#hes very...ashy??? he looks *very* white against my backgrounds

[fluffyhellspawn]

this week on: what character am i deathly hyperfixated on? Arlan from HSR!! tried drawing him with just the clip studio marker pen. id say it went pretty well :) God i love him so much. i always end up having weird obsessions with the characters majority of the fanbase really dislikes (playstyle wise). which is INSANE to me because i love this little guy's playstyle so much also, his sword??? so fun to draw. ahhhhhhh lightning users. save me lightning users. god i love sci fi characters UGgjjghhjghjgf

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[spitpr1ncess]

BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

                                               (not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt8)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Eight: The Alach Moon Dragon

“Excuse me!” You call out to the captain, sliding past your new companions quickly, hearing Tech chuckle behind you. When the captain ignores you, you call again.

“Excuse me!” You emphasize, getting ignored again as Hunter beelines to the side of the ship, when his intention to dump the small creature curling around his grasp becomes clear, you let go of ladylikeness all together.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” You shriek at him, and even the tiny thing perks it head up at your nerve. Behind you, Crosshair laughs. You straighten your posture and clasp your hands together delectly. The captain looks like you’ve shocked the anger out of his system.

“I would very much appreciate it if you were to not throw her overboard.” You state trying to make up for your language.

“I think we’re past pleasantries sweetheart.” Hunter grits out.

“You can say that again, sarge!” Wrecker gleefully calls.

“Thank you Wrecker.” Hunter says dryly. Before looking back at the mini-dragon again, and with a huff, he comes back towards you.

“I’m sorry.” you apologize for a number of things, and if you’re analyzing the interaction the way Tech is, you’d see his gaze soften for the quickest of moments.

“Give me one reason not to dump this thing overboard.” He says holding up his hand where he holds the creature by its scruff. And you see the details of his burn mark more closely, and you can’t make out what are clearly Aurebesh letters, but they look extensive and painful.

“She’s an innocent creature.” You argue, fully aware of the comparisons between the small dragon and yourself. “I’ll take her, she’ll leave the ship with me.”

“Fine.” He says eyeing your wrists when you go to take her in your hands. “The bracelet.” Hunter says with a nod towards the gold on your wrist. In the background you hear someone comment ‘oh for fucks sake Hunter.’ But you ignore them. Sliding the ornate jewelry off of your wrist, juggling with your feathered friend, you drop it into his palm.

“Consider it the fare for two passengers.” You tell him.

“Fine.” He says again, turning his back on you. “I don’t want to see that thing near my quarters.” He calls back, and Tech comes to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Is he referring to the dragon or me?” you inquire.

“I haven't the faintest clue.” Your goggled shipmate admits.

You’ve had your share of awkward meals, forced dinners and luncheons with various upper class pricks. The kind that requires scrunched nose smiles and usually involve your silence or small nods of agreement.

This dinner is decidedly a different kind of awkward, and it’s refreshing to know that the company you’re in feels even more awkward than yourself. You almost enjoy this newfound weirdness as you sit and munch on dried meat with the clones.

“Gonk really likes you, Little Aaray” Wrecker comments through bites of food. You smile genuinely at the lizard on your shoulder.

“I think she’s marvellous.” You say, never having seen anything like her.

“Perhaps she’s drawn to your likeness.” Tech says regarding you both with the curious look that never leaves his face.

“Yes, compare the lady to a spliced organism that's got patchy fur” Crosshair rolls his eyes at his younger brother, and Tech rolls his eyes at his brother's comment.

“I meant that they’re both females. And it’s got patchy feathers. Not fur.” He points out. And you huff out a contained giggle.

“Thank you for recognizing that Tech, even in my ruined attire I am indeed a female.” You shoot playfully at him. Having since put your door-stop-boot back on, you’re a little more put together but all in all, still a mess. So you abandon the food and begin to work the pins out of your hair. Gonk perks her head up at your actions with another ‘bloooorg” sounding noise. You reward her with a chin scratch and notice all the eyes on you.

“Do I look that bad?” You tease the speechless clones in front of you. Hunter huffs to himself, Tech apologizes and starts a conversation with Wrecker.

“I’ve seen better.” Crosshair teases, making you laugh.

“So have I, but you don't see me complaining.” You counter without thinking. Slapping a hand over your mouth at the words, how have you lost years of politeness in the span of just a few hours?

“I’m so sorry-” you start an apology to Crosshair as he glares at you. But Wreckers laugh cuts you off.

“Lighten up Cross��air!” He says elbowing him in the side. “She got you good!” he exclaims, and you catch a smile from Tech. You clear your throat and wonder how coruscanti men would’ve reacted to your cheek.

“Can I ask-?”

“No.” Hunter cuts you off, and you take this chance to take in how he looks. Not exactly relaxed but as close to relaxed as he gets. Laying back on the crates wrecker dragged over for chairs, one foot propped on the tallest tower of provisions. His hat covers his face and he leans back on his arms, so you’re only assuming he’s glaring when he interrupts you.

“Sorry.” you mumble picking your ‘food’ up again.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, earning him a side eye from under the hat. “Ask us what you’d like to know.”

“I just, well, I was wondering about…” You trail off and crack your knuckles again, such a bad habit you chide to yourself. Hunter raises an eyebrow as he watches you crack them. - almost impressed at the action.

“About our mutations right?” Tech finishes your sentence, and continues on before you get the chance to nod. “Well you’ve probably deduced by now that Wrecker is the muscle of our operations, whereas I've been gifted with a brilliant mind.” Crosshair scoffs again. “Bless you.” Tech responds without missing a beat. “He-” Tech points to his ashy haired brother, “has exceptional aim, blaster or otherwise, hence him catching you earlier. And Hunter, Hunter’s got enhanced senses, he can feel things before anyone or anything else.” You let out a small ‘oh’ at that. They’re all so different it’s hard to picture them being clones of anybody, much less clones of the same person.

“That’s all very impressive.” You tell him, receiving proud smiles from Wrecker and Tech.

“But what about you?” Crosshair asks, raising a brow.

“Me?” You say with a breath of surprise. “Nothing makes me special.” You brush hair away from the shoulder Gonk is resting on.

“Then why does Nython want you so bad?” You bristle at the name and the twinge of maliciousness in Crosshair's voice. You fumble and look at your feet, moving your hair around in your hands as another nervous habit.

You don’t see Hunter tilt his head so he can see you from under his hat. Nor do you see the soft gaze he regards you with.

“I don’t know.” You respond, finally looking back at Crosshair, “I simply do not know.”

A silence falls over the group that isn’t nearly as comfortable as before, and on the horizon the sun begins to set. Hunter is still watching you from under his hat, he’s still not sure what to make of you. What kind of woman throws her life away as a stowaway? And where did you get this serge of bravery? No matter how hard he tries to hate you for ending up on his ship, he can’t deny the respect you deserve or holding your own against his crew.

And maybe he enjoys how you stare at the sunset, that wondrous look of longing and small smile, like you’re properly seeing it for the first time.

Shit. sunset. They’ve all been sitting around for too long.

You jump as the captain moves, tearing your eyes away from the brilliance of orange and red in the sky. You see his long legs uncross and swing off the crates so he can stand up with a groan.

“Sit rep?” He asks the group, and unsurprisingly tech answers.

“I’ll double check our heading and direction, however, knowing the Corillian Run I suspect we can tie down the sails for the night.”

“Shall we collect our finest blankets for the Aaray over here?” Crosshair asks, he sounds a little sarcastic, but not sarcastic enough to make his comment completely a joke and not hurtful. But his question does make everyone look at you. Where are you going to sleep?

On your shoulder, Gonk doesn't like the eyes on her, and she scrunches her nose, bearing teeth at the crew. Your heart swells, you know she’s being protective of herself but you can’t help but feel like you’ve finally got someone on your side. Even if it is a tiny awkward Moon Dragon.

“There's a bed in the brig.” Hunter says, almost like he’s testing you, or trying to provoke you, or perhaps, both?

“I’m not that dull,” You tell him, “I’m not going back down there.”

“Shame.” He says plainly. You look to Tech for help, thinking that perhaps he is the most reasonable of them all, surrounding, the wind chills you, and you’re envious of the men in thick jackets.

“What about Echo-” Wrecker begins, after no one offering you a space to sleep, you think he took the moment to speak up.

“She’s not taking Echo’s space.” The captain says harshly, and you look up at him from the crate you sit on. “You can sleep on the deck for all I care.” And with that he turns sharply before stalking away to what you assume is the captain's quarters.

“Ignore him.” Tech says, eyeing his sergeant suspiciously. And you take notice of the crinkle that forms right where the brim of his goggles end and his forehead peaks through.

“I do not think ignoring him is advisable.” You chime in, enjoying the huff of approval you get from Crosshair.

“He’s not…” Tech stars, before sighing and putting his food down. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Gonk makes a small movement when you rush to follow Tech, and you guess that whatever kind of creature she is, it is not one of many words- or rather sounds. And as the sun sets, she becomes more lively, hence the name ‘moon dragon.’ you suppose. And as tech leads you below decks to an area that you assume is their dwelling.

Four hammocks are tied in each corner, allowing for maximum space. You can tell that wreckers is the biggest one, embedded into the sturdiest looking post that has notches in it, what they’re counting you don’t know. By sense of deduction, you guess that the folded blankets and organized trunks belong to Tech, and that the disarray of bolts, cleaning rags, and a singular pillow and blanket belongs to crosshair.

That leaves the hammock furthest from the door, to the left is wreckers hammock, and to the right, Techs. You assume this one, which is empty save for a notebook, ink and quill, belongs to ‘Echo’.

“How did he die?” You ask as softly as possible. And tech, who has busied himself in a thickly bound book from his hammock looks up briefly.

“Who?” he asks, going back to the pages.

“Echo…?” you ask again. Bristling when he laughs and flips the book closed.

“He’s not dead,” Tech says, shaking his head, “although I've got no idea how. What made you think he was gone?” You haven't decided how you feel about the way Tech looks at you, like he’s analysing your mind, and every way you answer a question, or move, tells him more than you intend.

“The way the Captain reacted, the fact he’s not here with you…” you trail off looking around the room, and the way the hanging lanterns brush against the dark wood.

“Echo’s waiting for us at Alderaan, he was taken by the Techno Union during the war, and is, well, he’s different now.” he tells you as honestly as possible, while opening the crate by Echo’s spot and grabbing a blanket - mumbling about how it wasn’t properly folded.

“You said that about the captain as well.” You say with a thank you when Tech hands you the blanket.

“Just call him Hunter.” Tech exasperates, “Hunter is a complex man, not easily trusting nor tolerant of many people. He feels betrayed, we all do.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, and watch as he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you, before heading back out to the deck of the ship, leaving you to think about what exactly happened in those wartime days.

Hopping off your shoulder, Gonk climbs the side of the ship, her mismatched eyes and tiny feathers catching the light strangely. It makes you wonder if you’re just as strange to the clones as the Alach Moon Dragon was to yourself.

[alolowrites]

Late Night Visitor

Summary: A mysterious stranger visits your balcony and accidentally leaves behind a priceless jewelry that they stole from a museum.   

Author’s Note: I’m pleased to share the next story for @bnhabookclub​ Hero Camp Bingo event. The prompt I used was “Crime AU” It took a while getting this done because of work stress and having slight writer’s block (plus I kept changing the story’s direction). But really, it was because of how stressed/tired I’ve been the past few weeks. So, really sorry if it took forever posting another story.

It’s also my first time writing for Hawks, so hopefully I did him justice! He was the first character that popped up when working with this prompt. Please enjoy!!

Word Count: 2.3K+

“Ah! Hot, hot!”

Well, isn’t this just great? Nothing like accidentally burning your tongue during dinner to remind yourself how impatient you are—damn hunger. One hand flails to cool down your mouth. Steam dances above the hearty bowl of curry rice, the sweet smell of caramelized onions greeting your nose with a soft kiss. Bless the local 7-11 markets for selling quick and easy meals.

You sit criss-cross applesauce on the fluffy gray rug and scroll through social media for the millionth time. It’s been a slow weekend as yesterday’s news is recycled for today’s news. A random show plays on the television, but you don’t pay attention to the white noise. All your focus is on the phone, yet you still reach for another bite from your meal. How the rug stays clean during dinner nights at home is a complete mystery.  

Sipping on your drink, you spare a glance at the balcony and do a double-take—a stranger is crouching outside. You choke, “Oh shit!”

Without thinking, you scurry behind the gray couch, not caring if the rug becomes messy. Your pounding heart is like a concert bass drum which echoes around the small apartment. The sound drowns out the show’s mindlessly chatter. Frightened eyes peek around the corner, and you whip back in full regret.

The person is still outside. Their back is facing toward the balcony door, and they are wearing a form-fitting black hoodie. Hands search for your phone, but they come up empty. Panic finally settles in when you realize it’s on the coffee table. Great, you moan as your head softly hits against the furniture—is the door even locked?

You’re faced with a dilemma: Do you stay out of sight until the stranger leaves or risk being seen while getting help? After much deliberation, you swallow a hard pill and growl at the ceiling, “If I’m doing this, I better not die!”

You’re like a soldier crawling through the mud with a drill sergeant yelling down your neck. You snatch the phone off the table, but make the mistake of looking up at the sliding door. Everything comes to a screeching halt as curious gold eyes stare into your timid ones. The mysterious visitor becomes more intimidating thanks to the balaclava mask—it covers the lower half of their face.

The intense staring contest last for an eternity. You nearly rip off the loose strands on your rug when the stranger approaches closer; they stop when you back away. Taking pity on you, they jump over the balcony and disappear into the quiet night.

A sense of relief washes over you.

Who knows what could have happened to you? Maybe your mom was right about learning some self-defense; the pepper spray is not enough. As you stand and dust off your pants, a shiny light catches your attention; it’s coming from outside. You go against your better judgment and tiptoe toward the balcony.

Your jaw immediately falls to the floor when you spot an exquisite ruby pendant. A sparkling round diamond sits above the bright red gemstone, a slight tint of purple hue lurking underneath. Even the platinum metal chain carries an air of luxury. It’s as if the gods carefully hand-crafted this entire jewelry themselves. In short, it is simple but elegant.

Sliding the door, you wonder if this is some kind of trap. After checking your surroundings, you swiftly pick up the accessory and snort, “Thank you for making me feel poor.”

Fingers glide along the gemstone’s perfect curves as you gaze at the sleeping neighborhood. Your mind goes wild: Who was the person with those haunting golden eyes? Why did they come to your balcony? And why in the world did they leave behind a beautiful masterpiece?

You have so many questions but very few answers.  

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“So, you didn’t call the police?”

“Um…no…?”

“And why not?”

“It was a mixture of being both scared and stupid.”

“Oh my—” Fuyumi pinches the bridge of her nose. You twiddle your fingers like a guilty child and sink further into the booth. Fuyumi had her suspicions when you texted her to meet up at the usual coffee shop near your apartment. It’s your go-to place whenever you’ve done something questionable, which is ninety-nine percent of the time. Plus, the café whips up the perfect batch of castella—her favorite pastry.  

Customers stroll in and out of the coffee shop as piano music plays softly in the background. Roasted coffee beans linger in the air, tempting your nose with its delicious aroma. Out of habit, you push the castella closer to Fuyumi as if that would help soften the blow. She exhales, “Next time, please call the police.”

“Yes, mother,” you mumble much to Fuyumi’s displeasure, but she lets it slide. With the worst over, you bounce straight up and tap the table with an air of excitement. “Oh! Here’s the best part though, besides surviving a break-in—”

“The person was outside your balcony.”

“—close enough, but not really the point, okay?” Fuyumi rolls her eyes, and you fish out your phone to show her a picture. She takes a closer look as you ramble off. “Anyway, my late-night visitor left behind this gorgeous pendant! Why they were carrying this around is beyond me, and so carelessly too. I’m no jeweler, but I’m pretty sure those stones are worth a fortune—still beautiful, though.”

“Yeah, and stolen!” The white-haired teacher hisses. You blink, wholly baffled at her extreme reaction. Fuyumi whips out her iPhone with two fingers flying above the screen. She shoves it toward you, your eyes skimming through the article. The news delivers a sharp slap across your face as the realization sinks in.

Oh no…

Fuyumi bites her lip, “It’s The Grand Droplet, a priceless heirloom rumored to offer infinite life and prosperity. Police are saying the notorious thief, Hawks, stole the pendant last night from the Yutaka Jewelry Museum.” A few seconds later, she adds, “You have the pendant—”

“Shhhhhh!” A hand attacks her arm, your panicked eyes wandering around the coffee shop as if your cover got blown. No one turns their heads, but you shoot an annoyed glare at Fuyumi. “Why don’t you say it louder? I don’t think the barista heard you!”

“I’m sorry! It’s just,” she grips the table’s edge and leans closer, “This is serious! You have to bring the pendant to the authorities. See, this is exactly why you should have called the police last night! The longer you wait, the more guilty you look. Maybe you’ll even become an accomplice to the crime.”

“You’re not helping!”

“Sorry…”

You dramatically groan into your hands, “Why did this happen to me?! When I said I wanted to live like Larry, I didn’t mean this!”

“I know,” Fuyumi pats your head and sneaks a bite of her delicious treat; her phone chimes beside you. She checks the message before flashing an apologetic stare. “Listen, I have to take care of something with my family, but I hate to leave you like this.”

“No, it’s okay. I can handle this myself,” you pathetically convince her. “I’m sure nothing bad will happen, knock on wood—”

“The table is metal.”

“I said what I said!” Your fist aggressively pounds the table, scaring off some customers. A mother hastily pushes her child away from the chaotic scene. You calm down and sigh, “I promise to call you if I’m in danger, okay?”

“Okay.”

You nod before whispering, “Sorry, table.”

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

The walk back home is anything but relaxing. You are on high alert, throwing suspicious glances at anyone coming too close to you. They could be undercover cops waiting to ambush you and interrogate your poor soul for hours until the necklace reappears.

But I didn’t do anything! I’m a good noodle!

You sigh as the key unlocks the door, your shoes flying off by the entrance. Fortunately, you hid the pendant in a safe place. All you want to do is get rid of this jewelry; it brings nothing but trouble.

Marching down the hallway, you grumble under your breath, “Stupid Hawks, and his stupid stealing habits.”

Everyone knows about the infamous Hawks. He strikes when one least expects him to, and somehow successfully evades capture after every heist. But Hawks always leaves behind his signature red feather as a little present for authorities—it never fails to rile them up. Hopefully, the cops show some mercy when you explain what happened. Maybe you should work on your puppy dog look before heading downtown, which might help you score a few sympathy points.

You find the burgundy jewelry box sitting on the closet’s top shelf and breathe a sigh of relief—the pendant is still inside. Not wasting precious time, you close the lid and exit your room. A soft click makes you freeze.

Standing by the balcony door is Hawks, who wears a black jacket with a white shirt underneath. His ashy blonde hair is lazily slicked back, a few strands sticking here and there like no tomorrow. Surprisingly, he lowers the balaclava mask and flashes a boyish grin, “‘Bout time you came home! I was getting bored out there.”

“How did you—wait, never mind. You break into high-security places to steal things for a living,” you say, shifting the jewelry box onto your right grip. “Listen, as much as I would like to stay and chit-chat, my day is fully booked. Can’t really cancel on these people, ya know?” You slowly tiptoe backward, an awkward laugh ringing through the air. “Let’s do a rain check; I’m free next week. Okay? Okay! See ya—“

“Hold it!” You halt on his order, a curse slipping out your mouth. Hawks strides across the floor, and you clutch the box closer to your chest. You feel as though your feet are glued to the ground, the nerves growing stronger once Hawks stands only a few feet away. He crosses his arms and nods at the box, “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really.”

“Can I take a look?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Um, because I don’t want to, that’s why,” you childishly snap and send him a dismissive wave. “Now, shoo! You’re wasting my precious time.”

Hawks chuckles at your feisty attitude. He finds this whole ordeal extremely amusing. You know who he is, you know of his reputation just like everyone else in Japan. And yet, you keep on swinging like a boxer with your witty responses. Still, he has a job to finish. “I’m not leaving until you give me that pendant.”  

“Well, I hope you’re paying for half the rent because there’s no way in hell I’m giving it to you, Mr. Thief.” Two seconds later, you add, “Besides, it’s not even yours!”

“It’s not yours either.”

“Oh!” You give him a fake laugh, pointing one finger at your chest. “So the thief is criticizing me for having something that’s not mine? How rich.”

“You’re lucky I find you cute, but,” Hawks dangerously invades your personal space without giving you a chance to stop him. From far away, he doesn’t appear tall. However, Hawks somehow towers over you, which makes you involuntarily squeak. A wicked glint shines through his golden eyes as he studies your unique facial features. You suddenly forget to breathe when his eyes glance at your lips—damn him.

Hawks plucks the box from your loose grip. The hypnotic spell comes crashing down, and you loudly snarl, “Hey! Give it back!”

“Sorry, Dove,” Hawks keeps you at arm’s length, his gloved hand giving your shoulder a soft squeeze as he smirks, “I got a buyer who’s willing to pay a hefty price for this beauty. Of course, you are way more stunning, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

“Quit charming me!” You’re a blushing mess now and throw a pillow at him; he easily dodges it much to your dismay. Hawks’ cackles bounce off the wall, which makes you scowl. His fingers slide the balcony door open, and he tastes sweet freedom.

“Farewell, Dove!”

You have a deja vu moment when Hawks jumps over the edge. Your legs rush outside, and eyes frantically search the streets, but it’s no use—the thief is long gone. One hand slaps your forehead as you stupidly let him get away with the jewel. Feeling like a deflated balloon, you whip out your phone and make a quick call.

“Fuyumi…yeah, the pendant got stolen again.”

Stupid thief.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

You collapse on the couch with as much grace as an inexperienced dancer who steps on people’s toes. Work left you exhausted, but you’re glad it’s almost the weekend. You’ll definitely sleep in and have a lazy day on Sunday. It’s what you deserve after meeting tight deadlines and also talking to the police about Hawks.

Fortunately, they do not blame you for anything, much to your relief. It’s been about a week since Hawks broke into your apartment to steal back the Grand Droplet. Police have no luck locating him; they believe the thief is lying low until it’s safe enough for him to strike again. Where exactly is anyone’s guess.

A knock disrupts your thoughts.

It comes from the balcony, and you jump to your feet. No one is outside, although a flash of red catches your eye. Lo and behold, it’s Hawks’ signature feather with a small note attached. Oh, how lovely, you think before snatching the gift off the floor. Your pet name is affectionately written across the paper. You hate yourself for finding Hawks’ calligraphy impressive, but proceed to read the note.

Sorry for cutting our convo short—had a deal to close. No hard feelings, though, right? If anything, I’ll make it up to you, Dove. Besides, you still owe me that rain check.

See ya soon!

-H

You don’t bother biting back your smile.

Guess you’ll be seeing Fuyumi at the coffee shop again.

Fourth prompt is crossed off. Which one will be next? Stay tune! Thank you for reading! 

Previous prompt: Cuddles 

Hero Camp Bingo Masterlist

[monstersandmaw]

Male changeling (Dunnock) x female reader - Part Two (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I had not intended for this to get so long, and the story is now three chapters in total! The last part just needs a bit more adding (it's nsfw btw) and some editing, so it shouldn't be as long between this and the last part as it was between the first and second. It’s been up on Patreon for a while, since folks there get it on early release as usual.

Catch up with Part One (sfw) here (Tumblr link | Patreon link)

Content: more fluffy bonding and memories with our childhood friend, a bit of talk about the reader's father, and of Dunnock's origins/background, and preparations for the little village's Spring Equinox Festival...... Wordcount: 2886

As dawn filtered through the thin, light-degraded fabric of the hut’s old curtains, you became gradually aware of the warm, solid presence of Dunnock’s body behind you. After sharing the evening and your food with him for supper, you’d fallen asleep on the soft hearthrug beside him, and apparently he had dozed off as well. Over the course of the night, as the fire had died down to little more than ashy, red embers, he had shifted to tuck you tightly against his chest. One massive arm dangled over your waist, clawed hand resting limp and relaxed in the space beside your stomach, the other arm pillowing his strange head.

In the moments before he stirred too, you stared at him. The monumentality of just what his existence meant stunned you for a second, and you swallowed thickly. He was every bit as real as the solid floor beneath you, and yet your mind screamed at you that he was impossible. The smoky grey fur swirled around his closed eyes in a pattern that made you ache to trace your finger along it, just to feel the contours of his face, the strange plains and angles that weren’t quite wolf and weren’t quite bear; they weren’t quite anything that you could relate to, and yet there he was.

Perhaps sensing the shift in your breathing as you slid from sleep to wakefulness, perhaps sensing nothing at all, Dunnock inhaled more deeply and blinked himself awake. His long-lashed eyelids fluttered for a moment before they revealed the deep, cornflower blue of his eyes and you smiled. He, however, appeared to crash back to reality with a jolt. The moment he realised where his arm had been lying, he retracted it with the speed of a striking viper, ears flattening and eyes widening.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice rough and thick with sleep. “I… I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“It was nice,” you smiled honestly, half rolling and half shuffling to look at him a little better. More than one part of you felt bruised and sore from your night on the hard floor, and you probably had makeup smudged under your eyes or something, but there was a look in his steady eyes that made you not want to care at all. They really were spectacular eyes after all - the brightest and most vibrant blue.

He blinked slowly, left eye closing fractionally before the right, and you grinned as you recognised it as something that the little barefoot boy in the woods had done too. In a flash, you saw him standing in a glade and beaming at you with a handful of dirt and a tiny hazelnut that had clearly been stashed by a squirrel and subsequently forgotten and left to sprout. His freckles had enchanted you as much as his eyes had, and you found yourself tumbling unbidden down the verdant banks of memory lane in an instant.  

“What?” he rumbled.

With a chuckle, you reached a hand up to his cheek and trailed your fingertips over the impossibly downy fur there. A quiet, almost wheezing rumble left him, and those eyes, so clear and intense, disappeared again as his eyelids fluttered down, unable to look at you as you touched him with such tenderness.

“What?” he repeated in a hoarse whisper without opening his eyes.

“Just remembering the little things, is all…” you said. “You really are the same, you know?” you added a moment later as you dropped your hand again.

At that, he did look at you, surprise evident in the set of his cervine ears.

“I mean… sure, you’re about as different as it’s possible to get, physically, but you’re just the same otherwise.”

His lips tugged into a wonky smile that revealed sharp canines, and he rolled onto his back to stretch. He lay there for a while with his hands resting lightly on his chest and his legs stretched out like a hound luxuriating by a fire.

“How’s your leg?” you asked as your eyes travelled down the length of his strange and beautiful body.

Flexing his foot experimentally, the pads of his paws spreading rather sweetly, he grunted and nodded. “Fine. All healed.” Shooting you a cheeky sidelong look, he added, “Told you.”

Breakfast was bacon butties, something that Dunnock hadn’t had since your father had died, and he clearly relished them.

“He used to bring me one sometimes,” Dunnock confessed after practically inhaling two soft white rolls filled with hot, crispy bacon that you’d offered him. “I’d always smell them when he made them on Saturdays, and sometimes he’d see me between the trees and make me an extra one too.”

Something ached at the thought of Dunnock knowing your father almost better than you had.

As if he’d spotted the thought on your face, the changeling looked away and then added, “He used to talk about you a lot.”

“Really?”

“Mn. If he’d recently come back from visiting you when I saw him, he’d tell me about how you were getting on. I think he knew I missed you too.”

Guilt twisted your gut and you felt your breakfast curdle as you stood by the kitchen window and gazed out at the empty bird feeder on the edge of the clearing near your car. “I should have come back here, but I just never seemed to find the time… between studying and taking care of mum - at least to start with - and then juggling work experience and a part time job to pay the rent…”

“He understood,” Dunnock supplied quietly from behind you, and you sensed that he wasn’t just speaking for your father.

“That… That doesn’t make it easier,” you said. “I’m glad he did though.” After another pause you said, “I loved him a lot.”

Dunnock bobbed his head and grunted softly. “You’re a lot like him.”

“Mum always said I’d end up working for the wildlife service or something. Speaking of… I’d planned to take a hike today. You don’t know of any good trails, do you?” you asked with a grin.

“Oh, I can think of a few nice routes,” he chuckled, heaving himself onto all fours and shaking his dense fur out. “I’ll let you get ready and meet you just up that little trail where you found me yesterday.”

The hike with Dunnock brought back a relentless flood of memories.

He led you down the network of endless paths that the two of you had forged together as children, taking in all the old haunts from the Neolithic quarry nestled between tall mossy pines, to the small bog at the edge of the forest where the heath drained down into a treacherous, peaty swamp, dark and stinking and full of tannins. Here there were butterflies and glittering dragonflies that made crazy loops through the reeds, and rabbits with twitching noses snuffling through the underbrush. Further out, you saw stocky, bristle-brush ponies on the moor, and the larks burbling above, and although the walk drained you, physically, it began to recharge something mentally that had been empty for so long that you’d failed to notice it any more. Even your boss had seen it, but it had evaded you for the longest time.

That evening, Dunnock stayed with you again, and he remarked on the life returning to your eyes, which made you blush and thump him on the shoulder. In turn, he just rumbled another chuckle.

“Dun… Tell me about the Fae then?” you asked after you'd both eaten. With Dunnock tucking into your food as well, you were almost out of the modest supply you’d bought on your way in, and the next day you’d have to go to the store in Iska’s Well.

A ripple of tension shuddered almost imperceptibly up his spine, and he seemed to have braced for an impact that you couldn’t see. Sitting beside the fire that you’d decided to let die down early that night, he then sighed and half shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know much about it. I’ve never lived with them.”

“But… how do you know what you are?” you pressed carefully.

Taking another huge lungful of air, he shifted slightly and gave another noncommittal shrug. “The family - whose human baby my parents stole to bring up as Fae - raised me until I was about five I think, and I must have shifted for the first time around then. I don’t really remember them very well, but I remember that they were frightened of me. The woman was… she… I think she knew about the Fae in some way because the moment she saw what I was, she drove me to the forest and left me there. I won’t repeat what she said, but she knew that I wasn’t human. I don’t know what the man thought of what she did, but no one ever came for me.”

He didn’t seem particularly upset by any of what he’d just revealed to you - just awkward - but you sat there with your mouth hanging open in horror. “Dunnock…”

“What?” he asked, blue eyes searing with a frank confusion that stunned you.

When you blurted, “You were abandoned twice?”

He just snorted. “I suppose so, but the forest took care of the rest. And I include your father in that. He knew I was different when he found me riding the wild ponies across the heath. I must have been six or so, completely naked and thoroughly wild… I think he gave me some of my earliest clothes…”

It was your turn to snort. “I can’t believe he didn’t try to take you to a hospital or a police station like any sane person would have done.”

“I shifted in response to what I thought was a threat,” Dunnock laughed, shaking his head as he fondly recalled the events of his first meeting with your father.

“And he just… accepted it?” you asked, amazed. From what you recalled of your father he had been a patient man, but not very… imaginative. He’d entertained no ideas of religion or of a world beyond. For him to accept that Dunnock wasn’t from this world painted him in a new light. You wished you could talk to him about it now, and that thought brought unexpected tears to your eyes.

Dunnock startled at the change in you and surged silently to his feet, nuzzling his head and cheek against your neck where you sat on the floor with your back to the moth-eaten couch behind. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Shaking your head, you told him it was fine. “Being here - and learning all this - it’s just… stirring up old feelings, you know?”

“I know. How about you tell me more about the animals you care for? I’d like to hear what happened to the Rottweiler that wouldn’t be adopted without the rabbit…”

You knew he was distracting you, but you were only too happy to tell him that one.

Yet again, Dunnock stayed the night, but this time you both curled up on the mattress in the corner of the room. There was no need for a sleeping bag with the warmth that Dunnock’s body threw off, and you curled gratefully into the curve of his body while he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you this time.

As you drifted on the shores of sleep some time near midnight, having talked each other hoarse again, he gave a cavernous sigh and tugged you a little tighter, murmuring in your ear, “I missed you…”

The next day you woke late and headed into Iska’s Well in the car while Dunnock returned to the woods alone. “I’ll know when you’re back,” he said quietly. “That infernal jay will probably come tattling to me first.”

“Really? Do they actually… you know… speak?” you’d asked, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

He shook his head. “Not with words like we are now, but they have their own way. I got pretty good at listening, besides… I can… feel when you’re in this part of the wood.”

You’d petted him gently between his ears and listened to his brief but happy rumble before he’d risen onto his hind legs and brought his finger to the underside of your chin. Leaving with an obviously affectionate little stroke there, he disappeared into the shadows in a mere few paces, and you blinked in surprise. It was as if he’d vanished completely and you swayed on the spot.

“Dunnock?” you whispered.

“Mn?” came his curious response from the depths of the trees. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah… don’t worry. See you later,” you breezed. He really was something Fae about him after all.

Iska’s Well was busy that lunchtime, which was to say that there were all of three people in the general store, and they were all talking animatedly about the Spring Equinox Festival. The owner of the shop, a portly woman in her early sixties with soft grey hair and a motherly look to her, glanced away from their little huddle as the brass bell above the door tinkled a welcome, and she smiled at you. “Hello dear!” she called. “How’s the old cabin treating you? No squirrels in the roof?”

“Nothing of the sort, thank you,” you replied, warily eyeing the other three women who had suddenly taken a very keen interest in you.

“Oh that’s good,” the shop owner exhaled dramatically. “I was wondering after you left last time if we’d have to send Steve down to help you out with anything. I’m pleased to hear that your father’s place is being lived in again.” She turned to the other three gathered conspiratorially at the end of the counter and added, “You remember our dear ranger? Well, this is his daughter. She’s only up here for a short while though, is that right?” she asked you and you nodded.

One of the women brightened visibly, her initial suspicion of an outsider evaporating now that she had a context for you, and she said, “Oh! How long are you here for then? You should come to the Equinox Festival tomorrow. It’s the highlight of the spring! Isn’t that right, Martha?”

The shopkeeper nodded. “Our Sam is going to be playing with his little band, and there’s a hog roast and dancing… You’ll never want to leave, I promise!”

“Sounds ominous,” you quipped, but the women only laughed.

“We’ll see you there then?” the second asked.

She looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer where hospitality was concerned - in fact they all did - so you just nodded and smiled and said you’d probably be there. That seemed to do the trick and you were allowed to continue your shopping in peace, leaving fifteen minutes later and heading back to the cabin.

Dunnock wasn’t there when you drew up in the little gravel parking area in front of the house, and he didn’t reappear until sunset which saw you sitting on the porch step, idly watching the birds flit back and forth from the pines to the bird feeder.

“No wonder everyone’s here,” came Dunnock's deep, rough voice from between the rough trunks of the nearby trees. “Sunflower seeds at this time of year - what a treat, eh?”

You couldn’t help smiling, and in a heartbeat you found yourself on your feet and walking towards him. It felt as though he were reeling you in, pulling you closer by the sheer force of his presence. Everything about this felt natural and right and you didn’t pause to think. He leaned his tall body against the last of the trees and waited for you to join him, watching you approach with his steady, forget-me-not blue gaze.

Hanging on the branch beside him you noticed two fresh trout, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “You’ve been feeding me since you got here. Thought I should return the favour. Do you not like fish?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” you grinned. “You’re lucky my dad taught me how to deal with them though. Not everyone knows how to gut and bone a fish…”

Something flashed across his face but he hid it behind a chuckle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely a ‘something’,” you pressed playfully.

Dunnock just shook his head stubbornly and took the fish off the branch with a claw and into the cabin for you.

As you ate that night, Dunnock easily lounging on the floor and you at the little scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, you were reminded of the equinox festival. “Have you ever been?” you asked when you brought it up.

Dunnock shook his shaggy head. “No,” he said, easing back a little and leaning a fraction closer to the wood burning stove. Apparently, despite the thickness of his pelt, he really enjoyed the heat it threw off. “I’ve heard it going on most years though. Sounds like it could be fun.”

“You think I should go?” you asked and he grinned.

“If you want,” he shrugged. “I think most of Iska’s Well show up for it. You’ll have no shortage of dance partners, that’s for sure.”

With a snort, you inhaled deeply with the satisfaction of a full stomach and easy company and murmured, “Maybe I will go after all…”

Part Three

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[neerasrealm]

Ej x Reader??

anon how did you know I was thinking of EJ x reader ideas last week BDFSHFGSHD. You didn’t give me anything specific so I went with smth short and goofy :) hope you enjoy.

There's this guy. 

His name is Jack, and you've known him for a while. But only online. He's nice. Laid-back, funny and understanding. You like him, and the two of you are close. Really close. You've spent many a night texting each other deep, personal struggles. He's told you a lot. He lives with his adoptive parents, and a bunch of siblings that aren't related to him by blood. He's a doctor, and he's incredibly smart. He likes cooking and cheesy black and white rom-coms. He also has a skin condition, one you can't find much info on, but he's sent you pictures. His skin is an ashy grey colour. He's also blind. Apparently he uses braille to type to you. He told you before, the story of how he lost his sight. An attack by a gang of classmates that didn't like him very much. It's a sad story, but Jack is always an optimist, and you admire him for that.

Currently, you're laying on your bed, waiting for him to text you. He's busy sometimes and it can take a while for him to respond. You don't mind this. He has his own life but- well today has been long and tiring, and you just want to talk to him and forget about it for a while. Maybe watch a movie together. You two usually screenshare, though it's really just for you. Jack can't actually see the movie, but he says he knows them all off by heart. Nerd.

Your phone buzzes and you roll over, grabbing it. You smile at the notification. 

"Hey. Soz, was busy." As you unlock your phone a second message appears. "Long day huh?" 

"Yep." You text back. "School is killingggg me."

"Feel that." You watch him type, smiling to yourself. "Wanna call? Might cheer u up."

You beam. A voice chat with Jack! It's something you guys don't do often, on account of him having such a large family. They often make noise in the background or interrupt him, so he tries to only call you when there's only a few people home. 

"Sure! One sec." You drop your phone and climb off your bed, instead going to your desk where your PC sits. You turn it on and swivel from side to side in your spinny chair as you wait for everything to load. Once you're set up you message Jack again. "Call me when you're ready :)"

A few seconds pass before your computer emits a ringing noise. You click the 'answer call' button and lean back in your chair. There's static for a few moments, then you hear a deep sigh. 

"Hey." 

His voice is deep and gravelly, but also soft and gentle. You smile wide and lean against your desk. "Hey dude." You greet tiredly. "How's your day?"

"It's been good- I spent it reading." You hear shuffling from his end. "Dad got me this new book, he found a new place that sells braille stuff. It's called uhh…" there's silence for a few moments as he palms at the book's cover. "The Grapes Of Wrath. It's a classic but- I've never read it."

"Huh." You tilt your head at the screen. "Just been reading?"

"Well- I guess I uh-" he pauses. "I was uh...thinking earlier…"

You frown. "Oh? What about?"

"Well uh- y'know how…" his voice lowers a bit. He sounds...shy, almost. "I've never sent you any pictures of myself?" 

Your eyes widen. "Uh- yeah." You furrow your brows. What's he getting at?

"I uh...well I was thinking maybe I-" he pauses for a second. "I could turn my camera on?" His voice is soft, meek. Your eyes widen in surprise. You'd see him for the first time...your stomach does flips at just the thought. 

"I mean-" you smile a bit. "I'd love that."

"O-okay- well uh-" he sounds nervous now, but excited. "Just- just promise me you won't freak out. My skin is weird a-and- well I don't have eyes so...I look a little freaky."

You nod. "I won't."

"Okay…" you hear him mumbling to himself nervously. "You ready?"

"Ready."

It's silent for a tense moment. You hear a click on Jack's end, and then his icon disappears, replaced by a black square screen. It takes a few moments for his camera to load. When it does, you're greeted by a dark room. The only light seems to be the computer screen, which is pretty dim. Your eyes go to the person sitting in the centre of the camera however. 

He's wearing a baggy black hoodie, and has the fluffiest auburn hair you've ever seen. His skin is the ashy grey you've seen in pictures he's sent you, and his eyes are closed. You stare. He looks nervous as he waits for your response. 

"...woah...you're hot." You blurt. He perks up, looking surprised. His eyes open, showing black empty sockets.

"Wh-what?" He asks, sounding confused. You don't dare say a word. Your cheeks feel red hot and you're glad your camera is off. "...hello…?"

You hang up immediately and shove your chair away from the desk.

[hail-the-supreme-leader-kylo-ren]

My final musings/speculation on all the TROS TV spots

I’m so sad that this is my final write up for TROS speculation.  You can find my previous “End” TV spot breakdown here, “Fate” one here, and my other TROS trailer breakdown here. 

Timeline stuff

Costumes are the biggest indicator of the timeline in the TROS footage we’ve seen so far. Poe starts by wearing his scarf and gloves, then he gets an arm injury and wraps the wound with said scarf. Later back at the Resistance base, he gets it properly bandaged and takes off his gloves. And I suspect that, for the final fight, he changes into his pilot get up and helmet (see the images below for his outfit timeline). Similarly Rey has her staff and bag or does not in various trailer footage.

JJ told us that Pasaana takes place towards the start of the film. I reaaally want to know why Rey, Finn, and Poe all have bags. They must serve a function in the story. I feel like the Resistance gang is on a mission to collect something, hence the bags. And I think that one of the things that’ll eventually be carried in Rey’s bag is the mysterious dagger she’s seen with.

Here’s Rey on Pasaana at the Aki-Aki’s festival, with a beaded neck with bits of material or paper that are pastel pink, green, and yellow. They remind me of “omikuji” which are Japanese fortune-telling paper strips that can be found in shrines and temples (see below). As Pasaana is at the start of the film, this seems very fitting for Rey, “what will her fortune be?”. Rey still has her saddle bag on.

We can see that the FO crash the festival and are in pursuit of the Resistance members, we know from the comics that Kylo has placed a bounty on them all.

On the left of screen you can see some Aki-Aki angrily chasing after the resistance and the two speeders. So I think the resistance definitely borrowed (*stole*) them from the locals to get away from the FO. 

I like how the shape of the two speeders are very different. TROS has some great design all round from what we’ve seen so far.

Here’s Rey looking v angry, and she still has her bag on but no longer wears the necklace. 

We know that Kylo and the Knights of Ren are also on Pasaana, so it’ll be interesting to see how/when the KoR interact with the Resistance. I have a feeling that the two speeders will be spilt up, and Rey will end up coming face-to-face with Kylo. 

And then there’s this scene of the Resistance inside a cave on Pasaana, all with their bags on, and they don’t look happy to see something/someone one. I think this may be once they all meet up again after the chase?

Now for the Rey flips over Kylo’s TIE Silencer scene. It’s odd because for this scene Rey doesn’t have her staff or her bag with her. Just her ignited saber. But this is still clearly Pasaana. So maybe this is after the speeder chase, or on a whole other day? The sun is setting after-all, (which will make for ~very~ romantic lighting hehe).

And I really don’t know if Rey destroys his Whisper, with her saber or with the force, but his ship is definitely toast.

Rey looks at her hand, either because she used the force to destroy his ship OR he force grabbed the legacy lightsaber out of her hands because he is now worthyyyyy. Either way, she looks shook. 

Also on Pasaana, we have footage of Rey standing in pretty much the same spot (the landscape background matches up), and she shouts “CHEWIE” and is looking up and distressed. I really don’t know what is happening to Chewie, but the trailer footage does seem to be point towards him being captured by the FO and then Finn/Rey/Poe/C-P30/BB-8/D-O go to Kylo’s FO ship to rescue him. To be honest, I don’t really understand why they’d kidnap Chewie but if it does go down like that then I would love to see the Kylo/Chewie interaction, it’ll be amazing.

And there’s also this footage of Poe on Pasaana, next to a different ship yelling “REY”. Perhaps he’s watching the Reylo stuff go down:

This is The Knights of Ren walking through the same FO ship the Resistance runs through (the corridor is the same shame/blue LEDs). The squad all leave behind muddy footprints. Now in all the images we have of the KoR, they’re outfits are muddy at the bottom, but I wouldn’t have thought they’d get muddy from Pasaana, dirty yes? but not muddy.

(See in this Vanity Fair image, all their boots/pants/coats are covered in dried brown mud).

I wonder if the KoR were with Kylo on this other planet, with the ashy/sandy ground (pictured below). This extended shot also shows that Kylo does slice through that guy he body slams. 

Kylo is muddy himself during this fighting scene. I’m also really curious as to why he doesn’t have his helmet on for this forest fight. I feel like this killing/forest mission Kylo is on is more-so a personal one, hence why he’s not wearing the helmet and that’s why he’s alone in his TIE afterwards, still all muddy.

After Pasaana, I think the Resistance gang goes to Kijimi, where they meet Zorri Bliss, find D-O, and Babu Frik does something with C-3PO’s memories. I personally hope they learn more about Anakin/Padme. Finn, Poe, and Finn all have nice warm puffy jackets on. Poe still has his scarf so he hasn’t been injured yet, and as far as we know the crew didn’t have D-O on Pasaana, so this seems to be the correct timeline regarding planetary visits. Chewie is not present.

This is an intersting shot of Rey and Zorri talking outside. I wonder if Zorri will have any juicy information for Rey.

The FO must be notified by someone that the Resistance is there, because the Stormtroopers and Supreme Leader Kylo Ren arrive:

I find it funny how Rey’s warm jacket is gone for her saber confrontation with Kylo:

I also think this scene of the TIE’s chasing the Falcon could be Kijimi as well, because its very cold/icy/snowy.

Then after Kijimi, the Resistance gang *sneaks* into Kylo’s FO ship, to free Chewie, and interestingly they’re not flying the Falcon but another ship (see below), which is weird because in later footage we see the Falcon waiting for Rey to leap to “get away”. This different ship looks a lot like the same one Poe is next to on Pasaana when he shouts “REY!”, as the ramps hinge details look the same.

We see Rey, Finn, and Poe, D-O and BB-8 leaving the ship and killing all the Storm Troopers in the hanger. We can also hear C-3PO, so I think he’s with them too. Rey still has her staff and bag, and so do Finn and Poe. 

We see the “trio” (HA) run into some Storm Troopers in a hallway, but Rey uses the Force on them. Then my guess is they decide to spilt up to find Chewie, or whatever else they’re after/doing there.

Rey takes the stairs and HAPPENS TO STUMBLE INTO THIS WHITE ROOM:

This room may be just a shrine to Vader or a gallery style room of Kylo’s Jedi/Sith artefacts. But regardless I think Rey actually has a few minutes to herself in here, because she puts her bag and her staff down. She leans her staff against a big column with mechanical parts (AND RED WIRING *red string of fate*), and you can see that Chewie’s bowcaster is also there. 

Sidenote: this kind of doesn’t make sense because in a different shot Rey’s staff is leaning against a white ‘cabinet’ along with Chewie’s ammo belt and bow which is directly opposite the Vader statue. See below, you can glimpse their stuff beneath the falling Vader helmet. And that mechanical column is to the right of screen. 

But I digress. At some put Kylo shows up: Enter Kylo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s so Pride and Prejudice, where Mr Darcy finds Elizabeth in his house. And from somewhere Rey produces a dagger. It was either in her bag, or its one of Kylo’s artefacts that she’s grabbed.

This set is SO COOL. It’s very symmetrical and geometric, and it reminds me sooo much of Vader’s ESB mediation chambers shapes plus its white interior! (see below).

They fight, and either purposefully or haphazardly destroy the Vader stand.

And I wonder what happens post-fight, because later in the bunker THIS HAPPENS AND IT LOOKS SO LONGING AND ROMANTIC. His helmet is off, Rey no longer has her staff or bag. Where is her stuff? He is gonna give it back to her?? Regardless, Ben stands there looking forlorn watching her leave.

While Reylo was happening, Finn and Poe must find Chewie and have to make it back to the ship. 

I suspect that right here is where Poe gets his arm injury as Finn yells “POE!”. The background is very FO.

We have this footage of a Rey and Chewie hug in the Falcon which could be a reunion post-rescue, who knowsss.

After the Resistance gang is all back together maybe they go back to the Resistance HQ, or they head straight to the planet with the Death Star ruins (it may be Kef Bir, because they seem to meet Jannah there).

Here’s the DAGGER again! But this time Rey appears to be using it as a wayfinding tool, guiding her to the ruins. What ever are they searching for in the Death Star II ruins??? 

The quillon of the dagger also look longer than in the fight scene with Kylo. It looks like carved Ivory and the tip looks red like its blood stained.  Very sinister.

We see then have seen footage of Rey taking the water-boat thing by herself, presuming leaving the others behind? Then she’s climbing the Death Star ruins solo.

Somehow she finds herself in the ol’ Throne Room and KYLO IS THERE. She no longer has her bag, and he doesn’t have his saber lit but she does.

Then for the zillionth time Rey attacks Kylo. I wonder how this fight must come to an end but then also continue outside??

It seems that Kylo follows Rey outside to the debris, his saber lit this time. These two shots look super romantic, and paint the picture of an inventible watery angsty fight kiss. Ben looks so determined to sort this shit OUT. 

But then here Rey appears to Force Freeze Kylo, which is karma for when he did it to her in TFA. This demonstrates how better attuned Rey has become with her abilities. Maybe this happens mid-fight? Anyways, this is the third Reylo fight and everything comes in threes, so I think this will be the final fight they have. One that will end with a resolution that changes everything for the rest of the film. By this point Reylo has an audience, Finn and Jannah are there on the ruins also.

The Resistance foresty HQ stuff

This is the shot where Rey says “Its too dangerous” and want to go alone, but everyone wants to go with her etc. Poe doesn’t have his scarf on and his “injured” arm is hidden, but he has no gloves on. And him and Finn do still have have their bags. So this seems to be both after both Pasaana and the Death Star ruins?

This is early on in the film, (see Poe’s outfit), and it may very well be inside the new ship the Resistance crew uses going into the FO hanger.

This is the same ship you can tell by the dusty window shutters.

Also I think Rey’s training in the forest with Leia will be early on in the film.

On to PALPATINEEEE

This is that awesome sequence of Kylo arriving at  ~planet/Sith Temple~ to show down with Palpatine. And its hard to tell, but I don’t think that it’s his Tie Whisper, looks just like a regular Tie Interceptor.

In this shot, we can see the trademark blue Palpatine force lighting, and also water below the floating cube/triangular structure. I think this is the same frozen water, where see the Imperial Star Destroyer’s emerging from:

I’m lovvvvinggg, the sheer scale of these statues compared to tiny Kylo/Ben, its giving me such prequel vibes.

And here he is quietly sneaky around, saber ignited. His demeanour and facial expressions in this sequence are calm/sad/determined. On the right there’s this machine thing that looks like a tooth, and it reminds me of an incubator. I wonder if Palpatine is in there or uses it as a healing pod etc. I wonder why Kylo seems to be seeking the Emperor out? And at what point of the film could this be occurring in? I cannot fathom Kylo seeking Palp’s out because he’s after more power, that doesn’t fit his character.

I’d say this place is definitely all the same location where Palp’s throne is and where Rey finds herself face-to-face with him.

Then there’s this footage of Kylo from a different trailer. Originally I was getting a “I’m in cave of a wise mystic by a fire” vibe (like Yoda in ESB). And I thought this may take place on the ashy/forest planet. But perhaps, this is Kylo coming across Palps because the flashing cyan lighting is correct for that.

Anyways, I've always has this head cannon that Kylo would find out first that Palpatine had “returned” and he’d immediately go to Rey and warn her (The TIE Pasaana scene). OR either Rey or Kylo would accidentally “awaken” something that caused Palpatine to stir. And I would love them to already be a Reylo team and actively go and try to take Palpatine down, but I also think they could follow that trope of one person going solo to defeat the villain (to keep the other person safe), but then they fail and are held captive as “bait”, and then later the second person shows up and frees them and together they take down the villain. 

And speaking of Reylo, cannot wait for more Force Bond scenes. I think they’re 100% happening because why else would Daisy have her hair done but be in warmer clothes doing the clapperboard for a FO ship scene??? Force Bond offscreen reading with Adam.

(This is just a little humble brag, that I was CORRECT. Those pods being deployed from the Imperial fleet do hold Sith Troopers whom are ready to fight the Resistance on the orbaks. he he)

Now for some footage that I cannot put into context:

I reaally want to know when the reforging of Kylo’s mask happens with KoR, because it seems funny that he’s been Supreme Leader for a year without needed a mask but now for some reason he now needs it again. Very interesting.

Rey is rocking her Jedi hood and she looks heavenly. I cannot wait to see Kylo/Ben also rocking his hood as well, no helmet. (After all he has one for a reason, EEEP). Rey looks very mature and drained in this shot, and the background is green and rocky and could very well be Ahch-to but its hard to know. I definitely do not think that this shot is from the burning TIE moment because the lighting on her face would be much stronger from the huge flames that she’s standing like 5cm away from.

This is such a dramatic and beautiful shot. Who’s TIE Interceptor is this? Did Rey destroy it and why?? Does she just go around continually destroying ships in TROS haha? Also it really looks like Rey dos not have her arm wrappings in this fiery shot.

I have no idea when this green alien chase sequence happens. But Rey does not seem to be there, she’s probably busying with Ben and Palps. The Resistance is being pursued by the FO, and Klaud is somehow aboard!

Also here’s the Falcon is being chased by more First Order TIE’s, and there’s a possible sun in the background, and lots of red sharp rocky shards. Where is thiss???

Also here’s the Resistance allies flying, but I have no idea why the light is red. It looks hellish.

There’s still sooo much we don’t know about the film. We’ve only been shown a few minutes of footage in total, and there’s probably so many locations/sequences they’ve shown us nothing from. (Fingers crossed for “The World Between Worlds” Force stuff). Also we really don’t have any context for the epic stuff we’ve seen so far, there’s still a lot of mystery and questions! I am soo excited to watch this film in a few days! 

[javocjovian]

Gossamer Wings

Title: Gossamer Wings Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486564 Rating: E Ships: Destiel focus, implied background Sabriel (Gabriel lives) Tags: Top!Castiel/Bottom!Dean, hurt/comfort, angst, loss, fluff, Castiel’s wings, wing kink, healing sex, comfort sex, Destiel focus Summary: Set in Season 12, Dean struggles to cope with Mary’s betrayal after she confesses to working for the British Men of Letters. Luckily, an angel is watching over him. Word Count: 4836

This fic was written for the @profoundnet​ scavenger hunt, based on the following bot prompts:

- Dean is cleaning his gun - Cas is preening his wings - Sam has genital herpes

- Dean is feeling vulnerable - Cas is polishing his angel blade - Sam just walked in on Cas and Dean boning

Happy 2nd Birthday, PB!!!

Beta-ed by @banshee1013​

Gossamer Wings

Despite the bunker being occupied by two people and an angel, it was unusually quiet. It had been that way since that morning, when Mary left.

For a while the silence felt explosive. It reverberated like an unearthly presence after Mary’s departure, but after it faded a much worse silence took its place—a black hole had opened up, producing a heavy, suffocating silence like the kind at a wake, or a funeral.

This funeral was a different kind than Dean was used to, however. This was the funeral of a person still living, and in a way the funeral of Dean himself. He could feel pieces of himself beginning to rot, corroding away as if dissolved in acid, polluting his mind and his memories with doubt and resentment. It was a slow, brutal death. A death deserving of a slow, brutal silence.

 Although Dean bore the brunt of this insatiable void, exposed to it on a level Sam never could have been, Sam was united with Dean in this silence. He supported him without flinching and Dean appreciated it more than words could express. Or perhaps words could express it. Perhaps they were words for only a mother's ears, to be purged and healed by the gentlest of love. How cold and uncaring irony was.

 Castiel arrived late in the afternoon. Sam filled him in on the landing, and no more words were spoken. The only sound was the occasional, sloppy clatter of metal on the table as Dean cleaned his gun.

Castiel didn’t dare break the silence. He joined Dean at the table as if answering a silent prayer. Aside from a nod of greeting, Dean didn’t look at him. Castiel could see Dean's world shifting in his eyes and he knew at once he needed to stay. He decided it would be best if he didn't sit around staring at Dean, however, so while Sam disappeared into the catacombs of the bunker Castiel opted to polish his angel blade.

 Even if he couldn't express it, Dean was grateful for Castiel's presence. He knew Castiel hadn’t come by for more than an update on Kelly Kline, so when he took out his blade Dean felt a part of his world resolidify under his feet.

For the first time since Mary's rebirth, Dean felt as though he had something sturdy to latch onto. Something immovable to stand sentry amidst the void threatening to break apart his world. Dean couldn’t think too hard about it, though. The thoughts clouding his head were too blurry to commit to and yet so heavy that they seemed to press against his skull and weigh him down. The silence helped. Cleaning his guns helped. The illusion of productivity kept his mind in survival mode, leaving the thoughts to simmer in a cloud of noxious nothingness, not existing and yet existing far too much.

 Castiel tried to think of something to say—some way to pierce through that cloud and comfort Dean—but he saw no good way to do it. So instead he kept polishing his angel blade. Eventually it was so shiny he had to angle it to keep from casting light into Dean's eyes, although Dean might not have noticed. Perhaps this silence was what Dean needed. Castiel did not know. Perhaps he should speak. Perhaps Dean was waiting to hear words of comfort.

Just as Castiel was resigned to speak, Sam returned with a duffel bag over his shoulder. Castiel sighed in relief.

"Hey." Sam looked exhausted.

Dean didn't look up. "Hey."

"I gotta uh… go find Gabriel. Take care of a thing," he said quietly.

Dean grunted.

Sam shot a Cas an appreciative look and headed up the bunker stairs. His footsteps clambered against the metal steps and echoed across the cavernous ceiling.

 Castiel watched him leave in vague concern, but he didn't ask questions. The Winchesters had never been prime examples of healthy coping mechanisms. Far be it from Castiel to stop Sam from going off on his own, especially if Dean didn't have issue with it. Castiel listened to Sam's footfalls fade and the heavy door swing shut.

The silence grew louder.

When Castiel could no longer pretend the polishing was making any difference, he slipped his blade into his coat. He almost dropped it for being so clean.

Dean hadn't noticed. He'd was already dismantling a second gun.

In the silence, an odd thought came to Castiel—He hadn't cleaned his wings in a while. Years, perhaps. They didn't work anymore, but his wings had once been a source of pride for Castiel, and he used to take care of them meticulously.

He didn’t have naturally extravagant wings like Michael, or elegantly wild ones like Gabriel. Even Lucifer’s had a dark allure, despite their light, almost alien-like glow. By contrast, Castiel’s wings took work to keep vibrant and strong, but Castiel was happy to expend the energy. His had been on par with Naomi’s and even Joshua’s, all because of effort.

Perhaps, even though Castiel’s wings didn't work, there was still use in taking care of them. Admittedly, he’d been unable to stand the damage done to them, damage he blamed himself for when the Metatron took his grace, and he’d let his wings fall into disrepair. But maybe the act would absorb him like it once did.

 Castiel got up and moved to a more comfortable chair away from the table. He was resigned to make some noise, but it hadn't disturbed Dean. Castiel let his gaze linger on Dean for a second, then turned to his wings.

Unfurling them was like taking off a heavy coat after a very, very long day. He stretched them out and was surprised by how good it felt. They didn't hurt any more, but Castiel never presumed they would feel good again. Not like before Metatron, before the Leviathans even.

A few celestial feathers fell to the ground and vanished, but Castiel could only expect that. At least Dean couldn't see his wings. Dean had never seen his wings. Nothing beyond shadowy, incorporeal impressions anyway. The thought filled Castiel with a kind of grief; albeit nothing, he was sure, compared to Dean's.

Castiel curved a large, spindly wing over his shoulder and began to pick at the broken and fading feathers. He winced a little every time a feather had to plucked, the healthy ones surrounding it swelling slightly. It was a necessary pain. For the health of the whole wing some feathers had to be removed. Castiel remembered how he used to think that way. Now every feather seemed precious, especially as he had lost so many. But the moment Castiel removed them they fell to the ground and vanished into specs of light.

For the first time in a while Castiel met Dean's eye, and for a moment he thought Dean wanted to speak. Castiel waited, almost holding his breath, but Dean looked away and resumed cleaning his gun. For fear of saying the wrong thing and making Dean flee, Castiel said nothing and began tending to his other wing.

They fluttered over the table briefly, an ashy shadow of their once magnificent, inky blue splendor. This wing still hurt a little, but he knew it wasn't from the fall. Dean's body had long been rebuilt, losing him the handprint that had once immortalized his rescue from Hell, but Castiel's wing still bore the matching scar.

It had been a coincidence, really, like Castiel being assigned to Dean in the first place. He had used his wing to shield them both when Castiel lifted Dean out of the sulfur and brimstone. Dean had reached up to grip his wing and the wound shone like daybreak. It fueled Castiel's grace, healing him, but a scar remained—A human handprint. Dean didn't remember this of course, and Castiel saw no reason to put that on his shoulders. The scar had long faded anyway. The mark that had once been baby white was now icy black, a shade lighter than the surrounding plumagem but it still stood out to Castiel.

Again, Castiel saw Dean looking at him and again Dean lowered his eyes.

Worried his moving around was bothering Dean, Castiel stopped preening. His wings settled back down, the feathers deflating slowly. He found himself staring at the color. He'd always been fond of blue, although he had been jealous of that one parrot in the Amazon jungle. He had the most lustrous, shimmering emerald feathers. He’d turned his eyes to Castiel, black like shiny stones, and cawed as if to say "you would look better in green". Cas assumed he was being mocked and flew away, but perhaps the parrot had been correct, as parrots often were.

Castiel realized he'd been staring, but he found Dean staring back. Castiel had been absentmindedly stroking his clean, even feathers. It felt good, even now, but it was obviously bothering Dean. Castiel dropped his arm sheepishly.

"Cas," Dean spoke at last. His voice was raspy with disuse, or overuse, he wasn't sure. "What are you doing?"

Castiel cleared his throat."I uh… my wings. They were uneven. I was just fixing them." He flushed slightly, realizing how unimportant it was.

Dean wasn't cleaning his gun anymore. Castiel wondered when he'd stopped.

"I can see that," Dean said.

"I'll stop, if it's…" Castiel said automatically, but then he paused. Dean could see that? Did he mean he could actually see his wings or was it just a turn of phrase? Castiel's brow furrowed. A part of him didn’t want to know, but his lips formed the question before he could stop them.

"Can you… see them?"

Dean's emerald eyes lingered on Castiel before returning to the gun. "Yeah. I can."

Castiel's expression melted. His wings shrunk, as if being compressed by the unspoken void in the room.

"Ever since we went to Heaven," Dean said. "Sam says he can't see them anymore, but…"

"You still can?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally.

Castiel tried to mask how thunderstruck he was. He swallowed thickly and looked away. Dean gave him the courtesy of resuming his cleaning.

"Kind of hard to miss when you're over there preening."

Just like that, Castiel felt his embarrassment begin to fade. There was a note of teasing in Dean's voice. Castiel sighed. "I didn't realize."

Dean glanced at him gently. "Don't worry about it."

Castiel watched Dean put the gun back together, doing everything in his power 'not to worry about it'. But he was failing. Every embarrassing moment came back to him as if someone were injecting the memories into his brain. All the times Castiel's wings failed him, how ragged they looked this past year, all the times he and Dean were alone together… Castiel may have been hard to rile up but wings were the most expressive part of an angel. Oh the frailties they had betrayed. Even now, Castiel became increasingly aware of every little breath and twitch that fluttered through his weak and pitiful plumage. Castiel's face felt hot. He could see that parrot again, whistling smugly at him.

Dean set the reassembled gun down at last. It gleamed as brightly as Castiel's angel blade buried in his pocket.

For the first time in hours, Dean got up. Castiel expected him to go to the kitchen (he hadn't eaten anything greasy in far too long) and anticipated a moment to himself, but Dean didn't leave the room. He walked over to Castiel.

Castiel looked up at him, feeling unusually ruffled. Without explanation, Dean sat on his lap. Castiel's arms came up automatically, holding onto Dean as Dean leaned down and kissed him.

Castiel was surprised to say the least. He had been prepared to not so much as move for the next few days if need be, but for what felt like the millionth time he was met with the humbling fact that he knew nothing about human grief.

Still he knew enough to know that this wasn't usually how humans coped. So when Dean broke the kiss, Cas murmured, "Dean?"

Dean didn't respond. He just leaned against Cas with his hands on Castiel's, his eyes closed, their foreheads pressed together. Dean’s body was so warm. Castiel could feel his sides expand softly with every breath.

Inappropriate as it was, Castiel was struck by the beauty of Dean's grief. He couldn't help but admire every vulnerable, human line in his face, so close to Castiel’s. If Castiel’s wings had a face it would resemble Dean’s. Castiel reached up and stroked his cheek, his fingertips brushing through Dean's short hair.

Dean kissed him again, and this time Castiel kissed back. It was a slow, lingering kiss. The sound filled the silence like water lapping against the shoreline. Castiel could have sat forever in that silence, but guilt was beginning to creep into him. Dean was so very warm. But it was his duty to protect Dean, more so now than ever before, so when the kiss broke Cas asked again, more persistent this time, "Dean?"

Dean finally looked at him. His eyes were tinged with pink, yet the green shone more brightly than ever.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" His voice was barely audible, but Dean heard him.

"No," he said brusquely. As if to keep Castiel from asking any more questions, Dean kissed him again.

Castiel wasn't sure what they were doing could be called kissing anymore. They were barely moving at all, just brushing their lips together, breathing against each other.

Castiel had a hard time breaking away this time. This was the most affectionate Dean had ever been with him, and it made Castiel very happy. So happy that he realized his wings had puffed up, despite their newfound desire to hide behind his back. The resulting spark of self-consciousness urged him into speech.

"Dean," Cas spoke again. "I think… ah."

The words died in his throat as Dean reached up and gently touched his wing. Castiel inhaled softly. Dean looked transfixed by the rippling blue and black, like a deep sea or the furthest reaches of space. Castiel’s eyes fell closed.

"Does that feel good?" Dean asked, observing him.

Castiel nodded silently. He wouldn't call an angel's wings erogenous, but touching them was something only a lover would do. And Castiel was reminded that Dean was in fact his lover.

Castiel opened his eyes and saw Dean's gaze had begun to smoulder. Guilt was overridden by more animalistic drives, and Castiel pulled Dean into a kiss. Dean met him gladly, opening the kiss and leaning into him fully. He sat completely on Castiel's lap, feeling the inside of Castiel's wing while Castiel’s arms wrapped around him. The kiss became insatiable, but it wasn't until Castiel felt Dean roll his hips into him that Castiel stopped.

Castiel took hold of Dean's hips and Dean stopped with difficulty. He freed Castiel's lips, looking winded and confused. Castiel's heart sank.

Castiel swallowed, trying not to let Dean's lingering taste overtake him yet again. "Dean," he mustered. "Is this really want you want right now?"

The resulting look of annoyance was hard to endure. Dean studied him, then finally said, "Yes, Cas. It is."

Castiel didn't believe him. "It's just…" He stopped. He could tell at once that bringing up Mary was the wrong thing to do, so he searched for other words. They came to him with surprising ease. "Dean. You know I would do anything for you," he said seriously, "But I need to know that this is really what you want."

Dean's annoyance began to fade. Castiel watched him in resignation, but when Dean refocused on Castiel his irritation had been replaced by something Castiel rarely saw—vulnerability. Dean didn't want this—he needed this. So when Dean swallowed and said, his voice quiet but certain, "Yeah, Cas. I do," Castiel didn't hesitate.

Guilt sturdily replaced by duty, Castiel brought his hands up to Dean's face and pulled him into a deep kiss. Dean melted. He kissed Castiel over and over again with growing desire. No inch of Castiel's skin went unkissed. Then he leaned over Castiel and kissed his wing.

Castiel's chest (and his feathers) swelled. Self-consciousness gave way to pleasure as Dean lavished his wings with affection, but it quickly became too much. Castiel pulled Dean back down and took him into a hungry kiss. Soon they were making out on the chair and Dean was rolling his hips against Castiel's stomach. This time Castiel didn't stop him. Instead, his hands dropped to Dean's ass.

Without warning Castiel stood up, lifting Dean with shocking ease. Dean felt a jolt of arousal as he was handled like a rag doll. He grabbed Castiel’s jaw and the kiss turned fiery.

Castiel carried him the short distance to the war table, never once breaking that kiss, and sat Dean on the edge. Castiel pulled Dean's shirt off, revealing scared yet firm skin dusted with freckles. Dean quickly reciprocated, getting Castiel out of his coat. It fell right through Castiel's wings as if they weren't there, yet Dean could see them growing in size, puffing up like a stormy, frothy sea. He unbuttoned the top of Castiel's shirt and kissed the bare skin of Castiel's neck.

Castiel sighed and undid the rest of his shirt on his own. Dean's arms wove around his back to the base of Castiel's wings and gave them an experimental rub. Castiel groaned.

Castiel leaned forward, toppling Dean onto his back. Dean saw Castiel eyes—shockingly blue and electrified—and he felt a second jolt of arousal that sparked into flames as Castiel yanked Dean's pants and boxers off in a single motion. Dean swallowed a moan. He always enjoyed when Castiel used his inhuman strength in bed, and this time was no different.

"Cas," Dean panted gruffly as Castiel began feeling up Dean's nude body. His hands were coarse and calloused, but Dean loved it. The contrast between his gentle touches and his firm hands drove Dean wild. He spread his legs on either side of Castiel's hips, shameless in his nudity and hungry for more.

Castiel began removing his own pants, and Dean was happy to see that he was just as erect, if not more, than Dean. He watched hazily as Castiel leaned over him, his wings spreading high above them, and took both of their erections into his hand.

Dean's lips parted in a silent groan. Castiel began stroking them together and Dean's hips seemed to lift of their own accord.

Dean's was clearly enjoying the stimulation—Castiel could feel precum beading at the tip of Dean's head—but rather than pacify Dean as this act often did it only seemed to frustrate him.

"Cas, Cas…" Dean breathed, "I appreciate the effort but…"

Somehow, Castiel understood. "You want me to fuck you," he said, his voice breathlessly blunt.

Dean's cock twitched. It was so rare to hear Castiel talk like that. It sent shivers down Dean's spine.

"Yes," Dean practically whimpered.

Castiel let go at once. He parted Dean's legs, reached down, and slipped his fingers between Dean's thighs, then his eyes glowed blue. His wings lit up in patches, like lightning arcing across the night sky, and Dean realized what he had done. He’d lubed Dean up using grace. Dean made a rather unmanly noise. Castiel had never used his power like that before.

Realizing he had aroused Dean into stunned silence, Castiel took over completely. His wings flared, shielding them from the harsh bunker lights, and he pulled Dean’s hips close. Dean spread his legs in anticipation, and within seconds Castiel was sliding in. Dean silence broke and he moaned in bliss.

Castiel filled Dean to the brim, gave him a second to adjust, then pulled out and did it all over again. Dean's head dropped onto the table.

Castiel enjoyed watching Dean's body shake and his jaw stiffen. He liked seeing Dean's cock, an unusually gorgeous one for a human, dribbling precum with every thrust. He loved the sounds Dean tried and failed to hide, and the way his body moved, as if milking every last bit of pleasure from the motions. He loved everything about this one particular human.

"Cas, oh Cas… harder."

With Dean's encouragement, Castiel began doing just that. He fucked Dean senseless on the war table, drawing groan after groan from Dean’s lungs. Truth be told, it was a little harder than Castiel thought would be comfortable, but Dean had always enjoyed a little too much. Castiel maneuvered his hips to find that angle Dean loved, and sure enough Dean’s back arched and he began cursing.

“Oh fuck, fuck’s sake… there, Cas. There…”

Dean's legs came up over Castiel's ass and Castiel scooped Dean up in his arms. Dean was panting and swearing into Castiel's shoulder, muttering his name repeatedly. Castiel had never heard such a beautiful prayer.

In Dean's rapturous haze, he reached around Castiel's back and clumsily massaged his wings. Castiel's body trembled and he groaned. Dean had only ever heard Cas groan a few times, so there was no way in Hell Dean was letting go of that spot. He raked his fingers through the inky feathers and Castiel bucked into him hotly. Dean moaned, spurring Castiel on.

Castiel’s wings may have looked damaged and battle worn seconds ago, but it that moment they shone brighter than any of the Archangels’. In that moment, Dean couldn't tell that Castiel had lost a single feather. He was the most magnificent angel Dean had ever seen, feathers glowing like a neutron star.

 “Cas, oh Cas,” Dean's voice cracked and he began sputtering, "gonna come…"

Castiel's eyes were closed now, but he nodded feverishly. “Then come Dean,” he rasped, not letting up.

Dean didn't stand a chance. His breath hitched, his body shuddered, and Dean felt his pleasure burst at last, expanding throughout every muscle and even into ones he didn’t know he had. He gasped and moved his arm to stroke himself as he came, spurting with every thrust. Soon his head fell back and his body shudder. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He heard Castiel grunt and spasm, then come to a staggering halt deep inside his body, and Dean knew he was coming, too.

Dean was still muttering Cas’s name, hardly aware of himself in that moment. His body was ringing so powerfully that he couldn't move. Castiel seemed unlikely to move, either. He was laying atop Dean, his chest expanding against Dean's with every satiated breath. Dean let go of his wings and put his arms around his back. Castiel was heavy and warm, and the weight felt good.

Dean’s voice came back to him as he caught his breath, and soon he was panting out, "Oh my g… Cas. Where did you learn that?"

Castiel picked his head up to look at Dean. He looked windblown, but answered simply, "The pizza man."

Dean stared at him for a second, then laughter slowly rumbled through him, shaking Castiel gently.

Although Dean rarely laughed after sex—it seemed a worrisome thing to do—Castiel was relieved to hear it. Dean's eyes glittered as he smiled at Castiel.

"Damn. Cas, that..." Dean started to catch his breath. "...that was amazing. I've never felt so good in my life."

Castiel smiled back.

Dean lay on the table, still chuckling to himself as Castiel got up. He pulled out gently, only then realizing his error.

As if reading his mind, Dean said, "Don't worry about it. I gotta shower anyway." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Yes… I suppose you can't be impregnated."

Dean chuckled, "I better not. But I appreciate the effort." He shot Castiel a roguish look.

Castiel smiled a little wider. He leaned over Dean once again and wove their fingers together. He kissed Dean's bruised knuckles, enjoying the smile it brought to Dean's face. But like an odd note in a familiar song, Castiel realized something wasn’t right.

Dean wiped another tear from his eye. His smile had changed.

"Dean?" Castiel said, beginning to see that Dean was in pain, "Did I hurt you?"

Dean took a quick breath. "No, no Cas. You're good." He was telling the truth, but still, more tears were forming. "Shit," Dean murmured, wiping his eyes again.

Castiel suddenly understood. He didn't say anything, he just lay gently atop Dean, holding his hand and caressing his fingers. He kissed his hand, closing his eyes patiently. Dean was grateful.

Dean wiped his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of Castiel’s lips on his fingers. It calmed him, and at last Dean took a shallow breath and murmured, “Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel opened his eyes—They were as blue as a warm summer sky. Castiel reached up and wiped a stray tear from under Dean's thick eyelashes. "Don’t be.”

Dean gazed at Castiel appreciatively, even more so as Castiel ended the conversation by leaning down and kissing him.

 After a few lazy moments, Castiel could feel Dean's comfort returning. Dean began gently stroking Castiel's wings and smiling slightly.

“Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Castiel hesitated over Dean’s lips, but Dean gave him such a warm look that Castiel asked his question anyway. "Why didn't you tell me you could see my wings?"

“I was afraid you'd hide them,” he admitted.

Castiel paused. That was exactly what he would have done. It wouldn't have even occurred to him that Dean enjoyed seeing them, not after they broke. This revelation filled Castiel with affection, but still, he sighed. "I wish you could have seen them before. They were… magnificent."

Dean’s smile surprised Castiel.

"They still are, Cas,” he said simply. “They're the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

For a moment Castiel looked distant, like he was processing Dean's words. His wings rippled slightly, brushing against Dean's hand. When Castiel detected that Dean was in fact telling the truth, Castiel was overcome with emotion. The only thing he could think to say was, "I love you, Dean."

Dean's smile widened. He dabbed at his eyes. "Shut up."

Castiel smiled and kissed him.

Dean kissed back, murmuring softly against his lips, “...love you too…”

Castiel held Dean to him, kissing him on the war table. The compressing, creeping silence that had plagued the bunker evaporated at last. The bunker felt bigger, and Castiel's wings felt too heavy to carry. It was a wonderful weight.

 Despite this improved silence, neither of them heard the bunker's door close from upstairs. It wasn't until they heard a pained intake of breath that they realized they were no longer alone.

Dean sat up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder. Sam was determinedly facing the other direction and rubbing his eyes as if trying to erase the image burned into his retinas.

"Hiya Sammy," Dean grinned.

Castiel nearly fell off the table.

"Really? On the table?" Sam demanded blindly.

Castiel's wings shrunk instantly. He looked like a guilty dog who'd just snuck a treat, and it almost made Dean start laughing again.

"Sorry, Sam," Dean chuckled as Castiel hurriedly passed him his clothes. "But you should really knock."

"On the front door?" Sam heard clothing being put on and chanced a glance at them, but was met with the sight of Dean's bare ass. "God, damnit…! Put...put some clothes on, Dean."

"The human body is a thing of beauty, Sam," Dean announced.

"Yeah, well, your human body is cleaning that table. With bleach."

 Much to Castiel’s relief, once everyone was fully clothed Sam and Dean moved on quickly. That, or Sam was already denying it had happened. Either way, the atmosphere improved greatly. They sat around the kitchen and chatted while Dean cooked the greasiest meal he could think of, claiming he was so hungry he could eat a salad.

Rather than being upset with Castiel, which had been Castiel’s primary concern, Sam seemed grateful. He attributed Dean’s change in mood to Castiel’s… intervention… and left it at that.

It wasn’t until dinner that Castiel finally remembered. “Sam, did you say you needed to see Gabriel?” He asked curiously.

Sam looked up from his plate, which he was devouring despite his assertions that no meal needed that much tabasco sauce.

Dean glanced at him casually. When Sam took too long to respond, Dean smirked. “Gabriel gave you herpes didn’t he?”

Sam nearly choked. “No!”

Castiel squinted.

Sam beat his chest with his fist, going red. “No! He just…”

Dean rose a brow, chewing slowly.

“I may have… called him immature last night.”

Dean snorted.

“So he… uh, yeah. But it’s fine. We made up.”

Dean eyed him slyly. “I’ll bet you did.”

“Shut up.” Sam smiled.

Castiel watched Sam and Dean laugh and bicker, and felt oddly at peace with the world. He knew the subject of Mary would have to come up eventually, especially given the reason for her departure, but the time wasn’t now, and Castiel was glad for that.

[raulsparza]

The Not-Quite-A-Fall

Crowley’s painful transition from Heaven to Hell. Mr. 'hung the stars' is burning out. Read on AO3 here

Notes:

Thank you thank you to the wonderous Ray (coffeespoonfull on tumblr) for helping with edits and questioning my confusing af metaphors.

I’m about as good as Newt when it comes to technology so I couldn’t figure out how to put proper footnotes in (sorry)

Work Text:

To describe it as a fall (1) may be a bit dramatic, and yet not entirely untrue.

1. Fall (verb): move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher level to a lower level

He was fired, essentially. Demoted “without control.” Moved to a different office, with a different boss, and different work expectations. It’s all very bureaucratic, isn’t it?

“Saunter vaguely downwards” makes it sound more like his choice. Like he wanted to stray from heaven and their tight grasp. He had been heading over the line, edging his way out on the tightrope further and further. It was almost fun to push his limits, ask his questions. But he was never too worried about losing his position. He helped pin the stars to the sky. Created massive balls of energy and light that would be poetic inspiration for years to come. Something like that doesn’t go unnoticed, and it hadn’t. Crowley’s wings had been speckled with gold from that point forward. Covered with stardust.

No, he felt fairly comfortable around the Almighty (2), or the Metatron at least.

2. The Almighty doesn’t make too many direct appearances, understandably so. Though it sure was nice the time She came around for a second-that-felt-like-a-week as the-then-angel gestured towards his magnum opus, feeling the gears churning in Her head as She worked out the impact a creation like that may have, the smile spreading on Her suspiciously stoic face.

And Crowley didn’t intend to abuse his power, he just felt it would allow him to be a larger part of the discussions. See, he had his place there, and having a secure place somewhere allows you to press against the edge and wonder what might be outside. You don’t tip your head out a 30 story window if you aren’t confident the glass will stop you from plummeting. “Sauntering.” Falling.

This embarrassment was never his plan, though. Where was this written? Was this Divine, was this necessary? Crowley huddled on the ground, shrouded by his wings. His middle-of-a-star white and golden flecked wings. He felt as though he had been kicked. The pit of his stomach, the center of his being burned with shame. He had just hoped to help expand the human project. He wasn’t looking to change it completely, just explore the Creator’s boundaries a bit. But it was too much. The Almighty was protective, and Crowley had pushed too far. The fabric of their relationship stretched and then it ripped and Crowley was laid bare. Exposed. No longer trusted. No longer valued. No longer Good.

They say malice drips, but this had been a slow collection. The words gathered in the messenger angel’s mouth as he explained what was going on, like the last drops of honey hanging from the bottom of the bottle, collecting before they all come out at once. This malice was forceful, thrown, hitting Crowley directly as he worked to keep his posture. How do you tell someone they’ve fallen? “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

He saw Gabriel, his partner, his mentor and prodigy all at once, almost take a step forward, an almost comfort. Crowley stood straight and nodded his head curtly. No more words exchanged as he started walking down the corridor. His back rim-rod and his jaw set ahead as he walked, walked, don’t look back.

And now here he was, at the almost-exit. He crouched down on the ground to gather his thoughts. He couldn’t quite bring himself to complete his goodbye just yet but he wasn’t being antagonistic, wasn’t being forceful, so they left him. He was thankful he was alone, and at the same time he knew he had to leave soon. He’d never personally seen a demon cast out, but word gets around. Tales are told. Demons can’t survive in Heaven. They ache, they burn, they burn. All stars burn out, eventually.

Huddled on the ground, Crowley made himself smaller, grasping at any last semblance of safety or comfort he could find. His wings shrouded him. The wings that brought him pride and satisfaction, compliments and good favor. The wings he knew were about to change.

Almost as instantaneously as he thought it, it began. He saw the feathery tips began to crackle, stinging with electricity. Like a piece of paper lit with a match, the ashy black inched outwards. No orange flames were visible but Crowley felt the heat. He watched it, mesmerized, horrified, focusing as his being changed. It was unbearable and he twitched. Convulsed. The black spread.

He stood and his body screamed, ached, his legs felt like lead and his back was on fire. The pointed heat of his wings sped down into his hips, and out into his arms. How could Heaven have turned on him like this?His employers, his family, his home were all the opposition. Crowley was the opposition.

A few feathers fluttered down around him, singed. They smelled of smoke and must. He coughed and felt the motion ripple through him. White hot and burning. Everything burned.

He felt the need to collect the feathers but didn’t think he would be able to stand again if he dipped down. Instead, he focused on getting out. He was close to the door, the edge, the waste disposal. His mouth pulled back in a grimace, a mockery of a smile, as he willed his body to start walking, moving, leaving. Slowly, clumsily, he made his way out.

Without control. The lack of tangible direction bounced in his head, somehow managing to make itself heard amongst the screaming, burning, invisible fire that wracked his body. His peripheral vision landed on darkness now. His wings were no longer light, reflective. They were ragged and gaping and hollow and black. He stood straighter.

As much as the entirety of him felt ancient and decrepit, he made sure not to stumble. He wouldn’t fall out of Heaven. He couldn’t. They were letting him leave with a shred of dignity and he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

He felt the staircase at the end of the corridor before he saw it. The first thing that felt Different. He didn’t realize Heaven had a comforting thrum to it until it wasn’t there. The familiarity had vanished and he felt suffocated by the atmosphere of, well, of evil, he supposed.

Sucking in a muggy breath he took a leaden step forward, down, down the stairs. Uncooperative angel-rejects were literally pushed out of Heaven and fell through the air until they landed in a heap at Hell’s doorstep. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure why they didn’t take this route with him (he was here for being uncooperative, after all) but maybe his defiance was of a different nature, or maybe they just wanted to give him one last work perk as he took his leave. He wouldn’t have minded the fall though, necessarily, as this descent felt unending, every second, every inch, reminding him that his life was changing.

He couldn’t miracle his way down because he was cut off. Unconnected. Heaven had disowned him and Hell had not yet claimed him. He was a demon in technicality but not yet in practice and so he stood and walked, every lift of his leg ricocheting pain throughout his calves and hips. His back seared, and his nose tingled with the smell of burning flesh. He moved down. He had nowhere else to go.

Maybe Hell wouldn’t be so bad. If he was sent here for pushing the boundaries, maybe he could be even more creative. He was just transferring offices. It wasn’t as if his entire identity was being corrupted. He wondered, briefly, if Heaven would get rid of his creations. Snuff out his stars, erase his impact. What an example that would set, huh? Sounded like something they would do. But more likely, they would keep them. He would be a shameful rumor, a wound infecting everyone’s curious minds. Oh the angel that made these, well…he’s not here anymore.

Crowley coughed and waved his arm as a fly buzzed into his face. He saw the walls oozing…something, and took a deep breath to steady himself, which unfortunately felt like swallowing a far too potent mix of liquors.

Again his glance wandered towards the wings that hung behind him, seared and marked. An embarrassment. What stood out even more so, now, in this damp and dingy staircase, was his stark white robe. It wasn’t part of him, it hadn’t Changed like his wings, like his tongue, like his eyes (he was suspecting). No, it stayed, a flashy beacon to alert Hell of their newcomer. To serve as a reminder of the place, the life, he was leaving behind. The life he was exiled from.

Suddenly Crowley felt hate boiling inside of him as well, mixing nicely with the electricity still stinging, the remnants of the fire still searing. If Heaven didn’t want him then he didn’t need them. He couldn’t mope about this change too much (3) It would be good to embrace it. To accept it. To explore it.

3. But he would, it would come in spurts and he would feel overwhelmed with homesickness and it would make him nauseous and tired. He would feel exposed and try to curl up inside himself even more.

He found a rhythm as he walked through the pain, his legs off kilter and held high, marching him forward, down, down, down. And then, from a higher level to a lower level, he had arrived. The pain relegated to mere background noise as he took another sharp, deep inhale, placed his hand on the white-hot, steel-black doorknob, and opened the door.

[eerythingisshaka]

#Fictober Day 30

“Do we really have to do this again?”

(Witch!Shuri)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Elements of racism and revenge against it.  Plus, I was inspired by The Craft

Shuri entered the doors to her summer internship brimming over with pride.  Having seen some of the world outside of Wakanda, Shuri had a hefty appetite for curiosity.  What all has she missed out on?  Meeting people like Bruce Banner, Everett Ross, there had to be so many other like-minded individuals who she could bounce ideas off of.  

Queen Mother saw her off, hiding her sadness as much as she possibly could.  She knew that Shuri could handle things on her own just fine, but her baby was still moving thousands of miles away from home and that left a big hole in her heart.  Shuri assured her she would be fine, and T’Challa reminded her as well that War Dogs would be summoned at a moments notice to assist with her protection.  

Shuri observed the hallways of the university in awe and amazement.  The all white walls were so drab and basic, let alone inefficient.  All of the people crowding around her and chattering away pushed to make it to their assigned meeting rooms for counsel and rooming arrangements.

The ginger running things beamed at Shuri as she came in.  “Hello!  Welcome to the Brilliant Minds summer program!  I’m Hanson, I am one of the coordinators that will be working with you this week!  Can I get your name please?”

“Yes, I am Shuri, daughter of--er, I mean Udaku, Shuri Udaku.”  Shuri laughs nervously.

His eyes widen, “Oh yeah!  You’re the royal!  Well, I’m sorry for not greeting you properly.”  He steps back and bows.

Shuri scoffs.  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary...nor was it executed properly.”

Hanson laughs, hands raised.  “Fair enough, I’ll practice.  But thanks for coming all this way!  Here is the itinerary and your dorm key.  You will be staying at Atkins Hall, just south of here on the lip of the quad.  After today’s labs, there will be a bonfire so we will be roasting and toasting this evening if you’re up for it!”

Shuri takes the papers and grabs her bag.  “Sounds good!  I’m looking forward to it all, thanks Hanson!”  She waves goodbye turning and bumping abruptly into someone.

“Ugh!  God!  I’ve been attacked!”  a ditzy voice exclaims.

Shuri brushes her arm from the collision.  “No, it was a simple misunder-”

The short bottle blonde white girl screws her face up like she’s about to spit as she looks back at her brunette friend.  “Oh, no.  We have must’ve gotten off on the affirmative action floor instead.”

Shuri squints.  “What are you talking about?  This is the-”

“God, Miqaila, do you understand what she is saying?  It’s like nothing but clicks!”  Her friend practically snorts her Starbucks at the ‘joke’.

Shuri feels uneasy, looking back at Hanson, who appeared to notice the disruption but looks away quickly.

Shuri holds her head up.  “I will not tolerate your rudeness!  My eyes have been offended by your face for too long, keep looking that way and it will stick.”  Shuri brushes past them.

Miqaila shrieks.  “Ew, Ashleigh!  I think she got something on me!  Is she covered in grease??”

“Bish where!?  You wouldn't know soft skin if I slapped you across the face with it.” Shuri yells back, flipping her the bird whilst exiting.

“Probably doesn’t use a napkin after eating so she can knock out her ashy.  You know they’re prone to it, so sad,  Wipe it off soon, I’m sure it’s ritualistic…”  Ashleigh whispered to Miqaila.

Shuri’s blood boiled as she stomped out of the office, beyond offended by the debacle.  She hadn’t even said a word to them and they already held so many prejudices, what was wrong with them?  It wasn’t the ideal introduction to the program she dreamt of, but she kept walking along to get to her dorm assignment to hopefully realign her mood.

Heading up to the second floor, Shuri finds the room number and tries the key, going inside.

“Hey girl, hey!  It’s about time I met my roomie!  I thought I was gonna miss ya!”  A beautifully dark skinned, statuesque woman with two afro puffs gleamed.

Shuri smiled just as wide.  “Yes, sorry to keep you waiting friend!  What is your name?” she holds out her hand for a shake.

“Maxine, you can call me CeCe though.”  she says, giving a firm grip.

“Nice, I am Shuri-”

CeCe holds her hand up.  “Oh!  I know who you are!  You were on the magazine of Young Engineers Quarterly last month.  Girrrrl, you were the youngest and first Black girl on their cover!  I have it framed and I’m already kicking myself for not bringing it to autograph!”

Shuri laughs.  “It’s not the biggest deal, really.  Anyone could’ve gotten it, but with Wakanda being open now, people are just riding its wave.  My hype will die down soon.”

CeCe shook her head.  “Maybe for some but not I, sis.  Shoot, Teen Vogue gotta be next, check out these threads, Ma!  This the fashion where you come from?”

Shuri looks down at her royal purple jacket with white piping over her yellow crop top and high waisted capris.  “Yeah, the material is very durable from the vibranium elements and of course our designers have a keen eye.”

CeCe bends over to squint.  “God, I just can’t get over you.  I get salty sometimes thinking about how convenient it is that the ‘random’ assignments  always make my roommate the other Black one here, but this time around they did right!”

Shuri puts her luggage on the bed sitting down.  “Have you been here before?”

CeCe nods.  “Year three for me.  I came when I was a sophomore in high school and just kept coming!”

Shuri’s spirits lifted.  “So it must be a great experience then?  What do you like?”

CeCe puffs out her cheeks in thought.  “The food, the connects, the activities when people fuck something up.  And honestly, I come back just to get some time to myself from home, it’s the same every year as far as things to do and raggedy people trying to show off.”

Shuri nods in agreement.  “Yeah, I got my fair share of that and it hasn’t even been an hour.”

CeCe looks at Shuri pitifully.  “Oh man, I know it.  These suburban kids think it’s their world alone.”

“I just can’t get why that girl would see me and not even ask my name before insulting me like she did.”

“Oh man, Shuri.  You know these white folks care more about an anthill than they would you.  They are annoyed when we don’t do better for ourselves, they annoyed when we do.  Talk about us being ugly, then can’t stop touching and copying the same features, so it’s a terrible cycle history keeps telling us.”

Shuri looked away, biting her lip in thought.  “This is true.  I know of their ways, I just thought I would get through this week without problems since the people are of a higher IQ.”

CeCe guffaws, clutching her stomach.  “Oh sis!  They real bold to try you.  Don't you have a secret service detail or something to protect you?”

Shuri squirms a little.  “I do….but I wanted to keep as lowkey of a profile as possible.  My family would love for me to do that but I refuse to comply, you know?”

CeCe snaps her fingers.  “Damn, you better than me.  Respect though, the rebelliousness.  Stick with me then, cuz I’ll help you get them told.  I know you know there are different intelligences.  A book smart person does not a wise person make, right?  Don’t let it phase you cuz that’s when the bullshit really crops up.”

Shuri and Cece talk a little more about their backgrounds and what they were looking forward to.  Before they knew it they had to book it to their lab class.  The hall was packed with buzzing students but there were two empty seats in the middle.  CeCe and Shuri took their seats waiting for things to begin.

Hanson was at the front of the class greeting everyone and congratulating them on their arrival.  Shuri was beginning to feel excited again about getting to know regular people from a world unlike her own.

“This is so cool how primitive the classrooms are.  Simple wooden desks, beige solid walls, you really have no choice but to concentrate on what’s in front of you.”  Shuri looks to CeCe who is already lightly snoring.  

“Ahem, Hanson is it?  Can I move please, my vision is obstructed at the moment.”

Shuri looks behind her and locks eyes with a sneering Ashleigh, who is right behind CeCe sleeping.  

Hanson stutters a response.  “Well, uh, if you can find a place, have at it.”

Miqaila joins her to move.  “Thank you!  The cocoa butter smell is making my eyes water as well, it’s disgusting!”  As they get up and walk by, CeCe is startled awake.  

“Damn!  Did you fuckin pull my hair?”  CeCe yelled from her her chest.

“Ladies, please!  We have to stay on schedule, maintain some couth.”  Hanson pleads.

CeCe points at Miqaila and Ashleigh.  “Long as you tell those to maintain they distance or I won’t!”

Shuri takes a bead on her kimoyos discreetly.

“Oh please, I don’t play with pubes.”  Ashleigh snarks as they make their way down the steps.  Shuri takes one and rolls it down the steps, stopping it just before Ashleigh’s stride.  Shuri says a command in Xhosa, activating a trip wire.  

Ashleigh hits the trap falling face forward down the remaining steps, Miqaila dominoes along with her, causing the classroom to erupt in laughter.  

Ashleigh flips her hair back glaring at Shuri as Hanson helped her up.  “What the...You!  You  said something, and-and I tripped!  You’re a witch!  That country you’re from, they're  wicked, with their heightened abilities!”

Shuri scoffs.  “Do we really have to do this again?  Whatever helps you sleep at night...or doesn’t!”  She wiggles her fingers and hands around to resemble casting a spell making CeCe cackle.  

Ashleigh and Miqaila looked genuinely spooked as they went to two seats in the front, murmuring and looking back at them.

“Ok, if that is all, let’s get back on topic…” Hanson continues.

When the lecture lets out Shuri and and CeCe can’t stop talking about the funny altercation.

“Man, am I glad you did something to them that didn’t get you arrested cuz I had nothing but felonies on my mind.”   CeCe said.

Shuri chuckles.  “Yes, see?  We can’t have you racking up a record.  I can handle them just fine with things like this bracelet.”  Shuri stops to let CeCe examine the beads.  “These are kimoyo beads, I have thousands of programs I can run through them to make them do what I need them too.  I’m already trying to upgrade their look to broaden their abilities, but they still hold up well.”

CeCe looked at her wrist in awe.  “Whoa, is that what did it?  God, how are you not teaching here instead of being a participant?”

Shuri smiles.  “They actually did ask me to speak, but I declined.  I wanted the regular experience before putting myself out there like that.  But that’s not so easy it seems.  At least if I was teaching those girls would have to show a little more respect.”

CeCe kisses her teeth.  “Please, this is way more fun.  You see them for who they are and bring them down a peg.  Which reminds me, you coming to the bonfire tonight right?”  Shuri nods.

“Then we need to come thru with a plan to fuck with them, so they don’t mess with anymore.”

Shuri tweaks her mouth the the side.  “I don’t know.  Not like I don’t enjoy a good prank, I just didn’t want to bring that out here.  Plus my best stuff is at home anyway.”

CeCe waves her off.  “Oh you don’t have to have a bag of tricks!  You saw how they acted with you just acting spooky for a second.  What would they do if we went full on bitchcraft on them?”

Shuri chuckles.  “Bitchcraft?  Is that what you call it?”

CeCe nods proudly.  “When petty is involved, yes.  We gonna put on a show for they asses to never forget.  Make em feel like they whole lineage cursed, get it?”

Shuri looks away, weighing the pros and cons as CeCe went on with that she had in mind.

The bonfire attracted a lot of people to enjoy treats and warm flames in the cooling night air along the water.  As the night wound down, less than 10 people stuck around to continue the night.  

Ashleigh and Hanson were cuddled up by the fire as Miqaila sat across as an awkward third wheel eating marshmallows from the bag.

“Hanson, thank you for helping me up from that tumble I took today.  I still can’t fathom how it happened. I am usually so graceful because my feet are so small.”  She says, rubbing her bare, sandy foot against his ankle.

Hanson shift nervously.  “Uh, yeah, it was nothing.  Happens to the best of us.

“It’s just so weird, I didn’t miss a step, it’s like something grabbed my foot or something.  I still blame that African girl, she’s not all together.”

Hanson sighs.  “Her name is Shuri, and she is possibly the smartest teenager alive today from a royal family.  What part of that screams ‘not all together’.”

Ashleigh begins to explain when Miqaila points jumping up.  “Look, what’s that?”

A figure in the darkness walks along the water.  This wouldn’t be unusual since they were at a party but the figure had was holding a large staff and possibly had the head of an animal.

“Hanson, go yell at it or something.  It could be wild!”

Hanson wouldn’t budge.  “Shit you not, if you make me go out there, I’m putting you on a plane home tomorrow.  I’m not messing with that!”

CeCe peeks through the mouth of her mascot mask as the people begin to notice her.  She takes off a kimoyo bead and tosses it towards the fire, letting put her best bone-chilling howl.  

As it lands and whirlwind appears, whipping sand in the air.  Ashleigh, Miqaila, and Hanson cough and sputter as Shuri appears out of nowhere, eyes rolled back in a trance.  She is dressed in a long brown suede skirt with slits on either side, adorned with a shell belt.  She wore her bra with a band on her bicep and one of T’Challa’s panther suit prototype necklaces on.  With her braids down, she looked rather haunting.  

They scream at the sight of her.  “Oh God!  I told you, look look look!”  Ashleigh says, moving behind a petrified Hanson.

“Sh-Shuri?  Are you al-”

“SILENCE!  Have you know respect for what’s sacred?”  Shuri says, her voice chopped and screwed by an altering device behind her ear.

Miqaila has her head in the ground, crying.  “We don’t want to die, please don’t hurt us!”

Shuri turns in her direction.  “Miqaila…”

She looks up slowly.  “Y-yes…”

Shuri points a finger at her.  “To live your life as a parasite, makes for a dependent experience.  Everything they eat, you shit; do not catch yourself ingesting spoiled food…”

Miqaila freezes listening to Shuri, unmoving until Shuri bore her teeth hissing and tossed sand in her face making Miqaila shriek and run away.  Ashleigh tries to follow.  

“Stop!  You...come here…”

Ashleigh says some Hail Marys as she walks up to Shuri fretful.

“What a shame it is to waste the gift of youth on the ugly decrepit traditions of past generations.  Have you learned nothing from the dead?”

“My-my grandparents are still alive.”  She stammers.

Shuri scoffs.  “Maybe that is the problem.  If you care anything for them, you would learn to keep past mindsets in the past, unless you enjoy being a sadist?”

“That's not fair, I'm a good person! My grandparents are of a different-”

“Do you plan to defend them!! Try it!  And see what happens…”  Shuri does a wave with her hand to reveal Ashleigh’s grandparents in the palm of her hand.  As Ashleigh looks, their images began to melt crudely.

“No!  No!  Don’t please, spare them ma’am!”

“Princess Shuri, is all you shall call me by.”  Shuri says, crushing their image in her hand.  “Be gone from me at once, and I won’t hurt a single hair on your head.”  Shuri snatch a strand quickly.  “Hamba uyo bepha inja!!” Shuri says, throwing the strand into the fire.  Ashleigh yelps as she runs off.

Shuri then turns to Hanson.

“Uh, please, you know I haven’t been anything but nice-”

Shuri points to him.  “But you stay in the background.  No better than a pest scuttering along the wall for me to squash.”

Hanson holds his hands up.  “I know what it looks like, but what can I do!  Ashleigh’s parents give a lot of money here, we can’t just treat her anyway.”

“And if that is true, she should not be excused for blatant racism!  She is a pauper to me, but I do not wave it around pridefully.  You will be lucky to still work here by morning…”

Hanson gets on his knees at her feet.  “No, no, please.  I’m almost tenure, come on.”

A howl is heard in the background sending chills down Hanson’s spine.

“My pet is becoming hungry.  Maybe sufficing her appetite will forgive your sins.”

“Yes, yes!  What could she want.”

“Something of a high rated dining experience.  No cheaper than $30 for the entree, and bring a dessert to my room as well.  Leave the receipt to confirm my instructions as fulfilled.”

Hansons nods, running off in a hurried pace.  Shuri flips her eyes back again and bends over laughing out loud.   “Oh my goodness, that was rich!”

CeCe comes out of the shadows, taking off her costume head, laughing as well.  “I told you this would be fun!  Play into their fears, they won’t test you no more, bet.”

“Bast I hope you’re right.  I still think the dinner request was a bit much, but it seemed to stick.  Now let’s go home before I freeze to death in the air.  I still think being in a shirt would’ve brought the same effect.”

“Nooo, I needed you in full on Queen of the Damned mode.  You made them your minions no doubt!  And I knew this would make us hungry, might as well get something for nothing; not like he ain't good for it. But you go ahead, I'll be back at the dorm later.  Got some loose ends to tie up first.”

The next morning, Shuri and CeCe sit in lecture to await the beginning of class.  Hanson walks in nervously looking across the crowd, locking eyes with Shuri.  Shuri reaches into her bag and pulls out a receipt, crumpling it up and tossing it on the floor.  Hanson looks away, not at all relieved.  

Ashleigh walks in quickly walk into lecture, cap pulled over her head as she takes her seat.  

“Class, before we begin I forgot to mention our special guest participant, Shuri Udaku of the royal family in Wakanda.  I highly recommend picking her brain as she has exhibited outstanding work in engineering vibranium for a multitude of purposes, far beyond her years.  Let's give her a round of applause.”  

The class gives a hearty ovation and Shuri waves and bows.  Maybe she should have been more forthcoming about her background after all.  Hanson walks over to Ashleigh, motioning for her to remove her cap.  Her head shakes from side to side.  Hanson clears his throat.  “Today we will be doing preliminary testing.  If you have a hat on, it must be removed before we begin.”  Hanson looks to Ashleigh insistently.  

Ashleigh’s hands find her cap to pull it off.  The class gasps at the large bald spot in the middle of her head.

CeCe snickers to herself as Shuri questions her.  “Did you do that??”

CeCe nods.  “Man, Nair does not smell like her conditioner, she should blame herself.  She snatch me, I snatch back.  Your hair shit at the bonfire inspired me, like you said something.  What was it?”

Shuri looks at her in awe, holding her fist out to dap CeCe.  “I just told her to go fuck a dog, but i must say that is genius!  Diabolical.”

When lecture let out, Ashleigh walked fast past them without a word, which was way better than before.  Miqaila trailed behind her.

CeCe calls out.  “Hey, Miqaila!”

She turns, avoiding Shuri’s  gaze.  “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I wanted to get you something as a peace offering, just to say sorry and stuff since you and Ashleigh seem to be going through something, you guys ok?”

CeCe hands her a cup of iced coffee from Starbucks, making Miqaila smile halfway.  “No, we are fine, just….working out some kinks and stuff.  Learning to work independently.”  Miqaila glances at Shuri before taking a sip.

CeCe nods, “Ok, just let me know if you need anything else.  Praying for you guys!”

Miqaila sets off and Shuri turns to her, arms crossed.  “So why does Miqaila get the Hollywood treatment and Ashleigh is scalped?”

CeCe smiles a big, creepy smile.  “That gesture will have her sitting on the toilet for the rest of the day.  Your parasite comment gave me that inspo, so genius.”

Shuri’s eyes bucked as she lead her friend along.  Never had she met such a petty, mischievous, cunning person in her life.  She loved her.

[a-rat-and-a-blob]

The Sewer King’s Carol: The First Ghost Part 1 - Lonely Sentience

The bell rings late. Its sound echoing from the tunnels as I scurry and scurry, knowing very well that my time could end easily. Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. The 22nd hour approaches. The roaches told me that they saw The Goopy One here, and my roaches never lied, but he was nowhere to be found. I looked and looked and looked, but nothing! No clues! No nearby familiar human places! No nothing! I have to get him back, lest I want my subject to be abused and exterminated.  

               Ding. Dong. The 23rd hour approaches. I stop looking at the accursed location my roaches left me and started looking at the places the Goopy One liked to go to. I can't remember their names, but I remember them being obnoxious. How could one ever find watching humans walking and talking important in any way? They served no purpose against my kingdom nor do they seem to be part of Takeda's secret plans of blowing up the sewers (I KNOW it will happen! I KNOW IT!). I stop at the manhole to one of the locations. I go up the latter, slowly cloaking myself so I won't be seen. When the lid pops out, I see everything dark. Very few lights come out of the glass windows and soot filled the air as everyone burned their furnaces for the winter. I can make out random poro sculptures on buildings and streams of fake green plant life around the lampposts. I see the name of the location: Skylight Commercia.

               I reveal myself, feeling comforted by the dense ashy fog and the lack of light. I try to remember the places that The Goopy One liked to go to. It was usually ones with food. He watching people eat and talk about their day. He never stops blabbering about that, but where were these food places?  I walk around, trying to find a map. The roads feel cold to my paw and every store I see seemed to have a cage behind their doors. It was so much different than the way The Goopy One described it. He described it as a happy place, one where a person can enjoy all of the great things of the surface dweller city above my kingdom, but it just seems like an empty husk. Then again, I shouldn't be complaining. Less humans to deal with, the better.  

               Suddenly, the black fog grows darker and darker, to such a point where I couldn't see the buildings anymore. I couldn't see the lamppost or the Snowdown decorations. I could barely see my own hands. As I trudged further for some order, I see a small yellow light in the distance, so awfully bright that I had to squint to make it out. A gentle voice called.

               "I see you.." he said. "I see you walking.. Come! Come closer!"

               I immediately grab my crossbow and fired at the creature in front of me.

               "That's no way to treat an old saint.." he said, disappointed. "You seem lost, little one. Maybe I could help you this Snowdown's Eve. Help you find your way.."

               I wanted to leave right then and there. I don't have time to deal with some stu-

               I feel something metal grab at my leg. Something cold and forceful. Wanting to drag me down to the sewers. I feel the chains through my fingers as I run through them, and wondered when they would cover me from head to toe. When I walked away, the grip becomes stronger. When I went towards the light, it became looser. I cautiously walk to the old saint, covering its glare with my clawed hand. Eventually I saw a shadow of a floating man with something circular behind his back. I march on, finally seeing the creature for what he is: an old white bearded human in red robes with a colorful clock behind his back. He floats in the air as he grins at the rat.

               "Ah... I've always wanted to take a look at you, Plague Rat."

               My breathing quickened. "Are... are you judging me..." I squeak. He simply lends a hand in response, keeping his warm, creepy grin.

               "Come! Before the hour goes." My hands shake as I lift it up from my body, and held the hand of the sprit.  The dark fog whirls around me violently as the clock behind the saint's back begins to spin backwards and backwards and... stop! The clock stops with the hour hand at 11 and the fog begins to dissipates as the light emanating from the clock grows brighter and brighter. I hear the water rushing in the background and the familiar wet and sticky floor. I sniff the sludge in the air. It wasn't just the sewers, it was MY sector.

               "Sprit? Why did you bring me he-?"

               Suddenly, I'm interrupted by the kids that dare wander into my lair. That dare invade. They laugh as if it was some kind of joke. Usually the Goopy One was there to keep them in check, but he wasn't with me anymore. I raise my crossbow to fire only to see the body go down immediately. I never pulled the trigger, yet I see the arrow in the chest all the same. I hear my mad cackling as I see another plague rat in a green coat running to loot the corpse. Another plague rat? I run up to him, with so many questions, only to completely phase through and fall to the ground. I see his maniacal face. His pinks staring down at the body, and his incessant desire to steal from another. His hands plunges into the clothes and flesh, hungry for something to claim. I jump back in reaction, beginning to realize that this was me.

               "Saint! Judger! What am I doing here..? Why am I here!? I have someone to find!" I said, angry at the mockery.

               "We're in your past, Plague Rat. Of things that came. What did that poor soul ever deserved?" the old saint said, looking over the body.

               "He.. he was invading! I knew it!"

               "But did he really?"

               "Yes!"

               "How could you know?"

               "Because he's a human! They always invade.. Always trying to exterminate me!"

               Suddenly, my past version runs away, kicking the body into the water before he did so. I watched as it sinks into the bottom, never to be heard nor seen again.

               "Plague rat.. I've seen countless sprits. You may have seen only a minority, but I've seen many. All of them are capable of murder and invasion, but not all of them do. Even you are capable."

               "What are you saying..?"

               "Come let's follow."

               I follow the saint quickly, following my past self to the old lair. My old magnificent lair. I remember how the waters flow. How the chambers were gigantic, but  as I enter, I see the glass shards and the decayed rat body at my foot.

               "This one.." my past self shouts. "This is the ingredient they stole from me! This time I know this will work!" I see my past self cackle. He takes his hand and brings up a rat before the potion. He dips it into the acid. Suddenly, the rat's heinous screech echoed into my ears, never like before. He screamed in the water, never to be heard except me. He squirmed in my grip before laying limp. It wasn't long before this rat joined the rotten brethren at the foot of the door and my past self screaming in anger, pain, sadness, and frustration. I flinch at the my old weeping, knowing very well of how he feels, but I remember feeling the lesser rat's screams. I never heard it.. It has to be the sprit's doing, but it felt so real... So scared.. As if it was my own..

               "And you say you're not like them?" he says behind me.

               "This.. this is different okay!?" I shout back. "I just wanted a subject.. Someone like me! Subjects are sometimes sacrificed for the sake of MY kingdom. I'm not like them! They.. they want to exterminate me! They wanted to sabotage me!"

               "But you kill so many lives.. That was not the only corpse.." he said, pointing to the rat bones of many.  As I looked, I hear a faint noise from above. A dripping leak most likely, but that's not what I saw myself do. I saw my wretched face as it begins to twist and turn to something sinister. Something broken. He begins to cackle silently before going invisible, leaving me and the sprit with my victims.

               I look back at the decayed corpse as it still twitches. "They were just potential subjects, sprit. Twitch needed someone.." The rat tore his sight away from the dead, imagining the screams once more. Screams that he identified as his own. Screams that he never considered in his grief. "Anyone.."

               The saint levitated towards me and showed his hand.

               "We're still not done.. You'll be surprised with what we give you.."

               I grab the hand of the old saint and we disappeared before the my past self came back with another ingredient in his hand.

[moonlight-escapade]

“Have you ever heard of the term, Obscurus?” (Newt Imagine Pt. 4)

Hey everyone! Sorry it has taken me a while to update this imagine. I have so many ideas for other nes that I just keep writing and writing and am having a tough time organizing my postings XD 

Since this page is something I started to help me with my writing as well as to create fan fiction- I want to pass a little word of advice to fellow writers out there that I got and think is very helpful. If you get an idea for something (a story), write it right then. It doesn’t have to be completed in one go, but you won’t have the same thought process when you decide to write it later on. You could miss out on some great ideas and story lines by leaving it for later. When the inspiration strikes- write it down! 

Now back to our regularly scheduled Newt... ;D 

FYI: I changed the ending of the third part of this imagine. I have a new Newt imagine I’m working on that I really love and and excited about, and want to put up for you guys. But we’ll wait for this one to end first hehe ;) Much love!

It was… well to put it simply; it was cold. Freezing. Actually… if there was a word above freezing that would be it.

“Newt?” You called, wrapping your arms around your body as you felt the heat within you begin to slowly dissipate away. You searched the snowy plain for a sign of curly hair- a wisp of that Hufflepuff yellow tie flicking up in the wind. Nothing.

“Newt!” You yelled, beginning to panic. You didn’t have your wand- and if Newt had landed somewhere else entirely, you were done for. You looked around you, your mind reeling at the vast expanse of pure white. It quickly began dizzying you. You turned left, then right, behind you… in front of you. Which way was which now you had no idea. “Newt!” You yelled again, tears welling on the sides of your eyes- only to be dried away by a gust of freezing wind. You shivered, immediately letting out a yelp as the wind flew underneath your robes.

“(Y/N)!” A voice called from behind you- or whatever the direction was. You turned around again. “(Y/N)?” He called again. Quickly, his form became apparent. On seemingly the other side of the great white plain- Newt’s robes flowed in the chilling arctic air.

“(Y/N)!” He called once he saw you, quickly running over to where you stood as you ran to him through what felt like a never ending expanse of white.

You raised your hands to his cheeks, his skin already red and chilled in the short time you’d spent on this… ice planet. He flinched at your touch, “You’re freezing,” he said worriedly, grabbing your hand in his as he brought it to his mouth, heating it in between huffs of breath. You would have blushed had this been any normal day at school. But this wasn’t. You looked out to the space around you. “Where are we?”

He brought you closer, holding your hands against his chest as he stared at you intensely. Your stomach twisted as you looked back into his… frightened.

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. Quickly shutting them before pulling you close as a huge gust of wind broke out around you. As you pulled back, his mouth opened and closed... opened and closed. His expression nearly breaking your heart as he stared down at you, his eyes unquiet with... something of agony or indecision.

“It happened.” You muttered against the cold air.

Newt only stared down at you.

“The man- he controlled me or it or..” you shook your head, bowing it down to the ground.

“(Y/N), it’s alright love-“ You snapped your hand away from him, a sudden shock rushing through you as you stepped back, stumbling in the snow.

“I... I could have killed you! He could have made me kill you Newt!” you yelled, tears beginning to form along your lashes. Fury, anger and panic stormed inside you. You could have killed him.

“No, listen to me, (Y/N)-”

“Don’t come close to me!” You warned, staring him in the eyes. Your heart breaking as you stared at the beautiful boy in front of you. The beautiful boy you loved. The beautiful boy you could have-

“What are you-“

“I said don’t!” you yelled again. “Newt- I-“

“Don’t,” he cut me off, suddenly closing towards me as his eyes burned bright. Your heart dropped to your stomach.. or somewhere down in the frozen ground below you. You stepped back quickly, raising your hands in front of you, preventing him from coming closer.

“Don’t do this. Don’t- Don’t you dare tell me to leave you, because you are everything I have,” he spoke, his words strained and frustrated. Your heart seemed to break. This was exactly what they’d planned. You, standing here… listening to him as he stared at you with... with that agonizingly forlorn expression. Oh, god- I couldn’t stand it. I had to look away.

“Newt! Don’t you get it?” you cried, staring into the infinite abyss of snow. “You must know- surely… you must know, Newt Scamander. You are the only thing, the only person I have ever had.” Gasps of cold, frozen air shocked your lungs as you spoke. “You’re my only…” you stared at him hoping he’d understand what words couldn’t describe. 

“I l-love you.” You stuttered, teeth chattering as your body began to numb. “I can’t risk hurting you- I would sooner kill mys-“

But no sooner than you’d thought the dreadful words, he ran to you, his arms enveloping you, wrapping around you tightly. Soundly. Securely. Safely, Protectively. Everything… everything… And for the first time since your parent’s left, you could breathe.

This was home.

“I’ve done research,” he blurted suddenly against the howling of wind. You blinked up at him, unsure you’d heard what he said.

“On Obscurials,” he continued. His gaze full of caution as he watched how every word that left his mouth would affect you.

You blinked at him.

Research?

Had he said he’d done research? You felt your heart speed up though your mind could hardly process the emotions bubbling behind it. Because once again, you’d found yourself in disbelief towards your own circumstances. Here you were, standing in the middle of an ever expanding sea of blizzards with Newt. Talking about... extracting Obscurials. From you. 

And who were you to imagine the day your parents abandoned you wouldn’t be the worst day of your life? That even as they refused to say goodbye to you as they threw you in the arms of the red coated man, their abuse... their selfish disdain for their own daughter would in fact, grow even more monstrous? 

You hardly knew what an Obscurus… Obscurial was besides that it turned it’s host into a giant tornado, hurricane, cyclone of destruction. As you’d just… experienced. That it formed under the suppression of one’s own denial of it. Though you hadn’t denied it- you’d just been completely un-aware of it. Which was completely against all the rules of it’s design. In all reality.. you should have been…

“(Y/N), I can’t lose you. I- I won’t lose you. Do you hear me? And nothing- nothing you do will ever make me stop fighting for you.” His hands pressed to the sides of my face as you stood there, dazed. Dumbfounded. If Newt hadn’t bared witness, one could’ve assumed you’d been stupefied. You stared up at him… your mind reeling but your speech blank. He eyed you anxiously as he carried the next fragile words to you,  “I think I may have a way to get it out of you.”

You looked up at him… how his expression fell upon you with sadness… how it burned in the background with a fierceness you couldn’t quite grasp between the forlorn sense of the whole thing looming around you. You placed your hands on his robes… unsure how to process this.

Get it out of you?

No one- no one has ever extracted an Obscurial from a person. Or at least ever lived to tell of it. You looked up at him, heart pounding as his hands gripped yours tightly, enveloping them in the warmth of his palms. He watched you as if he could hear the questions spinning through your head.

“Wh.. How?” The words for your reeling thoughts failing you. He gasped as a rage of wind blew past, quickly grabbing you and shielding you again before holding you in front of him and staring intensely into your eyes. His expression laced in both sureness and fear.

“I… I think I can extract it. I… I’ve read about it in my Zoology book. It hasn’t really… exactly been done before… extractions… but I’ve been reading. Reading and studying them for a while now. And when we found out you…” his heart ached as he spoke the words, pressing you closer to him as if it would help him protect you from the monster inside you. “I can’t let them hurt you- I can’t let it hurt you, (Y/N). I had to find a way.”

You gripped onto his robes, looking up at him, willing him to continue.

But his eyes, full and fierce as they’d been a not a moment before, fell into shock. His hands, fingers wrapped tightly against your wrists, snapped away. His head shook in disbelief, hands threading through the warm ashy-ness of his hair as he turned anxiously away from you. His hands soon swinging down at his sides as he paced back and forth, shaking his head and scoffing into the white air.

“I can’t… I can’t,” he breathed in ridicule. Looking back toward your small, shivering frame- pain tinged through him. “How could I have brought you here- how could I have thought-“ he shook his head angrily.

“Newt,” you spoke softly, your voice assuring yet loud enough to travel across the vacuum of sound around you. “Newt stop- listen to me.” His eyes staring down at you in fear as you brought your frozen fingers to bring his face back to you.

“How could I have been so bloody idiotic?” He scolded himself. The sight pained you. You pulled his coat towards you, begging to snap him away from his morality. He was too moral or his own good. You looked at him, because what else could you do? You just wanted to... see him. To watch him for a moment- the Newt you knew. To be for a moment, transported back into his small case, filled with small Occamies and little bug like creatures he’d skipped potions class to collect in the Dark Forest.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke.

You shook your head. “Tell me.” His eyes stared back wearily. You shook your head again, pressing your cold fingers to his frost reddened cheeks. “Tell me, Newt. Please.” His hand grabbed yours, bringing it back down to hang between us, his hands wrapping around mine, rubbing them to generate warmth. My heart warmed at the gesture.

“Obscurials- they’re- not entirely so, but certainly more vulnerable in freezing conditions,” he looked around the vast winter around you. Your eyes brimmed with tears in response to the cold breezes that bullied and taunted around you. “So I brought us here. It’s a place I saw in my book…”

You nodded, focusing on the way his soft, slightly calloused hands pressed against yours. The way they- you- felt so safe in them. The way they squeezed your fingers protectively, lovingly. The way these hands... Newt’s hands, had held you- your heart, in the palm of his hands. These hands... the way you could never trust your life in any other.

“Do it.”

His eyes snapped down to me. His face twisting in confusion and concern and anger and… a thousand different things. You grabbed his hands.

“Do it, Newt.” You whispered. A strength- a trust had laced throughout those two words. You stared at him, at this boy who had taken me heart and soul- at this boy who had become the greatest and the one and only love of my life. “I couldn’t... I can’t live knowing I could hurt you. That they could make me hurt you.” All you could do was shake your head, begging, pleading. “That man controlled me. That’s exactly what this thing inside me is for. It’s a weapon. And what if… what if I hurt,” the words choked in my throat as Newt’s hands gripped tightly around me.

“You won’t. I know you won’t.”

“But I don’t.”

[slavicviking]

Number 40. for the Meme ask thingy. :)

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one)

Thank you for asking! :D (And sorry for being so late) Since you haven’t specified which one, and I know you’ve read Inner Struggles, I chose that one. :)

(It’s sort of a long smmary)

Now, fair warning, it gets dark, really dark. Because the original ending is a somewhat happy-ending, my brain decided to go darker on this.

I apologize in advance - character death.

Alternative version starting from the second part of this chapter.

(All of my writing)

He did hisbest to ignore the dulling pain in his lower stomach, telling himself it wasn’tas serious as it looked. Obnoxiously colorful dragons in the sky impacted withthe grey clouds, making his head hurt. Fresh snow was falling, covering thedead bodies with a soft white feather blanket. Despite the howling wind and theicy temperature, Hiccup felt as though he was on fire. His blurry vision madehim disoriented and at some point he could not tell the ground and the skyapart – both dull, grey, with people and dragons moving around in no specificdirection, at least to him. The world around him spun uncontrollably.

The sky wasfalling.

He grippedthe reins tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Toothless,noticing his rider’s obvious distress, took over completely and lead the two ofthem away from the remnants of the icy tower, Hiccup’s mother’s sanctuary. Hiswings cut through the air with huge speed, gaining attention of the ones thathe passed.

All the warmachines, people and dragons underneath them turned into a shapeless mass. Hiccupclosed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see any of it. He felt the air slap himhard in the face and he shakily detached one of his hands from the saddle tocover himself. His helmet laid somewhere by the dead body of Drago Bludvist,gathering snow to cover the blood markings on the expensive leather. One of hiseyes opened slightly but as soon he spotted the angry red splashed over hishand, he shut it again, his stomach churning.

A voice.Calling him.

“-cup!” Hecould feel Toothless slowing down for the person to catch up. His hand went tothe reins again and his eyes peered over the person next to him. Sergius wasobserving him, his brows creased in worry.

“You okay?”He looked like he wanted to ask something else but the wind didn’t let him.Hiccup felt his head bobbing up and down on its own accord. He wanted to askhim the same, about how it was going, about… about Astrid, but his tongueseized up.  

“What now?Any ideas?” Sergius shouted over the wind, and Hiccup looked at him withconfusion, as if he didn’t understand the question at all. His eyes then caughtthe black alpha. The dark Bewilderbeast’s roar resounded over the battlefield,gaining attention of the other dragons. Everything started to fall back intoplace as though Hiccup had just woken up from a century-long sleep.

“We needt-to…” He winced as his vision doubled. Shaking it off, he ignored the lookSergius was giving him. “We, uh, we need to drive away the Bewilderbeast.”

“How?” Theother rider looked at the humongous dragon skeptically.

“I-I havean idea.”  Hiccup said as he patted theNight Fury absently. His eyes shone as they always did when he came up withsomething, a look of determination crossing his face.

‘Let’s just hope it’s going to work.’

&*&*&*&

“Are yesure?”

Heatherlooked up from the thin man in the bed and nodded softly. Stoick the Vast movedin his chair a little, his eyes flickering to the patient. The man wasmuttering something incomprehensible, and the Chief of Berk swallowed. Hefiddled with his hands, not sure what to do with himself.

“What if-“

“Sir, withall due respect,” Heather cut him off just as she finished tying up the bandageon the man’s head. She reached for the bucket with water to wash her handsquickly. As she wiped them using the hemline of her dress, the young womansighed. “He should get better.Eventually. I can’t, however, predict how long it will take until he improves.”

“He may notremember…” The Chief trailed off unsurely.

“Memoryloss is possible given his injuries,” Heather quickly said, avoiding the man’swatchful gaze. Hiccup quietly talking nonsense to himself could be heard in thebackground and the girl winced. She hugged herself shyly, lowering her eyes.“He needs his family now.”

It took along moment after Heather left for Stoick to raise himself from the chair andcross the room. Hiccup’s eyes trailed over his surroundings, looking ateverything and focusing on nothing in particular. He somehow managed to spothis father and his face lit up noticeably.

“D-dad…”Hiccup’s voice was hoarse, cracking with each letter. There was something soutterly wrong with the way he lookedat him. Stoick felt his eyes sting and his lip trembled dangerously at thesight of his son. His meaty hand reached shakily for his beloved helmet, hisonly tie to dear Val except for the pendant, and placed it gently on thebedside. Hiccup was thinner than ever before, looking more dead than alive. Hiswarm smile couldn’t distract from his ashy skin and dull, lifeless eyes. It wasbad, Stoick knew that.

Viking didn’t cry…

Then I ain’t a Viking, he thought to himself as he felt a lonetear roll down his cheek.

“Why areyou crying?” Despite the rough voice, Hiccup kept smiling. Stoick found thegesture very unsettling, a cold feeling passing through his whole body.

“Me son…”he started, but didn’t know what else to say. Stoick kneeled before the bed,grasping one of Hiccup’s too-thin hands into his bigger one. Hiccup wasfreezing to touch and a shiver traveled down Stoick’s back. It wasn’t normal,it wasn’t fine. He rubbed his handagainst Hiccup’s to warm it up and leaned his forehead against the covers,falling silent.

“Have youseen Astrid today?” Stoick’s heart stopped at those words. He pulled back tosee his son’s face. Hiccup was still smiling in the most innocent way possible,expecting a positive answers. But how could Stoick tell him… tell him… He wouldbreak his heart.

“No,‘iccup,” He answered slowly, weighing his every word. After a moment ofsilence, he decided to tell him the truth. Perhaps it would hurt him less… perhapsit would give him more time to cope… And Stoick would by his side to help himgrieve, he promised himself that. “Astrid… Astrid passed away two days ago, son.”

Hiccuplaughed. It was disturbing.

“No, shedidn’t.” His son wriggled his hand free from Stoick’s grasp with a chuckle.“She was here earlier. Apparently Stormfly found herself a mate.”

“That’s…that’s impossible. Son, I-“ I saw herbody burned yesterday. Hiccup looked as though he hadn’t heard a wordStoick said. His son’s behavior scared him more than any of the dragons hefaced in his long and eventful life. Drago and his army were nothing comparedto that.

“Do youthink she’ll have babies this year?” Hiccup continued, his gaze absent.

“B-babies?”Stoick blurted out.

“Yes.Stormfly.” Hiccup cocked his head in confusion, not understand his father’s strange behavior. Shrugging it off, hecontinued. “Maybe she’ll have some on Snoggletog.”

He couldn’ttake it anymore. Stoick stood up quickly, almost knocking off the bucket withwater Heather used earlier. His hand blindly searched for his helmet. Hiccup’ssmile fell as he observed his father struggle, a look of hurt crossing hisface. The Chief’s eyes kept flickering from Hiccup to the wall, in a desperateattempt to calm himself down.

“You’reacting… weird.” Hiccup said carefully, observing his father from the corner ofhis eye. Stoick wanted to laugh. Or cry. Perhaps both.

Stoickalways had trouble when talking to Hiccup. He was such… such an intelligent andeccentric individual – the Chief of Berk could never figure him out. Just as hebegun to understand his son a little, Hiccup went and surprised everyone yetagain. He and his son were, when it came to their minds and ideals, miles away.Now the abyss between them was simply impossible to cross.

He neededsome fresh air.

Swaying tothe sides, Stoick crossed the distance between Hiccup’s bed and the door.  As he was about to leave, guilt gripped hisheart.

“Dad?”Hiccup’s abnormally small voice caught him by surprise, but he didn’t dare toturn around. “Where are you going?”

“I, uh,”Stoick closed his eyes with a sigh. “I need tah leave fer a moment. I’ll be rightback.”

“Oh, okay.”His son’s voice turned much lighter in a matter of seconds. Stoick could almostsee the smile that was surely back on Hiccup’s face, as if nothing happened, nothing was wrong. “Can you tell Astrid tocome, then? I have an idea for Toothless’s saddle.”

Stoick letout a strained noise as he stumbled out of the room. He shut the door loudly,making the healers and the patients in the hall turn to look at him. He ignoredthe looks of pity and sympathetic smiles, feeling the need to get some freshair as soon as possible.

His legsshook as he stepped outside, narrowly avoiding a collision with one of thehealers. He welcomed the biting cold and fresh snow that begun to stick to hishair, clothes and face. Stoick’s embarrassingly shaky hand went to fix thehelmet that started to slip from his head. He hadn’t felt that terrified sinceValka presumably died.

This wasn’this Hiccup any more.

This wasn’t my best, but I didn’t have that much time, unfortunately. I hope you enjoyed it, nonetheless. :)

[symbianosgames]

Kate Walker has been in a wooly limbo for far, far too long, but at last her tale comes to the last panel of its triptych. Syberia 3 is slated to be released on April 25th, finally, after years of delays and funding problems. When we last saw our intrepid lawyer-turned-adventurer, the year was 2004 and her mobile phone was a barbaric monochrome affair that only worked as a phone. But, mercifully, the will to tell this never flamed out and we now have a Syberia installment for our times. 

If the preview I was given at GDC 2017 is any indication, we’re due for a fascinating story that might just be worth a thirteen year wait--and far from feeling like a dated throwback to a long-dead era of gaming, it’s surprisingly timely.

I looked at a section of the game that was about two thirds of the way through the story--for this I was but a passenger, scribbling my notes away. But I was able to actually get my hands on the game for the prologue and found the controls to be a thoughtfully designed puzzle in their own right.

We still have the same adventure game experience that fans of the series might expect, with items to collect, and plots advanced through Byzantine puzzles. Benoit Sokal’s delicately surreal sensibility once again spills out into a painterly world just to the side of our own. The subtitles are still that distinctive handwritten print that is also very much Sokal’s. But there are new ways of interacting with puzzles that are meant to use a full range of motion to simulate various actions.

For instance, one early puzzle saw me find a knife to use as a screwdriver to open up a control box for a switch. I was using a PS4 remote and I found I had to use all 360 degrees of control stick motion to turn the screwdriver, open and close the panel, and insert a fuse. It’s meant to imitate intuitive physical motion--"how would you interact with this object if you were actually there with it?", rather than “how would I poke at this in a videogame?” It takes some getting used to, but it has a lot of promise.

***

Of even greater importance to me is Kate Walker’s story, however. I spoke to Benoit Sokal directly about this; Walker was, after all, an example of a woman whose quest for her own independence was central to the story of the very first game. She showed what kinds of stories videogames could tell if they weren’t shackled to convention, and how a narrative of women’s liberation was not inimical to the production of a good, challenging game. 

More than anything, she embodied the idea that a woman’s quest for wonder and meaning in her life was ideal for a fantastical story. So where does Syberia 3 take her? Sokal offered a few tantalizing hints.

The themes of Kate Walker’s story in this installment will center on doubt, particularly “starting to make Kate a bit darker,” in Sokal’s words. He said that he wanted to “deconstruct” her and her character in this narrative, making the most of the transformative forces that carried her through the first two games. She gave up everything in the first game--a good job, a socially advantageous marriage, her home in New York--to pursue a dream in mythic Syberia: finding a lost heir, seeing the land where mammoths still roam, and rescuing a civilization under siege. Sokal also alluded to “questions about her sexuality” that may come up in the narrative but gave few additional details. What he wanted above all was to make her story more complex. 

When I took control of the game to play the prologue, she was true to form, staring down powerful men who did their damndest to make her feel foolish and weak. We find her recovering from mortal injuries in a Syberian hospital-cum-asylum, having to prove her good health to a scrutinizing scold of a doctor who tells her “you’re one of the very last representatives of a world that is fast disappearing, Ms. Walker... that no one will miss.” There are fully voiced dialogue options--voice actor Sharon Mann makes an enthusiastic and triumphant return as Kate Walker; hers is a voice that reaches across the years, stirring more than a little nostalgia for the earlier titles. But Kate’s role here is to look forward more than ever.

“Syberia 3 is about Kate’s future,” Sokal told me, “while 1 and 2 were about her past.”

That future is about deciding who she is now. More than ever, there seems to be no going back to New York. Even her traveling clothes, from the strange device she wears around her neck to her homemade snow boots, are now more of that fantastic world beyond the veil than her old life. 

***

As I played through the game I felt a range of familiar sensations come back: it really was like the old Syberias but with a rich graphical and control update.

Syberia 3 is a game that truly benefits from its lavish graphical upgrades; Benoit Sokal’s vision takes flight here as his gorgeous drawings and paintings come to life with hitherto unmatched fidelity. The world through which Kate Walker learns and grows is one that bores like a tunnel through everything we think we know, a dreamscape that assembles the familiar into beautifully strange gardens.

The mid-game level I was shown by a Microid’s developer takes place in Sokal’s vision of Pripyat, Ukraine--the ghost city that once housed Chernobyl’s workers and families. You and a band of Syberian tribespeople known as the Youkols are making your way through abandoned Metro tunnels, but come across an impasse that requires you to send an automaton to the irradiated surface to find the tools to clear it. Throughout the game you see desiccated or decaying Socialist realism, just as you did in the other installments. I asked why that aesthetic seemed to fascinate Sokal.

He talked about wanting to make a world “fantastique et monstreuse,” and that the “paradox of Soviet civilization,” which his Ukrainian family grew up with, was ideal for exploring that blend of fantastic and monstrous.

“[Pripyat] has become paradise on Earth for the wolf packs prowling about the buildings,” he said. “There are ruins where the vegetation is sprouting everywhere you look and where you can see bison wandering the streets. The place is both horrible and fantastic. The contrast between such terrible misfortune and the abandoned beauty is inspiring.” One of Pripyat’s most iconic places, the abandoned amusement park, is given new life in its Syberia 3 counterpart, Baranour.

The brutal realism of Soviet architecture contains its own beauty, even as the fires of its industries devastated countrysides; but there was also beauty in the stark contrast between that pollution and the ways in which nature endured. Sokal spoke of a childhood memory where he beheld “little white flowers blooming on the trees amid a sooty countryside, blackened by factories.” It is, he said, “the most horrific and amazing background for that little white flower.” That image, which he calls a paradox, inspired much of the art direction for the series.

In Syberia 1, Kate Walker dynamiting a massive statue of Soviet Man blocking the railroad tracks was almost painfully on the nose in its gender and political commentary, leaving behind a dead factory and cosmodrome where a drunk cosmonaut finally achieved his dream of going to space. In each game, Walker explores dreamscapes of ruin that echo what many Russians and Eastern Europeans saw over the last two decades. Fallen statues, fallow fields, cold and empty factories, ashy dachas. In finding the beauty of these places, Sokal uses them as a seedbed for the wondrous fantasies Kate Walker discovers; aviaries, beautiful forests, waterfalls, icy wonderlands where mammoths herd together. 

That white flower of beauty persists and blooms into something all the more enchanted in Syberia 3, and as with Dragon Age’s Morrigan, Walker makes it her mission to learn about and protect what is magical in this world against the final revenge of the machines.

***

That theme emerges in a surprisingly timely form. The overall thrust of Syberia 3 was described to me by one of the Microids developers thusly: Walker and the Youkol people, whose nomadic way of life has been dictated by the migrations of sacred snow-ostriches, are trying to flee from fascists who are attempting to assimilate them into a sedentary, “civilized” way of life. The Youkols’ culture is the “fast disappearing world” that Walker’s condescending doctor spoke of, after all. In the face of that, she becomes an outlaw to help the Youkols, hunted by the regime and a private detective who will stop at nothing to put their march across Syberia to an end.

Walker must endure all of this and make critical choices as she helps lead the Youkols and their snow-ostriches to “the promised land.”

Syberia has always been about journeys, and this tale of fascists trying to stop a religious minority from enjoying the transformative power of travel is gut-wrenchingly current. That pursuit of freedom through motion is a theme from Sokal’s own life. “The story of Europe is just that,” he said, “wandering from country to country. In Syberia you see my story of the 20th Century, traveling by train.” He referred to the memorable train journey that defined Walker’s alchemical trip through the first game, adding “the train of Syberia is the train of Europe.” He envisions it as a spinal throughline, connecting cultures and changing people in a world where another country and another language were an hour away by rail, even in a Europe divided by walls.

Now, powerful forces wearing uniforms and flying in rusty Sikorsky attack helicopters conspire to end the journey of Walker and the Youkols; the stakes are higher, as they should be for the last entry in a trilogy. But from what I saw in the bits of the game I had access to, it’s not so heavy-handed as to turn the meditative and cerebral Syberia series into an explosive action-adventure hellscape. 

The theme and feel of the series endures; perhaps like a white rose.

Katherine Cross is a Ph.D student in sociology who researches anti-social behavior online, and a gaming critic whose work has appeared in numerous publications.

[symbianosgames]

Kate Walker has been in a wooly limbo for far, far too long, but at last her tale comes to the last panel of its triptych. Syberia 3 is slated to be released on April 25th, finally, after years of delays and funding problems. When we last saw our intrepid lawyer-turned-adventurer, the year was 2004 and her mobile phone was a barbaric monochrome affair that only worked as a phone. But, mercifully, the will to tell this never flamed out and we now have a Syberia installment for our times. 

If the preview I was given at GDC 2017 is any indication, we’re due for a fascinating story that might just be worth a thirteen year wait--and far from feeling like a dated throwback to a long-dead era of gaming, it’s surprisingly timely.

I looked at a section of the game that was about two thirds of the way through the story--for this I was but a passenger, scribbling my notes away. But I was able to actually get my hands on the game for the prologue and found the controls to be a thoughtfully designed puzzle in their own right.

We still have the same adventure game experience that fans of the series might expect, with items to collect, and plots advanced through Byzantine puzzles. Benoit Sokal’s delicately surreal sensibility once again spills out into a painterly world just to the side of our own. The subtitles are still that distinctive handwritten print that is also very much Sokal’s. But there are new ways of interacting with puzzles that are meant to use a full range of motion to simulate various actions.

For instance, one early puzzle saw me find a knife to use as a screwdriver to open up a control box for a switch. I was using a PS4 remote and I found I had to use all 360 degrees of control stick motion to turn the screwdriver, open and close the panel, and insert a fuse. It’s meant to imitate intuitive physical motion--"how would you interact with this object if you were actually there with it?", rather than “how would I poke at this in a videogame?” It takes some getting used to, but it has a lot of promise.

***

Of even greater importance to me is Kate Walker’s story, however. I spoke to Benoit Sokal directly about this; Walker was, after all, an example of a woman whose quest for her own independence was central to the story of the very first game. She showed what kinds of stories videogames could tell if they weren’t shackled to convention, and how a narrative of women’s liberation was not inimical to the production of a good, challenging game. 

More than anything, she embodied the idea that a woman’s quest for wonder and meaning in her life was ideal for a fantastical story. So where does Syberia 3 take her? Sokal offered a few tantalizing hints.

The themes of Kate Walker’s story in this installment will center on doubt, particularly “starting to make Kate a bit darker,” in Sokal’s words. He said that he wanted to “deconstruct” her and her character in this narrative, making the most of the transformative forces that carried her through the first two games. She gave up everything in the first game--a good job, a socially advantageous marriage, her home in New York--to pursue a dream in mythic Syberia: finding a lost heir, seeing the land where mammoths still roam, and rescuing a civilization under siege. Sokal also alluded to “questions about her sexuality” that may come up in the narrative but gave few additional details. What he wanted above all was to make her story more complex. 

When I took control of the game to play the prologue, she was true to form, staring down powerful men who did their damndest to make her feel foolish and weak. We find her recovering from mortal injuries in a Syberian hospital-cum-asylum, having to prove her good health to a scrutinizing scold of a doctor who tells her “you’re one of the very last representatives of a world that is fast disappearing, Ms. Walker... that no one will miss.” There are fully voiced dialogue options--voice actor Sharon Mann makes an enthusiastic and triumphant return as Kate Walker; hers is a voice that reaches across the years, stirring more than a little nostalgia for the earlier titles. But Kate’s role here is to look forward more than ever.

“Syberia 3 is about Kate’s future,” Sokal told me, “while 1 and 2 were about her past.”

That future is about deciding who she is now. More than ever, there seems to be no going back to New York. Even her traveling clothes, from the strange device she wears around her neck to her homemade snow boots, are now more of that fantastic world beyond the veil than her old life. 

***

As I played through the game I felt a range of familiar sensations come back: it really was like the old Syberias but with a rich graphical and control update.

Syberia 3 is a game that truly benefits from its lavish graphical upgrades; Benoit Sokal’s vision takes flight here as his gorgeous drawings and paintings come to life with hitherto unmatched fidelity. The world through which Kate Walker learns and grows is one that bores like a tunnel through everything we think we know, a dreamscape that assembles the familiar into beautifully strange gardens.

The mid-game level I was shown by a Microid’s developer takes place in Sokal’s vision of Pripyat, Ukraine--the ghost city that once housed Chernobyl’s workers and families. You and a band of Syberian tribespeople known as the Youkols are making your way through abandoned Metro tunnels, but come across an impasse that requires you to send an automaton to the irradiated surface to find the tools to clear it. Throughout the game you see desiccated or decaying Socialist realism, just as you did in the other installments. I asked why that aesthetic seemed to fascinate Sokal.

He talked about wanting to make a world “fantastique et monstreuse,” and that the “paradox of Soviet civilization,” which his Ukrainian family grew up with, was ideal for exploring that blend of fantastic and monstrous.

“[Pripyat] has become paradise on Earth for the wolf packs prowling about the buildings,” he said. “There are ruins where the vegetation is sprouting everywhere you look and where you can see bison wandering the streets. The place is both horrible and fantastic. The contrast between such terrible misfortune and the abandoned beauty is inspiring.” One of Pripyat’s most iconic places, the abandoned amusement park, is given new life in its Syberia 3 counterpart, Baranour.

The brutal realism of Soviet architecture contains its own beauty, even as the fires of its industries devastated countrysides; but there was also beauty in the stark contrast between that pollution and the ways in which nature endured. Sokal spoke of a childhood memory where he beheld “little white flowers blooming on the trees amid a sooty countryside, blackened by factories.” It is, he said, “the most horrific and amazing background for that little white flower.” That image, which he calls a paradox, inspired much of the art direction for the series.

In Syberia 1, Kate Walker dynamiting a massive statue of Soviet Man blocking the railroad tracks was almost painfully on the nose in its gender and political commentary, leaving behind a dead factory and cosmodrome where a drunk cosmonaut finally achieved his dream of going to space. In each game, Walker explores dreamscapes of ruin that echo what many Russians and Eastern Europeans saw over the last two decades. Fallen statues, fallow fields, cold and empty factories, ashy dachas. In finding the beauty of these places, Sokal uses them as a seedbed for the wondrous fantasies Kate Walker discovers; aviaries, beautiful forests, waterfalls, icy wonderlands where mammoths herd together. 

That white flower of beauty persists and blooms into something all the more enchanted in Syberia 3, and as with Dragon Age’s Morrigan, Walker makes it her mission to learn about and protect what is magical in this world against the final revenge of the machines.

***

That theme emerges in a surprisingly timely form. The overall thrust of Syberia 3 was described to me by one of the Microids developers thusly: Walker and the Youkol people, whose nomadic way of life has been dictated by the migrations of sacred snow-ostriches, are trying to flee from fascists who are attempting to assimilate them into a sedentary, “civilized” way of life. The Youkols’ culture is the “fast disappearing world” that Walker’s condescending doctor spoke of, after all. In the face of that, she becomes an outlaw to help the Youkols, hunted by the regime and a private detective who will stop at nothing to put their march across Syberia to an end.

Walker must endure all of this and make critical choices as she helps lead the Youkols and their snow-ostriches to “the promised land.”

Syberia has always been about journeys, and this tale of fascists trying to stop a religious minority from enjoying the transformative power of travel is gut-wrenchingly current. That pursuit of freedom through motion is a theme from Sokal’s own life. “The story of Europe is just that,” he said, “wandering from country to country. In Syberia you see my story of the 20th Century, traveling by train.” He referred to the memorable train journey that defined Walker’s alchemical trip through the first game, adding “the train of Syberia is the train of Europe.” He envisions it as a spinal throughline, connecting cultures and changing people in a world where another country and another language were an hour away by rail, even in a Europe divided by walls.

Now, powerful forces wearing uniforms and flying in rusty Sikorsky attack helicopters conspire to end the journey of Walker and the Youkols; the stakes are higher, as they should be for the last entry in a trilogy. But from what I saw in the bits of the game I had access to, it’s not so heavy-handed as to turn the meditative and cerebral Syberia series into an explosive action-adventure hellscape. 

The theme and feel of the series endures; perhaps like a white rose.

Katherine Cross is a Ph.D student in sociology who researches anti-social behavior online, and a gaming critic whose work has appeared in numerous publications.