#but they all feel like they’re not leading anywhere because of the new chapters

[timesnewreader]

Warning discussion of the recent JJK manga chapters and previous arcs. MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD (and I’m sorry idk how to do the read more thing on here)

I’m dissatisfied and worried by this weeks chapter of JJK. The sentiment of “I like it when a character steals the show” is one thing, but just having a character take center stage out of the blue is a different story. I’ve been burned before so I hope it doesn’t end up like this, but I’m worried this is going to turn out like the last season of Game of Thrones. Like you do all this plot and character development and then abandon it at the last moment just to defy expectations which ultimately just makes your story worse. In this case I don’t think it’s about defying expectations intentionally, but I think Gege just genuinely hates Gojo so much that they’re nerfing the story. From my perspective, JJK has always been Gojo’s story. Like he’s not the protagonist but he’s the central character to the narrative. His relationship with Suguru, and now with the shade of Suguru that is Kenjaku, is what made all of this possible because of the Star plasma vessel mission. I genuinely don’t think that Gojo should have been brought back yet or at least that he shouldn’t have fought Sukuna. I kind of think the manga would be better if he never fought Sukuna now or any other time. I hope this fight is good, at this point anything could happen and I’ll keep my fingers crossed that I’ll like it, but I’m not excited for it. In fact I’m kind of angry because to me this should be Gojo’s fight. It still could be who freaking knows at this point, but to me this should be Gojo trying to reclaim Suguru’s body and finally give him rest and have closure for himself. Like I know I’m insane for Gojo but I also just genuinely think that’s what would be most narratively satisfying. Which would make Sukuna a fight for Yuji and the Jujutsu tech kids. I don’t know if that one would hold up in court but I’ll stand by the Gojo stuff. I don’t know, I just hate to see potential go to waste and it’s starting to feel more and more like that’s where JJK is heading. I genuinely, desperately hope not. But I’ve been hoping they’d say sike for months now and it feels less and less likely each week.

Watching the anime makes it even worse because there are so many moments that could pay off so well or lead to excellent parallels that just… haven’t. They still could, but with Gojo “dead” and showing no signs of return, Megumi in Sukuna purgatory, nobara in eyeball purgatory, so many characters forgotten off screen, and Yuji just having no screen time I’m just having trouble staying invested. Gege made me care for these guys!! And for the potential of a plot with them facing what Kenjaku had planned!! But the culling game was so weird and confusing and what’s happening now feels like they’re pulling at straws!! Like did they just not have it planned out this far?? Ouhg. Like I said I hope I’m wrong, I’d love to be wrong. I just needed to vent about this because the Shibuya arc is genuinely an excellent piece of writing. It’s devastating and sets up so much room for potential consequences and growth. And, so far at least, the results have not met up to that excellent set up. I wish them the best and I hope they stick the landing, but I’m not nearly as excited or invested as I once was.

[schrijverr]

Go Ask Daddy, Bud, I’m Napping for a Bit

Divergence from chapter 23, where when Buck is tired in the lead up towards Christmas, he accidentally refers to Eddie as daddy to Chimney. It’s just automatic due to Chris, but it gets some weird looks and attempting to explain doesn’t make it sound better. In trying to defend himself more comes to light.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: discussions of sex

~~~

Christmas is drawing near and Eddie and Buck have been alternating on taking extra shifts, as to not throw off their schedule too much while still saving up.

You never realize how expensive holidays are until you’re an adult. And those expenses increase exponentially when you have a kid. They still don’t know Chris’s Christmas wish, so they’re making sure they have enough for whatever it will be. The kid deserves not to be disappointed.

Right now, however, Buck is exhausted and slightly grouchy about it. His extra shift is a 48 hours that is a 24 hours for both A and B shift. So, his first 24 hours with B shift have rolled into the next with the A shift and he is so, so tired.

He thinks someone on B shift must have said the q-word, because they’ve been running all over town all day. He’s hoping that the curse won’t last into this new one, because that will suck ass. Of course, he’d do anything for Chris, but by god does he want this shift to be over.

The others ribbed him a little about it when they came in, but five calls later, they’ve slowly eased off of him.

They’ve just come back from their latest call and Buck has collapsed onto the couch, fully prepared to take a nap and too lazy to walk all the way back down after climbing the stairs to get a snack. He likes napping on the couch and listening to the hum of the station anyway.

Buck is already halfway asleep, vaguely listening to Eddie and Hen chatting at the kitchen table, when he is interrupted by Chimney asking: “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

And later, Buck will totally blame the curse for the way he gestures in Eddie’s general direction as he grumbles: “Go ask daddy, bud, I’m napping for a bit.”

He would have dropped off in the immediate shocked silence that came after that, were it not for Chimney loudly exclaiming: “Daddy?”

It startles him and he blearily tries to open his eyes as he sits up, going: “Wha?”

“You just referred to Eddie as daddy,” Chimney informs him, a mix of gleeful, confused and a little weirded out. “Unless you have opinions about Hen that you didn’t share with the class.”

The words break through the exhausted fog and embarrassment floods through him at the realization of what just happened. The sweater thing was just such a Chris question and he’d been on his mind, due to the Christmas present conundrum, so it had just slipped out as natural in the sleepiness.

A bright blush paints his features and he’s sure everyone can see. Still, he tries to deflect: “Are you sure, man? Pretty certain I said Eddie, you must’ve misheard or something.”

“No, you said daddy,” Hen speaks up and Buck looks over to her. She is raising her brow at him, then at Eddie, who is across from her, also blushing. She continues: “And Eddie here looked over at it without missing a beat.”

“So, it’s normal for you to call Eddie daddy, is it? Hm, curious,” Chimney accuses.

“You’re making it weird,” Buck protests.

“And it’s not?” Hen counters unconvinced.

“No, it’s not. It’s not a thing,” Buck says as confidently as he can anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Edmundo. You’ve been awfully quiet,” Chimney directs himself towards Eddie, who’s been quietly trying to disappear into the background. Buck feels guilty about that, Eddie didn’t ask to be caught up in Buck’s stupid brain fart.

“Uh, I thought he said Eddie,” Eddie defends himself after a beat that last too long to be believed.

“Hm, you thought he said Eddie, did you?” Chimney hums in a knowing tone, which irks Buck to no end. It’s not like he’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to be smug about it, or make it a sex thing – ironic coming from him, he’s aware.

“Oh shut up, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’m tired,” Buck says.

“Freudian slip,” Hen coughs and Buck glares at her.

“I’ve been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot,” Buck tells them stubbornly. “He calls Eddie daddy, so you start doing it when talking to him and my brain got it mixed up. You two are making it something it’s not.”

Chimney squints at him, clearly trying to discern whether he’s lying or not. In a way, he isn’t. He has been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot and he does refer to Eddie as daddy when talking to Chris because of it and his tired brain did get mixed up.

However, Hen doesn’t buy it, asking: “Really? You say to Chris things like ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad?’ You don’t do that with Denny. Or Harry.”

Fuck, busted.

“Uh…” Buck starts dumbly, unsure where to go from there.

Before he can say something more incriminating, Eddie comes to save him. He says: “It’s not that big a deal, you guys are really taking this and running with it for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees immediately. “Like, what do you even want me to say? Want me to confess me and Eddie are having steamy, kinky sex? We’re not. And despite my daddy issues, I don’t actually have a daddy kink. That’s not necessarily how that works.”

His need to please has translated more into being a service switch and having a massive praise kink, but he decides to keep that to himself for now. He doesn’t want to turn the him and Eddie conversation into a sex conversation more than it already is. Buck is pretty sure he will explode if it does.

Chimney and Hen pause at that, likely trying to think of why they’re pushing this the way they are. A part of Buck doesn’t want them to think about it and doesn’t want to think about it himself either. What if they picked up on the way he’s in love with Eddie and that’s why they thought they were onto something?

“You’re sure?” is what Chimney finally says, suspicious eyes going between Buck and Eddie.

Scandalized and annoyed, Buck exclaims: “Chimney!”

“What?” Chimney says defensively.

At that point, Bobby comes up the stairs from where he’d been filling out his reports. He has heard some of the ruckus and when he comes upstairs to find Buck glaring at a defensive Chimney, while Hen and Eddie are spectating – though Eddie with less amusement and more embarrassment than Hen – he asks: “What’s going on here?”

Before anyone else can speak, Chimney answers: “We’re trying to figure out if Buck and Eddie are fucking after Buck accidentally called Eddie daddy.”

“I told you, it’s because I’ve been hanging out with Chris and it’s not like that,” Buck exclaims. “You’re making it something it’s not. We’re not fucking!”

“And we said that it’s a little weird that you went ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad,’” Hen reminds him.

“Yeah, and you two are being very defensive about it,” Chimney adds.

“Of course we’re defensive, you’re making a brain slip surrounding my kid weird,” Eddie grouches. “And throwing around accusations.”

Bobby hums thoughtfully as he tries to decide how to proceed. All of them hold their breath while they wait to see whose side Bobby will pick, and if he’ll even pick a side or will just walk away and distance himself from it.

Finally, he says: “No one in this house would judge you two, you know that right? If you want to keep things private, that is fine, but you will need to fill in the proper paperwork.”

Outraged as a result of the embarrassment and feeling exposed, Buck cries out: “You too? Why do all of you think we’re fucking?”

“Maybe because you two are making heart eyes at each other every day?” Hen snorts.

“What?” Buck squeaks, because, yeah, he is making heart eyes at Eddie and he kind of gathered he probably wasn’t hiding all that well, but what does she mean ‘you two’?

“Huh, what are you talking about? I’m straight,” Eddie frowns in confusion.

Hen looks taken aback by that. “You’re straight?” she asks disbelievingly, clapping her hand over her mouth the second it slips out.

“Yes!” Eddie says defensively, before his voice gets a slightly vulnerable edge as he adds: “Did you- did you not… think that?”

“Uh, no, I thought you were just low key about being gay,” Hen admits a little sheepishly, looking like she feels bad about bringing it up.

“Wait, but if Eddie’s straight, then why are him and Buck always eye fucking? What have we been witnessing these past few months?” Chimney interrupts loudly.

“Us being friends?” Buck suggests tentatively, unsure if he wants to risk it, but not wanting to make anyone think it’s something other than that.

“And there’s nothing else going on between you two?” Chimney asks suspiciously.

“No, no. No, definitely not,” Buck quickly assures him.

“You’re lying,” Chimney accuses, finger jabbing in Buck’s direction. “We all know you can’t lie for shit, Buckaroo, and that, was a lie! You two are fucking.”

“We’re not fucking!” Buck yells, face as red as a tomato. He’s still embarrassed by the daddy comment, then embarrassed by everyone seeing through him and pointing out how much he wants to fuck Eddie, and on top of that uncomfortably reminded that Eddie will never want him like Buck wants him.

“Then what is going on?” Bobby asks in that kind concerned fatherly manner that Buck usually loves, but right now makes him feel like he’s being cornered.

“Why do none of you believe that there’s nothing going on?”

“Because you’re a shit liar,” Chimney says.

“I can lie,” Buck says defensively, crossing his arms.

“Sure, you can,” Hen agrees patronizingly.

“I can!” Buck protests, before he lets it go, it’s not the point right now anyway. “And even if I can’t, I’m not lying now. There is nothing between me and Eddie.”

“Nothing, huh?” Chimney still doesn’t believe him, but lets him be for now, instead turning to Eddie again and asking: “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“That you guys are being ridiculous,” Eddie offers. “Me and Buck are friends. Good friends. He’s been a huge help with Chris and he was just tired. It happens. You’re all just seeing things.”

“Hmm,” Hen hums as she studies Eddie closely with squinted eyes. “I can’t tell if he’s lying.”

Eddie sends her deadpan look. “I’m not lying.”

“You see, I want to believe you, but something makes me feel like there is something you’re hiding from us,” Hen tells him as she leans over to look intently at his face, scrutinizing him.

Unimpressed, Eddie also leans over the table so he can look right back at her. “Okay, do tell. What do you think I could be lying about? What are we hiding? Because we’re not fucking, I can tell you that much.”

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie is doing, challenging Hen like this. Eddie is the better liar between them, but inviting them to dig deeper when they’re already uncomfortably close, doesn’t seem like a smart idea. However, Buck isn’t going to get the attention on himself. If anyone is giving it away, it’ll be him. Best to keep to the background.

“You’re either really good at lying, or incredibly codependent with Buck to the point of you two acting married,” Hen finally says. Buck doesn’t see what Eddie’s face does at that, but everyone can hear Hen exclaim: “Oh my god, why did your face go pink when I suggested you two were married?”

Chimney whips his head towards Buck and immediately asks: “You two are married?”

“Noooo?” Buck says, cringing the second he does, because that sounds like a lie even to himself.

“You totally are!” Chimney has wide eyes and his mouth gapes slightly at it.

“That is something that you should have definitely disclosed way before it got to that point,” Bobby frowns.

“Come on, when would we have the time to get married?” Buck deflects, hoping for the best. “Don’t you think you would have noticed us getting married?”

“Right now, I don’t trust anything anymore,” Chimney says.

“Yeah, it could have happened at any time. Bar for that first shift you two have always acted like this,” Hen agrees, then her eyes grow wide and she points between the two of them. “Wait a minute, you’ve always acted like this.”

“What are you saying, Hen?” Bobby asks.

“That they’ve been married this whole time?” Hen suggests, sounding as if she can barely believe what she is saying herself.

“Are you sure? We saw them meet,” Chimney says skeptically.

“Yeah, Hen, that’s ridiculous,” Buck says.

“Then why was Eddie blushing?” Hen counters.

“Because you called our friendship incredibly codependent?” Buck offers.

“Which I only did, because he asked me what you two were hiding after you guys started being weird about us pointing out you two were close,” Hen says. “And the only reason I’m even entertaining this absurdity right now, is because you don’t sound convincing at all when you deny it.”

“Hey, come on now,” Buck protests weakly.

Bobby’s hand appears on his shoulder and he looks up at him. There is a mix of hurt and confusion in Bobby’s eyes as he genuinely asks: “Just be honest with me here, Buck, are you and Eddie married?”

And Buck hates this, because it’s Bobby, who is asking and Buck is already bad at lying, but he’s even worse at lying to Bobby. This whole scheme depended on them not being suspicious enough for anyone to ask directly and now he’s being asked directly. All because he accidentally called Eddie daddy. He’s never going to live this down.

“Okay, fine. Yes, we’re married,” he admits after a beat.

“Buck!” Eddie calls out, as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

“You know I can’t lie!” Buck defends himself. “He’s just looking at me and I- I just couldn’t.”

“Wait you guys are actually married?” Chimney asks.

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, “we are.”

“But you’re straight?” Hen asks in a tone that implies isn’t sure she’s buying it.

“I am,” Eddie glares at her, heckles raised. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”

“So the Buck calling you daddy is…”

“Just like you calling Karen mommy when talking to Denny?” Eddie fills in. “Yeah.”

“That makes you a father,” Bobby suddenly realizes as he looks to Buck.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Buck says, unable to help the prideful smile on his face. “Chris is a great kid. Love him to death. I mean, you met him, you know how amazing he is.”

Bobby’s face does a weird thing at that and Buck can’t place it. It makes something twist inside him, what if Bobby disapproves of him as a father? What if he thinks Buck can’t do it?

However, before he can ask Bobby what he’s thinking, Chimney butts in: “Okay, but how long have you been Chris’s dad – which, kind of weird, not going to lie – because I’m still confused about when you guys met.”

“Yeah, and when did you get married?” Hen also asks.

Buck looks over at Eddie, trying to communicate if they’re going to come clean about the whole thing now that the cat’s out of the bag. Eddie seems resigned and embarrassed by the whole situation. Buck can relate, but he feels bad about Eddie also feeling like that. However, Eddie sends him a reassuring smile, which makes him feel slightly better about the whole thing.

“Well, we got married in 2016,” Buck answers Hen’s question, since it kind of automatically answers Chimney’s question too as being not during their first shift together.

The room explodes into noise at that, which is fair enough considering what they just shared. However, Buck still kind of leans away from the yelling. It’s mostly variations of “2016?!?!?” and “What the fuck!” and “Why would you lie about that?”

When the yelling dies down, because it’s not getting results, since there is no space for them to speak, Buck clears his throat and says: “Yeah, uh, 2016. We did lie about that.”

“Why?”

“What part exactly?” Buck asks, just to be sure.

“Why you lied,” Bobby says at the same time Hen says: “Why you got married.”

“So we can work together,” Buck answers, while Eddie says: “For Chris.”

“Okay, we need order,” Chimney says. “I ask the questions, if anyone has another question, they raise their hand and I will give you your turn.”

“Are you a school teacher?” Hen smirks in amusement.

“No, I’m showing leadership,” Chimney corrects her. “Now, Buckley, tell us why you two lied about being married. Hell, about even knowing each other?”

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck explains. “Eddie had gotten the offer from Bobby and we figured that offer would be retracted, if he knew we were married, even though it’s not like that, so we decided not to say, but then we thought it would be weird for me to just randomly know him and not have mentioned him before and then you all would ask questions and I can’t lie, so we thought it would be best to just start from scratch.”

Everyone blinks at him for a second, so he adds: “We realized it was a dumb idea, but by then it was kind of already too late and we’d gotten in too deep.”

“That… is actually very in character for you,” Chimney finally says.

“But not for you,” Hen says, directing herself at Eddie. “Why did you agree with that?”

“Hey, I was doing the questions!”

“Oh shut up, Chim,” Hen rolls her eyes. “So, Eddie. Why go along with it?”

“Uh,” Eddie looks away, cheeks getting redder, as he admits with a mumble: “I came up with it.”

“What?!” both Hen and Chimney choke and even Bobby makes a weird noise. They’re so shocked at the idea that Eddie can be dumb too, which Buck gets, but it’s also so funny and he can’t help but burst out into laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” Eddie exclaims, but Buck can hear he’s starting to crack up too. That makes him happy, he didn’t like embarrassed, walls up Eddie from before.

“It’s funny,” he manages to get out between peels of laughter.

“It’s not,” Eddie says, but he lets out a huff of laughter of his own.

“You came up with it?” Chimney finally finds his words.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie nods, biting away his grin. “It was a strategic sharing of information where relevant.”

“God, you’re just both stupid,” Hen mutters under her breath. Both Eddie and Buck choose to ignore her, because she’s not wrong, but they don’t have to acknowledge that.

Bobby clears his throat and says: “Well, informing me of this, would have been relevant. And I will be informing HR about it and figuring out the paperwork, any disciplinary action, and if you two can continue working together at this house.”

That settles a stone in Buck’s stomach. After the embarrassment of calling Eddie daddy in front of everyone and then the lighter atmosphere of the questions, the real reasons they never told and tried to lie had moved to the background. Until now.

He sees Eddie tensing up and he is off the couch before he knows it. He implores: “Bobby… I- I know, you have to do that. I do. But can you- can you wait until after Christmas? We’re trying to save up for gifts and the holidays are expensive.”

Immediately Bobby’s eyes soften, a melancholic note playing in them, as Buck waits with bated breath to see what Bobby will say. After a moment, Bobby says: “Of course. I can wait.”

“Thank you so much,” Buck says gratefully.

“Yes, Cap, thank you,” Eddie also says.

The atmosphere has changed now and they’re all just awkwardly standing there, until Chimney says in a hushed tone: “I think we just witnessed dad Buck for the first time.”

“I think we did,” Hen agrees, a smile breaking out on her face.

Buck blushes a little, unable to help the flush of warmth that goes through him at being acknowledged as Chris’s father. He distracts from it by playing at offense and swagger as he says: “Hey, I’ve pulled out the dad Buck before.”

“Really? When? You’ve never been mature a day in your life before this, Buck-o,” Chimney grins. It’s playful but gentle, as if he knows he’s handling something fragile here and just acting his role as the comedic relief that he likes to cast himself in.

“I once told you to eat your greens,” Buck reminds him – a mortification from his probie days that, at the time, he thought he would never recover from.

“Oh yeah, you did do that.”

“And have none of you guys ever paid attention to Buck when on calls with kids?” Eddie asks. He’s gotten up and is now near Buck, bumping his shoulder lightly as he grins: “Definitely the papi I know from home.”

“Papi?” Bobby asks, only slightly butchering the word.

“Yeah, Chris calls me that,” Buck says, the blush returning slightly. “Eddie was already daddy, so growing up in a Mexican household meant that labeling me as papi was only logical to his five year old brain.” He shrugs. “It’s become so normal, I don’t even register it as odd anymore.”

“Five years old?” Hen does the math, “That must be right after you gotten married, right?”

“It was. He told a teacher about it and that’s what prompted it,” Eddie says. “Before that it was Evan, though I’m half convinced he’s forgotten that was ever your name.”

Buck nods in agreement.

“So how long were you Evan?” Hen asks curiously.

“Two years,” Buck says. “I met Chris when he was three. I worked on a chicken farm in El Paso and they bought eggs there. I babysat first, then met Eddie a year later when he was back from tour. We started co-parenting because Shannon was out of the picture and I offered to help.”

“And you two got married for Chris, you said. Why? I mean, it might provide a more stable home, but if you’d been co-parenting without it for a year already, why do it? It’s quite a big step,” Hen asks.

They all look at them curiously and Buck looks over at Eddie again, silently asking how much to share about the whole situation. Wordlessly, Eddie tells him to go ahead and just tell everyone. Eddie himself has never been the talker between them, so Buck happily takes the lead in explaining.

“Chris had to have surgery and that’s expensive, so the bills got too high. Eddie re-enlisting was the only way to keep our heads above water, but I didn’t have any legal basis to keep Chris. We were scared he’d get taken and placed with his grandparents,” Buck explains, not trying to go into too much detail about why they would not want that. “So, we looked into me adopting Chris and stepparent adoption was the quickest. We planned to get divorced, but just didn’t get around to it. We have a mortgage, you know. And private school is expensive.”

Everyone is sharing looks that Buck can’t full decipher, he looks over to Eddie, but he seems equally confused.

However, none of them say what those looks are about. Hen just nods as she gets it, saying: “Hence the marriage of convenience.”

“Uh-huh.” “Yup.”

“Daddy and papi,” Chinney shakes his head after he looks between them. “That’s gonna take a bit to get used to.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Bobby says, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “You are two fine young men and I am proud of you both, even if I’m disappointed in you for lying. I know you can be professional, so just continue the way you’re doing and we’ll sort everything out come January. That sound good?”

“Yes, Cap.” “Thank you, Cap.”

“Alright,” Bobby gives them a satisfied nod.

Then the bell starts ringing and Buck groans. He’s still exhausted and he never did end up getting his nap. However, as he rushes to the rig with everyone, he does feel a little lighter than he did before. It feels good to not be lying and continuously live with the feeling of getting found out at any moment.

Still, he could have done without it being revealed the way it did. If he thought he wouldn’t live down the ‘eat your greens’ comment, he’s definitely never going to be able to live down the ‘go ask daddy’ moment.

At least inviting Maddie over for Christmas will be easier now…

~~

A/N:

This is so fucking stupid, but it came to me and I just couldn’t help myself. It’s so funny to me and I just had to. Like, I love them <3

[storm-angel989]

Outside The Office Chapter Twenty Five

TW: Reader faces consequences of her self injurious actions.

I tiptoed over the metal pathway that guided people over Vox’s massive shark tanks. Part of me knew it was fully  enclosed and totally safe. But the other part of me still feared falling in- the ending for that wouldn’t be pretty. Around me, screens lined the walls leading to his primary office. I stepped into the circular room.Only one chair sat smack in the middle- his. 

“Welcome, welcome, reader,” Vox said as he turned his chair around. He clasped his hands together. “So glad you could make it.”

That unsettled feeling rushed through my gut. Vox knew, he had to. Otherwise what was this? 

“I have something interesting to show you.” Vox said calmly as he stood up. “Com’here. Take a seat.” 

I took a step back and he shook his head. I heard the metal of the door slide shut behind me. 

Fuck.

“I mean, you could try to back out ,kid, but then I would have to go straight to Lucifer and Valentino and honestly, what would that get you?” Vox continued in a rather unbothered voice. 

He had a point. Hesitantly, I took the proffered seat, half expecting to be strapped down like a horror movie. That didn’t happen, thankfully. Vox hit a button and all the screens but the biggest went black. Data flashed in front of me. Pulse rate. Respiration rate. Blood oxygen Level.  Blood pressure. EKG chart. Temperature. Blood glucose level. Hydration level. Weight. A mix of numbers. 

“See, what’s interesting about these numbers,” Vox said as his hands pressed heavily against my shoulder. “Is that they’re drastically different from just a few days ago.” 

Another screen popped up. Higher numbers in some areas. Lower in the other. 

I swallowed as I looked at the vital signs on the two screens. I decided at that moment that playing dumb was my best option.  

“So? What am I looking at?” I asked. Even to me, my voice sounded shaky. 

Vox had the nerve to chuckle. “Oh, princess, you know exactly what you’re looking at. But if we’re going to play that game, I have another video to show you. Several actually.” 

Double fuck.  

I watched the flash. One showed myself at the gym that morning, knelt over the garbage can. Another showed me tossing away breakfast. Another of me played quickly as I went through that morning’s routine, going to the gym, coming home, showering, Vox and I in the kitchen, talking. Me, scribbling in my notebook the day before, outlining my plan. 

“You know what’s even stranger? I specifically asked you if you had eaten lunch and yet…I can’t find you doing so anywhere in the video. So either my technology is faulty, or you lied to me.” He leaned down closer, “And I promise you, my cameras aren't the issue.” 

God fucking damn it. 

Vox dropped the notebook into my lap. “Open in. Tell me where any why you think this little plan of yours is a good one. Come on, reader, I want to know.” 

His voice was dark. Dangerous. Terrifying. This wasn’t my Vox, this was…Vox as an overlord. I swallowed. “Vox, this is the plan verbatim for new recruits, I used to do it to…”

“I know all that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “That data has been in my harddrive for years, that isn’t what I’m asking. I want to know why YOU thought it was a good idea to put YOURSELF through it, knowing that your powers are growing, knowing there is a difference- especially for you- between what you could do in heaven and hell, and probably most importantly, why you KNEW it was so terrible that you felt the need to hide it and yet, still did it anyway.”

I didn’t think I could feel any smaller. “I wanted to be stronger. I just, I knew you guys hate the way angels do things so I thought I just…”

“Would do it anyway?” He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Kid, we despise how they act because what’s normal to you is incredibly cruel in actuality. You’re honestly lucky I paid attention because if you let this go longer, Valentino’s anger would be the least of your worries. Look how little it took to fuck up your vitals. A few days of stress induced vomiting and here we are.” His voice softened. “The question is now, how are we going to handle this? Because I won’t let you keep doing this to yourself.” 

I looked at him in confusion. “Why are you asking me that? Aren't you just going to tell Valentino and Lucifer and let them handle it?”

He shrugged, “I mean, that’s an option you could choose. But I don’t think it needs to go that far, at least, not right now. So I’ll make a deal with you.”

I hesitated. “What kind of deal?” 

He squeezed my shoulders. “The kind that doesn’t harm you. I need a few things if this is going to stay between us. I need you to eat. I need those vitals to improve. And I need to never, ever see you push yourself that hard ever again. You can work out in moderation, and eat healthy but you cannot break yourself time and time again. The next time it happens, I won’t be the only one who knows. Understood?” 

I nodded in defeat. The crushing feeling of self loathing settled over me like a cloud of darkness. But another part of me, a very, very small part, was glad that I had been seen.

“Oh, and if your vitals don’t improve the deal is off. Lucifer will know and Valentino will know, and I’ll take you down to the hospital myself. And trust me, you won’t like what they do to you there.” His eye swirled for half a second and then he blinked. His tone lightened and he clasped one hand on my shoulder. “Let’s start with lunch, shall we?” 

I glanced back at him in both disbelief and fear. “Wait a second. Let me get this straight- you’re keeping this between us? You’re not tattling on me?”

Vox shrugged. “I see no reason to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. I sincerely don’t think any long term harm will come to you because I caught you so early. You’re not fighting me on it, you acknowledged the issue. You have to trust someone in here, sweetheart. And for whatever reason, you don’t feel yet that you can trust your boyfriend's reaction. So at the very least, trust mine.” He offered his hand and he pulled me to my feet. “Now come on, let’s get you back on the right track. I know a place that has the most amazing salads. And I have one of my employees building an appropriate, data driven workout plan that should get you where you want to be in a much healthier way.” 

As I followed him out the door I wondered if this was what it felt like to have an older brother, or maybe a parent who cared enough to notice when things weren't quite right. And even moreso, who cared enough to listen and call me out on my bullshit when I backtracked. Whereas my father would have been thrilled I pushed myself that hard, Vox clearly wasn’t. But instead of the harsh punishments, he offered a compromise. He offered safety, and trust in a drastically different way than Valentino did. 

Lunch alone with Vox further proved my point. True to his word, the restaurant he took me to did have the best salads, and after eating a sufficient amount, he walked me back to the apartment. Before he left, he handed me a thin file- the workout plan he promised. 

“No one will be angry you’re trying to get stronger. But no one will stand for you to hurt yourself either,” he warned before embracing me in a hug. “It gets better, kid. You don’t have to be that perfect little angel ever again- you can let that go.” 

I didn’t know how to respond. 

Alone in the apartment, his words echoing in my mind, there  was one lingering thing still bothering me. Valentino. Vox was right, I didn’t feel like I could tell him when this all began. Maybe part of me feared his punishment. No, that wasn’t what I was afraid of. I feared his rejection. 

But the Vee’s were close. All it would take was one slip of a video from Vox to Valentino, or one accidental mention and all of this would come spilling out. Would his reaction be worse if he found I kept it from him longer than I already had? I decided I wouldn’t take that chance. 

I stepped back into the elevator and hit the button to Valentino’s studio. I needed to do this now, while I had the nerve.

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Tis the Season

So, this isn't late or anything, not at all. Oops. In all seriousness, happy holidays, and to celebrate, here's a Christmas themed chapter for you.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild innuendo and not so mild language

“Mom! Dad! Come on, wake up!” A weight that was paired with a very excited voice made it into your bedroom that morning, pulling you away from a lovely deep sleep. After raising your head and groggily blinking a few times, you see that Jack is the perpetrator, but you can’t find it in yourself to get annoyed with him. It’s Christmas morning after all, and it’s your son’s favorite day of the year.

“Jack, give us a minute. We were up half the night wrapping presents,” you yawn, giving him a half-truth. You’d definitely been up most of the night, but it wasn’t to do any last minute wrapping; you’d finished that early enough.

“Still, hurry up! Aunt Aurora made cinnamon rolls, and she said they’re going to get cold soon,” Jack enthuses as he finally exits the bedroom. You hear his feet run down the hall before disappearing, presumably to rejoin Aurora in the living room with the tree and presents.

“How much sugar did Aurora give him?” Onceler wonders as he sits up and stretches. “He’s never got this much energy in the mornings.”

“It's not sugar,” you mumble through a stretch of your own. “It's Christmas. He's always this excited on Christmas. Honestly, I cherish it because I don't know how many more he's got in him before he turns into a jaded and moody teenager.” You stumble out of the bed and make your way over to the dresser, pulling out a blue sweater and white sweatpants, glad that you'd gotten them ready the day before. You change into them, still half-asleep.

“You alright, darling? You've been exhausted lately,” Onceler notes, concern flooding his tone as he changes into comfortable loungewear of his own. You manage to throw a tired smile in his direction.

“It's just the holidays,” you evade. “It should get better once Christmas is actually over. Now I don't have to buy anything anymore.”

“Alright,” he backs off, though still with an air of caution. “But if it doesn't, will you promise to go see the doctor? I don't like the idea of you not getting enough sleep?”

You pull him close and give him a quick peck on the lips. “Promise,” you say. “Now, we should probably go downstairs before Jack comes back up here with full intent to murder us.” Without waiting for a response, you take his hand and lead him out of your bedroom, pulling him along to the stairs of your new house.

You'd only moved in a couple months ago, but already this place felt more like home than anywhere you'd ever lived before. It wasn't as big as Onceler's old mansion, but that suited you just fine. That place had been too massive to ever truly feel like home. Here, you felt comfortable, while still having plenty of room for all four of you.

Down the stairs and a few turns sees you in the sitting room, your Christmas tree in one corner and stockings above the fireplace. Jack and Aurora are already here, and your sister wastes no time handing you a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

“To wake you up,” she explains with a smile. You flash her a grateful look before taking a long sip, savoring the way the drink warms your whole body from the inside out. You didn't like coffee and you didn't like to rely on caffeine to keep you awake, so hot chocolate was usually your go-to.

You take a seat on the sofa, and Onceler sits next to you, casually draping an arm around your shoulders. Jack, who's chosen to sit on the floor, has been watching the whole exchange impatiently and is practically vibrating in anticipation. You can't help but smile. While he's always loved Christmas, he hasn't been this excited in a few years, and you have a very good idea as to why this year is different: it's the first Christmas the whole family has been together. You yourself are certainly the happiest you've ever been as well.

“Should I start handing out presents?” Jack asks, inching closer to the base of the tree.

“Not much point in that,” you tell him with a shrug. “Most of those are for you. Why don't you just start opening some and if you come across something that's for one of us you can hand it over?”

Jack needs no further convincing. He tears into his gifts with the kind of enthusiasm only a ten-year-old boy on Christmas can muster. You'd done your best not to go overboard, but restraint had proved difficult for you when you'd been given an unlimited budget thanks to your husband. Christmas wasn't about money, you knew that, and you wanted to ensure Jack knew that as well, but it sure had helped after years of struggling to make ends meet in December. 

Still, you didn't want to spoil him too much. You made sure to buy your son things he needed as well as things he wanted. Such as… “Oh good, new basketball shoes!” he shouts gleefully as he rips the paper off the first present he grabs. 

“Well, your old ones were falling off your feet,” you point out. “I know these aren't name brand, but they're a bit sturdier. You'll be able to beat them up while you're playing.”

“And if you follow my growth pattern, you'll be needing new shoes every few months soon anyway,” Onceler adds.

“Thank you!” he enthuses as Onceler goes to grab a trash bag for the used wrapping paper.

For the next several minutes, you mostly watch as Jack opens his own present, occasionally interrupted when he comes across one that's not addressed to him and hands it out. Aurora absolutely cackles with glee as she opens your present to her.

“Do you have any idea of the menace you've just unleashed on this town?” she crows as she puts on her new hat, which simply reads “Fuck The Straights.” “You know I'm going to wear this in public, right?” 

“Oh, I know you will,” you answer lightly. “But you're enough of a menace already that a hat isn't going to make much of a difference unless you wear it inside Jack's school for whatever reason.”

“Don't give me ideas,” she laughs, eyes sparkling. “Anyway, I think there's still two more left under there. Who are they for, Jack?”

Jack pulls both out. One of them, which is huge and was an absolute bitch to wrap, is for him. The other, which is shaped like a brick, is apparently yours. Jack passes it to you, and it's surprisingly heavy. It's also from your husband.

“Don't worry, I didn't go overboard,” he murmurs into your ear. “And I know it's something you actually want. But we can let Jack open his first.”

You don't have much of a choice on that score. Jack has already started tearing into his last present, his face lighting up more by the second as he sees what it is.

“No way! I got a guitar?!” he shrieks in delight. He opens the case carefully, in stark contrast to his unbridled, feral enthusiasm when actually taking the wrapping paper off. Once the case is open, he picks up his new, dark blue guitar out of the case and looks at it with something close to reverence.

“We figured you deserved your own with how much you've been playing mine,” Onceler says casually enough, but his face is beaming with pride. They had bonded over their mutual love of music, and it always made your heart swell to hear them playing together.

Now, there was only one present left, and it was the one on your lap. The room looks at you expectantly, so you quickly take the paper off. And in your hands sits a beautiful, embossed copy of all of Jane Austen's works. It had been something you'd mentioned an offhand interest in to Onceler when out shopping for Jack, and he'd clearly remembered.

“Thank you, love,” you smile as you lean over and kiss him briefly.

“I think that's it,” Jack comments as he searches under the branches for anything he might have missed. After a moment, you decide the time is right for you to speak up. 

“Jack, there's an envelope in the tree,” you say, trying your best to keep your tone as light as possible.

Jack finds and grabs the envelope immediately. “It's for Dad, from Mom,” he announces. Onceler raises his eyebrow at you, but when you're not forthcoming with any further information, he takes the envelope from Jack, dragging his finger through the top to open it, and spilling its lone parcel into his palm.

His face instantly goes slack and drains of all color. His mouth makes motions like it's trying to form words, but no sounds are coming out. Finally, he looks over at you, his eyes misty. “Really?” he manages to breathe out. You simply nod, beaming yourself at this point.

“What is it?” Jack demands. At his words, Onceler simply shows him and Aurora what's in his hand: the positive pregnancy test you'd taken five days ago.

“We're having another baby?” he whispers as Jack and Aurora stare at the pregnancy test, Jack in astonishment, Aurora in amusement and satisfaction.

“We're having another baby,” you confirm, and not a second later, his arms are around you, kissing you senseless. You're only too happy to return his kisses.

“Alright!” Aurora calls after a moment, causing you to separate. “Other people want to congratulate you too. As long as this one was actually planned… for the love of God, tell me you actually talked about this one?” You sigh, but nod. You hadn't exactly been actively trying, but you had agreed together that you weren't going to do anything to prevent it.

“I'm going to be a big brother?” Jack asks. You turn to him. His reaction was the one you were the most nervous about. You didn't want him to feel like this new baby was yours and Onceler's chance to “get it right” since Jack's own early years had been so turbulent.

“Yes. Are you okay with that?” you ask apprehensively.

A grin splits his face. “It's awesome when is the baby gonna be here?” he asks eagerly, and you breathe a sigh of relief. There might be issues down the road, but not today. Today, things were allowed to be perfect, and for the first time, all of you could bask in the glow of the prospect of becoming a family of five.

Later that night, when you're settling down to sleep, Onceler turns to you as you're climbing into bed. “Do you think I can do it? Be a good dad, I mean?” he asks quietly.

You reach up to caress his face. “You're already a wonderful father to Jack,” you remind him. “And I know our new baby is going to be so lucky to have you as their dad.”

He pulls you into his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This means everything to me. There's no greater gift you could have given me, even though I thought I had everything with you and Jack. But now I can't wait to meet our new little one.”

You look up to kiss him once, smiling brightly. “Merry Christmas, love.”

I will be taking a break until the new year, and I might have a new project in the works come January. We'll see. I'll see you then and have a good end of the year.

[sumire-bride]

DIABOLIK LOVERS 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY BOOK- Sumire Kanashi- [SUMIRE CHARACTER INTERVIEW]

𖧷ɤ———ɤ𖧷

𖧷ɤ———ɤ𖧷

QUESTION 01. What is your favorite thing right now?

A. Theres this new book I’ve discovered… Reiji-sama let me look through his book collection and I just so happened to find a book about.. Bee’s… Fufu..~ My new founded discovery has lead me to try and find bee’s around outside.. But it is always night when I am up so I can not find any…”

QUESTION 02. What are your recent preferences in regards to fashion?

A. “Ah.. My fashion preferences have stayed the same… Personally anything silk or smooth is my preferred preference… If there’s anything else I had to name.. Dresses, you would not catch me in any form of pants…”

QUESTION 03. Do you have any subconscious quirks?

A. “I fiddle around with anything in a possession I suppose.. Especially the edges of my hair… It just helps my concentrate better if can play with something in my hands..”

QUESTION 04. How do you spend your off days?

A. “Days off..? I don’t get those quite often.. Even when I am away from school I have quite the activities to attend to… But when I am alone I enjoy walking.. I get told that’s not really spending a day off.. But it is in opinion incredibly relaxing…”

QUESTION 05. What does your sleepwear look like?

A. “I don’t sleep very often… But when I do I sleep in lingerie… or a négligée… I really dislike pants…

QUESTION 06. What’s one thing you always do before going to bed?

A. “I like to drink tea and finish a chapter of a book while on my balcony… Though I can never finish my tea or chapter sometimes.. The brothers tend to interrupt the process…

QUESTION 07. Which part of your own body do you like best?

A. “That is.. Quite a difficult question… I am not very fond of my body… It may be weird to others but, I like my cheeks… Father has put his hands on my cheeks a lot when I was with him… I guess.. I also like that they’re so soft.. It’s comforting in a way..”

QUESTION 08. What do you like best about your own room?

A. “I love the colours… Blue is such a calming tone whenever I am in there I tend to relax…”

QUESTION 09. Tell us your most vivid memory with your the brothers!

A. “There’s so many to choose from… Aah, one time they all styled my hair in different ways… Yuma and Ayato fought quite a bit about how theirs was better.. Fufu.. It was very funny… It makes me to never want to cut my hair…”

QUESTION 10. How do you feel about Karlheinz?

A. “I do not know him too well… Besides the fact he is the boys father… As well as the vampire king.. For some reason though, when I think about him I get this strange feeling.. I am not too sure how to describe it but.. It’s like I want to find him or cling onto this man… Hooh.. Even just talking about him is making me a bit woozy.. Ooh..”

QUESTION 11. Where would you go on a date?

A. “A date…? I’m not sure, you see I’ve never really had much experience with these type of things.. I guess if there’s one place I had in mind.. Stargazing would be very much enjoyable… If I am graced with the pleasantness of going on a date, I wish to tell them all about the stars and little facts about them…”

QUESTION 12. Which kind of gestures from a boy make your heart skip a beat?

A. “Aah…! I’m not truly sure.. Oh goodness this is such a personal question… Men are such confusing creatures, but when they stare directly into your eyes.. Eye contact is just so… Oh my I’ve said too much…!”

QUESTION 13. What do you think your blood tastes like?

A. “I’ve never tasted it… I would like to think it would taste like blood, though because I am human it will taste different to me then would to the others..”

QUESTION 14. Which body part do you like getting sucked from?

A. “Either way, it is painful no matter the body part… My neck, I’ve grown incredibly numb there that it doesn’t hurt as much as the other parts of my body, because the others have bitten me so much there… But if they need to.. I will gladly let them bite me just about anywhere…”

QUESTION 15. What do the boys mean to you?

A. “It is no question that I am simply food playing as a human to them.. I am aware of my meaning… Let’s keep this between me and you please.. I view them as the ones who give a purpose… They give me orders and I do them, they make me feel emotions… Ones that I have not been able to feel.. Wether or not they are good or bad feelings.. They are still pleasant, let’s just say that they do have a lot of meaning to me.. They are like family to me… No doubt about it they would laugh at me if I said this aloud to them.. So this is our little secret yes..?”

𖧷ɤ———ɤ𖧷

[defensivelee]

The Lamentations of Mistress Morley: Because You Betrayed Me First

This is a new side story I'm trying out for Six Lives! Anne (Stewart) has a lot of things going on in the story, but I feel like it's impossible to fit them in and portray them as accurately as I'm thinking because the main POVs are all of her antagonists. So she gets her own side series! It'll be mostly in between main chapters, and very short compared to what I usually do, just to show what she's doing meanwhile-- it should be less than 10k words, and if it's more someone can hit me on the head with a baton.

So this is the first mini-chapter! Here is the link to the fic on AO3 (separate from the Six Lives link, but in the same series tag!) if you don't want to read on Tumblr. This takes place during the dwaallicht spirit festival in The Tenth Hot Spring, and Anne thinks she may have the beginnings of a plan to out James for the monster he really is.

CW: implied/referenced past child abuse, implied/referenced domestic abuse, implied/referenced torture, ableist language.

Even at the latest hour New Amsterdam was awake; Anne thought maybe it was the hour when it was actually most active. Especially now, with the beginning of the Western Kingdom’s reign, there were parades on every street, families taking their youngest children to witness their first religious celebration. If there was darkness, it came not from the sky, but from the haze in the air that made the stars impossible to see.

“Ugh, look at them, it’s disgusting,” Sarah said beside her. “Feeding their babies Ally propaganda! You see; that’s why the theocracy’s still here. Because of people like that.”

“You don’t complain when the Ally they worship is Marly,” Anne teased.

“His devil’s from the Eastern Kingdom,” Sarah huffed. “No Western Kingdom bullshit like Ally Bentinck. I’m just saying, if they’re gonna be stupid, they could at least do it the right way.”

“You sound like my father,” Anne said. She paused in front of the Hoerenkast they had been headed to, large and imposing with columns that twisted towards the sky in the shape of devil horns. She could see an Ally servant sweeping inside, but it was nothing remarkable. These places were open at all hours. “Is there a right way to be stupid?”

“There’s a wrong way to be smart,” Sarah said. She looked back behind her, in the direction of the ocean, where Anne knew her father was hosting a celebration for the dwaallicht spirits. He had complained in all the days leading up to it, but he was there now, and he couldn’t come for her here. He’d be furious later, but what else was new?

“I guess.” Anne turned resolutely to go inside the Hoerenkast, whisking past the servant without a greeting. Sarah followed her, and down the hall they went until they came to one of the only meeting rooms with its candles still on. Anne hesitated, reaching out to push the curtains to the side.

“Do you want me to stay here?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Anne said, a little more frantically than she intended. “I mean- no. Come with me?” She held out her hand, and Sarah took it with a laugh.

“Calm down, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Anne said. She took a breath. “I know.” They stepped inside the room, where they found the Ally George fussing around with the plants beside his throne. There were gold bracelets hanging from his wrists, jingling with every movement he made, but other than that he wore nothing really flashy like most Allies. Somehow he had chosen his most boring suit today.

“Anne!” he blurted as he looked back. “Oh, my Ferocity, Anne. I didn’t expect to see you tonight. I thought you were going with James to the spirit party or whatever.” He cocked his head to the side. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just didn’t want to go,” Anne said. “So I didn’t.”

“And he...let you?”

“There wasn’t any way he could stop me if he didn’t know.”

“Anne!” George jumped slightly, stumbling back into the stream of water that twisted all around his room. He yelped and stepped out again. “Ferocity, I hate that thing. Why does there have to be water everywhere? It’s not like it ever did anything for the Allies.”

“Maybe you could start dressing more like the other Allies?” Sarah said. “You make everyone uncomfortable when you cover up that much, and it won’t be so annoying when you accidentally step into the water.”

“Why are you encouraging him to be like the other Allies?” Anne asked. “I like him like this. Besides, he looks great.”

“Yes, see, there we go,” George said. “Thank you, Anne.” He coughed awkwardly, and Anne snuffed out the candle closest to her with her tail. “So, isn’t your father going to kill you? What are you going to tell him?”

“That I love you and he’ll be the last thing to keep me from you,” Anne said. “But only in my head so he doesn’t actually kill me.”

“Then—?”

“I’ll think of something.” She shook herself out. “What are you doing, George, we literally haven’t seen each other in days and you’re out here asking about James?”

“Can I ask about you?” George smiled.

“By all the stars, you fool!” She laughed and leaped into his arms, kissing his face and pushing him back until he fell back on his throne. She lifted herself onto his lap and kissed him, one hand gripping his wrist and the other buried in his hair. He met the kiss with a small chuckle.

Don’t listen to Sarah, you look so hot right now, she thought at him, and his face flushed.

“Thank you,” he said. “Um, you too. So, have you killed anyone lately? Has your father sent you out on anything?”

“No,” Anne said. “Not yet, anyway, but the way Mary’s so bad at killing William, he might make me do it next.” She wasn’t completely opposed to the idea; out of all the people she had killed, he would be the one who deserved it the most.

George winced. “Anything about Charles’ murder?”

“Oh, please,” Sarah piped up behind them. “We all know it was James. Those are dwaallicht spirit tears.”

“Yes, George, it...doesn’t make sense,” Anne said. “It is to William’s advantage to take credit for the murder, it’s a whole thing if you kill an Overlifer, and the fact that Ally Bentinck had no idea what we were talking about when we asked him should say something. James pushing the blame so vehemently on them is no coincidence.”

“Oh, devils below,” George murmured. “So you really think your father killed his brother?”

Anne shrugged, sliding off of him to pace around the throne. “It’s what I’m thinking. I just wanted to get you in his presence, maybe, to see if you can pick up any clues from his mind when we talk about Charles to him.”

“I could do that,” George said, standing up. “I just don’t want you to upset him if you ask too many questions.”

“I’ll try not to, but what can I do?” Anne sighed. “Some days it could be anything that sets him off.”

“I know.” George glanced to the side. “And if it turns out to be true?”

“Then we tell all of the Disciples and we can get rid of James forever!” Sarah’s eyes flashed. “Nobody will want him around then! It’ll be a glorious revolution!”

“You would kill your father?” George’s eyes widened.

“Why not?” Anne said. “The Law of Honorable Succession is still in place and the Overlifers follow it, I could do it.” She took a deep breath, more shaken than she let on. It wasn’t so hard wishing that he was dead, praying to the Overlifers that had come before James to put a quick end to his reign, but it was something else to say that she would be the one to kill a violent, powerful man with six lives who happened to be her father.

I can do it, though, if I hate him enough. No problem. It’ll be nice to stab that self-satisfaction out of him. Besides, the Law of Honorable Succession stated the heir of any ruler may kill the ruler to take their place— clearly the devils before had thought of her. Clearly she was using the law as intended.

George blinked. “Anne, if you-”

“George, it’s fine,” she said hastily. “He’s an awful man, and I know he doesn’t deserve to live. I’ve always known that, this is just where I take action.” She’d come to the realization that her father was not just cruel, not just abusive, but pure evil, when she was rather young. She hadn’t known what to do with that information, though, not until now, when she saw that no one would question the divine authority of even the worst of Overlifers.

So it has to be me. It has to be us. Her and Sarah and George and Marly. The revolution within the revolution.

“You have a way of making things look easier than they are,” George said. “But if that’s what you want to do, I’ll be beside you as you slit his throat.” He seemed to immediately regret that statement as soon as he said it, shrinking back. “Just, uh, as long as I get to stand far enough away from him that I don’t have to really see it.”

Anne laughed. “Sure, I don’t mind that. The Law states I have to do it by myself, anyway.”

“About the Law...” George glanced at Sarah, then back at Anne. “Doesn’t it technically apply to James, too? If he killed Charles, isn’t that covered by the Law of Honorable Succession as long as the ruler has no children?”

“Well...yes, but you saw how angry everyone was about his death,” Anne said. “And they’ll be even angrier that James hid the fact in the first place and used it to stir up another war with the Devils of Orange-Nassau. It’s like Sarah said; nobody will want him around then. Nobody ever did want him around.”

“Ugh, except for Mary,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “Law or no Law, she won’t care that James killed Charles, and she’s gonna be furious that you killed her beloved father. You know she’s next in line after him.”

“Oh, is that going to be trouble?” George asked.

“Mary?” Anne hesitated. “She’ll be the next Overlifer after James.” Try as she might, though, she couldn’t imagine her sister as the supreme authority of the Disciples, humanity, and ultimately, the world. She had always appeared too subservient to her father, as if she herself never expected to take over after him. Maybe she never would, if James’ lives lasted forever.

“If she lives long enough,” Sarah scoffed. “She’s bound to overdose at one point and die on the fucking streets as if she didn’t come from the richest family in New Amsterdam. Either that or she’ll kill herself first. She’s fucking psychotic.”

“Oh,” George said, clearing his throat. “Well, the Law doesn’t apply if you’re the youngest child, right, Anne? Mary will have good reason to execute you.”

“She could...but she won’t,” Anne said. “Because she won’t know it was us who killed James.” She raised her eyebrows, and Sarah narrowed her eyes with a wild grin.

“So we’re pulling the same thing your father did!”

“Yes.” Anne nodded.

“But before Mary gets her six lives-” George began, and Sarah interrupted excitedly.

“Under protection of the Law, we kill her too!” She laughed, taking Anne by the shoulders. “This is it, Anne! She’s gonna pay for every fucking thing she did to John!”

“R-Right.” Anne pushed her hair back. When she thought of killing Mary, there was a revulsion in her that was not there when she thought of killing James. Maybe because the idea was too new. Or maybe it was because all she could think of suddenly was when they were children, and she had seen the desperation in Mary’s eyes to please her father while also protecting her sister.

But that was gone now. Anne’s mind shied away from that; she thought of all the times she had tortured someone too gleefully, how she wiped the blood away from her face with a sadism in her eyes Anne had only ever seen in their father. How she smiled when someone begged for mercy, whereas Anne could only look at them with horror.

I don’t know what I want but it isn’t to kill you.

But Mary knew exactly what she wanted— her father at the head of the universe, and all his enemies dead.

That is who we are killing, George. Forget everything else you just saw. Got it? Anne turned to George, who nodded rapidly.

“And then you will be queen!” Sarah cried. “Queen of all the world, Anne! Imagine that!”

“That’s a world I don’t mind living in,” George said, his eyes sparkling. “You’d make a fairer Overlifer than your father. And six lives, Anne, that’s a long time to live.” He lifted his hand to cup her face. “If you lived forever...”

“I don’t want to live forever,” Anne said, turning away. “I just want to live long enough to see Mary and James pay. As an Overlifer I’ll do everything they could never do.” She smiled back at Sarah and George. “As long as you’re with me.”

“Nothing could take me from you, Anne,” George said. He bowed low, taking her hand to kiss it.

“I’ll be friends with an Overlifer!” Sarah bounced slightly, clapping her hands. “You’ll be more powerful than the devils themselves!”

Power. It wasn’t something Anne had ever thought about. More often she thought about leaving, but there wasn’t anything she could imagine doing outside of her life here. Maybe this was something she was better suited for; it was the only thing she knew.

There was silence, and then George squeezed her hand. “But you don’t have to if you think it’s too much for you.”

“It- it isn’t,” Anne said. “Maybe it’s just what I need. Maybe it’s what the world needs.”

“If anyone can fix this fucked up universe, it’s you, Anne,” Sarah declared. She leaned on Anne’s shoulder, her eyes glinting.

Yeah, maybe it’s me. Anne stood up taller. Maybe it was her who would finally get rid of their dreaded rivals and their horrific leader, that Caliban.

Sarah’s phone buzzed, and she flinched as if it startled her. She glanced down at the screen and her eyes widened in shock. “Anne...”

“What? What is it?” Anne tried to peer over her shoulder, then looked at George.

George bowed his head, closing his eyes to focus on reading what Sarah was looking at in her mind. “It’s Ally Marly. He says that Monmouth accused James of killing his brother.”

Anne gasped. “Clever pup! What else?”

“John had to fight him off, but he let him go,” Sarah whispered. “Disobeyed orders to kill him. And James is furious.” She looked up, her eyes clouding over with worry. “I have to go to him—!”

“No!” Anne cried. “We- we can’t go there right now! He’ll be even madder at me!”

“I have to go, Anne, what if James tries some of his bullshit again?” Sarah said. She paused, taking Anne’s hand. “You can stay here if you want, if it’s safer.”

“No, no- no, Sarah, you have to stay!” Anne said. “If he comes here, then what- what am I going to do?”

“He’s not going to come here,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t even know we’re here.” She took Anne’s face in her hands, leaning in close. “I can stop by at your house later, okay? But right now I have to go see him before James does anything to him. I can’t make him stop, but I can try.”

Anne paused, then shut her eyes, leaning into Sarah’s touch. “Be safe.”

“I will. You too.” Sarah pushed the hair out of Anne’s eyes. “Stay with George, okay? I’ll let you know how it goes. I love you.” She kissed Anne on the nose, and with that turned to rush out of the Hoerenkast. Anne watched her go, her heart beating so painfully in her chest until she couldn’t stand anymore, and she stumbled into George’s arms.

“Damnit, George—!” she let out, her tears spilling out all over his jacket. “He did it first! And now he’s fucked, Marly’s fucked, how can we ever expect to fight back when he has such a chokehold on us?!”

“It’ll pass,” George said, holding her tightly. She heard him swallow. “His anger, I mean. You say it passes, so it will this time, as always.”

“I’m scared,” Anne admitted. “Scared for us all. If James and Mary lead the Disciples, then what hope do we have? What hope does the world have?”

“That’s why we’re killing them, right?” George attempted to smile. “So there’s hope in the first place. And- and you’ll be the one to do it!”

That was hilarious; for someone who was supposed to herald a new hope for the ancient Overlifers, she could find none at all within her.

[kjmsupremacist]

something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)

Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he’s off limits, and not just because Mark’s niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark’s 20.

To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark’s like, he finds he might be in over his head.

Chapter 5   |  prev   next   mlist

Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout

Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au

Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun

Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5.8k

“Okay, stay right there. Don’t turn around!” Mark smiles to himself as he obeys, patting Princess absently with his back to the stairs. He can hear Jaehyun’s soft footfalls growing fainter as he disappears up them. 

It’s Saturday afternoon, about an hour before their dinner reservation. Jaehyun wanted to wait to reveal the suit because, and Mark’s quoting, “You’ll have to try it on, and then I’m going to want you to fuck me, and I don’t want us to ruin it yet.”

Jaehyun returns, socked feet falling soft on his hardwoods. “Okay,” he says. “Look.”

Mark turns, eyes widening when they land on the suit Jaehyun’s holding up. It’s a gorgeous dark green with gold buttons; he also has new shoes for him, a rich brown, all expensive-looking. 

“Oh wow,” Mark says. It comes out squeaky. “That’s for me?”

Jaehyun smiles, nodding. “Try it on,” he says, gesturing for Mark to strip. 

Mark tugs off his t-shirt and shorts, accepting the white button down first, then carefully pulling the suit on. It fits perfectly—Jaehyun’s tailor must be good, just going off a bunch of numbers. He buttons it, looking up shyly.

“It’s so comfortable,” he says. “How do I look?”

Jaehyun’s eyes might as well be burning holes in him. “Come see,” he says softly, leading him over to the full-length mirror in the hall. 

And yeah, Mark gets it. He looks… really good. Sometimes in suits he kind of feels like he’s thirteen again, trying on one of James’ hand-me-downs, which his mother insisted he would grow into. But looking in the mirror now, he kind of just looks hot. The jacket makes his shoulders look broad; the pants are snug on his thighs but not tight.

Jaehyun takes his silence for displeasure. “I know you like blue,” he says. “But you can get a blue suit anywhere. I saw this, and thought maybe...”

“No, it’s perfect,” Mark says, shaking his head, pulling himself from his thoughts to find Jaehyun’s eyes. “Really, Jaehyun. I love it.”

“One more thing,” Jaehyun says, placated, reaching into his pocket. “Okay, two more things.”

First comes a set of necklaces, one delicate gold chain and an even slimmer one with pearls connecting. They’re not heavy, which stops it from looking douchey. Mark’s usual jewelry is plain chains if anything, never this pretty, and he tilts his head this way and that, admiring how they soften the look. 

“And this.” Jaehyun produces a gold watch with a white face, clasping it on Mark’s wrist before Mark can even process it. 

“Jaehyun, how much did this cost?” Mark asks nervously, gingerly holding his wrist up. He kind of feels like he’s going to break it if he breathes too hard. 

“Not that much,” Jaehyun says vaguely, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Don’t worry, Mark. I’m doing it because I want to.” He wraps his arms around Mark’s waist, leaning around him to kiss his cheek. “I like it,” he says softly. “I like seeing you in things I buy for you.”

Heat curls in Mark’s belly; he swallows roughly, watching the way Jaehyun watches him. The thing is, it is hot. There’s a part of Mark that takes deep pleasure in letting Jaehyun drop all this money on him knowing he’ll be pounding him into his mattress later tonight. 

“I like it, too,” he admits quietly, and Jaehyun presses another kiss to his neck before pulling himself away with a soft groan.

“I’m gonna go get changed before I do something stupid,” he says, and Mark laughs, embarrassed but pleased. 

Jaehyun dresses in a plain black suit, and he looks fucking amazing. Mark still thinks he looks best in shorts and a t-shirt (or, realistically, nothing at all), but this is good, too. Instead of saying any of this, Mark just pulls him in for a kiss. Jaehyun seems to understand. 

Mark’s still twenty, so they won’t be drinking, which means Jaehyun will just drive. They take the dogs out before they leave, and then get ready to go. 

In the breath of silence between Mark closing the passenger door and Jaehyun opening the drivers side, Mark realizes he’s kind of nervous. He presses his palms to his shirt under the jacket so he doesn’t leave a sweat spot on the outside. He’s been to formal dinners before, but not like this. Fancy suit or no, he’s still just a kid, and he has a feeling it shows. 

“You okay?” Jaehyun’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Mark realizes he’s started the car already and Mark still isn’t wearing his seatbelt. 

“Yeah,” Mark says, fumbling to click his seatbelt into place. “I’m just—fancy things kinda make me nervous. It’s not that I don’t want to go—‘cause I do—it’s just…” He presses his lips together, thinking for a moment before continuing. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Jaehyun turns the car back off, reaching a hand out to cup Mark’s jaw. He tugs gently, forcing Mark to look at him. “Hey,” he says. “You’re not going to embarrass me. Anytime you don’t know what to do, just ask me. But it’s just dinner, Mark. The worst thing you could do is use the wrong fork, and trust me—everyone else there is far too self-absorbed to notice.”

Mark smiles at this, relaxing. Jaehyun’s right, he’s being silly. “Okay,” he agrees. “I just, y’know. I want it to be perfect.”

Jaehyun smiles back, leaning in for a quick, chaste kiss before releasing him to start up the car again. “It already is,” he says.

The drive is pleasant. It’s golden hour, and the city lights up in the sun, windows flashing as they pass. The restaurant is on the waterfront, where the sea laps peacefully at the rocks. There’s even valet parking; Jaehyun relinquishes his keys before leading them inside.

“Mr. Jeong, hello!” The host greets them with a smile. “Your table’s ready, if you’ll follow me. Will you be needing the wine list tonight?”

“No, thank you,” Jaehyun replies warmly.

Their table is right by the window, overlooking the water and the stretch of city that sits along the coast. They pass couples and families and business partners. Mark was a little worried about being overdressed, but he fits right in. Clearly, Jaehyun knows what he’s doing. Once seated, they’re handed their menus, have their water glasses filled, and then they’re alone. 

“You can get whatever you want,” Jaehyun tells him, opening his own menu. “Don’t look at the price.”

“I’m trying not to,” Mark mumbles, though it’s all he’s thinking about. That it doesn’t matter what Mark wants. Jaehyun will get it for him, not just because he wants to dote on Mark, but because he likes to spend the money on him.

Mark pushes it from his mind before he can get too distracted. He scans down the menu, but if he’s being honest he doesn’t even know what half the words mean. He thinks back to what Jaehyun said in the car. Anytime you don’t know what to do, just ask me. After a moment of deliberation, he looks up. “Jaehyun?”

“Hm?”

“D’you think you could just order for both of us?” Mark asks, running his index finger back and forth over the edge of the menu, nervous. “I just—I have no idea how I’m supposed to choose.”

Jaehyun smiles at him. “Sure,” he says easily. “No allergies, right?”

Mark shakes his head. “I eat pretty much everything,” he says. “But, um,” he adds, taking another glance down at the menu, “I’m not huge on seafood.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, laughing. “You’re in the wrong city, baby,” he says quietly. “Okay, noted.”

Mark politely zones out while Jaehyun mulls over the menu and, when their waiter returns, orders for them. Instead, he looks out over the water. The sun will set during their dinner, and they’ll have a front-row seat to the view. Jaehyun really knows what he’s doing.

“It’s beautiful,” Mark says, nodding at the water, when their waiter leaves. “I bet this place has been here a while. Only way they could’ve gotten this view.”

Jaehyun smiles, nodding. “My parents came to visit, shortly after all the forms had been signed and my company was official,” he says. “I’d only been in the city for a few months, and I had passed by this place quite often. I always wanted to go in, but I just—felt like it needed to be a special occasion, or a reward. So I took my parents here to celebrate.” He tips his head. “I was right, that it’s special. Well, that and the fact that I’m now friends with the owner. Which was totally not on purpose. But fifteen years later, I’m still coming back.”

Fifteen years ago, Mark was, like, five. He doesn’t say this. “Do you still only reserve it for special occasions?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jaehyun says. Mark has to imagine he knows what his next question is, but he doesn’t elaborate, just watches Mark over the table and waits for him to ask. 

“So what’s the occasion?” He leans forward, almost involuntarily.

Jaehyun’s smile grows, his dimples deepening. “You,” he says. “I’m celebrating meeting you.”

Mark was expecting his answer to be something to that effect, but not so direct, not so tender. He blinks. “Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty good thing to celebrate. Our meeting.”

“I’m glad you agree.” The words have just left Jaehyun’s mouth when their first course arrives. It’s a creamy, pale green soup served in a giant ice cube that’s been hollowed out to function as a bowl. 

“Chilled avocado soup with our house sourdough,” their waiter announces with a sort of flourish, setting a steaming bread basket down between their bowls. “Can I get you anything else?”

“We’re all set, thank you,” Jaehyun replies for them.

Mark takes a tentative bite and almost moans out loud. “Oh shit,” he whispers, and Jaehyun laughs. 

“Yeah, you can kind of get anything here and it’s guaranteed to be good,” Jaehyun says.

“How’d you get to know the owner again?” Mark asks. “And more specifically, how can I get to know owners of places like this?”

Jaehyun laughs again. “I taught his daughter,” he explains. “It was—god, almost ten years ago now. My business was stable, and I realized with all the marketing talk and business strategy, I hadn’t actually played an instrument in years. So I found a place that was hiring and took on part time work as a children’s music teacher. His daughter was one of my first students. And one day, when my parents were in town, we came here for dinner again. And he was here. And we just got to talking, and now…” Jaehyun gestures around them. “Even though I switched music schools a few years back and I don’t teach her anymore.”

“Your parents,” Mark says, “they must come to visit you often, then?”

“They used to,” Jaehyun says. “I’m their only child, so they didn’t really have anything else to do once I moved out and my grandmother passed. So yes, especially when I was first starting out here. But they’re old now, and Korea is their home. I’m usually the one that does the visiting now.”

“Only child, huh?” Mark scrapes carefully at the bottom of the ice-bowl. “I couldn’t tell—but maybe that’s something you grow out of.”

“Ah, all that selfish only child stuff?” Jaehyun grins when Mark makes a sheepish face. “I dunno, I bet I was like that when I was younger, though I wouldn’t have known it at the time.” He shrugs, setting his spoon down in his empty bowl. “It was nice, in a way. I received a lot of love. But I also received a lot of pressure. I was… my parents’ only chance. And that was kind of lonely. So maybe that balanced me out.”

Mark nods slowly. “Yeah, I can see that,” he says. “My brother and I fought a lot as kids, but we’re the only ones who understand what it was like to grow up the way we did. Which isn’t to say it was bad,” he hurries to add. “My parents are great. It’s just—yeah, I guess it would be lonely without him. No one’s ever gonna know me like he does.” He sets his spoon down too, leaning back in his chair. “And there’s definitely less pressure. Neither of us has to be everything. He’s the family man, and he’s given my parents a grandkid, so I feel more free to chase my career.”

“You said a couple weeks ago you didn’t know what you wanted,” Jaehyun says. “But it sounds like you have things figured out.”

“For now, at least,” Mark says. “Like, my brother got married right out of school. I’m definitely not doing that. I want to live by myself first before I live for somebody else, too. But after that?” He shakes his head. “No clue, man.”

Their waiter returns to swap out their courses—a light, fresh salad that sparkles under the last of the sunlight. Jaehyun keeps looking at Mark, but doesn’t say anything else. 

They mostly chat about small things for the rest of dinner—Jaehyun’s lesson plans, what courses Mark is taking in the fall—working their way through the salad and a gigantic steak, finally finishing with an assortment of tiny pastries for dessert. Mark definitely eats a little more than he should, but he’s not totally uncomfortable by the time Jaehyun asks for the bill. 

“How much was it?” Mark asks tentatively after their waiter takes Jaehyun’s card. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaehyun replies, and Mark leaves it at that, though an emerging, perverse part of him wants so badly to know. So he can know how to reward Jaehyun for it. His mouth is going dry; Mark takes a quick gulp of water and busies himself with the button of his jacket. 

Their car is waiting out front when they step outside. The sun has dipped below the horizon, leaving just a kind of orange glow at the far edge of the water. Mark ducks into the quiet of the car, finding the seatbelt without looking and clicking it into place. 

“Ready to go home?” Jaehyun asks as he starts the car. 

“Yeah,” Mark says softly. 

Now that the only thing between Mark and fucking Jaehyun so hard he cries is just a short car ride, and his nerves about dinner are behind him, Mark doesn’t try to hide that he’s staring. He keeps his eyes on Jaehyun as he takes them down city streets, watching his fingers on the wheel, admiring the line of his neck, his shoulders, his waist, made all the more alluring by his perfect suit. 

“What?” Jaehyun asks when they come to a stoplight and he can meet Mark’s eyes. 

“Nothing,” Mark replies with a tiny smirk, knowing he’s being wholly unconvincing and not even caring. The red of the stoplight throws Jaehyun’s face into contrast, the sharp cut of his cheekbones casting shadows. He’ll blow Jaehyun first, Mark decides, blinking at him serenely.

“Yeah, I bet it’s nothing,” Jaehyun says, rolling his eyes and facing the road again as the light turns green. I’ll blow him until he’s close, and then bend him over the couch and fuck him, Mark thinks, grinning to himself. “I bet it’s so much of nothing that I’ll hear all about it as soon as we walk in the door.”

“Maybe,” Mark replies gleefully. “Would that be so bad?”

Jaehyun only grumbles, which makes Mark grin harder. He leans over the console to rest his cheek against Jaehyun’s bicep, looping his arm through his, thumb stroking the fabric of his sleeve. 

They arrive home that way, Mark in Jaehyun’s space and Jaehyun letting him stay there until the car is off. Mark disentangles himself almost reluctantly, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cooling night air. 

“Upstairs or downstairs?” Jaehyun asks, and Mark flushes at the directness, both embarrassed and pleased. 

“Living room,” he replies, and Jaehyun hums as he slips his key into the lock. 

The dogs are waiting for them at the door, and after letting them out, Jaehyun shuttles them into the kitchen with their water dish and puts a baby gate up so they won’t be disturbed. Mark waits for him, offering a hand where he can, quiet and patient, before retreating to the living room.

Jaehyun smiles at him as he approaches. He’s taken his jacket off in the midst of all this, and is in the process of unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeves. “It’s almost a pity,” he says.

“What?” Mark asks. 

“That you’ll have to take it off,” Jaehyun replies. “I chose well, I think. The color suits you.”

Mark realizes he should’ve probably at least taken his own jacket off as well. He unbuttons it slowly. “It’s now my favorite thing I own,” he says, meaning it. “Thank you.”

Jaehyun helps him out of the jacket, folding it carefully before draping it over the back of a chair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mark says, grabbing his waist and pulling him close. “Thank you for dinner, too.” He kisses Jaehyun before he can respond, slow and soft. 

“You’re welcome,” Jaehyun says, just above a whisper, when they break apart. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Mm,” Mark hums, kissing him again. “Let me thank you properly.” He slides his hands from Jaehyun’s waist to the button of his pants. 

Jaehyun stills, letting him unbutton and unzip his pants, letting him tug them, and his underwear, down. Mark pulls them all the way off, coaxing Jaehyun to step out of the fabric so it doesn’t get crushed. He hands the pants up to him, settling on his knees at Jaehyun’s feet.

Jaehyun’s cock hangs soft between his legs. Mark leans in, pressing a flat tongue to its tip and delighting in the way Jaehyun shivers. He anchors one hand on Jaehyun’s thigh, splaying the other over his hip bone, and takes Jaehyun into his mouth. 

It’s easy; it always is. He breathes in deep through his nose and hollows his cheeks and feels Jaehyun harden on his tongue. One of Jaehyun’s hands finds its way to Mark’s hair. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. His eyes are already a little vacant, and if Mark wanted to be nice, he would slow down, let him adjust, let the heat of it take him gradually. But Mark wants Jaehyun weak and fucked out. He wants him to have to lean on Mark on the way up the stairs because his knees are too wobbly. He wants to take care of Jaehyun the way Jaehyun takes care of Mark. And if that means breaking him down first, well. Mark’s happy to do that, too. 

Mark deepthroats him in one go, a smug sort of satisfaction glowing warm in his chest when Jaehyun gasps and curls over himself, the hand in Mark’s hair tightening into a fist. “Mark,” he hisses, but there’s an unsteady waver to his voice. Mark hums back, and Jaehyun shakes. “Oh, fuck, don’t do that,” he complains weakly. “Are you just trying to see how fast you can get me to come?” Mark shakes his head firmly, swallowing around him with another steady breath. “Because this seems like a pretty good way to find out.” Mark hums again, and Jaehyun spasms. “Could’ve at least given me something to hold onto.”

Mark gives another decisive shake of his head. He likes Jaehyun better unmoored. He shifts one of his hands up to Jaehyun’s, the one clutching at his hair. Something to hold onto, right here, he thinks, rubbing circles into his skin with his thumb and hoping Jaehyun understands. He wants to be Jaehyun’s only anchor. 

Jaehyun brings his other hand down to Mark’s hair, shifting them so he’s sort of cradling Mark’s whole head from the base of his skull. Mark arches his back and tries to take Jaehyun deeper, even though his nose is already bumping against Jaehyun’s pubic bone, the head of Jaehyun’s cock already stuffed down his throat. The movement jostles Jaehyun, and he takes half a stagger-step to regain his balance, hiccuping out a moan of surprise. Dark, greedy pleasure unfurls in the pit of Mark’s stomach. He pulls off almost all the way, keeping Jaehyun’s leaking tip in his mouth and swallowing down the mix of saliva and precome that’s threatening to actually choke him, and then takes Jaehyun back in. He moves quickly now, blowing Jaehyun earnestly, gagging wetly and blinking reactionary tears out of his eyes. 

“So good, baby,” Jaehyun pants. The pads of his fingers dig into Mark’s scalp. His chest is heaving, and the faintest sheen of sweat glows on his skin in the low light. Mark lets his eyes flutter shut, listening to the pattern of Jaehyun’s breath, the soft moans. He knows he’ll warn Mark when he’s close, because he’s so polite, because he’d never come down Mark’s throat without asking first. “Like that, keep going.” Mark draws in another long, deep inhale. He’s bobbing his head so fast he almost feels like he’s not moving at all. “F-fuck, yeah, close,” Jaehyun stutters. Just a little longer, Mark thinks. You’re so easy, hyung. "Mark—gonna—”

Mark pulls off suddenly, hands flying up to Jaehyun’s wrists just in case. Jaehyun trembles, hips twitching, body tense, but Mark is good at what he does, and after a moment Jaehyun relaxes again, cock still red and hard.

Mark releases him, pushing himself to his feet and giving Jaehyun a kiss, which he barely reciprocates. “Hate me?” he asks. 

“No,” Jaehyun mumbles. His eyes are so dark. “Not if you fuck me.”

Mark smiles, offers him another kiss. He returns this one. “Let me go grab some lube,” he says. “Take your shirt off.”

Mark dashes upstairs, trying to ignore how tight his pants have gotten. He snags the lube, forgoing a condom since both of them found time to get tested last week, and hurries back down to the living room. 

Jaehyun is where he left him, now completely naked, shirt lying with the rest of their clothes. Eyes still dark. Mark pockets the lube so he can hold Jaehyun with both hands, getting up in his space so he can kiss him—his lips, his jaw, his neck. He crowds Jaehyun back against the arm of the couch, scraping his teeth over Jaehyun’s perfect collarbones. 

“Mark,” Jaehyun breathes, and Mark preens. No one’s said his name like that, not ever. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it be if I got come on these pants?” Mark asks softly.

“M-maybe like a five?” Jaehyun sounds wary, but he answers anyway. “My dry cleaner doesn’t ask questions. Why?”

“You said you didn’t want me to take them off,” Mark says, rolling his hips so his bulge rubs up against Jaehyun’s exposed cock to help make his point. Jaehyun moans quietly. “I can still fuck you. You bought them for me to wear, right?”

“Not fair,” Jaehyun complains. “I want to see you.”

“You can see me any old time,” Mark says. Another kiss; Jaehyun tries to keep kissing him, but Mark pulls away, intent on carrying out his plan. “Besides, you won’t be able to see me either way.” He steps back so he can spin Jaehyun around. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Jaehyun tries, but he doesn’t sound very convincing, and he goes pliantly, bending over the arm of the couch without even a touch from Mark.

“Why?” Mark asks, pulling the lube out and squeezing a drop onto his finger. He lays a line of kisses down Jaehyun’s spine as he spreads the lube over his finger. “Buy me a pretty suit, hyung,” he murmurs, reaching down with his slick finger to play with Jaehyun’s entrance. “Pay for my dinner, hyung.” He pushes his finger in, watching tremors go through Jaehyun’s body. “Get naked for me, hyung,” he continues, sinking his finger in deeper. “Bend over the couch and let me fuck you, hyung.” Jaehyun lets out a pretty little whine at that, and Mark drinks it in, pleased. “No? I thought you liked it.”

“I do,” Jaehyun says, his voice raw. Mark works his finger in and out, slow. “That’s why it’s embarrassing.”

“But you like that, too.” Even in the dim light, Mark can see the faint pink flush creeping its way across Jaehyun’s skin. His cock twitches in his pants.

“Yes,” Jaehyun whispers, and Mark groans softly, working his finger faster, stamping reverent kisses on Jaehyun’s beautiful back.

“I didn’t really get it at first,” he says quietly. “I’m used to working for everything I receive. But I’m getting it, now. Were you thinking of it when you bought my suit? You never demand it, but you knew I’ll fuck you when we got home, to say thank you. Or—” Mark adds a second finger. “—maybe, that you paying for stuff like that, it’s you thanking me? For this?” He curls his fingers; Jaehyun chokes out a moan. “And it feels like a dirty secret, because no one around us knows? Were you thinking about it when you watched me eat? When you paid?” He curls his fingers again, this time finding Jaehyun’s prostate, and Jaehyun sobs drily. “Because I was,” Mark confesses.

“Fuck, Mark,” Jaehyun mumbles, shifting his hips back to meet Mark’s fingers.

“I was,” Mark insists. He gives Jaehyun what he wants, pushing his fingers in deeper, thrusting faster. “I was thinking about this.”

“Hurry up,” Jaehyun huffs. “Or I’m gonna come, and you’ll have to fuck my thighs or something instead.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t like it,” Mark mutters, earning himself a sigh of defeat. Jaehyun does a have a point, though—Mark wanted to fuck him properly, and anyway, this is supposed to be a show of gratitude, so he adds a third finger.

It’s hardly a stretch, and soon he’s moving with ease. Jaehyun’s thighs are shaking, but Mark doesn’t give him any kind of reprieve, purposefully dragging his fingers slow over his prostate.

Eventually, though, Mark’s own desires win out, and he pulls his fingers out so he can unzip his pants. He shimmies both his pants and underwear down just far enough that his cock pops free, then retrieves the lube, giving his cock a few lazy strokes to spread it before lining himself up with Jaehyun’s entrance. 

The first push in is always as mind-numbingly good as the very first time they fucked. Mark takes a long, slow breath as he presses in deeper, fingers bruising at Jaehyun’s hips. Jaehyun lets his head loll forward, curled over the arm of the couch with his back arched. Mark wants to fold his whole body over him, except it would be harder to fuck him like that, so he focuses on bottoming out instead.

He takes a minute there, just breathing, letting Jaehyun relax a little around him. He gets his fingers to unlock so he’s not crushing Jaehyun’s waist. 

“You gonna fuck me or what?” Jaehyun asks breathlessly. 

“Was trying to be nice,” Mark replies, drawing his hips back real slow, taking a couple shallow thrusts to make sure he won’t tear Jaehyun open. When he meets no resistance, he adjusts his grip on Jaehyun and thrusts into him fast and rough, setting a brutal pace. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, joined by Jaehyun’s soft moans, growing louder when Mark doesn’t let up.

“Baby,” Jaehyun gasps weakly. “Please.”

“I’m fucking you like you asked,” Mark says placidly, grinning when he sees the muscles in Jaehyun’s back get all tense. “What, want me to stop?”

Jaehyun moans out a no, his fingers slipping against the leather of the couch. Mark gives him an extra-hard thrust just to drive his point home, and one of Jaehyun’s knees buckles from the force of it. 

Mark reaches around Jaehyun’s thigh so he can touch him, taking his leaking cock in his fist and stroking slow and even, such a contrast to the pumping of his hips. He wants him to come, but not too fast. Jaehyun tries to fuck up into Mark’s palm, but he’s trapped in Mark’s hold, powerless.

Jaehyun’s been reduced to nonsensical moans, shapeless sounds that slip under Mark’s skin and bring heat to the surface. Sweat beads on his hairline, but he can’t slow down. He wants to see Jaehyun come like this, and that desire takes over even his own exhaustion. 

Jaehyun raises his head, peering over his shoulder at Mark with tears sparkling in his eyes. “Pretty, hyung,” Mark pants softly. “You’re so pretty.” The tears spill over, darken Jaehyun’s lashes and make them stick together before trailing down his pink cheeks. “Wanna come?” Jaehyun nods wordlessly, and Mark speeds up his hand to match his hips. “So tight around me, I know you’re close.”

Jaehyun screws his eyes shut, squeezing more tears out. His body jerks beneath Mark, and then he’s spilling over Mark’s knuckles with a soft cry, some of his come spurting out to hit the side of the couch, the rest dripping onto the hardwoods between his feet. 

Mark releases him, slowing his hips now, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He curves his back, bending down so he can rest his forehead against Jaehyun’s spine. 

“Baby,” Jaehyun slurs. Mark hums back, grinding into him slow and deep and filthy. “Fuck, you’re so good.”

Mark whines in the back of his throat, breath hot on Jaehyun’s skin as he tries to kiss him between inhales. Now that Jaehyun’s taken care of, his own needs come to the fore, and he realizes he’s painfully hard. Everything feels different without the condom in the way, new and wet and warm. Mark shakes, grip on Jaehyun’s waist tightening again as he circles his hips, feeling the coil of pleasure in his stomach grow taut. 

“Can I—inside?” he grits out.

“Yes,” Jaehyun breathes. He sounds dreamy. “Come for me, baby boy. Waited so long to feel you, for you to really fill me.”

Mark groans helplessly, hips spasming on their own. He gives a few staccato, aborted half-thrusts, and then finally he comes, spilling into Jaehyun, the heat of it almost overwhelming. Jaehyun moans with him, sweet and encouraging, clenching down to help drag out every last drop. 

“Oh, god,” Mark mumbles into Jaehyun’s skin, stilling at last.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun huffs. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Mark grins, kissing his spine once before reluctantly pushing away. “Good,” he says. “I worked really hard, I’d be offended if you could just walk away from it.”

“No walking here,” Jaehyun says, and Mark laughs. He pulls out, watching his come drip out of Jaehyun’s hole and down his legs. He smears some of it into his skin with the pads of his fingers, then scoops it up and pushes it back in, making Jaehyun’s whole body jolt. “Stop that,” he complains weakly. 

“You’re making a mess,” Mark says, almost snide, but he stops, instead pulling Jaehyun up and turning him back around. His tears are drying on his cheeks; Mark swipes them away with his thumbs. “You’re such a pretty crier, it’s not fair.”

“Is that why you make me do it so much?” Jaehyun asks. Mark lets out a mischievous breath of laughter. “I should get uglier, then.”

“I don’t think you could ever get ugly enough that I wouldn’t want you,” Mark says without thinking, and then leans in to kiss Jaehyun so he doesn’t have to consider what that means. He presses close, kissing him slow and deep, until his own brain feels fuzzy enough that he can pull away. 

“I can feel your come dripping out of me,” Jaehyun says, sounding almost apologetic, when they part.

Mark groans softly, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Let me get something to clean up,” he says, turning to walk down the hall. 

He returns from the half-bath with a couple of damp paper towels so they can get the come off the couch before it stains. Jaehyun cleans himself sluggishly while Mark works on the floor and gathers their clothes. 

“Should I take the gate down, for the dogs?” Mark asks, looping his free arm through Jaehyun’s.

“Nah,” Jaehyun mumbles. “They’ll be fine ‘til morning. And then they won’t wake us up, scratching at the door.”

They make their slow way upstairs. Mark deposits their clothes on the chair next to the hamper, finally pulling the rest of his outfit off as well, before joining Jaehyun in the bathroom.

“You really do like it? When I spend money on you?” Jaehyun looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, like he’s afraid of what Mark’s answer might be. “You’re not just—saying so, or putting up with it, just because you know it’s—it’s something that turns me on?”

Mark knocks his forehead against Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Yeah, I really do like it,” he says quietly. “I was uncomfortable at first because—I hate just taking things. But I’m not just taking. I know it does something for you. And it does for me. Maybe it’s like a fuckin’ Pavlovian response or something, but now every time you buy me something, I’m just gonna think about fucking you.” Jaehyun snorts, nearly dislodging Mark. “It’s basically just, like, really expensive foreplay, but I mean—I’m not complaining.”

“Oh, god, that’s the worst way you could put it,” Jaehyun groans, but he’s laughing.

“C’mon,” Mark says, reaching for their toothbrushes and handing Jaehyun his. “Let’s hurry up and go to bed.”

///

The next morning, Mark wakes in muffled darkness to find Jaehyun propped up on an elbow, looking at him. 

“You have bad survival instincts,” he says quietly. “I was staring at you for a while.”

“How was I supposed t’ know?” Mark grumbles, shifting closer to him. “I was asleep.”

“Aren’t we evolved to sense when we’re being watched?” Jaehyun wraps an arm around him, pulling him into his chest. 

“By predators,” Mark argues, muffled against Jaehyun’s neck. “You’re not a predator. Maybe my subconscious just knows I’m safe with you.”

“Not a predator,” Jaehyun repeats slowly. “I think some people would disagree.”

Mark blinks. “Why, because of—your age? And mine?”

“Mm.”

Mark nuzzles into him, nose over his pulse point. “Some people don’t know what they’re talking about,” he says. He kisses him, gentle.

Jaehyun strokes Mark’s hair, combing through the knots built up in sleep. “Mm, maybe,” he concedes.

“Do you feel… like a predator?” Mark asks carefully. “When you’re with me?”

“Sometimes,” Jaehyun admits. “Not usually. Not now.”

“What do you feel like now, then?”

“Now?” The rumble of Jaehyun’s voice fills Mark’s head, soothing. “I feel happy,” he says simply. “Which I guess is all that matters. I’m happier when I wake up next to you.”

Mark freezes, some kind of wanting clawing at his stomach, unnamed and all-consuming. “Oh,” he manages. His voice comes out almost at a whisper, but with something else underneath, soft in the way the belly of a lion is soft. “Me, too.”

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Title: The Will to Change

Author: Jeffrey Pfeiffer

Rating: 3/5 stars

I like the writing and the "philosophical" perspective of The Will to Change. It doesn't really do anything for me.

The Will to Change is divided into five chapters. Each chapter has three chapters of philosophical discussion interspersed with stories, jokes, etc. This structure works very well, as it lets Pfeiffer provide the philosophical reflection while also introducing his reader to a new story or anecdote. The structure doesn't necessarily work if you're not a fan of philosophy, because these "interludes" can sometimes feel like filler, but Pfeiffer's style is so conversational that the philosophical segments are usually quite enjoyable.

The Will to Change isn't actually, in the broad sense, about "changing," although it ends up as a novel that revolves around the concept. It's about a guy named Henry whose (apparently fairly stable) life begins to implode when he becomes a caretaker for the daughter of his childhood friend who is in the process of going through a difficult divorce. Henry starts to feel responsible for her, which makes him feel obligated to become "a better person," or at least be more successful, etc. He feels he has to become a "hero."

(Pfeiffer says in the chapter on heroism that this is a story he wanted to write, and it's pretty clear that he means it, as this is a really compelling and moving story, not a dry meditation on concepts like "heroism" and "obligations.")

I found The Will to Change at its most fascinating (as in the best, not as in novel-worthy) after I'd read a number of chapters and heard a number of stories about this guy's personal and professional life. I was looking for some kind of "plot twist," some development that would lead me to think "oh shit! That's what all this about?!" I wasn't expecting Pfeiffer to tell me the "answer," but I was looking for the book to give me an opportunity to see how he thought about the issues, even though these didn't go anywhere in the story proper. So I'm willing to give The Will to Change an unusually low rating for a work that I did read all of -- 4 stars out of 5 -- because I wanted to know why the hell he was thinking the way he was.

For example, Chapter 10, on "heroism and love," had me wondering where this was all headed. The story itself was pretty much on track, but the discussions of love and heroism were going nowhere. I felt I was missing a "big idea" that would take me to the end of the story and give it a "sense of completion." Well, I found a "big idea" by reading chapters 4 through 9. This was the idea that it's not actually about Henry's "love" of his daughter but about his "love" for his childhood friend. The daughter's illness is a stand-in for the daughter's mother, and the story's main problem is about Henry's ambivalence toward his daughter as a child and toward his wife as a wife -- both "loves" which, in the end, feel to Henry like they're not actually "loves." This is something that Pfeiffer has to build up to (it's not in the chapter itself), and when he does it, it ends up being a very strong and interesting concept.

The chapter on heroism itself was a bit of a disappointment. The philosophical discussion sections did nothing for me, and although I found the final "big idea" concept in the first chapter to be interesting, I've since been able to find similar ideas elsewhere. Pfeiffer's prose is good enough that reading the philosophical digressions is enjoyable, but in some cases I'm wondering what else he could have used the space for, rather than just talking about "being a hero." I would be tempted to say that the "big ideas" were the parts of this book that worked for me -- the bits about heroism and love (and maybe a few others) are better than the parts about "changing" -- but this isn't exactly the kind of novel where the ideas have to work for me on their own.

So then I wondered why I was so disappointed that the philosophical discussion sections worked so well for me: was it just because I'm very interested in philosophy? (This is something I often worry about, in that I don't always know what an author is really doing when they talk about philosophy -- it's not clear to me how far my interest in the subject goes.) This isn't a novel where the author has to use the philosophical material to explain or develop some idea, so I should have been satisfied if I just liked the parts where Pfeiffer philosophized and talked about "ideas." It turns out that this is what happened -- the philosophizing chapters worked very well for me, both as philosophy and as novel-writing. Pfeiffer's writing style is very natural and "relatable" and "happened to me" in a way that the novel-writing is not, and this made the chapters about changing interesting to read about even though they weren't very much about "changing" as such.

So, if you're interested in philosophy, I recommend this book. I don't recommend it for most people. (Most people wouldn't "relate" to it, and I think a number of people would find it gratingly "obvious" when I say that this guy is having a lot of feelings about childhood and "obligations" and so on. I don't mean that as a judgment -- I don't actually think Pfeiffer is wrong to be having a lot of feelings about childhood and "obligations" and so on, but I think the kinds of feelings his characters are having -- including the ones he's writing about -- are "obvious" in a way that would be a turn-off to most people.)

(I should say here that my own father, who is a psychologist and not a philosopher, very much enjoyed The Will to Change, which is what I'm guessing makes me sympathetic to the kinds of feelings Pfeiffer is writing about and not the kinds Pfeiffer is writing about. For instance, Pfeiffer's "big idea" is that it's not really about Henry's love for his daughter but his love for his wife, and that's something my father had "obvious" ideas about, to the point where I found myself wondering what Pfeiffer was doing "subtly" by putting this in his book at all. My father also got a lot out of The Will to Change, which again I can only assume makes me sympathetic.)

[kittttycakes]

Life has been good thanks, other than the struggle of slowly coming to accept that work and study is about to consume me once more though.

I’m so excited you could reserve it! Libby sounds fantastic and I am so sad that we don’t have it here. Each book is a good 800 or so pages of tiny print (a little hard on the eyes but I love big books and I cannot lie). I’ve exhausted everything for that fandom on Ao3 and mentally berating myself for not pacing myself.

Do you mind sharing what you’re currently reading?

R.e. The OT3, I remember you mentioning the staff party where they confuse everyone about their relationship. Do you think this is intentional on any of their parts?

I love the idea of Hob making the New Inn a space for people to celebrate who may not have anywhere else to go. If some of his students end up coming while Morpheus and Grace are there, I wonder if they pick up on the nature of their professors’ relationships.

The thought of Grace’s Mum knitting Morpheus a sweater and him being emotional is just too much!!! I need to know though, is it colourful or does she stick to blacks? Somewhat daggy or tasteful?

The new year traditions sound fun too, especially the red underwear… how did Morpheus help Grace choose them I wonder? I have a mental image of Grace leading Morpheus into a lingerie shop to get his opinion and modelling a few options from the change room. Morpheus looking at some of the styles for inspiration to craft something made of dreamsilk for later perhaps?

And the fact that they love just being together the most is the best. I love that picture of them all curled up together in front of the fire, hands tucked away into a stolen sweater or wandering between someone else’s clothes and skin to warm them up.

Please don’t stress about the chapter, I am super excited but it will be ready when it is ready, and worth any wait. But it is not worth you burning yourself out or losing the pleasure you find in writing!

This is one of the busier times at work for me too, so I definitely feel that! Hopefully there will still be some pockets of time to take for yourself, too!

I love Libby so much, I’m so grateful my library has it! I used to be a very staunch physical books only person until a few years ago, and while there’s still nothing like holding a book in your hands, I have to admit, I do love the e-book option too.

I am always down to talk about what I’m currently reading! Right now, I’m about halfway through Victor LaValle’s Lone Women. I read The Devil In Silver a year or two ago and really liked it, and so far, I’m enjoying this one too! I love horror, and I think LaValle does a really good horror when it comes to creature features that highlight the horror of humanity. Before that, I finished Alasdair Gray’s Poor Things, which I’m still forming an opinion on. Sometimes I immediately know how I feel about a book, and other times, I need to let it sit for a few days before I can decide.

It’s absolutely intentional on Hob’s part. Messing with people, especially when it’s really harmless, is just fun for him, and it’s as close as he can get to really advertising that yes, these two beautiful people are his spouses and yes, they both chose him and isn’t that wonderful?

The students definitely have a better grasp of what’s going on than some of the department does, if only because they see them in a different context than the faculty parties and rushed meetings in the hallway. They’re also very perceptive when they want to be (and somewhat nosy) and perhaps a bit more willing to recognize a slightly more unconventional relationship structure when it’s being dangled right under their noses. (None of them can explain the bird, though. Some of them have sworn they’ve heard it talk, but that’s ridiculous, ravens don’t talk.)

I think it would be suited to his tastes! Her mum probably asked Grace and she of course told her that all he ever really wears is black, and even though black yarn is an absolute nightmare to work with, her mum still made it because that’s what he likes! (Hob, naturally, also has one, but his is a very lovely red and was gifted years ago.)

I love the idea of Grace taking Morpheus with her to look at lingerie. It’s hard to shop online for that sort of thing, sometimes! She wants to see the color in person, and she values Morpheus’s input. They definitely go at an off time so there aren’t as many people in and they can have a more private (and quieter) shopping experience. (Morpheus spends half the visit making extensive mental notes on what he plans to add to Grace’s wardrobe in the Dreaming later. He can multitask!)

There’s something very novel about that kind of closeness, for Morpheus, and really for all of them. It’s somewhere that none of them are too much, they’re all just right!

I’m excited to finish it out! The fic has been with me for so long and I’ve loved every minute of it but I’m also very much looking forward to nearly wrapping it all up and giving it the ending it deserves!

[hymnoftheinca]

Update 2.14.23

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Totally unrelated to my update, but I don’t have a better time to post one. I’ve only got 2 free days this week to work on the game, but I have been doing a lot of designs and worldbuilding for Chapter 2. The maps were almost completed last week and I just wanna make every map going forward better.

I’m excited for the first “summon dungeon”, a water temple dedicated to Mama Cocha. I incoorperated the legend into the plot at Chinchero, which also features another legend, although more loosely incooperated. I really want to showcase all these wonderful myths and stories.

I won’t spoil more, though!

So, art wise, I’ve designed a few of the upcoming important characters and worked on the plot. One thing I’m trying to keep in mind is “How do the trio react to this?” because they’re very different people. Inka’s reaction is especially important, as the lead. This town is the start of big changes for his way of thinking, so it’s a delicate thing.

Enemy designs are also something I’m working on. I’ve designed a few. I like to keep the puns in the names, when I can; or reference something fun. I don’t recall if I included it in the demo, but the Silver Monkey is a Legends of the Hidden Temple reference. He appears in 3 parts. He rewards a lot of good loot. (I also want to say I am aware that LotHT is Olmecian not Incan, but.. 90′s kids will understand.) The idea behind him is similar to Golden Hands (Persona) or Metal Slime (Dragon Quest / Warrior), but maybe closer to the Mitama groups (Shin Megami Tensei) since there are several parts... I also look at the region to see what kinds of ghosts or animals reside there, maybe even smaller gods. I’m incooperating legend even into the enemy design, when I can. In the demo, we saw the golden Condor, which Condors are very respected. I tied this in with a general Incan legend featuring a condor for the puzzle in Sacsayhuaman. To make the player curious, to create awe, that is what I’m aiming for.

I will show off more of the designs soon, once they are finalized... and some other random concept art I’ve drawn that isn’t related to anything in the game inparticular, just a “mood” style sketch. I’ve got to clear out my phone; it’s been yelling at me for a month to “make more space!” but I’m lazy with transferring everything and my scanner is buried under notes and folders and books for the game right now... I keep my research close. I’m terrified I’m going to lose my reference and research sometimes!

Speaking of, I watched a new special on TV. I learned a lot about the chullpas (funeral towers) and how the Inca built on top of the civilizations they absorbed. The man leading the expedition also used drones to see under the brush and found an older site the Inca claimed. It was really interesting! (Side note: Since Titanic [film] had it’s anniversary recently and we saw it for V-Day day this past weekend, there was also a special for that where they basically used underwater drones. Drones are the future, I suppose! Also, I’d love to make a game about the Titanic next... similar to SOS / Septentrion on the SNES but without the bad controls... Yes, I am a fan of Poseidon Adventure [the original and the novel], too...)

I haven’t started the CAMP System yet... I need to make my take on Private Actions (Star Ocean) / Skits (Tales) for these, which I can’t do until the story is done (to program around the plot flags required--one thing I admired about the Lunar series on Playstation was how NPC dialogue changed ALL the time... it made it feel so alive. I would love for the CAMP System to replicate the feel of that.) The player can also cook at the CAMP. I can’t recall if I kept that ability portable after a certain point, to cook anywhere you want... at one point that was what I had, but I think adding to the survival of the game, it’s more appropriate to have it in set locations. Of course, resting at a Camp will also fully restore the party. You just need flint and hay, which are fairly common. So, these stations are like inns. You are generally on the run from the current Sapa Inca most of the game, so many towns don’t take kindly to our trio until later. This was a good resolution for inns and there are many options for the player. You can just rest, or cook, or talk with your party about the events currently going on. There isn’t a relationship system, although the game did start out that way. I decided this was a more linear story and it would only be bloat. However, the little interactions help characterization (similar to the menu bubbles in Final Fantasy IV DS or Active Time Events in Final Fantasy IX). They are not required. Some people hate all the fluff in JRPGs... It makes me sad, you picked up a JRPG but don’t want to read? So, these scenes aren’t required. You don’t even have to use the Camp system if you want to make the playthrough more challenging (no full heals outside items/food). I hope this system makes challenge runs and replays more exciting.

What else to discuss... is there anything from a developer’s standpoint you want to know about? Send me an ask! I would love to hear your thoughts.

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle 

chapter six - this is what they pay me for

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: mentions of death, canon typical violence, puking, mentions of mental illness/panic attacks, sad chapter guys sorry but only up from here! the ice is melting!!!

a/n: i really hope i did karen justice with this one (you will know what i mean when you read it) ENJOY!!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans, still discarded somewhere on the floor behind him. He groans, his head still pounding, but at least he could see straight today.

He checks the time on the small digital clock on the table, and he knows only one person who would call him right now. Only one person who would call him, period. He leans over and digs his hand around, finally finding the burner phone and sitting up on the bed.

“Tell me you have something for me.”

“Mornin’ to you too, Agent.” He can almost see the face Madani makes on the other side of the phone.

“You better hope your ass is long gone, because if I find you anywhere near that school, I won’t stop anyone from arresting you, lead or no.” Frank turns is head, losing his attention as he sees you, rolling over, buried in a pile of blankets.

“I’m not there.” She sighs, like she’s secretly relieved. “It was the girl. Some kind of cuff on her wrist. We got it off before it exploded.”

“They had a bomb strapped to her?” Frank huffs in confirmation. “Fuck. Okay, where is she now?” You haven’t woken up yet, and you look somewhat calm laying there, dead asleep. He considers for a second, weighing his options. He knows he can trust Madani, and she’s the only one who can tell either of you what you need to know. She’s his only connection to any information funnelling in about The Colonel and the Gnucci’s, and she’s your only connection to your brother. He should tell her. Lead with honesty.

It would be the smart thing to do.

“She bolted. I’ll find her. You got anything new for me?” He lies seamlessly, and talks a bit quieter.

“Figured. Look, maybe just - honestly, there are too many things to sort through right now, and she’s clearly not motivated by loyalty to either of them. As long as she isn’t ripping a hole through New York, we should probably focus on the Colonel.” Again, a door closes through the receiver, and you cover your face with the blankets. Frank stares at the wall in front of him. “The Gnucci’s have been laying low since Washington, but I don’t trust their completely disconnected from all this. I’ve been looking into the Colonel, and he had a dishonourable discharge from basic training for trying to strangle one of his bunkmates.”

“Perfect.” Frank groans.

“Yeah, well after that, he just disappears. He hardly spent more than six months in training, yet every report says he’s highly trained, and these online forums tell me he’s seen a lot more violence than six months in base camp. Where would he learn stuff like that, as well as the ability to draw in vulnerable, uneducated kids looking for a fight?” It’s got Gnucci written all over it. It was a classic system, used by all the gangs in America.

They find someone who’s down, angry and alone, pull them into a family, make them feel like they belong, then inch by inch, they drag them into their world. By the time the kid realises it, they’re too far gone, and then it’s their turn to bring in kids just like them. Who was more vulnerable and angry than a kid who just got kicked out of the army for attacking his mates?

“So the Colonel’s working for the Gnucci’s?”

“It makes sense, right? How else would he get past us, and get past the security they still had stationed out back when you got there. You said they snuck her out just as you arrived?”

“Yeah.” He remembers seeing you, how much smaller you looked. It made him feel a little sick, the way those guys were dragging you out, your legs so limp you couldn’t even hold yourself up. “They went out the back door.”

“My agent said they were wheeling the boy out that way, too. Impossible they wouldn’t of seen each other, unless their playing for the same team.”

“That’s smart.”

“Well, that’s not what they pay you for.” Frank breaths a ghost of a laugh. “I know you’ve been following them for a while, just tell me what it’s going to take for you not to dive head first into this.”

“You know waiting ain’t exactly my style, Madani.” She sighs and says goodbye before hanging up the phone, and Frank hadn’t let himself look over at you until he hung the phone up. So when he finally did, he saw you sitting up, face screwed in something between anger and hurt.

“Selling me out already, huh? Not FBI my fucking ass.” You swing the blankets out from underneath you, and he knows your pissed with him. 

“I’m not selling you-”

“Just had to wait until I was asleep? That whole sewing me up thing last night? That was to get me to trust you, huh?” Frank can feel his headache coming back, but he gets up, putting himself between you and the door as you rifle through the bag, finding some pants. He knows if you run he won’t be fast enough to catch you, and he needs you to- “You think you can keep me here till your friend shows up?”

“Christ! I’m not fuckin’ selling you out!” You tug the pants on and step up to him, preparing for a fight. 

“That’s bullshit. I know she wants me to help her, you said it yourself.”

“Trust me, I’d love nothin’ more than to leave your ass behind. Make my life a whole lot easier.” He steps back but you don’t give him the room, nearly shoving him into the door. 

“Why don’t you!?” He doesn’t answer, just angles himself against the wall so he isn’t right underneath you. He stands up straight, and tucks his chin so he can still look you in the eye. Your arm starts to drop off his chest when he squares his shoulders. “You can’t. Because you’re on orders, aren’t you marine?” You say the title as an insult, spitting it out like dirt in your mouth. 

“You better stop acting like you know everything, or you’ll get yourself killed.” He uses his forearm and shoves you backwards. With the force, you should have flew off him, but he hardly breaks your stance. 

“Is that a threat?” You were both breathing hard, sucking up all the oxygen in the room. He stays silent, half sure you were about to swing at him, the other half too consumed in how you were looking at him. Like you wanted him to prove you right.

“I’m on no one’s orders.” 

“Sure you are. Secret Service or some shit? This is what they pay you for, isn’t that right?” It hits him. That you have been locked up for three years.

You have no idea who he is.

What he’s done the past few years, and why he might be understanding of a killer who is just fighting for their family. 

“Because you know me so well, yeah? Got me all figured out?” You laugh harshly, the light in your eyes darkening in spite of the sunlight starting to stream in from the window. 

“I’ve known people like you my entire life, and every single one has sold me out the second they get the chance.”

“Not everything is about you. You’re making a mistake, and it’s gonna cost you when you get out in the real world.”

“My only mistake was not ripping your head off when I had the fucking chance.” You seethe through your teeth, and he waits for you to storm out. 

Maybe he should let you go - hell, it wasn’t Madani who had to deal with you for the past 48 hours. She already thinks you weren’t here. No use getting himself killed trying to keep you.

If you decided to walk out - he would goddamn let you. Even if he needed you to stay.

He stands to the side, sliding out from your hold easily and stepping back. You may be strong, but you had no technique. He takes a leap of faith, and calls your bluff.

“Go, then. See how far you get without me.” Your fists clench tight at your sides. “You got no idea where you are. No idea where the Colonel is.”

“You are a fucking asshole-“

“Yeah. But I’m the asshole with the shit you need.” He turns around, heading towards the bathroom. “I don’t work for anyone. You search the name ‘Frank Castle’ in any goddamn computer in the world and you’ll figure it out. If you’re not here in half an hour, I’ll leave. And I won’t look for you again.”

With that he slams the door to the bathroom, and it takes you a whole five seconds to make your decision. He hears the front door close, and he knows he’s alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

God - you wanted to fucking scream he made you so angry.

Where did he get the balls? You heard him on the phone, talking to that Agent Madani like they were best friends. It was only a matter of time, anyways. Everyone sold you out, everyone needed a piece of you. He should of been smart and kept you in handcuffs this time.

You had no idea where you were, you hated that he was right about that. You hadn’t seen the world without someone tugging on your leash since you were twelve, and even then you were from Massachusetts. New York was foreign to you.

You stormed out anyways, still seething as you turned right and walked down the road. You could see a few people, but it was still early, so most of the places weren’t open except a cafe and the shop where Frank clearly bought these stupid pants from.

Looking over your shoulder, you could see a few business men talking to each other over coffee, and one of them was getting up to smoke a cigarette out the front. You knew you were going to go back eventually - at the very least, you needed a ride out of this shithole. With the way he reacted, you were 99% sure he wasn’t a FED, but you had time to waste. Your eyes were locked on the laptop left open on the table, brain flooding with Franks last words.

‘You search the name Frank Castle. You’ll figure it out.’

You couldn’t get his fucking voice out of your head. Mostly, it was anger. Anger that you had trusted him, that you had really been that naive to think the first guy who didn’t shoot you on sight would be your saving grace, and anger that you wanted him to be.

There was just something about him that drew you in. Made you want to believe what he was saying. You had a good twenty minutes before he said he was leaving, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you shouldn’t go too far, because you knew you would go back to him.

There was a small part of you that was curious. With all this free will you have discovered, you let your mind wander to why this guy could possibly be trying to help you out, if he really wasn’t working to bring you in. He said he was in the Marines, or used to be.

You watch the men walk out past the entrance of the cafe, one of the laptops still logged in, almost daring you to use it. The waitress is busy making coffee, and no one else is around. Stealth definitely wasn’t your strong suit, but hey. Free will and all.

With one last look at the men, you make your move, sliding into the booth and opening up a new tab on the first unlocked computer.

You have no idea where to start, so you do exactly what he said. You type in ‘frank castle’ and hit search. What comes up nearly makes you vomit.

The first article, the one with the most hits, is written by a ‘Karen Page’. It takes a second to register that the man in the cover photo is Frank. He’s wearing orange, a prison jumpsuit or something. He looks clean, but there’s all kinds of cuts over his face, and he has a huge black eye.

His face is hard. A little intimidating, almost. You scroll past the photo, getting into the article.

‘Frank Castle, or as most of New York would know him as, The Punisher, has been arrested in relation to dozens of murders across the state. The marine-turned-vigilante is being charged with the string of deaths, all linked to various gang members and crime rings. Many of the states police hail him as a hero, single handedly tearing down the intricate web of the New York underbelly, but many civilians look at him as a threat. Whatever you think about The Punisher, the most important thing is to see the man behind the name. He is not The Punisher. He is Frank Castle. A husband, a father, and a man wronged by the very establishments he dedicated his life to.’

You look up, making sure you still have time to read. You almost forgot where you were, the words sucking you in so deep you felt like you couldn’t look anywhere else. As soon as you know you’re safe, you scroll further.

‘Frank gave everything to protecting his country. Even when the lines were blurred, he fought to protect our freedom, and it was this very drive to protect that lead him down a dark path, one that was paved with violence, destruction and death. When Frank got back home to his family in April of 2015, he did everything he could to be the best father to his two young kids, Lisa Castle, aged 12 and Frank Castle Jr. aged 8, and the best husband to his wife, Maria Castle, whom he had married straight out of high school. One sunny day in Central Park, he took his wife and children for a picnic, something that would be considered a safe activity for most American families, and he was betrayed. His family was murdered in front of him. Both Lisa and Frank died at the scene, while Maria was rushed to hospital in critical condition. She died just two hours later.’

You nearly lurched forward in your seat. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted into the cafe, and you were positive you were going to puke. God - his kids. Murdered in front of him. Lisa was 12, the same age as your brother. You couldn’t imagine-

You tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes, because there was still more article to read.

‘Frank was also gravely injured during the brutal attack, being rendered unconscious as multiple men beat him from behind, only after shooting him twice in the leg. Anyone, even one not as trained as Frank Castle, would rightly break at being forced to watch your entire family die, right in front of you. Imagine returning from the most violent places in the planet, having just watched some of your closest friends give their life for their country, only to come home to your loving family, and have them torn apart while you watched.’

Something about the wording of that sentence made you feel even sicker, but you forced yourself to keep reading.

‘Frank was a marine. He was trained to track down the very worst people in the world, and ensure they would never harm the people of America. Which brings us to today, as we now watch him on trial for the very same things he was trained for, the very things our own system taught him to do. He tracked down every single person responsible for the death of his family, and he murdered them. An act he would of done daily in his duty as a soldier of the US Army. I am not justifying his actions, however, writing this article, I can’t help but find myself thinking what I would do, were I in the same situation. I ask you the same question. Would you, had you been handed the same cards, had you watched the people you love shot in front of you, their faces hardly recognisable, would you not want revenge? When you watch this trial, and you hear the things he has done, I don’t ask that you forgive him, but I do ask that you understand the whole story. Frank Castle is not a monster. He is a man, who was thrown away by the American people, and took matters into his own hands. He is just like the rest of us, had we been dealt the same hand. He just had the training to do it.’

The men started to walk back into the cafe, and you quickly shut the tab before sliding out of the booth. You could hardly see where you were going through the tears running down your face, and when you were finally out of the cafe you found a wall and backed up into it, letting your body slide down and crumple to the floor.

In for seven.

Out for eleven.

You tried to focus on something - anything in the distance. A parked car. Bright yellow, right in front of you. You were outside, away. Free.

In for seven.

Out for eleven.

His fucking kids. You stood up, using your hands to push yourself to stand. Immediately, you puked into the pot plant, heaving the remnants of whatever you ate last. The hot sun beating onto your back only made you want to puke again, but you couldn’t figure out what felt worse. The sickness in your stomach at what you had read, or the realisation of exactly why Frank had softened when he figured out your motive.

This thing - this hesitation that you felt around him. The way he was so easily able to get you to trust him, although it wasn’t very sturdy, maybe it was the knowledge that he understood you. God, even when he managed to rip you off him that first time the Colonel sent you to kill him, you remember how he spoke. He didn’t talk to you like you were an animal, didn’t look at you with disgust or confusion.

He understood it.

It made your skin crawl, reading that article. You wished you could get more time, just a little more information. You wanted to know what he did, why they called him The Punisher. More than that, you wanted to know how he made them pay. How he scared them so bad, they didn’t even have the balls to take him on themselves. They put him on trial.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you try to remember what the time was when you left. You remember looking at the clock, because you were considering using it to knock him out with. 7.33. Frank said 30 minutes, and if he had left by the time you got back, you knew he wasn’t coming for you. He was doing charity work - staying with you this long. Now, he was offering you a way out, and as much as he pissed you off back there, you were wrong. You were probably the asshole. Probably.

You still felt sick, and that feeling wouldn’t shake easily. You were sick constantly, flashes of time with the Colonel bring back most of those memories. When you were underground, at least they didn’t feed you enough to throw up.

Walking faster, you tried to remember what room number you were in, but numbers were never really your thing, and you were too focused on the time to jam another one in your head. It seemed, the longer you were in the real world, the more you realised how much of it you never trained for.

Instead, you look for the beat up car you hot wired, and when the shit yellow colour of the hood comes into view, you see Frank loading the car. You catch a glimpse of his face, still beat up and bruised, but cleaner.

You stop, hiding behind the wall just out of eyesight. Watching him - waiting for him to prove you right. He hovers at the front door, a hand running over his face, closing the door to the room you shared last night. Then, he just stands there. Goes up to the car, and stands there.

Was he waiting for you? Maybe he just didn’t know how to hot wire the car. Considering what you just read, though, grand theft auto seemed to be a pretty small crime in comparison to who he is. He looks down in the direction you were hiding and you sneak back. You don’t hear the cat start yet, but he opens the door and gets in the drivers side.

You were running out of time and options. He wasn’t FBI, and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t going to sell you out, at least not in the next 24 hours. You both seemed to want the same things, or at least for now your interests somewhat aligned. Knowing what you know now, it was almost making you more inclined to get in the car with him.

This was someone who might get it. You’d never tell him, but reading that stuff about him, about his family - to anyone else it would seem insane and cruel, but to you? You got it. You felt what he felt, and you understood it.

You step out from behind the wall, and before the logical part of your brain can stop you, you are walking straight for the car, and sliding into the passenger seat.

Shutting the door with a slam, he looks at you. You catch a glimpse of your face in the mirror, puffy and red from puking your guts out just minutes ago. Frank says nothing, just leans down underneath the steering wheel and fidgets with the wires. When the uncomfortable silence finally breaks with the engine kicking over, the hotel slowly fades into the background, and he pulls out, turning in the opposite direction you were driving last night.

The radio static is the only sound, and your hand tentatively reaches forward, scanning the stations for a song. You land on a voice you recognise, and stare out the window after you turn the sound up.

“Didn’t pick you for a Johnny Cash fan.” Franks voice surprises you, eyes still focused on the passing cars outside.

“I’m not.” The song continues to play, and you think the name of it was ‘Hurt’. “My dad loved this song.”

You catch a nod of his head, and he turns it up a little more, letting his head lean back against the headrest.

You drift into your own head, reciting the words of that article you read in the cafe. ‘Would you not want revenge?’ the writer had asked. You let the song work it’s way into your head, remembering the times your father strummed it on the guitar.

You do want revenge, and with The Punisher sitting next to you, you know you will have it.

[next chapter]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tag list:

@stress--relief

@hellskitchens-whore

@blkwayne

@itwasthereaminuteago

@margoo0

@daisykins

@paryl

[stickyjjaem]

dirty little secret - we live such fragile lives | bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader, ??? x reader genre: uni!au, predebut/idol!au, manager!reader, slow burn chapter warnings: busy work day, chan is... still a prick. word count: 670ish

author notes: surprise! special chapter! this is a little thing of what happened after the initial contact, i was gonna scrap it but i couldn't. also in case you haven't figured it out none of this is canon. enjoy it anyway~ chapter 3 dropping later this week heheheheh

taglist: @idunnomanmynamewastaken @freyaniobe @jellyglly (send me an ask if you would like to be added!)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

You stand in shock, trying to process what the hell just happened. First of all, he goes by Bang Chan now. That makes sense being in a K-pop group and all, but Felix is a western name, he could have totally used Chris. Secondly, ‘I doubt you’ll last long’ really bugs you. Since when did Chris grow so cold? He didn’t bother shaking your hand either, just walking away and getting back to whatever he was doing on his laptop. You stayed with the other boys while you awaited Minhye’s return, who apologised for Chris’s behaviour and explained that Stray Kids has a comeback soon, so they’re all busy preparing – ‘Bang Chan’ especially so, as one of the group’s producers.

It doesn’t take long for Minhye to return and for your induction to resume, but you struggle to focus. Thankfully, your new boss hands you a folder full of information that you’ll need for your role, including all important maps of the building. You return to the 8th floor (which you have since learned is the floor dedicated to Stray Kids) and are led to a small office tucked into the corner of the floor. Your name in Hangul on the door leads you to believe this is your office. Your very own space in the JYP Entertainment building. You place your items inside and practice using your login on the system.

“That’s all you’ve got to do today! I’ve got a couple of meetings to run then I’m heading home for the day, feel free to have a look around the building a little more! The cafeteria on the 5th floor is amazing! Or head home, tomorrow’s a big day, you’ll need some rest!” Minhye waves as she walks off. The jetlag from moving is starting to make you feel a bit tired, so you decide to call it a day and catch up on some sleep.

As you wait for the elevator to the main floor, you hear someone speak behind you. You’d recognise that voice anywhere. But you don’t recognise the words he’s saying. The tone doesn’t indicate anything polite or kind though.

“If you’re here to talk shit, can you at least do it in a language I understand? So, I can properly defend myself? Jesus, what stick’s been shoved up your arse today, Mr. Bang Chan Producer-nim?” You spin on your heels to reveal the one and only Chris ‘Bang Chan’ Bang, who despite your history, hates you now. He’s looking at you like you were in the wrong for simply being at this very spot at this very time.

“I don’t know, but it’s been there since you decided to skip town and tell absolutely no one. I had people asking about you, you know? It was embarrassing! All because they knew we did a couple of group projects together–”

“Yeah, sure Chris, that’s all we did. Nothing else, there’s no other reason for you to be this pissed off about people asking you where I went. Get over yourself, prick. I’m not here for you, I’m here for my career. You’re going to have to deal with that. You should go back to your group. I’m going home.” Echoing the words he had said to you all those years ago, you turn on your heel and head into the elevator. Chris is left staring at your figure leaving the building

He remembers that night so clearly, the night where he lost his everything. He also remembers stepping out with a girl on his hip a month later and seeing how broken you looked watching him do the one thing you wished he did with you. He had stopped dating altogether after that incident in case it happened again. Except it didn’t, because after avoiding him entirely, you’d moved back home, which was obviously not anywhere near the university. Seeing you again reignited a fire in him that he thought died when he moved to Korea after graduating. He really did not have time to deal with his feelings right now, especially for you.

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 9: Homestead

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 2 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, bit of blood, some suggestive stuff (no smut though, yet...) ❧ Word Count: 5k

❧ In This Chapter: Your group is on the road again, trying to get to the next destination when a young group member, Sophia, goes missing in the woods. The search leads you all to the Greene family farm.

❧ A/N: Season 2 is here! I'm so excited for Reader and Daryl's relationship to get more serious... Things even get just a tad bit steamy. I'm keeping you guys on your toes, don't wanna give up the goods just yet. It's comin' though... Daryl is also super cute in this chapter but I mean he's always cute, look at him.

“Outta fuel,” Dale told Rick as he set two red gasoline canisters on the ground near the Winnebago. “Looks like we might have to siphon some gas sooner than I thought.”

Rick rested his hands on his hips and sighed, “Well, guess we’ll just have to sacrifice the van and the truck since they’re on their last legs anyway.”

“We riding in the RV?” you asked.

“Looks like it,” Rick replied.

You nodded your head and made your way to the back of the truck to tell Daryl the news.

“RV’s out of gas,” you said. “Dale wants to siphon it from the truck.”

Daryl was smoking the very last cigarette in his pack, leaning against the tailgate. “No sweat off my back,” he drawled. “We can take the bike.” He nodded his head behind him towards Merle’s motorcycle.

“You can take the bike,” you corrected him. “I’m not going anywhere near that thing.”

“Why not?”

You rolled your eyes. “Daryl, do you know how dangerous those things are? My brother had a motorcycle and he almost lost all of his fingers when he crashed and they got caught in it.”

Your lecture fell on deaf ears as by the time you finished your sentence he was already starting to get the thing on the ground. “Worst thing that happened to me was road rash,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I think I’ll stick to the Winnebago,” you smiled at him, admiring the hot Georgia sun glistening off his bare arms.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to ride with Daryl on the bike, if only because you wanted another excuse to wrap your arms around him, but you couldn’t quite get over your slight fear of motorcycles, at least not yet.

After Daryl and T-Dog had siphoned the gas from the truck and T-Dog’s van, you all regrouped and prepared to leave the abandoned off-road on which you pulled over.

Just as you were about to step onto the stairs of the RV, Daryl pulled up next to you on his loud bike. You smirked at him, noticing the sleeveless leather vest he must’ve put on over his shirt when you weren’t looking.

“Where’d you get that?” you asked, pointing at his new outerwear.

“Backseat of the truck, had it for a while,” he said.

“It suits you,” you gave him a shy smile.

“Sure you don’ wanna ride with me?” he asked, the engine underneath him revving loudly.

“Maybe someday, but I’ll have to see how good you are on it first,” you teased him.

He shook his head at you, revving the engine again. “Better get a move on, then.”

You nodded, “Be careful.” Your tone was serious. You’d all just narrowly escaped the CDC with your lives, you didn’t want Daryl to kill himself on that death trap. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a helmet was already giving you anxiety.

He nodded at you and gave you a small smile before riding off to the front of the RV. Before you closed the door, you noticed the back of his vest was embroidered with a pair of white angel wings splayed across the back. Smiling to yourself, you closed the door and sat yourself down at the dining table in the motor home.

My angel, you thought, thinking of the sweet man who’d made you feel like nothing in this world could hurt you as long as he was with you.

You heard a honk from Rick’s station wagon, signaling Daryl to lead the way. The caravan wasn’t able to get far before you hit a part of the highway that was almost completely blocked by abandoned cars. Daryl had tried to find a way through, but before he could guide you all any further, the engine on Dale’s RV started sputtering and smoking like mad.

It was the radiator hose, again. You didn’t know anything about cars, but you knew this old motor home needed a new one based on how many times it had given out on you before.

Luckily, you were in the best place for such a thing to happen. You were surrounded by cars, a replacement could easily be found. Glenn (or Dale’s protégée, as you liked to call him) started working on the RV, Daryl and T-Dog got to work siphoning more fuel, Rick and Dale were standing watch, and the rest of you scavenged for anything useful you could find in the surrounding cars.

You were fortunate enough to stumble upon a lot of necessities, including bulk boxes of granola bars, a pack of plastic water bottles, a few first aid kits, bags of jerky, and extra flashlights, to name a few. You piled up all your useful finds in the RV, but the real treasures were what you found in the second car you opened.

Peering into the trunk, you feasted your eyes on a cardboard box filled to the brim with old dusty books. You rummaged through it to pluck out an old copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, one of your favorite books since you were a teenager. You would have liked to take the whole thing, but you knew you could only spare the room for one. Your pack was still almost overflowing as it was.

Your third car gave you a heap of clothes, which you were so excited about that you forced yourself to get rid of a few nonessential items in your pack to make room for some fresh clothing. Of course, you were partial to dresses and skirts, but you knew you should pick out some more practical things. You opted for a few t-shirts, knit sweaters (autumn was getting closer and closer), men’s Wranglers (you always liked men’s jeans better, anyway), a pair of corduroy overalls, a Sherpa-lined jean jacket, and a pair of brown lace up boots.

Just before you shut the rear door after packing up your spoils, you caught a glimpse of ivory colored lace peeking out of a small half-zipped floral suitcase. Your interest piqued, you reached back down and began unzipping the rest of the suitcase, pulling out a sheer off-white slip with a thick lacy trim adorning its bust and thigh-length hem. You could tell it was vintage from the attention to detail—it had thin gold-braided spaghetti straps and the daintiest little gold bows lining its delicate seams. The breast panels were composed entirely of a floral patterned lace, making it beautifully see-through. It was the silkiest, most delicate thing you’d touched in so long. It reminded you of everything you had left back at home in your closet, all the beautiful clothing you’d meticulously picked out over years of collecting.

Most of all, it reminded you of your extensive collection of lingerie and nightgowns. You had preferred to sleep in nightgowns ever since you were little, and even then you insisted on having the prettiest ones, always in pastel pinks or purples. Yes, you were very particular about your fashion. It was something you’d always prided yourself on. You liked to look and feel your best, even in your sleep.

Would it hurt to take it? You really wanted to. It was prettier than any slip you’d had back in your apartment, and it wouldn’t take up much room since it was so dainty. Besides, you were hoping Daryl would be intimate with you sooner or later, and you hadn’t been feeling particularly pretty lately. Maybe having this would help, and maybe he’d like it. It got you heated just thinking about him seeing you in this. If you ever got the chance to settle down for a while soon, you’d be sure to wear this when the time came that you were both ready.

You carefully folded the silky undergarment and tucked it into the bottom of your pile, not wanting anyone to see your more intimate find. It was essentially just a risqué nightgown, but you were a little embarrassed by the fact that you were holding onto something that was part of the past, a flimsy piece of fabric that represented the luxury and romance of a world you weren’t apart of anymore.

Then, you felt a pair of hands on your hips. You jumped with a startled yelp as you turned to face Daryl.

“Jesus, Daryl!” you sighed in relief. “You almost gave me a heart attack. Don’t you know not to sneak up on someone like that?”

“Sorry,” he said, his rough hands still holding onto your hips. “Find anything good?”

You nervously tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Um, yeah, lots of practical stuff, and clothes too.” You looked down at the pile of clothing in your arms. “Got you some beef jerky, it’s in the RV if you want it.”

“Nah, not hungry just yet,” he said. “I’ll have some later though.” He looked around briefly to see if anyone was looking at the two of you, then he gave you a quick kiss on the side of your forehead. “Best get back to work, Dale wants to get on the road soon.”

“Good, this place gives me the creeps.”

You headed back to the RV to set down your pack. Stepping back out, you saw Glenn struggling to fix the radiator hose. You decided to climb up to the roof where Dale was keeping watch and relieve him so he could help the young man.

“Hey, Dale,” you greeted him on the roof, “I think Glenn might need your help. I can keep watch up here if you want.”

Dale removed the binoculars from his face and turned towards you with a worried look. “We got company.”

Handing you the binoculars, you raised them to your eyes to see a large herd of walkers trudging through the cars towards your group.

You tore the binoculars from your face and looked to Dale, your mouth partially agape and your eyes wide with fear. “Shit.”

Dale pulled you both down and you laid spread eagle to prevent the walkers from seeing you. You counted yourself lucky for two reasons: one, you were in the safest possible place, and two, Dale had a shotgun. You had your knife at the ready but you feared it would do little to take down the largest cluster of walkers you’d seen yet.

The groans and snarls of what you estimated to be hundreds of walkers stung your ears as you used your vantage point to locate Daryl. Luckily you had seen a few members of your group get the hint and hide underneath the abandoned cars, but you hadn’t seen Daryl since the herd had started coming through which worried you immensely.

When you saw a fleeting glimpse of a pair of angel wings sneaking behind a car, you sighed quietly in relief. You brought the binoculars back up to your eyes to see Daryl and T-Dog, both lying underneath the corpses of two walkers.

Smart, you thought, that would hide their scent.

Once the walkers had passed and made it a safe distance away from your group, both you and Dale climbed back down, and before you could even catch your breath, Daryl was right next to you making sure you were okay.

“I’m fine, we had the high ground,” you smiled, appreciating how much he seemed to care about you. He had been so much more attentive to you since the CDC, it was delightfully suffocating. He was just protective enough for it to be cute, anymore overbearing and he’d be annoying you like hell.

“T-Dog’s hurt,” he said. “Cut himself real bad.”

You turned to T-Dog to see him holding his forearm, bright red blood seeping out from between his fingers. It was perfect timing for someone to get hurt because now you had not one but two first aid kits.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” you said. Before you could make it the RV, you all heard the terrified cries of a little girl. Sophia.

You all started jogging over to where the cries were coming from, but by the time you made it it was too late—Sophia had started running into the woods as she was being chased by two stragglers, and Rick followed shortly behind.

“There’s two walkers after my baby!” Carol cried, Lori coming up behind her to keep her quiet.

You’d hoped that Rick would be able to bring her back, but when he returned alone, you all froze.

Daryl and Rick spent the rest of the day out in the forest looking for Sophia. You’d stayed on the highway with the others, trying especially hard to comfort Carol. She was worried out of her mind, and you couldn’t blame her, not one bit. That was her daughter out there. Although you weren’t a mother, you could sympathize with how devastating it would be to not know where your child was, especially if she’d just ran into what was likely a walker-infested forest.

It was just about dark when Daryl and Rick returned without Sophia. Carol was understandably devastated. It was agreed upon that you would all start looking again tomorrow morning when it was light out as it’d be nearly impossible to find her at night.

“I’m sure she’s just hiding somewhere, she’s a smart girl,” you tried to comfort Carol as you walked through the woods the next day, heading back to the highway with the rest of your group, minus T-Dog and Dale who were keeping watch at the RV, and Shane, Rick, and Carl who had split off on their own. Daryl was leading your group, but so far you hadn’t had any luck. It’d now been almost twenty-four hours since any of you’d last seen Sophia, and usually that wasn’t a great sign.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” She held your hand tightly, and you squeezed back to tell her that you cared. “I know we’ll find her.”

You gave her a comforting smile, but it turned into a frown when a gunshot rang out from somewhere in the distance.

You all looked around frantically. “Jesus,” you whispered to yourself, Carol’s grip on your hand tightening.

“Everybody stay calm,” Daryl said. “It was probably just Rick or Shane.”

It made sense, the gunshot seemed to come from the direction where your two groups had split off. You looked over to Lori who was frozen in shock.

“Maybe we could go back,” you turned to Daryl to suggest, “try to find them and see if they’re okay.”

Daryl looked in the direction of the gunshot, then back at you. “Nah,” he said. “Rick told us to head back and that’s what we’re gonna do.”

You were quite concerned about the gunshot, what with Sophia being lost in the woods and your groups split off from each other, but Daryl was technically in charge now so you respected his decision.

“Okay,” you nodded.

“Come on, y’all, wanna get back before dark.”

It wasn’t long after that you all were accosted by a young woman on a horse wielding a baseball bat. Great, you thought, everything just keeps getting weirder and weirder.

“Lori? Lori Grimes?” she asked your group, a thick southern accent in her voice.

“I’m Lori.”

“Rick sent me, you gotta come now,” the horsewoman said. “There’s been an accident, Carl’s been shot.”

Your jaw dropped, the realization that the gunshot you’d heard earlier must’ve hit Carl.

“He’s still alive, but you gotta come now.”

Lori hesitated a bit, but after a few seconds she joined the strange woman on the horse.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Daryl said, trying to maintain some level of leadership. “We don’t know this girl, you can’t get on that horse!”

“Rick said you have others on the highway, that big traffic snarl?” the woman asked.

“Uh-huh,” Glenn responded, his mouth still agape. Everything was happening so fast.

“Backtrack to Fairburn Road, two miles down is our farm,” she said, starting to turn the horse back towards where she came from. “You’ll see the mailbox, the name’s Greene.”

And with that she took Lori back to the farm.

You’d all spent one more restless night on the highway before making the decision to join the others back at the farm.

It was Daryl’s idea to rig a big sign and a stash of food for Sophia in case she made her way back to the highway, with the intent of coming back to check everyday. You were so impressed with how enthusiastic he was about finding Sophia. He’d already shown tremendous growth since the day you’d first brought him to the quarry. He seemed to be caring for the others in your group more than himself. It was a welcome change.

You all prepared to head off the next morning, and after much convincing, you agreed to accompany Daryl on his motorcycle for the ride to the Greene farm.

“Just… go slow, okay?” you asked as you hesitatingly lifted your leg up to straddle the bike behind Daryl. “I don’t wanna fly off.”

Daryl scoffed as he felt your arms wrap loosely around his torso. “Ya ain’t gonna fly off, crazy woman.” You weren’t sure how you felt about this new nickname—you’d probably prefer “sweetheart” or “honey,” but he called you crazy with such affection in his tone that you had to assume he meant it as an endearing pet name, so you didn’t complain. “You’ll be fine as long as you hold on ta me.”

“Maybe you could get one of those thingies you put on the back of the bike, kind of like a backrest?”

He turned his head to look at you. “You mean a sissy bar?”

Your eyes widened. “Is—is that really what it’s called?” you asked genuinely.

His lips quirked up a bit. “Mhm.”

Without warning, the engine roared to life, causing you to jump a little and wrap your arms more tightly around Daryl.

He let out a loud whistle and twirled his arm around in the air to signal that he was ready to lead the caravan.

The ride wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it would be. Daryl had gone pretty slow for the most part, except for a few times when he sped up quickly just to get a reaction out of you. Every time he did so, you gave him a pinch in his side to signal that you didn’t like it, so he’d slow down again, then speed up soon after to tease you. You secretly liked it when he went fast, and he secretly liked it when you pinched him, the both of you always smiling when it happened.

Despite all the terrible things that had befallen your group in the last few days, you two seemed to bring out the best in each other. Being around you made Daryl almost forget about everything that was wrong with the world, but he never let himself completely forget lest he lose his grip on reality.

You could see that he was becoming an essential part of your group, and Rick and Shane were becoming more and more trusting of him. It made you so proud to see him join the ranks of leader, even though he didn’t see himself as one. You thought he was just as good a man as Rick, and that was saying something.

You were relieved to rejoin the group once you reached the farm. Now that you weren’t split up anymore, you weren’t as vulnerable.

As soon as you laid eyes on the Victorian style farmhouse, you were smitten. It was like a scene from a Thomas Kinkade painting, the ones your mother always had hanging up around the house back in Virginia, only much less kitschy.

Getting off the bike, you were happy to hear that Carl was going to be all right. The old man who owned the farmhouse, and the father of the woman you’d seen yesterday on horseback, was a doctor named Hershel. Well, a veterinarian. In any case, he knew how to perform surgery. He was able to get the bullet out of Carl, but he was still weak.

Apparently the man who’d accidentally shot him, Otis, was a resident at the Greene farm. He’d led Rick and Shane there when he realized he’d shot Carl. Shane and Otis went to get some necessary medical supplies for Hershel to perform surgery, but Otis had lost his life to walkers in the process.

A lot had happened in such a short amount of time, but that was becoming more and more common these days. Time seemed to be condensed, days started to feel like weeks. Every moment was incredibly important now. That was something you’d been realizing since this whole thing started.

That night you began setting up camp with the others. Hershel informed Rick that he didn’t want anyone besides Carl staying in the house, but he was all right with your people camping out on his property until the boy recovered and Sophia was found.

You were struggling to set up your tent when Daryl came up to you, having already set up his tent.

“You’re fast,” you said, beginning to assemble the tent poles, albeit sloppily. Tents always frustrated you.

“Ya know, you don’t have to do that,” he said.

You stopped what you were doing. “Gotta have a tent.”

“Yeah, but…” he looked down and began rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “you uh… you can stay in my tent. With me. If ya want.”

You were completely caught off guard.

Sure, you knew that you and Daryl were basically a couple now, but you didn’t think he’d want to share a tent with you. He liked his privacy, you knew that from the fact that he’d set up his camp away from the others, and he always preferred hunting and doing most things alone. You assumed he’d want his own tent for now, too.

“Really?” you asked, a hint of a smile forming on your face.

“Mhm,” he nodded. “That way ya won’t have to keep fumbling around with that thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “Actually, I was doing just fine until you showed up,” you teased him.

“So… what d’ya say?”

“Daryl,” you began, rising from the ground and walking up to him to hold his hands in both of yours, “I’d love to move in with you.”

He scoffed, “If that’s what ya wanna call it.”

“It is,” you said.

“Fine, already made room for ya.”

He’s so sweet, I could die.

“How thoughtful,” you turned to pick up your pack and your camping gear, but Daryl had already started picking up most of it with ease.

By the time you’d unpacked everything, Daryl’s raggedy old tent started to actually feel like… home. You’d set up your cot next to Daryl’s to make more or less the size of a double bed. You piled up both of your sleeping bags to make it extra comfortable, and Hershel had lent you all extra blankets and pillows so you were sure to add those too. You purposefully laid the prettiest blanket on top to act as a comforter. It was the most pleasant looking bed you’d had since you left your apartment. You thought you and Daryl could finally get a good night’s sleep on the thing.

You had even organized Daryl’s clothes. He’d thrown them out into messy piles, but you decided to fold them and sort them into categories—shirts, pants, shoes, socks, and underwear. You sorted your things similarly, although you had much more variety. You still had one dress left that you were determined to keep in good condition, so you kept that separate (and kept the slip you’d found on the highway underneath it so it’d still be a surprise to Daryl when you’d wear it).

Dale even let you borrow one of his camping tables. You set it next to the bed to put your books, weapons, and lantern on it for easy access, and of course your geode too.

“Perfect,��� you sighed to yourself after having unloaded and organized everything.

It was dark out when Daryl came into the tent to see what you’d done with the place. He’d been busy talking to Rick and Shane for a while about continuing the search for Sophia.

“Wow,” he said, his eyes circling the room. “You did all this?”

You stood up from the bed where you’d been reading by the light of the lantern. “Yep,” you said. “I hope you don’t mind I sorted out your things a little.”

Daryl looked over to the folded sets of clothing on the opposite side of the tent. “Not at all, be easier to find everything.”

You smiled, “Oh, good.”

The both of you were silent for a while, not knowing what to do now.

“Do you like the bed?” you asked, unsure of what else to say. You weren’t used to living with someone else.

Daryl waked from his thoughts. “Uh, yeah,” he said, his eyes scanning over the bed. “Ya did a good job.”

Then you realized maybe Daryl wasn’t ready to share a bed yet. “We don’t have to sleep together—I mean sleep in the same bed, if you don’t want to.” Your voice was shaky with nerves.

Daryl’s cheeks started heating up. “It’s fine,” he said. “Makes sense, better for keepin’ warm anyway.”

You nodded in agreement.

“Well, uh, I gotta go take watch.”

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

Daryl took a few tentative steps towards you and planted a chaste peck on your lips. “Go to sleep, don’t wait up for me.”

You did not go to sleep.

You did, however, get into bed, but you couldn’t sleep. Images of Sophia running through the wilderness being chased by walkers flooded your restless mind. Not so distant memories of your camp being attacked and the CDC going up in flames kept replaying over and over again, threatening to haunt your sleep in the form of nightmares.

Tossing and turning, you finally heard the door of your tent unzip; Daryl was done with his watch.

You tried to close your eyes and pretend to be asleep as Daryl climbed into bed next to you.

“I know you ain’t asleep,” he said quietly.

You couldn’t help but smile at his gravelly voice you’d come to find so much comfort in. Turning your body towards his, you came face to face with him as he adjusted his pillow.

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Nah.”

You began playing with the short messy hairs that framed his face. “How was watch?”

“Boring,” he said. “Gonna start looking for Sophia again tomorrow mornin’. Rick said that old man’s got a map of the area, should help us organize the search.”

Your eyes widened. It was the best news you’d heard yet regarding Sophia. “Do you think I could come along? I’d like to help.”

Daryl brought his hand up to yours and gently caressed it with his calloused fingers as you kept combing through his hair. “Guess so, we need as many people as possible lookin’ for her.”

“You still think we’ll find her?”

“I know we will.”

You leaned in to give him a sweet kiss, and when you were about to pull away he pulled you back in, bringing his free arm around you and sinking his hand between the soft tresses of your hair. His kiss became more impassioned as you moved your hand to his neck and then down to his shoulder. Soon you felt his tongue tenderly grazing your bottom lip, silently asking permission to enter.

Parting your lips, his tongue breached your entrance and began passionately searching for your tongue. When he found it, you returned his affections and your two tongues started dancing sweetly, his taking the lead. It was both a gentle and incredibly hungry kiss, much more passionate than your first.

His hand soon moved down to your neck, his thumb rubbing small circles on the skin beneath your earlobe. You let out a small moan as he added more pressure to the sensitive area. Your hand was now pressed against his chest, finding its way underneath his cotton button-up shirt. You felt his wiry chest hairs, and soon you found yourself twirling them around your fingers.

As you kissed, your tongues still entwined in a sweet embrace, he lowered his hand down to your collarbone, then further still down to the swell of your breast. He seemed to stop there, not wanting to venture further.

Your tongues settled down a bit and he began to slowly tear his lips away from yours, allowing the cool night air to flow into your partially open mouth where his sweet tongue had been. He gently pecked your still parted lips a few more times before moving his hand back up to the back of your head to play with your hair.

“We should sleep,” he panted. “Got a big day tomorrow.”

You brought your hand from his chest up to his scruffy chin to lightly scratch the stubble you thought looked so good on him. He grunted a little in appreciation, eliciting a small giggle from you. “Okay, cutie pie.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Ain’t cute.”

“Sure are, cutest guy in the world.” You knew your words were corny, but you couldn’t help it if it was true.

“You’re delirious.” He kissed your hairline. “Sleep.”

He reached over you and turned out the lantern, leaving his arm to drape over your waist and pull you into his chest. You tucked your head into the crook of his shoulder, taking in his earthy scent of tobacco and pine. His entire body acted as a heater as you felt his warmth radiate through his chest to yours. You curled your arm in between your bodies, already feeling yourself beginning to doze off.

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

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✏ Taglist

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[illwynd]

2022 writing meme

Tagged by @pandirpus​. TY!!! :D

Word count for the year: 42,051 posted, significantly more than that written but not all of them were good words so we’ll roll with the posted number. Not the worst, I suppose.

Number of stories posted to Ao3: four new fics, and added chapters to two other WIPs.

Pairings written for: Thorki

Fandoms I wrote for: Thor & Loki fandom 5eva

Most popular story: If we’re not including ongoing WIPs from previous years, then What You Are in the Dark.

Story I’m most proud of: Hmm, despite being one of those ongoing WIPs, I think LMD, since it’s not just one of the longer things I’ve written in a while but also one of the more ambitious in terms of complexity and some interesting narrative and thematic stuff going on. Now that the spookyfic is just about done I’ll be able to get back to wrapping this one up, and with any luck y’all will agree.

Funniest: Illegal. Spur-of-the-moment incest smut with Thor in lingerie, written to taunt antis. It gave me a lol at least.

Kinkiest: I’m pretty sure Thor enjoying getting railed by tentacles wins this fight.

Saddest: Hmm, probably Once Again. Canon separating Thor and Loki forever hurts me. Or if we’re including ongoing WIPs, Turned to Lead. Poor mute Loki.

Least Popular: I guess Battlefield Voices? But it is a tiny random ficlet with kid brodinsons so. *shrug*

Most Cringe-Worthy: i have never done anything cringe in my life.

Favorite Opening Line(s):

Anyone else, maybe, would have been grateful.

Favorite Closing Line(s):

Since I can’t give you the last lines of WYAITD or LMD yet, I guess these had some punch...

Thor kisses him again, and Loki’s tears are cleared enough to see his expression now, so warm.

Thor kisses him, smiles at him, and it’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Whatever it is, it can’t get you anymore.”

Top Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:  

omg I am so bad at thinking of things like this. i just can’t tell which scenes make the best visuals. which makes it even more awesome when someone who can think in art.jpg rather than art.txt answers that question for me, like @hechizero-emplumado did here for LMD :DDDD

Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to:

OK so I’ve at least started writing all of these but they’re not close to posting yet so that counts, right?

Skrull Thor (I am rly looking forward to this one. convoluted but fun.)

Werewolf Loki (probably next year’s spookyfic)

The one where Thor goes to Jotunheim specifically because he’s got a size kink a mile wide and wants to get boned by giants, and Jotun Loki volunteers to be his tour guide, so to speak

The one where Asgard Thor and Loki meet Jotunheim AU Thor and Loki

a bunch more idk. i have so many wips in my folders. so many.

Fic-writing goals for 2023:

i just rly want to write more again. I want to finish some of the backburner stuff and drawer fics and write some stuff I’ve been meaning to write and have new ideas and write some absolute filth and some tear-streaked angst and some silly crack. I want to get back into the swing of things.

Tagging (but no pressure): @gorgeousgalatea, @incredifishface, @pennypaperbrain, @worstloki... anyone else who feels like doing it, you can say I tagged you, too ;)

[serendipitous-magic]

What is your writing advice for young people who want to write fanfiction and original stories in the near future?

If this is just Way Too Much, skip to the end (#16). My most important piece of advice is there. I also happen to think #5 is pretty good.

-_-_-_-

1) Literally just write. Write whatever you want, and do a lot of it.

_-_

2) You don’t have to post everything. In fact you don’t have to post anything. You can, don’t get me wrong, but it can be intimidating to sit down and think “I will now write something that other people will see and read and judge with their eyeballs.” Because that’s probably gonna lead to nerves and writer's block. Just write down the ideas that you have, the things you want to write, whatever’s in your brain that you want to explore and expand upon and make into something. And then if you want to, share it. Or don’t share it. I have plenty of half-baked ideas and documents and random story chapters and shit hidden away on my Google Drive that will never see the light of day, for a whole number of reasons. I wanted to write it but it wasn’t ~Spicy~ enough to warrant posting, or it’s only like an eighth of a good idea, or it’s like one scene with no story around it, or it’s just something incredibly self-indulgent I just wanted to write for my own enjoyment.

Point being, don’t write for other people. Don’t write so that other people can read it; write what you want, write for yourself, and then if you want to share it, do.

_-_

3) You can pretty much ignore any and all of these for fanfiction. In fact, you can ignore pretty much any rules or guidelines you want for fanfiction. Fanfic is a sandbox. You don’t have to be a “professional writer” to post fic. No one expects you to be Stephen King or Margaret Atwood. Fanfic is just for playing in a fandom and having fun. If you wanna write a 50 chapter slow burn with very little plot aside from the OTP slowly getting to know each other, and no real stakes or central conflict, I guarantee people would read that. Really, fanfiction is the Old West of writing: lawless, wild, unpredictable, and free.

However, here are the rules you must follow:

-Separate your paragraphs. (I’m sure you know this already, but I’m gonna say it anyway just in case.) Do not post one big block of text. Make a paragraph break when someone new is talking, when the characters are in a new place, when a new event occurs that changes the scene, when a chunk of time has passed, and when there’s a major change in subject.

-I know it’s obvious, but... grammar, punctuation, and capitalization. They exist to make writing easy for readers to read, and more people will read your stuff if they don’t have to stop and try to figure out what you meant.

-Use tags and labels, as is possible with whatever site you’re using. Especially if you include possibly triggering content in your story. Again, I know it’s obvious, but it’s common courtesy. Bonus: tagging the themes and content of your story helps readers find it and read it :)

-If possible, limit the use of all-caps and exclamation marks / question marks. 99% of the time, one ! or one ? will do. If you overload the page with a lot of all-caps and long rows of exclamation marks or question marks, it hampers readability.

... That’s literally all I can think of. And, like I said, it’s all pretty basic stuff. You were probably rolling your eyes like, “Uh, yeah, Gwen, I know.” But that’s literally it. You can pretty much do whatever you want in fanfic.

That being said, here’s my advice for both fanfiction and original work...

_-_

4) A quick and dirty rule for coming up with a plot, starting a story, keeping up pacing, or maintaining tension: figure out what dreams, desires, and goals are nearest and dearest to your main character’s heart (see #16). Then set up the main conflict to be directly in opposition to that goal. It doesn’t have to be in a tangible way, though it could be. But, if your main character wants more than anything to reach the ships on the southern coast of your world and sail to a new life, make sure the main conflict immediately prevents them from doing that - in fact, make sure to send them north. If your main character just wants to keep their loved ones safe, kidnap the loved ones. If your main character just wants to date their best-friend-turned-crush, make sure they think they have no chance - or, make them cocky about it, and make sure it makes Person B determined not to ever like them. You get it. Figure out what your character most wants, and then keep them from having that. Boom - your conflict now ties in with your character's motivation. It's like instant yeast for plots.

_-_

5) If you’re anything like me, you want your first draft to be Good, despite all that advice about how the first draft doesn’t have to be good and it’s just to get words on the page, yadda yadda. And if you’re somewhat of a perfectionist (like myself), it’s easy to get stuck looking at a blank page because you don’t have The Perfect Words, and you want what you write to be Good the first time.

Here’s how I cheat that:

Instead of trying to write a Good First Draft from a blank page, hit the enter key a few times, skip a little down on the page, change your ink to red (or blue, or whatever - just something immediately identifiable as Not Black) and just thought vomit. Write whatever the hell you’re thinking, exactly as you think it. Don’t worry about it being readable, don’t worry about narrative flow for now, don’t worry about covering all the details, don’t worry about anything except either a) getting all the details of your idea out onto the page, whether that’s a lot or whether it’s just a sentence or two, or b) if you don’t have an idea yet, finding your way there.

Because this method is also very good for finding your way to ideas when you’re stuck in writer’s block.

Because of how human brains work, getting this stuff out onto the page - in all its messy, stream-of-consciousness glory - will likely spark more thoughts. As you write your original idea about the scene, it’ll likely spark more ideas. Creation begets creation. If you just start thought-vomiting your ideas onto the page, chances are you’ll think of more things as you go, and you’ll start filling out description or dialogue or tone or action or whatever, and pretty soon the scene starts writing itself.

Not sure where you’re going with the scene or which ideas you wanna use? Use a lot of ambivalent language in your “thought-vomit draft.” My pre-writing notes are chock-full of the words “maybe,” “perhaps,” and the phrases, “At some point...” and “...or something like that.” In this way, I don’t tie myself down to one idea; it’s just an idea, and I’m keeping it on the page in case I use it, but I might chuck it in the trash or change it or whatever.

And then, once your ideas for the scene (or story, or chapter, or whatever) are on the page, then go back to the top and start translating them into a “real” first draft. Use black ink, and start copy-pasting chunks of the thought-vomit up into the top part of the document and translating them into Draft 1. Separate out paragraphs where paragraph breaks should be. Add the correct punctuation and whatnot. Change “describe the lobby here - include potted plants, fancy carpet, blood stain, etc.” into an actual description of the lobby. Flesh it out, or condense, or whatever it needs. And if you’re still stuck, change back to red ink and ramble some more until you find a path that feels right, then plug that in. This keeps you from looking at a blank page, and it allows you to generate a kind of Draft 0.5, somewhere between a plan and a first draft.

You don’t have to use every idea. Like I said, jot down whatever comes to mind, put a “maybe” before or after it, and keep working. If the idea grabs you and you wanna keep expanding on it and exploring it, cool. If you just wanna jot it down so you don’t forget it and then move on, also cool. Red-ink draft / “thought-vomit draft” is your time to jump around in the timeline, add or finesse details at whatever point your brain moves to, etc. Don’t try to do it exactly in story order, because you will get tangential thoughts and ideas, and you will not remember to write them down five pages later when you finally get to taking notes on that scene. Trust me. On that note...

_-_

6) Write everything down the moment you think of it. Seriously.

“I’ll remember it when I get around to writing that scene in a couple days / weeks / months (/years).”

You won’t.

Write it down.

Phone, journal, google docs - hell, my family regularly laughs at me for grabbing a napkin during dinner and scribbling thoughts down alongside pasta sauce stains.

And then, once you have it written down somewhere...

_-_

7) Consolidate your writing ideas in one place.

Maybe this isn’t really your style, and that’s totally chill.

Buuuut, if you’re Type-A like me - or if you tend to be somewhat unorganized and you know you’ll lose track of your writing notes if they’re scattered across multiple notebooks, journals, napkins, phone notes, etc. - having one consolidated document of notes is a life saver. I keep mine on Google Docs so I can access it, add to it, and look through it for inspiration anywhere at any time. When I have one of those Shower Thoughts that I jot down on my phone or on a napkin during dinner, I set myself a reminder on my phone to type it up in my Story Ideas document later.

(Or, if the idea I had was for a story of mine that I’ve already started planning / drafting / whatever, I put it in the document for that story instead of the Big Random Story Ideas doc. You get it.)

_-_

8) Have other ways to collect and save writing ideas, besides just writing stuff down. If you like Pinterest, make pinterest boards of your characters or stories or settings or whatever. If you’re big into playlists, make a playlist for your character / setting / story / etc. Or both. Or something else. I’m not good at drawing, but maybe you are, and maybe you like to draw your ideas. Whatever form it takes, having another way to save ideas and think about your stories is invaluable.

_-_

9) Some writers can just start writing with no idea where the story is going, and they just kind of figure it out as they go. I envy those writers. And I do that sometimes for fanfiction, where the stakes are somewhat lower and the audience is reading more for scene-to-scene enjoyment (and to see their OTP kiss) than for a Driving And Compelling Narrative.

But here’s the thing: especially if you’re just kind of starting out, writing without some sort of plan is really, really hard, and will likely lead you into a slow, meandering narrative that will likely frustrate you.

Even if you think you’re someone that just can’t write with a plan (and again, I have the highest respect for pansters out there - I don’t know how you do it, you crazy bastards, but you keep doing you) - even if you think “I can’t work with plans, they’re too prescriptive, I just want to write and see what happens -”

Try at least making the most skeletal of plans.

Even if you have no clue what 90% of the story is, yet. That’s fine. But you need to have some idea of what you’re building to, even if that’s nothing more specific than a feeling, or a turning point for your character. Even if your entire plan for everything beyond Chapter 1 is, “At some point, Charlie needs to realize that Ed was lying to her.”

This is where those Draft 0.5 notes come in handy. Because, more than likely, working on your current scene that way will spark ideas for later scenes, which you can put down at the bottom of the document and save for when they become relevant. In my experience, the line between planning ahead and making a Draft 0.5 is exceptionally thin. One can quickly turn into the other.

If you’re really, really resistant to the idea of planning ahead, that’s okay. It’s not everybody’s style. But for the love of all that is holy, write down your ideas for future scenes, even if you’re a person that doesn’t like to plan and writes only in story order, because you will not remember that idea once you get to that scene.

_-_

10) You don’t have to write in order.

Here’s the thing: I’m a person that can only do my Draft 1 in story order (meaning, chronological order). I just have to be in that flow; I need to write in story order for me to best channel where the character is at from scene to scene, both narratively and emotionally.

But my Thought Vomit Draft is another thing entirely. By using the brain hack of putting my notes in red (or another color, it doesn’t matter) and going down to the bottom of the document / page and taking notes there, and then integrating them into whatever plan I have, and then translating them into Draft 1 once I get there in the story - by doing that, I can get my good ideas onto the page (and expound upon them and let my muse carry me and ride that momentum while I’m in the moment of inspiration) without writing out of order.

Maybe that’s just me. But if you’re a person who really prefers to write in story order, that could be hugely helpful to you. It is to me.

_-_

11) Emotion and motivation will do more for your story than technicalities of plot.

If your characters really care about something, and their journey through the (shaky or weak) plot is emotionally engaging, it will be a much more compelling story than a story with a “perfect” plot and unrelatable or unmotivated characters.

If your characters care about what they’re doing, and it means something to them, and their goals and actions are driven by dreams or fears or emotions that are integral to who they are, your audience will care too. If you have a perfectly crafted plot that hits all the right beats and has high stakes and fast pacing and drama - but your characters don’t connect with what’s happening in a way that’s deeply meaningful or emotional for them? You’re gonna have a hard time engaging readers.

When in doubt, prioritize character emotion and motivation over plot. Emotion is what drives story.

This power is highly exploitable. (Just look at pulp novels and shitty but entertaining movies.) You can even use it to glaze over plot holes or reinvigorate a limp narrative. Use it that way sparingly, though. It’s a band-aid, not a surgery. 

_-_

12) Evil villains are hard to write - mostly because there are very few truly evil people in the world. (There are a few. Billionaires and several big name politicians come to mind.) But by and large, there aren’t that many evil people. There are plenty of bad people, but bad people have some good in them, somewhere in there. Trying to write an evil villain is hard, because they often turn very cartoony.

Here’s a tip: it’s much easier to write antagonists who aren’t evil. Even if they’re bad people. Of course, there’s no reason you can’t write a villain that’s just truly evil - a serial killer, or an abuser, or a billionaire, or someone who legit just wants to hurt people or blow up the earth or stay in control of an oppressed population, or whatever. But chances are, it’s gonna be really hard to make them feel real, and even harder to create a plot around them that doesn’t feel forced or contrived.

Instead, try writing an antagonist / villain whose motivations and goals directly clash with your protagonist’s - but not because they want to take over the world or see people suffer. Write an antagonist who’s chaotic good, but whose perception of the situation is completely opposite from your hero’s. Write an antagonist whose only desire is to save people, and who will do anything to achieve that goal - anything. Write an antagonist who believes in the letter of the law, and will hinder and oppose the hero’s methods even if they agree with the hero’s motivation. Write an antagonist who got in way over their head and did some things they regret, and now they don’t know how to get out, and they’re doing their best but whatever they set in motion is too powerful for them to stop now.

Write villains who are human. Write a killer who thought they were doing the right thing by taking their victim out of the equation, who vomits at the sight of the body and sobs over the grave they dig. Write a government leader who truly believes she’s doing what’s best for her people in the long-term, even if it might hurt them in the short term, and is willing to endure the hatred and belligerence of the masses if it means securing what she thinks is a better future for her people. Write a teenage bully that thinks they’re the one being picked on by the world, and they’re just fighting back, standing their ground. Write a scientist who will break any code of ethics and hurt anyone he needs to - in order to bring back his baby sister from the grave, because he promised her he’d protect her and he failed. Write an antagonist who is selfish and self-centered and capricious - because in order to survive they had to look out for Number One, and that habit ain’t about to break anytime soon.

Write villains who aren’t even villains. Write antagonists who oppose the hero because of moral differences. Write antagonists who are trying to do the right thing. Write antagonists who treat the heroes with kindness and dignity and respect and gentleness.

They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to be Misunderstood Sweethearts who “deserve” a redemption arc. They can be cruel and nasty and dismissive and callous and violent and etc. etc.

Just hesitate before you make them Evil-with-a-capital-E. Because evil is hard to write, and honestly, boring to read. Flawed human beings with goals and motivations that directly oppose the main characters’ are much easier to write and much more interesting to read.

Ask why. Why is your villain trying to take over the world? What does that even mean? Are they trying to create a Star-Trek-like post-capitalism utopia, but they know that won’t happen in a million lifetimes, so they’re trying to do it by force? Are they actually super in favor of human rights, but they got very impatient waiting for the world to do anything about poverty and war, so they decided to take it into their own hands? Are they determined to fix the world - no matter the cost? Are they terrified and overwhelmed, but committed to see it through to the end? Or - maybe they’re just doing it on a dare. Maybe they don’t really give a shit about world domination, they were just a mediocre rich white guy who decided to fuck around and find out, and now he’s kind of curious how far he can take this thing. And now he’s kind of an internationally-wanted criminal, so he’s kind of stuck living on his hidden private island in his multi-billion dollar secret base, strapping lasers to sharks’ heads for the hell of it. Gross, selfish, uncaring, and dangerous? For sure. Evil? Depends on your definition. See, now we’re getting somewhere.

_-_

13) It’s tempting to let the plot control the characters. It’s easy to drop your characters into a situation and see how they react. But here’s the thing: that doesn’t drive plot. In fact, it bogs down pacing. Instead, try to build you plot off of your characters’ actions and decisions. Let your character build their own situation. Not to say it should go they way they wanted it to go; in fact, usually, their grand plans should go to hell very quickly. But having the characters take action and make decisions, and letting the plot develop based on that, is much easier to make compelling than making a rigid series of events and then trying to herd your characters into them.

_-_

14) Having trouble justifying a character’s actions? Consider having them make the opposite decision, or having them approach the situation in a different way. For example: you need your character to go meet the bad guy, for plot reasons, even though there’s no way it’s not a trap. If the character goes, readers are gonna be groaning with their head in their hands, because c’mon man, that was really fucking stupid. But he’s gotta go, because the plot needs that. Two ways you might handle this: a) He knows it’s probably a trap. He decides not to go. The plot conspires to get him near the villain anyway. Or, b) He knows it’s a trap. But he needs to go, for (insert reasons here). So, he approaches it in an unexpected way. He brings backup, recruiting a side character we met earlier in the story. Or he arrives on the back of a dragon, because ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a dude on a dragon. Or he goes - early, and ambushes the villain. It may work, it may not. He may get himself kidnapped anyway. But it moves the plot along without having Stupid Hero Syndrome.

_-_

15) This is a legit piece of advice: if all of this sounds overwhelming, literally just ignore it and write what you want. For real. Writing should be fun, and every single writer operates differently. If you’re sitting here like “I’m getting stressed just reading this,” just flip me a good-natured bird and get on with your life. I promise I won’t take it personally. Same goes for literally any other writing advice you see. Lots of rules and guidelines can very quickly make anything thoroughly un-fun. Just write. If you’re passionate about it and you do it for long enough, you’ll start figuring out the tips and tricks on your own.

_-_

16) Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you: know your characters. More importantly, know what’s important to them. Build their personality and decisions off of that, and build your plot off of their decisions.

I see a lot of character building sheets that ask a shit-ton of questions like “What’s their most prized possession?” “Do they like their family?” “What’s their favorite food?”

And while these are good questions, my problem with this type of character building is that if you start there, with the little stuff, you’re building on nothing. IMO, to make a truly strong character (not strong like Inner Strength, strong like effective), you need a strong foundation.

Here are the things you must know about your character:

a) What are their greatest fears / deepest insecurities? And I don’t mean “wasps” or “heights.” I mean the deep shit. I mean fears like “living a meaningless life,” or “turning out just like their parents,” or “that no one will ever love them,” or “being powerless.” You may say, “But they’re really scared of wasps! They fall into a wasp nest when they were little and got stung so much they almost died!” Great! That’s a fantastic bit of backstory. They should absolutely be afraid of wasps, and that should absolutely be an impediment later in the story. But dig deeper. What about that event actually scarred them? Was it the helplessness? Stumbling around, swatting at the air, not being able to do a single thing to stop what was happening to them? Was it that they were alone, and no matter how loud they screamed, no one was coming? Was it the bodily horror of feeling themself turn into an inhuman creature as they swelled up from the stings, unable to move their fingers or face normally anymore?

And don’t forget insecurities, because those factor in, too. Are they deeply insecure about their identity? Do they believe, deep down, that they’re ugly? Did they grow up poor and they’ve always been really touchy about that? Why? Dig deep. Figure out what really, really bothers them.

b) What are their hopes and dreams? What do they truly want out of life? What do they consider the most valuable to their experience here in this thing called life? Is it the freedom to forge their own path and be independent? Is it the approval of their family or peers? Is it a home? Is it knowledge, or understanding? Spiritual fulfillment? Is it deeply important to them that they contribute to their community, or protect those they love? What do they need in order to feel truly and deeply fulfilled in life?

Figure out those two things (each one encompasses several things, btw, you don’t have to stop at just one for each), and then use that to inform how they behave and the types of decisions they make within the story. 

It also informs character behavior and personality. 

Let’s say we have a character who’s afraid of helplessness. They’re probably gonna be the person that always wants to do something, try something, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. They’d despise just sitting and waiting, probably, because it makes them feel powerless. They might even be the person that makes rash decisions and acts impulsively and puts themself in danger unnecessarily, because in their mind it’s better than being at the mercy of fate. This is one way you could use a character’s personality to inform their decisions, which in turn helps to inform plot.

Or, let’s say we have a character whose greatest fear is being left behind or forgotten. We may have a chatterbox on our hands. They might be obnoxious. They might love the spotlight, constantly vying for attention no matter the situation, because deep down they’re so afraid that they’d be forgotten otherwise. Or, it may go the opposite way. They may be so afraid of people leaving them that they’re terrified of bothering people. They don’t want to do anything that could annoy people, anything that might give people a reason to leave them. They might be exceedingly polite, quiet, accommodating. A push-over, really.

These are two nearly opposite types of personalities, both stemming from the same core fear/insecurity. You can go a lot of different ways with it. But if you build on that strong foundation, you’ll have a strong character, and a stronger plot.

Likewise, the structure of your story can and should inform the design of these character traits. If you need your characters to team up near the end, it may be impactful if you give your main character a deep fear of commitment, an insecurity about being unwanted or left behind, and make them highly value independence and freedom. That could make their team-up for the final battle very meaningful. Conversely, you can use your character’s deepest fears and desires to help design the plot. Is your character deeply insecure about voicing their opinions or taking a stand, because of trauma they faced in the past? Make them face that. Build that into the climactic third act. Give them the big inspirational speech where they stand up and talk about what they believe to be important, what they think the group should do. And then design that character arc to run through the story, giving you more handholds and stepping stones, more pieces of foundation on which to design the plot.

In this way, character should inform story as much as story informs character. It’s a feedback loop.

Bonus: if you build your character and your plot off of each other in this way, it automatically starts to build in the foundations of that emotional investment I mentioned earlier. If your character’s decisions are based on what they most want and do not want in life, you basically have your character motivation and stakes pre-built.

Note: you need to know these things about your villain, too.

-_-_-

I’m genuinely sorry about the length of this, lmao. But you did ask.

Best of luck!

Edit: I forgot an important one:

17) Start when the scene starts and end when the scene ends.

What do I mean by that?

If your notes say “Danny asks Nicole out after school and majorly flubs it,” start the scene when Danny approaches Nicole after school. Better yet, cold-open the scene on “I was wondering if, you know, you’d wanna. You know. Hang out some time?”

Don’t start that morning when Danny goes to school, unless you’re gonna cover the school day in like one or two sentences. Don’t spend whole paragraphs going through the school day, unless it’s to cover other plot points first (in which case apply these same guidelines there), or if the paragraphs are there for a specific reason, like to illustrate how stressed he is and how it seems like every little thing is going wrong. Even then, trim the fat as much as possible. Expounding and describing everything Moment-to-moment is for the meat of the scenes, not the leading-up-to and coming-away-from.

Here’s my rule of thumb: study how and when movies cut from scene to scene. Movies have exceptionally strict, limited time for storytelling; they’re excellent examples of starting a scene when the plot point starts and ending when it’s over. If you can’t picture a movie showing everything you showed, start the scene later and end it earlier.

[storiesforallfandoms]

the type you bring home to mom ~ eddie kaspbrak;it chapter two

word count: 2361

request?: no

description: in which he finally brings his girlfriend home to his over protective mother, and it goes exactly as he thought it would

pairing: teen!eddie kasprak x female!reader

warnings: swearing, overbearing mother, derogatory name calling (i guess?), basically eddie’s mom just sucking

masterlist (one, two)

note: (y/n/p) = your parents’ names

I played with the hem of my dress as I walked up to the Kaspbrak household. I was regretting my choice in wardrobe, but it was too late to change now. I knew nothing would feel right anyways, I had already changed three times before I came over.

For the first time in our year long relationship, I was meeting Eddie’s mother. We had somehow managed to keep our relationship a secret for so long that I never felt like I had to meet her, and Eddie wasn’t exactly pushing for it either. As much as he loved his mom, he also knew she was manipulative and overbearing, and he often told me how he was afraid of his mom scaring me off because of these facts.

When the news eventually got out and travelled quickly through the small town of Derry, as gossip usually does, it got to Ms. Kaspbrak in no time. She immediately demanded to meet me, and Eddie set up a dinner at his house for the occasion.

Before I could even knock on the door, it swung open to reveal my tall boyfriend smiling down at me. Any tension I had melted away as I looked up at him, into those beautiful eyes that could calm me down whenever they were on me. He took my face in his hands and pulled me to kiss him. It was such a normal action that, at first, I leaned into it happily, until I realized the circumstances of my visit and quickly pushed him away.

“She’s not here,” he said, as if reading my worried thoughts. “She’s gone out to get some stuff for dinner.”

He stepped aside to let me step into the house. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory; Eddie and I had had many rendezvous there during the rare moments when his mom wasn’t home, but it felt wrong to be there on this occasion. I just wanted it to end already, and to go home or go for a long drive with Eddie.

“Come, sit,” he said, leading me to his living room. We sat close to one another on the couch, so close that we were just barley touching. Feeling his arm brush against mine sent sparks through me.

“How worried should I be?” I asked him, trying to remain as light as possible.

He sighed and shuffled in his seat. “I wish I could tell you not at all, but...”

He trailed off so I finished his sentence for him, “But it’s your mom.”

Eddie nodded. “But it’s my mom.”

One of his arms was around my waist. I hadn’t realized that the skirt of my dress had hiked up a little until the hand around my waist started to play with the hem, his fingertips brushing against my ass. His other hand touched my leg, starting lightly on my knee and then slowly travelling up my thigh till it stopped on my inner thigh. I shivered, wanting him to go further.

Most people who knew him would never believe that Eddie Kaspbrak, the hypochondriac, fast talking, former sheltered mama’s boy, would be absolutely mind blowing in bed, and constantly handsy whenever we were alone. I hadn’t even believed it until we got together, but man, Eddie knew how to make me feel absolutely amazing.

He leaned forward to kiss my neck, his fingers tracing circles in my inner thigh. I was shivering with anticipation and whimpers were escaping my lips. I could feel Eddie’s amused smirk against my neck as he placed another kiss there and lifted his head to look at me. He kissed my lips and his hand finally made its way further up my skirt.

Our moment was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming. I practically jumped to the other side of the couch, touching my neck in hopes that he hadn’t accidentally left hickies there.

“You’re good,” he said, understanding what I had been doing.

The front door opened and I suddenly felt paralyzed. I wasn’t sure if I should stand up or stay sat down, if I should move even further away from Eddie or stay exactly where I was. In the end, I stayed frozen like a deer in headlights as his mom rounded the corner, arms full of grocery bags.

“Oh,” she said when her eyes landed on me. “Is this...her?”

There was a slight leer to the way she said “her”, which made me want to squirm under her intense gaze.

“Mom,” Eddie said, a partial warning tone in his voice, “this is (Y/N), my girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kaspbrak,” I said. “Do you, um, need any help with - ”

“No,” she cut me off. “I have it. You’re early.”

“I told her this is when to get here,” Eddie defended. “You wouldn’t tell me exactly when to invite her over.”

“Well, this is hardly dinner time,” his mother huffed. “It’ll take me a while to get dinner ready.”

“I can help,” I offered again.

“No,” she said, sharply, which told me that was the end of the matter.

I shrunk down in my spot on the couch.

“Mom,” Eddie snapped again.

She glared at me before turning to her son, trying to soften her expression for him. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready. For now...stay here.”

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Eddie immediately moved to sit next to me and took my hand in his.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I’ll get through it. It’s just dinner then we’re done, right?”

He nodded, but I could see the worry on his face still.

A while later, Ms. Kaspbrak called to tell us dinner was ready. She had made sure to place everything so that Eddie and I were sat at the heads of the table, far apart from one another, while she was sat between us. Eddie and I shared a look before sitting in our designated spots.

Dinner started with awkward silence besides our cutlery against the plates. I tried to keep my attention on my plate, but every so often I’d glance up at the Kaspbraks to see Eddie nervously glancing between me and his mother, and his mom just glaring daggers at me. The nervousness I was feeling took away my appetite, but I felt like I had to eat everything to make a good impression, if that was even possible.

“So,” Ms. Kaspbrak said, drawing our attention to her, “(Y/N). Your parents are (Y/P/N), right?”

She already knew the answer to this question. I had grown up in Derry, where everyone knew everyone. There was a reason she was asking, and I had a feeling I already knew what that reason was.

“They are, yeah,” I responded.

“And they’re divorced, aren’t they?”

“Mom!” Eddie groaned.

“It’s just a question, Eddie,” his mom said.

“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind talking about it. That’s kind of old news anyways. They divorced when I was 10, dad moved to the next town over and mom got full custody of me.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very stable upbringing,” Ms. Kaspbrak commented. “I’m sure it’s taken such a toll on you, you must’ve decided to rebel somehow.”

Eddie put his face in his hands, officially admitting defeat on trying to stop his mother.

“Actually it wasn’t anything like that,” I said. “Mom and dad stayed pretty civil. There wasn’t any big fight or anything, just an agreement that they’re better off not being married. When dad moved he made sure to stay in constant contact, and comes to visit all the time or I’d go to visit him. Mom always made sure I had a roof over my head and food on the table. They both love me unconditionally, even if they’re not together.”

Ms. Kaspbrak sat back in her seat, a sour look on her face. “Well...regardless, it’s just not right to be raised by a single mother.”

Feeling a bit brave, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Eddie was raised by a single mother.”

“That’s different. My husband died, he didn’t decide to abandon me and Eddie.”

“My dad didn’t abandon us, he’s still very much a part of our lives.”

She ignored me and continued to eat. I looked across the table at Eddie to see him avoiding all eye contact with either of us as he pushed his food around on his plate. As if feeling my gaze, he looked up at me. I gave him a small smile to try and indicate that I wasn’t upset with him. I wanted him to know everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself.

“How many boys have you had sex with, (Y/N)?”

The question caught me off guard and I nearly choked on the food I had just put in my mouth.

“Jesus Christ, mom!” Eddie snapped.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vein, Edward,” his mother chastised him.

“You can’t just ask something like that, mom, that’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. I need to make sure my son isn’t dating a slut. I remember you were friends with Beverly March before she moved away, and trust me, I heard all sorts of stories about her. Anyone who would hang around with her must be somewhat similar.”

The mention of the untrue bullshit that used to be spread about Bev made the anger within me bubble over. I was seeing red as I looked up at Ms. Kaspbrak, and I was ready to pounce.

“Actually, your son took my virginity, and I took his,” I told her. “And we have sex quite a lot, sometimes upstairs in his bedroom when you’re not home. Although, for someone who says he was a virgin I don’t know how much I believe it. Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do.”

If he was upset with me for saying all of this, Eddie’s face didn’t show it. He was sipping on his water, trying to hide the smug smile that broke out across his face.

Ms. Kaspbrak’s face turned blood red before she rose from the table. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Gladly,” I said, abandoning my dinner to quickly leave the shitty situation.

“And don’t you dare come anywhere near my son again, or else I will have the cops on you!” she threatened.

I stopped and turned back to face her. “For what? For dating your son? For showing him that there’s someone who actually cares about him without manipulating him? For finally cutting the cord that you’ve had wrapped around his neck since he was born? Ms. Kaspbrak, I understand that you’re afraid to lose your son the way you lost your husband, but being a manipulative bitch who forced him to think he had illnesses he didn’t have for years and insulting his girlfriend in front of him is not the way to keep him around. Eddie is 18 years old, he’s an adult. He can do whatever he wants, which includes dating whoever he wants and leaving this hell hole that you have the audacity to call a home. The day that you finally accept that just might be the day that Eddie finally considers you to be an actual mother.”

And with that, I decided not to overstay my welcome and left.

I was only a few feet away from Eddie’s house when I heard him calling after me. I slowed my pace just enough that he could catch up with me, but didn’t completely stop. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the Kaspbrak house as I could.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed as he fell in step next to me.

“For what?” Eddie asked. “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“You warned me on how she would be, and I still let her get to me,” I said. “I probably made having to live there a whole lot harder.”

“It was hard to begin with, (Y/N). Nothing could make it harder than what it was,” he told me. “What you said, it was all true. Mom needed to hear that. Doesn’t mean she liked hearing it, or that she’ll actually accept it, but she needed to hear it none the less.”

“I guess I could’ve said it nicer,” I said. “Or at least not included details of our sex life.”

Eddie awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, could’ve done without mom knowing I’m a sex god.”

I gave him a look and playfully nudged him. “I never said you were a sex god.”

“Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do I believe were your exact words.”

“I only said that to make her more upset.”

“So you’re saying I’m bad at sex?”

I pushed him again. “Eddie!”

He laughed and put an arm around my waist. “I appreciate the compliment either way. And I hope you know how much I love you.”

I smiled up at him and leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

We walked in silence for a while and, before I knew it, we were at my house. We stopped and turned to face each other.

“Want to stay over tonight?” I asked. “I figure going home isn’t exactly the best option right now.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “Will your mom be okay with it?”

“Of course she will, she loves you. She’ll probably even cover for you if your mom calls.”

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I love your mom.”

“And I take back my offer. Go sleep on the streets.”

I took off for my front door with Eddie hot on my trail. I tried to open it and lock him out before he caught up to me, but of course his long legs gave him an advantage. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me away from the door, both of our laughs ringing out through the otherwise quiet neighborhood.