#him being able to trap selected people in his personal little mind space and being able to do whatever the fuck he wants w it

[honibumii]

Concept idea: Ace with an UM similar to Lucy's ability from BSD

[shorkbrian]

How about some barbarian bakugo noncon?

Prelude - One time I came home from a walk and smelled this scent so freaking thick that I could taste it, and I almost threw up cause it smelled like skinning a deer but like, ten times worse?? and I was like lol that’s kinda weird and it turns out the neighbor had caught a skunk in a catch-and-release trap (which we gave him cause we didn’t want him catching a skunk in a trap that’d kill it) and apparently decided to kill it right then and there, and just let it by the edge of his property, right by my car. That was fun. 

Anyways, Katsuki makes a big deal about reader looking different in this. You can take that any way you’d like. Personally, I was feeling insecure about my freckles (I have so many that my skin almost looks even-toned because they almost all touch rip) and my hair color/odd face so I wrote him liking that reader looked different. It’s not super deep lol

Pairing - Bakugou Katsuki X Reader X slight Izuku Midoriya

Warnings - NSFW, dubcon, noncon, voyerisum, exhibistionism, blood mention lol. Idk groping?

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/4FeWr4OsidcJClBjUEBHWI?si=OPHwLWXrTsiNQ42SlMKLEg

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There is a point where you stop screaming.

A point when you realize that no one is coming to save you, that you’re wasting your breath, that it’s fruitless. Does nothing more than raw your throat and grate against your own ears.

It’s no use. The Barbarian King seems unaffected, perhaps even spurred on by your ear-splitting screams. There’s no reason to scream anymore - it’d be impossible to scream forever.

——

Village in flames, corpses littering the streets. You’d heard about the stench of death from books, from traveling warriors who stop in your village for a night, regaling the people with tales of heroics and strength. It smelled quite different from what you had imagined though.

Metallic, yes, but tangy, thick enough for you to taste the iron seeping into the ground. Raw, like the scent of the butcher’s shop, heavy and suffocating - you hadn’t been able to breathe.

Everything had happened so fast, too fast. People were dead, people were dying, people were killing and being killed. You had been running, trying to escape the stifling aroma of your village being drained, the barbarians running amok through the streets leeching out it’s lifeblood.

Then you had been falling, tripped up by a loose limb on the ground, a body still warm and rattling with it’s last breaths. Shocked by the vivid image of the gore underneath you, a man reaching for his severed arm, you hadn’t been able to catch yourself as you fell, a cry leaving your lips.

Darkness.

And then light as you slowly blinked to awareness, slumped on the ground. A line of prisoners, prizes from the raid. You were one of them, hands bound to your neck, ankles tied to the people on either side of you. Two men had come by after a while, a green haired man in dress similar to your own - perhaps a captured man from the village?

The other man was bare chested, as many of the barbarians were, gold and red paint swirled across his skin in intricate, sharp patterns. He looked fearsome, and he barked at the green haired man accompanying him who scribbled furiously onto paper at each utterance of the fearsome blonde man.

They seemed to be going down the lengthy line of prisoners, assigning them? Selecting them for something? You didn’t know, couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were numb, sealed off from the horrific event you had just experienced, safe within your cocoon of forced apathy.

And then the two men were in front of you, the blonde man silent as he stared you down, the green haired man with his pen poised, though he studied you also.

But they quickly moved on, the barbarian barking something at his companion, before striding to the next prisoner.

You had been untied from your fellow captives, led through the barbarian camp. Red tents, warm fires and laughter filled the space, bare-chested warriors of both genders celebrating their recent victory.

The large red tent you had been led to was warm, a fire crackling in the deep pit in the center, silky furs softening the harshness of the ground. There was a table in front of the fire, a large basin filled with water nearby, close to the fire. A desk in the corner, near the tent flap, and a folding screen hiding the back of the tent from view.

Promptly tied to the leg of a table, you were left alone, the woman who had dragged you here leaving before you could ask what was happening.

Shortly, green hair popped through the tent flap, quickly followed by the rest of the man from earlier, the one dressed like your people.

“Izuku Midoriya!” He had introduced himself, giving a little flourish as he bowed, before being pushed aside as the fearsome blonde from before entered the tent.

Still tied to the leg of the table, numb to the world, you merely stared at the ground when the two men approached.

“What’s your name?” The green haired man - Izuku - asked.

He was met with a blank stare.

The blonde man growled at your lack of answer, spitting something in his native tongue, words you didn’t understand. Izuku seemed to shrink, before turning to address you again.

“Please tell us your name. Kacchan is not the most patient man.”

The fearsome man beside him bared his teeth towards you, and you shrank back. He did not seem the type of person who tolerated being left waiting.

“(Y/N)….�� You whispered, eyes falling to the ground.

“(Y/N), ah! Such an interesting name, the first part means-“ Izuku was cut off from his ramble with a shove from the blond man - Kacchan - who crouched down in front of you, rolling your name around his tongue.

Turning, he spoke to Izuku in the same jumbled language, who listened, then addressed you as Kacchan turned back to study you again.

“Kacchan would like to know uhm, uuh.....” Izuku trailed off, uncertain eyes flickering between you and the blonde.

Kacchan scoffed, listening to Izuku’s hesitancy with disdain, saying something directed at the younger man, yet Kacchan’s eyes were fixed on you the entire time. It was intimidating.

“He uh, wants to know ifyou’reavirgin.”

Oh god.

Even though the man’s words were rushed, you understood, limbs beginning to shake. You were going to be violated.

A finger poking your calf made you jump, the blonde man leering at you, head cocked to the side, eyebrow raised as if to say “Well?”

You shook your head - lovers had existed in your life, not many, but you still cherished each one deeply, thought back on the experiences you shared fondly.

When relayed this information, the blonde man seemed to grin even wider, rising to his feet. “This will be easier then, no need to go slow.”

With a gasp, you lifted your gaze, wide eyes taking in the man hovering above you. His words were completely forgotten as you took in the shock of understanding his words. He spoke your tongue? Wasn’t he using an interpreter? Why-?

The confusion must be apparent on your face, because Kacchan scoffed, turning to stride to the table, taking a seat facing the fire.

“It pays to play dumb.”

“Loose lipped locals give information more freely when they assume that Kacchan can’t understand them.” Izuku beamed, crouching down in the Barbarian’s previous place to begin untying the rope binding your hands and feet to the table leg.

“Stand up for me please.”

You did as Izuku asked, shakily rising to your feet with a helping hand from Izuku on your arm. He began leading you towards the basin nearby, Kacchan watching the two of you with sharp eyes.

“Do you need help with the fastenings?” Giving Izuku a confused look, your eyes fell to the basin, to the fire, to Kacchan seated at the table. Were they going…. Were they going to boil you alive? Eat you?

Trembling even harder now, it was only Izuku’s surprisingly strong grip on your arm that kept you upright, knees giving out beneath you.

“Help her out, she’s damn near useless.” Kacchan’s strong voice cut through the air, the air that seemed too thick, the air that was choking you, throat closing up.

What does one even do in this situation? Do you beg for your life? Scream for help? Who would come? Accept your inevitable fate?

There was no time to make a decision, however, because Izuku’s nimble fingers were pulling at the fastening of your dress, quickly unlacing it.

You were numb again, fingers leaden, legs heavy, mind fuzzy and listless. Izuku peeled down the top of your dress, and you barely thought to cover yourself - you’d be dead in minutes anyways, what did it matter?

Still, your hands rose to your breasts, shielding them from view involuntarily. Kacchan snorted from his sweat, but said nothing.

When you were completely bare, an arm over your chest, a hand over your sex, Izuku ushered you towards the basin, prompting you to step into it.

This was it, you were going to die.

One last shot of fear raced up your spine, and you turned to the green haired man by your side, his hand falling away from the small of your back. “Please, please don’t kill me, I don’t know what I did but please spare my life. Please, I’m sorry.”  Tears were burning your vision, throat choked up with thickness.

Kacchan burst into laughter. “I’m not gonna kill you, the fuck?! Goddamn, your people call us barbarians yet you’re afraid of a bath, fucking hypocrites.” There was a mirthful glint in his eyes when you looked at him, the man leaning back in his chair, arms resting behind his head as he relaxed.

Izuku chuckled also, putting his hand on your lower back again, gently pushing you towards the basin. “You’ll be okay, it’s just some warm water. It’s close to the fire because we don’t want you to catch a chill. You know, the human body actually operates best when it’s within the temperatures of-“

“Deku, shut your trap before I come kick your ass, just get the girl into the water, you dumb fuck.”

The water was warm, and it felt pleasant against your skin, just on the right side of too warm, hot enough to have you relaxing your shoulders as you sank down lower, the liquid covering you up to your neck.

Izuku-Deku? Held your hair out of the way, quickly using a scoop to wet down the strands before rubbing some kind of herbal scrub through your scalp, cleaning out the dirt and debris that had gathered during the raid. You were certain you were absolutely filthy, covered in mud and small scraps, half of your side crusted with dried blood and muck from falling in the bloody street.

For a moment, you felt embarrassed at your earlier panic, silly and like a stupid child, thinking that they were going to boil and eat you. It was clear now what their intent had been, but riddled with fear your thoughts had been clouded and slow.

Fear was still present, rolling through your brain in waves, goosebumps rising from your flesh as you tried to hypothesize what was going to happen to you. From their earlier questioning, you had a faint idea, but you couldn’t bear to think about that outcome, didn’t know if you could tolerate it.

Instead, you let the warm water soothe your body, washing away the grime and dust. Izuku’s hands were gentle in your hair, as he massaged your scalp, as he rinsed out the soap. You tried to ignore how his breath hitched whenever you shifted - you couldn’t keep all of your body covered, no matter how you positioned yourself.

His hands disappeared from your hair, instead prompting your to sit up straight so he could scrub at your body with a cloth smelling of the herbal soap.

It felt weird, and goosebumps arose on your skin as strange hands touched your body. You closed your eyes and endured, for there was nothing else that could be done.

Running would be a bad idea - a naked woman sprinting through the barbarian camp would surely be caught and violated, or brought back to this tent for some twisted punishment. And you could only run if you managed to get past the two men, who ere watching you like hawks, and much, much stronger than you.

Izuku’s hands paused briefly at your chest, eyes flickering over to the blonde man, who nodded in permission. Then Izuku’s hand were running the cloth across your breasts, washing them in gentle circular motions, taking care to not scrub too hard or push too deep.

You bit your tongue as you waited for it to be over.

And it was soon, at least that part. Then the green haired man was instructing you up on your knees, facing him. Telling you to grab onto his shoulder (the man was also kneeling) and spread your legs apart.

Trembling limbs obeyed, face flushing bright red as you followed his commands, eyes squeezing shut so you wouldn’t have to look at his own flushed face.

He ran the cloth down your back, over your ass, then slipped it between your legs to wash your sex with easy swipes of the cloth. The man’s breathing picked up subtly, and you could tell, leaning up against him as you were. His hands wandered, the cloth moving slower and slower upon your cunt, almost stroking at your folds, his fingers pressing through the cloth.

“Oi, Deku! Keep your shitty hands to yourself, you’re supposed to be washing her up, not feeling her up, shitbrain.” Kacchan barked, slamming his fist down against the table to get Izuku’s attention.

Both you and the man in front of you jumped, Izuku immediately blushing the deepest red you’d ever seen, flashing the blonde an apologetic look and you a nervous smile, before he seemed to gather himself, continuing to dutifully cleanse your nether regions.

It was awkward for the both of you, feeling his hands run over your private areas, over your sex, through your ass cheeks. But then he was down, rinsing you off with scoops of warm water before fetching a large towel, ushering you out of the basin, holding out the towel to wrap around your body when you stepped out.

Then you were ushered closer to the fire, sat upon a small stool as you huddled close to the warmth, clutching the towel tightly around you. The air was quite warmer than outside, but was still cold to your wet skin.

Izuku began running his fingers through your hair, parting knots, patting sections dry with a corner of the towel. By the time he was finished, you felt warm again, face rosy from the heat of the fire.

The heat felt pleasant, like the feeling of a full belly after a long day.

You were tired, exhausted from the emotional weight you had endured. Village burned, tripping over corpses and disembodied limbs, taken captive, forced away from your fellow villagers.  Stripped down and fondled - at this point, you just wanted to sleep.

To sleep and sleep, wake up and have this all be a bad dream. Some twisted nightmare your mind conjured up while in the warmth and safety of your own home.

A large hand upon your shoulder roused you from your half-asleep state, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the quietness of the tent. You jumped, turning to find Kacchan towering over you and Izuku both.

Kacchan crouched, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your hair, then onto your cheek. “You look so fuckin��� weird.”

Izuku sputtered. “Oh my god, what he means to say, is that we’ve never seen anyone like you before. You’re… quite unique, and very um, attractive.”

You leaned away from the hand on your cheek, and Kacchan let you, red eyes blinking slowly as they scanned your features.  He was an odd man, as was Izuku. There was an obvious dynamic of power, Izuku submitting to Kacchan willingly.

“Alright, you’re dry enough, get up.” You blinked at Kacchan, processing his words, before he huffed out a breath, rising to his own feet. “C’mon, let’s go, are you stupid? Get the fuck up.”

You scrambled to your feet, towel still wrapped tightly around your body, preserving your modesty.

Kacchan’s hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck, pulling you along with him as he strode towards the back of the tent, towards the sectioned screen acting as a wall.

“Deku, make your ass useful and dump out the bathwater, will ya?”

You weren’t able to see Izuku move due to the hand forcing your head forward, but you could hear his footsteps as he hurried to do what Kacchan instructed.

Rounding the screen, it was clear to see that this was where the Barbarian King slept, a pile of cozy-looking furs strewn in a pile on the ground.

You were promptly shoved towards them, stumbling down to your knees as you lost your balance. The furs provided cushion though, soft and inviting.

But you were scared again.

It was happening, it was going to happen, you were going to raped by the King.

Turning back towards the man, you began to plead, hands securing the towel around your shoulders like a safety blanket. “Sir, please, don’t do this, why me? You can have anyone, not me, please not me.”

He ignored you in favor of beginning to strip, unfastening his cloak, removing his weapons. You decided to try and appeal using a more personal approach.

“Kacchan-“

Suddenly the man was in your face, his own visage twisted into a growl.

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that. Stupid ass Deku made that shit up when we were kids, I’m not some brat anymore. I’m Katsuki-“ He backed away from you, leaving you trembling. “-Barbarian King.”

The man resumed removing his clothes, dropping his belt to the ground, grumbling as he began to undo his pants. “Should beat his fuckin’ ass for calling me that, so goddamn disrespectful. Fuck him, stupid little ass wipe twerp-“

You tuned him out, frozen. What could you do? Another impasse where your options were none.

A strong hand gripped your shoulder, or more accurately, your towel, tugging it forcefully away from you.

“No!” You cried, trying to pull it back, to cover yourself, but the man was stronger, ripping it away before you could utter another word.

“No! Stop, please!” You tried again, finally taking in Kacc-Katsuki before you. He was naked now, aside from the paint decorating his skin. His cock was quickly hardening, plumping up with each step he took towards you as you scrambled backwards.

“Katsuk-Katsuki, I’m begging you, please don’t do this. I’ll do anything! Please just have someone else!” You sobbed, back finally meeting the wall of the tent.

Katsuki smirked, crouching down just out of your reach. “You’ll do anything? You’ll let my horde use you as a toy then?”

Dread flowed through your already fear-filled body, and you gulped thickly, eyes closing.

“No?”

Shaking your head, you started to cry silently, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“You’re already doing fucking anything.” Katsuki growled, hand shooting out to grab your ankle, dragging you down and towards him.

A high-pitched cry left you as he pulled you under him, until he was hovering over you, grinning. “Cry all you want, ain’t gonna change a damn thing. In fact-“ He surged down, until his forehead touched your own, red eyes blazing “-It just turns me on more.”

The man pulled away, a hand falling heavily around your throat, giving a compulsory squeeze before hie started moving his hand downwards, fingers skimming across your flesh.

Immediately, your own hands caught his own, trying to still their journey as they neared your breasts. Katsuki paused, a sound akin to a growl falling from his throat as his eyes flickered away from your body and up to your own eyes.

There was a threat there, a warning. Let him touch, or else. Trembling, you removed your hands, instead grabbing at the furs you rested upon. Katsuki made a gruff sound of approval, before resuming his exploration of your body.

“You’re like nothing I’vs ever seen before, know that? Like some fuckin’ alien or something, but damn, you’re gorgeous. Didn’t even know someone could look like this.” He mused, entranced as he watched his hands splay over your body, pinching at your skin, caressing your breasts, slipping over your stomach and down between your legs.

“Oh god, pleaseee-“ You sobbed out, cringing as a finger trailed down your slit.

Katsuki stilled, quirking a brow as he smiled meanly. “Please what? You wanna cum?”

“Please stop…” You whispered, eyes clenching shut again as he found your clit, giving it a few quick rubs.

The man scoffed, before quickly teasing one of his fingers into your tight hole. “Tough shit, I’ve never had whatever the fuck you are, I ain’t stopping”

His finger burned, dry and too large, and you struggled to keep from clenching down upon it in discomfort, trying to force out the intrusion. This would go easier if you relaxed, if you let him have his way. You knew that, rationally, but it was hard to make you body obey.

Katsuki prepped you quickly, fingering you open until he deemed you ready, withdrawing his fingers and crudely wiping them off upon your thigh. You twitched away at the wetness, at your own slick being cleaned off  on your skin, but Katsuki ignored you.

“Why do you look like this anyway? What the fuck happened?” Katsuki asked coarsely, shuffling off of your thighs, moving to lounge by your side, studying you.

The man seemed to be taking a break, more interested in your looks than fucking you, but you were glad for the reprieve, trying to wipe tears from your face as you struggled to think of a response.

“I-I don’t know?” You finally spoke, genuinely at a loss for how to explain your appearance.

Katsuki studied you with sharp eyes, a hand reaching down to his cock, beginning to absent-mildly pump himself while he looked you over.

“I’ve traveled through every shitty little village in the north, met with the damn piss-baby tribes of the east, I’ve ransacked the towns of spoiled nobles, and I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you.”

You sat up, subtly shuffling away from the Barbarian King while you shrugged, at a loss.

Your appearance wasn’t anything superiorly unusual, but apparently it piqued Katsuki’s interest. Yes, your skin was perhaps a bit different, but it’s not like you were inhuman.

Katuski seemed to get tired of talking though, settling further back into the furs, getting himself comfortable as he jerked himself off. You refused to look between his legs.

“Alright, whatever. Get up here.”

Pausing, you looked at him incredulously. Did he mean on his lap? His chest? You didn’t want to be anywhere near him - wouldn’t he find more pleasure with someone who was willing?

“Are you fucking deaf? C’mon, up.” He growled, patting his thigh, urging you over.

A gulp before you started moving, limbs heavy and hesitant, unwilling as you slowly crawled forward, towards the intimidating, impatient blonde.

You straddled his thighs unsteadily, swinging your leg over, trying to avoid touching his cock.

Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, you caught sight of it, the red tip, the precum making his length shine, the wrinkly, darker skin of his balls, his blond pubes.

You cringed, distaste evident upon your face, and you heard Katsuki chuckle darkly before his hands grabbed your hips, dragging you forward.

“What, don’t fucking like what you see? Am I not to your taste? I’ve fucked whorebag princesses less fussy than you. Get over yourself.” He spat, before taking a hand off your hip, reaching underneath you to line himself up as his other hand kept you lifted.

You trembled in his hold, twitching and swaying to the side, but this was unavoidable.

A gasp left your lips as he entered you, tip slipping through your folds, teasing into your wet hole, stretching you out.

Katsuki let out a groan, slowly dropping you down until he could remove his hand from his cock, returning it to your hip, guiding you to push further down. You felt disgusting, his cock sliding against your velvety insides, dirtying your walls with leaking precum.

When your sit bones rested against his upper thighs, his cock resting fully inside you, it felt impossible to breathe, your chest rising to draw in air but failing, the distress you felt upon being speared open seemingly too much for your body to handle.

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight. You got a dirty little cunt, don’t you? Feels fucking amazing.” Katsuki groaned, moving his hips minutely, relishing the grip your inside had on his cock, how warm you were around him.

“Ride me, will you? I’m getting bored down here.” He snapped after a moment, delivering a harsh slap to your rear to emphasize his words, spurring you into tentative action.

Problem is, you didn’t want to.

Your palms rested against his heated chest, eyes raising to the ceiling as your cheeks burned. This was embarrassing, you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t be an active participant in your violation. What would that make you?

“Oi, princess - I don’t got all night.“ Katsuki growled, landing a significantly more-jarring hit to rear, hard enough to make you squeak and jump, hips twitching at the sensation of his cock moving around your pussy at the movement.

Afraid of more forceful repercussions, you started to move, slowly sliding up, then down, creeping along, hoping it’d be enough to satisfy the man.

It wasn’t.

Katsuki grumbled something under his breath, before tightening his hold on your hips, planting his feet in the furs, then plunging into you with force. The sudden movement jostled you, and you fell forward with a cry, head bouncing onto Katsuki’s chest by your hands, the man groaning as he found a satisfactory rhythm.

“There we go, that’s fuckin’ nice.”

You cried into his chest, hands clutched into fists as you were bounced up and down, the led slap of skin too loud and jarring in the tent. The paint on Katsuki’s body was beginning to smear, sweat dampening his skin and letting the paint drip onto the ground, transfer to your own skin.

It was starting to feel good, make your stomach tighten, limbs tremble with pleasure instead of fear, and you hated it.

Slick sounds reached your ears, out of rhythm with Katsuki’s quick prods. It was wet, pulsing, as if someone-

Gasping breaths reached your ears, not from the man grunting beneath you.

Another round of cold fear dampened your arousal as you honed in on the sound, realizing it was coming from the other side of the screen.

Someone was on the other side of the screen, listening in to the Barbarian King taking you against your will.

A stuttered cry left you when Katsuki pushed too hard, hitting your sweet spot, making you clench and shudder, forgetting about the other person for a second.

But they were so loud, little gasps and moans, and the shlick, shlick, shlick, was getting faster and faster, it was impossible to ignore.

Should you try to tell Katsuki? Would he stop? Would he be mad? It was so disturbing, knowing someone was sitting on the other side of the screen,  jerking themselves off so obviously .

“Katsuki-Katsuki wait, oh-“ You started, quickly cut off by a series of battering thrusts against your sweet spot.

But you had to try again. “Wait, sto-o-op, wa-unh, unh, Katsuki pl-mmh!”

“Shut up, I don’t fucking care.” The man snapped, out of breath.

“But there’s-oh…. Katsuki there’s someo-“

“I don’t /fucking care/.” Katsuki reiterated, gritting his teeth. He shut you up with another perfectly placed push against your sweet spot, and a cruel spank against your already-stinging ass.

“Ow!” You yelped, clenching up.  It was clear now, that Katsuki was aware of the listener, he just didn’t mind. Maybe he got off on it, knowing someone was listening to him take apart his latest conquest.

Clenching up was the wrong response, because the Barbarian King swore, before his hips sped up, bouncing you so violently on his lap that you found it hard to breath, barely able to hang on for the ride.

“Oh…. (Y/N)….” The voice behind the screen moaned lowly, almost whispering.

It was Izuku.

You shivered, at the sound, feeling creeped out with the knowledge that the gentle, timid “interpreter” was listening. He must have returned at some point from dumping out the basin. You were feeling revolted by this entire situation, disgusted with Katsuki, Izuku, and most importantly with yourself.

Pleasure was building quickly in your stomach, zapping up into your chest, making you tingle and shake with the sensations assaulting your body.

“Sit back, fucking sit back-“ Katsuki panted, pushing at one of your shoulders to push you up, so he could see you as he fucked up into you, watch your body move, your face contorting in pleasure.

You felt like you couldn’t help it, your eyes closing, mouth falling open to let out girlish, high-pitched moans.

Your breasts were being jostled, jiggling up and down with the movement of your body, and it hurt. Hands moved to hold them, stopping their bouncing, but Katsuki appreciated the view apparently, because he groaned, pushing his head back while still trying to watch you.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. Keep touching yourself princess, keep moaning like a little slut. Let Deku know how fucking good I’m making you feel.”

Your body didn’t give you a choice, noises being pushed from your throat involuntarily as Katsuki pounded into you, red eyes trained on your frame, intense and unwavering.

An orgasm ripped through you, seemingly out of nowhere despite the steady buildup of it the past few minutes. You gasped, breathing catching in your throat, hips furiously grinding down against Katsuki’s as you rode it out, trying to stimulate your clit to intensify the feeling.

The noises leaving you were perverted; wet gasps, little squeaks and long moans as you fucked yourself onto Katsuki’s cock, previous hesitance forgotten in preference of chasing your pleasure.

Katsuki swore underneath you again, rabbiting his hips up into you in response, breathing raggedly as he neared his own release.

You were so lost in feeling the sensations in your own body, you didn’t register the stuttered groans on the other side of the screen, the speedy clicking of Izuku jerking himself through his own orgasm, the almost-silent spatter of his cum hitting the screen.

Katsuki swore once more, a vehement “Shit, shit!” before he pulled out quickly, orgasm apparently catching him by surprise, the first few warm strings of cum shooting into your warm cunt, adding to the wet mess of your own orgasm.

The rest was aimed onto the puffy lips of your slit, one of Katsuki’s hands leaving your hips to pump his cock as he gasped, hips twitching upward at the sudden temperature change from your burning heat to the air of the tent.

Then there was just the sound of three people breathing heavily, completely spent, sweaty and dirtied from sex.

Katsuki pulled you down onto his chest, chuckling breathlessly as he brought his clean hand to your head, ruffling your hair tiredly.

“Well, you’re a goddamn catch, pussy’s like a fuckin’ vice.” The crude comment made your cheeks color, but as exhausted as you were, you couldn’t find the energy to offer a rebuttal.

“I think you’re gonna stick around for a while.” Katsuki mused, and you felt your heart drop. “Yeah, you’re a keeper. Maybe if fuckface over there-“ The blond slapped at the screen “-can stop being a pervert, we could actually fuck without feeling creeped out.”  He growled, although the blonde didn’t sound irritated in the least.

A small “Sorry Kacchan” was whispered from the other side of the screen, and Katsuki laughed dryly.

“Tell you what bastard, maybe I’ll let you touch her a bit.” Katsuki said, a hand creeping down to knead at your ass. “Then you don’t have to act like a little freak. Who knows, maybe I’ll even let you fuck her if you do good translating those maps we found. Got it, you little shitnugget?”

“Mm, alright Kacchan.” Came the tired response.

You were barely awake, already drifting off on Katsuki’s warm chest, too preoccupied with the red and gold paint no doubt smearing against your cheek than with the conversation going on around you.

You could panic about that later.

[arvandus]

The Sound of Silence (18+ Aizawa x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After once again being stood up for a date at your favorite jazz club, you decide to give up dating entirely in favor of watching and fantasizing about your favorite jazz musician, Aizawa Shouta.  You had assumed you’d never meet him face to face.  You had assumed that he didn’t even know you existed.  You’re about to learn that your assumptions are wrong.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/NSFW; reader wears a sexy black dress (minimally described); minor sexual harassment; slow build; praise kink (if you squint); hand kink (probably); fingering; ‘baby’ petname.

Special Note:  A few days late, but here’s my contribution to the BNHarem January Collab ‘Making Beautiful Music’ posted by @kingexpl0sionmurder​​. It was supposed to be a oneshot, but this particular piece got a mind of its own and will at least have a sequel. If we’re all really lucky, it may become a multichapter series in the far and distant future, when my life is less crazy (I have ideas, ok??).  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Word Count: 9486

Recommended Song: No specific song at the moment, but this was what I listened to while writing this.

Lesson 1

It was crowded tonight, the air of the small club Midnight hot and heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and booze. The noise of conversations and laughing voices filled the air like the buzzing of a hive, as bodies mingled about like busy bees, each looking for their own bit of nectar.  Some looking to win romance.  Some looking to win money.  While others were simply winning by enjoying the company of friends.  Their movements were carried on the music that filled the space, upbeat jazz played by a three-person band.  It was comforting in its familiarity, developed over multiple visits – some with friends, some with coworkers, and some with potential love interests.

You sat at the bar, a drink held protectively in your hand as your eyes searched.  You checked your phone for messages but found none.  It’d been a full twenty minutes and you were pretty sure by this point that your date wasn’t going to show up.  It was supposed to be your first date in over a month, and you’d had high hopes for it - you’d clicked well with the person on your dating app (or so you thought), talking over the course of a couple of weeks before finally deciding to meet. So tonight, you’d put in a little extra effort into your appearance, donning a black dress that showed off your curves and putting careful attention into your makeup.

Damn. You were genuinely interested in this one.

You sent them a quick text in the hopes that you’d get a response.  Give them an extra ten minutes… You thought. Maybe they were caught in traffic or something.

But by the time you hit the 45-minute mark with no messages, you’d officially given up.  A half-hearted sigh fell past your painted lips. You weren’t really too surprised by this point.  You’d been having terrible luck in the dating scene for a while now.  Sometimes it was them.  Sometimes it was you.  But for whatever reason, each attempt ended in failure.

Oh well. It was likely for the best.  At least you would be able to enjoy the rest of your evening in solitude instead of enduring a potentially disastrous date.  And as for your attire, it certainly didn’t hurt to feel sexy, even if you had no one to share it with.

You loved this place. The atmosphere, the music… you’d even managed to make friends with the bartender Hizashi to the point that he’d walk you to your car on the nights that you stayed until closing.

Your eyes scanned around the room, observing.  Wooden tables littered the main floor, where small lit candles cast yellow light on observing faces, eyes trained on the musicians.  Booths lined along the far wall, filled mostly with men who puffed cigars over a game of cards, their raucous laughter carrying through the din.  Closer to the bar was an arrangement of tall, round tables with matching bar height chairs. A group of women, likely on a ladies’ night out, filled the table closest to you, taking shots and laughing, their heels perched on the rungs.  Waiters zigzagged their way through the crowd with expert precision, platters held high with drinks and snacks, while patrons milled about, waiting for an open table.

And, of course, there was the stage itself, where the jazz band finished their final piece before collecting their instruments and leaving the small stage.  All that was left from their departure was a black baby grand piano, property of the club.  Your pulse quickened as you checked your watch.  Was it that time already?

Not a moment later, there he was.  Long, black, wavy hair pulled back into a half ponytail, the hint of a 5 o’ clock shadow dusting his jawline and framing his lips.  He was dressed in simple clothes, as always… a black v-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and dark jeans.  He entered the stage without so much a glance towards the busy room, instead making his way to the piano with his hands in his pockets. He sat down and from your position at the bar, you could barely see his long fingers arrange themselves at the keys, gently curled.

As soon as he began to play, the mood in the club shifted slightly from buzzing to relaxing.  The flow of his fingers across the keys drew a lazy melody reminiscent of rainy days and hot coffee; of snuggling under warm blankets, feet intertwined with a lover who danced their fingers across your skin, gently tickling your flesh the way his fingers tickled those keys.

Aizawa Shouta.

Of course you knew his name. The first time you’d heard him play, you’d felt weightless, your body going numb as every sensation coalesced into your chest like the forming of a star.  The question of his identity had fallen from your lips before you’d even realized it, and it had been Hizashi who’d answered you, a chuckle on his lips.

Fuck.  It felt like he was making love to you through the notes, each key meticulously selected like a carefully-worded love letter. It made your palms sweat against your glass, your breath hitching in your throat as that familiar sensation took you over, holding you hostage.

This.  This was probably why none of the people you dated ever seemed to work out.  You’d tried… God, you’d tried… some of them were nice, good people.  But you couldn’t help but search for that feeling – this feeling – each time you met someone new.  And every single time it fell short. It was an impossible standard, an invisible bar that no one was able to jump.  Deep down you knew this, yet you couldn’t figure out how to let it go. It was just music, right? Played by a handsome man who didn’t even know you existed.  But you didn’t want to let go of this feeling, to settle for someone that made you feel only an inkling of what he made you feel.  Or worse, to let it go and be left with emptiness.

You had no solutions. You were trapped in Aizawa’s maze of music, unwilling to find your way out as his notes weaved a cage around your heart.

You lost yourself to his melody, the club around you fading away.  Time lost its meaning as you watched his hands dance along the keys, his fingers nimble.  His half-lidded eyes were fixed on the instrument before him, his expression neutral.  To anyone else watching, he would look almost bored; but you’d seen him play often enough that you’d grown accustomed to reading the nuances of his body language, even across the smoky haze.  You knew his look of boredom was really a look of focus as he submerged himself in his art, his hands playing on instinct, a direct link between what he felt and what he expressed.

He loved what he did.

And you loved watching.

Hizashi’s voice interrupted your hypnosis.  “Another night solo, huh?”

You took a look at the bartender as he prepped some cocktails for some waiting patrons.  He had his wire-framed spectacles on again, the orange tinted ones, the color visible from the white backlight of the bar. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he wore a pinstriped shirt adorned with a black waistcoat.

You chuckled and took a sip of your drink. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You got stood up again?” You shrugged and Hizashi shook his head slightly.  “If they ain’t willing to show up, then they ain’t worth your time.”

“Probably more like the other way around, don’t ya think?” you replied wryly.

Hizashi scoffed. “Don’t let them get to you. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

You grinned and set your glass down.  “Are you flirting with me, Hizashi?”

He grinned back and winked at you through his spectacles.  “Always, darlin’.”

You chuckled and returned your eyes to the stage. “It’s okay…” you said thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time I stopped trying.”

“Mhm…” Hizashi watched you stare at Aizawa and he raised an eyebrow.  “Y’know, I can get you an introduction if you’d like…”

“What??”

“Don’t play coy with me, darlin’.  You know who I’m talking about.  If you want to meet him, I can introduce you to him. We’re good friends, he and I. Known each other for years.” He commented.

You weren’t surprised by this news… you’d seen Aizawa join Hizashi at the bar on rare occasions after his performance was done.  But you’d always been occupied at a table with company when it happened. 

Watching him from a distance was one thing.  But actually meeting him?  Up close? Where you couldn’t hide your girlish infatuation?

You felt your pulse quicken with dread, heat flooding your body.  “No, it’s okay.  I wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.”

Hizashi gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses before he shrugged. “Suit yourself, darlin’.”

The blonde stepped away, a new group of customers hollering for his attention.  You took a large gulp of your drink hoping it would quell your nerves at the thought of meeting the man on stage.  No. You definitely didn’t want to meet him.  The last thing you needed was for your interaction with him to be a dud just like it was with all the others, destroying your own secret little fantasy. He was handsome to look at.  And you fantasized about his skilled hands when you were in the quiet of your bedroom. But that was all it was; just harmless daydreams over someone you didn’t really know or plan to get to know. Besides, if you’d ever thought you had a chance with him, you certainly wouldn’t be trying to meet people through a dating app.

Gradually the time ticked by as you enjoyed watching the dark-haired man play, Hizashi stopping in to check on you from time to time and place fresh drinks in front of you.  You were content for the time being, enjoying the steady buzz you were maintaining as you enjoyed the ambiance.  Occasionally you people watched or engaged in conversation with Hizashi when he wasn’t busy… but for the most part, you relaxed as you observed the raven-haired pianist, letting his music ease the tension in your shoulders as the alcohol warmed your bones.

A few hours later, as you were busy talking with Hizashi, the final note on the piano rang out, signaling the end of Aizawa’s shift.  The sudden silence hit you like a bucket of ice water, and your eyes darted towards the stage, your heart pumping panic through your veins.  You had planned to leave just before his shift ended, just to make sure you didn’t run into him.  Maybe it was the daydreaming, or the conversations with Hizashi, or the alcohol... but you’d lost track of time.  Now you could only watch and wait to see where he’d end up, hoping beyond hope that he’d disappear like he usually did.  Only rarely did he linger for a drink.  What were the odds, right?

Tonight was one of those rarities, and you held your breath, your posture going rigid, as he sat himself a mere two seats away from you.  He never once looked at you, instead, addressing Hizashi.

“Old Fashioned.” He requested, his voice deep.  It sent a shiver down your spine as the blood in your veins turned molten.  You knew instantly that that sound was now committed to memory.

“Do you even need to ask?” Hizashi replied with a grin as he slid the drink to him.

You disciplined your eyes to stare at your own drink as if it’d open up a portal for you to escape through. But as much as you struggled to control yourself, the simple gesture of Aizawa reaching for his drink made you break eye contact with your own. Your eyes caught how his fingers circled around his glass, long and surprisingly manicured.  You couldn’t help but watch as he brought the drink up to his lips to take a sip, and from there your gaze followed the curve of his mouth, the stubble that framed it, his jawline, his eyes…

Your eyes made contact with his briefly and you quickly looked back down at your drink, your heart pounding in your chest.

Shit.  He caught you staring.

You took a couple of deep swigs, forcing the alcohol down your tight throat, letting the burn of it act as a punishment for your violation. This. This was why you didn’t want to meet him.  No words had even been shared yet and you were already making a fool of yourself.

“Long night?” Hizashi asked him.  In the background, the next performer entered the stage and began to play, and you couldn’t help but strain your ears over the music to listen for Aizawa’s answer.

“I’ve had worse…” Aizawa replied.  “You?”

“Busy, but I’m in good company at least.” Hizashi replied.  Your heart pounded in your chest as your fingers tightened around your glass.  Your eyes darted up to lock with the bartender’s and you caught him smirking at you, his small, pointed mustache following the curve of his upper lip. 

He wouldn’t…

Suddenly another customer called for him from the other end of the bar.  “Duty calls, friend.  Be back in a sec.”

And just like that, you were left alone with him.  Aizawa. Your mind froze as it warred with itself between actually talking with him or grabbing your things and running away. Surely Hizashi would understand, right? And you could always pay back your tab later.   You took another deep gulp of alcohol in the hopes that it’d burn away some of your cowardice. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the unwelcome sensation of an unfamiliar hand on the curve of your back made your body go rigid, every muscle poised to fight.  A second later, the scent of hot breath laced in the stench of alcohol choked the air around you as an unfamiliar man slid into the open seat between you and the object of your affection.

“Hey there beautiful…” he slurred.  “You’ve been by yourself all night… you in need of some company?”

You covered your hand over your glass and shifted away from him slightly, your demeanor cold.  “No.”

“Aw, c’mon doll… don’t be like that…” he grinned.  “You don’t come here dressed like that for no good reason…”

The man’s hand was still on your back, its presence making your skin crawl.  It made the fog of your buzz lifting slightly, your senses suddenly heightened in the presence of a potential threat.  Your eyes searched frantically for Hizashi.  He had a way of handling drunken idiots.  But he was stuck at the other end of the bar still, a drunk woman trying desperately hard to flirt with him. 

You were on your own, and this creep clearly wasn’t taking no for an answer. Your brain started to fabricate worst-case scenarios and planning for them, a million options running through your mind.  Screaming. Throwing your drink in his face.  A well-placed kick to his shin.  Your pepper spray.

Your free hand slipped into your purse, fingers closing around you’re the plastic cylinder.  The feel of it gave you a sense of security, even if it might be a last resort.  You didn’t really want to use it, especially with Aizawa sitting behind him… you never had to use it before, and you couldn’t guarantee your accuracy, especially in such a tight space.

You watched from the corner of your eye as the man’s free hand reached forward to grasp your own that covered your drink, and your grip around the cylinder tightened, a warning beginning to fall from your lips.  But your words were cut short as the man’s hand was suddenly grabbed by familiar, long fingers and bent back at an uncomfortable angle that made the drunk cry out.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the man demanded.

Aizawa took a casual sip of his drink with his free hand while maintaining his grip on the offender, before pinning him with a dangerous glare.  “She said no.”

The man’s hand left your back as he struggled to free himself from Aizawa’s grip. “Let go!”

“First you will apologize to her.” Aizawa ordered.

The man sputtered.  “For what?!”

You watched in shock as Aizawa’s eyes narrowed.  His thumb positioned itself on a digit and began pushing it slowly backward.

“For touching her without permission.  For insinuating that her attire makes it acceptable for you to ignore her boundaries. For being a disgusting pig.”

With each statement, he pushed the finger back farther and farther, until the man was buckling to his knees under the pressure in an attempt to alleviate the pain and prevent the digit from breaking.

“Ow ow ow! Okay!  I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man begged.

Aizawa held him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. “Good.  Now get out.”

The man scurried away until he was out of reach before turning around to glare daggers at him.  “Hey, fuck you man!”  He shouted.  But for all of his drunken bravado, he stormed out of the club clutching his sore hand to his chest, as heads turned to watch him leave.

The hum of voices within the club fell silent for a moment, with only the band continuing their music. After the front door closed, the noise of people chattering slowly returned, countless sets of eyes turning back to their tables.  Aizawa turned his gaze back to you, the lethal look gone from his dark eyes.

“You okay?”

You nodded mutely, swallowing the dryness in your throat as your sweaty hand released the pepper spray in your purse.  Sensations warred within you, momentarily leaving you a confused mess.  The speed at which he came to your defense and his willingness to resort to violence on your behalf fueled a carnal need you didn’t even realize you had.  But even as hot arousal pooled deep in your gut, your heart still raced from the threat that had been quickly neutralized.

His eyes caught the movement of something over your shoulder and he cursed. “Shit.”

“SHOuTA!” Scolded a feminine voice.

He turned back to his drink, hunching his shoulders. “I told her not to call me that in public.” Aizawa muttered under his breath.

You spun on your stool to see the owner of the bar, Nemuri Kayama approaching, clad in a deep purple business suit with a dangerously low-cut black blouse. She was next to you in a matter of seconds, a cloud of strong perfume enveloping you as she snatched Aizawa’s drink from his hand as he began to raise it to his lips.

“What the hell was that?!” She demanded.  “What makes you think you can attack my customers like that?”

“Your customer was harassing this customer.” Aizawa pointed out.

Nemuri looked at you with her lavender eyes as if seeing you for this first time and paused in her verbal assault.

“Is this true?” She asked you.

She had a presence about her that instantly made you find your voice again.

“He was being handsy and wasn’t taking no for an answer.” You confirmed.

“Can I have my drink back now?” Aizawa asked.

She stared back and forth between the two of you for a moment before slamming the glass down in front of him, half of the contents spilling over the side. “Ugh. Fine.  But next time ask for one of my bouncers.  Or Hizashi.  Or me. Anyone but you.”

Aizawa’s mouth curled with a sly grin as he wiped at the spill with a napkin.  “And why is that?”

“Because you scare away customers.” She growled.

Aizawa stared into his drink, swirling its remaining contents.  “Well maybe you need better customers.” He took a sip.

“I’ll take whoever is willing to pay.  Unfortunately for you, this club doesn’t survive off of chivalry.”  She crossed her arms.  “Besides… it’s less about losing that drunken idiot and more about losing those who saw you almost break his hand.”

“I wasn’t going to break his hand.  I was going to break his finger.” Aizawa said.

You stifled a chuckle with a bite of your lip.

Nemuri rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.  “Don’t try to make it sound like that makes it any better.  And you!” She pointed at Hizashi, who had conveniently shown up not a minute before.  “You know better than to leave him alone like this!”

“I can either be a bartender or a babysitter, love.  I can’t do both.” Hizashi replied as he polished a glass.

 Nemuri grumbled under her breath before turning her gaze back to you. “I apologize for Aizawa’s violent behavior.” “Oh I didn’t mind…” you confessed with a small smile, and you could feel Aizawa’s eyes flicker to you briefly.

 “And I apologize for the inappropriate customer. Alcohol is no excuse for harassment.  I guarantee he won’t be returning to this club any time soon.” She looked at Hizashi.  “Get her a fresh drink.”  

 “Already on it…” He replied, sliding a new glass to you and removing your old one.

 She looked back at you. “And your drinks are on the house tonight.”

 “Thank you.” You replied.

 Nemuri gave a satisfied nod. “Now I need to go schmooze the rest of our frightened patrons, which is exactly how I didn’t want to spend my evening.” With a final glare at the two men, she stormed off, her pointed heels clicking on the hard floor.

 You stared at your new drink for a moment, the desire for it lost now.  “Hizashi, can I have a glass of water?”

 “Sure thing, darlin’.” Hizashi replied and placed a chilled glass in front of you.

You thanked him and took a sip followed by a long, deep breath.  Aizawa moved into the now-vacant seat next to you, and you welcomed the closeness. The gesture felt protective, a warning to anyone else who was dumb enough to try their luck with you after that display.  Noticing the closer proximity between the two of you, Hizashi quickly made himself scarce again.

“Thank you…” you said to Aizawa as your finger traced patterns into the condensation on the glass.

“It was nothing…” he replied.  There was a long silence before he spoke again.  “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

You looked at him with surprise then.  Scared? No. Aroused? Definitely.  The dampness of your panties were evidence enough of that, but he certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Not at all.” You confessed. “I actually really appreciate it.”

Aizawa’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you asked.  “You were so fast…”

Aizawa gave a small grin. “Piano isn’t the only thing I’m good at…”

You had no difficulty believing that…

“Were you a bouncer or something at one point?” you asked curiously.

Aizawa chuckled. “Yeah, something like that…” he took a swig of his drink, the ice in it clinking.  The amber colored liquid was nearly gone now.

His response only gave you more questions, but you forced them down. There was a fine line between being curious and nosey, and you were too worried of crossing it, thus ending your conversation with him.

“You’re a regular here.” He commented.  

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement. He recognized you. You averted your eyes away in embarrassment, feeling suddenly exposed, your anonymity blown.  How long had he noticed you’d been coming here?  Did he know how closely you watched him?

“Yeah.” You confessed, as you took another sip of water. The alcohol next to it was calling to you, promising to ease your anxiety, but you refrained for the moment.  You wanted to keep your wits about you while you talked to him.

“No company tonight?” he asked.

Oh.  He watched you more closely than you ever realized. You weren’t sure whether you were feeling embarrassed or aroused.  Was it possible to feel both?

“Not this time.  I got stood up.” You replied.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.” He said, looking into his empty glass.

You gave a dry laugh. “True.  I’ve dodged lots of bullets lately.”

Aizawa chuckled. “I believe it…”

Contrary to his outward aloof demeanor, he was nice.  You could feel the tension in your body start to dissipate as words came easier.

“If you ever think you want to try a dating app, don’t.” you commented. “It makes for good stories, but sometimes it really makes you want to give up on humanity.”

That earned an honest laugh as he looked at you with a grin.  “Well now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.  This actually wasn’t so bad…

With amusement, you began to recount some of your more outlandish dating disasters with him, letting him in on the world of online dating from a woman’s perspective.  Aizawa listened with quiet interest, making the occasional wry joke or, for the more serious cases, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.  He was a good listener, and the conversation flowed easier than you had expected, words falling from your mouth without a second thought.  It felt natural.  Comfortable. And for the first time in a while, you felt like yourself.  After you ran out of stories, Aizawa offered a couple of his own, and you found yourself laughing at his own tales of dating woes. As Aizawa talked, Hizashi stopped by to quietly replace his empty drink before disappearing again, a pleased smile on his face.  His brief presence reminded you of your own glass pooling condensation on the paper coaster beneath it, and you returned to sipping its contents, once again finding the buzz you had been enjoying as you listened to Aizawa.

The time passed by as the two of you talked about the stress of dating and relationships. You’d learned that Aizawa rarely dated, but would occasionally have to endure awkward matchups thanks to Hizashi and Nemuri.  You learned how much of a private person he was, how he generally avoided dating culture entirely in favor of letting life play out on its own.  Everything about him exuded a man of experience and maturity, a man comfortable in his own skin and content with his life.  You couldn’t help but admire him as you soaked in every little detail that you’d wanted to know, committing every little bit of information he offered up to memory.  He was everything you’d imagined; kind, respectful, and serious with a sly sense of humor that he only shared once he was feeling comfortable.

Once the topic was exhausted, you sighed.  “I think I’m done with dating.” You confessed.  “I’ll just resign myself to my singlehood.”

Aizawa pinned you with a pensive look.  “Is that what you want?”

Something about the tone of his voice made your pulse race with excitement.

“Well… It’s better than being repeatedly disappointed.” You gave him a side glance as you took sip of your drink.  “But if the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Hm… the right guy…” Aizawa muttered as he returned his gaze to his glass.

Your statement was a bold one, filled with invitation.  You hadn’t exactly planned for it to come out that way, but it was too late to take those words back now.  You quickly tried to turn the topic back to him.  “How about you?  Any special someone for you?”

He chuckled. “No.  No special someone.  Not yet, at least.”

The words fell from his mouth like breadcrumbs leading to a secret as he eyed you over the rim of his glass. You felt lightheaded and warm, the tips of your fingers buzzing with numbness. Maybe it was the half-finished drink in your hand.  Or maybe it was the look in Aizawa’s eyes that made you feel drunk, the Earth spinning under your feet as you mentally struggled to find some sort of purchase to keep from falling.  

Was he…?

Hope held you captive and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close you were to him.  Your eyes traced the scruff on his jawline, the stitching of his shirt, the slope of his neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. A stray strand of hair had come loose from his half-ponytail and was hanging over his forehead, begging to be touched. Your fingers twitched.  If you reached out to tuck it back into place, would he let you?

You couldn’t muster the courage and averted your eyes. You were filled with alcohol and infatuation, you reasoned.  Your defenses were down, your judgment potentially impaired… what if you were reading into something that wasn’t there?  What if you were wrong?  

You watched Hizashi close out a tab for an older couple as you took a sip of your water.

Warmth pressed against your forearm and looked down to see Aizawa’s arm resting against yours. All of your attention honed in on the softness of his shirtsleeve and the warmth of his skin as his hand fiddled with a paper coaster, flipping it over and over with each tap on the counter.  The contact was intentional, calculated in its subtle intimacy.  It was a silent question… a tentative invitation, absent of assumptions or expectations.  Your doubt evaporated like mist and you understood.  

He was interested.  In you.

Your heart did a somersault in your chest as you sat there, stunned.  Time froze as everything that’d transpired throughout the evening flitted through your mind.  It was a perfect amalgamation of circumstances, leading to this single moment, giving you the one thing you wanted most.  You held your breath as you stood on the precipice, uncertain if your next step would make you fall or let you fly.  

You stared at the contact and carefully… slowly… brushed your pinky along the back of his hand. It traced the vein that stood out there, following it to the knuckle. His own hand let go of the coaster his was holding, his own pinky linking with yours in affirmation.

You couldn’t help the elated smile that spread across your face in that moment and when you looked up at him with a shy glance, he had a smile of his own, small and secretive as he stared at your linked fingers.  Slowly the rest of his fingers followed, twining themselves into yours until he held your hand, his thumb brushing sensually against your skin.  That single action alone was enough to reignite the fire in your loins, your blood racing through your veins from the epicenter of his touch.

Hizashi’s voice crashed through your private, titillating moment.  “We’re closing up, lovebirds…”

Your hand pulled away from Aizawa’s on instinct as you looked around the now empty club.  Only staff remained, finalizing the last bit of cleanup and arranging the furniture for the next day.  How had it gotten so late so fast?

“You want me to walk you to your car?” Hizashi asked, a knowing grin on his face.

In all that had happened that evening, you’d forgotten about that little arrangement.  But you weren’t ready to leave just yet…

Aizawa’s voice answered before yours could.  “Leave me the keys to the place.  I’ll walk her tonight and lock up when we leave.”

“Suit yourself.” Hizashi replied with a shrug.  He placed a set of keys on the counter.  “Don’t tell Nemuri, though.  She’ll kill me.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, friend.” Aizawa replied.

With that, Hizashi gave a small salute, grabbed his coat, and left.  You watched, your heart pounding as the door closed behind him, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

You were alone with Aizawa. Completely and utterly alone.

Your turned back to face him and froze.  Aizawa still sat on his stool, but he faced you now with an elbow propped against the counter, and that simple distinction made his presence fill your space.  He stared at you, the look in his eyes unfettered now, deep and hungry. “You really do look beautiful tonight.” He complimented.

With the way the words fell from his mouth and curled warmly into your chest like a cat, you believed him. You felt beautiful.

“Thank you.” You said with a soft smile.  “You look handsome yourself, Aizawa.”

He took your hand again and slowly began to lean forward, closing the small distance between you.  “Call me Shouta.”

You swallowed. “Shouta.” You whispered, feeling the name on your lips.

His dark pupils dilated and you felt his other hand on your jawline, warm, long fingers wrapping towards the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were warm and soft as his stubble tickled your skin, and you leaned into it fervently, your hands finding their home on his chest. You could feel his toned muscles beneath the black cotton and a purr found its way to the back of your throat. Shouta took it as an invitation, coming off of his barstool to stand between your now parted legs, his arm wrapping itself around your waist as his tongue slid along your lips.  You opened your mouth eagerly to taste the bourbon there, to feel the wet muscle dance and slide against your own.  Every touch, every taste, every smell enveloped you further and further in the essence that was Shouta until your entire body was singing, teetering on the edge.

Oh God… you were not going to let yourself cum just by kissing him.

You pulled out of the kiss slightly as your hands pressed gently against his chest, and he retreated from you just enough for his eyes to search your face, a silent question in them.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…” your words fell pitifully from your flushed, wet mouth, your voice shaky with pent-up arousal.

One second longer. One second longer is all it would have taken…

Shouta’s hand on your back began to rub soft, slow circles. “Would you like some water?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead before handing you your glass.  You drank greedily before handing it back to him, half-empty.

“Have you ever been kissed like that?” he asked curiously, as he placed the glass back down onto the counter.

You gave a small laugh and shook your head.  “No… not like that.”

Your confession left you feeling embarrassed, even as your chest felt it would burst from this latest turn of events.

You kissed Aizawa Shouta.

Actually, he kissed you.

You needed a moment to collect yourself, to process everything you were feeling.

So, you completely changed the subject.

“How long have you been playing piano?” you asked.

Shouta didn’t miss a beat, returning to sit on his stool to give you the space you silently needed. But his hand still held yours, resting on the counter as his fingers twined with yours. It gave you a sense of reassurance, that everything was okay, despite your awkward hesitation.

“My grandpa had one when I was a kid.  Used to mess around on it.” He explained.  “He finally got me lessons from a guy he knew, and I’ve loved it ever since.”

You smiled as you watched his thumb trace across each of your fingernails.  You returned the gesture, tracing the details of his own hand. It was like living a dream, to see them up close and feel them, every fingernail, every vein, even the pads of his fingertips. The number of times you’d fantasized about these hands…

“I always wanted to learn how to play, but my family could never afford lessons.” You confessed. “But my mom used to have all of these old jazz albums, and I used to sit in my room and listen to them for hours.”

“I can teach you.”

Your fingers stopped their tracing.  “What?”

“I can teach you.” He repeated.

You shook your head.  “Um, no it’s okay… I’d probably be a terrible student anyway.”

“A student can only be as bad as the person teaching them.  Follow me.”

Before you could protest further, Shouta’s hand closed around yours and pulled you from your seat.  He led you up the steps of the stage and across it until you reached the black piano sitting forlornly in the empty space.

It felt strange being up on the stage, especially with the club being completely empty.  The stage light was bright and warm on your shoulders, and the silence sounded different there, affected by the difference in acoustics.

Shouta sat at one end of the black bench and pulled you down by your hand until you were sitting next to him.  The bench was small, meant for only one person, so you had to press yourself against him to be able to sit without feeling like you were going to fall off. Even then, it wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but you endured, if only to be close to him.

He released your hand and began his instruction.

“First thing you should know is how to find middle C.  Everything else will center around this.”  He pressed the white key with the thumb of his right hand, the note singing out into the empty space.  “Then, it’s D, E, F, G, A, B, which brings you back to C. That creates an octave, also known as a scale.” He played each note as he spoke.

“What about the black keys?” you asked curiously.

“Those are the half notes. Don’t worry about those right now.” He arranged his hand back how he initially had it, his thumb on the middle C key.

“Now,” he continued, “First, you must learn how to move your fingers along the keys.  Like this.”  Shouta demonstrated the motion again, his fingers playing each note slowly in a steady rhythm.  “The switch of the fingers is important. It will help you flow quickly and easily without having to watch where your hands are, which will be important for reading sheet music.”  He repeated the motion again, the sounds once again ringing out.  Then, he removed his hand.  “Your turn.”

You bit your lip and placed your hand how you’d seen his arranged and tried.  The notes were clumsy, lacking in rhythm and falling together as you forgot in your nervous haze where the switch of the fingers happened. Embarrassment flooded you and you withdrew your hand.

“Don’t expect to get it right on the first try.” He reassured.  “Let’s try it again.  Try to keep your fingers loose, curved like a bowl.”

Shouta modeled it again. You watched, but your focus was muddled with anxiety, attraction, and likely alcohol.  It was a poor recipe for learning, but you knew he was trying to make you feel comfortable, and you didn’t want to turn down his kindness.  You arranged your hand back on the keys again and tried again, with little improvement.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered as you clutched your hand in your lap protectively.

His hand covered yours and you looked up at him to see him staring at you with warm patience.  “It’s okay.  If you don’t want to do this, we can stop.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open as you thought about it.  You knew he wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to quit.  And sure, you felt silly being so poor at it when sitting next to someone who’s skills you idolized.

But did you really want to stop?  How often would you get an opportunity like this?

“No, it’s okay.  Keep going, I want to learn.” You replied.

Shouta watched you for a moment longer before he placed his hand back on the keys.  “Place your hand over mine.”

You followed his instructions, your hand looking small compared to his.  His skin was warm, and it calmed the shaking in your fingers.

“Watch where the fingers land.  Feel how they move.” He played the notes, and you could feel the tendons of his hand tense and shift, his fingers rising and falling like a wave.

“It’s like they’re dancing.” You said.  “You switch to your thumb on this key… E?”

“Yes.” Shouta replied in approval.  “Your turn.”

This time you focused, remembering the feel of how his hand had moved under yours as you played the keys, switching your fingers at the right time.  The improvement was noticeable.

He smiled.  “Good.  Now, for the other hand.  You’ll start one octave lower.  Can you find it?”

Your arm crossed Aizawa’s chest to press the white key, letting the sound ring out.

“Perfect.  Only this time, your pinky will sit on this key, with the others following after.”

You placed your fingers across the white keys.  “Like this?”

Shouta nodded.  “Now you’ll try the same progression with your left hand.  The middle finger will follow after the thumb plays the G note.”

You removed your hand so he could place his own and demonstrate it for you.  You followed after him, imitating his actions, but this time your attempt was worse than your first, your hand angled awkwardly due to limited space as you pressed yourself against him.

“That was terrible.” You laughed. “I can’t reach very easily.”

A small mischievous smile formed on Shouta’s lips and he slipped his hand around your waist.

“Come here.” He said.

You didn’t fight him as he pulled you into his lap.  His right hand settled itself against your stomach as his legs parted slightly to make room for yours, your knees drawn together between his.  The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your dress, weaving a tight knot of desire deep in your core that made your body go rigid as you tried to keep yourself from melting against him.

“Is this okay?” He asked, leaning slightly to see your face from his position behind you.

You licked your lips and swallowed, giving a nod.  “Y-Yes…” you answered shakily.  “Are you okay…? I’m not too heavy?”

Shouta gave a soft laugh. “No.  Not at all.” His breath was hot against your skin and you could feel the scratch of his stubble as he spoke, sending goosebumps over your body. “Let’s continue.”

He placed his left hand on the keys again with ease, regardless of how poor his view of the piano was with you in front of him.  He knew this instrument like the back of his hand; could probably play it with his eyes closed and never miss a note.

He played the simple notes again, C through B, fingers tip-toeing across the keys as he said their names out loud, helping you to remember them.  You watched carefully for where the shift in finger arrangement happened, the middle finger following after the thumb just as he’d described.

“You try.” He instructed, his right arm still wrapped around your waist, holding you close against him. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back now, feel the strength of his body beneath you.

You loved this.  The lap-sitting, the lesson, the praise. Each time Shouta praised your improvements it sent a thrill through you from your head down to your toes.  To be complimented by him, even for something as simple as pressing a few keys… it only made you want to please him more.

You played the progression of notes with renewed motivation, once again showing improvement from your first attempt.

“Good.”

Your spine straightened against him slightly.  The thumb of his hand caressed your abdomen where he held you.

“Now you need to learn to do the same but in reverse, until you’re back where your fingers started.”

You moved your hand away to let him demonstrate and his right hand left your stomach, leaving an ache in its wake.  You watched both of his hands play the simple notes up and down, working together with ease. But you knew it was all a ruse… he made it look easy, but if you tried to do the same, you’d fumble clumsily.

“I don’t know about this…” you chuckled.

“It takes practice,” he replied, “until it becomes muscle memory.”

Shouta demonstrated it again, up and down.  And again.

You placed your hands over his, wanting to feel the touch of his hands under yours more than the actual pressing of the keys.  All you wanted was his arm around your waist again, his hand on your lower abdomen.  His touch was tantalizing, and you wanted more of it.  

He completed the simple scale progression two more times with your hands on top of his.

“Do you want to try?” he offered.

His hands left the keys to hold you again, his arms wrapped more tightly around you this time. You leaned against him, reveling in being held in his arms.

“I’m going to mess up.” You warned.

“Just take it slow.”

You shook your head a little and let out a small breath, shifting your position in his lap slightly as you leaned forward to focus on the keys.  His arms loosened around you, his hands shifting to your thighs.

It was likely an innocent action, intended to give you the freedom to move as you made yourself comfortable.  But as soon as the tips of his fingers touched the bare skin below the hem of your dress, that sharp zap of arousal tingled the ends of your nerves, causing you to suck in air and part your knees slightly, your walls throbbing in hopeful anticipation.

It wasn’t intentional. Your body just… reacted.  But Shouta noticed instantly.

There was silence at first, his hands still on your thighs, waiting.  Finally, he spoke.  “Y/N….” his voice was huskier now.  “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for?”

Embarrassment flooded through you.  Embarrassment at your sensitivity to his touch, embarrassment at the answer to his question... You hesitated a moment before words fell clumsily from your mouth. “I, um… a long time.”

A low hum rumbled from Shouta’s chest as his fingers brushing gently along the inside of your thighs until they dipped just beneath the black fabric. The action was experimental, a testing of the waters, and it brought immediate results.  Your thighs widened the slightest bit more as you failed to fight back a whimper, your hands grasping his arms in need.  Not a moment later you could feel the growing firmness of his cock begin to press against your backside, despite the restriction of Shouta’s jeans. Shouta’s hands halted again their movement, waiting. He was miraculously under control despite his obvious arousal, and you envied him.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked, his voice low.

Of course you did.  It was obvious you did.  Why else would your legs be parting like the red sea as if he were Moses?

But for some reason, your body language wasn’t enough for him.  He needed to hear it.  A sense of urgency filled you, desperate need driving you.  At this point, you’d give him whatever he wanted…

“Yes.” you begged. “Please, Shouta... Please touch me.” You leaned back against him, allowing the angle of your hips to tilt as your hands guided him further beneath the skirt of your dress.

With you draped onto him, your head tilted back, Shouta kissed the curve of your neck as his hands gently gripped the insides of your knees, pulling your legs apart until they were draped over his own.  You were open for him now, your skirt hiked halfway up by the spread of your legs.  

Your heart pounded in your chest with so much excitement that you could feel your own pulse in your neck and between your legs.  This was happening… This was really happening… How many times had you fantasized about this very thing?  How many times had you longed for this man, whispered his name on your tongue only to be met by the empty silence?  And now here he was, freeing you from the shackles of your loneliness in the best way possible.

Shouta’s hands pushed the fabric up the rest of the way until it was pooled around your hips, exposing your panties.  The thin cotton fabric did little to protect your aching cunt from the cold air, and you sucked air through your teeth at the sensation.  His fingers traced invisible lines up the inside of your thighs, leaving nothing but singing nerves in their wake that cascaded into a shiver that rolled over your flesh, leaving goosebumps.  Your body was already moving of its own volition, hips rolling, eager for Shouta’s fingers yet simultaneously attempting to grind down onto his restrained cock.  Your breaths were already coming in hot and ragged, every inch of you frantic for the release that it had been denied all evening.

Shouta gave a low growl, his left hand holding down your hip, halting your movements.  “You better stop that…” he warned.  

No doubt your girating was making things difficult for him on his end.  But you didn’t care.  You were an unfettered, horny mess now.

A whine escaped your lips at his restriction.  In response, Shouta’s left hand trailed up the length of your body, caressing over your breast before finding its home on your neck.  His palm was against your voice box now, his fingers long enough to wrap around your throat and reach your jaw.  There was no force in his hold, but it still held power over you, ushering your body into stillness while your chest heaved with heavy breaths.

“Patience.” He whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Shouta followed up his words with more gentle kisses along your neck, your shoulder… wherever his lips could reach with you on his lap.  The feel of his hand on your throat was a reminder of who was in control.  But it was also a promise - a promise to ensure your needs would be met.

Once Shouta was sure he had your compliance, his right hand travelled the remaining distance of your inner thigh to arrive at your panties, where moist heat greeted him.

A low hum of approval rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back.  “You’re so wet.”

A pitiful “yes” was all you could muster before the tips of his fingers brushed gently against your clothed sex, stealing your voice and replacing it with a gasp.

Slowly Shouta pet you, his fingers stroking gentle circles over the wet cotton, teasing the sensitive flesh beneath.  With his hand still on your neck, you kept your body torturously motionless as he gradually increased the pressure of his digits, reducing his speed as he passed over your clit to drag the pads of his fingers over the bundle of nerves.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, the action causing your throat to press against his hand. “Please…” you begged. “I can’t…”

Shouta was strict, but not cruel.  He obliged, slipping his fingers beneath the cotton to swim his digits into your juices, never breaking his circular, rhythmic motion over your slick entrance.  The scent of your arousal surrounded both of you, thick and heavy.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he growled against your skin.

Two of his fingers dipped into you then, slow at first, allowing you to stretch around him as your walls quivered.  Your thighs tensed at the intrusion, welcoming the stinging pressure as your core burned with fire. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you lifted your head to watch in carnal fascination to see his fingers shining wet down to the knuckles. He pushed them into you again, curling his fingers towards the sensitive, spongey tissue along the top of your walls, his thumb pressing down on your wet clit.  A zap of stimulation fired from your core before fizzling away, a teasing warning of what was to come.

“Oh-Oh fuck…” you gasped as one hand reached back and grabbed a fistful of Shouta’s thick, dark hair.

He picked up his pace then, his thumb driving firm circles around your swollen pearl as the sounds of your wet hole being finger-fucked filled the silence of the empty stage.  With each pass of his thumb, with each curl of his fingers, the heat grew hotter, your cunt swollen and burning with the need for release.  Your thighs were tensed so tightly now that it made your legs lift and you had to brace your feet against the piano, discordant notes ringing out to join the sounds of your heavy pants and wet squelching in a lewd song. Shouta’s hand left your throat to hold you under your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand worked fast and hard to unravel you.  With the absence of his touch on your neck, you were free to move your hips, grinding hard into his hand, his lap, whatever part of him you were touching.  Your grip on his hair tightened, mirroring the tension building within you, clinging to him like the boughs of a tree knowing that any second the flood would come.

Shouta was your lifeline, your rock, your destroyer.  You were the waves and he was the shore, and your body tensed to prepare itself to crash against him.

“Come on, baby…” Shouta whispered gruffly.  “I’ve got you. Cum for me.”

You came with a cry, loud and frantic as your walls clamped down on his fingers.  The ball of heat that you had been carrying like a stone exploded within you, incinerating every nerve from the inside out, leaving nothing but sweet, sharp, euphoria in its wake.  Your walls spasmed repeatedly, sucking greedily on Shouta’s drenched fingers, as you cried and moaned, bucked and arched.  Shouta’s arm was around your waist, holding you against him to keep you from sliding off of his lap as you rode the high of your orgasm, tumbling like a waterfall over and over again to finally become a puddle in his strong arms.  

Shouta held you silently against him as your body twitched with aftershocks of pleasure.  Once your spasms subsided and he was sure you wouldn’t fall from your perch, Shouta released his hold around your waist to draw his fingers up and down your arm, creating goosebumps under his gentle touch.  His fingers were still in you, his hand cupped between your legs.  The warmth of his touch on your tired cunt was comforting, and it brought forth a content moan from your parted lips.  Shouta smiled as he planted another kiss on your shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that with him.  But you finally made yourself sit up when you felt sleep starting to drag you down into its murky depths, your limbs feeling heavy.

Finally, Shouta spoke. “Better?” he asked.

You gave a laugh.  “Much.”  You looked down at yourself in amusement. “You made a mess of me, though…”

Shouta gave a satisfied hum and stared at his hand that held you.  “I like you messy.” He stated.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me like this?” you teased.

He laughed and withdrew his fingers, wiping the slick coating them onto his jeans.  “As much as I like that idea, no.”  He adjusted your ruined underwear and the hem of your dress back into place before turning you around in his lap.  His hands were planted on your rear, keeping you securely and comfortably in place.  “It’s late. We should get you home.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.  “What about you?” you asked, your eyes glancing down to his lap. Your hands began to trail down his chest to reach the button of his pants, eager to reciprocate.

Shouta smiled at you and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to plant kisses on your palms.  “Tonight was about you. There’ll be more opportunities for both of us later.”  You pouted and he chuckled. “Don’t give me that face.”

“It hardly seems fair…” you muttered.  You were looking forward to enjoying more of him… you didn’t want tonight to end.

He hummed as he began to trail kisses along your jawline and you arched your neck to allow him better access.  “We both… need sleep.”

Sleep? With his mouth on your skin, sleep was the last thing on your mind.  Shouta pulled his lips away to look into your eyes again and you could see the fatigue there, dark circles framing bloodshot eyes.  He really did look incredibly tired, and you couldn’t help but wonder how late it really was.  You brushed the errant strand of hair off of his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.

“Okay...” you softly agreed.

“You should come back tomorrow night.” He mused, the mischief back in his eyes. “We can continue our piano lessons.”

“I’d like that.” you smiled.

 You couldn’t wait.

[nitewrighter]

Hi, hello! I’ve only seen Dune adaptations and now planning to get into books and I find your write-ups so fascinating and informative💞 Anyway, could you talk a little about your thoughts on lady Jessica portrayal in 2021 movies? What exactly is the span of her abilities in the books? Is she an empath (she felt Paul’s pain and Leto dying)? Why couldn’t she show any emotion and tried to spell it away? Thanks in advance

I've seen some people complain that Lady Jessica wasn't doing enough but honestly in my experience reading the book, for the most part Jessica's whole thing for all the parts of the book that the movie covered, is fairly on-point. Like in the book there's this whole subplot where Leto intercepts this fake note from the Harkonnens meant to implicate Jessica but he loves her SOOOO much and trusts her 500% so he's like, "Okay, I can't say I know the note is fake now, I gotta use it as evidence, and I can also use this note to lure the Harkonnens into a trap," but he doesn't let Thufir, Gurney, and Duncan in on this, and they're all like, "Oh that fucking Witch! We're caught up in some traitorous Bene Gesserit shenanigans and we don't like that!!" and there's a whole scene where a drunken Duncan Idaho cusses her out and she's like "Oh my god, Duncan go to bed I can't deal with this right now." And she also uses the Voice on Thufir making him more suspicious of her, so... yes, kind of messy subplot that like... kind of gets bypassed in the movie because like, everything kind of goes out the window once Yueh deactivates the palace defenses.

I mean it's important later because Gurney's supposed to be suspicious of Jessica later in the book but mostly for this part of the book, Jessica's focus is on Paul and Jessica's kind of coming to grips with, "Ruh roh, now that we are on Dune and all the locals are shouting 'Mahdi! Mahdi!' I'm realizing I may have prematurely brought a space messiah into the world who will consume the universe with holy fire." And she's pregnant! She's got a lot on her plate! I personally thought the Thopter scene was great, and I loved the way the movie used Voice.

I feel like... the term "empath" kind of makes her Bene Gesserit training sound more 'magical' than it actually is. Like, yes, the Bene Gesserit are, in terms of fiction, a major inspiration for the Jedi, but they aren't necessarily fueled by space magic so much as selective breeding, insane training, and a shit-ton of drugs. I mean yes, their abilities are far beyond what normal humans can do, but also keep in mind that the first book of Dune is taking place in the year 10191 and we regularly make jokes on here about Mountain Dew Baja Blast being capable of killing a medieval serf--that was 800 years ago, this is 8 thousand years in the future. So think of like... human abilities being far beyond what we can imagine them today because they've been cultivated and refined over thousands of years--this is like, an arms race of developing human abilities because we got rid of all the damn computers in the Butlerian Jihad.

In that scene where Jessica's reciting the Litany Against Fear while Paul is undergoing the Gom Jabbar, I wouldn't say she's feeling Paul's pain so much as she knows literally exactly what he's going through because she went through it herself--and Bene Gesserit possess like... some crazy perfect memory abilities so that memory is very visceral to her. And as for the death of the Duke... I don't think it's about 'feeling' it so much as knowing the Harknonnens, knowing their own situation. As far as 'not showing emotion' goes, I honestly thought Rebecca Ferguson kind of hit it out of the park because the Bene Gesserit place a huge emphasis on full-body control-- and also Frank Herbert, as I have said multiple times before, is a fucking weirdo--so there is like, this intense value on stoicism, on being able to control one's reaction to a situation. Sure, she could scream and weep and rail while Paul was going through the Gom Jabbar, but what would that accomplish? At best, nothing, at worst, Paul might hear her, get distracted, pull his hand from the box and die.

And there wasn't really time to mourn the Duke either because she and Paul are on a planet that very much wants to kill them. Like, even in the little moment in the stilltent, they can't mourn the Duke because Paul's been exposed to more Spice Melange and is now having a prophetic-vision-induced breakdown over his 'TERRIBLE PURPOSE.' So like... so much is out of their control at that point, and for a Bene Gesserit, what little control you have in that situation, is controlling your own reaction. I mean... shell-shock is also a reaction, too. I thought Ferguson really pulled off that silent, stoic, distant-yet-brimming-with-emotions feel to Jessica excellently. Like, both that focus and that weariness.

But Jessica will get to do a lot more in Part 2, because in the book, that's when she trains the Fremen in the Weirding Way, becomes a Reverend Mother, and a major advisor to Paul, and they gotta track down Gurney. So that's gonna be fun!

[sabraeal]

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣

The sedan is stifling.

It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.

She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--

Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.

Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.

Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.

The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.

“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”

Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”

Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”

“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.

“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”

Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”

“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”

“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”

(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)

“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”

“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”

Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.

“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”

“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”

It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.

It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.

“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”

Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”

Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--

“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”

“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”

She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.

Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”

Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”

Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”

“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--

“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”

She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”

He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--

“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.

Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--

But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.

“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”

“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”

Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”

“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”

“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”

“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”

“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”

His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”

Oh. Oh.

“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”

“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”

She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”

“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”

“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”

“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”

Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”

She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”

“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”

Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--

Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”

“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”

“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten. 

She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.

No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.

“Obi...” she breathes.

His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes. 

“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”

His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”

“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”

Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”

(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”

“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”

“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”

“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”

Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.” 

Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.

“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”

Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”

Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”

Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”

Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”

Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”

“Wha--?”

“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”

“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”

Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”

“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)

That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.

“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”

(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”

Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”

“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”

He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”

Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”

She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”

“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”

“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”

He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)

There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”

“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”

“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”

“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”

Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”

America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.

“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”

“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”

“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”

“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”

Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”

(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”

For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”

“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”

Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--

Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.

But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)

“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”

She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”

Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”

“I drink--”

“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”

“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”

“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”

Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”

Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”

She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”

“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 7

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 7 - The Transmission

Words: 5.6k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of medical procedures, ANGST, description of severe anxiety/panic attack

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

Poe didn’t exit the study for a long while, finally hearing the creak of my office door as it opened for the first time in hours. Within that time I'd farewelled the last of my patients for the day and begun to prepare dinner in my quarters, feeling significantly more balanced as the evening wore on.

Mind over matter. That’s all I needed to remember.

It was BB-8 who rolled in to demand my attention first, knocking his body into my ankle as I stood chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter.

“Hello again,” I greeted, still marvelling at how sweet this droid’s disposition was. Placing my knife down, I turned to face Poe as he slinked into the space, taking a place at the dining table. He seemed tired, almost despondent, possibly even more solemn than he appeared when I saw his face last.

“How did the transmission go?” I asked, breaking the silence. From the energy drifting out of his shape, it was clear he hadn’t completely moved on from the sadness we’d shared during our last interaction.

“As well as it could have. They’re still safe, for now. Think I gave them all heart attacks when my transmission came through,” he responded, exhaling hard. “And you were right. There was a search initiated. But my last reported co-ordinates were over Hutt Space, so they never would have found me.” He looked puzzled then, and I mirrored his expression.

“What do you mean? That’s at least a day’s trip from here.”

“That’s exactly what I can’t seem to figure out.” He huffed then, exasperated. “I don’t remember getting any further than that. I hadn’t even nearly reached my destination.”

“Were you traveling Galactic North or South?” I screwed my face up immediately after asking the question, already assuming he wouldn’t give me an answer.

“Yeah, I can’t tell you that.” He looked down to his hands, wringing them restlessly. “I know I can trust you, but I just can’t risk it, for both your own sake and the Resistance. All I can say is that I wasn’t flying to anywhere near Raxus.”

I nodded, understanding. “Well, no matter which way you were headed, Hutt Space is way too far from here for a ship to be unpiloted.”

“Right. Something, or someone, must have changed my course while I was there. And whether it was the crash or some other reason, I’ve lost any memory from after I was flying over the region that might have explained the cause.”

A sparkle of thought flickered, looking down at BB-8 still stationed at my feet. Poe appeared to read my mind.

“I thought the same too,” he remarked. “But he has no data logs indicating any unauthorised navigation. I’m still concerned about how his internal circuits looked when I was repairing him - I don’t think that kind of damage was caused by the crash. If BB had something to do with this, if he’s been tampered with, I won’t be able to be sure until I can conduct some deep diagnostics back at the Resistance base.”

BB-8’s head fell in his own form of remorse, emitting a few low beeps I could only gauge as an apology. I leant down and patted him softly, feeling sorry for the droid. It felt a little unnatural for me to have any sort of emotion towards a machine. All the medical droids I’d worked alongside in the past had the personality of a decaying tree.

BB beeped back happily at me, appreciating my sympathy, when I realised abruptly what Poe had been implying. “Wait, do you think someone did this on purpose? Sabotaged your flight?”

He seemed hesitant to answer again, most likely debating internally how confidential this information was. But eventually he nodded. “It’s what Leia seems to think, and I’m tending to agree. It seems too orchestrated. But the more worrying concern is that only a select group of Resistance personnel knew about my mission, even less knew exactly where I was headed.”

Both the casual mention of Leia Organa, famed princess of an obliterated planet, daughter of one of the most powerful Sith to have lived, now Leader of the Resistance, and the notion Poe seemed to be hinting at, tilted me slightly off balance.

“You think a spy might have infiltrated the Resistance?”

“That’s the theory we’re running with for now. Whoever did this assumed a crash landing on an Outer Rim planet would have meant my certain death, and any evidence would have most likely never been found, especially with them looking in the completely wrong place,” Poe explained. He looked up from his hands, his eyes finally gentle again, the creases in his forehead relaxing. “They obviously never planned on me landing right on your doorstep.”

“The universe clearly wanted to keep you around for a little longer.”

“Lucky me,” he laughed gently. “Hopefully I don’t mess up whatever it has planned.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I said encouragingly, glad he had relaxed a little. But it was short lived.

His face became sombre again, gaze moving to his fingers once more. “Leia is keeping my reappearance quiet for now - her and our most trusted Resistance members, my friends, are the only ones who know.” I saw his jaw tighten, face tense, a controlled breath seeping past his lips. “They’ll be arriving sometime in the night to take me back to base.”

I knew it was coming. I was more prepared now, my resolve holding strong against the gloom I’d pulled into a locked box inside my mind, easily keeping it restrained.

“I bet you’re excited to see them,” I said kindly, hoping to pick up his mood.

Poe smiled softly to himself. “I’ve missed them,” he agreed, glancing up at me. “They’re pretty eager to meet you actually.”

I furrowed my brows, dubious. “Really? You told them about me?”

Poe looked at me incredulously, like that fact should have been obvious. “Of course. How else was I going to explain how I managed to survive that crash? Leia seemed particularly impressed. She's disappointed she can't give her thank you in person, being too valuable to send away from the base.”

My cheeks threatened to flush with crimson, wanting to shy away from the compliment. Relief was the more overwhelming emotion, glad I wouldn’t have to navigate my way through a conversation with Leia Organa, having no doubt I would make a fool of myself. “So, who is coming?” I wondered, interested in learning more about the people Poe considered his trusted friends.

“Well there’s Chewie-”

“As in Chewbacca the Wookie?” I interrupted. “The Chewie?”

Poe rolled his eyes playfully at my marvelling. “So I don’t need to tell you anymore about him then,” he continued, smirking. “There will be Finn, an ex-stormtrooper who defected to the Resistance, royally saved my ass when I was captured by the First Order. And then there’s Rey, who has been training as a Jedi, and technically pilots the Millennium Falcon now, although if you ask me, I’ve flown that rustbucket way more often…”

Poe kept talking, but my mind was barely able to focus on his words.

A Jedi. A Force user. Coming here.

This is bad.

I forced my face into a veil of interest about what Poe was chattering about as he remained oblivious to the panic that had erupted inside my chest. Eventually his words ran out, thankfully without ending on a cue for me to reply. It took all of my focus to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “I thought all the Jedi were gone?”

It was a question anyone would ask. Not too suspicious.

He appeared slightly confused at the point I’d decided to back track on, yet quickly seemed to realise I’d not had the same encounters with force users that he’d had. “We thought that too,” he remarked. Poe then relayed what was evidently an extremely condensed story of the re-emergence of Luke Skywalker, who had then begrudgingly taught Rey how to wield the Force.

It was an unbelievable tale, something any other being would be enthralled to hear. And honestly, I couldn’t believe Poe had made it so far as to have landed on my doorstep. But there was one thing my mind centred on amongst the rush of information.

She’d been trained by a Jedi Master.

I’d learned an essence of control over my power, whatever kind it was that I utilised, both before and after I’d run to Raxus. After realising the target it put above my head at a young age, I’d taught myself to restrain it, hide it away in the absolute pit of my consciousness, only summoning that which helped heal people in the most dire of circumstances.

When the wrong person caught me, when I’d let my power become unconstrained for only a few moments, I knew I had to deepen my command over it, in case I ever found myself in that situation again. And now, I was completely unsure if four more years’ worth of preparation was going to be enough to hide it from a trained Force user.

“Why is a Jedi coming to get you off this planet? Wouldn’t she have more important things to do?” I pointed out. Only when the words escaped my lips did I realise how rude it might have seemed to Poe.

Come on Alex. Simmer down.

He actually laughed, taking my perception with good humour. “You’re not wrong. But as I said, she pilots the Millennium Falcon now, which is the fastest ship we have available at the moment. And she insisted on coming herself. Said she owed me.” Poe appeared warmed by the sentiment, and I would have enjoyed his happier demeanour if not for my own internal fretting.

There was no avoiding it. Rey was already on her way here, and there wasn't an appropriate way I could prevent myself from meeting both her and the other crew members without arousing heavy suspicion. I was truly trapped, heart thumping along fast with anxiety, fearing I could be hours away from facing all I thought I had escaped from.

*

I made dinner for us both, Poe continuing to make idle conversation in our last hours together as we ignored the looming farewell.

Yet now I was more concerned with what I needed to confront before that moment. My mind was a mess of warring emotions behind the indifferent façade I held in Poe’s presence, wanting his departure to be both as quick as possible and dragged out as long as I could make it.

I knew he sensed some of the unrest behind my eyes, but he didn’t probe, probably hoping to maintain the easy-going nature of our last meal together, however fake it might have been.

It was long after we finished eating that I recalled the need to do one last assessment of Poe’s injuries, remembering something I’d promised to do before he left.

“Your cast!” I gasped, thinking out loud, startling Poe as he dried the last of our dishes. After turning around, smirking at himself for the way I’d made him jump, he rose the casted arm into his view.

“Oh yeah,” he realised, flexing the fingers. “I’d actually kind of forgot about it.”

“Well come on, one last assessment and you’re officially free of my care.”

I said the words with such pure intentions, yet it was starkly clear both of us were jarred by the reality hidden behind them - a cold, unbroken hush settling in the space. I noticed BB-8’s head movement from my periphery, once again calling into question our sudden stillness. He raced to my feet, squealing little beeps in an inflection I couldn’t understand. Poe’s expression swiftly turned aggravated at the droid, and didn’t immediately translate like I assumed he would.

“Is he okay?” I asked. “Did he say something important?”

Poe’s face forcefully relaxed in an attempt to seem unbothered by BB’s insistent beeps. “He’s just appreciative of how well you’ve treated me.”

I knew he was lying, but I could only assume it was better I didn’t discover what was really said. 

* 

Poe had perched himself back onto his hospital bed, and I could feel his gaze follow me as I placed the monitoring over his figure for the last time. The moment for conversation had obviously passed as we maintained a heavy silence during my final tests. He barely winced when I took blood, the results revealing all of his inflammatory markers had receded. The bruises had disappeared, the scars had begun to fade, even over his badly burned arm and torso.

I glanced to his face while taking some X-rays of his femur, pulling up the initial post-crash shots and scribbling down my final progress notes on the healing of the fracture. He seemed awed once again at the damage I’d managed to repair, and he turned thoughtful as he looked down at his perfectly functional leg. I could tell without words he was grateful, knowing we’d both experienced the outcome of those who might not have been so lucky as to keep their limb after such an injury.

I’d kept the casted arm until last, wishing to drag out these final moments, most likely the only thing he’d truly remember of our time together. A comforting thought simmered into my awareness, realising his deeper scars wouldn’t fade for years yet, somewhat of a memento etched onto his skin.

The X-rays were textbook. The fracture line had fused nicely, with almost no irregularity in the shape of the bone shaft. The cast had done its job, and now, there was no need for it to be connected to him anymore.

Just like me.

I pulled my thermal scissors from within my medical trolley, used specifically to melt through the hardened plastic I’d moulded closely to his forearm. It was over in seconds, slicing through the cast and peeling it from his limb, the skin underneath looking slightly clammy but otherwise acceptable. As soon as he was free from the plastic he begun to flex and twist his wrist, a small exhale of relief slipping out of his throat.

“Well that just about does it,” I stated flatly. “You’re all healed up.”

Poe looked away from his newly freed arm and locked his eyes with mine. “I know I’ve said this a million times, and it will never be enough, but thank you.”

I looked down from his gaze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help you.”

He lifted his left hand to my chin, tilting my head back up to meet his stare again, holding it there while he spoke. “You’re really good at your job Alex, I hope you realise that. You saved my life. And I won’t be the last one you save, I’m sure of it."

His eyes were so penetrating, so impassioned, that it made me want to turn away. I didn’t like being praised like this. It made the flesh under my skin feel itchy. Somehow, through no power of my own will, I kept my stare locked to him, confined into place with his thumb softly resting on my skin.

He began to breathe slower, more cautiously. “If we…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “If we never see each other again…” The words trailed off as he seemed to grapple with the future bearing down on us. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest, instigated merely by the sensation of his fingertips pressed to my skin.

Please. Please stop making this so hard.  

“I won’t forget what you did for me… I won’t forget you.”

Without conscious thought I felt my hand begin to rise, instinct pulsing within to pull him into another fervent kiss. Before he noticed the movement, I wrenched it down, closing it into a fist. It was my own voice that echoed in my head, louder and louder.

I will not let this ruin me.

It felt cruel, the way I abruptly stepped away from his touch, but it needed to be. I glared back at him, hoping my words, particularly the meaning behind them, would suffocate the flames of yearning I kept seeing in his irises. “You’ve been a cooperative patient Poe, and I’m glad you survived. But I wouldn’t wish on seeing you in the future. It would only be because you’re in need of my medical care again.”

Poe’s head snapped back, stunned at my reply and the harsh recoil from his hand. Clearly, he'd predicted a different reaction. “You don’t know that,” he urged. “I could come ba-”

I flew my hand up, palm forward, immediately indicating him to cease talking. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He ruminated on my request for a few eerily silent moments before his stare turned fiery, irritated. “Why are you fighting this?” he shot, rattling me. “We both know there’s something here, something more than you’re willing to admit.”

His maddened tone made it harder to keep my stoic demeanour. “I told you why.”

“Wouldn’t it be more painful to leave each other like this?” he retorted, the muscles in his arms tightening. “Not acknowledging what I know you feel? Pretending it’s not eating you alive, like it’s doing to me?”

A beat of silence passed before I turned and walked away.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep my restraint if he continued interrogating me this way, revealing emotions a strangled part of me hoped he had. I wasn’t strong enough for that. I needed distance.

“Alex!” he boomed, hearing him leap off the bed behind me. “Tell me you haven’t felt it! Tell me you don’t want to give in to it!”

“I barely know you!” I shouted, swirling to face him again. “You are- were my patient! And you’re about to leave! You shouldn’t come back here, and I shouldn’t go with you!”

“You know more about me than nearly all of the galaxy! And that’s within five days!” he growled, offended. Poe took a tentative step towards me, letting some of the anger recede before speaking again. “I would come back for you. I would come back, if I survived, if you wanted me to. If you admitted what you’re keeping hidden, the feelings that made you kiss me.”

“Please stop doing this,” I begged, a hopeless attempt to keep him at bay, my resilience starting to fizzle away. “You seemed to understand yesterday. That it would be too difficult if we crossed that line.”

He shook his head in frustration. ��I've already crossed it Alex." His eyes turned pleading, an intensity within them I was sure I hadn't witnessed before. "I don't want to ignore it anymore, what I feel for you. I can't keep holding back."

I pulled my hands into fists, resisting every temptation to throw away resolve and allow myself to experience the warm glow of happiness his revelation brought. There was no denying the way in which my walls started to weaken, mercilessly barraged by the raw emotion he was exposing.

Don’t give in Alexys. His life, and yours, depend on it.

The voice toughened my determination, enough to keep my willpower solid against the craving to surge into his arms. “I guess I’m just stronger than you are,” I muttered, turning again to prevent catching any type of reaction in Poe’s face. Even one glimpse would make me crumble.

I stormed down the hallway, desperate for the isolation of my quarters, closing the entry and setting the lock. Falling back into the door, my teeth felt like they were going to shatter if I clenched my jaw any tighter.

My brain focused solely on the rhythm of my breathing, centring on the quickened rate, trying to force it into a more calmed pace. Soon I began to concentrate on expanding my lungs, inhaling until the space was full of air, letting it sit there as long as I could hold, before allowing it to whistle out of my nostrils.

That’s all I permitted myself to think of, the slow inhale and exhale, imagining the oxygen particles seeping into my bloodstream, travelling to every cell in my body, keeping me functioning amongst the turmoil thrashing through my soul.      

*

Time passed. I wasn’t really keeping track on how quickly. Imprisoned in my own mind, pacing my quarters, continuing the attention on my breathing. It was the only thing that kept me stable, that pushed away the memories of Poe’s voice ringing in my thoughts.

Eventually my legs grew fatigued from the movement, and I placed myself on the sofa, dropping my head into my hands, grasping my fingers through my hair in frustration.

He couldn’t have just left it alone. He couldn’t have just ignored it, departed this planet and forgot all that happened here.

A memory slipped through the cracks, pushing its way out into the forefront of my awareness. One that refused to be smothered.

'I would come back for you.'  

I shook my head within my clenched hands, trying to physically rid myself of it. I wanted to claw my fingers into my brain, pluck the memory from my inside my head and banish it forever, never to torture me again.

Breathe. Focus on your breathing Alexys.

The voice caused a realisation to strike, how hard it had become, my ribs stuck in place, intercostal muscles rigid, refusing to let my lungs inflate. It felt as if gravity had increased its pressure over my body, making me crumple underneath its increased weight. The load was too much, my head screaming for oxygen. I knew what was happening, I knew I was in the throes of a crushing panic, helpless to stop the cascade of anxiety from taking over.

Instinct was quick to surface, telling me exactly what to do. What I’d done only once before.

I withdrew my fingers from their entanglement within my hair, placing the tips on each side of my temple, and within my depths, I set it free. The energy swiftly begun to course through my blood, bringing with it an incredible radiance that lit up my veins. It crawled its way through every capillary, every vessel, as if it was replacing my own blood with its glow.

Soon, it weaved itself through my chest cavity, relaxing the muscles clamping down on my lungs, the relief of an easier breath making me feel lighter. It's journey didn’t cease, surging through my neck to my brain, twirling in between the individual neurons, clouding me with a feeling of peace, serenity, the rest of the world blocked off from my senses.

I wanted to stay in this place forever. Every fear, every sadness, every frustration, all of it melting away into nothing. I felt whole, a brilliant euphoria shimmering from every part of my being.

Let go. You cannott linger here for too long.

My fingernails were suddenly pierced into the pillows of the sofa, panting, grateful I had something to remind me not to surrender myself to the dangerous void any longer. The energy recoiled instantly, my own invisible hands pushing it within the confinement I'd kept it behind for much of my life. I took a moment to push it even deeper down my consciousness, praying it would be too far for Rey to sense when she arrived.

The panic was gone, my chest moving in even time, an aura of composure enduring even with the healing energy locked away. But it also left me exhausted, my brain feeling slightly fuzzy with fatigue. Although for this, I was glad. Even a short time in the peace of sleep would stop me from thinking about Poe.

I had just risen from my seat, about to walk to the comfort of my bed for however long time would allow, when there was a solid bang at my door. I tilted my head in confusion at the noise, knowing Poe would have simply knocked if he wanted entry. Although right now, that seemed extremely unlikely.

When I heard an artificial squealing piercing the air behind the wood, it was obvious what had made the sound.

BB-8 was still beeping urgently when I allowed him entry into my quarters, whizzing past my legs before I even had time to greet him. I noticed the sound of the ‘fresher running as he rolled quickly to the space before my sofa, his head movements darting from me to the pillow where I had just been seated. He wanted me to sit down, that was clear, but I couldn’t determine why.

I did what was requested, settling back down, BB-8 at my feet, his eye appearing to whir and focus in on my face. He was quiet for a moment, doing what I could only imagine was a droid’s version of thinking, before his head darted away. Suddenly a burst of blue light flickered into the air, floating the outline of an image on top of the metal table that sat in front of us.

He was showing me a hologram.

It was fuzzy at first, slowly becoming clearer, displaying a scene I hadn’t been privy to this afternoon. The simulated image of Poe was sitting at my office desk, his own hologram transmission only just visible in the blue beam.

It appeared BB was showing me a long way into their discussion, Poe’s face stressed as he listened to the multiple figures in the holo, their lips forming words that only came out muffled.

“I don’t think you should be showing me this BB-8,” I fretted quietly, acknowledging how private Poe had been with Resistance information.

BB-8 beeped insistently, sounding like he disagreed, and continued playing the holo. The voices became more defined, eventually loud enough for me to make them out.

“We’ll have another X-wing ready for you as soon as you make planet fall,” an older woman’s voice explained. I could only assume it was Leia’s, holding a gentle yet authoritative tone. "Do you think you’ll be ready to attempt the mission again as soon as you return?”

Poe didn’t immediately answer, and I could almost make out the pain in his holo image.

“What is it?” another woman, a lot younger sounding, questioned. Her voice was more on edge than Leia’s, speech displaying an accent I wasn’t familiar with. This was most likely Rey. “Are you still too injured?”

“I’m fine,” Poe reassured. “Better than fine really. Alex… uh, Dr. Jago had me walking within the first few days. And everything else has healed well enough.”

Yet another voice, this time a man's, piped in. "You broke your leg and she got you walking that quickly? There’s no way.”

Poe rolled his eyes, the small movement still obvious in the flickering image. “Finn, you nearly died and you can still doubt the effect of bacta? That stuff fixed your shattered spine for maker's sake.”

“Still took more than a few days though,” Finn mumbled.

“It’s irrelevant,” Leia interjected, seemingly annoyed for a moment, before softening. “Is something wrong Poe?”

His eyes looked down from the hologram in front of him, hesitant to answer. “Is there…” he started, breathing in as if to gain courage. “Is there anyone else who could make that flight?”

All three of the figures recoiled in disbelief at the question.

“You’re the best pilot we have,” Leia said definitively. “There’s no one else who could navigate that route except you.”

“What about Rey?” he retorted, looking to her figure insistently. “She’s got the Force to help her.”

Rey sighed, troubled. “I... already tried. I thought maybe your navigation system may have malfunctioned, preventing any tracking, but that you’d still made it to-” BB-8’s hologram suddenly became engulfed in static for a few moments, leaving me unable to hear the destination of Poe’s mission. Eventually the picture cleared into the same scene, only a few seconds later. "-but I couldn’t make it through. It was too dangerous to traverse, even with the Force to guide me.”

“Why are you even asking us to find someone else?” Finn challenged. “You were more than ready to do it yourself a week ago.”

Poe gritted his teeth, looking somewhat ashamed. “I know.”

There was silence in the holo, and for a moment I thought this was all BB-8 wanted to show me. But Leia’s voice struck up again. "Finn, Rey, could you let me talk to Poe privately?”

From their small faces I could still see them look quizzically at each other, Finn appearing more puzzled by the request. But they left under the General’s orders, slinking past the frame of the holo.

“Poe… Tell me. Tell me what’s changed,” Leia urged softly. “You and I both know you’re the only one who can do this. And if there’s something worrying you, or making you doubt yourself, you need to tell me.”

He looked despairingly at her, uncomfortable with the prospect of hiding anything from his General. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Leia breathed out heavily. She began to pace inside the holo, arms folded in thought, before turning back to speak to Poe again, her face gentle. “It’s the doctor, isn’t it?”

It took an excruciatingly long time before Poe responded, finally nodding his head.

I felt every muscle in my body tense at his reply, heart thrumming to a faster beat.

“I thought so,” Leia whispered. “I... wasn’t expecting this.”

“Neither was I, General. I’m sorry.” The expression he wore, filled with such unyielding turmoil, shot a pang of cold ice through me.

Leia looked kindly to him, her face melting into understanding. “Oh Poe, you don’t have to apologise. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, to question everything for the sake of their emotions.”

“I want to do what we planned. I do. I’m ready,” he asserted, voice rising into confidence, only for his face to fall again. “But every time I think of leaving her…” His face became buried in his hands, frustrated, unable to finish his sentence.

“Does she feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” Poe muffled under his palms. “I... think so. She’s holding back. Her loyalty to this clinic is annoyingly similar to mine with the Resistance.”

“So she wouldn’t consider coming with you, joining us? We desperately need doctors of her calibre.”

He pulled his face back up. “I asked. And she refused. She would never want to leave, fearing for the health of her patients without her here. Not to mention she’s staunchly against the war we’re fighting in.”

“She sounds like someone I would like to meet,” Leia smiled to herself. “So... That’s why you don’t want to return yet. Why you need someone else to complete the mission. You want more time with her.”

Poe nodded slowly. “I know we don’t have much time to get-” Another fuzz intercepted Poe’s speech, an additional piece of information too confidential for my ears. “-but I just… I just don’t want to go yet. If someone was able to go in my stead, then I wouldn’t be completely dooming us. I know it’s selfish… Irrational… But the thought of leaving her behind right now, on a mission I might not make it back from… It’s too much.”

“Oh,” Leia mouthed, her voice muted. “Do you… Do you think that you…”

She didn’t have to finish her question. Poe knew what she was implying.

“I… think I could. If I had more time, a chance to figure it out.”

His revelation made me stop breathing, a tear wriggling from the duct, crawling down my face.

Leia sighed loudly, her stress evident. “I wish I could Poe. I would want nothing more than to give you this, after all you’ve given for the Resistance. But you’re the only one who has a chance of completing this mission, and we are desperately running out of time and options.”

Poe clenched his eyes shut as she finished, his jaw tightening, lips fighting back a frown. He took a few moments held in this position before relaxing himself back into composure, his face serious and professional. “I understand,” he replied flatly. “I’ll get this mission accomplished General. See you back at the base.”

“I’m truly sorry Poe-” Leia began to apologise, only to be interrupted by his sharp tone.

“It’s fine. Tell the engineers to make sure the new X-wing is prepped before my return. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Leia nodded, her expression remorseful.

Suddenly the blue, illuminated image was ripped from my view, the rest of my quarters coming back into focus around me.

My body was stuck, motionless in the now painful silence filling the air. Inside my mind there was chaos, memories of the hologram darting around randomly. I tried to capture at least one rational thought, to analyse the emotions bubbling up from within my chest.

He wanted to stay. For me. Everything he wanted to accomplish, for the Resistance, for his friends, for his parents, for the galaxy. He wanted to put it all on hold.

Just for me.

He’d been right. I was holding it back, the same thing he felt, and it was clawing at my insides, desperately wanting to be set free.

Purely out of my selfishness, my own excuses, the voice in my head threatening our lives. All of it keeping me from what I really wanted.

Him. I wanted him. To be close to him. Even if it was just for a little while.

You’re giving in? So easily?

Damn right I am.  

~

Next Chapter

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[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

[esperantoauthor]

Title: Stuck! Author: @esperantoauthor​ Beta-Reader: @blurglesmurfklaine​ Rating: T Status: Complete (4721 Words)

Summary: Things go from bad to worse when Kurt, already running late for his blind date, gets stuck in the elevator. Blaine isn't going to let a little thing like two feet of metal get in the way of a perfectly good date. 

Read it on Ao3

Kurt hummed cheerfully to himself as he ducked and weaved down the busy New York City sidewalk. There was a bounce in his step; he had a date tonight. 

Checking his watch, he frowned when he realized how close he was cutting it. He couldn’t control the subway schedule, naturally, but he didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot. Who knew where this night could lead?

Kurt reminded himself that it was only a blind date. He needed to get a grip on himself before he got swept up in romantic fantasies only to be brought crashing back to earth when his yet-to-be-seen date turned out to be wholly unimpressive.

His brother Finn had told him on more than one occasion that he would never find someone if he kept being so picky. “There is nothing wrong with having high standards,” was his usual counter argument and he was sticking with it. Kurt knew that he was fabulous and he wasn’t going to bother with anyone who couldn’t keep up with him. 

Part of the reason he was so… selective, was that he had big dreams when it came to romance. He wanted to be swept off his feet. He wanted to fall head over heels. The guys he had met in New York so far just didn’t give him that feeling of magic that he had yearned for since he had been a child. Kurt Hummel didn’t do things half way.

When you are used to the world being against you, you develop a hard outer shell. Kurt was starting to learn how to let his walls down, now that he didn’t need them quite so much. It had been hard at first. For the first few months, he didn’t trust anyone other than the handful of friends from high school he had come out east with. Little by little, though, he had started to take down some of the protective layers he’d wrapped around himself.

He began to scan the numbers on the apartment buildings, looking for the right one. He was getting close. 

“You’re going to his house before you’ve even met him?!” Rachel had shrieked. “I’m going to be interviewed on the eleven o’clock news tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Oh relax! He’s one of Tina’s co-stars; she’s been over to his place plenty of times and she still has all of her limbs.”

“Maybe he has a type, Kurt. I bet you didn’t think of that, did you?”

Kurt had found Rachel’s protests ridiculous, yet he couldn’t help hearing her words echo in his mind as he pushed the buzzer for 6B.

His date buzzed him through. Like most apartments people his age could afford, this building had seen better days. Kurt had to wrestle the front door open, racing the clock to get in before the buzzer timed out.

There was a granite ledge in the entryway with a half dozen household items some overly optimistic tenant was hoping to give away rather than waste. He shook his head in disdain. No one wants your mason jar full of dried beans, you weirdo. 

He pushed the call button for the elevator, hoping it wasn’t broken.

There was an awkwardly long interval between the elevator ding and the actual opening of the doors. At least it works. Kurt did not want to show up for this date covered in a light sheen of sweat from walking up six floors. He knew all too well how red his face got the minute he exerted himself in the slightest. It wasn’t an attractive look for him.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the “conditional” certificate displayed in the elevator, claiming that the elevator was in acceptable working order despite several code violations. The certificate itself was three years old. He shouldn’t judge; his building wasn’t even nice enough to have an elevator. 

That’s odd. The button for the sixth floor wasn’t lit up. Kurt was sure he had pushed it…well, he was pretty sure. He touched the button and it turned egg yolk yellow. The elevator chugged along, shuddering and spasming from time to time.

Finally, the elevator wheezed to a stop. Kurt waited, figuring the elderly appliance would take a few seconds to figure out how to slide open it’s ancient doors. A few more seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. 

Kurt hit the button for the sixth floor, but this time the light only stayed on briefly before flickering off. Uh oh.

He began jamming his finger into the button, as if pushing hard enough might wake the machine back up. He tried the ‘lobby’ button next and then the 'door open’ button. 

Nothing.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This was not happening.

Fuck.

This could not be happening.

Oh my god, I’m stuck in a fucking elevator.

Heart beating rapidly, Kurt paced back and forth in the metal shoebox that had become his prison, trying to think. Perhaps if he just stayed calm, it would just carry on its way and he would arrive just a minute or two late for his date but with a funny story for his trouble. Perhaps they would laugh about this in a few years when people asked how they had met.

It wasn’t moving. It had been five minutes and the elevator was just as stubbornly wedged between floors as ever. It was time to take action.

Kurt pulled out his cell phone, only to discover that he had no service. Of course, no one ever has fucking cell phone service in the elevator. Previously, this fact had only ever felt like an inconvenience, but had now become a matter of survival.

Kurt began to really study his environment, looking for anything useful. There wasn’t much to this metal box, unfortunately. There was cracked tile on the floor, a loose handrail on one wall, the expired certificate (which wasn’t nearly so amusing now), and the usual rows of numbered buttons.

Well, mostly numbered.

Open door, close door, call…

There was a call button. Kurt felt a surge of relief. Impatiently, he jammed his finger much harder than necessary into the button. The sound of a telephone ringing filled the elevator.

“Hello? Elevator Services, how may I help you?” asked a crackling voice, with no sense of urgency.

Kurt had to crouch down to answer. 

“Uh, hi? I’m stuck in an elevator.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you know your address?”

Thankfully, even without service he was able to pull up the text Tina had sent him with the address. Kurt read it off.

“We are sending a technician your way.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

The call ended and Kurt was filled with relief. Someone was coming. Rescue was on its way.

Then the silence settled in. It was just so quiet. The elevator felt like a tomb. Suddenly, the walls were far too close. He wondered how much air he had in here.

Bzzz.

It was his phone. It was vibrating. Service!

“Hello?” he answered the phone breathlessly.

“Uh, yes, hi. Is this, um, is this Kurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh good! It’s Blaine. Did you need help finding my apartment or something? Because I buzzed you in over ten minutes ago and I’m starting to get a little worried that you’ve been kidnapped or changed your mind.”

“Blaine! You’ll never believe where I am!”

Blaine chuckled softly. “If you say ‘in your apartment’ I’m going to either be very freaked out or very impressed.”

In spite of the seriousness of his situation, Kurt felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, I’m stuck in your elevator.”

Kurt heard a slight gasp from the other side of the call. “Oh no! Are you alright?” Blaine asked, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m not hurt or anything, I’m just sort of…trapped. I was able to use one of the emergency buttons to call for help already. They said they were sending someone. I guess I just have to wait? I’m sorry, I know you were making dinner and now I’ve surely spoilt it.” Kurt stopped before his rambling became life threatening.

“Are you seriously apologizing to me? I mean it’s my elevator after all. Shit, I knew something like this was bound to happen. That thing has always been dubious. I tried talking to the landlord about getting it up to code but he just keeps feeding me lines about how it’s perfectly safe and they can’t afford the repairs. But still…what are the odds it would finally break down with my date inside. Seriously, Kurt I am so sorry. I swear I am going to have words with him after this is all over.” 

Now, Blaine sounded indignant. It was sort of adorable, how quickly he jumped to Kurt’s defense. 

“It’s not your fault, Blaine. I should be apologizing too. I would have called you if I’d realized I had any bars. There wasn’t any service the first time I checked.” Kurt held the phone away from his face. “Looks like I’ve only got one bar as it is, so who knows how long this connection will keep.”

“I promise I won’t take it personally if you hang up on me. I’m going to set dinner in the oven to keep warm.” Blaine paused and Kurt could almost hear him thinking over on the other end. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

Kurt bristled. He wasn’t a child. “You don’t need to babysit me, Blaine.”

“Oh! I, uh, no, no of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply I just… I thought…I just know that if it was me, I wouldn’t want to just sit there in a small, quiet space all alone like that.”

He sounded so devastatingly sincere that Kurt slowly eased his defenses back down. Kurt couldn’t help but notice that the walls had finally stopped feeling like they were closing in on him since he picked up the phone.

Blaine seemed to take his silence as an answer. “Obviously, you don't want to just listen to me ramble, I’m very—”

Kurt cut him off, “—stay. Please, stay.”

“Oh, well, alright then.”

“So, tell me about South Pacific?” Kurt asked, trying to make conversation. All Kurt knew about Blaine was that he was Tina’s co-star and that Tina insisted he was very charming and definitely gay. Kurt hadn’t asked about that last part, but knowing Tina she probably knew that first-hand… poor girl.

“It’s just the best! I mean I only have a small part, but getting to sing ‘There is Nothing Like a Dame’ is such a blast. The director’s doing this really interesting thing with the choreography too…”

Kurt let the sound of Blaine’s voice wash over him, chasing away the strange, oppressive loneliness of his entombed state. Blaine’s enthusiasm was infectious and his positivity wrapped around Kurt like a warm blanket. He felt… safe.

“…you seen Tina do her song yet? Oh, if you haven’t you’re in for a treat, I mean there’s this one part—”

The line went dead. Shit.

Kurt pulled the phone away from his face, confirming that he had lost reception entirely.  He let his head lean back far enough to smack gently against the wall.

He looked around the room, listening to the dead silence. He tried not to think about how thirsty he was getting. Or about what the odds were that he was about to go crashing to his tragically early death. Did something just move? Gulp.

Was this some sort of punishment? A sign from the universe, perhaps, that he should stop holding out for epic romance and just settle for someone already? 

Then he heard something.

“Kurt?” It was his name, muffled, but clear enough to discern through the wall.

“Blaine?” he shouted back.

“Kurt! There you are! Can you hear me?” Blaine’s voice was louder now.

“Yes, I think you don’t need to shout anymore. What are you doing here?” he asked in confusion. Blaine wasn’t going to try to rescue him, was he?

“Well, we got disconnected so I came to find you.” Blaine explained this like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kurt had been stood up by a date once for being ten minutes late and had another date called off when the guy found out what part of town he lived in. Apparently, inconvenience wasn’t a deterrent for Blaine. “Sorry it took so long, I wasn’t sure what floor you were on.”

Kurt realized that neither did he. “Where did I end up, anyways?”

“Well, I’m on the third floor right now and your voice is above me so I guess in between third and fourth? Oh, and I also called my landlord; he’s going to try to get an ETA on the technician because you’ve been in there for ages.”

Kurt let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god!”

“So, in the meantime… if you can’t come to the date, then the date will just have to come to you!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Leaving Kurt’s question unanswered, Blaine asked Kurt if he had anything to write with.

Kurt couldn’t help but smile at Blaine’s eagerness. “Yeah, I have a sketchpad.”

“Perfect! What are you wearing?”

What the fuck?

“I am not having phone sex with you right now, Blaine, Jesus have you ever heard of timing?”

Blaine made a strange choking sound.

“Wow! No, Kurt, I swear I’m not that much of a pervert… at least not on the first date.” 

Kurt snorted.

Blaine huffed and continued, “I was only asking because if this is the beginning of the date then this is the part where I give you flowers, but I wanted to match your outfit. You do work in fashion, after all.”

Kurt softened. “Oh, well that’s… rather gentlemanly of you. But… how exactly are you going to give me flowers when there’s a wall separating us?”

“Well, I was hoping it could be a team effort. Again, I’m assuming here from your background, but you’re probably a decent artist. If I describe the flowers I chose, will you draw them for yourself?”

“I…” This was either the dumbest or the cutest thing Kurt had ever heard. “Yeah, alright. I’m, um, I’m in silvers and blacks mostly with a pop of raspberry.” He decided it was cute, definitely cute.

“Hmm…alright, how about ranunculus? A little more interesting than roses but still classic.”

Kurt smiled to himself. “Tina told you, didn’t she? That’s cheating, Blaine!”

“Told me what?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

“Oh, it’s just… that was my mother’s favorite flower. I’ve always… they’ve always been special to me.”

“Oh,” said Blaine softly. “I can pick something else, I mean, I didn’t mean to make you sad or—”

“No! It’s a perfect choice, really. She passed away a long time ago; it doesn’t hurt so bad to remember anymore. I… I like feeling close to her.”

Kurt drew the tight layers of petals, holding one another close, more perfect than any rose.

“I should probably mention that I didn’t actually get you flowers… just so you’re not too disappointed when you actually make it to my apartment. I was already making dinner and I… I’ve been told I can come on too strong sometimes and I didn't want to overdo it.” Blaine’s confession came out rushed.

Kurt put the finishing touches on the leaves. “Well, I have a bouquet of ranunculus that says different. And, um, I don’t mind someone who isn’t trying to play games. It’s refreshing.”

Blaine chuckled, although Kurt had been speaking sincerely. “This would be a bad time to mention that phase two of the date is getting-to-know-you games, then, wouldn’t it?”

Kurt laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Please keep in mind that I had very little preparation for this date before you judge my lack of creativity and I know it’s a little college frat party, but… never have I ever?”

“How do you play that with two people and no booze?” Kurt asked.

“Well, I don’t think there will be a winner or anything. I was thinking we could just take turns saying something we’ve never done and then the other person has to say if they’ve done that thing?”

“Sure, why not? But I’m adding that we each get one free pass to skip a question.”

“Why, got some skeletons in the closet, Kurt?” Blaine teased. 

“Oh, just start already,” Kurt huffed in mock exasperation.

“Never have I ever… kissed a girl,” Blaine said smugly.

“Wow, someone was very sure of their sexuality growing up! Although, my brief foray into the world of hetero romance was less of an identity crisis than wishful thinking that I could just be normal.”

Way to be a downer, Kurt.

“No judgement. That sounds hard. Your turn.”

“Never have I ever… been blackout drunk.” Sure, Kurt had been drunk before, especially in college, but he’d always kept things moderately under control. Honestly, while he enjoyed the looseness that came with getting drunk, the idea of being that out of control frightened him far too much. Great, now Blaine knows what an uptight control freak I am.

“Oh, you lucky, lucky man. One time was enough for me. I woke up in bed with some guy with no memory of how I’d gotten there. I was so embarrassed I snuck out while he was still asleep. Although, I did check the trashcan to make sure we used protection. And… that was definitely an overshare, yikes.”

“Everyone has a random.”

“Oh, hey, Kurt? The landlord finally called me back, give me a sec.” The gentle cadence of Blaine’s voice traveled through the wall, too quiet for Kurt to make out the words as he spoke on the phone to his landlord.

“Good news, Kurt! He says that the technicians are almost here!”

“Oh, thank god!” I really need to pee.

“Where were we? Never have I ever… cheated in a relationship.”

“Noted. Also, same. That one would have been awkward if I had.”

“You always could have used your veto.”

“I mean, I think vetoing that question is still an answer, but sure. Alright, it’s my turn…”

Suddenly the elevator shifted, and then he was falling. 

Kurt screamed.

The elevator car couldn’t have fallen more than a few inches but it was long enough for Kurt to be briefly gripped with mortal terror. As much as he had thought about the possibility of the elevator falling, he had never really thought it could happen. Then there was a loud clanging noise coming from above him, and finally the elevator doors slid open.

A middle-aged woman in a safety vest stood above him. Behind her, bushy brown eyebrows furrowed together in concern, stood a man Kurt could only assume was Blaine.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked.

“The elevator dropped!” Kurt shrieked.

The woman shrugged. “Yeah, that can happen sometimes when we open things up.” She was far too nonchalant for Kurt’s taste.

“Maybe warn a guy next time? I thought I was going to die for a second there.”

“Sure, sure,” she said brusquely. “Are you coming out or what?” She reached her hand out but Kurt reached for the arm of the man beside her instead. Blaine’s grasp was strong and sure, pulling him from the jaws of that dastardly contraption and out into the hallway.

“Kurt, you’re shaking!” Blaine observed, looking worried.

“Did you miss the part where I thought I was going to die!” He addressed the last few words at the elevator technician in a savage tone.

Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you inside, huh? I have wine or maybe you’d rather have some nice chamomile tea?”

Kurt nodded and leaned in to the warmth and stability of Blaine’s body. His knees were still quivering.

“Are we done here?” Blaine asked the technician firmly.

“Yes. I’ll just finish writing up the report but you gentlemen can move on with your evening”

“Thank you. And if it’s at all possible, I hope you will speak to our management company about improving the elevator safety here.”

“Not my department, sorry. Have a nice date,” she smirked.

Kurt blushed and Blaine’s hand rubbed his back soothingly. “Come on, let’s see if dinner is salvageable.”

Blaine escorted him up two flights of stairs and finally, two hours late, Kurt made it to his destination.

He stashed his coat and bag on the coat rack by the door and took in Blaine’s apartment. It was small, like his own, but lovingly decorated with colorful throw blankets and large photographs of a smiling Blaine with various loved ones.

“I like your apartment.”

Blaine blushed slightly. “Thank you. Please, uh, you can sit down and I’ll see if my roast chicken isn’t too dry for human consumption.” 

Kurt took the chair Blaine had indicated, admiring the way he had set the table with placemats and a small cluster of tea light candles in the center of the table for decoration. He really had gone to a lot of effort for a blind date.

Blaine came back in from the kitchen with a serving dish. “I’ve determined that it’s edible, but you can only eat this if you promise you’ll wait until next time to judge my cooking prowess, okay?”

“Next time, huh?” Kurt said cheekily. 

Blaine’s hazel eyes widened. “I didn’t mean… no, let’s be honest I did mean it. I know we’ve only been face to face for about fifteen minutes but… you told me you didn’t like playing games so I’m just going to be honest with you and hope you really aren’t scared by someone who comes on too strong. I already know I’m going to want to see you again. I knew it before I even saw how gorgeous you are, not that I’m not appreciating that because I am.  Just talking to you, I could tell you were someone special. That’s why I tried so hard to impress you with my weird elevator date. Sorry, I know I’m a silly romantic but I can’t help it.”

Kurt gasped, his heart swelling in his chest. He was overwhelmed by emotion and suddenly lost for words. No one had ever acted like this with Kurt before. In the past, dating had felt like a game of chess, each person carefully calculating their next move, not wanting to give away their strategy. Blaine was just so open and honest with his feelings, so hopeful without pressuring, so generous without expecting anything in return. 

To his utter embarrassment, tears pricked at his eyes. He turned away from Blaine, desperately trying to dab at the corners of his eyes without his date noticing. Turning back to Blaine, he gave him a watery smile, hoping it was enough to convey how he was feeling.

Blaine beamed back. “Chicken?”

Kurt nodded.

“And you promise?” Blaine prodded, clearly serious about his cooking being spared judgement.

“Yes, of course, I’ve been trapped in an elevator for two hours; I’m famished. Give me some fucking chicken before I pass out on your area rug.”

Blaine’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to get a little hangry.”

They ate, falling into a companionable silence. The chicken was a little on the dry side, but surprisingly good all things considered and Kurt could appreciate the spice rub Blaine had used. And he was much too hungry to care.

After they finished eating and they had set their dishes into the sink to soak, Blaine turned to him and asked shyly, “I know it’s getting late but would you like to sneak up onto the roof with me? I thought you might enjoy going somewhere with lots of open space after being cooped up for so long.”

Kurt grinned. “That sounds perfect. I’m in.”

Grabbing their coats, Kurt followed Blaine out onto the fire escape and up the rickety stairs two more floors to the roof. After Blaine assured him it was up to code, anyways.

They hopped over an ineffective gate and scrambled onto the roof. Blaine shook out a blanket that Kurt hadn’t realized he had. They sat down together, looking out over the roofs of the neighboring buildings.

“You know, I’ve never tried to get onto the roof of my building before. I wonder if it’s possible,” Kurt mused.

“I would be more than happy to assist in such an expedition,” Blaine said eagerly.

“Sounds like a date,” Kurt said with a wink. 

“Wait, really?” Blaine asked hopefully, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Kurt had said it without thinking but he found that he’d meant it. Blaine was sweet, thoughtful, and fun to be around. He could already picture them having a good time roaming the rooftops of Kurt’s neighborhood or enjoying more of Blaine’s cooking.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want to.” Kurt smiled shyly. 

“Oh, I want to,” Blaine said breathlessly.

Kurt felt himself flush all the way down to his collar. When he looked back up, Blaine’s face was somehow closer and he was looking very intently back at him.

“This is very romantic,” Kurt whispered, as if his voice might break the spell. “You’re very romantic.”

“That’s kind of my charm,” Blaine whispered back. “It’s too much for some people.”

“I like it. I like it a lot.”

“That’s very lucky for me, then.”

“Blaine?” Kurt asked, he voice trembling slightly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, god, yes.” Blaine’s eyes looked back at him with desire that made Kurt’s stomach flip. For a moment, he thought Blaine might just lean in the rest of the way but instead he waited, seeming to enjoy the anticipation, waiting for Kurt to make his move. Like he intuitively understood Kurt’s need to be in control.

Kurt reached out to brush Blaine’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, Blaine hummed happily and leaned into the touch. Then he ran his thumb over Blaine’s lower lip, eliciting a delicious gasp.

“Please,” Blaine whispered. It was the sexiest thing Kurt had ever heard.

“Well, I did keep you waiting for two hours already; I suppose I shouldn’t make you wait any longer.”

Blaine nodded his encouragement.

Slowly, Kurt leaned forward, taking a moment to brush his nose against Blaine’s before their lips finally connected. 

There was a shared gasp, and then Blaine threaded his fingers into Kurt’s hair, pulling him closer. Kurt moaned into his mouth. 

In Kurt’s experience, there were always at least a few minutes of awkwardness when two people kissed for the first time before they adjusted to one another’s rhythm and style but it was nothing like that with Blaine. Kissing Blaine was just effortlessly good. Like they were already in tune with one another, no adjustment period required.

They kissed fervently, passionately. Blaine had just pulled Kurt into his lap when Kurt’s phone alarm went off. Shaken out of his reverie, Kurt pulled back.

Blaine pouted. “Come back,” he whined.

“I… fuck, I’m sorry I forgot how late it was. That’s my alarm to start getting ready for bed. I’ll be a complete wreck at work tomorrow if I don’t get enough sleep. Hangry Kurt has nothing on sleep-deprived Kurt.”

“Good to know. Alright, then, I supposed we had better go inside.”

Blaine watched him fondly as he did up the buttons of his coat and collected his bag.

“I’ll, um, I’ll call you tomorrow. About that second date, okay?”

“You better,” Blaine said a grin.

“Thank you, for, well, everything. This was a remarkably good first date, all things considered.”

Blaine pulled him closer by his coat lapels, pressing him into a final, toe-curling kiss. Kurt felt his brain swirl for a few moments before he remembered that he was supposed to be leaving.

“You, sir, are dangerously distracting.”

“Fine, I’ll let you go.” Blaine’s fingers worked quickly to smooth the flaps of his lapel.

They hugged goodbye, Kurt holding on for a few extra seconds to soak in the smell of Blaine’s cologne. Finally pulling away, Kurt reluctantly wished Blaine a good night.

As he stepped into the hallway, Blaine called out to him.

“Take the stairs this time!”

[insfiringyou]

BTS - What’s Important (RM x Ji-eun)

Contains: Angst. Career talk. Possible indications of disbandment. Brief mentions of Suga x Jeong-sun and V x Cassandra

This is set a few days following RM and Ji-eun’s storyline in the fic ‘They Orgasm Unexpectedly’, while Namjoon is in service. 

We wanted to show some moments between the members and their girlfriends that may not seem grand or important in the long run, but that highlight some of the conversations they might have in private. We also don’t want to shy away from some of the arguments, disagreements or bickering that might take place. More couples to follow soon.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook & our full masterlist can be found here

Content below the cut

The meeting had been long and boring, taking place on the building’s top floor which offered a brilliant view of the city. Ji-eun watched the sky slowly darken through the wide windows which stretched along the length of the room, silently cursing the fact she wouldn’t get home until gone ten o’clock. The next few hours stretched slowly, with the journey home passing in a quiet daze; the warmth of her apartment greeting and caressing her otherwise cold skin as she walked through the door. Feeling tired, she showered quickly, lathering her long hair with raspberry-scented suds and enjoying the heat of the spray on her bare back. Her cell had gone forgotten throughout the meeting, dutifully turned off as per her manager’s instructions and buried in the bottom of her black handbag, so she had missed the call, not noticing it until after her shower as she headed to the bedroom.

The little notification light pinged brightly in the darkness, her hair and body wrapped in the fluffy confines of a towel and she swiped the screen as she perched herself on the edge of the duvet, selecting the voicemail icon with a frown.

She pressed the phone to her ear, waiting for the instructional message to finish, until a clicking sound signalled the start of the recording. “It’s Namjoon…” His deep voice took her by surprise, though she had heard it in person only two days before. He was clearly trying to find the right words to say into the empty device, his message full of pauses. “I was hoping we could talk...but, I guess you’re busy…”

Ji-eun suspected he would end the conversation there after a quick goodbye, and instinctively moved the cell away from her ear, getting ready to hang up, but held back when he slowly pressed on.

“I got here okay...the traffic was a little congested but I made it back on time.” His voice was low, distracted, as though building up to something and Ji-eun couldn’t help but feel nervous. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to call for a few days, so I’m hoping you’ll hear this. I don’t know if you check your messages…”

She realised her spare hand was curling around the edge of the duvet, bunching it anxiously into her closed fist. It had been a long time since she had felt so jittery and the urge to move out of the dark room and into the kitchen was overwhelming. She couldn’t recall whether she had finished the bottle of Merlot she had started the previous night, but hoped not. His voice brought her back with another sigh.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable the other night…” The short silence which followed told her he was thinking this through, trying to wrap his head around his own actions, and her heart rate increased in response. She felt its steady hum in her neck and fingertips as she clutched the phone tighter, her knuckles straining against the outline. “I don’t know what came over me, but I know it wasn’t right.” There was a sharp intake of air before he continued. “You worked hard to get the reservation...to make it special for me...and I…” He tapered off for a moment, and Ji-eun wondered whether he’d be able to bring himself to tell her what was wrong.

The short hotel-stay had been expensive, but she had wanted to get away from home. It had been too quiet in recent months...too lonely without him, and she knew making more memories together in that space before he was out for good would be too hard; she would have to continue eating and sleeping and living there until he got back; until they could resume their lives. The bitter memory of the morning after came flooding back; the way they dressed in silence at opposite ends of the bedroom, and the cold, stiff gesture of his lips against her cheek as he said goodbye.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” She heard the sadness in his apology, the regret of his actions, along with something else, and what he said next made her heart sink. “I just don’t think I’ve been doing so well recently.”

His confession took her aback, but made sense. The last time she had seen him, he had been withdrawn; trapped in his own thoughts. Even then, as she lay silently in the double bed next to him, tucked under the heavy winter duvet, she wished she could get inside his brain and take his troubles away for him, if only he would let her.

“It never really hit me until a few weeks ago…” He continued in a hushed, quiet tone, as though fearing being overheard. “I figured I’d been through worse, and I haven’t that long to go…”

Ji-eun let go of the bed covers, giving in and heading towards the little kitchen down the hall.

“I guess I’ve just been thinking about what will happen when I come out, what will be waiting for me...” She held her phone to her ear as she walked, tucking the towel tighter around her bust before switching on the light. The glare made her eyes water, but she felt her way to the fridge and breathed a small sigh of relief when she found the bottle sitting on the bottom rack, a few mouthfuls left in the bottom. One handedly, she unscrewed the cap and found a clean glass on the drying board. “I know it’s been on everyone’s mind. Maybe some more than others…”

Silently, she made her way back to the bedroom, sipping slowly as she walked. Her shoulders had been tense and uncomfortable all afternoon, but seemed to relax as she sat heavily back on the bed. Namjoon carried on talking on the other end and, now he had started, it seemed his worries were slowly spilling out. It came as a relief. She wished she could have heard it from him first hand, but suspected he would have not been able to confess as openly if she had been there with him.

“It didn’t seem so complicated when I went in...I guess we all thought we would just pick up where we’d left off, but I’m not sure that’s the case anymore.” There was a small crack on the line and for a moment she worried he had been cut off or that the messaging timer had run out. He went quiet for a moment before his voice became clear, the first half of his sentence cut off. “...solo album, and with everything that’s happening with Taehyung…” Another sigh. “I guess I’m just wondering my place in all of this.”

It seemed apparent he had not voiced these concerns to anyone else; that she was the first to hear them and it suddenly occurred to her how trivial she had once thought his worries were compared to her own. When they first met, she couldn’t understand why he sometimes got so worked up in the other member’s lives to the point their grievances became his, but somewhere along the line she began to realise how much they meant to him and how hard he had worked for their achievements. They weren’t so different in that respect, and once it became clear, it seemed to make sense why he had been so attracted to her on the day they met five years before. He had seen a part of himself in her, and while it was not as fiercely visible on the surface, his ambitions and the sacrifices he had made along the way were just as strong as her own.

“It’s been playing on my mind for a while…” His tone became deeper, more solemn as he spoke. “The last few years at least, but seeing Yoongi get married...it made me wonder if I’m worrying about the wrong things. That maybe I’ve been neglecting what’s important to me. Neglecting you...”

Looking at her glass, she realised the wine was finished and placed the empty glass on the bedside cabinet carefully, her hands trembling a little at his confession and its implication. He let out a final, shuddery breath of air, and she knew instinctively that the one-sided conversation was drawing to a close. It came somewhat as a relief. As insightful as he was being, it was frustrating to not be able to talk to him, and she was ready for bed. The day had been long and she would have to get up early tomorrow in order to make her morning phone calls at the office to the seemingly endless list of international clients on her company’s waiting list.

“I guess we’ll talk about it soon…” Namjoon murmured, his own voice sounding tired on the other side. “I love you.” A pause. “I’m sorry.” She could hear the low sound of his breathing for a moment, before the line went dead with a click, the automated recording asking if she wished to delete the message or listen again. Looking at the illuminated screen, she clicked on the hang up dial, saving the message to some unknown folder in the depths of her phone and placing the device carefully beside the empty glass. Her hair was almost dry and she pulled it from the confines of the towel carefully, contemplating as she walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth whether it would disturb the neighbours if she used the blow-drier so late at night. She wondered when Namjoon would get the chance to call again and realised she wasn’t exactly looking forward to the prospect. It was difficult being apart and talking with him only seemed to make it harder. Not for the first time, it hit her that she didn’t have many people she could turn to and wondered whether it was her fault. Was she really so difficult to be around or had she pushed them all away over the years?

Looking in the mirror above the sink at her slightly flushed complexion, she became acutely aware that the low ache of an oncoming migraine had started to nag in the back of her skull and decided she would go straight to bed, with the hope it would be gone by morning.

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook

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[chibimyumi]

Dear @lunitamoon​​,

First of all, I am sorry it took so long to get to you, but thank you very much for your sweet compliments! The day you sent the ask was great, and so is today. I hope your life is good to you too.

But now without further ado, your question.

Uchikawa Reo

I think Reo is a very good actor. My first opinion of him when I saw him in Noah’s Ark Circus 2016 was that he has a lot of talent. Some of these talents were not polished yet, (his singing being one example, but given his young age I couldn’t possibly blame him), while other talents were already polished to a sparkling gem. When people talk about Reo, it is usually “cuteee, so tiny!!!” or compliments of the like. His looks make people shove his remarkableness as an actor under these irrelevant external qualities. That is a shame, so please allow me to highlight a few things that are remarkable about this boy.

Character interpretation and understanding

I think Reo understood the character of O!Ciel very well and he was able to deliver many of the nuances even his first time in the role. When hastily interpreted, O!Ciel’s character runs the risk of being taken for nothing but cranky, sulky and haughty. Reo however, even at the age of 12 managed to see that these three obvious traits have a much deeper root: ‘doneness’. O!Ciel is done with his butler’s sauciness, done with people around him imposing their opinions on him, done with the world. Uchikawa Reo managed to capture this fatigue quite well.

In the scene where Soma is altogether a bit too clingy, I think many would think O!Ciel would push the prince away or slap him away. Reo however, did not. He was trying to pull away Soma’s hands, but he never showed antagonism. Just doneness. Regardless of whether O!Ciel does or doesn’t see Soma as his ‘big brother figure’ and ‘friend’, he does care about him. Even when Reo-bocchan said: “I’m exhausted because of you,” there was no callousness in his voice; just irritation.

Reo managed to find a beautiful middle ground between ‘warm’ and ‘cold’ for O!Ciel, and that is exactly what I believe our Trash Baby Lord is. That is a lot more nuance in character study than I could possibly expect from most actors, let alone a 12 year old one.

Another example of Reo’s great understanding of his role is in the scene where he questions his butler whether he would be able to bring them to Baron Kelvin’s manor within an hour. Here he raised an eyebrow as he spoke. This raised eyebrow is very significant.

In the post ‘That Butler, Punchable‘, I discussed in detail how Sebastyun is constantly being very snarky at his master, presumably so because he did not consider the boy worthy of his full respect. In the scene of this example however, O!Ciel has earned the demon’s full respect, and he knows it.

Raising an eyebrow, O!Ciel shows that he has reestablished dominance as master, and that intellectually he is on the same playing field as the demon. He knows what he is doing, and unsurprisingly, the question asked was thusly phrased as a rhetorical one. Hence I did not translate this line as: “can you?” but instead as “you can, right?” Through this nuance, Reo-bocchan shows a great level of confidence and his grasp over the case.

Something else remarkable about 12-year-old Reo is his body-language. In the showdown between him and Baron Kelvin, Reo knew very well how to deliver his actions and the tension of the scene to even the people in the furthest back of the theatre. He takes his time to carry out every movement with meaningful decisiveness. One powerful kick. Re-assume stance. Walk behind his victim. Trap him under his foot. Point the gun at him. Had Reo just kicked Kelvin and stood on him in one consecutive movement, then the impact would have been broken.

I am not sure whether this was intentional, but before Reo pointed the gun at Kelvin, the hand that held the weapon was relaxed, which meant it would not attract attention away from his footwork. Only when the footwork was finished did Reo reveal his gun again from underneath his cape, effectively re-shifting attention back to the weapon when that should be the central focus again.  In theatre where audiences don’t view the production through edited and selected footage, it is vital that actors know where they should draw attention to, and reversely, where not to. Reo did well.

Reo’s natural flair for comedy is also noteworthy. O!Ciel’s character’s funniness is mostly his insane cuteness and inability to can at times; not because he has funny remarks to make. Trying too hard to be funny is a big theatre/movie sin, but Reo is luckily no sinner

As demonstrated above, Reo has an excellent understanding of his role and is careful in maintaining it even when the musical calls for comedy. Reo employed a very advanced technique of achieving comedy; namely discrepant solemness. He does not loosen up or start monkeying around; instead he maintains his usual up-tightness while tricking Aberline into saying his own name wrong. The brilliancy in this scene was not just Reo’s ability to employ this advanced comedy technique, but also that the nature of this skit was perfectly in character for this insidious, manipulative brat.

In Tango on the Campania Reo filled most of the ‘space for growth’ he still had in the previous musical. Even though Reo’s body language on stage was already great in Noah’s Ark Circus, he did have the tendency to stand idle when the scene’s focus was not on him. In the latest musical however, Reo would not forget to also act when he was in the background.

His singing also largely improved, and was able to prolong his notes as well as transitioning between the notes. He still had trouble hitting the highest of notes, but his voice would no longer die off mid-way in its ascending.

Fukuzaki Nayuta

I think Nayuta is a great actor too, and personally a seemingly very underrated gem. In the first run of the Lycoris that Blazes the Earth (2014) Nayuta was admittedly not the best actor ever seen in theatre history. However, he did up the game for Ciel actors even at the time. Acting style is more preference-bound, but undeniably Nayuta’s singing was more solid than any past Ciel performer before him. Despite him having outclassed past Ciels’ singing, Nayuta received a lot of hate from fans, most amounting to: “I can’t watch this, he is too ugly.” (Yes, very constructive, very legit. Ughum. The Kurofandom never fails to remind me how so many are here just for the pretttiiiiiiessss >_>)

In 2015, Nayuta’s voice was actively dropping, sending him in a constant swing between up-and-down. I don’t have experience with a dropping voice, but I heard from everyone who did that it is incredibly hard to control your voice in speaking, let alone singing. And yet, though his voice was rough at all times, Nayuta did manage to hit all the tones. I find that very impressive. I think technique-wise, Nayuta is the strongest singer among all Ciel stage-actors so far. I haven’t heard his singing after his voice-change was complete, but I can imagine him having become a very good singer now. His capacity for control over his voice is superb, after all.

Nayuta’s acting is very subtle but convincing. When Nayuta-bocchan was in his cage, he even added some little movements of the hand that would not be in people’s usual expectations given the situation. To me, this little quirk seemed to convey how despite already having hit rock bottom, the last straw had only fallen just now. This boy is not just scared and desperate, he is murderously angry and resolute.

Nayuta’s subtle and yet convincing body-language can be seen throughout the musical. To demonstrate what I mean by ‘convincing’, I wish to point at Tango on the Campania. Compare Nayuta’s shaking to the headbanging of the stand-in for O!Ciel... Nope. (This actress is not a child, so I can be harsher.)

Again, Nayuta’s acting is subtle, but it does mean it is easily missed, especially in a live theatre. (’Overacting’ is obviously a thing (see demonstration 1 above ⇈), but to the people who initially criticised Furukawa for “moving around too much”, that’s the theatre medium for you. Theatre was not made to be recorded and viewed in close proximity. Moving any less will basically be invisible in a theatre (see my analysis of Tamaki’s performance as Snake).)

Enough side-tracked, back to Nayuta. In the scene where Nayuta-bocchan just woke up, he performed the panic dying down slowly expertly. We can tell that the shaking and heavy breathing really got the better of him, but that the boy was actively trying not to show his butler.  This was probably not visible live, but we have footage of it, so let us savour the panic-dying-down for what it is.

Though I might go as far as to say Nayuta might be better suited as a film-actor than theatre-actor, what was not missed on live audiences was this iconic scene below ⇊ when it finally dawned in O!Ciel that he had been chasing the wrong tail all along.

The atmosphere he created was incredibly tense, and we could practically hear the gears grinding and suddenly coming to a shocking halt. Bravo. It is ultimately for this scene that I think Nayuta would make a phenomenal stage-actor with just a BIT more stage-oriented instructions from the director.

Another scene that also conveyed the tension excellently was when O!Ciel was putting up with the Viscount. Nayuta knew better than put on an insulting high-pitched voice in parody of “a girl’s voice”, instead he minded the intonation of speaking and subtler mannerisms girls are socialised to perform.

When the Viscount really got way too close, Sasaki’s acting was incredibly flamboyant and loud, and yet it never threatened to overshadow Nayuta’s performance. Nayuta knows very well how to keep people’s attention on him even when he doesn’t have lines to say. When the Viscount turned Nayuta-bocchan around, the boy’s facial expression spoke voluuuumes.

Sakamoto, Nishii and Tanaka

I don’t have footage of them, and I am not going to get them legally or illegally, so I will include no visual examples of them in this post.

I don’t want to be harsh on children, they all did their best I believe, but do allow me to say that I am not very enthusiastic about their performances.

Sakamoto’s performance of Ciel was not very memorable, but I think it mostly has something to do with his part in the script just not being memorable at all. To sum up; Ciel in ‘Friendship’ received some guests from Japan, played chess, and stared wide shifty-eyed until the case solved itself. Sakamoto’s singing was decent, though. I wish they capitalised more on that.

Nishii... I think many people were initially especially enthusiastic about him because he did not “look like Vincent Phantomhive”. He did his best, I could tell he had fun in the performance, but whatever acting-talent he might have, the musical never gave him any chance to shine. That musical gave his character ZERO nuance. Nishii’s singing was very unpolished, and in the mere 3 weeks of audition time, there was also no time to get it polished. But then again, the same goes for the singing of most of that cast.

Tanaka... I could tell he did his best, but perhaps he was doing his best not to f*ck up a bit too hard. The songs in this musical were rather challenging, and Tanaka always seemed very tense as he was trying to chase the notes. It was like he was desperately clinging to his spot within a safety-zone, which ultimately meant he didn’t explore any potentials outside the range of monotony. When it comes to acting, it also seemed like cranky outbursts were the only emotion he dared touch upon.

So that was that! Thanks for reading!

[flvcr]

— ( harry styles, twenty-five, cismale, he/him ) did you see ETIENNE FLUOR walking down main street earlier? you know who i’m talking about, they’re a POTTER / HOCKEY PLAYER. everybody in town says that they’re IDEALISTIC & INTUITIVE, but have a tendency to be UNPREDICTABLE & DESTRUCTIVE too. ETIENNE has been in town for THREE years. c'mon, they’re always requesting RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL BY VAN HALEN at karaoke nights. well, i’m sure you’ll see them soon! @westmerestarters​

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, etienne. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: etienne ‘ marcel ‘ fluor. 

nicknames: goes by marcel, only allowing very few people to call him etienne.

gender / pronouns : cismale / he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: hockey player ( currently injured ) // potter ( for fun ) !!

languages spoken: french, english & italian.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what he is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: etienne is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially when it comes to getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !! but can be a bit on the flashier side as well, especially w/ hockey press and what not !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

   etienne ‘ marcel ’ fluor was born in montpellier, france to two lovely parents, theodore and estelle fluor ( both born in england themselves ) . he is the youngest of his siblings, having one older brother and an older sister, all of them being roughly two years apart. at the age of eight, his family relocated to montreal, canada as a result of a promotion his mother received, which at such a young age, etienne had no qualms with, despite his siblings’ uneasiness.  upon moving to a new country at a young age, etienne truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. he continues to be very close with his parents and siblings - recently he taught his parents how to use facetime, so catch him face timing his family on sunday nights. 

   growing up, etienne also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents signing him up hoping that he’d make friends as a result, which he did ). when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ’ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. overall, he’s very athletic, found alternating between various sports offered not only at school, but as well as through local clubs. ultimately, his love and appreciation for hockey swayed him and soon enough it became his sole focus. due to his perfectionist tendencies, etienne is very dedicated to his craft, he will spend hours practicing specific tricks and skills in order to be the best at what he does, which transcends past hockey and into, really, every aspect of his life. 

   throughout highschool ; etienne was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sporty things. during this time, he joined the ontario hockey league and from there was eventually scouted out and recruited to the pittsburgh penguins as a defenseman at the age of eighteen - forgoing his parents desire for him to attend a university. although he enjoyed his time with pittsburgh, he was excited when the idea of being traded came up - eager to explore a new city and immerse himself in a new area. 

      trigger warning - injury, dislocation ( just in case !!!! ) however, he really didn’t enjoy new york ( hehe ), so he relocated to westmere soon after his initial arrival to nyc - finding a lot of comfort in living in a less populated area. he would commute during the hockey season to nyc, which to him wasn’t very far away, so this is where he’s been residing for the last three years !! however, in the last couple of weeks while training for the upcoming season my lil bb injured himself - not to get into tooooo much detail, i’ll just leave it at shoulder dislocation / joint separation due to a hard hit !! basically he’s out for this upcoming season, already having surgery completed, he’s currently healing for the next couple of months, allowing himself to fully experience that westmere fall !!!

   overall, etienne can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. etienne will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

_________________________

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, etienne is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that etienne is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, working on his pottery, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits :  likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !!

overall : etienne truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him.

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

he lives with sebastian !! with his commuting to nyc for the hockey season, he wanted somebody to be able to take care of his house / garden and what not, and thus, seb arrived.

he’s v into making ceramics, cups / bowls / vases / etc !! what began as a fun hobby to distract himself in the offseason became something that he truly enjoys. ( laughing about that scene in ghost BUT DKJFNG OKAY ) although he’s pretty low-key about it, you can catch him at the farmers market selling his creations !! some pictures of his work can be found on his pinterest board !!

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. 

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !!  might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

i am so up for anything!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below.  if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-) down to start from scratch and PLOT PLOT PLOT !

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to etienne’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although etienne may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with etienne being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 1 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person etienne confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine etienne being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - etienne needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! 

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck HIS and my life with.  dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-)

[cvrnelivs]

— ( harry styles, cismale, he/him ) &. * — meet ( cornelius ‘ oliver ’ edwards ) ! ( he ) is ( twenty five ) years old and has lived in st. helens for ( two ) years . when they’re not helping the town prepare for halloween , they work as a ( baker ) . around here, they’re known to be ( idealistic ) & ( intuitive ) yet ( unpredictable ) & ( destructive ) and apparently their favorite fall activity is ( visiting the farmer’s market ) . safe to say it really wouldn’t be halloweentown without them !

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, cornelius/oliver. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

( DISCLAIMER : THIS IS LONG - WOW !!! just felt a lot of muse !!! apologies !!  ) 

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: cornelius oliver edwards.

nicknames: ollie, ol, lee !! literally whatever - “hey, you” dkjfgn

gender: cismale. pronouns: he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: baker // aspiring filmmaker.

languages spoken: english & french.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what oliver is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: oliver is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially with being in the bakery and getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

   oliver was born in kent, england. he’s the youngest in his family of three, having an older brother and sister w/ two loving parents. when he was nine, his family packed up and moved to southern california, where they resided until oliver left for college on the east coast - his family trading off between living back in england and on the west coast throughout the year. upon moving to a new country at a young age, oliver truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. growing up, oliver also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents kind of threw him in hoping he’d make friends ), but when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ‘ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. throughout highschool ; oliver was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sportythings.

   post-high school, oliver attended NYU double majoring in film & television and dramatic writing. despite his extensive and well received portfolio, oliver has always been a perfectionist and overcritical of his work, unwilling to share his projects with anyone until he deems them to be ~ perfect ~ himself. after graduating, he spent a year traveling, trying to find a bit of inspiration around him and taking up odd jobs to get some $$ of his own, dog walking, attempting his best at being a handy man, etc !! he moved back home to socal, and eventually made his way up to st.helen’s after he was sent a job posting for the bakery in town !! although he knows he doesn’t want to pursue a career in baking forever, he’s enjoying his time while trying to find a bit more muse for his future film&writing career.

   overall, oliver can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. oliver will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, oliver is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that oliver is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, curating soundtracks for his film projects, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits : smoking cigarettes - although he’s been meaning to quit. likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !! 

overall : oliver truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him. 

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

in an attempt to throw himself into the town’s traditions and what not, after moving to st. helen’s oliver decided it was upon himself to put on a very spooo0ooky haunted house! so, catch him converting his home into a haunted house for the month of october !!! nothing cheesy either !! it’s more a psychological scare dkjgn with some gore elements !! EnTeR iF yOu DaRe !!!

he bounced around playing sports growing up, but favored ice hockey and field lacrosse out of them all.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. visits seb’s winery v often !!!

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !!  might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

honestly, i am so up for anything !!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below.  if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-)

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to oliver’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 0 / ?? ) - MUSE(S) : somebody that he often strikes inspo from for his short films and what not !! or has starred/he plans to have them star in his future compilations of sorts !! can be simply from their own ideals, their look / ~vibe~ dkfjgn // whatever !!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although oliver may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with ollie being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 0 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person oliver confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine oliver being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - oliver needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! life advice in any and all aspects. maybe they come into the bakery, or maybe they help him with his garden. who knows, i certainly don’t know how they met, but we’ll figure it out ?!?!

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck ollie’s and my life with.  dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-) 

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #205: Shadow of the Claw!

March, 1981

"... And the CLAW shall inherit the Earth!” isn’t even what the villain plan is, come on, cover copy person.

Yellow Claw was going to have a bunch of kids, make them fight to the death, and then the super child was going to inherit the Earth.

The actual cover is neat though. I like how all the red draws attention to the center where red is not.

Yes, I am good at talk about art.

Anyway, last time on Avengers: a woman named Shu Han who had been brought to Yellow Claw’s island to be one of Yellow Claw’s many wives (despite being a genius physicist athlete and could honestly be a superhero in her own right with those skills) sent out a distress signal which was eventually received by the Avengers. A lot of goofy stuff happened, Vision got captured like a dingus, Wasp did none things, a cyborg slime kraken was fought, and eventually Yellow Claw was like ‘whaaaat Shu Han doesn’t love me? Fine, begone!’ and told the Avengers to gtfo his island so he can start living his harem anime protagonist self-insert fic and also take over the world.

Which brings us to now.

After his dingus-like capture, Vision needs to be recharged because photons are his sweet calories and he never diets.

In fact, weirdly, he’s hungrier than usual this time. Sixty-seven whole additional solar units more than usual hungrier.

I don’t know how much a solar unit is. Even as a ballpark. But Iron Man finds it noteworthy so I’m noting it.

Meanwhile, in the only one person sitting room, Wasp retcons some actual actions into the last issue so that her entire screentime wasn’t pointless.

Maybe I should learn to be more patient on multiple part stories.

No. No, its the comic writers who are wrong.

Anyway, while Wasp was spying on Yellow Claw, she noticed some weird equipment in the research lab, including a lot of tubes filled with odd, sparkly mist.

Unfortunately, that’s all she managed to see before Yellow Claw told the Avengers to gtfo his island.

Which leaves them without much they can do about Yellow Claw.

Sure, they suspect he’s up to something. Hell, Iron Man would even admit that they know he’s up to something.

But being able to prove it is a different matter. And since Yellow Claw’s island is in disputed waters, moving without proving could lead to political fallout.

Captain America: “Iron Man is right. If we had proof that the Yellow Claw poses a global threat, international law would allow us to investigate. But as it is, we don’t have a single, tangible clue to--”

And then Jarvis walks in and tells them that the Yellow Claw’s top assistant, Dr. William Liu, is here to speak with them.

The timing this man has. Outstanding.

They scan the man to make sure he’s not walking in with a bunch of laser guns stuffed down his pants and then let him in.

And Dr. Liu pleads for the Avengers to help him. Cap asks why they should help or even trust one of Yellow Claw’s men.

Dr. Liu: “I could no longer live with the horrible nature of the master’s plan! That is why I secretly left the island, hoping that my absence would go unnoticed until I could reach you, and tell you of-- AAAGGHH!”

He doesn’t get to finish his warning because his crotch suddenly explodes.

I don’t know how else to describe it.

Apparently Yellow Claw rigged his assistant to explode in case of treachery or just for funsies. A barely alive, crotch exploded apparently a cyborg all along Dr. Liu realizes that Yellow Claw must have remotely activated his destruct code.

He gives the Avengers some coordinates in Australia and begs them to stop Yellow Claw.

Dr. Liu: “... Y-you must stop... the Claw! Y-you’re the only hope for... the children...!”

And then he dies. And based on panels, it seems like his chest exploded more than his crotch. His pants are intact.

This was the proof the Avengers needed to act, so as soon as Dr. Liu’s body is carried away by ambulance, the Avengers prepare to leave.

But Jarvis finds a note on Vision’s door begging leave from the mission.

Vision: “I regret that I have not yet recuperated to the point where I may participate in Avengers’ activities. Please understand. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

What an oddly formal ‘I’m sick, don’t come in’ letter to pin to your door.

Iron Man is perplexed since he oversaw Vision’s recharge himself and the solar gas tank should be full. But Scarlet Witch says that Vision has his reasons to do things and they should just carry on without him.

So off they go in the Quinjet.

But as soon as they take off, Vision goes to take the second Quinjet.

Why, he’s not sick in his room at all!

Hours later, the Avengers arrive in Australia, of course passing over a kangaroo, or else how would we know its Australia?

And at the coordinates poor exploded Dr. Liu gave them, they find a cave. And in the cave they find a secret base where that sparkle gas Wasp saw being loaded onto three missiles.

Y’know. I think I gave Vision too much shit last time for his stealth fail. Because the Avengers as a whole get spotted while they’re scoping out the missile cave.

Black Panther needs to give them all some refresher learning.

MEANWHILE, though. Back at Yellow Claw’s island, Vision ditches his Quinjet and intangibles into Yellow Claw’s base.

When he reaches Yellow Claw’s throne slash harem room where Yellow Claw welcomes him back and asks him how the hell he discovered he had been tampered with.

Vision explains: 1) that he required extra power to recharge, 2) that he detected ultra-wave radiation being emitted from Dr. Liu when he blew up, 3) detected the same radiation from his own bad self. Thus he deduced that he had been altered to be an unwitting mole through which the Yellow Claw could spy on the Avengers and that the alteration was what was draining extra power.

Also why Vision ditched the Avengers and came here instead.

And it was all a very smart move up until it was a dumb one.

Yellow Claw was prepared that Vision might figure things out and show up again so the doorway had a Vision trapping trap installed in it and now Vision is trapped in the Vision trapping trap.

After all his ‘I’ve come alone to defeat you’ bravado, Vision can now only defiantly claim “the other Avengers will turn your dreams into dust!”

You Tried, Vision. You Tried.

But Yellow Claw isn’t done having been one step ahead of things yet.

See, he let Dr. Liu escape and warn the Avengers because based on the broken into vent he knew that Wasp had been in his base and probably saw enough to suspect something was up. The coordinates Dr. Liu gave the Avengers was a trap!

A trap of three strong mooks with really dumb names.

Bludgeoner, Transformer, and Compressor.

Guarantee these guys won’t be recurring.

Anyway. Iron Man and Jocasta repulsor and eyeeeeee beam at the three so Transformer can readily demonstrate why his name when he absorbs the energy and blasts it back at them.

And Bludgeoner and his big hammer hands bludgeon Wonder Man and Captain America.

And Compressor, why if you guessed that his big ol cheese grater hands compress the air between them to put the squeeze on anyone stuck between, ... wow. That’s a really good guess.

You’re good at comic books, friend!

Scarlet Witch uses a hex bolt to drop a stalactite on Compressor to free Beast but the fly swatter hands man crushes the rock and shoots the shrapnel back at Scarlet Witch.

And Wasp is as useless as she often is. Sigh.

Iron Man tries to swing behind Compressor and repulsor him but Compressor blasts air and sends Iron Man SKRRUURRUNCH into the cave dirt, carving up a furrow.

Sure, this has been only two pages but this is a bad showing against three dinguses with dumb names. I mean for crying out loud, a man named Compressor just bodied a guy called Iron Man.

Back at the Claw Cave... no, wait, that’s confusing. The Avengers are fighting in a cave. The Claw Condo? Back at the Claw Condo, Yellow Claw tells Vision that hey his friends are going to die gruesome and frankly embarrassing deaths but maybe Vision could eke out a little win for himself.

Claw has long platonically admired his construction and capabilities and with Dr. Liu exploded, he does need a new second-in-command.

To sweeten the pot, he’ll even explain his villainous plot because I’m sure we’ve all been wondering about that.

Yellow Claw: “You see, my line was created to rule this planet -- though mankind has stupidly resisted that inevitability. But now, despite the chemical concoctions that prolong my existence, I grow old. My years are numbered. And that is why I selected these women, exemplary in both body and mind, to assure a form of immortality.

For each shall bear me a son, and in time those sons shall fight each other to the death! The survivor, the fittest, shall then fulfill my fate by becoming supreme ruler of the Earth!

Though I swear, he’ll not be subjected to the same obstinacy, to the blind sense of human freedom that has frustrated me for these many decades!

For within those cryogenic storage banks is genetic material gathered from the world’s most physically and mentally perfect humans! And from that matter, my heir will create a new order, a new population, all raised to obey by a single edit: unswerving reverence to my son!”

Vision: There is a flaw to your logic, Claw. You seem to forget that there are already several billion people on this planet -- people who will never serve the likes of you.

Yellow Claw: Ah, once more you underestimate me. For at this very moment, the missiles at my Australian launch base are being readied for take-off. Once in orbit around the Earth, they will dock with my private spacecraft.

Then at my command, they will release a specially formulated vapor, one which will permeat the entire planetary atmosphere, rendering everyone on the globe -- except for those here in my closed-environment sanctuary -- irrevocably sterile!

With no children being born, the Earth will be barren in the space of a few generations -- barren save for the followers of the new Yellow Claw!”

Okay, so, credit where it’s due.

That’s a VERY evil plan.

Sterilize planet, replace humanity with genetically servile slave race, make babies fight to the death for the right to rule that whole shebang.

In terms of a dick move that's a major league one.

So when Yellow Claw asks if Vision will become his new number Liu, Vision answers: “Perhaps, miscreant. Perhaps I will join you... in hell!”

Yellow Claw isn’t too bothered by the refusal and even decides to let Vision have a front row seat to his plan being fulfilled.

And I don’t mean tying him to the front of one of the missiles.

I mean, Yellow Claw’s throne room launches from his base as a hot rod pink spaceship, sold separately.

Back at the Avengers fight, Wasp does a thing.

Honestly, its a pleasant surprise.

Her powerset of ‘be small, shoot tiny lasers’ not being much of a help, she thinks outside the box. She scoops some dirt from the cave floor and jams it into Bludgeoner’s arm joints to slow him down.

And then Wonder Man clocks him in the face. Who bludgeons the bludgeoners indeed.

It does go to show that a ‘useless’ power like Wasp’s can actually be very useful if you write her smart. A superhero team should be more than just big punches, more than just spectacular powers. Wasp has great combo potential for playing things strategic and that should be something the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are too.

Beast realizes that Wasp had a really good idea. The Avengers outnumber these three jokers so why not gang up on them with teamwork? Besides, they’re not working together in any way so the Avengers might as well.

So Beast grabs Transformer’s shield arm to leave him open for Jocasta to OPTIC BLAST!

And Cap throws his mighty shield to know Compressor’s arms apart so Iron Man can kick him in the face.

Which is impressive since Iron Man was flat on his ass in the immediately previous panel.

Apparently this was a gaffe caused by the pages being edited separately and the error not being caught before the book went to print.

As far as things go, not the worst error! I didn’t even notice it until it was pointed out.

Anyway, in a fit of pique from his dumb name dudes losing the fight, Yellow Claw kliks a button. The goons join hands or whatever weapon they have passing for hands and then they blow up.

Yellow Claw: “It is done. It cost the lives of three worthy operatives but at last -- the Avengers are dead!”

Ah, villains. Always ready to flip the board if they start losing.

And with the Avengers totally dead for realsies no foolin’ Yellow Claw is free to launch his missiles full of sterility vapors.

Actually, he could do that by remote so I don’t know why he had to wait for the Avengers to be explode. He could have just launched the missiles while they were busy fighting.

Anyway.

With the Avengers dead I guess the book will be about- can’t think of a good one for that recurring goof. So yeah, the Avengers aren’t dead.

Scarlet Witch used her powers to shield the team just in the nick of time.

Captain America: “Thanks, Wanda. If you hadn’t cast that protective hex sphere around us just in time...!”

Scarlet Witch: “Don’t mention it, captain. I rather enjoy being alive myself!”

Although, I didn’t know she could just shield people with her powers like that. Unless she altered the probability that explosions hurt so that they didn’t. Yes, that sounds plausible.

The two flying members of the team, Iron Man and Wonder Man fly out of the cave after the missiles, still determined to save the days as heroes often do.

The missiles launch into orbit and then something really goofy happens.

I’ve been saying missiles because the comic has been saying missiles and I guess they are technically missiles. But if I asked you to imagine a supervillain launching some missiles full of a chemical weapon, would you imagine this?

When the missiles launch into orbit they link up with Yellow Claw’s hot rod pink spaceship.

When I first saw this, I thought: is he going to launch them again from his spaceship? A bit of an unnecessary additional step.

But no. That is not what is going on here.

The man is just super committed to his iconography. The missiles join the spaceship and then bend to make it clear its supposed to resemble a claw.

That’s the kind of goofy nonsense I’m here for.

Iron Man and Wonder Man show up, to Yellow Claw’s alarm, and try to attack the hot pink spaceship but bounce off uselessly. The thing is protected by a strong force field.

Yellow Claw probably goes ‘phew’ internally and gets on with his evil plan.

With the missiles bent, as missiles are known to do??, to resemble claws, they can begin to spray the sterility gas into the atmosphere.

Yellow Claw: “Soon, it will be over! When enough vapors are released to mingle with the entire atmosphere -- the shadow of the Claw shall cover the Earth!”

And with things looking grim, Vision decides that things are down to him. I mean he did go off alone and is now stuck inside the enemy’s spaceship. He’s in a good position to mess things up.

So stuck suspended in a trap, he increases his density and mass to his limit and beyond! One ton, two, further!

The energy bubble holding him gives way to his weight, allowing him to make contact with the deck of the ship. Adding his weight to that of the ship and throwing it out of orbit.

The ship will crash into Earth and at this point, it can’t be stopped.

Yellow Claw is fairly pissed.

He smashes the device holding Vision captive and then starts trying to kill him with his bare hands.

And he’s capable of hitting Vision when he’s intangible because he studied Vision while he was a prisoner, the first time he was a prisoner. And created circuity to his metal sleeves that lets him tangible the intangible.

And thus he tries to strangle Vision.

I’m not sure he needs to breathe. Probably why Yellow Claw is punching him instead in later panels.

Vision points out that this fight is fairly pointless and that Yellow Claw could be using this time to escape but Yellow Claw is determined that he get something accomplished today.

And then the ship crashes into the ocean.

A short time skip later and the Avengers have parked the Quinjet on the ocean (it buoyant) and are searching for the Vision.

How did they know the Vision was here? Didn’t they think he was recuperating back at the mansion?

Apparently another gaffe but one that could be handwaved. Earlier in the issue when the three dumbnames appeared, Yellow Claw appeared on a monitor to taunt the Avengers and Vision was visible behind him. Captain America even appears to be pointing at Vision like ‘hey I know that guy from work.’

So conceivably they knew he was with Yellow Claw when his ship crashed.

Iron Man gives up on searching the ocean, not being able to find the Vision in the water but Vision just peaces in from the sky. He intangible’d out the ship just before the crash. He’s totally fine.

Scarlet Witch: “I am glad that you are safe, my husband. And I’m glad that the danger has ended.”

Vision: “No, my love. Though it is true that the Yellow Claw is dead, that he will no longer plague us with his particular form of madness -- there are too many others like him, others who would rise to power by crushing the freedom that is every being’s birthright.

And as long as any of them remain unchallenged -- the danger will never end.”

With that, Vision sort of stares out across the ocean moodily. Because a true Avengers story ends with someone staring at something moodily.

And I dunno! Maybe it was the extended break from doing this liveblog but this two-parter wasn’t as bad as I dreaded.

Supposedly, part of the impetus of the story was to do a last hurrah story for Yellow Claw and then shove him under some furniture because his yellow peril character concept was growing increasingly awkward.

After one more story in Marvel Fanfare with Cap, Yellow Claw was shelved for nearly three decades.

And man launches sterility gas missiles into space to form a giant claw to make it so that his successor can repopulate the Earth with a new, freedom hating breed of humanity is pretty great as far as comic book nonsense goes.

Although, in retrospect, I’m realizing that this was basically the same plan the Sentinels that kidnapped Scarlet Witch had.

Sterilize the planet with Wanda’s magical uterus and then replace humanity with a genetically engineered kind that could not mutate.

Comic books are weird.

Next time: Human Torch guest stars. Everything is on fire.

Follow @essential-avengers or like or reblog or send me questions or tell me I’m doing an okay job or do nothing. There are many choices available. But I would appreciate feedback.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Ink Please

Discord request fill for @trashydragonartist7

Fandom: undertale aus

Characters and pairing: Ink, Dream, Nightmare, Dreammare

Warnings: lying tw

Word count: 1,687

Summary: Dream and Nightmare are about to cuddle when Ink comes over for a chat.  

Tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi​ @therandomskelekey @capisnotonfire

"I'm really glad that you came. I've missed you..." Dream hummed softly as he moved over to where his other half was currently sitting on his couch.

"You've been busy ever since Ink struck that truce with Error. I'm convinced that one or both of them are up to something, but from what I've seen, Error's just been sitting in his anti-void, watching Undernovella and stealing chocolate from Underfell timelines when he's hungry. What have you been up to?" Nightmare responded with a sigh, one of his tentacles reaching up and curling around one of Dream's wrist - a subtle hand-hold of sorts. 

"Well... Since Error hasn't been destroying things - and Ink has been unable to help create new timelines... he's been going a little stir-crazy. He's been doodling up a storm and helping to fix up anything that's the slightest bit out of order in timelines that already exist. He's also been talking about fighting you and your friends - I mean your evil minions of evilness. To fix the timelines that you're currently ruling... I've been doing all I can to talk him out of doing that... Not that I've told him that you and I collaborated on making that magical mason jar that Blue and I use when he's being completely insufferable and his form destabilizes, so of course you not only know how to make one, you have one on hand in case he is being a terror or a complete nuisance."  Dream ranted, pacing back and forth in front of his beloved. "Blue and I have been desperately trying to come up with anything and everything to keep him from breaking the truce out of boredom. Core's been trying to help as best as they can."

"Ah well I am grateful that you're trying to keep that nuisance from interfering in the dark timelines that he helped to create, and then abandoned to their miserable storylines because that was what the supposed creators that he supposedly worked alongside in order to -" Nightmare started, though the stopped speaking abruptly as someone banged loudly on the door.

Both of the emotive guardians startled and raced for the door, Dream just a touch faster. He peered through the peephole to check who it was and swore under his breath as he turned, opened the closet door and shoved Nightmare inside of it before closing the door shut, whispering "Hide! And please stay quiet!" Before he opened the door, a bright (and fake) smile appearing on his face as he gestured for the person who was at the door to come in. "Hi Ink - how are you?"

"Gooood! I'm super bored though... I helped Captain Alphys repair her training dummies - as well as the walls of her house, but that didn't take more than like... an hour to fix! She was super impressed by how quickly I was able to fix things, and I ended up sparring with her... and then the entirety of Blue's royal guard, which took several hours as they insisted on fighting me individually - apart from Number One and Number two, and Dogamy and Dogaressa! Both of them are really cute couples. So I came to see you!" Ink responded, bouncing a little bit on the balls of his feet "I"m... Bored and I want to do something, but I can't think of anything that wouldn't get me into trouble. I've already pestered Glitchy until he chased me out of that boring, blank space of his. I mean really - why won't he let me decorate the place a little? The Blue Strings and Red Souls are creepy at best."

Dream paused for a moment, thinking "Uhm... Have you tried talking to Outer, to see if he or his people need anything? Their AU is a lot bigger than most, and I'm sure that there's a lot that you could explore?"

"Meh, I was there when the first Outertale was created - that was a lot of fun to help make, you know? SUch space and grandeur... It was stunning to look at, at first... But I know every star, every planet, every asteroid, and comet. I've played cosmic billiards with Glitchy using asteroid belts and danced on planetary dust rings... And before you suggest going to Outerswap or Outerfell, I've done all of that in multiples of those timelines as well... I just wish that there was something new... I'm so bored." INk complained, flopping down dramatically on Dream's couch, pouting for a couple of moments. He then stared hopefully up at the positive guardian "Do you have any ideas? Any clue as to Nightmare and his gang of evildoers are?"

Dream nearly swallowed his tongue as he froze at the sudden mention of Nightmare - who was hiding and irritated in his closet "Uhh... No? Why do you ask?"

"Well... I can't create anything, as agreed with Glitchy... But we've got to stop whatever evil bullshit that Nightmare is up to... Not that you've ever explained how the hell the two of you know each other or anything like that... I'm sure that there's a very interesting story behind that." Ink responded, walking closer to his long-time companion. He was pretty sure he hasn't been to Dream's timeline in a very long time... Or perhaps ever. There were timelines that were spontaneously created - rare as it is that such things happen that way. 

"I... I've told you before, I don't like to talk about my past - and even if I did tell you, Nightmare would do his best to murder you if you gave so much as a hint about knowing said past..." Dream sputtered in protest. 

"I know that the two of you are connected somehow - your powers and his counterbalance each other in a way that I've never seen before... And the way that you talk about him, I'm quite certain that the two of you lived together in the same timeline for a while... Although I can't imagine what that might have been like... Oooh, maybe I could try to do that? I don't like the way his aura affects me much, but it could be fun pestering him regularly... and since he seems to fancy himself as some sort of tyrant of sorts, we could live amongst his people and sow the seeds of rebellion against him... I wonder if it would be fun to be a rebel leader, or perhaps the guiding whisper in their ears... I don't think that I've done a lot of larger-scale strategy like that, but Blue's had a lot of royal guard training - and is very good at instructing others. With your ability to inspire others, my ability to create things - like weapons for those who can't make their magical attacks, and Blue's knowledge of actual fighting training, I bet that we could do quite a lot to help inspire them!" Ink babbled excitedly, his eye lights shifting shape and colors as the plan started to form in his mind.

"And... Uhm... What if they are content to live under Nightmare's rule?" Dream gently prodded, a small frown appearing on his face "Nightmare usually targets darker timelines - most of those timelines I am unable to physically enter, even in pacifist timelines, due to the extremely low positivity... and from what we have been able to observe, he takes them over, not just through force and intimidation. They may be loyal to him because of what he's done for them."

"Oh... I suppose that you're right about that... But he's disrupting the narratives of their stories, which isn't right!" Ink protested "... Although, you not being able to enter those timelines does throw a major wrench into potential plans... I'll have to think about something else to occupy all of the free time I've got, suddenly. Maybe we'll be able to figure out where Nightmare is going to strike next and chase him off before he can get his tendrils in their minds... Bye for now! I've got some thinking and planning to do. See you later, Dream~!" With that, the creative guardian teleported out of the timeline in a flash of rainbow-colored magic. 

Dream silently counted to twenty before he walked over to where Nightmare was, opening the door "I... I think it's safe for you to come out now."

"Thanks... Is he planning on trying to sow chaos and discord in my empire?" Nightmare asked with a huff as he leaves the closet, scooping up his beloved and snuggling the other close.

"I... I don't think so? Long term and large-scale strategy is not something that Ink is good at for several reasons..." Dream responded.

The negative guardian snorts a little bit "For example the fact that he has the attention span of a gerbil and the memory of a goldfish?"

"Hey! Ink's not that bad - and he does his best to adapt to his memory issues by writing things down... But... He is more than a bit scatterbrained, which wouldn't help him in the whole... Plotting to overthrow a supposedly evil overlord. Speaking of, I plan on thwarting your plans for the rest of the day by cuddling you." Dream responded, moving closer to his beloved, wrapping his arms around the other's waist as he rested his head on one of the other's shoulders.

"Well, your sneaky plans happen to coincide with my evil plots for the day. I plan on trapping you in my arms as we watch movies and eat junk food." Nightmare purred in response as he carried the other over to the couch, settling the both of them down on it, grabbing a blanket and draping it around the two of them. he grabbed the remote and started to flick through the movie selection.

"Ah... Our plots align... How fortuitous for the both of us... Mm... Love you." the positive spirit mumbled as he contentedly nuzzled into his other half.

"And I love you... Are you ready to start the first movie? It's about pirates and curses. Adventure on the high seas." Nightmare asked after a moment, smiling gently. Dream nodded in response, and the movie began to play.

[hazelnmae]

Things Unsaid

This was my contribution to the fic exchange hosted by @peakyblindersexchange​ It’s a little Tofie one shot that grapples with the time between Tommy receiving Alfie’s letter and his visit to Margate (and all the feels that happened in between). 

Warnings: Angst, leading to fluff but not quite arriving there. 

Tommy/Alfie Paring.

“I placed the post on your desk, Mr. Shelby,” Frances said as Tommy shed his coat and hat by the door. She knew he’d head directly to his study and would want to see the mail straight away. He’d been on edge, as usual, but had recently received letters and phone calls at strange hours of the day from people she'd never heard of, and that had even Frances worried.

Tommy lit a cigarette as he lazily entered his office and took up the mail stacked neatly on his desk. Without paying attention to the return address, he ripped open the first letter.

He recognized the handwriting immediately and sunk into his chair, his eyes struggling to focus and running too quickly over the words.

In the end, he’d had to reread the letter more than once to catch all of the content. But he’d decided to reread it many more times because of what it meant.

Alfie was alive.

The letter included exactly what Tommy would have expected, had he known Alfie were alive: Some light ribbing about the fact that Tommy couldn't finish the job and question after question about his fucking dog.

It also excluded exactly what Tommy would have expected, had he known Alfie were alive: Any mention, whatsoever, about how he’d survived being shot in the face and left for dead on the beach, and any indication as to whether or not he’d forgiven Tommy for doing what he had to do.

For two weeks, Tommy carried Alfie’s letter in his breast pocket--the fact that it was pressed against his heart wasn’t something Tommy would acknowledge for years to come.

Instead, for those two weeks, Tommy pulled out the letter when he needed a reminder that there was, in fact, hope.

Hope was fleeting. He’d been without it for so long. Had been focused on all that he’d lost, all that he could lose, and all that he’d never have. Tommy had no use for hope. At least that’s what he’d told himself since returning from the war. Everything was extra.

But then hope arrived. In a letter.

And that changed everything.

Now, when Cyril greeted him each evening on his return home, Tommy saw the dog's former owner. He’d worked so hard to forget Alfie since that day on the beach--had tried, and failed, to put him out of his mind as a figment of his imagination, larger than life, and having never existed at all.

But Cyril was a constant reminder that he had been there. That it had been real.

And that it was real still.

Three weeks after receiving Alfie’s letter, Tommy finally sat down to write a response.

What he thought would be difficult, proved to be damn near impossible. While the pen worked almost of its own accord, nothing that came out felt quite right.

Tommy had never been a man of many words. Not for a lack of trying, but because he usually found that words never worked to adequately explain what he was feeling. And because of that, he’d kept it all inside, placing it into neat boxes in an attempt to keep the irreconcilable parts from bumping into one another.

He sat back in his chair and read his own words again. Not completely happy with the result, he folded it neatly and placed it on the corner of his desk.

Tommy would repeat this process three more times over the coming months, each time entering his office with an assurance it would come out correctly, but each time also folding the resulting letter and neatly placing it on top of the others.

The words just never materialized. The sentiment just never worked.

What he wanted to say and what he needed to say were two different things.

He wanted to tell Alfie he was glad he was alive. He wanted to tell him he valued his opinion and missed being able to ask for it. He wanted to tell him he was angry Alfie had forced his hand, but that he’d forgiven him for throwing him over.

But he needed to tell him so much more.

He needed to confess that losing Alfie was like losing Grace all over again. He needed to tell Alfie that he awoke from his dreams wishing he’d just once see his ghost the way he saw hers. He needed to tell Alfie he needed him. That he needed things to change. That he needed to know they could change.

But no matter how hard he tried, those things never seemed to make their way to the paper. Instead the ink wrote of droll stories, happenings since Alfie had been gone, business strategies, and confessions of what worried him.

When the day finally came, writing the letter would no longer suffice. He was out of options. He was out of patience. And he was nearly out of time.

He placed the four letters in a single envelope, carefully sealing the flap with wax, and made his way to the only place that had any chance of granting him peace again.

Tommy went to Margate.

The house was exactly what Tommy had expected. Grand but unimposing. Gothic but not sad. Almost palatial, but somehow exactly suited for the backdrop of the sea behind it.

He nodded to the housekeeper who let him in immediately. But he took his time going to the sitting room. He walked the halls instead, admiring the immense collection of decor. Oil paintings, busts, ornate dishes, floral arrangements--things lined almost every inch of wall and every surface along the way. For most, this would seem comical--a collection of stuff that couldn’t possibly mean a thing. But he knew that wasn’t the case in this house. Every single item had been, no doubt, meticulously examined, mulled over, and selected for a very specific reason.

He entered the sitting room, a song playing casually on the gramophone. It wasn’t a song he’d heard before, but that didn’t surprise him given the person who’d selected it.

The doors opened right up to the beach. The curtains whipped languidly in the breeze.

Tommy stepped out onto the balcony to take in the view. The sun was setting, streaking the sky in orange and purple. He remembered the last time he’d visited that beach. The turmoil he’d faced. The sinking feeling he’d experienced in the pit of his stomach. The moment he’d pulled the trigger.

He remembered almost walking away for good. The tug he’d felt to go back for the fucking dog.

Tommy took up a pair of binoculars that sat by the door. Looking through them, he spotted a ship on the horizon and chuckled to himself thinking of Alfie watching ships as a hobby.

“You out there, Tommy?” A familiar voice rang out from behind him.

And for the first time since the last time he was at Margate, Tommy felt the weight lifted.

Alfie followed Tommy through the house and back to grand entrance to see him off. He was far enough behind him, that he hadn’t noticed when Tommy laid the envelope on the small table near the door. It wasn’t until Tommy had sped off, on his way back toward the chaos of his life and business, that Alfie saw it.

He took up the envelope and read all four letters, right there in the foyer, without even sitting down.

What Tommy had worked so hard to convey and ultimately decided he hadn’t, Alfie noticed straight away.

In one letter, Tommy told him about Charlie--about how much he’d grown, about his admiration for horses, about his mean streak. He told the story of the day Charlie was thrown from a horse in the stables and how Tommy had panicked and rushed him to hospital to learn he’d only had minor injuries. How the nurses didn’t care who he was and chided him for whisking the poor boy into a frenzy over a few bumps and bruises. And about how Tommy had been so relieved that he didn’t care he’d overreacted.

In another letter, Tommy wrote about the war. He shared, for the first time to anyone, his experiences in the tunnels, the horror of the collapse, and the way he still found himself struggling to breath in small, enclosed spaces. He told Alfie something he’d never shared with another person (not even the doctor Ada insisted he see)--the fact that he never took a lift in a tall building, choosing always to find the stairs instead from fear he might find himself trapped and in a panic. He didn’t care if it meant he’d climb ten floors and be late for a meeting. He’d rather be out of breath than risk falling apart in front of a stranger.

One letter was all about business, but the tone of it wasn’t wholly professional. Tommy lamented the loss of Alfie as a partner, spoke of his distillery, and even asked advice on perfecting that fucking gin recipe he was still battling. Without sharing details, as it wasn’t Tommy’s style to divulge his plans, he spoke of his position in Parliament and his work for the labour party. And while he didn’t come right out and admit it, it was clear he was struggling to reconcile his beliefs with his work.

The last letter, the shortest of the four, dealt very simply with the most complex subject--his dreams. Tommy’s dreams had shifted from nightmares of the war to something much darker. He asked Alfie what he thought they might represent but failed to share his own analysis--something Alfie was sure he’d overthought and had his own, very strong and probably incorrect, opinions about.

The last letter ended rather abruptly. After detailing dreams in which Grace visited, trying to convince Tommy it was time for him to pull the trigger and drift away from it all, he simply closed with: “But if you had visited me, Mr. Solomons, I know the message would have been different. You didn’t visit. And now I know why.”

Alfie paused over those last lines, fighting back the tears that threatened to form.

In truth, he was relieved when he woke up on that beach. He’d not admit it to Tommy until some time later.

Now he had another chance.

They both had another chance.

Alfie grabbed the keys from the side table and rushed out of the door as quickly as his aching bones would allow, ignoring the housekeeper yelling after him to get his coat lest he catch his death in the cold.

He simply looked back at her over the car as he opened the door and shouted,

“I’m off to Birmingham, love. You're best off not waiting up.”

[thanksjro]

Polyhex Wars, Book 2 Part 1: Optimus? Oh, You Mean Super Space Christ!

We thankfully get a resolution to that cliffhanger ending from Book 1 right off the bat. Turns out this place is just swarming with Decepticons, who are tending to those nuclear-powered, planet-moving rocket thrusters we heard about back before Red Alert and his team got sent out to almost die.

There’s less than thirty Autobots in Hound’s party, so obviously waging an attack wouldn’t go so hot. They’ll have to get in touch with Optimus. Of course, some of our Autobot friends aren’t feeling terribly reasonable at present.

This is the kind of behavior that makes Optimus wish everyone would just get killed in the space-holocaust. Also, Getaway’s whole role for this story has been “quietly polite and somewhat dull voice of reason.” Such a removal from the character he would end up being.

And before anyone caught in the problematic fave thirst-trap asks, no, he’s not hot in the Marvel comics. He has a face, and as everyone knows, giving characters not intended to have faces faces makes everything worse.

First Aid still can’t seem to pick a spot to exist in, and he’s currently helping the other ‘bots who reentered the stratosphere back to their feet.

The boys have landed in the Rust Pools of Polyhex, and are starting to feel the day, as it were. Still, there’s no time to rest, because they’ve got to find Hound and his crew, and contact Optimus about these rocket thrusters.

The thrusters that he already knows about.

But first let’s check on that flaming wreck off in the distance, the one that Starscream ought to be laying in the middle of.

They take one glance at it, write him off as dead, and then immediately are punished for their sloppy detective work. Leave it to Nightbeat, fellas.

The scene description here is good, even if the dialogue is a bizarre mix between baby’s first screamo band and a synergy seminar.

Back with Optimus, the ship he created with his mind and some fairy dust just entered warp space. He briefs his troops, explaining the situation in Polyhex and how shit will most likely go down once they hit Cybertron.

You can admit to using TFWiki, Optimus. No judgement here, we all do it.

After the briefing, Ratchet and Optimus have a private chat.

No fucking shit, duderoni.

Neither of them seem to be able to figure out just why this is all happening to Optimus, only that it is. Optimus seems to think that there’s something deeper, darker to this, and I can’t help but agree, considering all this started happening right aft he got back from an extended stay in a place with shag carpeting made out of the dead.

Back over with Hound, the Decepticons have decided it’s time to shoot the ceiling, because they know the Autobots are here. A frag grenade pops in to play, and Punch takes one for the team, throwing himself over the bomb and saving his friends. Hound doesn’t take this well, but his righteous indignation is upstaged by Ammo, who uses his obscenely large selection of weaponry to blast a hole in the ceiling for them to escape through.

They pour through the hole, likely singing Ammo’s praises as they do, until the last guy notices that Punch isn’t actually dead.

Well hot dang, wonder who that could be?

Meanwhile, Red Alert and company are running themselves ragged trying to get the hickiddy heck away from Starscream, who is just so unbelievably hot and bothered for murder it’s honestly a little concerning.

Red Alert tries shooting him a few times, but that doesn’t really phase the guy who’s already on fire. Slapdash rushes him, probably because he’s a violent panicker, and is immediately thrown like an empty soda can off into the distance. Starscream’s body has taken the opportunity to start exploding, and Hot Spot starts shooting to take pieces off with a gun. People are still trying to reason with Starscream, as if that were ever an option in this scenario, but he’s so incredibly down for killing everything in sight he’s straight-up lost the ability to hear and rationalize. He rips the gun out of Hot Spot’s hand and pistol-whips him in the face so hard his jaw comes off and his eyes burst into flames. Don’t ask me how exactly that happened, because I couldn’t tell you, but it’s pretty sick.

Red Alert decides that it’s time to retreat back to the Rust Pools, then clocks Starscream in the face before booking it.

Hound and friends are currently climbing an elevator shaft, because we haven’t hit our vent quota for this story yet. They’re doing this in the dark, wary of detection from the enemy. Getaway seems to be beginning to wear thin on this whole “Hound’s in charge” thing, not really appearing to believe that they’ll be reaching the end of this situation without any more issues.

Then the elevator starts up.

Man, don’t you just hate it when the asshole has a point?

Red Alert orders his team to jump into the pools, grasping at straws at this point, as Starscream continues to tear ass to get to them. There’s a rumor that some forgotten base is at the bottom of one of these pools, and that’s about as far as planning’s gone. Luckily any and all rumors in fiction turn out to be true in at least some capacity, and they all fall through the ceiling after a few well-placed blaster shots.

They hole up in an air lock, and after a bit of pontificating, Red Alert makes them aware of just where they’ve ended up- Emirate Xaaron’s old hangout.

Hot Spot is dying, by the way. Just throwing that out there. He’s dying while Red Alert does this.

Once they get through the air lock, they can get to a teleport that will take them to the Primus chamber, where they can get the medical attention they so desperately need. They better get moving though, because Starscream’s started banging on the door, and absolutely nothing has stopped him so far, so what’s a little steel going to do?

Hound’s reached the top of the elevator shaft, but he’s towards the front of the line, so that still doesn’t bode terribly well for the guys behind him, especially since the elevator’s catching up. In a fit of desperation, he blasts a door open and more or less starts throwing his buddies through it to safety. The last one in the line is Multibot.

Yeah, Multibot doesn’t make it. He gets crushed between the elevator and the ceiling of the shaft, exploding on impact. So much for that corpse he had tucked away for safekeeping. The elevator doors open, and we get a look at someone we haven’t seen Roberts take on just yet.

That is a positively MASSIVE elevator.

Starscream seems to have forgotten his original plan here- y’know, the only constant in his life i.e. killing Megatron- and is doing his absolute best to tear through the airlock door and get at these Autobots. Red Alert’s two seconds from having a conniption as Transit tries to work the teleport and get them out of there. Problem- the darn’s thing’s busted. Not enough to be totally useless, but they can’t program in where they want to go. They’re at the mercy of whatever the last coordinates were.

They end up in the catacombs. Fun fact about the catacombs- they’re really, really, REALLY big. They could walk around basically forever and never get anywhere useful. At this point, y’all should just go back to bed and call this day a bust.

Luckily, they actually aren’t terribly far from their creator god’s chamber, and they all enter to find the eternally sleeping face of Primus. Then he starts moving.

And lo, whoev'r is deem'd w'rthy shalt ascend to the vore throne to ruleth all of Cyb'rtron, f'rev'r and ev'r.  Amen.

Looks like someone’s already been crowned king of vore, though, because, as it turns out, Megatron’s already sitting on that throne.

Which… makes sense, if you know enough about the Marvel comics.

Back over with Hound, it looks like it’s his turn to friggin’ snap, as our sweet, compassionate boy boils over into full hateful bastard-mode. He still doesn’t kill anyone though; it’s made very clear that he’s still maintaining that one personal rule. What do you want to bet that Courier’s going to make him toss that little caveat right out the window once he’s found out?

Shockwave’s surprised to see the Autobots doing so well despite being outnumbered and outgunned. Knowing when to call it quits, he orders a retreat to regroup under the mindful wing of Mama Megatron. He’s about the only one who gets away, the others tied up and at the PG-rated mercy of the Autobots.

There’s one guy who’s had his legs torn off and been bashed in the head bad enough to cause a stutter, who begs for his life. Hound, ever compassionate, orders he be treated for his wounds and then tied to the others. Fistfight has other ideas.

Oof, looks like we just got upgraded to a PG-13!

I mean, he’s a Decepticon Action Master partner accessory parading around as an Autobot here for some reason. This is sort of something you should have seen coming.

Hound pushes Fightfight down on the ground and gives him a stern warning to not try anything like that again, otherwise he’s going to tell Optimus, and then you’re gonna be in so much trouble! I worry that Hound perhaps doesn’t quite understand that administering punishment is part of the whole leader thing, and that in for for it to be effective, you need to actually use it as opposed to just threatening someone with it.

The Autobots get moving again, with Hound making a comment to Blaster to keep an eye on Fistfight.

It’s been a minute since we’ve checked in on Optimus, so let’s see what he’s up to. His magic mind ship has just reentered regular space, and they’re going to reach Cybertron in just a little while. Once they land, they’ll go find the rest of the Autobots in Polyhex and then take this whole Decepticon operation down.

Hot Rod makes a cameo, but there’s no time to indulge in whatever he’s trying to tell Optimus, because the ship is suddenly shot in the butt and starts crashing towards the surface of the planet. Optimus takes the opportunity to pull a Skywarp with his new powers, disappearing in a beam of light like it’s the friggin’ space-Rapture. He winds up outside the ship, floating above the planet, and mind-slaps the turrets that had been causing the ship so much trouble.

Red Alert’s day just keeps getting worse; Hot Spot’s still dying, Slapdash might actually be going insane, Megatron’s here, and they’re all being strapped into electric chairs. Where did the electric chairs come from? Why are they in the Primal chamber? What purpose do they serve here? Not a clue, but maybe we’ll get to it next time.

Meanwhile, Hound’s not feeling too fantastic himself. One of his guy’s just murdered someone in cold blood, they’ve lost a third of their party, and there’s a traitor in their midst.

At least Optimus is having a good day, I guess.