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mandos-mind-trick · 1 year

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Close Call

Summary: Midnight’s seen a lot over the course of this war. She’s had her own close calls many times, she’s saved the others from close calls too. She’s tired of fighting, her mind and body finally beginning to burn out after months of almost non-stop missions. This one might be the grain of sand that breaks the bantha’s back. This might be the end for her.

Pairing: Echo x reader, also implied poly bad batch x reader

Warnings: Very intense in the beginning, violence, blood, injuries, brief gore (It’s very brief), so much angst, NSFW, smut, p in v sex, fingering, toys, language.

A/N: This one is a lot darker than the rest of the series. I really debated going this direction but I decided to explore it anyway. It's very long, the longest part in the series (so far) with a lot of foreshadowing and setting up the rest of the series.And yes, I made my own Jedi for this part.Also if anyone gets the reference I will literally send you cookies.

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“The goal of this mission is stealth. Get in and get the data without being seen.” General Coltil says. “That’s why the three of you will be going in alone.”

Midnight tries not to look nervous, but she feels like she might be sick. She’s standing next to Echo, trying not to lean too close to him. She’d love to cling to him, seek any sort of comfort she can, but she knows that’s not an option. Not in front of a Jedi General.

“Echo can get into the system and download the data directly. Midnight will be the failsafe. She’s the smallest and stealthiest of our group.” Hunter says.

General Coltil nods. “My Padawan can assist with any resistance you find inside. Scouts have reported very little movement. It seems they may be operating on a skeleton crew. We must try and succeed without engaging directly, but we will be on standby if things don’t go according to plan.”

“We’re ready, sir.” Commander Ghost says, approaching the General. “Everyone’s taken point.”

The General turns to Midnight and Echo. “Good luck.”

They both salute him, Midnight trying hard not to let her fear show on her face. The General leaves them to their last minute checks, Midnight’s stomach doing somersaults.

“You’ll be fine.” Hunter says, turning to her. Of course he could sense her anxiety.

“This is a bad idea.” She says, looking up at him as he checks her armor one last time. “Why does it have to be me? I don’t know anything about Separatists systems.”

“Tech will walk you through it if it comes to that. Plus, you’re small enough to fit in a standard ventilation shaft, should something go wrong.” Hunter says.

Midnight turns her gaze to Tech. “Is that why you had me crawl in there?”

Tech adjusts his goggles. “One of the reasons, yes.”

Midnight opens her mouth to protest, but thinks better of it and stays quiet. There was no getting out of this one. It should be easy, theoretically. In and out without being seen. She’d spent much time on Coruscant running around, trying not to be seen. This wasn’t much different, though she’s not sure if she prefers sneaking around droids or the things that lurked in the shadows of Coruscant’s underworld.

Hunter squeezes her shoulder, his gaze intense as he stares at her. She knows he wants to say more, knows he wants to do more, but they can’t. They can’t give any hints that something was going on between them. Between any of them.

“Take care of Echo in there, okay?” Hunter says, squeezing her shoulder one last time.

Midnight nods, the lump in her throat blocking her from saying anything. How she wishes she would have, as she glances at the other four members of her squad one last time. Oh how she’d come to regret not saying anything else.

*****

Hunter shifts on his feet nervously, fingers toying with the knife sheathed on his vambrace for the thousandth time. It had been close to an hour since he’d sent them off, since he’d watched Midnight and Echo disappear over the ridge they were hiding behind.

He had trusted they could do this, but now as time stretches on, he wonders if they made the right decision. If they were discovered, the Separatists wouldn’t think twice in killing them both. It would be a mercy, compared to the other things that could happen to them.

The thought still makes Hunter uneasy. Dying was a part of war. They had it ingrained in them that losing someone was expected, that they were going to lose fellow clones. Midnight’s not a clone, though. She’s so much more than that, and the thought of losing her makes him sick. The thought of losing any of his squad made his stomach ache.

Wrecker is pacing as well, looking upset by the situation. He had been in agreement with Midnight and her doubts when Hunter had first briefed them on this mission. Tech is quietly tinkering, his own tell for his nerves about this.

Crosshair is quiet, having taken point along the ridge with a few others of the 141st. They would be the first to alert them to the movements of the three sent into the base. Or, in the worst case, if something else happened. If something went wrong.

“We’re inside.” Echo’s voice comes over the comms.

Hunter breathes a quiet sigh of relief. They were still alive, at least.

“Good.” General Coltil’s voice comes over the comms. “How many droids have you seen?”

“Hardly any.” Midnight’s voice comes over the comms. “Maybe two at the front door. None since then.”

Hunter’s brow furrows, something itching in the back of his mind at her words. It doesn't feel right, even for a skeleton crew. If a base housed such important data, he would think it would be crawling with droids and Separatist personnel. Of course, not being seen by any droids was the whole point of the mission.

It makes him uneasy.

“Uploading the data now.” Echo updates over the comms.

The silence that follows makes Hunter’s skin prickle. Wrecker has stopped pacing and even Tech has stopped his tinkering. It feels like the entire planet is holding its breath. In a way it is, all of them waiting for some answer. The success of the trio, the confirmation in their safe exit, or the horrible news of their failure.

“Echo!”

Midnight’s frantic voice through the comms has his heart stopping. What’s happened? She sounds so scared. Maker, why had he sent her on this mission? Why didn’t he keep her close where he could watch her? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Echo. It was the uncertainty of this mission that had him questioning everything.

The entire 141st shifts uneasily. Something shifts in the bushes behind him, Hunter’s sensitive ears picking up on the sound. His hand lowers towards his blaster as the sound gets louder and louder.

There’s lots of movement in the bushes around them.

“It’s a trap!” Midnight’s voice has the entire battalion pausing, Hunter’s breath catching in his throat. “It’s a-”

The silence after the cutoff rings loud, seconds before chaos erupts around them.

“Commando droids!”

****

Midnight startles awake, inhaling sharply. Her eyes dart around frantically, hands closing around the thin sheet. She jumps as a hand touches her shoulder, blinking to try and clear her vision as a face leans in close to her.

“Easy, cyare.” The gruff voice begins to drag her out of her confused state, vision clearing to reveal a familiar tattooed face leaned in towards her. “You’re alright.”

“Hunter?” She rasps out, wincing at the dryness of her throat. Hunter holds a cup to her lips, cool water hitting her tongue. She drinks greedily, soothing her dry throat. “W-Where...” She tries to speak, but she feels like her brain is moving in slow motion.

“A med station.” Hunter answers, already guessing what her question was. “The 212th was called in for backup. They brought us here, with the other survivors.”

She blinks at him. “Wh..what?”

“Don’t worry, we’re all fine.” He says, leaning his arms on the side of the cot. “I can’t say the same for the 141st, though.”

Memories slowly swirl back into her mind, tears brimming in her eyes. It had all gone wrong, all of it. Her hand presses against her chest, still feeling the phantom pain, the horrible pressure. She’d been so sure she was going to die. She had thought they all were going to die.

“Echo?” She asks, trying to distract herself. She wants to reach out, wants to take his hand, but they’re not alone.

“He’s getting checked over by the bio engineers.” Hunter says. “Making sure none of his cybernetics were damaged. Last I heard, though, he’ll be fine. Tech’s with him.” Hunter stares at her for a moment, dark eyes shining in the bright light of the room. “They’ll want to know what happened. I’ve already spoken to them, as did Commander Ghost, but they’ll want to speak to you too.”

Midnight swallows thickly, tears sliding down her cheeks. She doesn't want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to remember.

Hunter ignores the fact they’re not alone, ignores the possible repercussions if anyone saw, if anyone assumed anything, as he cups her cheek gently wiping her tears with his thumb. “I’ll be right beside you. Commander Cody will be there as well.”

Midnight closes her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wasn’t scared of speaking to the Generals. What she had seen in the few times they’d been on missions partnered with the Jedi, they were all very understanding, patient, nice. She’s more afraid of having to relive it all again.

“Night,” Hunter says, tracing her face with his thumb. “What happened in there?”

*****A Few Hours Ago*****

It’s eerily quiet.

It had been quiet since they first made it over the ridge. Crossing the barren expanse between the treeline and the base had been the most nerve wracking. There was little cover, and the risk of them being spotted was high.

“You’re brave for doing this.” General Coltil’s Padawan, Zaid, says as they duck behind a rock.

Midnight glances down at him. He’s young, no older than fifteen or sixteen. Just a child stuck in a war. Midnight doesn’t know much about Jedi, but it doesn’t seem right. Or maybe she just had a soft spot for kids that were forced to grow up too fast. “I’m not sure if brave is the right word for it. Crazy, maybe. I mean, I did voluntarily sign up for this.”

“All clear.” Echo says, the three of them moving forward.

Midnight can see the front entrance now, guarded by two droids. Something doesn’t feel right as they make their way around to the side of the base. Two droids to guard the entrance? Sure, it could have been a tactic, making the base seem like it’s not well guarded when there’s really an entire battalion inside. If that’s true, though, that was not going to spell good for them.

Echo makes quick work of the grate, leading them into the garbage compactor. She’s not excited about having to wade through trash, but if it gets them inside faster, and the mission over with faster, then she’ll hold her complaints.

They make their way across the massive heaps of garbage. Thankfully it’s all mostly metal, components of broken down droids and who knows what else. Tech would have had a field day, spouting off all the different things they were stepping on.

The door on the other side opens to the lower levels. It was a matter of sneaking their way up three floors to where they’d find a control room to download what they needed. They had to do that without being seen, or at least without raising any alarms.

It’s quiet as they make their way to the elevator. They slip inside, holding their breath as the doors close.

“It’s too quiet.” Midnight says. “I don’t like this.”

“She’s right.” Zaid says. “Something feels off.”

“The quicker we can get the data, the better.” Echo says.

The elevator slows to a stop, all three of them holding their breath as the doors open, half expecting to come face to face with droids. Yet, there’s nothing but an empty hallway in front of them. Echo peeks his head out, checking both ways before signaling them to move.

“We’re inside.” Echo says into his comm as they pause at a corner.

“Good.” General Coltil’s voice comes over the comms. “How many droids have you seen?”

“Hardly any.” Midnight answers as they begin moving again. “Maybe two at the front door. None since then.”

They pause at another corner, Echo checking for any droids. “The control room should be just up ahead.”

“The sooner we can get out of here, the better.” Zaid says, having taken up the rear behind Midnight.

They creep up the hallway, Echo locating the door they need. Echo uses his scomp arm to open it, Midnight scanning the room, finding it empty. Something nags at the back of her head as they enter, the door sliding closed behind them.

“This feels too easy.” She says, looking around the room.

“Uploading the data now.” Echo says, sticking his arm into the scomp link.

Midnight steps closer to a panel on the wall, narrowing her eyes. It seems out of place. Too new for a place like this. Her hand drops to her blaster, fingers curling around the hilt.

That’s when everything goes wrong.

The sound of an electric pulse has her spinning around, Echo’s body jolting before going limp and falling onto the floor.

“Echo!” She cries, rushing to his side. He’s out cold, Midnight terrified he’s dead.

The panel she had been staring out slides up, battle droids filing out. Midnight begins firing, Zaid using his lightsaber to slice through them.

“It’s a trap!” She yells over the comms. “It’s a trap!” The main door opens, more battle droids entering. Her suspicions had been correct. It had been too easy, on purpose.

“We need to go.” Zaid says as they finish off the last of the droids. Alarms are sounding, the familiar clank of metal feet getting closer.

Midnight heaves Echo’s body into a seated position, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. “Get yourself to safety.” She says to Zaid. “Use the vents. I can’t leave him behind.” She should. She’s not sure if he’s dead, but he is dead weight that neither of them could carry alone.

Zaid debates the suggestion for a moment before slinging Echo’s other arm around his shoulders, both of them lifting him to his feet. They drag him between them, making their way back to the hallway. If they can get to the elevator, then they can get back down to the garbage compactor and find a way out before they’re swarmed by droids.

Of course, that would work if there weren’t droids swarming the hallways.

“Come on.” Zaid says, leading them in the opposite direction.

They had all seen the layout of the base, spent time studying it. Of course now, with the adrenaline coursing through her system, Midnight can hardly tell up from down. She shoots droids with her left hand, the other trying to keep Echo steady as they drag him through the hallway. They might have been able to make it without him, but Midnight wasn’t going to leave him. Not again.

“This way.” Zaid says, directing them down a hallway, blocking blaster bolts with his lightsaber. The weapon had intimidated Midnight a bit, but she’s glad to have someone capable of wielding one with her now.

They make another turn, both of them stopping dead. Midnight’s blood runs cold, her pulse echoing in her ears. This is it. This is how she’s going to die.

“Ah, how disappointing.” The modulated voice grates on her ears, spiking her fear higher. She adjusts the grip on her blaster, despite knowing it’s not going to help her. Not in this situation.

“General Grievous.” Zaid says, adjusting his grip on his lightsaber. He turns to her, letting Echo’s arm slip from his shoulders. Midnight buckles a bit under the weight, but she forces herself to stay standing. “Get out of here.”

“What?” Midnight stares in disbelief as the padawan steps closer to the cyborg.

Midnight had learned about General Grievous during her training. She’d learned about all of the commanding officers in the Separatist forces. Despite her many missions with the boys, this is the first time Midnight has come face to face with one of the higher ranking members of the Separatists.

Of course it would be the trained Jedi-killer.

Midnight adjusts her grip on Echo, turning and firing at the droids coming at them from the back. She knows Zaid isn’t going to win this fight. Grievous with four lightsabers against his just one? She’s no expert in dueling with lightsabers, but her knowledge of fighting tells her the odds aren’t good. She can’t just leave him, but she knows it will be her death too, and Echo’s.

She takes out the droids at their back, her eyes spotting something along the wall. A garbage chute. She forces her body forward, dragging Echo along the floor. She pries the cover off, letting it hit the floor with a clang. She pushes Echo, shoving him inside, watching him disappear down the chute. She just hopes it leads to where they’d come in, or somewhere close to it.

She turns her head, catching the moment Grievous drives two of his lightsabers through Zaid’s chest. She’s yelling before she even realizes it, her heart clenching. He was just a boy. A boy who had given his life for them to escape. She should take it, she should jump into the chute while she still has a chance.

Instead she draws her blaster, firing at Grievous. He blocks the shots easily, laughing at her. It only fuels her anger more, drawing her away from her once chance at escaping.

“Foolish girl.” Grievous laughs, swiping at her with two of his lightsabers.

Midnight ducks almost too late, managing to tuck and roll behind him. She fires at him, but it does little against him. She barely dodges another hit from the lightsabers, taking a hit from his arm instead. It sends her flying back into the wall, stunning her.

So this is how she dies. Foolishly fighting an opponent that was far more than she could handle. Hunter would be disappointed in her. At least this way, she’d died doing everything she could. It was always a risk. She’d known that from the beginning.

The air is forced from her lungs as Grievous’ foot comes down onto her chest. His clawed toes press into her skin, her hands trying to relieve some of the pressure, even though it’s no use. She desperately tries to take in a breath as the pressure intensifies, Grievous slowly adding more and more pressure. He was going to crush her to death.

What an awful way to die.

She stares up at those yellow eyes, refusing to look away. She wanted his face engrained in her memory before she died. The thing that finally killed her. He wouldn’t remember her. She was just another faceless casualty.

His gaze leaves hers, drawn somewhere behind her. She hears the buzz of a lightsaber igniting through the intense pulsing in her ears. He’s going to kill her. The pressure is almost too much, her chest practically creaking at the strain. Her hand reaches to her side, fingers wrapping around the hilt of a knife. The one Hunter had given her.

If she can get his foot off of her, all she has to do is roll to the side and pull herself into the chute. Her hand grips the knife, fingers finding a gap in his leg before she drives the knife into it. The cyborg lets out a cry, the pressure leaving her chest instantly. She inhales sharply for a second, adrenaline pumping as she drags herself into the chute, sliding headfirst away from the fight that was about to happen.

She drops from the chute, landing on her back. It knocks the air from her again, her chest spasming painfully. Blood rushing into her throat, choking her. She can’t cough, her chest throbbing as she tries to breathe and tries to expel the blood blocking her airway.

She pushes herself onto her side, finally forcing the blood up. It splatters across the metal garbage, painting the droid parts in red dots. It’s rather symbolic. The Republic should use that in their propaganda, she thinks. The truth of this war. The things no one saw unless they were in it.

She digs the commlink out of her belt, lifting it with a shaky hand. “Hunter?” She asks, voice weak and hardly more than a rasp.

Silence.

She tries again, tears pricking her eyes. She’s not sure she can move. She knows she can’t carry Echo, not on her own, not in this state.

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. She curses, throwing the comm in frustration. A quiet groan in the quiet of the garbage compactor has her perking up a bit.

“Echo?” She breathes, voice hardly more than a squeak. Her chest feels heavy, every breath laborious.

An answering groan has her pushing herself up to sit. The pain is almost blinding, but her desperation is stronger. Echo had rolled from the top of the pile when he’d fallen, landing in a valley between piles. Midnight slides down, coming to a stop right against him. Another groan leaves him, his flesh hand moving just slightly.

He’s alive.

Midnight breathes as much of a sigh of relief as she can, shaky hands digging through the pouches on his belt. She knows he has to have one. They all usually carried one, all except her.

She nearly cries as her fingers wrap around the small tube. She pulls it from his pouch, sucking in a deep breath before injecting the stim shot into her neck. Immediately she feels the effects, the pain numbing to nothing. Her head clears, the shake in her hands subsiding. She feels energized, more than she had before they started this mission.

“Come on.” She wraps an arm around Echo’s shoulders, pulling him to his feet. “I need you to help me.

Slowly they begin making their way towards the exit. She knows it’s only a matter of time before droids break down the door and begin searching for them. She’d rather take a risk outside than die in a garbage compactor. She wants to die staring at the sky.

She knows she’s dying. She can still taste blood, feel the drip of it sliding down her chin. Every breath is labored, even if she can’t feel the pain of it. She wasn’t going to let Echo die here either. He’d been through that once already. She’ll be damned if it happens again.

Midnight gets them through the grate, forcing her way through with her blaster. She drags Echo through, collapsing to the side for a moment. She wishes she still had her comm. She might have been able to reach Hunter, or someone, now. Of course, if they had planned a trap inside, then there had to be one outside as well. They could be dead for all she knew.

Midnight forces herself up, lifting Echo up as well. He’s come around a bit more, taking slow steps with her. She can feel the stim shot beginning to wear off as they make their way through the clearing. She doesn't care about stealth now. They were so far beyond that.

Her knees buckle before she can reach the ridge, dropping her and Echo to the ground. She lays flat on her back, feeling the blood pooling once more in her mouth. At least she’d get her wish. At least she was going to die staring up at the sky.

*****

Midnight fights the emotions welling in her chest as she finishes telling her side of the story. She feels comforted by Hunter’s presence beside her, even if she can’t seek comfort in him like she wants to.

“It was a well-laid trap and we walked right into it.” Hunter says, thankfully drawing the attention away from her for a moment so she can collect herself.

“Someone else must have laid it.” General Kenobi says. “It’s not Grievous’ style. We can’t even be sure there was useful data stored there to begin with.”

“Echo did manage to get some data before the system was wiped.” Cody says. “It’s being analyzed now.”

“You did well.” General Kenobi says, turning his attention back to Midnight. “Managing to survive something like that is impressive, and managing to save someone else along the way.”

“But I couldn’t save everyone.” Midnight says, unable to get the image of Zaid with the lightsabers sticking through his back out of her mind.

“Grievous has killed many well-trained, highly skilled Jedi. To survive an encounter with him is no small feat.” General Kenobi puts a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t feel guilty about something you couldn’t have prevented. You did good, even if it was all a trap.”

Midnight feels herself relaxing, like a blanket of calm has been wrapped around her shoulders. She nods her head, General Kenobi giving her a small smile before leaving the room.

“You had us worried for a moment.” Cody says, stepping up to her. “But I’m glad you’re alright. Get some rest, both of you, while you can. I don’t doubt you’ll be sent on another mission soon.”

Midnight deflates a bit at his words. Of course they would be. It is all they’re good for.

*******

The Marauder is quiet. It usually is after missions, but it’s usually an exhausted quiet. This is something else. Something different.

Tech is in his usual place in the pilot’s seat, staring out into the blue of hyperspace. Wrecker is tucked in his bunk, Lula squeezed tight to his chest as he stares at the bunk above him. Even Crosshair is unusually still, glaring into a cup of caf in the hull. Echo’s in his own bunk, eyes closed but he’s not sleeping.

Hunter is standing in front of Midnight’s door.

They haven’t seen much of her since they landed at the medical station.

Hunter had been terrified. The commando droids had come out of nowhere, and an entire battalion of droids had appeared from the base. He knew his squad could handle themselves, and they had the 141st backing them, but for all he had known, Midnight had been on her own inside. If there had been that many droids coming at them from outside, how many had been inside?

He had sent her and Echo to their deaths. He had just known it.

It had been General Coltil’s immediate distress call that had saved them in the end. The 212th had been one jump away and had arrived quickly, but not quickly enough to save them all. They had been greatly outnumbered, and with the element of surprise, the droid army had wiped out most of the 141st, including its general.

In its aftermath, he had been scouring the plains between them and the base, looking for any sign of Midnight. The comms had gone dark, the signal blocked by the base until General Coltil and the troopers he’d taken in had shut off the jammers.

Of course, none of them had come out.

Hunter had paced restlessly, Crosshair watching the base carefully, looking for any sign of movement. He had been on edge, terrified by the thoughts running through his head. Midnight and Echo were gone. There was no way they had survived.

Until Crosshair had alerted them to the figures slowly making their way across the plains. He had almost taken off running, and Cody had looked like he wanted to as well, but the 212th medics had been faster, using a landspeeder to reach them.

He’ll never forget what he saw when they got back to the transport ships. Midnight was still conscious, her breaths were harsh gasps and rattling horribly. They had put a breath mask on her, and it was splattered with blood inside.

She had said something to the medics before she’d been put under. Echo had been electrocuted by the scomp link. He was barely awake, but moving. Midnight had half carried him most of the way out of the base. He’d learn later she’d used his stim shot to make it.

Hunter had stayed by her side as long as he could. He had wanted to hold her, to take her hand, to make sure she really was there, rules be damned. He knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t put them at risk like that. He couldn’t lose her so soon after almost losing her on the mission.

Thankfully his concern had been taken as nothing more than concern for his squad-mate. Cody had been concerned as well, to the point he felt partially responsible. He had put her on the squad to begin with. Thankfully Cody had enough to worry about that he could distract himself. Hunter had been forced to sit and suffer through his thoughts.

He had gone to see her as soon as he could, at the urging of his other squad mates. He was the most level-headed of them all, and was the least likely to betray his feelings, except maybe Crosshair. Crosshair showing concern for anyone would have raised too many questions. Tech had been more than willing to stay with Echo, letting his curiosity distract him from the worry about Midnight.

Hunter had stayed by her side as she slept off the sedatives. She’d spent a few hours in a bacta tank, coming out mostly healed. It had been torture, sitting in the medical station, but he wasn’t going to leave Midnight to wake up by herself. Not after what had just happened.

After she had been cleared by the medic and had told General Kenobi what had happened, she had briefly gone to see the rest of the squad before she’d left for the civilian bunks to rest. The rest of them had opted to bunk on the ship, preferable to bunking with the regs even if it was just for a night.

The last time he’d seen Midnight had been when she’d boarded the ship as they were getting ready to leave. She had immediately shut herself in her room, and hadn’t come out since. She had slept for a while, Hunter listening to the quiet, even breaths. Far better than the horrible rattling gasps he’d heard.

Then she’d cried.

It was muffled, like she was trying to do it quietly, but he had heard. He may not have, if he hadn’t been paying attention, but he’d been focusing on her since they departed the medical station. Even though she had been completely cleared, he was still worried. Her injuries had been substantial. How she had managed to make it that far, and carry Echo, was astounding. Even with the stim shot, she shouldn’t have been standing.

Now it was silent. No muffled cries, but she’s not asleep. He can tell by the rate of her breaths, the slightly faster beat of her heart. He can’t hear anything else. He wonders what she’s doing.

“Are you going to talk to her, or just stand there and stare a hole through the door?”

Hunter turns his head, frowning a bit at Crosshair. He wants to say something, but his mind is too frazzled. His shoulders fall, his gaze turning back to the door. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Crosshair steps closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. “For someone with sharpened senses, you can be very dull. Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all. She’ll tell you what she needs. You just have to pay attention.”

Crosshair moves past him, heading for his bunk. Hunter watches him before sighing, looking back at the door. He had a point. Midnight did have a way of saying everything without uttering a word. Maybe he should listen instead of trying to talk.

He presses the button to open the door, stepping inside. He had considered knocking, but he’s not sure she would have answered. She’s sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall. Her knees are pulled to her chest as she stares at the wall across from her. He makes his way over, sitting on the bed beside her. He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to jump into the wrong thing. Instead he sits with her in silence, wanting her to be the one to talk first.

“I couldn’t save him.” She says, voice hoarse from crying. “I-I couldn’t do anything. He was just a kid!” She shakes her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I knew it didn’t feel right. I knew something was wrong. I should have pushed to turn back. We shouldn’t have continued.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Hunter says, wanting to reach out to her, but he’s not sure he should. “I shouldn’t have sent you in like that. Not with such a high risk.”

She sniffles. “It’s our job though, right? We do the hard stuff no one else wants to.” She shakes her head. “All of those clones, General Coltil and Zaid, all dead because I didn’t say anything until it was too late.”

“Hey,” Hunter reaches out, gently turning her face towards him. “I didn’t even know until it was too late. There was a lot that could have gone differently. We can’t change it, though. You did everything you could. Echo is still alive because of you. It may not mean much to the Republic, we might not mean much to the Republic, but it means a lot to us.”

“I couldn’t leave him.” She says, looking at him with shining eyes. He can hear the rapid thump of her heart in her chest. He’s glad to hear it. “Not like that. If I hadn’t...”

“Don’t.” Hunter cuts her off. “You don’t know that. I wouldn’t have left any of you. I wanted to go in there, track you down, get you out. I would have fought through the Republic and a droid army if I’d had to. Rules be damned. You’re worth far more than to leave behind like that.”

“I couldn’t ask you to defect for me.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking your permission.” Hunter moves his hand, cupping the back of her neck. “I’d do it in a heartbeat. We all would. We were all ready to.” He pulls her against his chest, letting her relax into him. He’s glad he removed his armor, letting her hear his own heartbeat. “I think you need a break.”

“What?” She tries to pull away but he keeps her in place.

“I’ve put you on leave for the next mission. You need to recover.”

“I have recovered.” She says, pushing against his hand until he relents, letting her sit up.

“Your body has,” Hunter keeps his arm around her, her hand still pressed against his chest. “But I don’t want you freezing in the middle of a battlefield.” He pulls her back into his chest. “I know you’re tired. I can tell. Every mission it’s getting harder and harder for you. I don’t know where we’re going yet, but I want you and Echo to sit the next one out.”

“Is that an order?” She asks, tilting her head to stare up at him.

“I can make it one.” He wraps his arm around her tighter. “I just don’t want something to happen to you after what you just went through.”

Her hand fists into the fabric of his blacks, the saltiness of tears stinging his nose. “I know it’s supposed to be our job. I know it’s not supposed to get to us, but I can’t help it. He just...he died right in front of me. He was just a kid!”

Hunter holds her tighter, trying his best to comfort her. “I know. It gets to all of us sometimes. Whatever you need, I’m right here. We all are.”

She sniffles, tucking herself tighter against his chest. “Just...don’t leave. Not yet.”

He leans down, kissing the top of her head. “Never.”

********

“It will be a quick in and out, nothing more than a small insurrection.” Hunter says. “Nothing the four of us can’t handle.”

“Still...be careful.” Midnight says, leaning against the wall next to the bunks as they get ready.

“We should be back in two days. If we’re not, you can send out a distress signal.” Hunter puts a hand on her shoulder. “Stay on the ship. Both of you.”

Midnight nods, already knowing she can’t argue with him. Still, she worried a lot about them going off on their own. What if something did happen? It could happen so easily, so fast, she’d never know until it was too late.

It made sense why Hunter wanted her staying behind for this mission. She can already feel the panic beginning to bubble.

“Don’t worry about us, cyare.” Wrecker says, bending down so they’re face to face. “We’re tougher than we look.”

Midnight smiles a bit, cupping his face. “I know. I still worry.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, but he turns at the last second so the kiss lands on his lips instead.

“Cheater.” She murmurs as he pulls away, letting out a triumphant laugh.

Midnight watches them go until they’re out of sight, closing the hatch and locking the ship. She stands still for a moment, nervously wringing her fingers for a moment. She’s on edge, being left behind on this mission, but at the same time she’s glad. She liked to think she’d be fine, she wouldn’t freeze as soon as someone pointed a blaster at her face. She knows that’s not the case, though.

She heads back to her room, pausing for a moment to stare at Echo’s bunk. It’s empty. He had hardly left it since they took off from the medical station, or at least that’s what Hunter had said.

She hasn’t spoken to Echo since their brief reunion on the medical station. She hadn’t meant to leave so abruptly after, but she’d wanted to take advantage of the civilian’s quarters and a semi-real bed. That, and she hadn’t been sure she could stand being close to them so soon. She knew they’d hover, she knew they’d worry. She had just wanted space.

She can’t even imagine what Echo’s feeling. To have gone through what he did, and then going through something like this...

She heads for the hull, finding him sitting at the table. He’s hunched over, back to the door. She debates leaving, giving him more space. She doesn’t know if he wants to see her, or if he even wants to talk about it. She hadn’t wanted to, not until Hunter forced his way in. She does feel better, but at the same time, she knows she'll carry that guilt for a long time.

She decides to move forward, taking slow, quiet steps. “Hey,” she says quietly, alerting him of her presence. He glances up as she moves to sit across from him. “How are you?”

“Fine.” He answers, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself.

She nods, unsure of what to say. What did one say in this situation? She had almost died trying to save him, she had gotten others killed trying to save him. As much as everyone tried to convince her otherwise, she knows it's the truth.

“It was stupid, you know.” He says, staring back down at his empty cup. “Trying to fight someone like Grievous with nothing but a blaster and a knife, and for what? For me?”

“It wasn’t just for you.” She murmurs, dropping her gaze like a scolded child. She’s never seen this side of Echo, at least not directed at her.

“You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have almost died for someone like...”

“What? Someone like you?” She cuts him off, looking up at him with brows furrowed. “You think you’re not worth it too?”

“Not when there were other lives involved too.”

“I made the decision.” She says, feeling anger bubble up in her. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it now. Would things have gone differently if I had left you behind, I don’t know. I chose to take the risk because I couldn’t leave you. You are worth it. I’m not the only one that thinks so.”

Echo’s shoulders deflate, his face softening a bit. She knows her words are getting to him. It’s the truth. She would have taken the risk regardless of the situation. She’d always take the risk, no matter who it was.

“You’re worth it to me.” She thinks back to Hunter’s words during their conversation. “Even if we wound up running from the Republic as defectors. At least I’d be with the men I love.”

Echo meets her gaze, his eyes shining. “Thank you. For not leaving me behind.”

Midnight reaches forward, taking his flesh hand. “I couldn’t leave you like that. Not after everything. I think I’m starting to understand why the Jedi aren’t allowed to have attachments.”

“Good thing you aren’t one, then.” The corner Echo’s lips lifts in a smile.

“I’m already a terrible soldier. I’d make an even worse Jedi.”

Echo laughs, his thumb tracing her knuckles before his hand shifts, grabbing her forearm. He tugs her forward out of her seat so she’s bent over the table, leaning forward to kiss her.

She gasps against his lips, surprised by the sudden, bold move. “Echo...”

He shushes her, pressing their foreheads together. “We almost died before I got a chance to experience this.” He kisses her again. “Let me thank you for saving my life.

Midnight stares into his eyes, captivated by their depth for a moment. She’s never seen this side of Echo before either. She nods, pushing herself up onto the table.

Echo wraps his arm around her, pulling her so she’s on her knees, pressed against his chest. His flesh hand slides down her back as he kisses her, grabbing a handful of her ass. She moans into his mouth, trying to press even closer to him.

“You’re so kriffing beautiful,” He says, nipping at her bottom lip. “Back when I was a reg, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

Midnight giggles, shifting so she’s sitting on the table. “Well, depending on how well you could shoot your shot, I might have agreed. Of course, it would have had to have been before I fell in love with and fucked my squad.”

“Do you know how much trouble we’d be in if anyone found out?” He says, pressing her back against the table.

“Immediate termination of my contract.” She says, wrapping her arms around him. “And they’d probably find some reason to throw me in prison.”

“The rest of us would be decommissioned.” He says, kissing along her throat. “We’d be lucky to end up as janitors.”

She giggles, pulling his face back to hers. “Then we’ll just have to never get caught.”

He kisses her hard, pressing his body closer against hers. She’s so soft under him, so pliable. Everything he’s not. He pushes those thoughts aside as she moans softly against his lips, pressing even closer against him. She’d told him many times she doesn’t care about his looks, his cybernetics, the hard edges of metal that dug into her supple skin every time he was close to her.

He leans on his scomp arm, his flesh hand trailing down her side. “I want to see you.”

She’s breathing hard, chest heaving. Her lips are parted and kiss-swollen. “Uh huh.” She nods, hands tugging at her pants. He helps her, tossing her pants and underwear behind him on the floor.

He traces his hand over her hip, staring down at her. He’s never seen her naked before. He’d seen her in various states of undress sneaking back and forth from bunks to her room, or to the fresher. This, though, is a new sight to him.

“Echo?” She asks, leaning up on her elbows. She looks nervous at his hesitation, legs starting to press closed.

“Don’t.” He puts a hand on her inner thigh, stopping her. “You’re just so beautiful. Can’t believe you’d ever go for a guy like me.”

“Oh Echo.” She pushes herself up to sit, cupping his cheek. “I don’t really care what you look like. That’s not why I fell in love with you. Or any of you boys, for that matter. Looks are just an added bonus. Though, I guess you could say I have a type, since you’re all technically clones.”

Echo pushes her back onto the table, putting a finger to her lips. “Stop talking.”

She nods, swallowing thickly.

He slides his hands down to her legs, parting them once more. He holds them open as he kneels between them, bringing himself to eye-level with her. He runs his fingers through her slick folds, her breath hitching. He circles her clit with his thumb slowly, watching the way her chest lifts as she arches her back.

He does love her tits.

He presses a finger into her, her body opening for him. She’s wet and tight, a quiet groan leaving his lips. He stands up, pumping his finger slowly. Her lips are parted, hands over her head gripping the edge of the table.

“Kriff, Echo!” She moans, eyes fluttering closed as he curls his finger inside her, his palm brushing her clit as he stands over her. “You’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice on leave,” He says. “Back when I was a reg. None of them measure up to you, though. They wouldn’t look twice at me now.”

Her hand closes around his scomp arm, pulling him down closer. She kisses him, her hand sliding around the back of his neck. She whines against his lips as he slips a second finger into her, hips pressing against his hand.

“Echo...” She moans against his lips, her other hand closing around his wrist. “Don’t stop.”

He curls his fingers again, her back arching as a loud moan leaves her lips. He had overheard the others talking about her, about how beautiful she is when she’s lost in pleasure. To see it is something else entirely.

“I’m close,” She whines, grinding her hips against his hand. “I’m gonna cum.”

He continues for just a second longer before pulling his fingers from her. She whines in protest, eyes snapping open. “Not yet.” He says. “I’ve got something I want to try first.”

He slips an arm around her, lifting her into his arms. He carries her to her room, depositing her on the bed. He reaches down, pulling a box out from underneath.

She stares at him, mouth agape. “How long has that been under there?”

“A while.” He smirks.

A horrified look crosses her face. “What else is under there?”

He pushes her back so she’s laying on the bed before opening the box, pulling the device out.

Her mouth opens once more, pussy clenching at the memories of the many test phases she’d gone through. “Oh.”

“I’ve been wanting to try it out for a while.” He says, opening a panel on his cybernetics. “Just haven’t had the right moment.” He snaps it into place, feeling it warm in his hand.

Midnight sits up, staring at it. “So this is what you two were doing when you disappeared for a while.”

“Yeah.” Echo inhales shakily as her fingers run over it. “Took a little longer than we thought it would.”

She gently pushes him, rearranging them so he’s laying flat on her bed. She kneels between his legs, closing her hand around it. He groans quietly, eyes lidded as he stares at her. “Can you feel that?”

He nods. “Tech made it so it connects to my nervous system.”

Midnight bites her lip, pumping her hand a couple times. “I do love that nerd.” She climbs off the bed, digging through her box to find the lube, thankfully back in its place. “You’re sure about this?”

He nods, groaning as she spreads lube over the device. “Yes. I want to feel you.”

“Then who am I to deny you?” She smirks, straddling his waist.

She lines herself up, slowly pushing herself down on the device. She rocks her hips, slowly working more and more of it into her. She moans quietly at the stretch of it, legs shaking as she finally seats herself against his hips.

She curses, pausing for a moment. “How does it feel?”

“Just like I imagined.” He says, holding her thigh with his hand.

She shifts slightly, cursing as it shifts inside her. She peels her shirt and breastband off, letting them fall to the floor. Echo’s eyes immediately fall to her breasts, watching them as she slowly begins to move her hips.

She grabs his hand, placing it on one of her breasts. “I think we’re a little past needing permission.”

He holds his hand there, feeling her breast as she begins rocking her hips faster. It’s not the first time he’s felt them. He’s used them as a pillow a few times. It is the first time he’s seen them though. Her own hand lifts to her other breast, fingers tugging at her nipple. He does the same on the other side, teasing her nipple as she rides him.

“Yes, just like that.” She moans, using her other hand to brace herself on his stomach.

He can feel the pleasure coursing through his body. The warmth of her, every squeeze around him sends pleasure spiking through his cybernetics. His eyes roll back, his hand squeezing tighter around her breast.

“Maker, Echo!” She cries, hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum!”

He wants to feel her cum. He needs to feel her cum. He drops his hand from her breast to rub her clit, her head falling back as she cums with a cry. He lets out a cry of his own as she spasms around him, his own orgasm rocking through him.

She slips off him before she collapses against his chest, breathing heavily. He wraps his arm around her, breathing equally labored. They lay in silence for a few moments, both of them coming down from their highs.

“Remind me to thank Tech later.” Echo says, lips brushing her forehead.

“I’m gonna suck the genius out of his dick.” Midnight murmurs.

Echo makes a face, desperately fighting the mental images. “Was that...good?”

Midnight lifts her head, smiling sleepily at him. “Consider me satisfied.”

“Good.” He kisses her forehead again. “We should probably clean the table.”

She hums. “We have time.” She snuggles closer against his chest. “Besides, Tech will clean it when they get back anyway, just in case.”

*****

Hunter sits in the pilot’s seat, eyes trailing over the five other members of his squad. They’re all tired. Putting an end to the insurrection hadn’t taken long, but he can tell they’re all beginning to feel it. Something shifting in the war, something building. They’re coming close to something. He can see it on all of their faces, even without his enhanced abilities. The strain of the mission before this one, almost losing Midnight and Echo, had taken its toll. He wishes he could give them time to rest.

“We’ve already received our next orders.” He says, breaking the silence of the hull. All eyes are on him, waiting. He ignores the exhausted stares, the dark circles. “We’re heading for Kaller straight away. General Billaba has requested urgent reinforcements. Get some rest while you can.” He glances to the back of the cockpit where Midnight and Echo are standing. “All of us will be going. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Taglist:

@lo0nylexi, @amyroswell, @dangraccoon, @hunnythebee, @lokigirlszendaya, @kriffingmeshla, @storm-breaker7

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #the bad batch x reader #poly bad batch #echo x reader #angst #bad batch smut #echo smut

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dearsnow · 2 months

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I’m planning a few series after I finish Out of Touch and the oneshots so this is just a general interest poll 👀 below the poll is a brief description of each series! (Not all will be written, because that would be insane)

I would really appreciate a comment, reblog, ask, basically anything letting me know why you think the series you chose has the greatest potential. It’ll really help me narrow things down :)

And if the series says “love interest unknown”, feel free to tell me who you want to see as the love interest!

1. Angel on Earth: Rivals to lovers with Jake! You’re the new hotshot pilot before the events of Top Gun Maverick and you just so happen to be his wingman during every single goddamn deployment. More just a collection of every time you’ve interacted with him, leading up to him eventually growing and learning to love you. Your call sign is “Angel” because you’re always looking out for the other pilots, like a guardian angel, while Jake is attempting to leave everyone behind.

2. Jackrabbit: You’re a mechanic working on all the planes and jets, but you’ve always dreamed of being a pilot. Unfortunately, you just can’t seem to get to where you want to be. You make friends with Bob after working with him for a while, and he eventually steers you in the right direction and helps you get into flight school. He gives you the unofficial call sign “Jackrabbit” because you’re always thinking fast, and you can be a bit jumpy at times. Somewhat self indulgent but it can work lol

3. Down by the Bay: Interactive choose your own man adventure story!! Based off of the vibes of Our Life: Beginnings and Always (my favorite game). Coastal!AU. Starts off with you being paid to make friends with your mysterious new neighbor (Bradley) after his dad passes away, continues with you meeting your two best friends in school (Bob and Phoenix), and goes into you helping Bradley thwart the boy who’s been picking on him (Jake). Basically just your whole story of growing up in a small beach town where you get to pick your own suitor. Will likely be a long, long series, so there’s not a full guarantee that I will finish it before my top gun phase ends :(

4. Love Me Like a Sailor: After rescuing a mysterious sailor from a stormy shipwreck, you can’t stop thinking about him. The Little Mermaid AU!!! Mermaid!reader, Prince Eric!Bob, basically just me turning the vibes of my Jacaerys fic (the day the sun met the sea) into a series. Honestly I think this one would be the most interesting and the most fun to explore.

5. Space!AU: You and a squadron of fellow astronauts get sent to space to fix a very important satellite, but your ship breaks down while you’re in orbit. Can you and the other characters avoid death (and killing each other) by working together and settling your differences before help arrives?

6. Descendants!AU: Ok hear me out 😭 it’s less Disney villains and more vibes, but your rowdy, underfunded school of magic got combined with the uppity, rich school of magic. Your only goal is to steal the magic wand that has the power to bring your father back from the dead (potentially Bradley’s sister? No clue if I want to make him your brother bc that would take him away as a love interest), and by doing so, you have to make the crown prince (unknown currently) fall in love with you so you can get close enough to the wand. Love spells, magic, unique characters, just everything that descendants brings and more <3

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick x reader #top gun #top gun fanfiction #to: the void.

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puckish-rogue-archive-deux · 6 months

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I've been thinking a lot as of late about Django's skill set, and the almost nightmarish reality of the type of violence and destruction he's capable of committing all on his very own. I'll probably make this into a more structured and proper HC post in the future. But for now, I just kinda want to ramble about this for a second because I don't think I've really had the opportunity to fully display just what kind of a one-man wrecking crew/army he is.

Talk to anyone who's a fan of SR and takes pride in their own version of The Boss, and they will tell you what sort of aspects they really lean into when depicting them in writing, art, or anything remotely creative. For me, aside from wanting to really explore the whole idea of a customizable character and that disconnect from most people, I really leaned into the more violent aspects that make up the character. And that's because when you stop and think about it, the sort of things that The Boss is able to accomplish throughout the original series—at least on their own—is really fucking astounding. And even more so terrifying.

You can make the argument that the original iteration of the Saints wouldn't have gotten to the point they did if The Boss hadn't come in and just carried the load, and got their hands as dirty as they did. Which isn't to say that everyone else wasn't pulling their weight. But it's clear to me that anything that was remotely significant was handed off to this random kid who got swept into the gang life. And when I apply that to my portrayal, Django starts to come across as almost relentless whenever there's work for him to do.

Said relentlessness can also be applied to how he handles the work he receives, or really, any sort of task at hand. He is goal-oriented. He is focused, despite what he may lead you to believe. A plan may fall apart and make it seem as if you need to go back and reconsider your approach. Not for Django. He will finish the task at hand by any means necessary. Even if wanton destruction is left in his wake. He is the human equivalent of the nastiest hurricane you could ever imagine. And he's got the body count and property damage to back that title up.

Let's talk about violence for a second. The guy loves it. Fighting in general gets his blood pumping, and his adrenaline spiking higher and higher. He is a sick freak that enjoys hurting his enemies and fighting tougher opponents just to better his own skills. Whenever he REALLY starts to get into a fight, I would equate it to a dog being let off a leash and getting zoomies. He's basically frenzied, and more than ready to put someone down if it comes to that.

And when I think about that kind of attitude, plus the way he can seemingly go through wave after wave of enemies, it really begins to paint a picture of what that may look like to an outside observer. Or hell, anyone for that matter, regardless of what side they're on. Like, it wouldn't surprise me if, as the years go on, people just made up ghost stories about the guy. Sure, he's prolific as hell. But you can't imagine what kinds of things he gets up to whenever there isn't a news camera on him. Plus, I would think that with everything he and the gang have accomplished, that anyone in the big leagues—whether it be in the criminal underworld, or from law enforcement—would take heavy consideration as to how to approach the guy given what he's able to do.

We're talking about someone here who has not only toppled several different gangs with varying degrees of influence and power, but gone up against cops, SWAT teams, the FBI, and even people who are as close to the honest-to-god military as possible.

I really don't have a proper way to end this because it was meant to be a long ramble in the first place. But man, I don't know. There's just a lot to consider about what Django's reputation would be throughout the world in his own canon. And this also goes for crossovers, AU's, all sorts of things. His penchant for violence is something that will be on full display no matter what the playing field may be when writing the guy. And I just hope people keep that in mind whenever we plot stuff out, or just have discussions in general.

#I’m More of a Puckish Rogue ⚜ { Headcanons }

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hughiecampbelle · 25 days

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first and foremost, i wish you a speedy recovery! congrats with 10k <3

preferences: the boys series, any character you want. i usually gravitate towards men and morally questionable characters, but everything is up to you :)

1. physical: im 21, 5'5, slim, no tattoos, black short hair, i have glasses and i usually wear casual dark clothes, like really not flashy at all. really like going around with a backpack full of stuff for every occasion

2. personality: im agender asexual. basically im trying to logically analyze everything around me, so i end up being 'i told you so' person with negative eq. but really, im told im pretty kind to the people around me. i like interacting with my friends but i get tired quickly from it, so i self isolate a lot. i have a negative worldview. i'm prone to anger and control it poorly. i dont have grand goals in life, no ambitious, i dont strive for more because i dont care, im really only attached to life through the people whom i idolize and if anyone opposes me, my ideals and especially people special to me, i defend them relentlessly, im really only stubborn about them. and well, since my main interest is russian politics, i am really passionate towards russian opposition, so the hate towards the government, violence, dictatorship, censorship, apolitical people who dont care etc etc applies.

3. hobbies: consuming/analyzing new information on anything that interests me at the given moment; linguistics, computer games, drawing, writing, cooking, birdwatching, joking.

4. favorites: book – solaris by stanislaw lem; movie – tenet (2020); game – deus ex mankind divided; song – vertigo by edwin rosen. i like sci fi a lot

thanks in advance ☃️

You're the only person in Butcher's life who can tell him "I told you so". Coming from anyone else, it would set him off. He'd come back at them with quips and jokes and even some harsh words, but when you're the one saying it, all he can say is "I know, love". You're the one who keeps him (mostly) level headed

Despite the both of you being stubborn, you agree on a lot of things, especially when it comes to Vought/Homelander. The both of you would do anything to stop them. Anything. Your Russian opposition bleeds into an opposition towards Vought and Supes in general. It might not always be the best thing for everyone, but if it's the right way to take them down, you're willing to do it

Butcher loves that you like analyzing new information. You're the best on the team for catching things no one else did, seeing the smallest obscurities and inconsistencies in Vought's story. You're always finding something they could have missed. Your attention to detail is what's gotten them out of trouble on more than a few occasions

He appreciates your commitment to the people you love. He's been fighting this fight, first for Becca, then Ryan, now you. You're linked together through love and appreciation and understanding that you're committed to one another no matter what. Though he doesn't always feel deserving of it, you make sure he knows you'd never leave him. You'd never turn on him

Butcher was never really good with words, so he's pretty amazed by your writing. When he does try to talk things through, it all comes out wrong. It's jumbled and cynical and taken the wrong way. The fact that you can make your words malleable and work right and also sound pretty blows him away. Even his compliments come out wonky, but you've been together long enough to know what he's trying to say, what means

I hope you like it my love!!!! Xoxoxo💜💜💜💜💜

Want to request a ship?

#hughiecampbelle10k-ships #ship #billy butcher

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paradife-loft · 2 years

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okay, round up of miscellaneous NtN thoughts now that I've finished it. content warning for the usual TLT shit, and also my generally very mixed opinions about the series, and so on.

the whole cow situation and resulting moral outrage is wildly underwhelming to me. eight thousand eye-rolling emoji at everyone in-universe as we speak. like oh no, someone killed a bunch of (iirc raised-for-meat??) cows for an instrumental purpose of keeping some humans alive... come back when the entire species has stopped eating beef and maybe I won't want to kick you for being pea-brained hypocrites.

I need. some kind of explanation to make sense of Nona continually referring to dead!Gideon as "Kiriona Gaia" and Babs!Ianthe as "he", while also being perfectly spot-on accurate when it comes to Cam, Pal, and Pyrrha? like not in the moral sense but in the sense of, "if the latter is about matching the social cues her family gives her, why does that not apply for the former? if it's about her ability to read people's identities from their motion and general physicality, does the body being dead but still inhabited really make that much of a difference, and if so, then still why does she keep being immune to correcting social cues for those two in particular? why is Coronabeth "Crown" and Aim "the Angel?" etc etc"

speaking of which. Aim. Messenger. A(OL) I(nstant) Messenger. lmao.

so Cristabel seems to be two for two in terms of "died via killing herself in service of some greater goal she wanted for another person she cared about, despite them going "no fuck don't do that", huh?"

John and Blood of Eden really are just equal and opposite varieties of insufferable to me, honestly

(John because *gestures at Everything*, and BoE bc 1. similarly pretentious motherfuckers aren't they; 2. that meme of the lady putting boxes up high out of the child's reach and this particular box says "zombies"; 3. look I don't like Judith Deuteros either but that's no excuse for war crimes (if you want advice on quality war crimes to do while fighting a magic society with deities hanging around, please consult one (1) Turyin Mulaghesh Divine Cities trilogy))

I do think the main thing that's interesting to me about the pre-rez chapters, is the way it contrasts... (even immense quantities of) personal power vs the institutional self-sustaining power of capitalism+the state? but/and also... by the point that you're puppeting the (I assume?) president of the United States, could you not figure out how to. spot-remove the trillionaires and take control of their plans in the same way...? I mean. there just seems to be more effective use of the personal power they had, compared to what they actually did. (I'm inclined to put that down to John's bigger emotional motivations being personal aggrandizement & glory, being the one Known to have saved the day, if that's up against truly getting shit done, ngl. see above re: insufferable.)

CamPal fusion made me cry like a baby. it's so..... like the relief and love on Cam's end just hits like a truck; and then at the same time I completely get Nona's distress at "these two specific people I love no longer exist". but idk, to me it's more of a... grief about change than about straight-up loss, if that makes sense? because of the way various Cam and Pal things aren't just flat gone in the way they'd be if they winked out of existence instead of transforming. esp since Palamedes was already very much on borrowed tenuous time.

("Paul" reallllyyyy doesn't do it for me, though. because of, rather than in spite of, the thematic baggage, personally speaking. esp when they could've picked something nice like "Garnet" instead)

I still don't get the other planets in the solar system having rez beasts if the rationale for "planet has a soul" is anything remotely like the explanation John gave back in HtN. like sure, I buy him eating all the people on say, space stations at each one, fine - but a few space stations isn't an ECOSYSTEM??? I just. either the other planets have all been terraformed to some degree (in which case why do we need to go to Tau Ceti?), or else whence comes this planet soul? I'm sorry to be a nitpicker and a "why? why? why?" bird, but it's fundamentally in my nature #scorpionshrug

Ianthe and Corona still living rent-free etc etc but also oh my gooooddddd get a room you two, I cannot deal with the degrading comments in front of everyone else in the same way I can't read fanfic involving public sex OTL

and finally, Nona Is Valid; I Too Would Not Despairingly Kill A Truck Full Of People Because Someone Reminded Me There Was A Dog In The Back. highly relatable a+ content.

#James liveblogs books #p.s. meme review: 'for 8k bodies I will stop' and 'then perish' were Quality

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

I hope you get plenty of prompts that you enjoy. Thank you.

NMJ bonding with child Wangji. Maybe a few times NMJ beat little LWJ in a spar and the time he knew little Wangji would one day beat him. Mostly Pre Cloud Recesses arc?

Of Few Words - ao3

The first time Nie Mingjue met Lan Xichen’s little brother, he thought he would be just like Nie Huaisang, so he picked him up and threw him.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen gasped, clearly horrified. “What are you doing?”

Probably something forbidden by the rules, Nie Mingjue thought, and shrugged.

He wasn’t good with words, was too blunt and too direct, especially for the Lan sect, and so over the past couple of weeks or so that he’d been here he’d found it was easier not to speak at all. They’d make whatever assumptions they wanted about him, no matter what he did; it was easier to just let them do that and work with that than it was to futilely strive to get them to actually understand him.

“Even if Wangji has done something to upset you, you may only assign him to do copying,” Lan Xichen told him, and Nie Mingjue was briefly surprised that his new friend had assumed he was angry before he remembered that everyone here thought he was angry all the time, so it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise. “Please keep that in mind. Also, I don’t know if I’ve said, but he’s very reserved, so please don’t take offense if he just points things out...oh, I wish I wasn’t needed elsewhere this afternoon! I’d much rather show you around myself, but as it is, he’ll be showing you around this part of the Cloud Recesses in my place.”

Nie Mingjue grunted assent, and watched, a little desolately, as Lan Xichen disappeared down the still confusing twists and turns of the paths of the Cloud Recesses. It was all gardens here, carefully tended to maximize graceful tranquility, and he was sure he would have no chance of ever finding his way back on his own if left to it.

It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if he was. The other Lan disciples hadn’t really taken to him the way Lan Xichen had, much less a younger brother that the (rather reserved, by Nie Mingjue’s standards) Lan Xichen had described as reserved…

Unexpectedly, a small hand slipped into his own, and he looked down in surprise.

Lan Wangji looked up at him, his cheeks flushed a little red.

Nie Mingjue instinctively smiled at him, charmed by the reminder of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that too much exuberance seemed to only disturb the Lan sect and struggled to get his expression under control. He expected him to start leading him around the Cloud Recesses without another word – he had overheard Lan Qiren telling his father that Lan Wangji wasn’t much of a talker, very quiet, and to not expect much interaction with him – but to his surprise Lan Wangji did not move, looking at up at him thoughtfully, lips pursed as if he was considering saying something.

Nie Mingjue waited for his judgment.

“You weren’t angry,” Lan Wangji finally said. “When you threw me.”

Nie Mingjue blinked.

“No,” he admitted, breaking his own informal vow of silence. “I wasn’t. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Nie Huaisang loved being tossed around, whether up into the air or into bushes, headfirst shrieking into his bed or ass-first into a pool of water; he’d thought tossing little brothers around was what big brothers were there for. Sure, there was a small age gap – Lan Wangji was six, Nie Huaisang still not quite five – but he hadn’t thought it would make such a difference.

Lan Wangji hummed thoughtfully. He did not speak for another long while, but Nie Mingjue was starting to think that that was just him chewing over his thoughts before forming them into words.

At last, he spoke again: “I did.”

Nothing afterwards. Hesitantly, Nie Mingjue asked, “Would you like me to do it again?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

This time, Nie Mingjue was a little more cautious: he threw Lan Wangji up into the air and caught him, trying to demonstrate that he knew what he was doing, that he could be trusted, and by the third or fourth time Lan Wangji was smiling. It wasn’t quite on part with Nie Huaisang’s giggles and shrieks, but felt rewarding nevertheless.

Satisfied by his success, Nie Mingjue was about to put him down on the ground, but hesitated. “Do you want to ride on my shoulders?” he asked, and waited as Lan Wangji considered it.

“Another time,” Lan Wangji decided. “Not today.”

Nie Mingjue nodded and put him down. Lan Wangji took his hand once again and, this time, led him around the way he’d expected from the start, pointing out various places and naming them in a quiet murmur.

Lan Wangji really wasn’t much of a talker, a person of few words, but that was fine. So was Nie Mingjue.

It was a few days later that he came across Lan Wangji kneeling beside the training grounds and impulsively challenged him. He was getting bored of training alone: Lan Xichen was busy again, and the other Lan disciples had already made clear that they didn’t want to have anything to do with him, the interloper who’d pushed his way into their lessons by force.

It wasn’t actually like that at all – his father had sent Nie Mingjue to learn here for the season as a gesture of goodwill, wanting to support Lan Qiren’s lecture series and make it clear that other sects should follow suit, to encourage Lan Qiren’s goal of eventually creating a safe haven for all the Great Sect’s heirs to come together and learn and build friendships while still in their youth – but Nie Mingjue knew that there was no convincing any of his wary Lan sect peers of that. Even if there was, he certainly couldn’t do it, not with his clumsy tongue and scowling face and too-tall height that made everyone immediately assume he would resort to violence as his first and only argument.

So he trained alone and studied alone, or with Lan Xichen in the rare times when his friend was free, but it was boring, and anyway, he thought he’d gotten on pretty well with Lan Wangji the first time they’d met. It wouldn’t be a real spar, of course, not against a six-year-old, but doing the moves slow and mirroring a smaller opponent would force him to pay close attention to his own technique, which would pay off in the long run.

He explained this to Lan Wangji when the boy frowned up at him in what Nie Mingjue was starting to be able to identify as a silent question – he didn’t use many words himself, just spat out “Mirroring improves technique,” and saw that Lan Wangji understood the rest – and a moment later Lan Wangji nodded and rose to his feet, picking up one of the practice swords and taking a position opposite him on one of the fields.

Nie Mingjue started with a standard warm-up routine, unsure of Lan Wangji’s skills. Supposedly he was the opposite of Nie Huaisang in this respect, too, startlingly advanced for his age, but Lan Qiren had also said something about him pausing his sword training as a result of some incident, not specified; his father had nodded in response as if he’d understood, which was very unhelpful to the eavesdropping Nie Mingjue, who didn’t. Since he didn’t know the background of the incident or when Lan Wangji had picked up sword training again, and more to the point wasn’t inclined to ask since he knew that Lan Wangji wouldn’t enjoy explaining, he just started out with the basics and went up slowly from there.

It turned out his concerns were mostly unnecessary – Lan Wangji was a bit stiff at first, maybe because of the kneeling he’d been doing, but he clearly had the basics down flat, and they were able to progress to something a little more interesting quick enough, trading very slow swipes with saber and sword.

Nie Mingjue didn’t even notice that they had an audience until he heard Lan Xichen say his name in a strangled voice. He finished the follow-through of the move they were on, since stopping in the middle could be dangerous (not for them, not with training swords, but in the future, when it was real, and forming good habits now would help more later on), saluted Lan Wangji with his saber and was saluted in return, and then turned to look for his friend.

Lan Xichen was staring at them as if they’d turned into ghosts, and there was a whole crowd of Lan sect disciples standing around gawking at them instead of doing their own training.

Nie Mingjue hunched up his shoulders, assuming he’d somehow managed to do something wrong again, and automatically stepped in front of Lan Wangji, blocking the others’ views of him. “I challenged him,” he said bluntly, hoping to take the brunt of whatever punishment would need to be imposed here – generally speaking, he’d learned that the Lan sect’s penalties for being lured into misbehavior were less than the penalties for instigating it. “He didn’t seem otherwise occupied.”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, or started to say, but Lan Wangji was already turning to put away his training sword. He then formally saluted his brother and trotted away from the training field entirely.

Lan Xichen watched him go without stopping him, then turned to Nie Mingjue. “Mingjue-xiong, how did you get him to fight you?”

Nie Mingjue blinked, confused. “I asked.”

“Yes, but – how?”

“I asked him to train with me,” Nie Mingjue said slowly, not sure if he was missing something. “I pointed out that mirroring improves technique. He probably did it as a favor to me…listen, do you need me to copy lines or something?”

“Copy lines?”

“For whatever rule I just broke,” Nie Mingjue clarified, but Lan Xichen only looked more confused. “Was it because he was kneeling and I interrupted him?”

Everyone is staring at me again and I don’t know why, again. Just tell me what it is that I did, impose the punishment, and I won’t do it again, I promise – but you need to tell me what it was that I did wrong first.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen said, staring at him even more strangely now. “You didn’t break any rules at all.”

That was even weirder. “But –”

“Wangji was kneeling because that’s what he always does during training hours,” Lan Xichen said. “He doesn’t train the sword anymore.”

“He – doesn’t?” Nie Mingjue asked, now even more confused, and in his confusion forgot that he was in the Lan sect with their carefully thought-out sentences and myriad of prickly unwritten rules. “Why not? He’s so good at it! And he seemed to be having a good time, too…listen, I know your sect prizes musical cultivation, Xichen, and that it’s often one or the other, but there’s really no reason he can’t do both.”

He belatedly realized he was talking too much and shut his mouth, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have brought up that subject.

After all, Qingheng-jun had been a sword cultivator with little interest in music beyond battle-songs – still was, Nie Mingjue supposed, although he was in seclusion so much that it might as well be ‘had been’ – and Lan Qiren was an expert at musical cultivation, skilled in both xiao and guqin, but used his sword only to fly. They’d been trained that way, complementary to each other’s strengths – Qingheng-jun the attacking hand, Lan Qiren the supporting arm – which was a pretty decent plan right up until it had all rather been ruined when Qingheng-jun had for whatever reason retreated from the world.

“Of course,” Lan Xichen echoed, and luckily he didn’t seem to notice the implied criticism. “He should, of course, if he wants to…Mingjue-xiong, I’m sorry, I have to go again, I need to talk to my uncle at once. But you should feel free to challenge Wangji again – in fact, I would appreciate it if you did. Liu-xiong, can you tell Mingjue-xiong what Wangji’s training hours are?”

One of the other Lan disciples nodded, and Lan Xichen flashed them both a thankful smile before disappearing again, even though he’d promised that his uncle only needed him for half a day and that they’d be able to go down to visit Caiyi Town that afternoon.

As a result, despite Lan Xichen’s assurances, Nie Mingjue still had the distinct feeling that he’d done something wrong, but he really couldn’t see what. Best not to think too much about it, he supposed.

By the afternoon, Nie Mingjue had retreated to the library to avoid being stared at. He’d thought that the indirect sneers and silent rigid politeness that invited no familiarity was bad, but apparently it was actively worse when the Lan sect disciples treated him like he’d just turned into a performing monkey that had done a neat trick. They still wouldn’t condescend to talk to him, of course, but they felt no issue staring or talking to each other about him – even though Nie Mingjue was sure there was a rule about not talking behind people’s backs.

Maybe it didn’t count if you did it in front of their faces.

Nie Mingjue actually rather liked the library, despite the Lan sect’s general tendency to treat him like an illiterate ape that only knew how to swing a saber – even Lan Xichen had looked a little puzzled the first time he’d asked to spend the afternoon there, though of course he hadn’t said anything out loud beyond reminding Nie Mingjue that they didn’t have to go there and that it wasn’t necessary to sacrifice his own enjoyment for Lan Xichen’s.

It wasn’t his friend’s fault that he was brought up to prefer those were gentle and scholarly, Nie Mingjue reminded himself, even if it chafed a little every time that Lan Xichen automatically sided with someone who could express themselves better, someone cleverer with words than he; that trait was common to just about everyone at the Cloud Recesses, and at least Lan Xichen would eventually listen to him if he kept his temper under control and persisted in trying to make his point.

Nie Mingjue might wish that the Lan sect didn’t view losing one’s temper as an automatic forfeit of the argument – do not succumb to rage had been whispered in his vicinity more times than he could count, though rarely to his face – and he might think in his heart of hearts think that they were simply wrong in dismissing his viewpoint just because he felt too strongly about a matter to contain himself, but he was a guest here and he needed to respect their ways, conform himself to their customs, even if it upset and disturbed him to do so.

At least sometimes those ways and customs served him, including in the deliberate air of quiet contemplation in the Library Pavilion. There were separate rooms for private study, of course, but an emphasis was put on preserving the tranquility of the location, and it seemed that the Lan disciples at least knew enough shame to avoid coming to gawk at him from the door when he was there.

Deciding to entertain himself, Nie Mingjue picked out several books on military strategy utilizing musical cultivation – just because he was all but tone-deaf didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the power of the Lan sect’s core techniques – and settled down for a nice afternoon of being alone.

Until, of course, he wasn’t.

He was pretty absorbed in an analysis of altitude effects on range attacks for a while, deaf and blind to the outside world the way he usually was when he was reading, and then, perhaps alerted by some sound, he looked up to find that the sun had shifted position and also that Lan Wangji was sitting across from him with his own book primly laid out in front of him.

Nie Mingjue blinked and thought briefly about saying something. If it had been Nie Huaisang, he would have – some friendly jibe that Nie Huaisang would return in full measure, before they both settled down to enjoy each other’s company in communal silence – but this was Lan Wangji, who was a Lan, and probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

So he didn’t say anything, just looked back down at his book and continued reading.

After a little while, there was a tug at his sleeve.

Nie Mingjue looked up. Lan Wangji was pointing to one of the words in his book – “Frivolous,” he said, assuming that Lan Wangji was asking for assistance with the more complicated characters the way that Nie Huaisang would have, albeit with much less whining. “Means lacking purpose or value.”

Lan Wangji nodded, released his sleeve, and returned to his reading.

They carried on in this fashion for a while, quiet reading interspersed with occasional reading comprehension questions, and it was nice. Nie Mingjue could feel the stress of the day slowly sliding off his shoulders – more than just the day, maybe the whole week, the entire time he’d been here, or even before, when Nie Huaisang burst into tears at finding out his big brother was going to be leaving him behind. He would need to write to him again soon, Nie Mingjue thought to himself, and send presents; he’d been hoping to pick something up in Caiyi Town today, but then Lan Xichen had gotten busy…

It’d be nice if he could get him something from the Cloud Recesses itself, though.

“Wangji,” he said before he could stop himself. “What is a present you would get for someone who likes pretty things?”

Lan Wangji blinked up at him, then frowned. Nie Mingjue was pretty sure that it was a thinking frown, though, so he just waited, and sure enough Lan Wangji carefully closed his book and stood up.

“Flowers,” he said, and held out a hand as if to help Nie Mingjue up.

Nie Mingjue long ago learned that when a small child offers to help you, you accept regardless of whether or not they were actually capable of performing the action in question – though with Lan sect arm strength, who even knew – so he took Lan Wangji’s hand and scrambled up to his feet.

“Flowers?” he asked, a little dubiously. “I don’t know if they’d survive being sent by post.”

“Flower petals,” Lan Wangji clarified. “Pressed.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, but actually, no, that sounded perfect for Nie Huaisang. Especially if he got them pressed into a bookmark or something.

“My brother will love it,” he said enthusiastically. “Do you know where there are good flowers?” He knew himself well enough not to even try to make that sort of judgment call. “Can you show me?”

Lan Wangji frowned, and this one wasn’t his thinking frown – it seemed sad, almost.

“You don’t have to,” Nie Mingjue assured him, but Lan Wangji set his shoulders in a look of fierce six-year-old determination and he nodded as if he was going to go to war. “Really, if you don’t want to interrupt your reading –”

“The place is sad,” Lan Wangji said. “But it has the best flowers.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. He could tell from the way Lan Wangji’s little lips were firmed up in stubborn intent that there would be no stopping him, that he was determined to get Nie Mingjue the best flowers – truly, Lan Wangji was such a good boy, unlike that junior hellspawn and walking calamity named Nie Huaisang – but also that he thought it would hurt him to do so.

He didn’t want Lan Wangji to hurt.

“Do you want to ride on my shoulders this time?” Nie Mingjue asked, and Lan Wangji looked at him in surprise. He shrugged. “Sometimes having a different perspective on the same place makes it feel different.”

He knew he was butchering the explanation – he really wasn’t good with words – but he didn’t know how else to explain it.

He didn’t know how to explain that he used to spend days and days looking at the place where Nie Huaisang’s mother had gone in to give birth and never come back out, equally drawn and repulsed by it, right up until the day he climbed up the gate of the Unclean Realm on a dare and by coincidence happened to see it when he looked down from that great height, only to realize that the place he’d thought of as dark and depressing and even haunted was just a room like all the rooms right beside it: he couldn’t even tell it apart from the rest.

“…mn,” Lan Wangji said, sounding doubtful, but he hopped onto Nie Mingjue’s back when offered and scrambled up to sit on his shoulders, ducking his head to avoid the doorway to the Library Pavilion as they exited out the side door, and then he showed him the way to a nice looking cottage that seemed a little out of the way but which was surrounded by what were undoubtedly lovely purple gentians.

“Wow,” Nie Mingjue couldn’t help but say. “They’re very – purple.”

Lan Wangji poked him in the head.

“They are! Very purple. I’m sure Huaisang will love them to a ridiculous degree and that my father will write me angry letters about trying to sell him to the Jiang sect again –” There was a very small snort from above his head. “In my defense, he was really annoying when he was a colicky baby, and at the time I thought the Jiang sect were pirates.”

Another snort, this time less small. Somewhat disdainful.

“Listen, they’re ‘known for their watercraft’, right? It was a perfectly reasonable mistake to make…”

Lan Wangji didn’t giggle the way Nie Huaisang did when Nie Mingjue clowned around for him, but he was smiling by the time he edged onto a nearby tree branch to get a particular blossom that Nie Mingjue had set his heart on, declaring it the fattest of all the flowers and thereby a necessary acquisition, and in the end they collected a full basket of the purple flowers, more than enough for a dozen pressed bookmarks.

The smile made Nie Mingjue feel like he accomplished something.

It was almost enough, even, to let him brush off all the stares they got as they walked back together, side-by-side.

Nie Mingjue reported to Lan Qiren’s study with a great deal of trepidation.

It only got worse when he saw Lan Xichen sitting there as well, and when Lan Qiren instructed his nephew to serve them all tea. Nie Mingjue was abruptly seized by the fear that something terrible had happened: that he’d broken some unknown rule and needed to be punished severely, that he’d failed all his tests, that they’d decided he wasn’t actually a good fit for the Cloud Recesses after all, that his father had been summoned to take him back home early in disgrace –

“You’ve been spending some time with Wangji of late,” Lan Qiren said.

Nie Mingjue nodded.

“Yesterday, you presented the craftsman with a basket of purple gentians. Did Wangji show you where to find them?”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said cautiously. “He helped me pick them.”

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen exchanged glances.

Nie Mingjue somehow felt even more nervous.

“Was I not supposed to take them?” he asked. “Wangji said they’re his mother’s favorites.”

Lan Xichen dropped his cup.

“Xichen,” Lan Qiren said sternly, and Lan Xichen apologized and quickly cleaned it up. Luckily the cup had not shattered. “Nie-gongzi, to confirm, Wangji told you that himself?”

Nie Mingjue nodded.

Lan Qiren stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Nie-gongzi…if I were to tell you that Wangji has not spoken to anyone in nearly six months, what would you say?”

Nie Mingjue blinked.

“He also hasn’t trained with the sword in that time,” Lan Xichen interjected.

Nie Mingjue opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no idea what to say.

“Our mother died,” Lan Xichen explained, his brow creased in misery and concern. “Wangji didn’t really understand…it took a long time before he understood that he couldn’t see her any more.”

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Xichen.”

Now it was Lan Xichen’s turn to blink. “Sorry? For what?”

“For your loss? I mean, she was your mother, too, right?” It occurred to Nie Mingjue that she might not be, the way his mother and Nie Huaisang’s mother weren’t the same, but he was pretty sure the Lan sect only allowed for one marriage, and the age gap between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji was smaller than the one between him and Nie Huaisang…

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said. “She – was. Thank you.”

Lan Qiren made a thoughtful sound.

“If you’re asking if I did something to convince Wangji to come with me and do all that,” Nie Mingjue said, having finally figured out why he was sitting here having tea and being uncomfortable, “I really didn’t. It may just be that enough time has passed for the wound to scab over.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Qiren said.

“I think he feels bad for me?” Nie Mingjue hazarded. “I’m not sure. I’m still learning how to understand him.”

“The fact that you’ve realized that there’s something there to understand puts you way ahead of most people,” Lan Xichen told him.

“Why would he feel bad for you?” Lan Qiren asked.

Because your sect is full of snobs that all hate me.

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue said. “I – have no idea.”

Lan Xichen frowned at him. “Mingjue-xiong, ‘do not tell lies’ is a rule.”

“So is ‘do not insult people’,” Nie Mingjue said sulkily, and refused to say another word no matter how many ways Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen asked. He’d already figured out that not talking was the best way to avoid getting into trouble – the Lan sect was much more insular than the Nie sect, with all sorts of restrictions about getting brought in, and he didn’t have any confidence that expressing grievances would result in anything other than more shunning.

Eventually, Lan Qiren dismissed him, frowning, and Lan Xichen escorted him back to his rooms.

“Is it because you don’t trust me?” he asked, and Nie Mingjue stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “Of course I trust you. You’re my friend.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that there was something wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “And don’t say nothing’s wrong, that’s obviously a lie.”

“It’s because we’re friends,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. Most of the time, he forgot that there was an age gap between him and Lan Xichen – three and a half years, same as the gap between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji – but sometimes it really hit home. “I don’t want to make trouble for you. This is just a place I’m staying for a little while, but you live here; after I go, we’ll still be friends, but you’ll still be stuck with whatever mess I make for you.”

Lan Xichen was scowling, his lower lip trembling a little, and Nie Mingjue cautiously reached out a hand to put on his shoulder, squeezing. He would prefer to give him a hug, but he didn’t know if it would be welcome – he’d already told Lan Xichen that he himself was always open for hugs, but he knew very well that Lan Xichen was uncomfortable with too much contact.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Lan Xichen said. “Wangji noticed that you were unhappy, and I didn’t! What kind of friend am I?”

“You’re a good friend,” Nie Mingjue insisted. “You are. It’s not about you. I promise.”

They still hadn’t resolved it by the time Lan Xichen left him at his room. Nie Mingjue sighed, hoped that he hadn’t inadvertently ruined everything, and went to sleep.

The next morning, he woke up when the door to his room opened abruptly with a slam that seemed, in his sleep-fogged brain, to echo throughout the entire Cloud Recesses.

“Mingjue-xiong!”

“…Xichen?” Nie Mingjue said, and rubbed his eyes disbelievingly. “Did you just slam a door?”

It wasn’t really a slam. It was a small shove, at best.

“Why didn’t you tell me people were being mean to you?” Lan Xichen demanded, and Nie Mingjue stared at him. “I would’ve made them stop! Really, I would have! I don’t care if they’re Lan sect and you’re not, they shouldn’t be – I shouldn’t be – making assumptions about you or pushing you out or – or – or anything!”

“Where did you get all of this from?” Nie Mingjue asked, utterly at sea. He was right, of course, about the problems Nie Mingjue had been having, but he certainly hadn’t known it last night before curfew and while, yes, it was only morning by the standards of guest disciples and not Lan sect members themselves – he got an extra shichen to sleep in while he adjusted to the earlier schedule, of which he generally tried to use only half – it still seemed a little implausible that Lan Xichen had managed to puzzle all of that out overnight.

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen said, and threw himself on the bed next to Nie Mingjue and gave him a hug, a good proper one like the ones he used to get all the time back in Qinghe and which he missed rather terribly. “He actually came and talked to us! With words! Well, a few words, anyway, but he hasn’t said anything to Shifu or me for six months up until now. He said you were unhappy because of the other Lan disciples persisted in thinking that you were stupid and angry when you’re neither.”

Nie Mingjue felt warm inside.

“Your brother’s smart,” he said gruffly.

“He is,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I also thought you were stupid and angry and nothing more than that. I know you’re not.”

“I didn’t think that,” Nie Mingjue said, and it was mostly not a lie. “We’re friends, aren’t we? A friend wouldn’t think that about another friend.”

“That’s right,” Lan Xichen said, nodding firmly. “And friends don’t let friends go around thinking they didn’t do anything when they did something big – I still don’t know what exactly you did, Mingjue-xiong, but you helped Wangji a lot, and I’m eternally grateful.”

“There’s no need for thanks between friends,” Nie Mingjue reminded him, the first rule of their friendship formed in the spaces between discussion conferences that neither of them had any choice but to attend, and Lan Xichen smiled.

“I know,” he said warmly, and Nie Mingjue felt warm in response. “But I’m going to abuse my privilege and ask you to keep spending time with him – with both of us, sometimes, but with him by yourself if you don’t mind – so I think you’re owed at least one ‘thanks’.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Nie Mingjue said, grinning. “You just want a free babysitter, is that it?”

“It is not! Mingjue-xiong!”

Nie Mingjue started laughing. Lan Xichen smacked him – lightly by Lan standards, no doubt, but it was a good thing Nie Mingjue was as strong as he was.

“I don’t mind,” Nie Mingjue finally said. “I like your brother.”

Lan Xichen’s smile was as dazzling as the sun. “Good,” he said. “He likes you, too.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #lan wangji #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #of few words #ivydragon

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing xi.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 396

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hi everyone !!! here we are with the weekly update hehe, and it's a brief chapter but it does direct it up to the next one, and that'll be far more ... happening ... if you catch my drift 🤣

anyways, apologies for the silence again - uni has been absolutely kicking my butt and I'm lowkey on the verge of burnout but we'll pull through !!!

hope you enjoy the chapter 🥺❤️

Jungkook sits across from Jennie when it happens.

“What the—?”

“We need to talk.” Jimin glares, hand already grabbing him by the collar when he tugs Jungkook out of his seat. He doesn’t bother to send Jennie a look of acknowledgment, though he doubts she’s at any fault. He was only there for one thing and the subject of his disdain only looks perplexed and confused.

“Can we do this later?” Jungkook huffs, gesturing between his body and Jennie’s. She’s blinking at the interaction, then picks up her purse to shoot the two boys a half-hearted smile.

“I think I know what you needed to say,” She smiles. Then she looks over to Jimin who’s still glaring down at the younger boy, “Good luck.”

Her wish only makes Jungkook gulp, but he can more or less guess what Jimin is dragging him by collar about.

When he manages to ruffle his clothes back into position and sees the angry slope of Jimin’s back, he takes a deep breath. Jimin was by no means a terrifying person on average, in fact, he was quite debatably one of the most pleasant people anyone could know.

But Jimin was loyal and he stuck by the people he cared about with all his heart. He’d fight and he’d defend them till the end of time, and you were no different. Especially since the two of you grew up with each other, Jimin seeing you grow from an inquisitive toddler to the intelligent woman you were today—Jimin would die to protect you.

So when Jimin shuffles through his backpack to hand Jungkook a pack of ice, he can only stare at the cold object in the palm of his hands.

“What is this—?”

“You’ll need it.” Jimin deadpans, then he’s rolling up his sleeves.

“I thought we were talking?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

“We are,” Jimin retorts, eyes unblinking when he stares the younger boy down with a heavy-lidded gaze, “After I beat your ass for fucking _____ over.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, ready to defend but Jimin’s resolute glare only makes him cower in submission. He knew he fucked up, and he knew that there was no way he could get a word in even to meekly apologise because when Jimin had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t stop until that goal was achieved.

And it seems that Jimin’s goal was to give Jungkook a physical reminder on why he shouldn’t fuck with the things or people he loved.

“Let me take off my jacket,” Jungkook mutters, defeated.

After multiple shoves against the wall and a generous swing to his cheek, Jungkook is begrudgingly holding the ice-pack against his bruising face.

Jimin doesn’t look apologetic when the two of them sit side-by-side on the sidewalk, or even when Jungkook’s lip busted open. He knew Jungkook could take it, he was twice his size. Even more so, Jungkook knew Jimin had every reason to act the way he did.

“Thanks for the ice pack, by the way,” Jungkook says sarcastically, wincing when he moves his mouth a little too much.

Jimin doesn’t gratify him with a response, instead levels a stare so menacing that it could send anyone running. But Jungkook’s done a bit too much of that recently; so he stays, braces himself for the words that were to leave Jimin’s lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook sighs, scrunching his face before tossing the ice pack aside. He supposed that it was nearly useless, nearly melting into a puddle that drips down his arm uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook confesses softly.

“You’ve got a set of nerves on you if you thought it was ever okay to say the shit you did to her, let alone a human being.” Jimin frowns, pulling Jungkook but his collar so that he’d look at him.

Jimin’s face is permanently etched into a scowl, but Jungkook already knows he’s fucked up. The constant reminder of you turning to different directions whenever you’d spot him was enough to hurt more than a punch to the face.

“I know.” Jungkook whispers, fiddling with his thumbs.

“Do you, Jungkook?” Jimin spits, glaring down at the boy who remains helpless under his grasp, “I told you to not fuck with her and you deliberately went against what I said.” His reminder is vicious and quiet, a hiss in the wind that blows.

Jungkook hears it loud and clear, “I know,” He exasperates, still as frustrated with himself as he was with the entire situation, “I know.” He repeats, more defeatedly.

Jimin shoves Jungkook back by releasing his grip around the collar that he nearly stumbles. But Jungkook catches himself just barely when Jimin rises to his feet, looking down at his younger friend like he was a piece of gum stuck on the sole of his shoes.

“Why?” Jimin asks after a beat of silence.

Jungkook purses his lips. He knows why, but he still can’t bring himself to say it. Not when he knows he’s fucked up and Jimin is rightfully furious. He knows Taehyung knows at this point too, there was nothing that Jimin knew that Taehyung didn’t. It was just that Jimin was the more confrontational one where Taehyung was passively aggressive with his anger.

“I …” Jungkook trails off weakly, standing up to reach Jimin’s height but despite his friend being taller, his presence was already intimidating enough.

“You doing that shit with her was one thing, because if it was consensual I’d go on my merry way,” Jimin sneers, poking a firm finger into Jungkook’s chest, “But you had to go and poke at her insecurities to hurt her. On purpose. That’s where you fucked up. Royally.”

Jungkook blinks, intently listening and observing the way Jimin’s chest rises and falls with every breath he heaves.

“It’s taking everything in me not to smear your reputation on campus for the shit you did,” Jimin’s eyes flutters shut and his voice is threatening. Jungkook’s eyes widen, but he still remains quiet, “But against my better conscience, you’re my friend. And I’m so fucking disappointed in you.” Jimin croaks like he’s conflicted.

And for the first time ever since the conversation started, Jungkook feels bad for Jimin; specifically. He knew that it was difficult to defend your friend while berating another, and he hated himself for putting him into a difficult position. It was an internal dispute that Jimin and Taehyung would have to face between holding Jungkook accountable and leaving him to dust.

There was history, between the four of you. But there was unseen history between Jimin and Jungkook that you and Taehyung hadn’t seen, and Jungkook’s always regarded Jimin as an older brother, honorific aside.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook whispers.

Jimin looks up, glaring at the apology like he’s sworn at him.

“I can’t believe you.” He sneers, barring his teeth intimidatingly while Jungkook swallows.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook looks down at his feet, and for a moment he feels like a child being scolded but he knew that children would never say anything as vicious as he did, unless they were a product of their environments.

Jungkook still can’t justify his words, or why he said them. But a deep part of his recognises that it was his insecurities peeking through and him weaponising a weapon powerful enough to shoot himself dead.

“This isn't my apology to accept,” Jimin says sternly, “But even if it was—I could never forget what you said to her, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, eyes still cast downwards.

“What does this …” he trails off, finally looking up to see Jimin carding a hand through his hair in exasperation and a pinched expression marring his face, “Where does this leave us?’

Jimin knows Jungkook’s asking about the state of their friendship together.

But the anger is blinding and overwhelming, so instead; he tosses his backpack over his shoulder before turning on his heel, head looking back ever so slightly to level Jungkook with a final gaze intense enough to speak for itself.

“Here,” Jimin declares, gesturing to the abandoned ice pack, the bruised cheek and knuckles, “Until you decide to get your shit together, I need time away from you. If not, I’m going to do something that ____ would hate and I don’t want to hurt her any more than you already have.”

The words are sharp, targeted and venomous. But Jungkook recognises he deserves it. He also doesn’t bother fighting back when Jimin finally leaves, leaving Jungkook to bask in his own, clouded thoughts.

“Why are your knuckles bruised?” Is the first thing you ask Jimin when you see him storming towards you and Taehyung in the library.

Taehyung is aware while you blissfully aren’t.

“None of your business,” Jimin shoots back, but then he’s tugging you out of your seat to hug you.

Your eyes widen, “Jimin?”

When he pulls away, his eyes soften.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Taehyung nods and your head is spinning in confusion when you stare between the two boys with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what?”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung answers, eyes boring a hole into your skull.

At the mention of his name, you freeze in Jimin’s grasp as you stare at the both of them with wide eyes.

“How did you know—?”

Jimin frowns, releasing you so that you’re all able to take a seat in a specific corner of the library. You dryly note to yourself that you realise that every one of your conflicting moments of confrontation occurred in this place. Maybe it was about time for a change of scenery.

“Yena,” Taehyung tells you, and you scowl—nearly cussing her out in your mind but you know that your anger wasn’t warranted.

Especially when Jimin reaches out to grab your hand when he notices you looking down at your lap.

“How do you think it felt for us when we had to find out from someone else that you’ve been going through a hard time?” He asks softly, looking at you so gently that your lip nearly trembles.

For the longest time, Jimin and Taehyung were like older brothers that doted on you as much as they could. They took care of you and made sure that you knew your worth ever since the three of you were children. And for that, you could never be more thankful for their presence.

So you understand their hurt, and it makes you feel guiltier when you see Taehyung quietly patting your head although his eyes carry a sadness that only came from a friend withholding information from you.

“I …” You croak.

“You didn’t need to tell us why,” Taehyung reassures gently, “Just wanted to be here for you. For whatever reason, it may be.”

You stare down at your lap even harder and blink away the tears that only came with guilt.

“I’m sorry.” You say so meekly that it comes out as a squeak.

“Please don’t apologise. We just want to be here for you,” Jimin says sadly, squeezing your hand tighter even if you weren’t going to look at him. He doesn’t push you to do so.

“I didn’t want to make things complicated.” You confess softly, fiddling with the thumb on your free hand.

Taehyung scowls, “_____, you know that whatever it is, Jimin and I will try our best to remain as objective as possible but Jungkook said things to you that we're absolutely not okay and as both of your friends, we have a responsibility to hold him accountable.”

You purse your lips, nearly pouting. It’s as if Jimin reads your mind, where a million thoughts run through it, he pulls you closer so that he can properly hug you. Even if the position is a little weird and Taehyung has to bend his arm at a weird angle to be able to hug you too, you feel comforted.

“Don’t be mad at him.” You whisper softly into the material of Taehyung’s shirt.

Jimin snorts, “I release my anger in a healthy manner.”

Your eyes glance down at his knuckle suspiciously but he tugs it away when he notices your wandering eyes.

Taehyung sighs, caressing your hair softly. “We have every right to be angry with him, _____. What he did and said was unacceptable.” He informs you firmly.

You pull away slightly from their hold to furrow your eyebrows, “I know but—”

“You do know,” Jimin says softly, “And we know that you don’t like other people fighting your battles for you so we’ll step out of it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t personally be disappointed in what Jungkook did. He’s our friend too and if he did that to anyone else, we’d still be mad. We’re just extra mad because it’s you and we’re your best friends.”

You dip your head, letting out a sigh of acknowledgement.

“Just … let me talk to him.” You say, and Taehyung raises a brow at the shift in your tone, “This is something I need to do for myself. I appreciate you guys, I really do. But I don’t want things to be weird because of what we did.”

You can tell Jimin is about to argue with you, but Taehyung shoots him a look that shuts him up immediately.

“If that’s what you want.” Taehyung smiles gently at you.

Jimin clenches his jaw, clearly the more displeased one between the two. But he swallows it by clenching his fist and patting your head, shooting you a concerned stare mask in a slight glare.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, “Very.”

Jimin nibbles on his lips as if deep in thought before pulling away completely, leaning into his chair.

“If you insist,” He sighs, “But Jungkook did get what he deserved.”

You shrug, “I mean I don’t think avoiding him was the worst thing to do, but I guess you’re right.”

Jimin blinks.

Then Taehyung and he are sharing a look familiar enough for you to know only comes out when they did something wrong or were caught causing trouble.

You raise a brow, “Am I missing something?”

Jimin shoots you a reassuring smile and you miss the shift of Taehyung’s eyes to the fist that wraps around your shoulder.

“Nothing at all.”

You [21:09]: hi jungkook

You [21:24]: can we talk? my door's open if you're free.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #jungkook series

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sexyglances · 3 years

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Dusik's Self-Isolation, the "Doorkeeper" Poem, and Hyejin's Presence

It's been said many times before about Dusik, but episode ten once again showed how he has dedicated his life to a series of active choices that results in purposeful denial of providing love to himself. He deliberately distances himself from others and tries to deny his love for anything and anyone as a way for repenting against his past 'sins' of loving people who all died too soon.

To Dusik, his love has been nothing but a condemnation to others and himself, and he feels like he must live a life in limbo purgatory as penance, neither giving nor receiving too much companionship, lest he condemn another person via his love. Is his carefree lifestyle that carefree? Or is it his way of willfully keeping himself from attaching to anything? Because life has taught him that if he has strong emotion for something, then that is a harbinger of destruction for what he loves.

All the people he cared for most in his life died too suddenly and too early in his life, before he could process how to say a proper goodbye. And he feels directly responsible for at least one of their deaths--we see him say so explicitly to both his therapist in general and in more detail to Hyejin about his grandfather. To Dusik, his grandfather died because he let himself love soccer more than being vigilant, even though he didn't know there was anything to be vigilant for at the time. Then after his last loss in his mysterious five years away from Gongjin, it seems like Dusik abandoned direct expressions of love for anybody. He learned that vigilance is the only expression of love that he should offer other people.

Staying vigilant of other people's needs while also staying vigilant of not getting too close is his way of protecting other people for their needs and from himself. This is partly why he tried to deny his feelings for Hyejin for so long, dancing between the friend zone and something more. (As an aside, this focus on his own vigilance may also play into his love for photography. He seems drawn to capturing moments to look back on, not wanting moments to pass by unnoticed.)

As part of his vigilance, Dusik created a life for himself back in Gongjin as an unemployed jack-of-all-trades, a fix-it man, an unofficial neighborhood chief that can show up at a moment's notice when help is needed. Dusik has made himself into a person that can be reliable in any situation. And he threw himself into that role by learning as many trades as possible so he could fix any problem, from HVAC repair to barista certification to fruit carving and anything in between. But even though he wants to be known as a reliable entity in town, he also makes sure to position himself as a periphery figure only. He only shows up from outside other people's routine lives. He purposefully does not live on any fixed schedule that is permanently tied to anyone else, and he surrounds himself with a thick air of detachedness. This is how he ensures he can't become an albatross to anyone's life again. He can't be accountable for destruction of life if he's simply a hired part-timer and a neighborhood helper; and nothing with any inherent responsibility that can't be explained away by utility rather than love.

Sure, he's a chief that other people turn to for help, but he rejects anything more official than being a helpful neighbor. He refuses to express his love for individual people because experience has taught him that his love can destroy lives, so he only shows his love for the people of Gongjin as part of a whole entity, detaching himself from anything that can be seen as preference for individual people. This is something Chunjae noted in their conversation the night Juri ran away. Dusik accepts other people's problems and their joys, but he doesn't actively share his own in full-fledged reciprocation. The exception seems to be halmeoni Gamri, at least to some extent, but even then he tends to frame any explanation of him going above and beyond for her as a way of paying back for how much she cared for him growing up. Dusik lives in his own manufactured limbo where he has made his existence entirely fixed as an untethered entity.

Dusik has turned his pain into a lifestyle where he knows he must keep his heart guarded from other people by becoming too attached, keep himself from sullying his hometown and the people he's dedicated himself to with the infection that is him asking for reciprocity. His infectious disease is spread through baring himself and his full-fledged feelings to other people, and thus he quarantines that part of himself from anyone. Denial of love is his love. So he flits from job to job, works for minimum wage, and tries to pretend that he does not attach himself to anything or anyone but himself. It's easier for everyone this way. That way he cannot drag anyone down into the surf that is his destruction.

He has decided that it's better for him to be a solitary observer, taking up space in a manmade shipwreck away from others, both literally and figuratively, as is shown by how he made the choice to keep his grandpa's boat out of the water, perching it on a hill so high and isolated that he could barely get it up there in the first place. Even if it is incredibly difficult to do, he is determined to meet his goal of self-exile. It's the only way he knows how to protect himself and everyone else, through self-imposed isolation.

But like the poem Dusik read to Hyejin, once she entered his life, she would not stop showing up for him. She didn't willingly ascribe to the rules he set forth for other people. He told her to cross lines freely, as if she had already been doing so. She may have verbally pontificated about not crossing lines, but her actions said otherwise, and she was crossing Dusik's boundaries before he even knew it. She didn't fit perfectly into Gongjin or Dusik's life, and her stretching the limits of what is 'acceptable' is what he needed to open himself up to a new perspective other than steadfast solitude. It was through her own actions, stepping into his circle of solitude and making her presence known, that he began to question if isolation was really what he wanted and preferred.

From the very beginning, Hyejin asked Dusik to stay with her, literally tugging on his shirt to keep him from leaving on the beach the first day they met. And she hasn't stopped holding onto him. First it was out of helplessness, then when she held onto him and asked him to stay before her first town hall meeting, it was her asking for his support, then when she ran into his arms when she was scared, it was her showing her deep trust for him, and now most recently, in her half-asleep state on the couch, it was her desire to emotionally connect with him in a way more profound than he does with others. Her presence is her way of asking him to open the door to his heart.

And like the poem said, and what Dusik realized as he was reading it, his staunch gatekeeping betrayed him and he fell in love because of his own stubbornness in refusing to leave his post. He found someone who reliably showed up to his post as dependably as he does. Or rather, she showed up and found him in Gongiin. He was always there to keep his metaphorical door closed, and she was always there to check if it was still closed. Dusik was so sure that gatekeeping would keep him safe, so sure that his constant monitoring and vigilance would keep him protected, that he failed to realize what would happen when he began to rely on his denial. His continued refusal became something reliable in itself, though not because of him, but because of her showing up. After all, what is there to refuse if there is not someone knocking at the door every day? His vigilance betrayed him because he forgot that actively guarding his heart was also keeping his heart active.

Dusik tried to deny Hyejin entrance inside his heart, but then her existence in Gongjin took up space all around him. She became like the sea itself, constant and deep and reflective. And just like Gongjin would feel incomplete without the presence of the sea's waves lapping on its shore, so too is Dusik starting to feel incomplete without Hyejin's assured presence. So much that when she's gone, as he said at his grandpa's memorial ceremony after she left, he misses her so-called noisiness and disruption of his habitual silence. He misses her. Without him realizing it, the silence he used to crave has started to feel like an empty void, and it's no longer silence he seeks. Instead, it's the steady sound of her waves crashing against his shoreline that has started to bring him comfort. Her tides coming and going, leaving bits of herself behind with him and changing his coastline with her presence is more dynamic and interesting than the unvarying landscape of the dry hilltop perch he made for himself.

Dusik's gatekeeping has evolved in that its purpose is no longer about resolute solitude and staying away from others, but about taking up patrol in order to be near her. Subconsciously Dusik found himself willing to abandon his sentry, not even noticing that he was walking away from his guard post and leaving himself wide open to her. This is so interesting coupled with the line Hyejin said a few episodes earlier, "He's always around when you least expect it." Both in that she too unexpectedly became a part of his life like she claimed he did with hers, and also how in some ways the reason he is always present is because he actively finds ways to show up around her and enact his gatekeeping. Just like the lines from the poem, Dusik became the doorkeeper whose "job is to wait for you the next day to deny you. / My job is to wait for you the next day and fall in love with you."

And then Hyejin confessed, and Dusik made the conscious choice to abandon his barricaded doorway to go be with her and kiss her. Because his barricade wasn't worth keeping up if she was baring herself to him so openly and and unguardedly. Isolation and vigilance lost their meaning in the face of the buoyancy he feels when he is with her. Hyejin tried to say that he could leave his door closed. She put her hand up to his mouth, and with that she meant she didn't expect anything in return, that he could leave his door closed, and she would still be there, her feelings unwavering. But her bravery made him brave as well. And he made the active choice to pull back his own door, lower her hand, and kiss her. Now, his doorkeeping is meaningless without her. And after all these years, his carefully cultivated isolation is worthless if it means isolation from embracing Hyejin's presence as well.

The poem said, "denying my love is my job," but Dusik finally realized he was ready to accept more than just denial in this life with Hyejin. He was finally ready to make the active choice to accept someone in his heart again. Hyejin's presence made Dusik acutely aware of the weight of his isolation and he knew it was again time for him to firmly reject something. But this time instead of rejecting another person, instead of rejecting the feelings of reciprocal love, he rejected his own self-isolation. His rejection was in favor of love rather than against it. Hyejin knocked, completely content with the closed door of Dusik's existence, but this time he flung his door open and made the move to kiss her and return her feelings back. His purpose is no longer to deny his love, it's to accept love and give love back to her.

-----

And just in case you wanted to read the poem in full, I've pasted it below:

"Doorkeeper" by Kim Haengsook

It's my job to say, "You shouldn't do this here."

It's my job to deny your purpose.

It's my job to deny you the next day.

It's my job to wait for you the next day to deny you.

My job is to wait for you the next day and fall in love with you.

Thus, denying my love is my job.

I will not cry because of my vocation, he wrote. I cried sometimes when I wrote a diary.

#hometown cha cha cha #kdrama #meta #my meta #homcha meta #also the full poem is under the cut at the very end of this post #once again i am incredibly late with my meta bc i am bad at dedicating time to revising and reformatting for tumblr #this sat in my drafts for DAYS #this meta is long and full of metaphors and the tenses are kind of all over the place but i'm proud of it #me writing better essays on tumblr than i ever did in school lol #fyi the part above the cut is sad but it gets a lot more hopeful at the end once hyejin is introduced

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

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On Livewire

You know Leslie is probably the most popular and well known female Superman Rogue mainly because they use her so heavily in outside media.

Which makes sense given her debut in Superman: The Animated Series, but it still kind of fascinates me. They didn't bring her into comics continuity until 2006 apparently, with Gail Simone and John Byrne (Byrne of all the creators!) being the ones to finally fold her in. Even after they brought her in, they still have never given her that much attention or focus which is a disappointment for me frankly, because Livewire is honestly fantastic in Scott McCloud and later Mark Millar's Superman Adventures runs, and I would say with complete sincerity that those two are probably her best writers. "Millar writing a female character well?" you scoff at in disbelief. I know, I was shocked too! But she's funny, clever, and a huge pain in the ass for Supes. Reading how she was used there, and rewatching her STAS incarnation recently, really made a big realization for the character hit me like a lightning bolt (couldn't resist):

She's basically an evil superpowered Lois Lane! I know I can't have been the first one to realize that, although I haven't seen anyone else actually outright state it anywhere, but c'mon it's so obvious! She's a reporter of a sorts as well thanks to being a disc jockey, her debut in STAS even has her interviewing Lois and Clark! She's got strong opinions on Superman that conflict with the general opinion about him (Lois being pro-Superman when everyone else is more hostile towards him at first, Livewire being anti-Superman when everyone else has embraced him as their hero). She's rude and abrasive, and doesn't care if her opinions offend people, which sure does remind me of Lois at her meanest.

Livewire to me is an examination of what Lois would be like if she abandoned her morals or never really had them in the first place. Leslie doesn't care about the "truth" which is the big difference between her and Lois. Lois can be headstrong, willful, and outright rude, but it's all in service of her pursuit of higher ideals. Livewire doesn't care about that, she carries about getting people to pay attention to her, and getting the recognition and wealth she believes she's owed.

What I'd Do With Livewire

It wasn't until I had that big realization about Leslie that I figured out what role she should play with regards to Clark: She should be Clark's old college ex who was the one who got him into journalism in the first place.

Clark's college years are unexplored territory narratively, typically we jump from his childhood in Smallville right into his debut in Metropolis. Now I know Clark dated Lori that mermaid back in Pre-Crisis during his college years, and while that's a fun bit of trivia, it doesn't really add anything meaningful in the same way that I think Leslie and Clark dating could. So I'd rather go with Leslie because I think she makes for a better foil for Clark and because the two of them would benefit from having a deeper connection established, plus Leslie could get fleshed out as a character more.

I like the explanation that Clark chose journalism in part because it challenges him in ways his powers can't, but in the comics they've rarely bothered to explain how he chose that field in the first place. I would have meeting Leslie at college be that big moment where he starts to figure himself out. She's assertive and confident, and Clark is attracted to that for similar reasons he's attracted to Lois. Leslie would start out as an optimist and idealist in the same way Clark is, and the two would bond and go into journalism together, with Leslie being the one who really believes in the field initially. They'd both be big believers in the duty of the press to inform and the presses ability to shape public opinion, with Clark attracted to investigative journalism and Leslie attracted more to broadcast and digital journalism. They start to date and for a moment, Clark seriously wonders if this is the one.

The big break between them comes when Clark and Leslie go on a trip around the world during their senior year of college. That trip would be where both of them learn how crappy the world is. Clark always had some idea of how bad things were because of his powers, but the trip is where he really starts to realize that there is a real need for someone of his powers to step up, and that there are hard limits to just how much he can accomplish as a member of the press. That same realization is what shatters Leslie's idealism and optimism. She loses faith in the ability to make a difference, to punch through the wall of public indifference, and as a result she gives up that dream. Instead she decides that if you can't beat them, join them: she switches instead to telling the masses what the powers that be want them to hear in exchange for money, to saying whatever the masses will give her attention and prestige for, embracing tabloid journalism that prioritizes clicks and engagement over information. Ultimately it destroys the relationship between Leslie and Clark with her viewing him as a sap and him viewing her as a sellout.

I think that origin really would help flesh out her worldview and motivation a lot more. She's a former idealist who has been broken by the world in a similar way to Poison Ivy. Leslie thus acts as a foil to Clark and Lois in that she's someone who let the world rob her of her idealism and sold out on the truth in exchange for material success. She's what Clark or Lois could've been if they took Lex's offer to work for him, and they should recognize that to some degree. Clark should have conflicting feelings for her, not romantically that relationship is dead, but in terms of sometimes he wonders if he's just wasting his life trying to fight for truth and justice. So few people seem to care about those principles, why hold on so tight to them? Why not just look out for his own self-interest the way everyone else seems to? It's the refusal to give up even when it looks pointless that makes the two of them different, and makes Clark a hero and Livewire a villain.

How I'd Like Livewire To Operate

There's a lack of imagination in how Livewire is used on the comic side as I see it.

Like most Superman Rogues the typical Superman writer doesn't seem to have a clue what to do with her beyond generic "villain" stuff, but that does a disservice to what Livewire brings to the table. Livewire does want to fry Superman to a crisp, but that's not what her daily goal is to accomplish. More importantly, she wants respect and she wants money, and the way she gets both is not by trying to rob banks, it's by leaning into her background as a media personality combined with her new powers. Unleashing electric bolts is honestly the least impressive part of her powerset in terms of her ability to manipulate anything and everything technology.

The Internet? Livewire can crash the entire thing with ease, or restrict access to portions of it. She can do the reverse and smash through firewalls and encryption like it's made of paper. Imagine Livewire shutting off the power grid or causing it to explode, secretly using your "smart" tech to record your every move, uploading ransomware to every piece of technology in Metropolis, emptying the bank accounts of anyone who annoys her, or bringing Metropolis to it's knees thanks to the "City of Tomorrow" being a test ground for the Internet of Things, so everything is connected and thus easily manipulated. Smart cars crash into each other, elevators randomly drop, trains are unable to stop and simply accelerate onward unceasingly, plans attempting to land find their instruments on the fritz, anything and everything is Livewire's to control. But terrorism, while entertaining and occasionally profitable, isn't Livewire's main focus either.

One of my favorite Superman Adventures stories with her had Livewire manipulating TV broadcast signals so that any time there was a male news reporter on screen, the signal wouldn't come through. Stuff like that, where Livewire is making life hell for people in a way that isn't immediately life-threatening is what I envision as her day to day operations, but her bread and butter is fake news. What Livewire is REALLY good at doing is manipulating the public due to her journalism background plus her powers. She can make fake videos that look totally authentic, fake articles that seem to come from credible sources, fake voice recordings, she can make anyone appear to do or say anything through the Internet, and then she can upload that to the devices of every single person in Metropolis.

You can get stories about the mayor being framed for taking bribes, local activists cast as grifters, and supposed upstanding citizens such as Lois Lane and Clark Kent appearing to take orders from criminals like Intergang on what stories to run. Basically you lean into the journalism aspect for Livewire stories where Clark and Lois have to investigate to see whether what Livewire is putting out there is fake or legit, with peoples lives and reputations at stake (including frequently their own).

And when Superman and Livewire actually do clash physically? I don't care how it gets justified, Livewire simply being that powerful, her lightning being "special", she has the ability to manipulate Superman's bioelectric field, whatever: she can hurt him. When she hits Supes with lightning, it burns. It's painful as all hell. Livewire needs to be a threat and I'd like her to be treated as a powerhouse since I don't see a reason why that shouldn't be the case. Livewire is a really cool Rogue, there's a reason she's managed to keep getting used long after the DCAU ended. I hope the comics creators start utilizing her to her full potential.

#superman #livewire #lois lane #dc comics

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sneezefiction · 4 years

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soft nekoma sleepover

Nekoma x Reader - Sleepover Headcanons

a/n: the Nekoma portion of my soft sleepover series :,,) my friends and i have had rough weeks so far and i thought this would be a sweeter way to cope <33

warnings: none!

wc: 1280

---

you’ve always been such a strong person

whether you’d had a rough week full of assignments and exams or there was tension with your family/friends, you would always manage to hold your head up high and push through it all with a convincing smile on your face

but this past week finally pushed you over your limits

as you walked into Nekoma’s volleyball practice that Friday afternoon, manager’s clipboard in hand, you tried to keep up your usual peppy expression on

...but the smile refuses to reach your eyes

Yaku greets you warmly, expecting a big grin and a soft hug from you, but all you could do was ruffle his hair and walk quickly to your seat, holding in tears of frustration

this threw him for a loop and Yaku definitely asks you what’s wrong and if Lev did anything to upset you because, and i quote,

“I will fight him right here, right now. Just say the word.”

you just shake your head and stand up to give him a quick, wordless hug, which only leaves him more confused?? because he wants to fix this and you’re being really quiet??

Kenma then notices your gloomy presence and mentions it to Kuroo who’s eyes snapped your way quizzically

you were clearly upset and, if they weren’t completely mistaken, you looked like you’d been… crying?

Kuroo wasn’t having it at all bc you, of all people, deserve to be happy & smiling

he calls the boys in for a huddle but Kuroo asks you to wait on the bench with that trademark sneaky smile on his face

as they all converse, you see heads pop up and turn around to glance at you, Lev and Yamamoto’s concerned expressions making it obvious that you were the topic of conversation

it became clear that, even without words, your misery hadn’t escaped them… you couldn’t decide whether it was a blessing or a curse

“Alright!” Kuroo’s volume gains your attention

everyone turns to you and you feel as though you’re shrinking under their gazes

“We have a proposition for you, Y/n…” Kenma explains quietly

“More like a demand, but whatever you say Kenma.” Kuroo cuts in, with a slight drawl

“How about you come over to my place tonight? We’ve not had a team sleepover since our last training camp and none of us are busy tonight.” the quiet setter finishes

Kenma sounds reluctant, his eyes shifting from the floor to the wall, avoiding your gaze as much as possible

yet one glance over to you reminds him why he’s offering up his precious Friday night

a real smile graces your previously downcast face, which makes all the boys go silent in awe of what a simple sleepover suggestion could do

now cut to Kenma’s house where he has two consoles of Mario Kart already set up bc it’s the only game that everyone on the team knows how to play

you get there last, much to your own dismay, because you had hoped to feel more settled before interacting with all of the boys again

just before you walked in, Inuoka made sure that everyone was smiling, welcoming, and that there’d be no fights (@ Yaku)

and the team agreed that tonight was all about you: their precious manager who really needed some encouragement and fun in their life

the moment you set foot inside, you’re met with cheery faces, bowls of popcorn, “cards against humanity” on the table, and a spot on the sofa (that you have to assume is meant just for you)

everybody looks SO DAMN COMFY:

Kai, Kuroo, Lev and Fukunaga are in name brand sweatpants and soft t-shirts, Shibayama, Inuoka, and Yaku are in clean workout shorts, Kenma is in a trendy sweatshirt and the rest of him is covered by a weighted blanket, and Yamamoto & Teshiro are in their volleyball uniforms from earlier (ew)

you get a quick nod and a brief smile from Kenma (basically Kenma was never meant to be a Professional Host™), but the rest of the boys are ✨Beaming✨ as you look them over

and your heart swells because this is exactly what you needed. to be in the presence of these sweet, granted kinda sweaty, guys where there were no goals or deadlines to be met

Kuroo’s grin quickly catches your eye and he pats the open couch seat next to him

and conversations take off smoothly and sweetly, the airspace full of friendly taunts, crude jokes, and screams from Lev’s being hit by 3 blue shells in a single game of Mario Kart

after several hours of you beating their asses with Princess Peach on Rainbow Road, everyone ends up splayed out across each other for the sake of comfort

your head found its way to Kuroo’s lap (the two of you being both third years, classmates, and close friends) and his hands move to give you a much needed scalp massage

you feel the weight of the world melt off your shoulders. it’s like one night was all you needed to clear your head and at least help you back onto your feet

with your legs dangling off the arm of the couch, Kuroo’s hand now just gently stroking your arm, you decide to thank them for tonight as best you could, because you’ve not felt this happy in what seems like months

“I just want to let you kids know that you’re all the best.” you cut through everyone’s conversations, voice resting on their ears for a moment

“And, uh, not to be disgustingly cheesy… but I really love you guys.”

you cover your eyes, acting as though you were embarrassed, but in reality you feel tears threatening to spill out

Kuroo’s expression falls for a moment, because he’s not stupid and can tell you’re still processing everything

so he simply lifts your hands off of your eyes and you, with a perfect tear skimming the side of your face, can’t help but let out a soft, relieved laugh

it’s silent for a second, but Kuroo just smiles & opens his mouth to say something

but he’s interrupted by some rude-ass kids (Yamamoto & Inuoka) shouting out their love for you and rushing over to smother you in tearful hugs

you’re saved by Yaku, who’s grabbed them both by the backs of their shirts, stopping them in their emotional, hug-giving tracks

but your giggles continue, now laughing at all their surprised expressions and Kuroo’s peeved one from getting cut-off

so you hop up off the couch, place your hands on your hips and allow their eyes to rest on you before swinging your arms open wide with the sweetest, most genuine smile you can muster

“Well, are y’all gonna come hug me, or should I just go now?”

queue a small stampede of boys tackling you (gently) to the floor, laughter bubbling from every mouth, and warmth that spreads from the outside, in

in between the chuckles, shoves, and “get off of me’s” you hear a phrase tumble out of Kenma’s mouth

“We love you too, y/n.”

it was supposed to be unheard, lost in the tumbling around you, but those three words then took traction in individual ways with different boys

“We love you!”

“I love ya.”

“You’re kinda okay, I guess...”

“Marry me, y/n!”

“Shut up, Yamamoto!”

you would always have a place with them, no matter how bad things got and no matter what anyone said about you

because whenever you needed them, they’d be sure to show up, just as you’d do for them

---

soft team sleepover series

soft shiratorizawa sleepover

soft karasuno sleepover

soft seijoh sleepover

soft fukurodani sleepover

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @kit-tea, @theworldupthere, @sugasugawarau, @star-puff, @akaashisupremacy

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list - blogs in bold could not be tagged)

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renaerys · 3 years

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PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back.

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table.

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine.

“Origin?” he asked.

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.).

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down.

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself.

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee.

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack.

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius.

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later.

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other.

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week.

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card.

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête.

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes.

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning.

Milieu was her word.

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library.

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them.

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel.

“Okay, ready for another round?”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done.

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad.

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence.

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas.

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!”

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float.

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said.

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…”

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged.

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd.

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board.

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself.

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said.

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning.

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down.

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg blossom #ppg brick #ppg shook #powerpuff girls fanfic #february fic prompts #this probably won't show up in the tag due to cursing #so reblogs are super appreciated!!

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