima Kiriko: doesn't swear as much as one might think; "fuck" is for special occasions. Will use a kabedon to get someone's attention.

Shijima Gou: says "fuck" all the time. Would like to kabedon, but hasn't found the right person yet.

Chase: does not swear. Does not kabedon--he's interested in human behavior but that's just nonsense.

Sawagami Rinna: is a professional engineer and thus uses the word “fuck” as punctuation. Might kabedon, but it’s unlikely.

Mr. Belt/Krim Steinbelt: mutters “fuck” quietly when Shinnosuke isn’t paying attention. Does not have arms.

Heart: has said "fuck" experimentally but didn't like the mouthfeel. Delighted by the very concept of kabedon but hasn't done it yet.

Brain: believes that swearing is a sign that you have nothing constructive, intelligent, or amusing to say. Provided Heart with the comics from which they both learned about kabedon, and since then the thought of Heart doing it to him has occupied his every waking moment.

Medic: has thought about saying "fuck" but isn't sure that she really wants to. Stole those comics from Brain and now she, too, would like Heart to kabedon.

Ghost

Tenkuuji Takeru: the thought of saying “fuck” has genuinely never entered his head. More someone who is kabedon’ed than someone who does it himself.

Fukami Makoto: can theoretically say “fuck,” but mostly doesn’t. Would maybe kabedon if the moment seemed appropriate.

Alain: thinks saying “fuck” is sort of uncouth but does it anyway. Wants to know what kabedon is, please tell him about it.

Tsukimura Akari: does not get enough sleep or lab time for anyone to be able to stop her from saying “fuck.” Has kabedon’ed out of excitement, but never for romantic reasons.

Yamanouchi Onari: tries not to say “fuck” because he’s supposed to be setting a good example, but sometimes it just slips out. Definitely doesn’t kabedon, but that’s more out of cowardice than a sense of restraint.

Fukami Kanon: see the comic previously linked to for reference for what would happen if Makoto found out that someone had taught Kanon how to say “fuck.” Reads comics in which there is the occasional kabedon, kind of wishes Alain would do it.

Ex-Aid

Hojo Emu: doesn’t say “fuck” because he works with children. Doesn’t kabedon because it’s not his style.

Parad: absolutely says “fuck,” if only to see Emu drop something in surprise. Thinks kabedon looks fun.

Kagami Hiiro: is too uptight to say “fuck” and too shy to kabedon.

Kujou Kiriya: uses “fuck” as an expression of low-key dismay. Does his best flirting from across the room, but might kabedon if it seemed like the reaction would be entertaining.

Hanaya Taiga: barely even thinks of “fuck” as a word, it’s just a noise he makes when he’s annoyed. Kabedon’ing would require him to get much closer to people than he wants to.

Dan Kuroto: definitely says “fuck,” are you kidding? Even before he was a cackling supervillain he was, at least partially, a software engineer. Does not kabedon.

Poppy Pipopapo: no.

Saiba Nico: says “fuck” all the time as long as Taiga’s not looking. Will not admit to reading the kind of comics where a kabedon might occur, but definitely does.

Graphite: thinks all of this is human nonsense and yet is, despite himself, intrigued.

Build

Kiryuu Sento: probably says “fuck” more than any other main Rider. Yes, even Tsukasa. Is kabedon’ed.

Banjou Ryuuga: says “fuck” because MMA guys have foul mouths, although he did clean up his language a bit when Kasumi was still alive. Kabedons.

Isurugi Misora: if Misora says “fuck” then something terrible is about to happen. Would laugh at anyone who asked if she knew how to kabedon. Would knee anyone who tried it on her in the groin. Kazumi knows this well.

Takigawa Sawa: considers the word “fuck” an essential part of her vocabulary, to be used frequently and sometimes at a great volume. Knows how to kabedon due to spy training but does not use it in her personal life.

Sawatari Kazumi: says “fuck” all the time, unless Misora is paying attention to him. Thinks that kabedon is very sexy and that he’s very good at it; mileage may vary on whether this is actually true.

Himuro Gentoku: says “fuck” softly and solemnly when something really bad has happened. Maybe he kabedons, I’m genuinely not sure.

Evolt: probably does both, but I’m not getting close enough to check.

Zi-O

Tokiwa Sougo: doesn’t swear because it’s not kingly. Does not kabedon.

Myoukouin Geiz: surprisingly, does not tend to curse. Definitely kabedons, not always romantically.

Woz: doesn’t say “fuck,” because there are more roundabout ways to express his frustration. Kabedons, sometimes for romantic reasons and sometimes just to be weird about things.

Tsukuyomi: specifically uses the word “fuck” to indicate that things have gotten serious. If Geiz isn’t going to get around to kabedon’ing her, she’s going to do it to him.

Zero-One

Hiden Aruto: look obviously I can’t really comment on these characters because I haven’t watched that show yet but just from the clips I’ve seen I think Aruto would spontaneously combust if he said “fuck.”

Saber

Kamiyama Touma: says “fuck” sometimes, especially if he’s very tired. Thinks kabedon is kind of a tired plot device.

Sudou Mei: doesn’t think saying “fuck” is that big of a deal, uses it to express irritation. Agrees with Touma that kabedon is overused as a plot device, but likes it nonetheless.

Shindo Rintarou: oh my god no, definitely not.

Fukamiya Kento: uses the word “fuck” the way other people might use the word “moist”--it’s not a word he likes to say, but it has its place. Not generally aggressive enough to kabedon, but might if it seemed useful.

Akamichi Ren: is a teen edgelord and thus says “fuck” a lot. Talks a big game, but is secretly too shy for a successful kabedon.

Ogami Ryo: has tried to clean up his language since becoming a dad and been pretty successful with it. Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but did once.

Daishinji Tetsuo: says “fuck” when he’s working on things. Kabedon generally involves prolonged eye contact, so no.

Sophia: good heavens no, can you imagine?

Tassel: might be a divinity of some kind, can swear if he wants although he’d probably do it in French, but if he kabedons then I’m a walrus. I love Tassel.

All right, that’s Kamen Rider done! Now on to...

Super Sentai

AkaRed: if AkaRed ever said “fuck” I think something in the multiverse would be profoundly damaged--oh, hell, this is how Zenkaiger happens, isn’t it?

Dairanger

Ryo of the Heavenly Fire Star: doesn’t say “fuck,” but you might when you taste his gyoza. They’re the best in the world, you know. It has never occurred to him to kabedon.

Daigo of the Heavenly Illusion Star: is too gentle to say “fuck,” or for that matter to kabedon. (Besides, anyone who tries to kabedon Kujaku is going to be in for some difficulty.)

Bullet Shoji, Warrior of Love: used to say “fuck,” because he used to be in a gang, but doesn’t anymore. Doesn’t kabedon because he tries not to intimidate people.

Kazu of the Heavenly Time Star: doesn’t say “fuck,” he just kinda makes a hiss noise if he’s irritated. Doesn’t object to kabedon in theory but not interested in doing it himself.

Rin of the Heavenly Wind Star: does sometimes say “fuck,” much to her uncle’s dismay. Does not kabedon.

Kou of the Howling New Star: is a horrible child and says “fuck” regularly. Too immature to be allowed to kabedon.

Kakuranger

Tsuruhime: does not say “fuck,” because if she’s mad she can just smack someone. She is fairly sure that people don’t actually kabedon in real life.

Sasuke: has said “fuck” once or twice but mostly tries not to. Too friendly to kabedon.

Saizou and Seikai: get one line because they’re attached at the hip. They are too goofy to say “fuck,” and would only ever manage to kabedon each other.

Jiraiya: not only does he say “fuck,” he will actually be saying “fuck” and not a Japanese equivalent, because he is more comfortable speaking English. I cannot imagine this man attempting to kabedon.

Ninjaman: is tremendously excited to learn about modern cursing, but never actually uses the words he’s learned because his teachers would be mad at him. Naturally too large to practice safe kabedon.

Hurricaneger

Please know that I’m not very far into this series yet, so this is based on fairly early impressions.

Shiina Yousuke: does not say “fuck” but often wants to. Doesn’t kabedon because it seems really aggressive, especially if you’re trying to kiss someone.

Nono Nanami: sometimes thinks the word “fuck” but doesn’t say it. While she’s read a few comics which contain kabedon, the thought of putting the concept into practice has never occurred to her.

Bitou Kouta: would never say “fuck” because children might hear him. Doesn’t kabedon because he’s a gentle soul.

Kasumi Ikkou and Kasumi Isshu: I just met these boys last night but I know in my heart that they both say “fuck,” and moreover they mean it. They also definitely kabedon.

Furabijo and Wendinu: can call me, please, I’m apocalyptically in love with you both.

Gekiranger

Same as Hurricaneger--I’m not that far in, we don’t even have the extra guys yet, but I sure do have some thoughts about the folks we’ve got so far.

Kando Jan: doesn’t even know the word “fuck,” probably has some cute repetitive term for sex that he uses instead. Doesn’t know what a kabedon is either.

Uzaki Ran: may say “fuck” very occasionally if she sustains an injury during training. Not inclined to kabedon.

Fukami Retsu: will pretend that he’s too in control of himself to swear, but does on occasion say “fuck.” Sees no reason to kabedon.

Mele: says “fuck,” but never when Leo can hear her. Doesn’t kabedon, would like someone else (*coughcoughLeocoughcough*) to do so though.

Leo: says “fuck” like he’s chewing on something and spitting it out. Definitely kabedons, but has no idea that this might have romantic or sexual implications.

Shinkenger

Shiba Takeru: does not say “fuck” anymore, because once he said it in front of Jii, who lost his mind. Could kabedon, he’s capable of it, but he’s a little too wound up in himself.

Ikenami Ryunosuke: would never say “fuck.” Not a kabedon type because it seems rude.

Shiraishi Mako: used to work with children, and thus didn’t say “fuck” for years, but now does occasionally--mainly while cooking. Doesn’t kabedon because she has other ways of getting in your face.

Tani Chiaki: is a Gamer and thus definitely says “fuck.” Nonetheless, respects women too much to kabedon them and the only men he might kabedon he is slightly afraid of.

Hanaori Kotoha: is a sweet, precious girl, very dear to my heart, who certainly does not swear or kabedon.

Umemori Genta: only says “fuck” if he cuts himself while preparing fish, or while arguing with fish vendors. Might kabedon to be goofy, but never seriously.

Kusakabe Hikoma/Jii: definitely had kind of a wild youth. Takeru once heard him say “fuck” to a kuroko while working on the clan accounts and has never recovered from the shock. Doesn’t kabedon anymore, but he did once.

Shiba Kaoru: doesn’t actually know the word “fuck” or anything about kabedon, and isn’t going to learn if Tanba has anything to say about it.

Gokaiger--one of the ones I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for

Captain Marvelous: I think we all know that the answer is yes on both counts.

Joe Gibken: says “fuck” quietly in serious situations, and loudly if Marvelous is deliberately getting on his nerves. Does not typically kabedon.

Luka Millfy: uses “fuck” as a general intensifier. Likes guys she can intimidate a little, so she does kabedon, but she mainly does it to Doc and Gai.

Don Dogoier/Doc: if you hear Doc say “fuck” it’s probably the middle of the night and he’s repairing an engine problem. Certainly does not kabedon.

Ahim de Famille: cursing is unladylike--not that she always tries to be ladylike, but she just doesn’t see the point there. Doesn’t kabedon.

Ikari Gai: probably uses some sort of goofy minced oath like “fudge” unless in the actual throes of passion. Doesn’t really have the poise to kabedon.

Basco ta Jolokia: only says “fuck” when no one is listening, because otherwise he might seem less than poised. Would kabedon Marvelous to get a rise out of him.

Go-Busters

Sakurada Hiromu: seems like he’d probably drop the occasional “fuck.” I’m of two minds on the kabedon thing; I think that he could, but I’m not sure that he would.

Iwasaki Ryuji: says “fuck” if he’s working late on some problem. Doesn’t kabedon because he doesn’t want to scare people.

Usami Youko: says “fuck” specifically because it gets Ryuji to make a shocked face at her. Might kabedon if she found someone short enough. She will never find someone short enough.

Nick, Gorisaki, and Usada: no, definitely not.

Masato Jin: says “fuck” with the casual manner of a man who has definitely not just dropped a wrench on his foot. Doesn’t kabedon, but has joked about doing so.

Beet J. Stag (the “J” stands for “Jueki”): says “fuck,” but doesn’t know what it means. Who would he even kabedon?

Enter: only swears in French. Would kabedon with one of his creepy tentacles.

Kyouryuger

Kiryuu Daigo “King”: is a ludicrously perfect shoujo manga love interest, and thus does not say “fuck” but does kabedon in a sexy way.

Ian Yorkland: says “fuck” on dig sites but not in polite company. Might kabedon if it’d make the girl in question smile, does not kabedon men.

Udo Nobuharu: used to say “fuck” sometimes, but doesn’t now that he’s helping to raise Rika. Too busy and tired to kabedon.

Rippukan Souji: is too uptight to do either.

Amy Yuzuki: doesn’t say “fuck,” just makes irritated noises. Might kabedon if it would get someone to stop screwing around and pay attention to her.

Utsusemimaru: is familiar with neither the word “fuck” nor the concept of kabedon, although he might learn about the latter from some of Amy’s manga.

Yayoi Ulshade: says “fuck” when she’s working. Perpetually disappointed that she will never get Daigo to kabedon her.

Candelira and Luckyuro: my beautiful wife and her adorable son have no knowledge of these things.

ToQger

Right, Tokacchi, Mio, Hikari, and Kagura: are all children and thus are barred from engaging with these things. Although I suppose now they’re all fifteen or sixteen, so maybe some of them have started cussing, but I refuse to contemplate it.

Nijino Akira: doesn’t know the word “fuck,” but if he did he’d use it. Doesn’t know about kabedon either, and wouldn’t use it if he did, because that involves getting way too close to people.

Wagon: much like Smart Lady, would kabedon with her leg, but in her case she’s trying to be cute and fun, not creepy. Does not say “fuck.”

Emperor Zett: can in theory say “fuck,” but hasn’t found an occasion to do so. Would kabedon to intimidate, I think he’d kinda puff up like a little angry wren.

Jyuohger

Kazakiri Yamato: will only say “fuck” if he’s just been bitten by an animal he’s taking care of, and even then only if it really hurts. Doesn’t kabedon.

Sera: doesn’t say “fuck” because there’s always something more cutting available. Would bite anyone who kabedon’ed her.

Leo: says “fuck” as long as there are no girls listening. Has been bitten by Sera at least once as punishment for kabedon crimes.

Tusk: says “fuck” about paper cuts, but nothing else. Doesn’t kabedon.

Amu: doesn’t say “fuck” because there are cuter ways to get mad. Doesn’t kabedon herself, but will take any kabedon from someone else as an opportunity to get them to do something for her.

Mondou Misao: says “fuck” sometimes, always apologizes directly afterward. Far too nervous to kabedon.

Bard: says “fuck” at least once a week. Isn’t clear on what kabedon is.

Uncle Mario: you leave Uncle Mario alone.

Kyuuranger

Lucky: does not say “fuck.” Might kabedon in a moment of high spirits.

Garu: is a polite man who neither says “fuck” nor kabedons.

Stinger: says “fuck” frequently. Kabedons with his tail.

Hame: says “fuck” quietly but often. Doesn’t kabedon, and would just vanish if someone did it to her.

Raptor-283: says “fuck” very rarely, but at great volume. Dreams of being kabedon’ed, this is canonical.

Champ: doesn’t curse, and thinks kabedon looks dangerous.

Spada: only says “fuck” in the kitchen, where he can say whatever he pleases, grazie. Could be kabedon’ed.

Balance: says “fuck” if he’s panicking, but only then. Might kabedon for fun.

Naaga Rei: doesn’t do either, and would be terribly puzzled if someone kabedon’ed him.

Shou Ronpou: said “fuck” once when he got his finger caught in the Kyuulette. Isn’t familiar with kabedon, but thinks it looks fun.

Kotaro: is ten years old.

Ootori Tsurugi: doesn’t say “fuck” because it’s not grandiose enough. Definitely kabedons, we see him do it at least once in the show.

LupinRanger Vs. PatRanger

Asaka Keiichiro:  might say “fuck” if he’s really angry, but would feel bad about it. Would blush if he kabedon’ed Kairi, but would still do it.

Yano Kairi: has been saying “fuck” on the reg since he was twelve. Would kabedon to make Keiichiro squirm.

Hikawa Sakuya: might say “shit” on occasion, but never “fuck.” Wishes he was the kind of guy who could kabedon.

Yoimachi Tooma: doesn’t say “fuck,” but does think it loudly. Too reserved to kabedon.

Myoujin Tsukasa: could potentially say “fuck,” but chooses not to. Not a kabedon type.

Hayami Umika: mostly has pretty clean language, but will say “fuck” when she’s sewing, especially if she’s just stuck a needle into her finger, which hurts like a bitch. Doesn’t kabedon herself, might giggle if someone did it to her.

Takao Noël: only swears in French, but does so in extensive and exacting detail. Kabedons, but in a chill way.

Zamigo Delma: thinks the word “fuck” is extremely funny. Would kabedon Kairi to make him uncomfortable, but if Kairi’s unavailable then he’s welcome to look me up.

Ryusoulger

Koh: has never said a swear in his entire life. Doesn’t kabedon.

Melto: says “fuck” often, but quietly, so that the others don’t hear him. Seems kabedon’able to me.

Asuna: doesn’t actually know the word “fuck.” Wouldn’t kabedon, like, on purpose? But she’d definitely do it unintentionally, please see this comic for reference.

Towa: will say “fuck” sometimes if his brother won’t catch him at it. Overconfident enough to kabedon, but I don’t think it’d occur to him.

Banba: says “fuck” if things have gotten very bad. Kabedons only rarely, when he needs to be very serious about something. Yes, sometimes that something is “I think about kissing you with such frequency that it’s interfering with my ability to focus.”

Canalo: doesn’t say “fuck” because Mosa Rex would be disappointed in him. Would never kabedon, if he even knows what that is, due to his overpowering Respect for Women. (It has never occurred to him that one might kabedon anyone but a woman.)

Oto: might say “fuck,” and if she did then Canalo would specifically blame Melto.

Nada: uses “fuck” as an expression of dismay, like, “well, fuck.” Not into the whole kabedon thing.

Tatsui Ui: might have said “fuck” once, but then was so embarrassed that she got a case of hysterical giggles. Absolutely does not kabedon.

Super Sentai is done! That was exhausting! Wow! On to...

Ultra Series

I have seen very few Ultra shows, so this section’s gonna be short.

Orb

Kurenai Gai: doesn’t say “fuck,” does curse in some kind of alien language. Doesn’t kabedon, I bet it’d make him blush, although mostly he doesn’t seem like the blushing type either.

Jugglus Juggler: says “fuck” regularly and with relish. Was once described by someone very wise as having “big kabedon energy,” which is to say, of course he does.

Yumeno Naomi: definitely says “fuck” and doesn’t care who hears her. Will kabedon Gai and Juggler simultaneously, one with each hand, and they will both be impressed and maybe a little turned on.

Hayami Jetta: says “fuck” sometimes, but not as frequently as he’d like people to think. Might try to kabedon, although he wouldn’t necessarily succeed at it.

Matsudo Shin: does neither of these things, as they have no relevance to science.

Geed

I can’t really say much about Geed, since we’re not even ten episodes in, but what I can say for certain is:

Asakura Riku: is too nice a boy to say “fuck” and not intense enough to kabedon.

Toba Laiha: definitely says “fuck” on occasion. Would kabedon with her sword.

Pega: is a child.

Igaguri Leito: does neither of these things, he is a sweet man. And I think Zero would disapprove.

Fukuide Kei: says “fuck” with frequency. I think he would, theoretically, kabedon, but there’s no one on Earth he’d do it to.

Belial: I haven’t actually, like, met Belial, but I’m fairly sure his existence is a concentrated dose of the word “fuck,” in the sense of, “oh, fuck, it’s Belial.” If he kabedon’ed he could destroy the planet, please do not let him.

R/B

I’m even less far into R/B, since I’m watching it by myself.

Minato Katsumi and Minato Isami: they do not.

Aizen Makoto: is too weird to do either of these things.

All right, we’re done with the brief foray into the Ultras. Now, last but very much not least, we have...

Garo

Of which I have only watched the original continuity, none of the Ryuuga stuff yet, so it’s a slightly limited take. However, I love all of these characters dearly, so here we go!

Saejima Kouga: is way too upright (and uptight) to say “fuck.” Doesn’t know what kabedon is, wouldn’t do it if he did.

Suzumura Rei: is a man who swears colorfully and at length and uses “fuck” to add a little bit of pep to things. Definitely kabedons, with varying levels of success depending on who he’s trying it on.

Fudou Leo: is a soft-spoken man, but nevertheless does occasionally mutter “fuck” quietly when he’s working on a Madou device. Blushes and stammers at the very suggestion of kabedon.

Mitsuki Kaoru: might say “fuck,” but only in the absolute heights of fury, which are rare for her. Not inclined to kabedon, but even if she was, who could she even do it to? The shortest person she might kabedon is Rei, who is seven inches taller than her, and it only gets worse from there. She’d need a boost to reach, and my dude Gonza’s back is not good enough for that.

Jabi: believes too strongly in the value of language well-used to say “fuck” except when absolutely necessary. Could kabedon with her leg, probably, and would if she thought it’d be useful.

Rekka: says “fuck” sometimes, mostly to express irritation. Most likely to kabedon with a knife or something.

Saejima Raiga, Mayuri, and Crow: I only barely know these kids but I adore them. None of them are allowed to do any cursing. They do not kabedon.

Madou Ring Zaruba: is a ring, so obviously he can’t kabedon, but he can say “fuck,” and I think sometimes he does.

The Moral Of This Story Is: never ask me for a comprehensive list of anything, because I cannot be trusted to do anything but go completely overboard.

[kmpac]

Noona No More

➸ 18+

➸ Summary: You are a stylist for the biggest group in the world, which has some decided advantages, but it also has some definite distractions. The biggest of which being Park Jimin. After a performance goes slightly wrong, you get your chance to tell Jimin exactly what you think of him and turns out he has some things to say about you too.

➸ Word count: 6K

➸ Pairing: Park Jimin x stylist noona

➸ Genre: Slight Angst, Smut, Fluff if you squint

➸ Warnings: Jimin crying (it broke my heart to write it!), some foul language, dry humping, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink (because, of course!)

➸ A/N: I have been on tumblr for a while, but haven’t ever shared anything I’ve written. Being a mom in my 30s, it has been literally 15 years since I actually wrote anything, but I’ve been inspired by Jimin lately. My sweet ultimate bias. I just adore him. With the encouragement of some ARMY friends, I decided to share this. We will see what happens and if anyone reads this. Lol. I have never written warnings before, as this is my first time writing smut. I’m so sorry if I forget something. If you see anything I should add, please let me know!

Being a stylist for BigHit had some decided advantages; working for a company that cared for its employees and paid well not being the least of which. But BigHit was also full of idols who were not prima donnas, which from your 10+ years in the business had taught you was an incredibly rare feat. The worst thing you had to deal with was boys falling asleep in the styling chair or wanting to play in front of the cameras that followed them everywhere. No, you had it really good, you couldn’t deny.

That did not change the fact that being a stylist for Big Hit, and primarily being assigned to BTS had some decided disadvantages as well. Primary among these disadvantages was one – Park Jimin.

Jimin was the kind of person that would sit quietly making polite conversation with you making you feel seen and important and not like a prop in his everyday life. But he was also the kind of person that would brush just slightly too close to you as he stood from his chair and would cutely say “excuse me” with a knowing smirk as you blushed from ears to toes. In other words, he was dangerous. He was charming, sweet, sexy, funny: all the attributes to make any woman weak at the knees. Unfortunately for you, having a crush on your gorgeous idol subject was not an option if you wanted to keep your job. Not only were you required to be professional in order to carry out your duties, but it was also the road to heartbreak, and you knew it. Idols weren’t allowed to date openly, and for BTS it wasn’t only impossible with their superstar status, but was impossible due to their schedules. You knew well the hours they put into their work and had more than once blow dried and curled their hair as they fell asleep standing. They worked hard, but play was something foreign to them.

So when Jimin would flirt just before a show, you assumed it was only to get into the mindset of his stage persona, not to personally give you a heart attack. It was the only form of comfort and a wakeup call that you could offer yourself.

That was until one particular day when your whole world turned upside down.

You were backstage at an award show, curling Jimin’s hair as his sleepy chin dipped to his chest. His lips were puffy and adorable as usual and his makeup was flawless so you could barely see his cute freckles that you wished the makeup people wouldn’t hide. His complexion, too, was a bit too light, but you always attributed that to a broken sense of the beautiful in this country. Pale did not always equate to beautiful and tan could be gorgeous, like Jimin’s own natural honey skin tone that made him look like candy you could eat. Come to think of it, it was probably safer for your sanity that they did adjust his complexion, if that thought was any indication of your fragile state of mind around this man.

“You will be needing another dye job soon,” you said casually as you assumed his half asleep mind wouldn’t even register it.

Without even opening his eyes, he uttered, “will you do it, Noona?”

“If I’m the stylist on duty, of course.”

“You are the only one who is gentle. I always feel like my scalp is on fire when anyone else does it.”

“You exaggerate. And I don’t do it any different than anyone else.”

He looked up then as you were midway through a curl of the iron and grabbed your wrist, “promise you will be the one who does it, Noona.”

You were distracted by his eyes that were so much more than the colored contacts he wore. Even those couldn’t distract from how jaw dropping and gorgeous his eyes were, especially as he had some of the most honest and forthright eyes you had ever seen. This man didn’t do secrets.

“I will try,” you offered, though you knew you would do nothing of the sort. Dye days were the worst because you spent hours upon hours with one boy exclusively and you couldn’t handle that with Jimin. He was your Achilles’ Heel.

“Thanks, Noona,” he said as he closed his eyes again.

You hated him calling you Noona. It made you feel old. Sure you were both adults, but you had 7 years on him and such matches just didn’t happen in Korea. Not that it mattered, anyway, you reminded yourself as you turned to grab the hairspray, because Park Jimin would never look at you that way even if you were his age.

The boys rushed out of the room in a whirlwind shortly after with last minute checks of wardrobe, makeup and hair as they went to perform. It was always a mad house just before stage, and the boys were jumping around and singing to warm up their voices, and overall getting hyped up so they had the energy they needed to go full out. There were a lot of people there to see them, and they never disappointed.

The moment your life turned upside down though, started just as you were backstage, putting away most of your equipment and cleaning up any mess left backstage as you and your fellow stylists watched the boys performance on the monitors in the dressing room. The boys were performing Dionysus to perfection. Every move was as accurate as in rehearsal, even with the jet lag and exhaustion of the boys. They were used to it, they would say, but you always felt for them. Jimin was front and center doing his incredible solo spotlight as the boys made a V formation behind him to “Where the Party at” when it happened. Jimin’s voice squeaked and it came out rather profoundly on the monitors. The boys rarely made mistakes of any kind, or if they did it was largely overlooked by the audience, but there was no hiding this moment as he was the focal point.

You could tell by his face for that split second that he was shocked by his voice, but then he went right back to being the exceptional performer he was born to be. You forgot about it entirely until the moment the boys finished the performance and came back down the hallway to the dressing room. You were all crowded into one of the bigger rooms at the show, but even still it was hard to shove everyone in who accompanied the boys, but any crowd was quickly forgotten when you saw Jimin’s face.

He was puffy around the eyes and slightly red. His face was contorted with a grimace and there were definite tear tracks on his face. Tae had him under his arm, practically dragging him into the room. When he made it inside, he completely lost it. He started crying in earnest and fell to the floor against a wall as he shucked off his 3 million Won jacket and cast it in his makeup chair.

The makeup artist assigned to Jimin made no show of emotion as she took her kit and went to sit beside him on the floor to clean him up. She turned back toward you, who was still standing shell shocked in the middle of the room, and asked you to grab the dabbing paper from her station. You quickly went to her side and offered her the materials, which she quickly put to work. The boys would no doubt be called to stage at any time to accept one of their millions of awards they would win tonight, and there was no time for tears. You sat beside him as he attempted to get control of his emotions. RM was hovering as his stylists scurried around him and Tae was shouting praises to Jimin to cheer him up, but nothing seemed to help.

“Noona,” he said and your focus went back to his face and you saw he was looking at you as his makeup artist reapplied his eyeliner in a hurried fashion.

“Yes, Jimin?”

“I messed up. Did you see it?”

“See what?”

“Don’t joke,” he said as he adjusted his position and you tried not to make eye contact. You didn’t want him to know that, yes, you saw him, and yes, you noticed the mistake, because admitting it meant everyone saw it, everyone heard it. You wanted to distract from that, but you didn’t know how. You were quickly shuffling through a million statements you could make that would give comfort without making him feel worse, when you felt his hand slip into yours discreetly. You looked down and then straight into his eyes. What you found there had your heart beating wildly out of your chest. Such an open look of desire to be comforted, to be heard and understood, and it conveyed only a desire for honesty, and though you couldn’t ever verbalize how you knew that, you still KNEW.

You took a deep breath and looked around as all the boys and their stylists began to shuffle toward the door. Before long it would only be the three of you in here if you didn’t manage to get him up and out the door on time. His makeup artist was still going about her work with such wicked accuracy and precision that you marveled at her talent.

“You messed up?” you asked as your eyes were still on the makeup artist, “Who cares?”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you knew there was no going back. The makeup artist stopped her work and Jimin completely froze staring at you.

“You aren’t perfect, Jimin, and you aren’t made to be. Sometimes you are so insanely talented that I think the whole world forgets that you are just a guy. Just a man. And that’s ok.” At this you made eye contact with him and grabbed his hand more fiercely. Jimin was looking at you with a guarded expression, but his eyes were alight with tears or something else – you couldn’t tell.

“You know that, right? You know that you are perfect in your imperfections, even when you mess up?”

He blinked back at you but didn’t speak. The makeup artist looked at you and stood to leave the room to give you a moment. You couldn’t say why she did that, but some cosmic intervention must have made it happen, because as soon as she left you realized that you and Jimin were the only ones left in this room filled with half full garment racks, makeshift beauty stations and piles in every corner of the room filled with people’s belongings.

“Do you really think so?” He asked, bringing your attention back to his face.

“Think what?”

“That I’m perfect, even when I mess up.”

“Of course, I do! Life is messy, and it never goes according to plan, but that’s what makes it beautiful, people are the same.”

His eyes looked down in disappointment, but he wasn’t crying anymore so that was something, although that look made you confused as you felt like you were getting through to him, if not for that expression.

“You know, I failed my final exam in beauty school the first time.”

“You did?”

“I sure did. And if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?”

You laughed at the open look of curiosity on his face, “My dream had always been to work for YG and I probably would have stayed there forever, but because I failed and my spot was taken I bounced around from job to job with company after company until no one would take me on except Bang PDnim. And now, all this time later, I’m stylist to the biggest group in the world. How is that for No More Dream?”

He smiled at you then and even chuckled lightly under his breath, but his eyes never left your face.

You looked into his open honest eyes for only a moment and yet it could have been days for how your heart began to beat out of your chest. It was one of those defining moments in life. As you looked into his perfect eyes, it was as though you were tied together in that moment, where two souls were speaking though your bodies were silent. It was not something you could verbalize and you didn’t want to. Time didn’t exist in that moment.

That is until you heard the bell alerting them of a commercial break, which would allow them the moment to go back to their seats on the stage. It woke you up and reminded you that you were still sitting on the floor with a pop star who needed to get to his seat before the gossip started. After his mistake on the stage, he didn’t need people speculating that he was backstage crying (even though it was true).

“Ok, let’s get you out there,” you said as you went to grab his bicep, which was surprisingly firm and strong for such a skinny man, but you had no time to think on it, as he interrupted you with your name. He never called you by your name.

“Wait,” he looked at you again in earnest and you felt the blush rise on your cheeks as you waited for him to say whatever he would say.

“I know you hate being the center of attention, and getting any kind of praise, but…thank you”

“You’re welcome, Ji-“

“And…I know you probably don’t feel the same way, but…” he looked behind your back at the door that now contained no one, “If this is my only opportunity, then…”

You had no idea what he was talking about and were about to turn around and head toward the door, no matter his requests for you to wait. He had to go.

But before you got fully turned toward the door, he grabbed you by your wrists and spun you to the wall behind the open door so you would be secluded, and then crashed his perfect plush lips on yours. You had often imagined what being kissed by Jimin would feel like. Soft, gentle, like pillows against your mouth, because his lips were so fluffy looking.

This was not that, though. He was rushed for time, so his lips were tight and brutal against your mouth. In a second, when you went to take a breath, his tongue was in your mouth stealing your hastily taken breath with the greed of his. His hands were in your hair, and his solid front was pressed firmly against yours. You were taken so off guard you forgot to respond to his kiss, to take advantage of running your hands through his hair that you had just styled a few hours previously and still looked gorgeously coifed. Instead you were practically paralyzed against the wall with hands at either side of your head, but as the heat of his body seeped into yours and the semi hardness in his pants connected with your softness, you gasped in pleasure suddenly.

The sound shocked him out of his trance and he stepped away apologizing profusely to you. Instead of listening to him wrongfully assume you weren’t into him, you decided to show him just how much he was wrong by grabbing him by his neck and merging your lips back together. Like two people starved of each other you grabbed and pulled and pushed with a fiery passion and one of your legs lifted off the floor to wrap around his waist as you rubbed your center against his front seeking friction from the only man you ever wanted between your legs for as long as you live. He growled and took your leg off his waist and set you back on your feet in a show of great restraint.

His head hit your chest as he tried to catch his breath and gain control back. The bell was ringing again to say the commercial break was over.

“Fuck,” he grunted out toward the floor as his face continued to be hidden from you. “I have to go back out there.”

“I wish you didn’t, but you are right and the others will be back soon,” you said referencing the other staff.

“Please know,” he said as he lifted his head and made eye contact with you, “this isn’t just physical for me.”

You took a shaky breath through your nose to gain control of your beating heart, “Same here.”

He smiled at that, wide and with his gorgeous eyes.

“I thought I was too old for you.”

He chuckled as he wiped his pants off from sitting on the floor, “I thought I was too young for you.”

He turned to leave as you heard familiar voices approaching.

“We aren’t done here,” he said as he pointed at you and then ran out of the room, just as the others returned to the room.

You stood at the door and watched him go. At the last minute, he turned and smiled at you and like the tease you always knew he was, he licked his bottom lip and bit it.

You knew you probably looked like a love sick puppy as you leaned on the doorway watching him go with a light blush on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help it.

Just before he went on stage, though, you ran out to him calling his name. As your cover you fluffed his hair that needed no fluffing, but to him you whispered, “Don’t call me noona anymore.”

He tried to hold in his laugh but leaned down as his eyes scanned the backstage to make sure no one was looking as he whispered back, “you got it baby. I’ll see you after.”

Then he winked and was gone.

_____________________________________________________________

You did your level best to focus on the performances and your cleanup of the back room until the end of the show that night, but you couldn’t help but relive that kiss over and over again in your mind. You had kissed Park Jimin! The most famous idol in Korea. The literal It Boy of the country, probably of all of Asia. He was beyond beautiful, talented, kind, funny, and did you mention gorgeous? You kept stealing views of his perfect flirtatious eyes in the monitors as you packed up your belongings and shuffled to load the Big Hit vehicles for the end of the show. Every time you caught his eye, you felt like he was looking straight back at you (which was silly since you knew he was just looking into the camera to make eyes at the fans).

After the show everyone was exhausted and piled into the black tinted windowed vehicles to lead them back to their hotels. BTS got a private floor of the fancy hotel designed for performers and the famous actors who presented the awards. You on the other hand were staff, and not just staff, but support staff, not managerial staff, like Sejin who stayed in the hotel with the boys so he was on hand in case of emergencies, and not like the body guards and personal assistants to the group. You were just a stylist. Suffice to say, you didn’t expect you would see him again tonight when you went back to your budget hotel down the block from the venue. Jimin had promised he wasn’t done with you (the thought of that statement made something in your lower stomach twist, even as your legs rubbed together), but surely the circumstances being what they were, that would be impossible.

You were winding down for the evening after washing your face and brushing out your hair and were about to put on a sleep mask and turn on some late night TV program to fall asleep to when your door rattled as a heavy hand hit the door. Like any self-respecting Millennial, you were immediately terrified at the prospect of an unexpected visitor, and ironically, your mind was so full of his kiss that you were beyond astonished and taken by surprise, when you opened the door to Park Jimin in the flesh. You would have pinched yourself to wake up from your obviously delusional dream, but then he started walking in through the door without invitation.

You backed into the room surprised as he threw the keys in his hand on the table and started shucking off his boots as he closed the door with his leg.

“You drove here?”

He nodded.

“How did you even find where I was staying?”

“I’m clever, and Sejin isn’t as protective of his planner as he thinks he is.”

In a moment, you were in his arms. If he had given you time to consider the state of the hotel room, with your belongings strung out across the bed, including your bra and underwear you planned to wear the next day, and your cosmetics strewn across the countertops and tables, you might have been embarrassed. Instead, he was like a man possessed as he took advantage of your surprise, like he had done that afternoon at the show, as well. In a rare moment of confidence, you wondered if he had imagined being with you like this as many times as you had imagined being with him.

His mouth encapsulated yours like he was afraid you would run away if he stopped. You were so incredibly consumed, you didn’t have one thought of stopping him. It was like a dream come true. And having him in this intimate environment that smelled like you and was filled with your things after the previous night’s stay, you felt your whole body come alive.

His hands were in your hair, but his arms were so tightly wrapped around you that every inch of your body felt sealed in his arms. As he walked with you in his arms toward the bed, you only had time to think about how good he smelled, like citrus and some kind of flower. In a word, he smelled delicious. And his body was so solid against yours, and hair and skin were so soft, which you knew because you couldn’t stop your hands from devouring him even as your mouth was completely drowned in his lips.

And GOD his lips. Were there two such lips anywhere else in the world that tasted, felt, and looked this beautiful? Not that you could see them right now as your eyes were rolled back in your head in ecstasy, especially as he drove his stiff shaft into your clothed center. You moaned wantonly and he pulled away to stare in your eyes. His face flushed and lips swollen, even more than usual, as he lay you down on the bed and leaned over you.

“Is this ok?” he asked and you sputtered out a yes in reply as his smiling face fell to devour you once again.

His hands began to loosen the ties on your robe and he slowly ground his heavy anatomy into your clit, which only furthered the fire in your belly.

“Please,” you started chanting as he ripped your robe open and quickly took up residence on your unclothed chest like a man starving. You whined wantonly, who could blame you? You had to remind yourself again that Park Jimin was the one currently running his perfectly pointed tongue over your pert nipple. As he did he moaned in a voice so deep you would have believed it was someone else if not for the evidence before you. His hands were soft as they ran across your sides and your ribs and gripped with his ring clad fingers on your waist. You found yourself growing wetter by the second as you imagined him bruising your hips with those ring clad fingers. It was a thought you often had when you watched his fingers wrap around his microphone when he performed.

“I can’t control myself,” he said, bringing you out of your trance. “If you don’t want this, tell me so now.”

“I want this!” you practically screamed as you lifted your hips to grind against his clothed member. He practically growled in response as he pulled away and stared at your unclothed body. He started to slowly remove his jacket and unbutton his white button up shirt. For your part, you lifted onto your elbows to drink him in, as you pulled your robe from underneath of you and threw it across the room. You were still wearing your underwear (thank god they were cute ones) but your upper body was bare and your hair was draped in what you hoped was a seductive way. He was biting his lip, meanwhile and slowly untucking his shirt from his pants as he, one arm at a time, removed his shirt. It was so hot and sultry, you felt another gush of liquid between your legs as you moaned. Jimin, for his part, seemed to grow more bold and flirtation the more you seemed to enjoy yourself. With the grace of a dancer, he stood to his full height as he finished shucking off his shirt and tossing it across the room. Until that moment you had been fully concentrated on his eyes, but you couldn’t deny that his perfectly sculpted stomach and chest were a very welcome distraction. You had never seen anything so perfect before in your life. From his honey skin, soft and smooth and free of blemish, to his dusky nipples that made your mouth water, you were ready to eat him alive right then and there. You lifted to do just that as you took in his muscular stomach and his sexy tattoo. Your hands followed the trail of your eyes and it took no time to dig in to the feast laid before you.

Your tongue was currently swirling around his perfect nipple, when a particularly high keening noise left Jimin’s mouth. His enjoyment encouraged you to be even more bold as your hand found the front of his trousers. He took a big inhale as your hand connected with his member. The softness of his balls as you brushed them made it even more extreme of a contrast as your hand connected with his engorged manhood. It made your mouth water as you imagined taking it into your throat.

With that thought you pulled away to make quick work of his pants. Jimin was vibrating, practically, with anticipation as his hands joined yours in removing his slacks. His belt flew across the room, and his pants and boxer briefs came off in one shot like lightning. Your eyes again devoured the man, and for the rest of forever you knew you would never see anything as beautiful as a naked Jimin. He blushed slightly as you took him in from head to toe. He knew what he looked like, but obviously was not used to being appraised so fully. His blush only increased his sexiness, so you decided to tell him.

“You are literally the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

His smile could have outshined the sun and in that moment you promised yourself that you would make an effort to be vocal with him to keep that smile on his face.

Now, with only your underwear as a barrier, you both finally realized the gravity of the situation as things got more serious. You began to crawl backward on the bed, as he went on hands and knees to chase you up the bed. You bit your lip and whined at the intensity in his eyes, and he growled at your wanton behavior.

In a second he was back on you and now his unclothed dick was the star as he rolled his hips into your center. You were already so close, it was embarrassing, but you didn’t even care. You wanted him: carnally, emotionally, in any way he would give you himself and you would thank him for any shred of it.

“More baby,” you heard yourself beg, “please, more! I want more, Jimin!”

His lips met yours as he gripped onto your lower lip and bit it, causing you to whine again.

“What do you want from me, Jagiya?”

Your eyes shot open at the use of that word, but it only brought a warmth in your heart as you answered his question.

“I want you to make love to me, Jimin. Please…”

He wasted no time as he descended down your body with open mouth kisses. His pillow lips making you so crazy you thought you could probably just come from his kisses, but he went too quickly down your body and before you knew it he was biting into your underwear to pull them down your legs.

You lifted up to watch and what you saw made your heart explode and your lower lips vibrate in anticipation. There before you were the eyes of a man possessed as he stared straight into your soul and his mouth wrapped around the lace of your underwear.

God he was sexy. He always had been, but nothing had prepared you for this. He hadn’t even brought you to orgasm yet and you were already certain that he was a sex God.

As your thoughts swirled with his perfection, his glorious lips took up the position of your underwear as he slowly but surely wrapped his perfect lips around your throbbing nub. Your panting intensified and you found your hands fisting in the sheets as he began to suck. In between sucks, he would moan about how wet you were for him and instead of being embarrassed you felt sexy and powerful. Jimin had the incredible ability to make you forget his status in a moment of passion and only feel how much he worshiped you. Or at least that was what he did to you.

His fingers meanwhile, found your entrance and as your lips quivered he plunged a ringed finger deep into your hole without warning. You whined loudly as you threw your head back in ecstasy against the pillows. You felt him moan into your nub as you did so, which only intensified your internal struggle. You began panting his name as he continued to assault your nub with licks and sucks as his curved tongue would periodically flick out and tease your lower lips, whilst his first finger took a completely different rhythm, driving into you with abandon. The contrast of feelings and intensity brought you to orgasm faster than you thought possible. With a gasp, and a sharp inhale, you felt your silent scream as it racked your body with shivers. As you came down, and the sensations began to settle into over sensitivity, Jimin’s tongue licked up your liquid heat like it was ice cream. He even sucked on his first finger from ring to tip as he sighed into it at the taste of your release.

You think you might be in love.

In no time he was climbing up your body and smiling at your ecstatic face. You were so fucked out, you had no thought to be embarrassed. Instead you hooked your legs on his perfect ass and pulled him into you.

“Put that perfect dick in me this instant,” you told him as you were out of breath.

“As you wish,” he giggled. With no hesitation he drove himself into you harshly, causing both of you to exhale a fluttered breath. His forehead made contact with your own in an intimate gesture as his perfect lips pouted out to connect with your lips in a feather light kiss. You could have cried at the intensity of his gaze as he slowly began to pump in and out of you.

His dick WAS perfect, as you had said. Just the right size, not too big, not too small, and thick to stretch you in all the right places. And more importantly, he knew how to use it. He lifted one of your legs to drape across his shoulder as he ground himself deep inside of you. You had always been completely convinced that the G spot was a mystical imaginary body part, made up by women who couldn’t tell the difference between an internal orgasm and a clit instigated orgasm, but you stood corrected. As his hips rolled in a movement you had often seen when he was on stage (though admittedly, had never seen quite like this!) you felt that foreign fire burning beneath his pressure. You were about to explode again as Jimin’s hips quickened. You watched his stomach muscles clench and pull taught over and over as his wave motions grew quicker by the second and his moans grew in intensity.

“Fuck, I forgot a condom!” He shouted even as his motions grew more rapid.

“I’m on the pill. Shut up and fuck me!” You panted as you met his movements with your hips.

“God, you feel so good, Jimin.” He moaned at your praise, so you continued practically in a whine, “you are so fucking sexy, I want all of you! I’m so close again. Your dick is perfect! You are amazing! Oh my God!”

And just like that you both grew silent as you crashed over the abyss together. Your high pitched squeal came out even as your lips quivered and squeezed him of every last drop. He meanwhile groaned into your neck as his cock spluttered out the last of his cum into your waiting heat.

It took a while before you regained your breath enough to speak and when you did, you instantly felt embarrassed at the openly affectionate look on his face.

“I couldn’t wait to have you. As soon as you said it wasn’t just physical for you either, I’ve thought of nothing else.”

“I guess I should have trusted you when you said you would find me after,” you laughed, as you brushed his hair away from his face as he fell down beside you. His member was slowly decreasing in size, but you made no effort to remove him from inside of you.

“You should always trust me when I make a promise,” he said with intensity in his eyes, but immediately turned shy, like the humble duality king you knew him to be. “I hope it is ok that I came here.”

“Obviously!” you said much too quickly and much too loudly, causing Jimin to giggle and whisper ‘cute’ under his breath.

“I didn’t plan to come here just to attack you, but then I saw you and I couldn’t resist.” His eyes were on fire and completely set on you.

“I’m glad you did,” you said with a blush as you looked at your hands as you covered your face, “I’m afraid I would have been a mess if you hadn’t broke the ice, so to speak.”

“Why?” He asked earnestly and you almost laughed at how clueless he seemed.

“You have to be kidding.” When he didn’t respond, you sat up and looked him straight into his eyes as he lay back against your pillows. “You are Park Jimin, Lead Vocalist and Main Dancer of the Biggest Band in the world. It Boy of Korea, and literally the sexiest man alive.”

He smiled cockily at that last comment and asked you if you really thought so, but when you quieted him, he turned more sober.

“I get it. But all those things mean is I’m completely unavailable. My life is my job. I don’t have a lot I can offer.”

You tried to contradict him, but he stopped you with a hand on your mouth.

“Despite this…I find myself wanting to risk it all to be near you. I’ve been trying to get your attention for months, ever since you took a more primary role on my styling. I won’t lie to you, you are beautiful, gorgeous even, but I try my best not to pay attention to beautiful faces when I know it isn’t a good idea to get involved, but then you say things to me that completely change my outlook on something, or heal me with just a word, and I can’t help it…”

You were frozen in a seated position on that bed. Your cheeks were on fire at hearing this confession, and you opened your mouth to return the praise, but he stopped you with a kiss.

“Will you let me call you Jagiya? Can I be with you despite all the challenges?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he stopped you again.

“Before you answer, please think about it. We won’t be allowed to have a regular relationship. Not only will we have to be secretive with the outside world, but we will have to be secretive with the company as well. It’s never explicitly said, but I’m not publicly allowed a relationship, and in the eyes of the company this means – they don’t want to know about any exploits we have. As such, even at work, we will have to keep it a secret. Are you ok with that?”

Even with these challenges, you didn’t even hesitate when you accepted him, just as he is and promised to have him in whatever way he was able to give you.

With that he smiled like a man truly content, and his eyes swam with unshed tears, as he fell down beside you in bed. His chin upon your shoulder, as his lips coasted across your neck.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate again.

To say the least, you didn’t sleep much that night. Nor would you again for the foreseeable future.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hello! Can I have a scenario where Jafar catch a little girl who is a street rat and was trying to steel from the palace. He decides to let her go but she keep coming back wanting him to take her as his apprentice. "I want to learn from the best wizard" she said. Thank!

Hope this is cute! ^^ I needed / need to practise writing Jafar some more. 

~~~

“Oh… “A joyful smile and laugh rings out from the Sultan after his eyes roam off of Jafar and to the space behind him, in boredom from the conversation. He points with a stout little pointer finger at whatever’s amusing him. “Jafar, I believe you have a companion there, behind you!”

“What? My lord, I… “Sweeping his cape back with a curved hand, Jafar twists in around and looks around… then down… and scowls. “Oh, its you again.”

The little girl raises her hand and smiles at him, excited to be noticed after listening to such a loooong, boooring discussion about farming and grain. “Hi!”

Instead of patting her head or saying anything back to her, Jafar promptly turns back to the Sultan and pastes an apologetic smile on his face. “Sir, I found this urchin skulking around yesterday and sent her back to wherever she comes from… seems she doesn’t listen to directions, though, regrettably. Forgive me, I’ll handle it right away- “

“Oh, truly, don’t bother yourself about it, Jafar! She isn’t a trouble!- Just a little girl. Hello dear, what’s your name?” The Sultan, sweet and naïve man that he is, is completely taken with your little street rat charms already and passes Jafar to hold his hands excitedly behind his back and talk to you.

“I’m Y/N! And I’m five years old!” You hold up your hand again, cheesing at your five fingers, demonstrating how old you are. “Who are you?”

“This is the Sultan, you disrespectful little! - “

“Jafar! Please! She isn’t expected to know me, she’s just a child.” Propping his fists on his hips disappointedly and appalled his Vizier’s behaviour, causing Jafar to roll his eyes as soon as his boss’s head is turned, gripping his staff tightly between his spindly fingers. “Allah! Don’t listen to him Y/N, he’s just a silly grumpy man. I’m Sultan. Its lovely to meet you.”

“What I meant, sire, is that the thieves are concocting new ways to steal from you all the time! This little girl could be a deceitful plot, sir.”

With every word that comes out of Jafar’s mouth, the Sultan becomes more and more disappointed. What- does his vizier hate children?? How can that be! “Jafar, I want you to stop this nonsense at once. And I’m ordering you to go feed this child, she looks skinnier than the horns on an oryx- I dread to see what her concaved little stomach looks like under that cloth she wears. Now, go. I’m very busy!”

As the Sultan turns around and bids you a good day, and then totters off to another room to no doubt, play with some more toys or find his wayward daughter to bother, Jafar assess the beaming child looking up at him. Then, just as she’s about to open her mouth and say something, he starts for the door and sweeps out of the room. “Oh, sure, ‘nonsense’. It’s not as if you pay me for this kind of advice, or anything. ‘Grand Vizier’ my snake- hurry up, urchin!”

“Oh, coming!!” You exclaim, already having been trying to catch up with his ridiculously long strides- Now you’re running.

When you two finally arrive at the kitchen, which is on the first level when you began on the 3rd, you’re exhausted and basically flop onto the nearest stool. But you’re too short to actually get on it without climbing, which would be too strenuous for you in the moment, so you’re just holding it for dear life and hoping you don’t die from lack of air. As Jafar orders the kitchen staff to prepare you something quick, you just pant like a dog onto the seat of the stool.

He turns around to see this and rolls his eyes again. “Alla’s sake, you’d think a street rat would be more agile then you.” As if this is all a huge stress on his shoulders and you should be beyond grateful for his attentions, Jafar picks you up and sets you on the stool. Now you sigh and drop your cheek onto the kitchen bench. Jafar settles himself in the bench across from you, and sets his snake staff against the table next to him. “So, did you come to prosper where you failed yesterday? Because if I were a little thief like you, I wouldn’t seek my former capture out on the second attempt. I’d avoid him.”

“Ah… “You finally pull yourself together, and unstick your little cheek from the wooden, lacquered bench. “No! I came looking for you.”

Jafar raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Why?”

“Your magic! I wanna learn!”

… “My what? I’m sure I don’t know what you refer to.”

“The magic! It made the Sultan mans eyes go swirly and red, and you used that.” As you point at the snake staff, Jafar’s confusion and, now, frustration grows and his lips turn down in a scowl.

“But… that was up on the 3rd floor again… I found you at the entrance of the palace?”

You stretch your toes out under the table, as they sway in the air can’t touch the ground, shrugging under the mans hard gaze. “I followed you down there! I tried to think of a way to ask you, but then you saw me and sent me away! I want to learn the mag-”

Jafar pipe sup quick, stopping you from saying anything else incriminating around the kitchen staff. Hopefully, they were too busy to hear all that business about the Sultans eyes going ‘swirly’, as it is. This is a predicament- of all the issues Jafar foresaw in his plan to find his lamp, this little twit didn’t even make the list. Damnit. “First of all, little urchin, you need to stop saying the word magic around these… “He looks around suspiciously and lowers his voice. “Servants. For one, because its sorcery; Not ‘magic’. And for a second reason, because people can’t know about it. It’s a secret. Do you know what a secret i- Oh of course you know what that is. Anyway, for that reason, I cannot teach you. Now wait silently for your food, eat it, and begone.”

Pouting, you put your hands on the table in earnest. “But! -“

“What did you not understand?”

Before you can open your mouth again, a plate with delicious smelling, warm steam wafting off of it and into your face is set on the bench in front of you. The chef mutters something about that being leftovers from the Sultan and the Princesses’ lunch but your eyes widen at it. Just the portions are more then you’ve ever seen, never mind the smell! Quickly, you get to eating away.

You lick that plate clean before you’re done with it.

Its silent for a moment, as Jafar’s still stuck in his thoughts that he entertained himself with while you ate, before you speak up again, ripping him from his mind. “I’ll work really hard!”

Sighing and massaging his temple, he turns back to you. “It’s not about work ethic.”

You cross your arms, glaring stubbornly back at him.

You’ll be back.

___TIME SKIP: A Couple Weeks Later / CHANGE OF POV___

“Oh, Jafar!~”

Oh Jafar!~ = Jafar’s least favourite phrase as of late, because it always comes from the Sultan and it is always a precursor to something about Y/N. She has invaded his life and he can’t seem to remove her from it- she just keeps coming back! And, he tried to make her public enemy number 1 by telling the guards that if they see her, they should immediately expunge her from the premises… but she just made Razoul her friend and now she basically has free roam! She basically lives here!

Ugh, how Jafar would just like to drop kick her and her cute little smiles to Tim Buk Tu.

Nevertheless, Jafar has a job, a goal, and a reputation. So, he follows his Sultans voice to the throne room and, on seeing Y/N’s sleeping form curled up like a kitten on the floor by a wall, looks tiredly to the Sultan. “My apologies, sir, I’ll extract her.”

“Oh no, don’t be silly. I just called you to move her to my chair,” His throne?? “She’ll be far more comfortable there. I would do it myself, but its clear you’re the only one she trusts around here. You must have really bonded these past weeks with her, Jafar! I’m proud of you! Now, bye!~ I’m going to look for Jasmine. Be careful to not drop Y/N! Hoo hoo.” Giggling away like he does, making Jafar feel like the only adult in the room, the Sultan hops off the find his own terror as Jafar heaves a great sigh and strides over to the child in question.

Heaving her carefully up by the armpits, Jafar holds her up in front of him like a teddy bear- she’s that small, and light. And even with the feedings she’s been allowed here at the palace, she’s like this. Looking grim, Jafar mutters. “You’re the bane of my existence, you know.”

“I… I just want… “She’s only half awake, head still lolling forward and eyes still closed, holding onto dreamland. “To learn from the best… wizard… “

“Sorcerer.”

“Y… yeah… “

“Well, you’re certainly persistent.” He sighs, irritated, but giving her her dues as he brings her forward and rests her on his chest as he walks her to the throne. “And I am the best.”

He feels a little giggle and sticky hot breath against his collarbone before he puts her on the throne, watching her curl up again in the same feline inspired position as before when she was on the floor.

“Get sleep… Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night Jafar...”

She might be sorcerer material… but she has a long journey to go before she even touches my staff.

[anonymousanomieness]

Cheat the Church of Integrity — Strip the Sanctuary of Truth — Compromise the Cult of Society — Life is YOUR Game

The Political Game at a “Twenty-Twenty” Glance — Mavericks Want a Chance, Not a Stance

“Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.” – Henry David Thoreau (Civil Disobedience)

“Truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the common motives of humanity, and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster. High be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself, that a simple purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to others!” — Ralph Waldo Emerson (Self-Reliance)

(Emerson and Thoreau were essentially family — and while I have been inspired by both, here you will find a handful of quotes from Emerson, as his masterpiece, “Self-Reliance,” could not be more beneficial to the individual than it is now, in the 2020s.)

My most recent disappointment with political ideology falls within the realm of vocabulary.  Perhaps what is most disturbing is the reality that the term “liberal” has been so recklessly thrown about without any regard for its etymology.  It is derived from the Latin word liber, which literally means “free, unrestricted, unimpeded; unbridled, unchecked, licentious.”  Yet, we witness today’s so-called liberals regularly begging for State intervention and regulation with regard to personal liberty.  A proper example of a liberal should be a growing adolescent seeking to free himself from the grasp of authority…but logic is defied once we realize the actual example is that of a desperate child, seeking to be coddled.  Theorists have attempted to justify this by qualifying the term (i.e., classical vs. modern liberalism) – and new terms have arisen, such as “New Left,” in an attempt to settle confusion.  However, this is all hogwash.  I don’t need an advanced degree in Political Science to understand what “liberal” truly means.  My well-informed, logical intuition is not subservient to the convoluted academia surrounding the righteous experts.

“When private men shall act with original views, the lustre will be transferred from the actions of kings to those of gentlemen.”

While I could potentially dismantle many faulty terms at length, I will remain disciplined to focus on one additional term that particularly troubles me: reactionary.  On the widely familiar models of the traditional political spectrum, we find this adjective to be located on the far-right.  The common understanding is that people said to fall within this category have a tendency to drastically react to changes proposed by the Left.  This implies that the Left actively brings about social change – however, the truth is, the vast majority of leftists do not bring about anything; rather, they merely advocate and petition.  It is actually the State that is acting as the Shepherd and providing direction, whether it be at the democratic request of The People, or at the whim of the mighty staff He wields.  The sociopolitical stance of the State may waver at any time as it makes its own revisions, and meanwhile, both sides of the spectrum react in some way.  If the changes imposed by the State favor the Left, then the Left will react favorably and vocally support the changes, while the Right reacts unfavorably and denounces them.  The reverse can occur just as easily, where the Left will react unfavorably and criticize changes made by the State of which they do not approve, while the Right cheers on. 

“…Most men have bound their eyes with one or another handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these communities of opinion. This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars, authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars.”

All of this behavior, on both sides, is reactionary, if we are – once again – to pay respect to etymology and logic, rather than outmoded definitions.  If anything, “reactionary” is meant to be a replacement for both “liberal” and “conservative,” or “Democrat” and “Republican.”  These latter labels, much like a magnetic field, can suddenly and drastically flip, depending on societal circumstances and the motivations of the State.  In this instance, to introduce additional terms such as “Modern Democrat” or “New Republicans” to the mix would be ridiculous.  It would be better to simply call them all what they truly are: mindlessly reactive sheep.  Additionally, we have radical extremists on the far-left and far-right, exhibiting more potent behavior in an effort to lead in tandem with the State.  They are the rabid sheepdogs — not heroes for the sheep as many would claim, but instead, the most devout servants to the Shepherd.

Allow me to clarify my use of the word “mindless” in this context.  Mindlessness is the opposite of mindfulness, which is the ongoing practice of pure self-awareness.  Since we have spawned, we have been crafting stories about ourselves within our own minds. These stories are fiction…but more crucially invigorating is the fact that we, the egos, are the perpetual authors of this creative fiction.  You are not merely a profile of predetermined, prepackaged personality traits and qualities; you are the architect of your ongoing life experience.  This means, whether you believe it or not, you are always in control of your story.  

“These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world.  Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.”

The mindless sheep do not trust themselves enough to fearlessly lead their own lives, so they follow a sheepdog of their choice.  Additionally, the rabid sheepdogs on both sides of the spectrum have immersed themselves in the Political Game so deeply, that they have all but lost the pages of their unique, individual stories; they have been trained effectively.  Their insistence, deliberateness, and passionate leadership seem to resemble mindful self-authenticity, especially when compared to the robotic behavior of the sheep; nevertheless, their passion is a mental addiction beyond their control.  They are but mindless slaves to their own deeply-rooted convictions, mostly due to the Shepherd’s Pavlovian tactics.

Continuing with the political spectrum…Centrists, on the one hand, are mindlessly moderate — moderate because they support a balance of social equality and hierarchy while trying to avoid drastic change, and mindless in the event that they still have faith in collectivist politics at all, while lacking faith in themselves.  They are merely undecided, and usually do not possess the wherewithal to take the plunge into pure individualism.  They would rather be provided with a narrative than write their own.  They are sheep trotting in circles.

Now, let us examine the mindful radical, who is synonymous with the anarchists and insurrectionists.  He is very much in touch with his individualism, very much desiring to denounce the contrived narratives being spewed out by the Shepherd and His dogs, and very much in opposition to the collective hive mind.  He is the antithesis of the mindlessly radical sheepdog, who is consumed by authoritarianism.  

However, deep within the grottos of his soul — as much as he despises it — even the mindful radical knows he has something in common with his arch enemy.

In the spirit of the yin-yang, the mindless radical — on one side — is overwhelmingly dependent on authority and virtue…but he still carries with him a faint memory of a time when his unyielding passion once served himself — a time he wishes to forget.  He is able to suppress this memory somewhat easily, because his efforts are positively reinforced by so many who share his position. The mindful radical, on the other side, is overwhelmingly independent…but he still carries with him a faint memory of a time when his unyielding passion once served the collective — a time when he believed the system could work in favor of all, and thus in favor of him.   It is this weakness that the other side thrives on, as they ever-so-steadily try to turn him around, and ever-so-gently guide him back to pasture.  He must be so careful not to succumb, for this would reveal to him that he is not in fact the fierce and mighty wolf he fantasizes about and so helplessly wishes to be — but only a black sheep; unique from the others, perhaps, but still a sheep.

This leaves us with the mindful moderate — perhaps the most ideal position to take, if one only has the audacity. The mindful moderate is the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and ultimately the biggest threat to the State.  The Shepherd may contend with the radical wolves at first, as they are more readily disruptive.  However, the Shepherd does not remain idle once the hunt ceases, for He is always peering into the distance — on the lookout for a wolf in disguise — which He will later detain and retrain…or destroy.  The State’s Orwellian methods of mass surveillance are living proof of this.  Much to the advantage of the mindful moderate, the general public is still grappling with him, mostly because he is hard to spot…and even when he is discovered, his Machiavellian methods allow him to escape consequences.  His peers grow increasingly suspicious of him, but he knows all too well that they’ve got nothing on him, for he has been refining his craft for years.  While all of the mindlessly reactive sheep were trotting about, trying to keep up with the crowd, and wrestling with superficial matters, the wolf in sheep’s clothing has been imitating them, keeping tabs, and machinating all along.

Why does the mindful moderate keep to himself? Why does he ride the fence, while reaping benefits from both sides? Is he mentally ill? Is he a sociopath? Is he evil?

“Perhaps he’s emotionally injured.  Yes, that’s it! He’s just depressed! If we cure him of his depression — if we shoot him up with drugs — he will be all better, and we can nurture him back to order!”

The mindful moderate has been hurt, for sure…but the same holds true for all the others.  The mindless reactionaries on both sides entertain themselves with the notion that they are “normal,” while the radicals are simply angry, and the mavericks are hopelessly lonely and depressed.  This is because sheep and dogs rule by day, when the sun is there to comfort them.  However, when the full moon rises, it is the wolves that rule the night, for the darkness does not deter them.  The herd huddles together to calm nerves as it beholds these outsiders howling from afar. When the bright and sunny illusion peters out, the sheep are faced with the horrid truth that these howls are not cries of despair; rather, these are pompous battle cries.  The mindfully radical wolf is outspoken, while the mindfully moderate wolf in sheep’s clothing is quietly confident and sly. The mindless are ultimately jealous of this self-confidence, self-prioritization, and self-reliance, no matter how much they pretend to pity it.

“Your isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. At times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door, and say,--'Come out unto us.' But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The power men possess to annoy me, I give them by a weak curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act.”

The wolf pups once frolicked with the curious lambs, respecting them, until they were all segregated at the hands of the Shepherd and His dogs.  The lambs were not at fault for this.  The wolf pities the predicaments of the sheep — for he knows the nature of the sheepdog better than they.  However, the hatred and fear emanating from the adult herd is far too strong to diffuse.  It has been attempted time and time again.  This hatred and fear fuels the determination of the mindful radical, who not only seeks to protect himself, but also to glorify the unbridled freedom and autonomy for which he stands.  He climbs the highest mountains to maintain his stance.  

In contrast, the mindfully moderate, Machiavellian maverick does not bother to fight for a stance; he simply wants a chance — the best chance — for personal success, happiness, and pleasure…or simply contentment. He knows his best chance will not come from fighting the current of a raging river, for even the mighty wolf cannot manage that.  No, his best chance will come from waiting patiently, and riding with the current when it suits him.  He will fight to defend his interests when necessary, but he knows that his best chance comes not from confrontation, but contemplation.  His best weapon is not passion, nor brute strength, but intelligence.  His inconsistency — his wavering is not to be mistaken for ignorance or confusion; it is his most effective self-serving strategy.

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day.--'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.'--Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”

The maverick is not troubled — only misunderstood.  Let us not underrate him, but understand him.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

hey if it's not too much difficulty you're the only person i trust with this so would you mind writing me a super angsty fic based on 15x09 Dean burying MOC!Cas in a Ma'lak box?

Of course I don’t mind. It came out angsty, alright. Tell me what you think, Dean. Here you go:

***

Dean remembers how it used to be.

He remembers the warmth enveloping all of him, and the room imploding with such power that glass shatters, and the wind roars. The sky gets dark, but the seraph brings forth his wings and lights up the world, for a second right there - like a star in its death; a star breathing its last.

Squinting, cowering and incredibly alive, Dean’s been a witness to the all-powerful grace of the angel of the lord, before.

All of those times, he’s been terrified - yes, but never afraid. When Castiel had declared he could throw Dean back to Hell, that night, Dean didn’t doubt it. Of course he could. But he wouldn’t. For some strange reason, still undeciphered, he’d never meant to hurt Dean.

There was something in the air, whenever they were together. Respect, and a sliver of misplaced faith. Reassurance. A tug at his chest which just screamed Safe. Strength, from Cas’s end - and love.

He remembers how Castiel used to make him feel.

*

“There’s no other way.” Sam lets out, head bowed, in a voice more miserable than his stare focused on the book suggests. The lights in the bunker are dim; it’s just a little past midnight, and Dean has his head in his hands.

“Sam, we can’t -”

“I know.” He sounds like he’s trying to scrape the bottom of his soul-shaped barrel for the courage to say it out loud - hoping that’ll make it easier. “But we have to do something, Dean.”

There’s silence.

“I don’t care.” Dean mutters, but everything except his words claims that he does.

Sam knows he does.

“Nobody else’s around.” He says, instead. “No God, or hell, gods. No angel or reaper will help us with this.” He breathes in shakily. “They’re all afraid of him.”

He’s a Seraph of Heaven carrying the Mark of Cain. An Angel of the Lord, now claimed by Hell. Of course, everybody’s terrified, and rightly so.

There’s probably no one in their world right now, who’s stronger.

“But the Ma'lak box?” Dean cries out, lifting his head. Sam meets his eyes, looking pained. “Locked away in a living grave, for eternity?” Neither of them blink. “It’s Cas, Sammy! We can’t just -” His voice breaks mid-sentence, lips pursed and twisted to a side, eyes screwed shut. He takes in a breath, with some effort.

Sam waits. His brother clearly isn’t done yet.

Finally, Dean exhales - with a shudder. “Why does it have to be me?”

Sam’s face contorts in sympathy, and anguish. In a hoarse, earnest whisper, he answers Dean’s question as truthfully as he could ever.

“Because it’s him.”

*

Dean remembers the first time he saw Castiel, after he ran away from home.

They hadn’t needed a tip, so much as a peek at the internet to come to know of a pissed-off-looking middle-aged man was singlehandedly finishing off the members of a now-uncovered human-sacrificial cult.

And he wore a trenchcoat.

Sam and he were on the road, in minutes. All through the drive, his heart thudded in his chest - hoping, begging, praying that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

It had turned out worse.

When Sam set off for the police station, hurrying into a disguise, Dean started scoping out churches and barns. And sure enough, he found Castiel - and the twelve dead men, with their eyes scorched out of gaping, black sockets.

The air was still seething with remnants of a smiting - but the heat wasn’t the kind which used to gloved him whole, and render awestruck. Instead, it wanted to melt the skin off of his bones, and make him want to tear out his insides.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel slowly turned towards him. The wind howled, and the barn was slowly falling to pieces. Dean’s world, and his heart with it, was falling apart. This wasn’t the Cas he knew - not with the empty blue eyes, and a blank thin-lipped smile.

When Castiel’s eyes met his - it was nothing like before. Fear thrummed in his veins - and his neck felt constricted. Dean wondered if that had something to do with Cas, as he involuntarily backed a step.

Every fibre of his being had begged him to run.

*

“What if the box can’t contain him?”

Dean drags himself to Sam, doubt weighing on his shoulders, and lands in the kitchen chair opposite his brother’s.

“I did think about that.” Sam confesses, frowning. “But do you really think he’ll try to get out?”

Dean stops.

Cas might not try to get out.

Maybe he won’t fight it. Maybe he won’t even try to get back to Dean -

He scrubs his face with a hand. After all the hours Dean’s spent, beating himself up over it, there’s a real chance that Cas wouldn’t be against the idea of being locked away by eternity as much as he’s being.

It’s a sadder thought than many.

“Dean?” Sam calls, uncertainly.

“Y-yeah.” Dean gathers himself in his head, returning to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Sam restarts, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes concerned. Dean hates that look on his brother’s face. “That’s half of the reason that the plan’s to drop the box in the Pacific.” Sam rambles on, not realizing the change of colors on Dean’s face. “I mean, Cas is an angel too; we know for sure he won’t drown, but I’m guessing it’ll hold his powers back -”

“The box isn’t going anywhere.” Dean declares, cutting him off. The glare in his eyes is definite. “No oceans, no nothing.”

“You want it to stay here?” Sam straightens, clearly taken aback.

Dean has no idea why. “I want him to stay here.” Sam opens his mouth in protest, albeit it’s a decidedly weak attempt, but Dean interrupts again. “This isn’t open for debate, Sammy.”

Sam shifts in his seat, not resigned to the idea of arguing, but trying to convince himself. “I suppose we could construct a permanent ring of holy oil in the dungeon, or -”

“Okay.” Dean lets out a breath he doesn’t know when he started to hold. “Yeah, good. See? We’ll figure something out. We’ll do that.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues, which irritates him because Sam still seems to be deep in thought. He doesn’t blame him - the underwater-forever idea had been his own, but that was Michael - and Dean. This is Cas.

He tries to speed up Sam’s processing of the new plan. “I’ll put up containment sigils. I’ll even read the containment-sigil book, Sam, I -”

“Dean.” Sam blinks at him. “Aside from that, how can we be sure that we won’t go get him out if he calls? Will you be able to ignore it if he cries out for help, since he’s right here?”

Dean knows Sam’s trying to go for a general ‘you’, but that feels extremely pointed at him.

If he calls out for help - if he as much as says my name, I’ll go to him.

Sam’s patient, as a rule, when it comes to Dean these days - but even his cool is running thin. His point makes more and more sense, as seconds pass, and before it can get too final, Dean knows he has to interject.

“If that happens?” Dean clenches his jaw, stubbornly. “Then so be it.”

Sam leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes. But under his breath, just barely loud enough, he says, “Fine. So be it.”

*

Dean remembers the last time he saw Castiel’s wings.

They were looking for him, and it wasn’t hard. When the aliases couldn’t help any further, the atrocious skies led the way to him.

Dean had guessed that the Mark would have been replenishing his grace, but bringing back his wings? He’d had no idea - right up until he and Sam stumbled onto a scene of impending crime and witnessed it themselves - for the grand display always preceded the blast of grace; Castiel’s apparent go-to move.

“Down!” Sam yelled, pushing Dean down with a hand on his back, as he too fell to the ground. “Close your eyes!”

Dean did - but before that, he looked.

They were huge, no longer sparse - and nothing less than magnificent. When Castiel glowered at the evildoers, the shadowed feathers flexed, and threatened as well. When he pulled himself to his full height, they arched, glorious and full of life - creating a perfect sight. Castiel was the embodiment of powerful, and his black wings, overpowering devices of conquer. In that moment, it felt ridiculous to ever have doubted Castiel could fly - his wings mighty, boundless and free.

And Dean Winchester was set out to convince him, to trap himself in a box.

*

Dean doesn’t know where he finds the courage to step ahead - but he associates it mostly with Sam moving forwards, because he’s immediately pushing him back and walking himself.

Castiel looks at him, just fucking looks at him. “Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean clears his throat, and keeps on walking until his feet carry him - ending up inches away from the angel. “Uh -”

He hesitates.

“The last time,” Castiel fills the silence, speaking in a disappointed tone. “You left, Dean. I wondered for ages why you didn’t talk to me.”

“Well, we need to talk, alright.” Dean swallows, trying to avoid Castiel’s eyes. “Cas, uh. Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

That’s all the warning he gets, before he feels his eyes close like he’s feeling himself blink and when he opens his eyes, they’re no longer in the abandoned shack with his brother on the sidelines, or the bodies.

The first thought that comes to Dean’s head isn’t fear, since now he’s just by himself - and he’s grateful for that. But it is concern for his own stomach, though he thinks he feel alright despite the being zapped.

Castiel is sitting, with his arms folded on the table, on a red seat. In front of him is an unimportant Biggerson’s menu. Dean’s still standing in the same stance as before.

“Sit down.” Castiel suggests, and he does.

“Cas.” Dean lets out, putting his own elbows on the table as well. “I need to -” He stops, and exhales frustratedly.

He’s planned this out. He knows what he’s going to say; he’s practised this in front of the mirror - Hell, he’s practised this with Sam. He should at least be saying words that aren’t Cas.

“What is it?” The angel frowns - and he still doesn’t feel like himself to Dean, but at least now he looks like it. The squint, the pursed lips, the jutted out chin.

He looks so much like Cas, that it hurts even as Dean forces the words - any words he finds in himself, to come out.

“There’s no other way,” Dean blurts, in his brother’s words, and as the words sink in, Castiel’s brow clears. As Dean’s head hurts - Castiel smiles smally at him.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” The smile spreads on the angel’s face, divine.

“You what?”

“I knew this would happen, Dean. You have something that’ll rid the World of me - it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the fact that there’s nothing else you can do, but use it.” Castiel answers, and there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice Dean hates. But his tone is detached.

Dean clears his throat again. “There isn’t.”

Tell me you want us to keep looking.

“Tell me.” As Dean’s tongue battles to get the truth out with his mind, Castiel takes off on a tangent. “How many have I killed?”

“Low hundreds.”

“And that’s just the people.” Castiel shakes his head sadly, looking so dejected that Dean wishes he can put an arm around him. Of course, he’s too far away, and probably doesn’t want that.

“Cas -” Dean tries, but Castiel cuts him off.

“Does it help that they’d all done very wrong things?” Castiel asks, a little hope in his eyes.

Dean hates himself. “It always starts off like that, buddy. I wasn’t killing innocent people either, but -”

“I know.”

There’s a pause - a heavy one, and at least the words were in his mouth before. Now they don’t make it out of his heart. And Castiel’s painfully quiet - looking thoughtful.

“I’m sorry I let you take the Mark.” Dean crumbles, finally, putting his hand on Castiel’s - because it’s right there, just right there.

“There wasn’t a choice.” Castiel sighs, and looks down at their hands. Dean wonders if he wants him to undo that reckless, impatient move - he’s already regretting it. Castiel’s hand is warm under his, and only serves to remind him of his wrath from before, and the searing heat.

This looks like Cas and sounds like Cas, but he’s not completely Cas.

Or even if he were now - sated, after the killings, as Dean remembers being - he isn’t always going to remain like his pensive, understanding friend. Dean knows he should make use of this window, but he just can’t do it.

So Castiel, like all the other times, sprinkled across their life together, helps. “And just so, there isn’t a choice now.”

Dean stares at him.

“So, alright.” Castiel declares, steady of manner. “You win. I’ll go into the Ma'lak box, Dean.”

Dean’s never lost more.

Fight this, Cas! We won’t push you if you resist this - we’d never force you in the box, so tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you wouldn’t leave me.

Tell me to go away - fuck off and leave you alone.

“Take me with you.” Cas stands up, blankly, and decides to proclaim. And all of Dean’s most obscure hopes drift away, as he struggles to even plaster the false grin on his face.

“After you, feathers.”

*

Dean remembers the day Castiel got into the goddamn box.

Nothing mattered, as he stared at a wooden-faced Castiel hug Sam, except for the fact that he was next, and this was it. This was the last time he’d get to be this close to Castiel - ever.

When he pulled away from Sam, Dean noticed he sported a twitchy, nervous smile. Kid was trying not to break down - and that was brave, because Dean had given up.

“I - fuck, Cas. I’m sorry.” Tears pricked his eyes, as Castiel draped himself over him, arms crossed around Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s hands lay still on his back - holding him there. “Sorry.” He choked, closing his eyes and holding on.

Castiel clung on too, though not uttering a word. For him, this was the last touch he’d get - from Dean, from anyone, until the end of time. The thought seemed to strike him hard, and he held on tighter.

Dean, in return, pulled him closer.

He could feel Castiel’s heart beat - and he could feel his grace right there. He couldn’t feel a trace of the darkness of the Mark, and for the millionth time, he argued in his head that they were making a mistake.

“It’s risky keeping me out.” Cas muttered, pulling away, somehow knowing exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always did.

“You’re going in willingly, for the good of the world. For it’s safety or whatever.” Dean threw back. “The Mark’s clearly not gotten to you that bad. Maybe it never -”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head, and a tear fell from his left eye. Dean’s brain stuttered into the realization that Cas, in spite of all his pretense, wasn’t doing this willingly. And then he made it even clearer.

He stared into Dean’s eyes - and for the last time, Dean fixed his own stare on those unbelievably blue eyes, blinking through the tears. And then, not looking away for a single moment, Cas confessed.

“I’m doing this for you.”

Don’t.

Please.

Dean’s mouth fell open, but he had no words.

Castiel didn’t wait for any, either. He stepped back from Dean, for good - for he’d never be in Dean’s personal space like that, crowding up against him like he always did - and glanced at Sam. And then again at Dean.

“It’s been a privilege to be family, Winchesters.” He utters, slowly, grandly - and Sam lets out an injured sound. Tears are streaming down Dean’s face now.

And with that, he turned to his eternal prison. Sam shuffled forward to give him a hand - now crying silent tears as well - and Castiel lay down inside.

Dean scrambled ahead, gripping the edges of the box. There was so much left to say. There was so much left to clear, and clarify, and reason through and object to - but Castiel would not return.

Cas would never return.

“Goodbye Sam. Goodbye, Dean.”

The lid fell.

*

The first few days were the hardest. Dean would wander around the bunker, feeling nothing but loss, grieving into expensive bottles of Men-Of-Letters whiskey and cheap glasses of rundown beer.

Then, one evening, there’s a knock on his door. Dean alerts immediately - eyes darting around, before he realizes where the sound came from. Instantly, his heart sings in a harsh, disdainful key of hope, and he pays attention.

“Dean?”

It’s Sam.

“Uh-huh?” He grunts back, failing to keep the unjustified disappointment out of his voice.

“I’m coming in.” Sam declares, and he does. He finds his brother buried on the right side of the bed, bottle in hand, and more of them around. Sam scrunches his nose in disapproval. “Dude.” He starts, only a hint of humor in his tone. “Your room stinks.”

“Your face stinks.” Dean returns, eloquently, and Sam lets out a breath shortly.

“No, I meant it like - your room smells.”

“Your face -”

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam chastises, cutting him off. “I, uh.” The impatience fades to worry, within moments. “I’ve been thinking, Dean.”

Dean keeps quiet, though he could easily have pointed out that his face has been thinking.

“We should start hunting again.” Sam finishes, sounding like he’s run these words over in his head a lot.

“What?” Dean sits up.

“You know, like we always did. Salt and burns at the start, maybe. We work our way to full-fledged hubs or nests again.” Sam explains, earnestly. “We’re hunters, Dean. And it’ll only do us good.”

Dean wonders how long he can hold in the prize question, but then gives up. “And you just want to leave Cas here?”

“Hey, it was your idea to keep him in the bunker.” Sam defends. “And I’m all for it now, but did you assume we’d never go out again?”

“Hunting’s different, Sammy.” Dean sighs, because of course Sam doesn’t get it. “What if - I mean, what if we don’t make it? Who tells Cas?”

Sam nets his eyebrows together in a frown. “Worst case scenario, he understands when we stop showing up.” He suggests, looking a little unconvinced himself, but Dean swears out loud, startling him mid-sentence.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He glares, standing up - or trying to. He feels a rush of dizziness hit him, and falls back to sitting position.

“So,” Sam frowns. “You haven’t been talking to him?” He looks genuinely confused, and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to clock him one, or hug him.

“I -” Dean’s positively aghast, and completely speechless.

Sam waits for his senses to return, arms folded across his chest.

“No!”

*

Dean remembers the day he moved a kitchen chair to the dungeon.

Longer talks, he reasoned.

It had been hard for him to listen to Cas’s replies from outside the ring of oil, so now he sits right next to him. Every night, he drags the chair past the ring, and settles next to where Cas’s head must be.

And every morning, he returns it to where it was.

They talk about useless things, in the beginning. It’s easier. Dean describes dinner once, and proceeds to thoughtlessly tell Cas that he’d be proud of Dean if he just tasted the burger. There’s a pause, and then Castiel answers that he’s sure he would, he doesn’t even need to taste it - and everything returns to normal.

Then, unspeakably, they move towards heavier topics. Dean tells Cas about hunts. In a reassuring way, it feels like the past. Cas asks questions and manages to make him feel heard, even through a wooden box with a breathe-hole in it - but Dean tries not to think about that bit.

There’s always a lot to think about, when Cas is involved, so it works out.

One time, after a particularly long hunt, Dean returns home to Cas. Even though he calls for him, loud, Cas doesn’t respond. With each passing moment, Dean worries more.

Finally, in a whim of panic, he raps his knuckles on the lid.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice rumbles through then, deep as always, but roughened with what Dean’s first guess is, sleep. “Sam?”

“You got it right in one.” Dean relaxes a little, but remains mostly tensed because Cas isn’t even supposed to sleep. “What have you been doing, Cas?”

“I’ve been asleep.” His voice sounds heavy. “I’m tired, Dean.”

“Tired?” Dean repeats, surprised.

“I can’t come up with more words for this feeling, so yeah. I’m tired.” Cas lets out, breathy and broken - and Dean wants to unlatch the box and wrap his arms around Cas and tell him it’s okay.

But he can’t, so instead he listens to Cas telling him about his life - all of those billions of years he’s lived, and never gotten to talk about.

Cas talks about his garrison, and their battles, and his brothers and sisters. He talks about archangels and demons and Hell and the Cage and Lucifer and God.

When he talks about the Mark, there’s a shiver down Dean’s spine. He talks about the exhausting thirst for violence, and unsuppressible hunger for killing - and he talks like he’s scared of it, and Dean hangs onto every word.

“Sometimes it gets so overpowering,” Castiel admits, quietly. “And this box so ridiculously limiting, that I must claw at my own hands so my fingertips at least touch blood.”

“Cas!” Dean cries out, shocked. Cas hurts himself in there? The thought’s so disturbing, Dean’s head reels. “You can’t -”

“It’s the only way I can keep myself under control.” Cas states, complacently. And his detached tone just further provokes the bile rising in Dean’s gut - at the idea of Castiel making himself bleed so he doesn’t try to break out of the box. “Don’t forget, I can heal myself too.”

Dean puts his hand on the box, still shivering.

“Since I’ll never have any use for it again,” Cas adds, dryly. “I might as well use up my grace doing this.”

He puts his forehead on it too.

“Maybe then I could die.”

He knows Cas can hear him breathe like this - which is the only way he can tell that Dean’s there, because he doesn’t have anything else in himself that night. He feels empty and awful and guilty.

When he sleeps, he sees Castiel inside the Ma'lak Box, burying his fingernails in his sides and tearing himself apart, to quench the horrific bloodlust the Mark causes.

He wakes up to Castiel snoring softly, and almost loses it all over again.

*

To be fair, things are better than what he’d imagined, because he gets to actually speak with Cas. Be it about Jack, from before, or Claire - Cas thinks about the kids a lot these days - or about millenia-old battles he lead, or week-old skirmishes Dean was involved in, at least they’re talking.

But ironically, it’s still too good to be true.

As the nights pass by, Cas gets more withdrawn. It’s not just the sleep in his voice - it’s the way he speaks. Like it hurts him to. Like everything hurts, and Dean knows how that feels, because he’s been there; he knows how it feels when the Mark takes over, slow but unpreventable, despite your better judgement - which dulls too, by the day.

Dean can feel Cas go through it all - try to suppress the constant anger, the need for action, and urges to harm. He wants to believe that his being there helps, his checking-in matters, but he knows he had had people who’d have listened to him too.

Because he hadn’t been in a goddamn box, in the first place.

One night, Dean tells Sam to get his overworked ass to bed because it’s been a long fucking hunt, and trudges along to the dungeon.

There’s an eerie kind of quiet, but Dean forgets his worries when he’s coming to Cas. He just carries them on his back when he’s going back.

At the scrape of the legs of Dean’s chair against the floor, Cas breaks down.

“I’m lonely.”

It’s a couple of fairly simple, untwisted words - but Cas sounds so pathetic and frightened and devastated, that Dean’s stomach falls to the ground.

“I’m so lonely, Dean.” Cas repeats, and he sounds like he’s crying silently.

Dean’s heart breaks in a million pieces and he hopes they seep in through the horrible fucking lid of his own creation, this Ma'lak box, so that Cas knows.

In a wrecked voice, he pushes out. “Cas, I’m right here.”

There’s a sound - a thud of something falling inside the box, and it feels like Castiel’s hand. Which means he’d been trying to push the lid before, and Dean has no idea what that means.

Get me out.

“You won’t always be,” Cas cries out.

They’ve talked about this before.

“I know you think that cause I’m a hunter - and cause I’ve always been, I’m going to keep running after these monsters forever. But I’m not.” Dean forces out, closing his eyes because this is hard enough without him having to address the angel’s grave. “I swear, I’m going to take this up with Sammy soon - it’s just been a lot of hunts lately. I just want to be done, for fuck’s sake. I want it all to stop. Cas, I want to be here.”

Cas doesn’t say a thing.

Dean braves on, his voice shaking shamefully with promises. “And after I’ve quit, trust me, I’ll be around so much more - don’t you dare tell me to get a life after, because -”

You’re it.

You’re my life.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Cas says, painfully, and Dean freezes. “I’m immortal - every day should be a blink of an eye for me, though it isn’t because I’m weak and too attached.” Dean wants to protest, but Cas doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re human, Dean. You won’t live, with me or without, forever.”

Time stops.

And it’s a goddamn good thing it does, because Cas just reminded him he’s dying, and it feels like it’s happening already.

It’s happening right here.

“Cas, I -”

There’s a thudding sound again, accompanied by a breathless sob from within which pierces through Dean, impaling him with guilt. His own tears start to fall.

“No, Dean. What will I do?” Cas keeps going. “What about me after you’re gone?”

*

Dean wakes up, sweating.

It’s three am.

He grunts, getting out of bed, and travels to the door on socked feet. The cold seems to completely disregard the woollen socks, and shoots straight to his head - weirder still, because he basically sweated himself awake, a minute ago.

Dean slowly moves to the kitchen, and pulls a beer from the fridge. His mind lands inevitably on Castiel.

He’d started visiting less after that night - for it’d more or less been an instruction for him, to stop. Didn’t Cas call it getting attached? And it makes sense too. If he spends the next - what, twenty years or so, next to Cas, he’d just be getting him up before the fall.

Because of course he’d be gone, and of course Cas would not, and of course it made perfect sense to visit Cas less until it started feeling off and they didn’t have things to talk about and then he visited even less, and now of course it’s been weeks that he’s not been there, with him, at the one place it all felt okay, and of course -

Dean’s crying into a bottle, at three in the night.

Everything hurts - every angle of this mishappening, but what’s overpowering most of the time is how much he misses his best friend, and his angel, and the love of his life, and Cas. All of him.

There’s too many tears clouding his vision, so he closes his eyes.

He’s lost Cas before - but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt so directly causatory, and fuck that feeling which shatters him inside - he’s the reason Cas took on the Mark, and he’s the reason Cas got in the box.

He’s the entire fucking reason Cas suffers, every time, and he’s the reason Cas was crying that day.

And yet - Dean can’t hold back the loud gasp, as he inhales forcefully - yet, more than guilty, as be should, he feels lost.

Because he’s not just lost somebody. He’s lost something he believes in, and the destination of all his prayers.

He’s lost his faith.

And for the first time in a very long time, Dean feels utterly, terrifyingly alone.

*

Sam’s woken by the sounds in the kitchen, and a foreboding of something awful tugging at his soul - and he dashes out of bed to see what’s wrong.

Immediately, when he sees Dean on the floor, shivering and breathing erratically through uncontrollable sobs, he wraps his his shirt around him and pulls him up on the first stool he finds.

“He’s not okay, Sammy!” Dean whimpers, clutching onto the shirt. Sam’s trying not to freak out himself, because it’s been a while since Dean’s had such a bad panic attack. “I can feel it - Cas is hurting -”

“Dean,” Sam pleads. “Stop thinking about him for a moment. Stop thinking about -”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean lets out, anguished. “When I had the Mark, Cas promised that after all that I’d do, after everyone that I’d kill, he’d still be there. He swore he’d always be there - but I cannot even say the same, and -”

“Calm down, Dean!” Sam repeats, anxiously. His brother doesn’t seem to be doing any better. “Just, please, don’t think -”

“You know I can’t stop thinking about him!” Dean throws back, frustratedly. “I need to - fuck, I need him, and I -”

Sam takes Dean’s hand in his, to stop Dean from rambling, and stares him straight in his eyes. “Do you want me to remind you that he can probably hear you right now?”

Dean shortcircuits for a second time.

Of course, Cas was an angel. Was Dean thinking about this, and thinking out loud, all going to make Cas hurt more? Was Dean adding to his pain and suffering again by -

“No.” Sam interjects, sounding sure. He’s always somehow been able to know exactly where Dean’s head’s at, in situations like this. “But I guarantee, he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this.”

“Sam, I -”

“It’s okay.” Sam cuts him off, and helps hoist Dean up to his feet. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’re putting the beer away right now, and going back to sleep.”

Once he’s steadier, Dean immediately pulls his brother in for a hug, grabbing the back of his neck. There’s no words for how grateful he is for him. But even more so, he needs to confess something - for both their sakes.

“I want to start hunting again, Sammy.”

Because if he’s not ending up next to Cas, if he isn’t getting his happy ending or peace, why would he hang the gloves up? Screw tired - he’s going to hunt to his last breath.

Fuck quitting.

And Sam smiles back - knowing it’s probably going to take more convincing in the morning, but Dean’s in again. Like Sam, he’ll keep on hunting until he can’t - take down every monster before it, even though God’s gone and it keeps feeling like they can’t win.

They have to keep trying - because now there’s nothing for either of them to come back to.

“Well, so be it.”

[teriwrites]

NaNoWriMo: Wrap Up!

I can’t believe another November has come and gone. I can’t believe something that I started doing in 8th grade just for fun has become such a big part of my life that, nine years and 10 nanos later, I’m still already excited about next November. It was through NaNoWriMo that I finished my first ever first draft of a novel (it was when I was 13, and it was absolute trash, and I love it). I’ve met countless friends, collected countless WIPs, and really driven home how important writing as a medium is for me. 

Now that the sappy stuff is over, here’s some more fun stats and things:

End Word Count: 50,563!!

I did it! I hit the 50,000 mark yesterday, and then finished up the chapter I was on this evening. I knew going in that this month was going to be particularly hard on me - moving all my stuff home, exams, big research paper, all on top of trying to write part of a novel. And I was really nervous about how I was going to manage to keep up.

Somehow, I actually was more consistent this year than I’ve ever achieved before? 2020 was the first time that I ever managed to write every single day of November (even if one of those days was only 5 words and doesn’t even show up on the site’s little daily chart). And honestly I might be more proud of that than I am of actually hitting the big 50K. 

It helped that my project was really fun this year. I haven’t always loved every moment that I’ve been working on Beneath Alder Creek - the usual bouts of loathing anything I put down on the page showed up as normal - but even when the quality itself was in question, the actual story never stopped being something I wanted to write. 

I can’t possibly go through the whole thing and pick out all my favorite pieces right now (sometimes, prioritizing nano means falling behind on hw lmao), but here are a couple more recent snippets.

Excerpt 1:

The throne room was far smaller than Winnie had expected, especially coming from the front hall. It was strikingly similar in size and setup to a chapel, with rows of pews all facing a central pulpit. Only, rather than a lectern for a preacher, a platform was raised to draw focus to a large, golden throne. The throne itself was intricately beautiful, but Winnie hardly noticed it, too concentrated on the figure sitting upon it. Queen Ceridwen, Enid had called her. She was at once both divine and grotesque, white skin with dark veins that stitched themselves into a tangle of smaller lines, like the splitting of branches as they extended from the trunk. Her eyes and lips were black, or near enough to create a stark contrast, and matching, sleek horns stretched out from where her hairline ought have been. A golden crown jutted down to the tops of her cheekbones and tucked back behind her ear, extending up in spikes that shot out like a sunrise, each one longer than Winnie’s hand. Perhaps even more chilling than her appearance were her eyes. There was a fathomlessness to the darkness, the depth of shadows that brought with them the fear of the unknown. Though the Queen’s expression remained passive and detached, as Winnie stared at her, she had the feeling that the matriarch was not actually with them but making her observations from somewhere within those cavernous eyes. “Speak.”

Excerpt 2:

The music was still playing, but its calm, ambling tempo had quickened with Winnie’s heart rate, and its soothing, entrancing melody broke into a high, panicked frenzy, piercing through the forest. Birds that had been resting on branches took flight. The fish dashed through the water, twisting and thrashing. A line of ants at Winnie’s feet broke formation as they hurried away from the lake. But for all their terror, Winnie was drawn in all the more. One step. Her foot was beneath the water, but she no longer felt the cold. Two steps. The hem of her dress was wet, quickly taking on more weight. Winnie felt none of it. Three steps. Winnie was halfway up her calf in the lake, and the ground beneath her feet was steadily sloping down. Four steps. A sudden plunge up over her knee. The splash could not be heard over the urgent pipe. Five steps. Suddenly up to her waist. Winnie struggled to keep her balance, raising her arms to hold them above the surface. Six steps. It was more of a slide than a step, as Winnie hit the end of the decline. Only by lifting her chin could she keep her face out of the water. She had made progress, nearly halfway to the island. Seven steps, and a sudden tug at the back of her dress. Winnie was dragged backwards out of the lake, choking against her collar.

Excerpt 3:

Winnie paced silently between two large trees, hands clasped tightly behind her back. She had been doing so for several minutes, ever since discovering Taliesin’s abduction, and though Enid had begun by patiently watching, her claw-like nails drummed against her sleeve as she waited for the human girl to say something. Just as Enid took in a deep breath, preparing to interrupt Winnie’s clouded thoughts, the young woman stopped, turned to her companion, and asked, “Did you see which way they went?” “What are you planning to do, track them?” Enid asked teasingly, but her smile faltered at the solemnity in Winnie’s eyes. “You can’t be serious. You’d have no chance against a scout, they’re meant to move without a trace.” Winnie’s earnest gaze deflated into disappointment. As she stared down at the ground, past Enid, her eye caught Taliesin’s pack, still lying where he’d left it. A rush of hope filled her with renewed optimism. “Perhaps Taliesin left some kind of trail for us to follow! Something small, like breadcrumbs. That’s always how they mark their path in fairytales.” Enid leaned against a tree, examining her nails with disinterest. “Of course he doesn’t expect us to follow him. What reason do you have for helping him out, anyway?” The callousness in her voice was unexpectedly brutal. Winnie knew that Enid and Taliesin did not seem to get along, and likely that what little tolerance for each other they displayed was purely out of respect for the deal that had been made. But to show no care for his capture was a level of apathy that Winnie hadn’t expected. “I still have a deal that needs to be fulfilled.” It was true, and better, something that Winnie knew Enid might understand. The woman’s expression remained cold. “As I see it, you can cut him out of the deal. Our aims both lead us to the Dusk Court. You find your brother, I get help dethroning an advisor, and we go our separate ways.”

Excerpt 4:

Back into the bog. Winnie no longer worried herself with her skirts, allowing them to drag through the stagnant water. It was a mistake, she soon discovered, as the drenched fabric weighed her down and made the progress even slower. With an exasperated groan, she stomped at the ground, kicking up a spray and lodging her boot into the mud. Taliesin appeared at her side, having turned back while she was distracted. “Having trouble?” “Just tell me how much farther we have to go before we reach these all-knowing Three,” Winnie said darkly, glaring at him from beneath strands of hair that had come loose from the lopsided bun she’d attempted. “I think I have a better idea,” Taliesin offered. He reached out his hand, and Winnie let hers drop into it, clutching at her skirt with the other. Taliesin’s eyes closed, and Winnie felt the boot free itself from the mud. She breathed a sigh of gratitude, but quickly realized that her foot had not stopped there. She was no longer eye-level with Taliesin, but looking down at him slightly. The droplets from her skirt and shoes hitting the water below revealed that it was not the golden man who had sunk, but she was levitating a few centimeters over the ground!

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[fletchphoenix]

Skating On Thin Ice

Chapter 4 of the Varigo Coffee Shop AU is upon us!

Agh, I LOVE WRITING THIS SO MUCH!!! I’m so so sorry if all the content is getting annoying - I really want to get as much as I can done before school starts up again (in a week,,,,aha) so just let me know if it’s annoying y’all. Anyway! Thank you for the support!

Word Count - 3588

TW - Strong Language 

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

  Varian tied his hair back into a ponytail as he walked downstairs to the kitchen, Ruddiger strutting after him happily. He dragged his feet across the silver carpet in his still-sleepy haze, passing awards and family pictures that were displayed proudly in the main hall of the house. A yawn escaped his mouth despite his attempts to hold it back, and he reached up to rub the tears that built in his eyes away along with the last remnants of sleep. A sleep his body desperately wanted him to return back to, judging by how sluggish he felt. The kitchen door moaned as he pushed it open, taking his time on every movement he took.

  He scavenged through the kitchen for something to eat, all the while Ruddiger mewled and meowed to gain some attention and, while he was at it, some food to eat. Varian eventually gave in, lifting the bowl onto the counter and grabbing a sachet of cat food. He emptied the packet, the tabby cat jumping onto the counter and scoffing it down, causing him to chuckle while he took out the bread and butter from the refrigerator. “Toast it is, buddy.” he uttered to himself as he slid the bread into the device. 

  While the toast was..well, toasting, he climbed onto a counter and opened the cabinet near the stove. An assortment of cups greeted him - all with different colours and various patterns. A certain one met his eye. The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile as the memories came flooding back to him. 

  “Are you sure you want me to have this? After all I’ve done to you..?” his nervous voice asked. He was sixteen again in Rapunzel’s kitchen after his father had woken up from his coma. The aroma of cinnamon was in the air combined with apple, creating the illusion that it was fall in the small room as Rapunzel set aside the gift and took his hands in her own. Her expression was earnest, honest. 

  “Varian..I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. We’ve all forgiven you, regardless of what you may think. You’re family.” she stated with a smile that held nothing but love for the boy in front of her. Tears built in his eyes as he looked over at the silver box, wrapped in a teal bow, set on the kitchen table by the blonde only a few moments prior.

  Taking a seat on the lilac cushioned chairs, he brought the box closer to him with shaky hands and unwrapped the dainty bow carefully, as though it would fall apart at even the slightest amount of force. Upon lifting the lid, he was met with the sight of some paper - matching the color of the bow. Pulling it out, he gasped as his eyes met the mug that had been placed in the box with care. He took it out and examined it in his hands.

  The mug was teal (also like the bow and paper it was packed with) decorated with paintings of test tubes, beakers and a small raccoon on the side. Ruddiger. Unwillingly, his eyes started to water again, tears betraying him and rolling down his cheeks hitting the table cloth below him. “Thank you.” He uttered, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to hold back his tears. Arms came around from behind him and pulled him into a motherly embrace, a gentle kiss being placed on the back of his head as he let himself cry freely. A swift turn allowed him to hug the blonde, his eyes squeezing shut to rid them of the last few tears that had developed in them before he moved away.

  “Me, Eugene and Cass searched for hours, but couldn’t find the right one. Then I thought ‘Hey! Why don’t we paint a mug for him?’ and thus..that was created. It’s okay, right? I tried to put everything I knew you liked on it, but I wasn’t sure, so I had to get Cass to-” Her rambling was cut off as the boy clinged to her with his face buried into the fabric on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she ran her fingers through his raven locks and exchanged the hug. 

  “I love you, Rapunzel. You’re the best sister in the world.” he whispered as he held onto her, his hands gripping onto her shirt as he let himself be vulnerable around Rapunzel. He’d tormented and hurt her so much..but she still cared for him.

  “I love you too, Varian.” She replied, moving out of the hug when he was calmer and ready. “Anyway, Cmon! We need to make you one of my infamous vanilla lattes now that you have your own cup!” She declared, clapping her hands and picking up the cup to start the drink. His eyes followed her as she moved expertly around the kitchen and prepared his drink. A smile steadily grew on his face.

  He was forgiven.

  He was home.

  He seized the cup and hopped down from the counter, closing the ivory door of the cabinet and heading towards the coffee machine. He set the cup under it and started up the machine, leaning against the counter and checking his phone. Wednesday, 8:14am. Good - he woke up in time to get ready for his class at 11. “No messages from Hugo though.” his brain reminded him, disappointment making a heavy weight in his stomach. Maybe he wasn’t up yet? Probably, he reasoned as he took the toast from the toaster and buttered it before grabbing his coffee and sitting at the table. 

  Ever the greediest cat on earth, Ruddiger settled at Varian’s feet and swatted at them with his paw. “Oh my god, you’ve just had your breakfast! No!” he shook his foot to scare the cat away, but he didn’t let up. The evil little bastard continued swatting at his foot until, eventually, Varian let up. “Okay!” he yelled, accepting his defeat as he opened another package of cat food, emptied it into the burgundy food bowl and threw it away. That seemed to do the trick - the stubborn feline finally moving away from the table and leaving his owner in peace.

  “I swear..all you do is eat and sleep all day, every day.” he muttered to himself as he took a prolonged sip of his coffee. It hit the mark - him feeling way more energised as the caffeine kicked in. Taking a bite from his toast, he smiled to himself and looked around the kitchen at the wallpaper that had been wearing away for quite some time, at the window just above the sink that looked out on the garden (that they honestly never used enough now) he used to play in as a kid with his mom, at the small frames across the wall holding precious memories of his childhood from before the incident. It wasn’t much by any means, but it was his home. 

  He glanced at his phone screen again. 8:30am. “Okay, time for me to get ready.” he proclaimed to no one in particular, moving to his feet and scraping the chair back across the kitchen floor. Cringing at the noise, he cast a glance to Ruddiger, who was sleeping contently on the windowsill. He could be so cute sometimes. Only sometimes though. He picked up his plate and cup, placing them in the sink underneath the cat. He reached his now-free hand out and ran it down the cat’s fur gently before heading back upstairs to his room.

  Once he was dressed, opting for a black sweater and navy trousers along with some sneakers, he picked up his bag. Packing in his laptop and chemistry books, he moved downstairs for the final time to head outside. He glanced at the coat rack, pulling on an ink-like coat and a knitted emerald scarf Rapunzel had given him as a Christmas present one year - him silently noting that it matched the color of Hugo’s eyes. (This thought made him feel bubbly - knowing full well Hugo would love it if he saw it. He made a mental note to wear it next time Hugo offered for them to go on a date.) He unlocked the door, scooping up his keys and heading out the door.

  The first thing that he noticed was just how cold the temperature was - the chill travelling down his spine. Nonetheless, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began his journey to the campus, eyes focusing on the floor in silence. It wasn’t long, only 20 minutes, but the chill got to him fast and by the time he’d stepped into the labs, he was shivering intensely. Giving a nod to his professor, he took his seat (second to last row, three seats from the aisle) and took out his equipment, ready to start the lesson. 

  He couldn’t focus - all lesson he subtly scrolled through his phone as he prayed Hugo would send him a text or something to let him know he was okay. He gazed down at the phone screen. Surely he would be awake by now, so why wasn’t Hugo texting him. He huffed and slid back in his chair, desperately trying to keep his focus on the lesson.

  The professor kept them late. Again. Varian hurriedly shoved his stuff into his bag and began rushing down to the library. Wind whistled past his ears and his scarf blew frantically around his neck from just how fierce it was. His cheeks went a deep shade of scarlet, dusting his nose and ears. Freckles sat defined over his face as he made his way past the nameless students and over to Nuru and Yong - who, by the looks of it, had started astronomy without him. 

  “Sorry guys, I was just-” he cut himself off at the sight of Hugo, leaning over Yong and explaining part of the physics work set out in front of him. God, he looked breathtaking. His hair was tied back in its usual small ponytail, with a moss green winter coat around his shoulders and goggles hanging round his neck. He glanced up at Varian and immediately straightened, pushing his glasses up his nose with a broad smile on his face. Fuck. Why did he have to look so good in green?

  “Varian! Hey, I’ve been waiting for you!” he commented, making his way around the table to put his arm round the other boy’s shoulders. The mere action made Varian’s face flush in embarrassment, Hugo not helping whatsoever as he pulled the younger closer to him. He seemed to be revelling in the way he was making Varian a flustered, stuttering mess. “Well then. I know this may be extremely heartbreaking for you, Nuru, but we must be taking our leave now. I bid thee farewell!” he declared, ushering Varian towards the door as Nuru rolled her eyes and muttered ‘Yeah, you wish.’ under her breath.

  “Hold on-what do you mean? Where are we going?” Varian queried, looking up at the taller boy who had just swept him away from his friends with absolutely no explanation. His mood became disheartened as a wicked grin grew on Hugo’s face, him stepping back and raising his eyebrow. “What are you planning, Hugo Atkinson?” he implored.

  “Welllll….” Hugo began as he took Varian’s hand in his own and interlaced their fingers, moving to stand in front of him. “I promised you another date! So I came to pick you up and remembered ‘Shit, it’s Wednesday!’ so I drove to the library and waited! Your friends showed up and you hadn’t yet, so I just..sat down with them and decided to offer my extensive knowledge on literally everything to them. And managed to convince Nuru to give you up for a day so I could take you out. Also off topic but..I’m ninety-eight percent sure she hates me, but as if I care!” he rambled, looking down at the confusion on the raven haired boy’s beautiful face. A smile tugged at his lips. “Long story short, I’m taking you on a date. Surprise!” 

  Varian stood dumbfounded before a breathy laugh left his lips, bringing Hugo down to his level and placing a fleeting kiss on his cheek. “That’s adorable. Go on then, take me away, Casanova.” 

  He relished in the blush that flooded over Hugo’s cheek and the stuttering that followed as he held Varian’s hand tight and led him along the cobbled streets of Corona. They walked and walked until Hugo gestured to a small ice-skating rink in the town centre. “And our date is ice-skating!” he remarked, squeezing Varian’s hand. “I hope that’s okay. I just thought we needed a little switch up from the coffee shop.”

  Varian gasped in excitement and gave a frantic nod. “Hugo, this is perfect! Thank you so much!” he cried as he dragged the blonde along to go and get some skates so they could go onto the ice. The taller boy merely laughed and looked down at the childish excitement on his face. God, he loved this boy so much. It didn’t seem real. 

  As soon as they got their skates on and headed onto the ice, Varian’s mood soured.

  He must’ve slipped a billion times as soon as they got on, finally relenting and heading to grip onto the barrier. His mom took him thousands of times when he was little. Why was he forgetting how to do it now? He let out a groan of frustration and rubbed his face with his hand. Why was this so hard? Now he was embarrassing himself in front of Hugo and Hugo would never want to see him again and-

  “Hairstripe?” a voice came from behind him, a hand resting on his waist. “Hey, no. Let me show you, okay?” Hugo gestured and trailed his hand down, linking it with Varian’s and beginning to glide, moving further and further away from the barrier. 

  It felt like time had frozen, or the universe had fallen away and left only him and Hugo as the travelled in continuous circles round the rink. Hugo squeezed his hand in reassurance whenever he thought he might fall and caught him when he stumbled. It was perfect - just them with no interference from anyone else. It was perfect. 

  After a while, they exited the rink laughing and high on a cloud of pure euphoria with their hands still interlaced and warm. Varian let out a happy sigh and turned his head to look at Hugo, who’s free hand snaked around his waist. “It’s been fun today. I wanna do this again. All the time.” He muttered, moving his hand to cup Hugo’s cheek and rub it with his thumb absentmindedly, his eyes focusing on the way Hugo’s sparkled in the soft light of the lanterns outside. 

  “Varian.” Hugo whispered his name in response, letting go of his hand to rest under the boy’s chin. He tilted his head and began to lean in. Varian’s eyes fluttered shut as they were only centimetres- no. Millimetres apart. He could feel Hugo’s breath on his lips. Just a little more-

  He was tugged back by a hand grasping his collar to see Eugene in front of him. “Varian what the fuck are you doing?! Why the hell are you out here with him?” he yelled and turned to face his little brother. Varian took a mental note on the fury painted over Eugene’s usually relaxed demeanour. “Y’know what? Tell me in the car. We’re leaving.” He grabbed the boy’s wrist and forcefully tugged him towards the car, despite Varian’s struggling and protests.

  Hugo stood dumbfounded and watched as Varian was pulled away from him, tears building in his eyes as he looked at the sidewalk he was left on as the car drove away. He pulled out his phone to make a call.

  “What.” Donella’s voice dripped with annoyance.

  “I won’t be coming in tonight, sorry.” he declared as he hung up the phone. Quietly, he pulled up the hood of his coat and picked Varian’s emerald scarf off the floor before silently putting it on and beginning his journey home. He knew full well he’d suffer tomorrow for that, but it didn’t matter anymore. He pushed his glasses into his hair and wiped away the tears they were hiding, continuing to walk away from the town centre and to his apartment.

  Unlocking the door, he leaned back to shut it before sliding to the floor and letting himself cry unabashedly. Why? Why did it have to be like this? Did life really hate him that much? Now he’d never be allowed to see Varian again-or Varian would find out about everything he’s done and decide he didn’t want someone like that in his life and leave him. Just like everyone else.

  He felt like he’d cried for hours when he finally went upstairs and lay on his bed, letting Olivia out of her cage to sit on the bed beside him as he stared numbly at the ceiling. Maybe that's how it was meant to be. Maybe him and Varian weren’t meant to be together. Someone as perfect as Varian deserved better than him...he let out a pained sigh and turned to face Olivia. “Well Liv..it was fun while it lasted, huh?”

  As soon as they were in the car, Eugene’s tangent had begun. “What happened to texting, huh? To letting your family know you weren’t gonna be there because you were busy with something else? Jesus Christ, Varian, we’ve all been terrified! I have been waiting outside the library since 5! Now it's 8pm! And what’s worse is you were with a criminal! A goddamn CRIMINAL!” he ranted on and on, Varian turning his head and glaring at Eugene.

  “What do you mean ‘criminal’? Weren’t you one before? Never mind that, I was a criminal before too!” he snarled, his head whipping back around to glare out of the car window. He didn’t even recognise where they were driving anymore - the surroundings too dark to see anything.

  “That little shit has been committing petty theft in the area - pickpocketing and all that. And so what if we were like that? People like him never change. I would know!”

  “But we’ve changed, Eugene!” 

  “We’re different to him, Varian-”   “How the fuck are we different to him?!”

  “Varian-”   “NO! Tell me how the fuck we are different to him!-”

  “THAT'S ENOUGH, VARIAN!” Eugene’s voice boomed through the car, stunning Varian into silence as he flinched away from the brunette in shock. His bottom lip trembled and his shoulders shook as he desperately attempted to hold back his tears. “Shit-Varian, I-”

  “Pull over. Now.” Varian stated, his voice oozing with hurt and anger as he kept staring at his feet. Eugene obliged sadly and pulled the car over, watching the younger boy get out and start sprinting into the night. He rested his head against the steering wheel, tears building in his eyes. Well, now he’d fucked up. He hadn’t meant to yell so loud at Varian...fuck. He sighed and began the drive home, praying to himself that Varian would get back safe.

  Once he knew he was far away from the car, he stopped running. He sat on the floor and pressed his head against his knees. In 7, hold 7, out 7, he told himself and kept repeating multiple times. His chest eventually stopped heaving and his limbs stopped aching. He leaned back and stared at the stars in the sky, deep in thought.

  Everything was perfect. He was happy, Hugo was happy..so why did it all have to end so badly? He bit the inside of his cheek as he thought of Hugo. He had to see him again. He couldn’t just leave him. His hands shook as he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He took one final deep breath and called Hugo. 

“Hello? Varian?” Oh god. His voice sounded so broken. He must’ve been crying this whole time. It was so much different from how it usually sounded. Varian felt his heart shatter a little bit more as he listened to the boy on the other end of the phone. “Varian, whats up?”

 “What’s your address? I’m coming over. Now.” He bluntly stated, more of a request than a question. He definitely needed to see the other boy now, desperately.

   Confusion laced Hugo’s voice as he replied to Varian, a light creaking sounding in the background as he presumably moved to sit up. “Are you sure, Varian? What’s going on-” 

  “Just tell me, Hugo!” He yelled, his desperation clear. “Please. I need to see you.” He added the last part, lowering his voice significantly and brushing his tears away at the other boy’s barely audible ‘okay’ in response. 

  Hugo shut himself up, sending through the address and hanging up on the distraught boy. He lay back on his bed, a frown on his face before heading down the hall to sit in the living room. 20 minutes later, a knock rang through the tiny building and he sprinted to unlock the door, his eyes meeting the tearful boy that he loved so dearly. Silently, he stepped out of the way to let the boy in before closing the door and pulling him into an embrace. The younger gripped onto his shirt and cried, each sob wracking his whole, thin frame. Hugo bit his lip and let out an exasperated sigh.

  This really was going to be a long night.

[straight-into-the-animus]

All Night Long (French Fryes AU)

A continuation of the first part of the 1980s Soundtrack AU! Find the first part here!

Read it on Ao3 here!

Part Three

The diner was a little one, the out of the way kind that serviced the late-night workers on their way to the plants. It was a place for those driving the long commute to get a quick bite to eat and smoke without much trouble. Jacob was almost surprised at the general decor and feel of the place when compared to his companion’s. But his stomach gave the slightest growl at the smell of something greasy frying, and he was happy not to question further as he sat across from Arno in a worn leather booth. 

The man began peeling away his scarf and coat, and Jacob took in his appearance. He wore a sharp red tie and a crisp gray dress shirt as if he had just gotten back from the office. Jacob suddenly felt a wave of self-consciousness at his own appearance as he shed his leather jacket, looking for all intents and purposes he had just gotten out of some neighborhood slum fest in comparison… Which, to be fair, that’s what the bar had sort of been, but that was beside the point. If Arno felt the same, he said nothing or gave any indication of anything aside from a small smile.

Why would he care? A small part of Jacob’s mind asked, and if it were a person, it likely would have rolled its eyes.

“I still think it’s gonna rain.” Jacob gave a thumb jerk to the window and the dark night sky beyond, and Arno gave a small snort of laughter.

“I think it’s done for the night.”

“Swore I could smell it.”

“Don’t people normally say they can feel it?”

“Don’t try and contradict me, Mister Dorian.” Jacob faux-scoffed, surprising himself for a second before receiving a huff of laughter and a smile from the other man.

“Oui, oui. As you say, Mister Frye. I apologize.”

Jacob took another second of near shock to receive the “apology”; hesitation flickered across his face before he quickly snuffed it out. “You better. I accept it.”

“I thank you.” Arno smiled again and almost spoke before they were interrupted by the waitress, an older woman with a hairdo that would have put Bonnie Tyler to shame. She poured the coffee at no prompting and rattled off the typical specials of diner folds. Both men ended up going for pancakes and bacon.

“I suppose it is breakfast time.” Jacob mused before taking a sip of his coffee. He had only put two packets of sugar in it but watched as Arno nearly drowned his in cream and sweet flavoring, nodding in agreement.

“Best breakfast you’ll get in this area.”

“So… you come here often, then?”

“When I work late, sometimes I’ll stop by here before I head home.”

“What do you do?”

“I work as a prosecuting attorney.” He seemed oblivious to the way Jacob’s eyebrows rose and continued on. “You?”

Jacob took a long gulp of scalding coffee to give himself time to answer. Not to tell the truth but phrase it in a way that wasn’t that Roth had always taken care of everything while Jacob puttered around London doing odd work for who needed it.

“I’m between jobs at the moment.” He somewhat mumbled in his cup as he set it down. Arno slowly nodded.

“Well, if Thatcher doesn’t fuck us over, you might be able to get something at the steel plants. They’re always hiring.”

“Perhaps.” Jacob gave a slight nod in consideration before attempting to switch the conversation around. “So… Lawyer? Explains your sharp mind and sparkling wit.”

“My wit has always sparkled, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“Thought you have your own sharp tongue to go along with your… Everything.” Arno gestured vaguely, and Jacob felt his cheeks heat up just a bit. “You might make a good lawyer.”

“I just happened to have the luck to grow up with a twin sister.”

“Is she in London as well?”

“Ah, lives just a bit outside of it with her husband. They’re adorable, really.” Jacob tried to hide the slightest bit of unconscious bitterness at the mention of his sister, and Arno accepted it.

They made a bit more small talk, moving into the more boring aspects of what people could talk about until their food came. Jacob asked a bit more about Arno, and Arno seemed to have a somewhat normal life; when his father had died, he had been adopted by a friend of his father and had a sister that traveled around a lot for business. He had come to London to “strike out”, though he sheepishly admitted he was a trust fund baby. Jacob found he didn’t mind it all that much, surprisingly.

There was something… endearing about him, about the careful and measured way he spoke, as if he was afraid to mess up a word. How even while they ate, he fiddled with his fork to make little comments about the diner or asking Jacob for his opinions on different things. Jacob couldn’t help but try to continue to get small smiles, anything of amusement. But he was earnest, and listened, and… And Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this with someone, just at peace without anything demanded of him.

If there was one problem he had, though, it was the lawyer’s taste of music.

“Okay, I could forgive not liking Crüe. But Bowie? You don’t like Bowie?”

“I like Bowie! ‘Young Americans’ is a fantastic album, and so is ‘Station to Station’. It’s just his recent work that I’m not a fan of. He was better in the 70s.”

“So you don’t like Labyrinth.”

“Haven’t seen it. What’s that look for?”

“If there was a theater still open I’d be dragging you to it right now so we can change that.” Jacob warned, and Arno quirked an eyebrow up as he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed but tone playful.

“Is that a threat, Monsieur Frye?”

“Could be.” Jacob grinned, leaning forward. The food was long gone, plates sticky with syrup in front of them and the bill on its way. The only reason Jacob could be arsed to care was because this could very well be it. It could very well be the last time he was going to feel this way. Maybe he was vulnerable, but there was a soft part of him that wanted to keep feeling this way as long as he could. Roth would try and fight his way back, even if Jacob kept his distance; he knew his apartment, after all. He paid for it. But… That wasn’t what he wanted right now.

He wanted to be safe, wanted to be wanted. 

“Jacob? Jacob, are you okay?” He came back to himself and realized Arno was leaning on the table, mindful of the plates but looking at him with concern; he realized as well that he had slumped back against the booth, arm crossed a bit defensively. Quickly he cleared his throat.

“I’m fine, really. Just…” He hesitated before spilling the truth, “I don’t want to go home just yet. This is probably the best night I’ve had in a bloody long time, you know? But you’re… I can’t even offer you anything other than half the check.”

“Jacob, hey. Don’t look away.” He tacked on as the man’s eyes drifted down, and spoke again when Jacob was looking at him. “You’re wonderful- Wonderful company. I just don’t want- It’s-” Arno sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, an embarrassed flush ovetaking his cheeks; Jacob felt the same. “If it isn’t too much to say… I want to continue. I do. But… I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Take advantage?” Jacob said a little too loud for comfort, and both of them quickly looked around the diner for anyone that heard.

“This ex of yours… He left you in a bad state. I don’t want you to make some sort of decision you’ll regret because of your emotions.”

“You don’t want me.”

“Shit, Jacob, fine, I do.” 

“And I want you, Arno.” They were hushed at this point, and Jacob could see a conflict clear in the other’s hazel eyes. “Even if it’s just for the night. Frankly, I didn’t think you were… You know.”

“Not as though you’re the picture of a gay man.”

“Fine. Fair enough. But I mean it.” If Jacob could have taken his hand, could have given any other reassurance than his words… He would’ve. “You want me, I want you. S’all that matters at this point.” Finally, a bit of pleading overtook his words. “And I don’t want to go home yet.”

Thinks were quiet as Arno worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Jacob half-held his breath, and let it out in semi-disappointment once Arno signaled for the bill without so much as an answer.

Then, once the server had hobbled away with everything, the Frenchman spoke quietly.

“We’ll have to find a taxi. Can’t walk to my place from here quick enough.”

“Deal.” Jacob smiled in relief and excitement. And he could’ve sworn Arno had his own, small secretive look of relief as well.

Next part is gonna have some smut attached to it, and will probably be a bit longer, so time to get excited! If you’d like to be put on a taglist for the fic series, let me know! Have any ideas or songs you wanna see encorporated? Tell me!

I hope you enjoy! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request!  If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

[inherbookishhead]

Through the Veil of Time.

For the last three days, I couldn't get rid of the scene in my head, where the Doctor is in a deathly situation but his raggedy girl comes to rescue. I find the concept of "unlikely companionship" between the War Doctor and the Bad Wolf entity really intriguing (their dynamic was the highlight of the DOTD for me even though it was very different from that of Rose and any other Doctor (who are my ultimate OTP)). I would really love to see and explore some of the moments where these two weird immortals interact, so, basically, I tried to write one of such encounters (and hooray, my first ever piece of fan fiction).

Where am I going with this? Yeah, I guess I’d love to have a War Doctor/Bad Wolf girl audio drama spinoff.

Also available on ao3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (2005) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler, Bad Wolf/The Moment (Doctor Who), Bad Wolf/The War Doctor (Doctor Who), The War Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: The War Doctor (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler | Bad Wolf, Bad Wolf (Doctor Who), The Moment (Doctor Who) Summary:

The rare moments in time and space when the paths of the War Doctor and the Bad Wolf cross.

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It's almost dawn and, alas, he finds himself surrounded by yet another group of alien enemies. This time, however, they managed to have him completely cornered in the ruins of some who knows when abandoned building. He doesn't know who they are, but he certainly knows what they want to do. Well, at least to him. The Doctor sighs. He feels old, immensely tired of all the fighting he had to endure recently, and so completely done with yet another unnecessary distraction. 

The leader of the gang takes his time to mock the Doctor, clearly enjoying the process and still riding the euphoria of how the tables have turned. In all honesty, however, all affected seem to lose their minds these days. The war, which Time Lords have started, doesn’t show mercy to anyone. 

The alien points a gun at the Doctor and orders him to kneel while his gang is coming closer to enjoy the execution. These creatures, as the Doctor notices, are of humanoid form, tall and strong with their glistening blue skin and a single crooked horn peeking from behind their heads. He wonders for a fracture of a second what purpose that horn serves in the course of their evolution. The aliens, on the other hand, look quite desperate even now, and the Doctor knows that the main reason for their debauch is an enemy, whose name consists of only two words: Time Lords. And the Doctor just happens to be one of them. He obeys the order with a resigned expression, then looks at the angry lot and gives their lead one final warning to stop and go away while they still can. 

The gang leader, blinded as he is by pure hatred, doesn’t listen, of course. No wonder, they rarely do. He makes a pompous speech about finding his purpose in liberating as many worlds as he can. After all, the whole universe is in chaos and about to perish anyway, so his kind can finally become the force the universe needs to set the things in the right way, which naturally means, in their own twisted way, and not without sacrifices. He briefly mentions the other nine galaxies that had to be wiped clean, and the Doctor slowly starts to lose his patience. In the end, the young man wonders how such a feeble old misunderstanding of a being can be a Time Lord, and asks, eventually, if the dusty old grandpa has some last words to say before he dies in this forgotten ugly place, all alone and without a single soul to mourn him. The grandpa in question perks up at that.

“Me?” the Doctor gives a chuckle and shakes his head in what looks like an amused disappointment. “Oh, dear boy," he rasps, "what in the whole universe made you think I’m alone?” 

The boy is surely a man, and certainly not dear. He knows it, and that is why he switches off the safety on his weapon. His sneer fades as he pulls the trigger and fires a bullet aiming right into the Doctor’s head. 

His eyes, however, grow even wider as said bullet turns out to be stuck in a time loop right in front of the Doctor’s forehead. After a moment of complete silence, the gang leader hears screams of his fellow mates and his eyes catch a moving silhouette a few feet behind the Doctor. Soon he can outline its details: the creature appears to be a rather short female, whose old saggy clothes are so torn they barely stick to her body. Her expression, though, tells a different story. It is tense and utterly angry, her wild eyes are ready to kill with their golden gleam. 

The Doctor looks for a while at the blinking motion of a bullet that makes its rounds in desperate attempts to reach his head but gets immediately thrown back again, and then turns his attention back to the leader.

“Have you met my friend here?” the Doctor says in the most unperturbed voice imaginable. 

The alien points the gun on his new target, but the raggedy creature splashes a wave of golden light that knocks down his whole gang at once. One by one they start dissipating into the piles of dust until the remnants of the last blue-skinned creature are floating down in the dimming light.

The Doctor gets up from his knees without turning to look at the woman.

“Thought you might show up,” he says casually then goes to the pile of dust that used to be a hostile living being just some moments ago, crouches over it, and scoops some grains with his fingers.

“You know, one of those days you might be the one to finally bite it,” the woman remarks, pointedly looking at the dust on the Doctor's fingers as she approaches him. She offhandedly gestures towards the bullet to release it from its little temporal trap, and it crashes into the nearest wall with a final bright sparkle. 

The Doctor considers her words for a while, then looks at her and smiles, “Nah, young lady, I had it all perfectly under control.” He stands up and dusts his hands off.

"Oh, did you now?" she muses. The girl still looks quite menacing with her glowing eyes and messy hair, but the corners of her mouth turn slightly up. 

"Oh, come off it, Bad Wolf girl," he pretends to chastise. "What would you do for the fun of it, if you didn't have to save this old man every once in a while?" 

A part of him still feels like a prey she keeps playing with and expects her to make that deathly leap at any moment. The other part of him just loves her company. 

"You are turning it into a full time job, Doctor", she counters back, smiling.

"Don't call me that," he pleads quietly, his expression earnest, "You know my name." He averts his gaze and starts looking at the morning sun peeking above the horizon.

"I've got to go," she says with a hint of sadness, "Next time, be a darling and try to stay out of trouble. It will be over soon, I promise." That's the only reassurance she can give, whatever "it" or "soon" really means.

The meditative silence that settles is a comforting moment to kick off the day.

"Suppose I am a darling," the Doctor continues after a while, holding his hands behind his back, and squinting his eyes, still stubbornly examining the sun, "would you visit me sometime when I am not at the brink of death?"

She ponders.

"Maybe, one day," she surprises him with her answer, "if you behave, that is."

Now he is ninety-seven percent certain she is mocking him. He shakes his head. After all, he concludes, someone finally finds him amusing for a change.

"I always wanted to go to Barcelona, you know. An interesting planet, they say," he still faces the sun. She nods, then abruptly stops, puzzled, then nods again. 

"Dogs with no noses?" her question sounds more like a statement.

"Dogs with no noses," he genuinely laughs. 

The Bad Wolf girl takes one of his hands and turns her gaze to the sun the Doctor is so preoccupied with. They stay like that for a while. Then, the cold wind blows and wakes the Doctor out of his reverie. He looks at his now empty hand and returns it to the other behind his back. The Time Lord takes a deep breath, throws one last glance at the rising sun, and turns around, ready to meet the day.