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imdoingaokay · 2 years ago

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hey could you do a part 2 to "male companions react to f!sole dying in childbirth" with nick and x6? my friends on discord love it and we're really sad that not all the male companions were in it

This was way longer than I expected it to be, like... holy shit. But this is what happens when you request less companions I guess?

X6 was way longer than I expected it to be, and the original ending was going to be way sadder but I decided against doing that because... yikes.

I hope you enjoy it, regardless.

Nick Valentine:

He’s by Sole’s side in an instant, ordering that the baby be taken from the room. He’s comforting Sole as much as he can before they pass, which came by fairly quickly. He knew what was happening, and through his tears, he promised Sole to be the best father he could be.

He’s quick to steel himself (no pun intended) after his partner/wife’s death. He decides to stay in Sanctuary for a while, choosing it as it was the safest option. But once his child gets old enough to attend school, he whisks them away to Diamond City, where they will be properly raised. During the time between his child’s birth and their entrance into school, Nick hangs up his detective coat, knowing that he couldn’t bring himself to leave them just to go on some elaborate case.

Once he returns to Diamond City, and his little one is settled, he begins his work again. And he has a lot of work to do. He leaves as little as he can, but there are far too many times when he misses out on the activities his child participates in. This, crazy enough, leads to some animosity between the two. As his child grows into a young adult, he worries for them. The tension and anger between the two build until there is a breaking point.

It’s a quiet evening when he walks into the pair’s shared home, only to find it eerily quiet. Sole’s old Pip-Boy isn’t playing music… in fact, it doesn’t even seem like it’s there.

He rushed up the stairs to find his child’s empty room, he searches everywhere for them, or at least some kind of note. And luckily, he finds a holotape and successfully gets something to play it.

“Hey Dad, ugh… *rustling noises* Listen, I can’t stay here anymore. I love you, Dad. But you’re barely around. I feel like you’re not even my dad anymore… I’m recording this in case you do notice me gone, but if not, I guess you’re better off without me. I’m leaving Diamond City and I’m gonna explore the Commonwealth. I want to learn more about Mom, so I’ve contacted some of her old friends. I guess I might see you again, maybe… I dunno… Bye, I guess.”

Nick’s stomach drops, and he immediately gets up, wracking his brain around what is happening to his child. Soon enough, he has on his coat and hat and he nearly sprints away from Diamond City to begin a frantic search.

He visits the Brotherhood (If they’re still there) and gets nothing, maybe a few thinly veiled threats, but nothing. Nobody saw the kid.

He visits the Railroad (If they’re still there) and gets nothing, maybe a few weird looks from Deacon, almost like he’s not telling Nick something. Aside from him, nobody saw the kid.

He resolves to look at The Castle, where he finds Preston, who took up the mantle of General. He shrugs, claiming that he hadn’t seen anyone. Nick pauses at a little memorial for Sole, head in his hands. A few small children bumbled into the room where the memorial was, laying down some hubflowers. He looks over the offerings made by fellow minutemen, pilgrims, and survivors, seeing cakes, flowers, Sole’s ring, and some Nuka-

Sole’s ring?

Just before the birth of their child, Sole’s hands had begun to swell a little, so she took off the said ring and placed it by her bedside. She had told Nick she planned to give the ring to their child when they grew a little, making sure that they had something to remember her by if something happened. After Sole’s death, Nick had given the ring to their child, not before putting a small chain into the hoop to make the ring a necklace.

If that ring is here, it means someone stole it from his kid… Or Preston was a liar.

He marches up to him and immediately interrogates him, furious.

Preston calmly explains that, while the kid was there, they only stayed for a while, leaving soon after they got what they desired. Preston won’t say anymore, as the kid requested that this be done on their own.

Nick won’t be given any more information, but like any good detective, he sets out again.

But something is drawing him towards Far Harbor.

He visits the Nakano’s and finds their navigating ship is gone. Someone used it recently. Unlike Preston, Mr. Nakano isn’t nearly as secretive. He knows what it’s like to lose your only child.

He tells Nick that they did go to Far Habor, and while he tried to convince the child to go home, they wouldn’t listen. Mr. Nakano offers the second navigating ship he has, encouraging Nick to find his child.

So one ride and plenty of fear later, he reaches the half-sunken docks of Far Habor. And lo and behold, he sees the Nakano’s original navigating ship.

So he looks.

He looks in town (whatever is left of it,) Arcadia (whatever is left of it,) and even the Nucleus (whatever is left of it) but he is still unsuccessful.

His search has turned fruitless and without a single sign from his child, Nick accepts the fact that his child is most likely gone. He hopes to find something, a body, a Pip-Boy, something of theirs. Something he can take home and bury next to their mother, something he can grieve over.

He wanders back to the docks, mourning his child quietly. He lets his feet dangle off the side of the old wood, watching the waves lap at the beams. He feels the weight of his guilt slowly press into him, and he blames himself for everything. He should’ve been there, should’ve paid more attention, he should’ve-

“In olden days, a glimpse of stocking… was looked on as something shocking, but now, God knows, anything goes.”

Nick knows that song, he knows it. He turns, and when he can’t see good enough, he stands and follows the sound of music.

And he sees them.

They look… good, actually. Little to no scars, dressed in mercenary’s duster, no doubt from some dead guy on the road, and a Pip-Boy attached to their wrist.

He calls out their name, worried that it’s just some different person, someone who just looks just like his child. But, when they look up at him, surprised to see him, Nick breaks.

His child has to catch him when he falls to his knees, and the two share a tight hug. There are apologies, from both Nick and the kid. The pair do head home, at least… once Nick has been regaled the stories of the Commonwealth and his child’s adventures. There are tears, laughs, and more apologies. And somewhere in there, there’s enough healing to mend the two’s relationship.

X6-88:

Like Gage, there are two potential outcomes, and they rely on whether or not The Institute is still around.

If Sole was the director, and the Institute is still up and running, X6-88 is very upset. Not just with himself, because he totally blames himself for Sole’s death. But he blames the Institute, how could an organization with perfect technology fail its leader? How could she die? It doesn’t make sense!

He doesn’t cry, however, and barely bothers to look at the child. He doesn’t believe he deserves the right to call them his child. So he does what he thinks he should do.

He wipes his memory.

And after that, he returns to work. But curiously, he is tasked to be the personal protector of the Director’s child. He has a strange fondness for them but doesn’t question it further. But he’s strangely happy to be their bodyguard, despite the fact that the Insitute has no real danger.

Years go by, and the child grows up, clever and curious about their surroundings. They wonder what is above the Insitute, and when they are told “nothing of importance,” they merely question more. They try to ask X6-88, but they claim their memory wipe took away any memories of the surface.

Memory wipe, huh?

It takes a long while for them to map out their escape from their room to reach the proper area to sift through the records, and they know that they’ll only have one chance.

Luckily, they are X6-88’s child, and they are one step ahead of their father. Despite not knowing who X6 really is.

So, under the cover of darkness, the child makes their move when the artificial night comes in over the underground facility. Whether they dodged, hacked into, or simply broke the guarding gen 1 and 2 synths, the kid made it into The Synth Retention Division.

Scouring through decades of old records, they find what they were looking for, a few screenshots of the outside world from X6-88’s point of view. The world above is dead, but the people apart of it, they’re very much alive. They were told that there was nothing up there but monsters and bad people… but X6-88 saw a lot of good things above ground. Why would anyone in the Institute not want that?

But then they decide to read through the reports, and the emails… and things begin to click.

Holy shit, X6-88 is their dad.

They’re angry, furious even. How could they not tell them?

Why did they get a memory wipe?

Were they not good enough?

A million thoughts race into their mind, so much so that when they are walking back to their quarters and are caught by the synths, they can’t even argue.

A synth is their father… and their mom chose him for a reason, right?

When they get back to their room and are gently scolded by X6, they can’t bear to look at them. Refusing to acknowledge his presence.

They have to leave. They can’t stay here.

The Insitute keeps secrets, The Insitute lies… what were they keeping them for? Were they just another cog in their machine?

The child makes a decision to leave, permanently. They train themselves to fight, they learn how to properly provide for themselves, and they even find a stash of caps that their mother had left years prior. A few perfectly placed radio signals later and the child has a place to stay.

And under the cover of night, they slip away, permanently.

Which only causes chaos.

The Insitute realizes that they may have screwed up big time, and once they see that, they attempt to prevent X6 from going after them. Well, sike, that doesn’t work. After all, X6 is their guardian, so his job is to protect them. And that includes the Commonwealth and all of its monsters.

It takes him very little time to track the kid down, and when he finds them, they’ve cleared out a raider den in downtown Boston, looking over the bones of a destroyed city.

“You’re my father, did you know that?” They ask once X6 gets close, their senses are definitely heightened compared to a normal child, “I guess you don’t, nobody told you… nobody told me either.”

X6 realizes, though, that they aren’t a child at all. They’re grown up, they’re an adult now, with the same fire that their mother held… wait, their mother held? He didn’t remember the Director, why did he recognize the child though?

“I don’t want to go back!” They shout, lifting their gun to point at X6, “I don’t want to!”

“This city is no place for you.” “And the Insitute is?! I’m not going back! I will never go back! I don’t want to look at you!” They scream, and X6 can’t help but feel hurt.

“I raised you-”

“As a fucking guardian! Not as a father!” They yell, there was that name again… father.

X6 didn’t think of himself as a father, he knew he couldn’t be. Why were they calling him that? Was he really…?

X6 thinks for a moment, what was he programmed to do for this child? He was supposed to do something, right? He was supposed to…

“My job is to protect you… I will not bring you back… But let me protect you.” X6 says, hating the desperation in his voice.

The kid lowers their weapon, looking sadly at X6 before huffing, “Okay. But if you try to take me back… I’ll… I’ll never forgive you.”

And X6 agrees to that.

The two go and explore the Commonwealth together, fixing problems that arise around them. X6 remains a somewhat silent bodyguard for the child, quietly watching and intervening when needed. Of course, the child is more than capable of themselves, so he really has no need to worry. But he does, because that’s what parents- no, guardians do.

But, eventually, he needs questions answered.

By then, after years of slowly leaking into the Commonwealth, the Insitute was slowly destroyed, and the knowledge they clung to so tightly was eventually shared. And while it took a great deal of time, an actual society was slowly returning to the Commonwealth. And now, all that remained was a shaky ruin of what used to be the Insitute.

X6 was able to meander in, carefully ducking the few working synths that littered the tomb. He finally found the terminal he had been seeking, and with a few taps, he saw that his memories weren’t deleted, just transferred. He looks at the child, who was traveling with him at the time, almost waiting for guidance. But the child only smiles and says that it’s his decision to make.

X6 thinks for a moment, before deciding to transfer the memories back into himself, thus opening Pandora’s box.

There is a short moment where he ponders his choices, gasping for air on a now gray floor littered with broken glass and the occasional broken down synth. He takes off his sunglasses and looks up, mourning the loss of his love, child, and any time he could’ve spent with them.

Luckily, his child is still there, albeit, grown up.

He knows Sole would’ve been furious if she was there, she would’ve been broken-hearted that X6 chose to forget her instead of raising their child. But perhaps he could make up for that.

He’s far more protective of his child now, and he refuses to leave their side, even as they grow older and get into relationships and settle down themselves.

He’ll never truly forgive himself for what he did, but he’s honestly just so relieved to have his memories back, memories of Sole.

On the other hand.

If the Insitute was destroyed, it’s a bit different.

Once Sole passes away, X6 thinks about getting a memory wipe. He heads to Goodneighbor, baby in tow. And goes to Doctor Amari, who is hesitant to give X6 his desired memory wipe. She tells him that he has to wait until the next day, but encourages him to stay in Hotel Rexford.

That night, he watches his child for what feels like eons, watching them breathe quietly and gurgle to themselves. He thinks of Sole, and how happy they were to find out they were pregnant. And he can’t bring himself to forget that.

The next day, he returns to Doctor Amari, only to apologize and explain that he couldn’t go through with it. Amari smiled and wished him well, deciding not to tell him that she expected this. She lied to him, claiming the memory wipe had to be done the next day when she knew that he would regret the wipe as his child grew. And one day, the child would find out for themselves the true identity of their father.

X6 moves to Sanctuary, working as a guard for the settlement. And he raises his child. Of course, he’s great at it. As his little one had X6 wrapped around their pudgy finger.

He answers every question about the child’s mother and teaches them to combat when they’re older. And he’s there for them at every moment.

#nick valentine #fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout #fallout 4 companions #x6 88 #fo4 x6 88

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years ago

Text

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means.

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place.

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking?

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his.

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today.

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way.

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan.

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!”

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.”

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.”

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile.

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried.

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life.

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism.

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want!

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart.

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time.

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

“But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much.

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line.

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one.

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!”

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour.

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made.

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them.

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good.

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into.

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog.

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie?

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun.

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking.

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable.

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up.

Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this?

It didn’t matter.

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed.

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good.

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?”

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully.

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus #Logan is bad at feelings #so bad #now with more logan angst #Patton is a good friend #This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that #alcohol #drunk logan

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hockeywhy · 4 years ago

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caught in the middle (2); m. barzal

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 WARNINGS: language; there’s a suggestive scene in one of the flashbacks, but nothing more than that. WORD COUNT: 8.1k A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the first part! Your feedback got me so excited to continue working on this, and I hope you’ll enjoy this part also. I’ve been thinking about the story so far and its development, and I don’t see it ending at three parts like originally intended, so let’s see how it goes. Again, sections in italics represent flashbacks.

You swipe a palm across the mirror, brushing some of the condensation away and heave a sigh at your reflection. From beyond the door, you can just barely make out the sound of footsteps across the parquet of the living room accompanied by what was undoubtedly the slide of suitcase wheels. The room is otherwise quiet, no television on or music to provide a distraction or perhaps a little more noise and now more than ever, you know what it means when they say silence can be deafening. It makes you feel more exposed, anxiety heightened as if you should do anything in your power to try and lighten the mood but you’ve had countless of experiences in which trying too hard rarely paid off - if ever, really. Mat hadn’t said much either aside from letting you know you could have the bed as the couch could be converted into one and there were spare pillows and covers stored neatly in one of the cupboards, so you simply thanked him then called dibs on being the first to shower.

It isn’t running away, you remind yourself, head bowed. It’s buying some extra time.

Not only is this the first time in months you are to be in Mat’s presence for longer than a few minutes, but this is also the first time you and Mat would spend the night separated by a wall when previously, you couldn’t seem to be able to get close enough to one another. Before this, enough wasn’t quite enough. Before this, you’d count the minutes to when you could get home and be with Mat. It’s strange to be so close to him, to need to be so close to him, and yet neither of you can find comfort in that any longer.

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly until you see stars behind them, then open them a few seconds later and blink away the brief daze. Like a presenter about to walk on a stage in front of thousands, you take a deep breath and exhale it quickly before proceeding to replace the towel around your body with one of the hotel issued robes.

You crack the door open just a little, briefly taking a peek of Mat right as he begins wrestling with opening the couch. There’s more grunting and turning one way or the other to peek at the inner mechanisms than there is actually succeeding in stretching it out and you can’t help the feelings of guilt that course through you. But it’s not like you can imagine being in the same bed as him again and trying to check for any additional spare rooms with reception is entirely out of question. There’s no way you’d be able to do that without anyone catching on to that and questioning it. This isn’t the weekend for it, after all. The last thing you need is to take or share the limelight.

Mat must’ve felt your presence because he turns to look at you over his shoulder, and he takes that as a cue to give himself a break from wrestling with the couch. He huffs tiredly, standing up and brushing his palms against his jeans.

“All yours,” you say, stepping away from the bathroom door, the clothes you wore on the drive over held closely against your chest. “No luck with that yet?”

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Mat responds, frowning down at the couch.

He stands rooted to the spot looking down at it as if it offended him, hands on hips and all, while you look at him glued to your own space halfway between the bathroom and the door to the bedroom of the suite. In a manner you can’t quite explain, it feels almost as if time stops in place because of course, your luck is that bad apparently: heaven forbid it would’ve done that at a better time in your life. He appears to be lost in thought, so despite yourself, you make the most of this moment.

You look at his profile and recall how many times you cradled his head in your hands, pulling him in to kiss him: his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth, lips trailing along the line of his jaw. You think of the countless times in which his lips pressed against yours and every inch on your body and recall how his voice emanated warmth and love, and during those moments, you thought nothing and no one would be able to tear you apart from each other. You look at his hair and if you truly take the time to focus, you can easily recall the texture of those strands, just the perfect length for your fingers to twirl and play with, and how you would often detect notes of vanilla, coconut and something flowery - you shampoo, because he loved it so much. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his torso and remember the countless times his body was pressed against your own and how each and every time you thought this is where I’m safest. You look at his hands and still feel the softness of them upon your own and even know, you can still picture the way your fingers interlocked with his own and they fit perfectly.

A shortness of breath makes you cough quietly, eyes blinking rapidly at the sudden blurriness and before Mat can look your way, you quickly cover the distance to the room and the door latches closed behind you with a soft click.

Palms pressed against your mouth to muffle any sounds, you squeeze your eyes as tightly as you can and slide down against the wood until you’re down on the floor and pray to whoever or whatever may be listening that Mat can’t hear the sobs you’re trying so hard to hold back despite this battle having been lost before you even had a chance to stand against it.

You know now as well as you knew it back then: you miss Mat and you love him, and you’re terrified that a time when all of these feelings will be nothing but dull memories will never come.

“Holy shit, that was cool.”

Mat shifts his body, turning so that he can prop himself up on his forearms, one on each side of your body. You look down at him, fingers falling out from his hair and he arches an eyebrow.

“I can do that with my eyes closed,” he declares.

You blink, a little confused, and then it dawns on you. “Pff.” A short laugh leaves your mouth and that seems to prompt Mat to narrow his eyes at you. Two can play the game, and you’re a pro at keeping up with him. “I mean, you say you can but you didn’t score a goal like that yet, so what makes you so sure?”

On TV, the commentators pour praise on the unique between-the-legs goal scored and you make an entire show out of admiring the replay, whistling quietly. Mat gently tips your head away from the TV and he continues holding on to your chin to prevent you from looking away a second time.

“Mark my words, baby. I’ll do it at our next game and then you’ll see. It’ll be ten times cooler,” he promises, determination backing his every word and it makes you grin because you know Mat is a man of his word and you can already imagine him trying his damnest to make that happen.

Still, you hum contemplatively, not quite wanting to give in to him so quickly. You know Mat’s playful display of ‘jealousy’ was nothing but a front. It was one of his many ways of saying look at me or give me attention, any variant of an indirect way of asking you to reiterate your love towards him simply because he loved hearing the reassurance. Not that you could imagine feeling any other way towards him; not that you’d want to have it any other way. That, and, well, Mat could be a bit of a baby sometimes.

“Do that,” you begin, and this time, it’s your hand under his chin, encouraging him to come closer, closer, closer until his warm breath collides with your own, “and I’ll make your congratulations, you’re so cool award the most unforgettable one so far.”

You know your words would put a gleam in his eyes, that unmistakable hitch of his breath and the curve of a smirk on his lips. He crawls a bit further up until he’s almost nose to nose with you and instinctively, you raise a leg and wrap it over his waist, squeezing a little. He’s close enough, practically glued to you, but it’s the first evening you get to have him all to yourself after weeks of away games and you want all of him. As does he. Mat leans down to peck your lips once, twice, three times and he whispers an ‘oh yeah?’ that makes goosebumps form across your skin.

“Mhm,” you hum and this time, you crane your neck to kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers gently grazing along the back of his neck. He trembles ever so lightly in your hold and you know that has nothing to do with the temperature in the apartment because it’s warm, just right. “Do it for me, Mat. Show off.”

He laughs quietly against your lips and he begins trailing kisses from your jaw to the side of your neck and you tip your head back for him, eyes fluttering closed as a content sigh leaves your parted lips. There’s a shift of material and moments later, Mat’s slightly calloused palms crawl underneath the t-shirt that was once him but you claimed as your own months ago. It’s big around you, sleeves coming up to your elbows and you know that his last name is written in big bold white letters on the back although it’s pretty washed out now. His lips are now on your exposed stomach, butterfly kisses peppering your warm skin and you bite your lip while watching him do this. Strands of unstyled jet black hair tickle as he moves and you giggle quietly. It’s the sound of it that makes Mat look up and there’s a wicked smile on his lips. Moving swiftly, he sits back on the couch and pulls you to straddle his lap, body yielding to him before he gives you the control. Do what you want, however you want it.

It’s your turn to slide your hands under his shirt and he doesn’t hesitate to stretch his arms up so that you can remove it for him, discarding it wherever it may fall. You slide your thumb against his lower lip and Mat barely just manages a chaste kiss to it before you lower your head down to kiss him and his lips part, the movement automatic. It’s the sort of kiss that’s sloppy and hot and you know you’ll remember it for days; hell, he’ll remember it for days, asking you to do that thing you did in the early hours of the morning or long after the sun has gone down or bringing it up over the phone when it’s just him and no one else in a hotel room hundreds of miles away from home, missing everything that has to do with you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breathless and flushed once you both part from the kiss. You can’t help but grin proudly at how his eyes flutter closed and he stills in your arms though you know adrenaline pumps through his body the same way it does through yours. “I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom,” he admits and you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, no shit,” you agree and just to make a point out of it, you relax your body so that you’re sitting back on his lap and there’s no mistaking whatsoever that he’s hard. “Well, there’s no rush anyway. We have all the time in the world, and an entire place to ourselves so…” you trail off, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

Mat opens his eyes and moves his hands from your hips to cradle your face, holding you in place to peck your lips. “So, I’m gonna love you so hard, it might just give that award of yours a run for its money.”

You arch an eyebrow, pulling back enough so that you can tug the t-shirt over your head, dropping it to join his. “Walk the talk, Barzy,” you say.

He didn’t need any more encouragement than you already gave, but your words kick him into action almost instantly.

A sharp thwack sound catches your attention and you look over in the distance to where Mat looks off in the distance while Tito prepares for his turn. It’s too far for you to see where the ball went but judging by Mat’s reaction, it’s obvious he didn’t quite nail whatever he intended to do. Tito probably chirps him for it because Mat throws a punch at his arm that you know is so light that probably neither of them felt it. Still, they laugh and the sound barely just carries over to where you’re sat.

“He’s like that now, but if you’d seen him before the two of you got here…” Elise trails off and you just about manage to see her shake her head as if words wouldn’t even be sufficient in describing how Tito was. Still, there’s just so much fondness in her expression as she looks towards him out on the golf course that it makes you warmer than the light fleece blanket you wrapped around your shoulders.

“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” you say.

“You’d think!” Elise repeats. “The past two mornings, he got up at who fucking knows when and went for a run. Not even a casual jog or whatever, but you’d think he’s been training for the Olympics.”

You burst into laughter at the image that forms in your head of Tito being so full of nervous energy that he becomes the metaphorical lion in a cage. Still, it doesn’t surprise you as much as you thought it would. While away, you and Tito have been in contact occasionally either through texts or through the phone and often, he’d begin by saying “what do you think she’d say to XYZ”. He never failed to amuse you because many of his concerns were so small, but you could only imagine what it’d be like to be in his shoes: they were about to tie the knot and this isn’t exactly a day to day type of event. Elise was at that point also, back when preparations for it were just kicking off and most of their days consisted of appointment after appointment with wedding planners that occasionally made her feel as if she’d never be able to pick from all the choices laid out to her. With the day just around the corner, she seems more content, more relaxed. Of course, her nerves are still there but Elise has the sort of air around her that puts you under the impression it wouldn’t be impossible for her to conquer the world in the next hour if she suddenly decides to.

You reach for your drink, twirling the straw around the glass before taking a sip from it. The tang of citrus is refreshing but you do need a quick sip of water to mellow the sharpness of alcohol mixed in.

“Want to bet he’ll be the one crying when he sees you walk the aisle?” you ask her, wiggling your eyebrows at her suggestively.

Elise smiles, a small almost shy smile as she diverts her gaze towards her own drink. She takes a sip from it but she still smiles around the straw. “Let’s hope I don’t start first and end up tripping on my way there.” She physically cringes at the thought of it, eyes squeezing shut and shoulders trembling before she quickly waves her hands as if trying to dismiss the idea. “Oh god, no, I can’t think of it otherwise it’ll happen.”

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her, reaching to grasp her hand and Elise welcomes the gesture, squeezing your own in return but still holds on to it as if for dear life. “I promise. It’ll go by so smoothly and everything will be perfect.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You’re usually right.”

“Not always,” you correct her, lightheartedly while trying to prevent your mind from beginning a count of the amount of times you’ve been wrong. You don’t need that spoiling your mood or worse, the evening overall.

Elise ponders on that. “Actually, you’re right. Remember before you left and said Mat would be fine, he’s a big boy, after I said it’ll be hard for him to get used to it?” You swallow uncomfortably. Yes, you remember that. Clear as if it only happened yesterday. “Well, you were wrong about that for sure.”

Your mouth feels dry and it’s as if all energy has been sucked out of you suddenly, and all in one go. You don’t want to have this conversation and you certainly don’t want to look into this much more than you should. After all, you and Mat agreed you’ll put up a front so for all you know, he may just be a better actor than you imagined he’d be. Mat was only putting on an attitude everyone expected him to have and that’s all there is to it. You did it too, after all. When Elise would call or come down to Baltimore and Mat would come up in conversation, you told her how much you missed him; how even if you called and FaceTimed, it wasn’t enough.

“So then come back,” she’d tell you. “It’s not like they wouldn’t want you back in New York, if it’s work related.”

“Mat understands,” you’d push back each time. “Besides, he’s coming over this weekend,” you’d add and make a note to text him so that he doesn’t end up in some New York bar with Tito, Elise and other people when he should be in Baltimore instead.

It was selfish and restricting, and you’d apologise for it but each time, Mat would brush it off without fail.

It’s fine, he’d assure through text. I wanted an excuse to spend the weekend in, anyway.

“I’m sure he was exaggerating most of the time,” you tell Elise dismissively, carefully sliding your hand from hers as you lean back in the plush seat and pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders.

You try not to look at Elise because you know the expression she wears: it’s serious; the type of look that she puts on whenever you try to make light of a serious situation, practically reading don’t lie to yourself and mostly importantly, don’t try and bamboozle me. It never works. Not with her.

“Y/N.” Your name falls from her mouth sharply and you can’t help but direct your gaze back to her. “I don’t know Mat like you do, maybe not even as well as Tito does, but you’d think he was going through heartbreak when you left. Moping, I can put up with and distract from so believe me when I say that wasn’t what he was doing. You’ve seen his games, right? You saw how it even affected him on ice.”

You bite on your back teeth, jaw squaring. As much as you wanted to keep yourself away from anything to do with Mat, you couldn’t help but switch back to his games whenever they were on, doing some childish back and forth between channels. Mat did play differently. Still giving it his best, but aggressively; sometimes, he even fell for whatever bait the opposing team would throw at him in the form of chirps and you didn’t need to be a lip-reading expert to know he’d always respond. Once or twice, he landed himself in the penalty box for minor misconducts that seemed so out of character for him.

“It’s fine now,” you say, in hopes of leading out of this subject. “I’m back in New York for a while, so it’s fine now.”

“Is it?” She asks, and you know this isn’t just because of what she saw of Mat without you. She questions it because she’s also seen you without Mat. “Was there… Uh. Was there more to it?” She cringes a little, and quickly tries to dismiss herself with a wave of her hand. “Don’t feel obliged to tell me if you don’t want to. It does seem like you guys are fine, but… You know I’m here for you, right?”

You force a smile and nod quickly.

The first few weeks in Baltimore gave you a good taste of what your own personal little hell was like. You didn’t have Elise, you didn’t have Rachel, you had none of your closest friends and it felt like a lot of the after-work drinks you’d go on with your new colleagues were mostly out of your own desperation to stretch the day longer, essentially avoiding returning to an empty place. Generally, you adapt well to situations and people, but you were effectively trying to build afresh from the ground up and on bad days, the really awful ones when loneliness and heartache reared their ugliest faces towards you, there was no one for you to pour your most honest feelings out to. Several times, you wanted to reach out to Elise and come clean but it wouldn’t be fair. She was in the full swing of preparing for her wedding and the last thing you wanted to do is go crying to her.

Of course, there was no Mat either. There was no Mat because there was no such thing as breaks in a relationship so you gave him the thing you were certain he tried to avoid voicing, but definitely referred to: a break-up.

“No, nothing else to it than that,” you assure her, breaking your own train of thought while simultaneously giving yourself a mental pat on the back for the ease with which you weaved your story. “I mean, it’s been a bit weird to be apart over the period, especially since we didn’t know what’s to come, work-wise, but we’re fine now.”

“You two know best what’s good for the both of you and your relationship,” Elise says, “but take it from me: get away together if you can. It’s not easy, you know. Doing your own thing while he does his, progressing in what you’re both best at but sometimes, it gets to you. The distance, the days gone by with them on the road, the worry that maybe, just maybe, they’ll come back and they won’t be the same. I had that worry also once too, you know.”

The admission takes you by surprise. Elise laughs quietly at the sight of your slightly widened eyes because you haven’t heard this before. Sure, she told you of missing Tito while the Islanders were off to away games but she never truly admitted the thoughts coursing through her mind.

“He never once gave me reasons to doubt him, but at the back of my mind, I’d be so worried. You know how the stereotype surrounding athletes goes.” She rolls her eyes, and you know exactly what she’s referring to. “Tito’s handsome and young and his face is on TV, but the fact that a man is taken hasn’t exactly stopped people before. I can’t tell you how many times I waited—no. Expected him to come back and be different, then tell me it’s over. Seriously, I lost track. One day, he called me out on it though.” She takes a break to sip from her drink and look out towards the golf course and you do too. It’s probably not long now before their game will be over. “He’d just gotten back the night before and to me, he seemed a little weird. Looking back on it, he was just exhausted. They didn’t have their best performance, but I didn’t even think of that. In my head, I already had this entire scenario planned that that was it.

“In the morning, I snapped at him. I wish I could just forget it now because it’s so embarrassing but I did it, and there’s no brushing that under the carpet. I was like, you were different last night and you were different through text. I told him he was acting different and when he asked what I meant, I said, you’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” She physically cringes at the memory and in your chest, your heart races. It’s almost identical to your own anxieties during those final moments of your relationship with Mat, and it seems as if you’re merely listening to someone recite your story back to you rather than their own. “Didn’t think of the games, didn’t think he might be down and distant because he blamed himself for some of the missed shots. Instead, I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I overlooked all we’ve done together so far, overlooked the simple fact that I had nothing to back up my accusation and instead, I took it out on him.”

“Elise… what the— you never mentioned this. When did all of this happen?”

“Two years ago now, probably. We joke about it every now and then, but I couldn’t imagine telling anyone what happened. I felt so stupid after we dealt with it.” She sighs, shaking her head incredulously at the situation. “What we really needed was some time away. We left as soon as the season ended, renting out a little place outside of Montreal and we talked, Y/N. Not casual, day-to-day things, but he asked me where I see us going. I told him honestly, I don’t know and he said it’s not good enough and not fair for our relationship and us, individually. He’s the one who brought up marrying, after the dust settled.”

The brief silence that falls between the two of you leaves your head buzzing with questions, with possibilities, with recollections of you-and-Mat but also of you and Mat during what would be your last moments together. There is a continuous string of what ifs rolling through your mind at such rapid speed that they blend in together until you can’t tell one statement apart from the next. You free a hand from the confines of the blanket, bringing it up to rub lightly at the side of your head while Elise stares off in the distance, a pensive look on her face. There are things she’ll tell you and others, and then there are things she will keep private for herself and Tito only, and you respect that. Still, you find the need of actually biting down onto your tongue to ask How?

How did you make it work? How did you talk with each other? How did you prevent a train wreck? How did you accept what happened, and got to this point?

You blink and that’s when you realise tears built up in your eyes and when Elise focuses back to the present, you realise she is in a similar position. You both begin laughing, dabbing at your eyes.

“How did you manage to make each other cry?”

The incredulity in Tito’s voice makes you and Elise burst into laughter again, louder and less tearful now.

While Elise assure Tito there’s nothing to worry about and dismisses the tears as being wedding related, Mat takes the seat next to yours on the small two-seater, throwing you a what happened look. You shake your head, rubbing lightly at your cheeks to brush away any remaining stray tears.

“Wedding tears,” you confirm to him also because he doesn’t cease staring at you, and though it’s clear he’s not entirely convinced by that, it’s easy to let it slide. “Did you win?”

Mat shakes his head and reaches for the water glass nearest to him. You don’t bother telling him it’s yours and figure it might come across as weird to the couple across from you anyway. “I let him win to give him a boost of confidence,” Mat tells you and snickers when Tito complains that it isn’t true.

Dismissing Tito’s effort at trying to shut that down, you hum quietly. “That sounds fair to me,” you tell Mat and then, to Tito, “did he let you win properly?”

Tito rolls his eyes while Elise lets out an ‘aww’ in consolation, and leans over to peck his cheek. “He put up a decent fight, I suppose. It’s been a while since he had this much energy, but he’s never been the best at golf.”

“He’s not the worst either,” you defend because you’ve always done that and it comes to you reflexively. You feel Mat’s eyes on you, but you keep yours carefully trained on the couple ahead.

“You say that because you’re supposed to,” Elise argues and she leans comfortably against Tito’s side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her closer to kiss the top of her head and when he looks back towards you, he grins proudly.

You huff, then shift in your seat to look at Mat properly. “If I was bad at something, would you say I didn’t because you’re supposed to?” You ask, in an attempt to prove your point, and pitch your voice just a little to imitate Elise’s.

“Are you bad at something?” He pitches his question like a rhetorical one and across from you, Tito and Elise coo over the response that sends a wave of heat through your body.

You narrow your eyes at him, bumping your knee against his own. “I absolutely cannot stop properly on skates.”

“Oh.” Mat sighs, takes a sip of water and his shoulders slump. “Yeah, I forgot about that. Don’t tell me you still—“ You quickly knock your knee against his again, a silent warning which you doubt is the most subtle of ones, but Mat changes course smoothly. “After all those hours we spent on ice…” He shakes his head slowly in disappointment, but it’s not like you blame him or take it personally.

You lost track of how often Mat would carefully instruct you through making proper stops on ice, only for you to still end up relying on crashing against the barriers. Although you’d laugh at it time and time again, Mat would always freak out over it, flooding you with endless are you okay questions out of sheer fear you’d end up hurt.

“Sorry we can’t all be pros,” you mumble, eyes rolling but there’s no heat behind this: it’s lighthearted bickering, a conversation that flows easily and you let it go by like this, without overthinking it out of sheer fear you’ll end up spoiling it.

You all fall into discussions revolving around the wedding, mostly focusing on the events leading up to it. It takes you back to months ago when evenings like these were almost regular. You, Mat, Elise and Tito would hang out either at each other’s places or somewhere out in town and you’d talk until one of you would realise it was the early hours of the morning.

It’s easy to get swept back into the comforting feeling that brings you. So much so, that you don’t really think much of it when you open up your blanket and hold a half of it out to Mat, who accepts it wordlessly and settles in closer to you. Arm pressed again arm, leg pressed against leg, you can’t find it in you to pour energy into making a conscious effort of shifting in such way that you place some distance between the two of you without it being odd. You’re convinced neither Elise nor Tito are acutely aware of every minor shift in your body language or tone, but a part of you remains worried about it. So, you stay in your place and enjoy the extra bit of warmth Mat’s body next to yours provides and pretend what the two of you are doing is perfectly okay.

“I can’t do it,” you sigh, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice as you glare down at your skates.

“I couldn’t do it in one day either, baby, we just need to keep practicing,” Mat encourages you gently and he takes hold of your hands as he begins skating backwards, dragging you forwards.

You throw your head back in frustration, occasionally giving yourself a bit of a push to keep up with him. “It’s not so bad though, using the barriers to stop.”

Mat fixes you with a pointed stare. “Remember that time when you just zoomed across the entire rink and ended up—“

“No, no—“

“—with the worst bruise—“

“— we don’t talk—“

“— across your ribs—“

“— about it!”

“— because you crashed into the barriers?” Mat continues, letting go of your hands to skate backwards a little further. “Because I do, and I promised myself and you that it won’t happen again. It’s for your safety above anything else.”

You groan quietly, pushing forward to catch up to him. Mat stretches out his arms, letting you bump against his body once you reach him and you bury your head against his chest while you both come to a stop in the middle of the rink. You’re pretty certain that had you been on public ice, you would’ve had plenty of stares and disgruntled skaters passing by but to your luck, the ice at Nassau had an off-day from training so you and Mat were permitted to make the most of it.

You and Mat often took to the ice and of course the level in skill was entirely different between the two of you, but you were grateful you knew enough to get by without making a fool of yourself in public. Then again, it’s not like you really had to worry about it much: Mat was always there by your side, even if you’d sometimes send him off to just enjoy it however he wanted to and you’d catch up to him eventually.

“I’m enjoying it,” he’d assure you without fail. “I’m with you, so I’m not missing out on anything.”

“You can be so unbelievably cheesy sometimes,” you’d tell him without heat because you loved it, and you were pretty sure he was well aware of it and considered it encouragement.

You pull away from him and he lets you go ahead while he trails behind you slowly. The silence between you is filled by the slashing of blades against the ice, the sound occasionally louder and echoing further whenever Mat pushes ahead with more force. You smile to yourself whenever you feel you can afford to draw some of your concentration away from your own skating to catch sight of Mat. Much to your displeasure though, a feeling of tightness forms in your chest and without thinking of it, you press a hand to your chest, rubbing against it lightly as if that might ease it but to no avail.

“What’s on your mind, baby?” Mat asks once he slows down and twirls on his skates so he skates backwards in order to face you.

“What? Oh, nothing. I was only trying to picture how well you’d pull of figure skating.”

Mat scrunches up his face a little. “Mh, not very well, I think, but nice try.” He reaches out for your hand and you let him take it so he leads you around the rink. “What’s on your mind really?” He insists.

Bite the bullet, you think. Try it.

“Couple of work stuff, nothing that important,” you begin carefully and when Mat doesn’t respond, you press on. “Turns out our branch in Baltimore is looking to expand a little more. There’s been a consultation completed there and recommendations all point towards the potential for growth. There’s been a few talks in a few departments, including my own, about the possibility of uh, some people heading out there.”

Mat nods slowly, a contemplative look on his face. “Sounds pretty good for them, then. Do they have any idea who might be involved in that from your office?”

“Not yet, and anyway, they’ll consult first with anyone who might consider relocating,” you inform him lightly, shrugging.

There’s no beating around the bush with Mat though. He reads you like an open book. “There’s no hockey teams there, huh?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“And would you want to go there?”

“Temporarily? I wouldn’t say no, honestly. I have a few ideas and I think they’d fit in great with a smaller but growing branch.”

Mat slows down carefully to not trip you or catch you by surprise and once you also come to a halt, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Give them just a taste of what you can do and they’ll want to keep you there.”

“It’s rich of you to assume they wouldn’t go for someone in a more senior position than my own.”

“It’s rich of you to assume they’d skip out on you,” Mat parrots and you laugh softly. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you say so and it’s a temporary thing.”

You ponder his words for a moment, humming quietly. You didn’t expect anything less from Mat: he’s always been supportive, ready to vouch for you and be the first to jump in your corner, but you can’t help but wonder if he’d stand by his words if you were to tell him there was more to it than that. Because a relocation wouldn’t mean a month or two. Maybe not even a half year. A relocation could very well be anywhere upwards of one year, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that just yet. Not when anything isn’t concrete, not when you’re hardly even sure this is a step you’d even want to consider.

You’ll cross that bridge if you get there. When you get there.

You roll on your back and huff quietly, throwing an arm over your forehead. The room is dark and you can barely just make out the metal shape of the spotlights dotting the ceiling, so you try focusing on one that gleams just a little more in the hopes that your eyes will start to feel heavy and finally, finally you can fall asleep. In your mind, you count to ten and when that doesn’t work, you count to twenty then try to thirty but stop at fourteen and sit up. You want to cry and the feeling of needing to do that overwhelms you, though that’s quickly replaced by frustration when even a single tear won’t blur your vision. It seemed like that came to you so easily throughout the day, but when you need it most in hopes of it exhausting you, it doesn’t happen. Naturally.

Your gaze drifts towards the door which is just ever so slightly parted and in the silence of the night, you can make out the unmistakable creak of mattress springs shifting. It’s not a gentle movement though. It happens again just moments later and it’s as if your body responds to it without your mind consenting. Slowly, you tip-toe your way across the room and towards the door, thankful you don’t need to press down on the handle but rather, pull it ever so slightly so you can just see through the crack.

The living room basks in darkness and the only clear light source comes from a digital clock on a mantle. The blue numbers indicate it’s just a little past one in the morning. The thicker curtains haven’t been pulled over the windows properly, so very low light from outside filters in, but barely just. Again, the mattress creaks and you shuffle sideways behind the door as if you’d be seen. There’s no chance of that happening whatsoever. Again, the creaking. Harsher now, more frustrated and you recognise your own routine over the past hour or so since you climbed in bed and called it a day. You lick your lips, eyes falling shut briefly and you barely just press your forehead to the cold door. Count backwards from five and on one, you pull open the door properly and step into the living room.

“Get in the bed, Mat.”

Silence. You rub at your forehead, a little irritated.

“I know you’re not sleeping, so don’t try to pretend,” you tell him but your voice doesn’t quite pack the punch it should have. “That thing keeps squeaking and it’s keeping me up. Get in the bed, Mat.”

“Just close the door if you can’t sleep,” he says.

Huffing quietly, you step further in the living room and it takes a while for your eyes to get used to the darkness but soon enough, you can just make out Mat’s shape in the pull-out bed. He faces the windows, back towards you and you’ve no doubt the pull-out couch is sturdy and decently comfortable but you hate it. You hate the sight of it, you hate the idea of him in it, you hate everything about this.

“Please, Mat. I…” you trail off, running both hands across your face before they drop to your sides with a noticeable smack sound. “I swear I’d still hearing the creaking through the walls. I can’t fall asleep with it, it’s driving me insane so please,” you plea, exhausted yet weirdly tuned into your emotions - and they’re all overwhelming. If you were wondering why you couldn’t cry just moments ago, it sure feels as if you’re standing right at the very edge of a breakdown right now. The timing couldn’t be worse. “Get in the bed, Mat,” you repeat once again, voice low and tired.

There’s a moment of stillness during which you stand there, feeling defeated and ashamed while Mat lies just ahead of you and you wonder what goes on through his mind. Not for the first time, you wish you had the power to hear it all regardless of how much worse it’d make you feel. And then, he moves. He sits up and there’s some shuffling of bedsheets, and moments later, he’s moving past you into the room with a pillow under his arm even if there’s plenty on the bed already. You allow yourself a brief second to draw in a silent breath of air then release it before following after him. This time, you circle around the bed frame because Mat settled on the right side. He always took the right side because that’s what you agreed on years ago.

You pull the bedsheets up to your nose and open your mouth ready to say something. But what more is there to say?

“Do you ever think where it went wrong?”

Mat’s question takes you by surprise and you swallow the lump in your throat uncomfortably. The it is more of a we, but it makes it feel just a little more impersonal though it doesn’t quite soften the blow it delivers. You wish you could curl into a ball, grasp the covers tightly around your body like a cocoon but you’re rooted to your place and the most you can do is grab at the sheets with your fingers tightly. If it wasn’t for the material, you’re convinced your nails would dig into your palms and leave half moons there that would hurt like a bitch.

“I did,” you tell him, at last.

“I do,” Mat admits without hesitating, without needing you to prompt him and you don’t miss the way he phrases it as if this is a thing he continues to do in the present. But his tone is calculated, detached and you can’t help but wonder whether that’s true or you’re about to let yourself get roped into a blame game you’ve already played before.

You lost it, of course. But you try not to think about how bitter it felt. You think there might be something lodged in your throat, something that resembles an apology you owe him, but every time it feels as if you’ll let it slip past your mouth, invisible walls are built up and nothing gets past those.

“I think I lost you somewhere along the way,” he continues because this is a thing that Mat does: he doesn’t let something slip past him so easily. Not always, anyway. “And I don’t think I did enough to meet you halfway.” A pause and you barely just shift under the blankets. Your arm brushes against soft cotton and belatedly, you realise that’s his spare pillow between the two of you. You really do hate everything about this. “I don’t think you did either,” he admits.

You have to give it to him: he has guts. And you really hate that you can’t bring yourself to let your own show, even in the dark. Especially in the dark, where your faces are hidden and your bodies are separated by a flimsy pillow and there’s a chance that you might both forget this in the morning or pass it off as a lucid dream. It’s a small chance, but existent nevertheless.

“What good will it do us if we keep thinking about it?” You ask, but it’s directed more at yourself than it is to him.

Your mind betrays you by giving you the answer: it won’t change the past, but it may very well change the future. And your heart throbs rapidly at the thought and there’s heat in your belly and adrenaline in your veins, and there’s an explosion of what ifs coursing through your mind even if you know it’s too late. Because it must be, right?

“Let it go, Mat,” you tell him and shift under the covers, turning your back to him and curling up underneath the covers. “Go to sleep.”

He scoffs ever so quietly, but you pick up on the sound because there’s nothing else to distract you from it. “Right, sorry. I forgot you give up just like that now.”

You frown, glaring at the darkness ahead. “It’s not me giving up, Mat. It’s called me being rational about it.” You sigh, eyes closing and you press your fingers against them until you see stars behind them. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”

“Don’t know.” Mat sighs and the bed shifts. His voice sounds quieter and you wonder if he turned his back to you in return. “Maybe some proper closure, I guess. I wouldn’t call what happened then and what’s happening now a… what did you call it? A clean break?”

“And you want it now at like, what, one in the morning? Will that make you go to sleep?”

“Dunno,” Mat murmurs and it’s obvious his voice is heavy with exhaustion. “Maybe.”

You push down the memories threatening to squeeze their way at the forefront of your mind because you’d be at it all night without doubt. The silence lingers between you, undisrupted, and you manage to count to twenty five in your mind slowly before you carefully turn your head to look over your shoulder. Your heart jumps in your throat. Mat is on his side facing you and his eyes are closed. You can’t be certain that he managed to fall asleep but his breathing seems steady enough. Ever so carefully, you turn until you’re on your back again and cast your gaze upwards towards the ceiling.

“I’d sleep, but probably not a great deal.”

Mat’s voice, silent as it is, catches you by surprise and you jolt ever so slightly. The movement doesn’t seem to disturb him though. He remains still as a statue and despite the darkness, you can’t find it in you to look towards him. It doesn’t mean your skin doesn’t tingle in that very odd way it does whenever someone looks at you. You close your eyes and throw an arm over them for extra measure.

“Just go to sleep, Mat,” you whisper.

You blame not finding it in you to give him what he wants on the sudden exhaustion coursing through you, but there’s always tomorrow. If he insists on it, you can assure him there’s always tomorrow.

But Mat doesn’t force the subject and soon enough, you feel your shoulder relaxing, your body settling against the mattress and a familiar lull pulls you away from consciousness.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #*

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kingdomoftyto · 2 years ago

Text

IwtV movie script '92 early draft, liveblog, part 5

Lestat has just bled out in the parlor.

In the script, Claudia is standing triumphant, having drained some of his blood herself, while Louis crouches uncertainly beside the body. In the final cut of the film, she and Louis are both standing in shock beside a spreading pool of blood, Claudia still holding the knife.

🥺

Film!Claudia tries to crack some jokes but Louis shuts her down with a look. They wonder how to dispose of the body and decide on the swamp.

OH, the voiceovers are referencing the earlier scene when they slept under the church! Lestat said he hated the dirty tomb. And apparently in this version, Louis is ACTIVELY GRIEVING HIM, trying to find someplace to lay him to rest that Lestat would have liked 🥺🥺🥺

🥺😭💀

Holy shit

God, I can't wait for episode 6 of the AMC series lmfao

... Claudia actually starts sobbing in the script, and Louis can't help but go to her. Her face is covered in bloody tears, and she says she only wanted to free the both of them from Lestat's control, that she'd undo it if it would please Louis. He comforts her and agrees to go to Europe to seek others of their kind.

MEANWHILE, the final cut jumps back briefly to the interview with Daniel. "You missed him?" / "He was all I knew." There's then a mention of Claudia researching vampires, because they don't have Lestat's backstory to go off of in this version lmao

... OH, interesting!

So the confrontation with swamp!Lestat goes a little differently between the two. The early draft:

Meanwhile in the final cut, Lestat sits at the piano and plays ominously while giving a whole goddamn villain speech. "Listen, Louis. There's life in these old hands still." He describes living off of reptiles and toads, then addresses Claudia before lunging at her. Not exactly "without reason" as originally intended!!

Their escape plays out essentially the same in both versions.

That's a lot to unpack.

... The script cuts away to Daniel for a sec so Louis can explain the alligators and snakes thing, and that only fire could have stopped Lestat from coming back. He says they had no way of knowing if he was really dead this time.

Ooughf, this shit is gonna hurt so bad in the AMC version

... The script then skips straight ahead to their arrival in Paris (since they didn't have to search everywhere on their own--they had Lestat's stories to start from!). The film on the other hand takes some more bits from the books and sums up their fruitless travels. "I began to believe we were the only ones. There was a strange comfort in that thought."

Both versions go through a montage of them thoroughly enjoying themselves in Paris.

So weird for them to be here already knowing about the Paris coven

The entire rest of this section of the script/movie is just going to be one long string of me going 🥺

can almost hear Lestat's smug disembodied voice crying "I told you so!"

Another night, Claudia walks into their rooms with a new doll that looks just like her. She says the dollmaker, Madeline, made it for her. Before Louis' eyes, she snaps, breaking the doll and throwing it in the fire.

not enough time in the world to unpack all that

Interesting

Pfft. Louis actually gets to fistfight Santiago in the script before Armand interrupts. Good.

Armand's gonna beat the shit out of Lestat when he sees him

...The vampire show at the theater goes similarly in both versions, though the final cut is longer and I think more convincing.

😬Claudia. Girl.

Then, yeah, the performance plays out the same. Even Claudia is put off by the end of it.

Armand surprisingly hospitable in the script. One of the vampires gets too close to Claudia and he telekinetically throws them into a wall.

My god, man. Keep it in your pants!

(That's true of book!Louis' reaction to Armand as well, for the record lmao)

This is so weird

... So they have an entirely different conversation here in the script than they do in the final movie. Hits a lot of the same beats, but it's different since Louis already knows about the Satanist stuff and it's no secret that they both know Lestat.

Very direct and to the point, here.

Get dunked on, philosophy boi

Yeah no kidding

Claudia, btw, is watching this entire conversation, silently

Whoa whoa, would Armand agree with him so easily here? I'm not so sure. Armand is nothing if not a stubborn little bastard, and if I recall correctly he was not super on board with Lestat's hedonism at this point in time. He still wanted to cling to his arbitrary rules and hierarchies to give his life "purpose".

So pretty much the same as the final cut, plus mentions of Lestat.

Cruel bastard >:(

The final cut has a small scene where Santiago tells them that killing another vampire is the greatest crime they can commit. It doesn't appear in the script.

Okay her calling them "bourgeois Parisians" is VERY funny

Louis: "There is no danger."

Louis, two seconds later: "Okay maybe there is some danger, but--"

I'd have to look at it again to be sure, but I think this may be a better buildup to Claudia wanting to leave him than even happened in the book lmao.

The final cut of this scene has a lot more of Claudia insisting Louis and Armand want each other desperately. She claims Armand told her to "Let him go"

... Grghk, post limit reached. Onto the next-!

#Tyto reads IwtV92 #was really afraid for a second there that we were going to get Armand's entire detailed backstory too

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rainileo · 4 years ago

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heyy!! i love ur blog so much! could i request joshua (seventeen) x sub/bottom reader smut with some degradation and humiliation? you can go wild with everything else 🥰

yes.

my get out of jail free card (m)

joshua x (female reader)

warnings: dom josh, humiliation, degradation, spitting, spanking, cream pie, unprotected sex, pet names, doggy style, “dudes being dudes🙄” lmao, mentions of drinking and marijuana.

lmk if i miss anything (not proof read)

a/n: this turned out to be longer than i thought sorry lmao i got carried away

5:33 pm

———————————————————

josh always thought you were naturally sexy, you always being able to make him shift in his seat uncomfortably when he watches you do daily tasks, or just anything in general (you were just that sexy). sometimes you liked to use that information to your advantage by either dressing up in something a little more revealing for fun and walking around the apartment to tease him, or maybe buying a sexy lingerie to surprise him spontaneously.

but before it was different.

josh used to despise you. you thought it was ironic, because he was all over you now, but back then, he couldn’t even look at you without getting uncomfortable. you were polar opposites and you were on the more rebellious end.

josh used to like to finish his homework early, he liked to stay in on a friday night with his small group of friends and play bored games (pun intended).

he refused to partake in the consumption and use of narcotics and alcohol, and couldn’t stand the idea of premarital sex. and then he fell in love with you, your personality and your body, practically leaving the idea of premarital sex behind and risking the idea of ending up in a forever hell all for you and his temptations. and now, you had the advantage of surprising and teasing him in this flimsy set to get him to bang the shit out if your just for the sake of it.

you now reside in your shared bedroom, checking yourself out in the head to toe mirror, clad in the set you mentioned before. you think you’re cute, and you pose to see all angles. you giggle tp yourself as you bubble with excitement, preparing to surprise josh.

you turn around, looking at yourself one more time before struting out of the room towards where your boyfriend is seated in the living room. you enter the warm room and you see him spread out of the couch that sits in the middle of the room, phone in his hand and a random show playing in the background.

“babe.” you gently call from behind him to get his attention on your figure.

“yeah.” he lazily replies, not moving his original position and keeping his eyes trained on his phone, probably texting a member or looking through social media.

you roll your eyes in irritation and attempt to complete your mission as you try again, “josh~.” you say singsongingly, and he exhales and replies again,

“what.” he says a little bit more seriously, probably getting annoyed that your bothering him while he’s busy on his phone, or because you won’t go in front of him to actually get his attention.

“joshua.” you say sternly, trying to get his attention still, and succeeding when he angrily turns around saying, “what y/n-,” angrily and he stops mid sentence, gulping, looking at you from head to toe, examining the material that sits on your body.

“oh, holy shit.” he swears and you giggle, teasingly walking towards him, swaying your hips slightly. “you shouldn’t use that tone with me like that.” you say as he completely turns his torso towards you, as his attention is completely on you now. “sorry babe, i didn’t mean to sound mean like that.” he apologizes and reaches his closer hand out to you and caresses your ass. you couldn’t tell if his hand on your ass was just a sexual gesture, if he just wanted his hand on you just for the sake of it, or if he was using his touch to apologize to you; you couldn’t tell, so you roll your eyes again over the fact that he’s completely changed his attitude now that you stand infront of him, half naked.

he blinks at you for a second and you smirk at him, and he begins speaking again, “please accept my apology baby.” he says sweetly, also lightly squeezing your ass while looking at you with the cutest eyes you can’t resist.

“ok,” you trail off and swing your hair from one side of your shoulder to the other, barely listening to his response. “but on one condition, i’ll accept your apology.” you say, pulling his hand off your backside as his face contorts in confusion due to the sentence you had just put out. “what is it?” he asks, getting out of his spot, rounding the couch to you so he can directly stand in front of you.

“you have to fuck the absolute shit out of me.” you reply, watching as his face drops in of disbelief; those words went straight to his sick to be honest.

how did he manage to snatch up a girl like you?, he thinks to himself and you shift in your spot, biting your lip, smiling and looking up at him. his eyes visibly get darker and bhs bites his lip, instinctively moving closer to you.

“go to the bedroom now.” he instructs for you to do and you follow his orders as you turn around in the direction of the room, walking away teasingly, swaying your hips again. he slaps your ass and shamelessly watches your ass as you walk away.

a lot of his band mates also used to tease him about the way he would respectfully look away from you when you were naked or changing and etcetera. they later explained to him that it’s ok to check her if you guys are dating, (if she allows it that is). he later completely understood it after years of avoiding your body and now you’re like his personal playboy magazine.

——————————————————

you had finally made your way to your shared room, comfortably positioning yourself on your bed, waiting for him to come into the room.

your heart began to pound a little when you watch him walk through the doo. he runs his hands through his hair as he continues his stride over to you. “it’s almost like using a get out of jail free card whenever you do this.” he says coming to a stop in front of the bottom edge of the bed to stare at where you’re seated on the middle of the bed.

you giggle at his joke as you shift towards him on your knees, coming up in front of him and reaching your hands out to the bottom of his shirt and playing with it to get him a little riled up.

“yeah? and why is that?” your curiosity causes a smile to break out on his face. “i don’t even have to try to get into your pants.” he answers truthfully, leaning into you to kiss you roughly.

the kiss is demanding and causes you to fight for dominance between the two of you. he obviously wins when he shoves his tongue into your mouth and you comply, allowing him to explore your mouth.

he suddenly pulls away and begins, “babe.” he now sternly looks in your eyes with only lust. it immediately grabs your attention and you clench around nothing, feeling yourself pulse in excitement. “yes?” you say biting your lip and looking back at him. you try to hold a smile back as he grips your hips and pulls your entire body right against his. “what do you want?” he asks, his tone now darker as he moves his hands down to your ass and strokes slightly. “you.” you sigh out, wrapping your arms around his neck,

“well i would hope that you would want me.” he jokes, pinching your ass and you laugh at his joke for a second and press yourself even closer to him, now feeling his friend completely hard down against your thigh.

“seriously babe, what do you want, my fingers? my mouth?” he asks again, stroking your hips and legs. you smile to yourself as you speak out, “i want you to eat me out, and then i want you to fuck the shit out of me.” you say as you reach down to palm him and he grunts, gripping your backside tightly.

“yeah, i can do that.” he breathlessly says, grabbing your thighs to wrap your legs around his hips so he can move you two more easily on the bed.

once he situates you at the pile of pillows at the the top of the bed, you begin to make out again. the both of you are fighting for dominance again and it’s messy, spit begins to dribble between your mouths on your chin. you moan into his mouth and he grips your thighs to place it over his shoulders to position himself comfortably against you. he moves his left hand beside your head for balance while wrapping his right around your neck, lightly asphyxiating you. he shoves his tongue into your mouth again and you moan against him as he also starts to grind against your core. “josh.” you both let go of the kiss and a string of saliva stays between the two of you as you part. “what?” he asks as you grip the arm that is wrapped around your neck with both of your hands.

he’s in awe when he looks down to see the full sight of his hand wrapped around your neck as your smaller hands grip his large, veiny arm for leverage.

you look at him with pleading eyes, the friction of him grinding against you not being enough to stimulate your core. “please.” he breathes out at the sound of your voice, it now changing into a lighter tone due to your submissive position now.

he laughs at your sudden weakness and pushes on. “y/n, you have to use your words.” he says, stopping the movements against your hips, ceasing all pleasure now. your eyes begin to tear up as anger boils in your chest. you know he knows what you want, but he won’t give in, he likes to tease you and break you until your confidence has completely vanished.

“please go down there.” you attempt to speak out, voice hoarse due to his grip around your neck. “what’s down there baby? you tell me.” he continues as he leans down to your ear. “m-my pussy.” you say, voice just above a whisper, too ashamed to say it out loud. “you can be louder than that, come on slut.” the nickname goes straight to your center as he pressures you and you give in, “my pussy,” you respond louder. he laughs at you again and you close your eyes to avoid his gaze, cheeks hearing in embarrassment.

he thinks it’s entertaining how bold you were a few moments ago, you now falling into sub space as you impatiently wait for him to pleasure you.

“yeah? and what do you want me to do to your pussy again?” he continues to push on, now right into your ear. you feel his heavy breath against your skin and you tingle all over.

“i...” you exhale, squeezing your eyes shut as he begins to place light kisses against your sweet spot on your neck. “i want you to eat me out.” you finish, a tear falling down your face in anticipation. his chest pushes off of your as he lifts himself off if you to look into your eyes deeply.

“that’s pathetic.” he spits out, hand still on your neck, occasionally squeezing it still. you frown and open your eyes to see what he’s doing and when you do, hes just staring.

“are you gonna take it like a good girl?” he questions, moving his left hand from it original position to stroke your side. he inches closer to your boob and when he reaches them, he lets go of his grip around his neck and completely leans back on his knees. he pushes the material of the bra over your boobs to let them fall out of it confines.

your boobs sit out in the open air and your nipples begin to harden under the slightly cool air. he brings both his hands to your chest and begins massaging them, pulling your nipples occasionally. you moan at his ministrations and he tenses in his pants in anticipation for you.

he reaches around your body, impressively undoing the bra and it easily falls off your chest and he throws it to the side of the bed. he leans back in again and admires your body. he continues with your underwear and pulls them down your legs and throws them across the room somewhere. he gives short kisses down your torso towards your center, leaving deep purple marks in his wake.

———————————————————

your back arches as he hits the specific spot inside you while he is knuckle deep with his fingers moving strategically inside you. your moans are so beautiful to him as he eats you out strategically. youre roughly gripping at his hair out of pleasure, face contorting from the pleasure he offers you.

“fuck josh.” you spit out, throwing your head back against the pillows and smirks at your reactions and begins sucking on your clit again, trying to bring you to your edge. “does it feel good?” he questions, letting go of your bundle of nerves and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. you nod furiously, too caught up in the pleasure to properly respond. he chuckles at your answer and continues with his ministrations.

his fingers keep their same pace as his mouth alternates between liking, biting, sucking, and the odd time, spitting. “fucking slut.” he says, creating a glob of spit in his mouth as he backs away from your core, still fingering you. he spits the glob on you and you sit up to lean on your elbows to get a better view of him deliciously eating you out.

“you like it when i eat you like this, finger fucking your tight pussy open, right?” he questions and your face contorts out of pleasure when he hits the spot again.

“fuck-, yes, it feels so good, i love it.” you quickly reply as you continue to watch him with your mouth falling open slowly. he hums as he begins to suck around you again, feeling the pleasure build up inside you. “i’m close.” you breathlessly let out to tell him before it’s too late. he continues and your legs shake as you get closer to your edge. “are you?” you nod and your eyes begin to roll back into your head. he looks up at you and feels like he’ll almost cum in his pants just by the way you look alone.

your elbows give in and you end up with your back flat on the mattress with josh laughing between your legs, which added to the sensations which also made the coil snap and caused you to begin arching your back in the air. you moan out and grip his hair tighter and tighter, biting your lip and slumping on the mattress, heart pounding as your orgasm washes over you.

“look at you, such a cum slut, right princess?” he ask, moving up from between your legs. you open your mouth to respond but soon close it not trusting what sound could come out of your mouth. he grips your arms that lay lifelessly on your side and he pulls you up and flips you on your stomach. everything happens so fast and you have to think about it after you were manhandled by him.

“ass up babe.” he demands and you listen, quickly getting into the position. he grabs your arms again and pinning them behind your back. your head was planted onto the sheets so you try to move your head down so you can get a good look at the man behind you. when you successfully shift your head, he immediately makes eye contact with you. he gives you a side smile in response to the way you look at him desperately, still biting your lips to hold in your needy moans.

“josh please.” you whine lightly, trying to entice him to place his member inside of you, or even just taking his clothes off in the first place would be just as good. he leans down to your face again and roughly grips your hair in his hand and pulls your head to make you look at him directly. you moan out at his sudden roughness and he begins, “what do you want me to do, slut?” he questions, slightly gripping your hair rougher to make you pay attention. “i want you to pound my pussy.” you sob, a shaky hand going to his hand in your hair.

he finally gives in when he lets go of your hair and begins stripping himself. he grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head; you watch him intently, tears beginning to fall down your face again slightly, your body overwhelmed from the aftershocks of your orgasm. he throws the shirt somewhere in the room and then begins unbuttoning the pants. you close your eyes as he pulls his pants down.

another tear slips from your eyes as you squeeze them closed, also simultaneously squeezing your thighs together to get friction on your core to ease the pulse.

when he’s done taking his pants off, he toses them on the floor and watches you desperately rub your legs together.

“fucking slut, can’t even wait for me to touch you again.” he comments, placing his wet tip to your dripping pussy and rubbing it through the folds. you moan out and grip the sheets, waiting for him to put it in.

“please put it in josh.” you whine out, red eyes opening and looking at him straight in the eyes again, and when you guys make eye contact, he grabs your hair and turns your head on your chin and arches your back further with a hand on your lower back as well.

with the hand on the lower back, he grabs his dick again and pushes it into you perfectly. his dick slides in and be immediately begins pounding into you from behind. he lets go of your hair and comfortably positions himself to get a better grip for fucking you rougher.

he continues to roughly fuck you with the same hard pace, which makes you moan out loudly. “f-fuck please.” your voice comes out in a bizarre pattern with the noise of his hips slapping against you and you listen to it and enjoy his breathless pants behind you as well.

“please what babe?” he breathlessly asks, spanking you roughly and you moan out in response to the action and he rubs the area soothingly to ease your pain slightly. “please make me cum again.” you weakly answer, eyes fluttering shut when you feel his tip brush against the spot.

he scoffs in disbelief, “one orgasm wasn’t enough?” you internally groan, just wanting him to make you cum. you decide to move your hand down to your core to try and rub yourself to release. he notices that and grips your arm tightly and pulls it out from underneath you. he roughly spanks you and you yelp, free hand living to your side to grip the sheets.

“i didn't fucking say you could touch yourself.” he grunts out, pace quickening slightly. you moan out, mouth dropping open as you furrow your brows. you move your head onto it’s side again to situate yourself in a better position. his pace is relentless, causing the wind to be knocked out if your lungs now.

“josh~.” you whine at him breathlessly, the force of his thrust pushing you up the best.

he takes his free and and wraps it around your stomach to find your core and begins to roughly rub your spot perfectly, causing you to arch further into the bed. he groans out at your reaction and continues his movements, bringing you to your edge quickly.

his hands are both occupied, one roughly rubbing your core and the other that managed to travel back up to your hair again. his hand grips your hair even more tighter, making you yelp and squeeze your eyes shut.

you clench tightly around him in response to the pleasure you’re both feeling as you feel your end approaching as you let go of your grip around him, walls fluttering after your legs shake and quiver around his hand.

you begin to give out when your head falls to the side on the bed again and feel the coil in your gut snap and your orgasm washes over you. you let out a long loud moan, then slumping into the mattress, letting him fuck you like a toy so he can reach his high.

“you got what you wanted slut.” he says as he removes his hand from your center and begins another pace to bring himself to the edge. you keep your eyes closed as he uses you, letting him do whatever he wants.

“fuck yes” he expresses one last time, his hips stuttering against you, letting out a deep groan and cumming deep inside of you.

he lets go of your hair and whatever else he was gripping and leans over you and slumps. he relaxes his heavy body above you and both stay like that for a few minutes to catch your breaths.

“you ok?” he questions, pulling himself out of you and watching his cum drop out of you. you sigh and he pushes himself up off of above you so you can move freely from your uncomfortable position. you move your hands to beside your head and push yourself up and turn yourself to sit face to face to him. “i’m good.” you smile at him and he smiles back, leaning in and placing his hand on your neck, giving you a sloppy but sweet kiss.

“did you enjoy it?” he lets go of the kiss and asks sweetly, his dominant gone and replaced with his usual soft demeanor.

“yea i did, thank you for that.” you say, climbing into his arms and straddling him lap again and he gladly lets you sit comfortably on him.

“no, thank you babe, i kinda needed that.” he replies, kissing you again and placing his hands on your hips again. you smile against his lips and you pull away for a second to speak again. “how about a shower?” you ask and he smiles at though of a nice warm shower featuring your naked body at the moment. “yeah let’s have a shower.” he retorts and kisses you again.

#wonwoo smut #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #joshua smut #seventeen imagine #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen

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oodlyenough · 3 years ago

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psychonauts 1!

I finished the original Psychonauts last night, by which I mean I reached the Meat Circus, instantly flounced and watched the rest on youtube.

I played the PS2 version ported to PS4 on my PS5 just like god intended for undoubtedly the smoothest possible gameplay experience :P "Press Start to begin" on a controller that no longer has a 'start' button really set the tone.

For some context, I first tried this game many years ago (on a Macbook no less), got frustrated by it quickly and quit. I've only come back years later after loving Psychonauts 2 so much. (Psychonauts 2 review over here.)

I am going to try not to make this post one big comparison -- feels kind of unfair, given how much time passed -- but it's uh hard because obviously that's my natural inclination and the context I was thinking of while I played.

Spoilers for game 1 and some nonspecific (tone/etc) spoilers for 2.

The pros:

Obviously the game is very funny. There were tons of lines I wanted to clip, or punchlines that surprised me. The script and story were surprising and full of personality. The game has a tone unlike any other game I think I've played... it honestly reminds me most of Invader Zim, lol.

I was about half-way through the game when I realized just HOW MUCH possible dialogue and NPC interaction there is, something I totally underestimated for a 2005 game. I've since been watching dialogue compilations on youtube, lol.

Because of the above I have to adjust my original opinion that the NPCs (specifically the campers) felt a bit hollow. This was my bad for not seeking them out often enough to keep track of their names and their lovelives, lol. I still struggle to remember any of their names, but I like that all of them had their own little subplots going on in the background of Raz's story, whether or not you paid attention to it.

The game is very creative. This was my favourite thing about 2, but the original gets bonus points for being, well, the original and pioneering these ideas in the first place. While I found some of the opening levels kind of bland/disappointing after seeing how grandiose stuff got in 2, Lungfishopolis was the major turning point into some really creative stuff.

Even when I was getting irritated by dying or having difficulty platforming, etc, the creativity of the levels was undeniable. Every level was very unique and distinct, nothing felt like a reskin. Lungfishopolis was probably my favourite from a design standpoint -- so funny -- and Milkman Conspiracy my favourite from a dialogue standpoint, every single line from the G-Men just killed me.

I like collectathon platformers, what can I say. I am a child of the Spyro era. I'm not even a 100%er I just like finding secret passages and ledges full of Stuff.

The matador outfit for Raz in Black Velvetopia was adorable

What the fuck the random turtle at the end of the game fahklfhkl

I thought the Gloria's Theatre level was also super cool, even if I had to look up a lot of the solutions on youtube, lol. Just a really cool concept and fun change of pace.

The cons

I don't want to harp on the clunky controls too much because it's a game from 2005 that I am playing on a 3-gen-later console... so... I try to adjust my expectations accordingly. But holy shit!!! The number of awkward jumps, times double jump just seemed to not work??, wonky hitboxes, the terrible lock mechanic for psiblast attacks, TK throw being awkward af, whew. Very frustrating. That platforming section to get the musket in Waterloo World was CRAZY difficult for me and for what ?? It's basic platforming... 😭 Grab the bar Raz you asshole. I was sitting there ragegripping my controller like YOU'RE AN ACROBAT!!!!

I hated the ammo mechanic and I'm SO GLAD it went away. There was nothing more agitating than ending up in a boss fight with no mental aggression left and being like Guess I'll fuckin die.jpeg

There were lots of "What the fuck" game design moments for me. The Linda bossfight, getting sideswiped by suddenly needing a power or item that seemed optional until now and having to grind arrowheads to do it, the nightmares in the Milkman Conspiracy ?!!?!, these kinds of choices would just tank my enjoyment as soon as they came up. I ran to youtube a lot to figure out a strategy.

The script, while very funny, shows its age in a lot of places. Not "just" in the awkward use of That One Slur or the weird extended "Indian burial ground" jokes, but in other stuff too. Raz and Lili's relationship gets off on a super weird and off-puttingly heteronormative foot basically from jump -- a shame, because by the end of the game, and in 2, I'm fond enough of them, and found some of the "girlfriend" gags funny. Having Raz of all people call Milla the "mental minx" had me like 🥴.

The whole asylum plot felt just kind of icky and insensitive at times, I'd even say kind of ableist.

Also the level design of climbing that fucking tower where if you miss a jump you may have to redo the whole thing I swear to god 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

How come the cut scenes look SO much worse than the gameplay lol? I mean, whatever, I'm not expecting majesty from a 2005 indie, but I don't think I've ever seen a game where the cut scenes look WORSE than the gameplay before.

The concluding scenes in Meat Circus and after felt kinda rushed to me. Not terrible or anything, but they gave me major vibes of "we ran outta budget and we gotta wrap this up asap", lol. In particular I felt like we needed more from Raz and Augustus than we got, and honestly I felt like the game *wanted* to give it to me but didn't really have time so we just got a handful of dialogue and now you gotta punch this giant butcher.

In conclusion

Overall I found the tone of the game more callous than 2... which took a lot of adjusting for me, since the heart and sincerity in 2 is a large part of what I loved about it. I don't think the game intends to be cruel but I also think it doesn't take its own concepts seriously enough to treat them with the kind of sensitivity they need.

A big example for me is Raz just bruteforcing his way into people's minds when they were inconveniencing him lol. Extremely happy they changed this in 2. I understand that in the end what he does in their minds helps them (mostly??? Boyd u good???), but sheesh...

Raz in general feels like he got a, uh, personality update in 2. To be honest I think this change is emblematic of the whole tone shift, as well as the changing sensibilities of 2005 vs 2021. I still liked him in 1 but I don't think I'd feel as attached without 2. It did make me really appreciate [plotline redacted] in 2 more though!

I'm happy this game exists and was able to find enough cult success to eventually lead to 2. It's creative and interesting and funny, but it definitely is showing its age. I feel like 2 took all these good ideas and expanded on them and made them better, which is exactly what you want a sequel to do. I would recommend Psychonauts 2 to anyone who enjoys platformers; I would only recommend Psychonauts 1 to someone who really liked 2 and is willing to suffer through dated gameplay as a result.

#psychonauts

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sodone-withlife · 3 years ago

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i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

#i’m so sorry if the mandarin is shitty #the format is better on ao3 #but i’m so excited to be able to at least try it #shang chi spoilers #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings spoilers #shang chi fanfiction #shang chi #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #marvel fanfiction #mcu #shang chi imagines

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bisexual-horror-fan · 4 years ago

Text

December 5th. Mistletoe. Leslie Vernon X AFAB Reader.

Ah here we are! My third entry into Kinky December! Thanks again to @horrorslashergirl for setting this up! I am having soooo much fun with it! This was so fucking fun to do, holy shit! I LOVE Leslie and it had been WAY TOO long since I had last written for him so this was soooo needed. And ended up being way longer than I originally intended but what else is new? So let’s get into it!

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.6K Warnings: Established Relationship. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Don’t Get Caught. Hold The Moan. Panty Snatching. Leslie Being Leslie.

---

In The Spirit Of Giving.

It was only a few days apart. You weren't going to be gone long and your parents didn't live very far away.

Still didn't mean Leslie had to like it.

Let’s get one thing straight, Leslie isn’t a super clingy guy or anything, he could be away from you for days at a time and was on occasion due to his work but this was the holidays we were talking about. The guy wanted to have you around, of course he did, who wouldn’t want to spend that time with their SO? But he understood and respected the fact that some time had to be allotted to your family as well, and you did want to spend time with them too. And so it went, saying goodbye with the promise of him getting you all to himself for a few days once you were back, you would have a good time but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t looking forward to what you had planned together too.

It was really nice being back in some ways and not so much in others but hey isn’t that how this time of year always went? You take the good and the bad, but it has mostly been good, thankfully.

Tonight was particularly good, your family typically had a holiday party that was a lot of fun so of course you planned your time to be here for it. You wished you could have brought Leslie along but for very obvious reasons when you lived in Glen Echo you couldn’t bring by the Glen Echo slasher to parade around in front of your family as your boyfriend. The party was in full swing, you had been staying down in the basement, your old room offered up to some family who was spending the night but you weren’t about to complain about having the basement to yourself.

Speaking of, you spent that afternoon cleaning up, making sure it would be fine if party-goers wandered down there, the basement was finished and farily nice and it wouldn’t be unusual for some people to trickle down, but no one had yet, everyone staying upstairs near the kitchen, or rather, near the food and drinks.

You had left some food out downstairs for whoever ended up down there but again no one had, you thought you should go down and get it, might as well bring it up and not waste it.

It’d be quick, you didn’t feel the need to tell anyone, you opened the door and closed it behind you, stopping as you looked downstairs.

“Huh.”

That was odd. You could have sworn you left the lights on, the set up was weird and the light switch was at the bottom of the steps and you didn’t want some guest fumbling in the dark. It wasn’t pitch black thankfully, one of the lights in the actual basement was on, helping illuminate your way. You probably just misremembered, you were scrambling earlier when getting ready for the party. You shrugged and headed down the stairs, hand on the wall as you went, and soon you reached the bottom step, hand on the light switch and then this next part happened so suddenly it almost made your head spin.

Your hand met the light switch and before you could flip it on there was a hand over yours and another hand over your mouth and you nearly jumped out of your skin when you were pushed until your back met the wall, terrified before you realized who it was.

It was Leslie, his hand was off yours and he held one finger up to his mouth, signaling you to be quiet and you rolled your eyes with a nod and he smiled at that before pulling his hand off of your mouth,

“Hey y/n.”

“Leslie, what are you doing here?”

You gave him a small push, more playful than anything and he leaned against the wall opposite you, both still standing in on the last step of the stairs, essentially in the doorway. He took a moment to respond, looking you up and down before pointing and saying,

“That is a really cute outfit, I like it.”

“Nice deflection Les-”

To be fair to him, it WAS a really cute outfit. You had on a sweater and a tight skirt that landed just below mid-thigh and what looked like normal tights but were actually stay up thigh high stockings. You allowed yourself to smile at the compliment as you finished the thought,

“But really what are you doing here?”

“I missed you.”

You smiled more at his admission and you certainly missed him too but instead of vocalizing something you were sure he already knew you joked with him, lightening the mood,

“It’s been three whole days-”

“Three terribly long, awful days! I dunno how I survived them.”

The way he said it, so purposefully over-dramatic made you laugh, fuck you really had missed him, you’d been so busy running around you forgot that a little.

“And this meeting was by accident, you weren’t supposed to know I was here.”

“Oh no? And what pray tell where you here for if not to see me tonight?”

He pushed off the wall and took the one step forward needed to be closer to you, his hand reaching out for yours as he said,

“Well I DID miss you, that was accurate, but I was here doing a little research. Tryna find the best way in here so I could crawl into bed with you later after everyone else was asleep-”

Oh of course, how very fitting for him.

“-then when I heard the door open and saw it was you I figured it was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

You let him take your hand and you laced your fingers together, you weren’t mad, how could you be? Leslie was nothing if not careful and you were sure no one had seen him. You were about to tell him how good it was to see him but he spoke again first,

“How’s the party going anyway?”

“Oh good, fun time, I came down here to get some of the food over there-”

You gestured with the hand that wasn’t currently occupied holding his, pointing to the folding table with the few trays laid out.

“-bring it upstairs since no one seems to want to hang out down here tonight.”

Him asking that reminded you that you should be getting back up there, he was looking around the basement, he nodded in response to what you said. There was not much light except for one of the lamps on as well as the multicolored lights you strung up earlier.

“Looks good by the way. You do all the decorating down here yourself?”

You nodded once with a small hum, just watching him for a moment.

“Even this?”

He pointed straight up and you looked up to where he meant and saw it, mistletoe very clearly hanging in the doorway you two were currently under, you laughed and said,

“No way, I didn’t, someone else must have snuck down and did it after I was done. Stupid little family tradition they insist upon hanging mistletoe above like every door during the party.”

He pulled you closer to him using your already joined hands as he asked in that very playful way of his,

“Yeah? I’m assuming you get kissed at these parties all the time then. Must have the people just lining up.”

You were looking up at him, nearly pressed flush to him now. “Nope, never have been actually.”

The smile that answer got from him, call it whatever you want but there was something about firsts that just really did it for Leslie. You could tell what he wanted and while you hadn’t thought of it before or really actively wanted it you sure weren’t about to say no right now. His hand under your chin and tilting your head up to better facilitate what he was after,

“Well allow me.”

You leaned up to meet him better and you honestly couldn’t have pictured a better first kiss to happen under the mistletoe. You had kissed him and he had kissed you what must have been hundreds of times already in the time you had been together but it still felt so good.

Now it had been a few days and you looked and smelled and fuck, you even tasted so good that it was impossible to hold back for Leslie. That first innocent kiss turned into a second and a third and on and on, more heat, more hunger and you weren’t exactly turning him away.

It felt fucking good, and you had missed him and he was here now and his mouth on yours was so needed.

He was the one to escalate it even further.

He had let go of your hand and he put his hands to better use, starting on your hips and sliding up to your waist, pulling your sweater up slightly as he did, the slide of the soft fabric felt nice. You wrapped your arms loosely around his neck which he took as an opportunity to deepen the kiss and you could feel the shift in tension, it getting hotter, you were certainly getting hotter, wanting more, it was like he could sense it and his mouth moved again. Kisses over your jaw and down your neck and his strong hands squeezed your waist and you moved, exposing more of your bare throat to him and he took advantage of that, teeth grazing sensitive skin and his leg slipping between yours, it made your breath catch for a moment in your throat.

A sweet little gesture, what was supposed to be one simple kiss was turning into a full blown make out session, complete with hands roaming and groping, fuck you loved it when he manhandled you like this, you were getting significantly hotter and wetter, he pressed his thigh closer to you and fuck you should probably be getting back to the party. Before you could even think of vocalizing this though Leslie has started to slip down your body, you looked down to see him on his knees in front of you, fingers on the hem of your skirt,

“What are you doing?”

He had started to hike your skirt up your thighs as he said,

“What? It’s the holidays, baby. I’m in a giving mood.”

He said it with that smile that was just so classic him and you did want to do this but you had your reservations, you should be getting back, what if someone came looking for you? You reached down and held the hem of your skirt down, preventing him from pulling it up further,

“No I mean-right here? What if someone comes downstairs?”

He looked up at you, intense eye contact maintained as he moved your hand out of the way, you let him, he finished pulling your skirt up the rest of the way so it was bunched around your hips,

“Guess you are just going to have to be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.”

Well, shit.

That was unreasonably hot, you had to, no way you could say no to him right now and you were feeling so turned on right now too. His eyes fell back below your waist and his hands were on your outer thighs, a hum of approval as he looked over the thigh high stockings and panties you had on. You couldn’t look away as he leaned spread your legs further apart to better work between them, his mouth met your inner thigh and his breath felt so warm and he took his time for a minute, fingertips tracing over the intricate lace of the tops of your stockings as he kissed and nipped at your thighs, trailing higher and higher.

“So fuckin’ pretty.”

He sighed and one of his hands had slid up far enough to run over your clothed slit, your hips arched more into the touch, already craving more friction,

“And so wet too, this all for me?”

God, why did that smile of his fluster you so badly sometimes? You gave a small nod and his fingers hooked in the sides of your panties and he pulled them down, you stepped one foot out of them and soon his mouth was on you. When his lips first made contact you inhaled sharply, head tilting back and he took his time, soft open mouth kisses placed on you that had you already wanting to whimper but when his tongue licked that first stripe up over your clit you let out a moan, the back of his hand smacked your inner thigh and you looked back down to him. He was looking up at you and he pointed, you looked up the stairs to the basement door.

You swallowed hard remembering just where you were. That is right, you need to be careful, there was still a party going on up there, reminded of it you could hear it, vague sounds of people talking, laughing, music.

Another delicious pass of his tongue that had you biting your bottom lip to hold back.

You kept your eyes on the door, heart was pounding, this was so bad, so dangerous, you were in full view, if someone opened the door it would be over, you’d be seen easily and yet that thought, as scary as it was, helped fuel this. It felt hotter, better, adrenaline rushing through you along with the pleasure.

It felt fucking amazing. It always did when Leslie got between your thighs, the man adored to pleasure you anyway he could but that mouth of his was good for a lot more than bad jokes and smooth one-liners. He did it with such reverence and fervent passion, as if you were the best thing he had ever tasted and you were inclined to believe it when he did this. Lips and tongue working in tandem to seemingly drive you fucking insane.

Why were you standing for this though?

It had been minutes and you were already dying, not like he ever needed long but fucking hell you felt like your legs just might give out, you had managed to keep your moans in check but you were breathing much harder now, allowing yourself that one outlet to show how fucking good he was making you feel. His tongue was circling your clit and your eyes fell closed and you were just lost in the feeling and then he sucked deeply and your legs finally couldn’t take it, starting to give out from under you.

Luckily for you Leslie had such good reflexes, his hands were on the backs of your thighs and he moved with you, mouth barely breaking contact for a moment as your legs were thrown over his shoulders, your back forced to the wall behind you and you gasped, hands flying back to lie flat on the wall to help support yourself. He was so fucking strong and this was such a good reminder, once he had you in the position he wanted it was easy, a lot of your weight was resting on the wall and he just kept fucking going.

Eating you out like a man starved.

You were aching, the pressure and need inside mounting and fuck it felt so amazing and what he just did got to you terribly, it made your heart jump and your sex pulse, you could swear you felt yourself get wetter at him handling the situation like that. Throwing you around so easily.

He had one hand on your thigh, helping keep you balanced and his other hand coming up to join in on the assault currently happening with his mouth, two fingers sliding inside of your soaked cunt easily. One of your hands came up and covered your own mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he worked you over.

You were breathing so hard through your nose, small whines and whimpers spilling out, no way anyone could hear it upstairs but with just your hand in the way, he could hear them and he loved every single solitary sound he could draw from you. It wasn’t far off now, you pulled your hand away, panting,

“Oh my God Les-fuck! Yes I-I’m close-”

And that earned a hum from him, the vibrations of that felt wonderful and it had your hand back on your mouth in an instant to help muffle the moan and his fingers curled inside of you hitting that sweet spot, your back arched off the wall, pushing closer to him. Hips canting, desperate for more of him, of what he was doing. You took a deep and steadying breath and pulled your hand back from your mouth, trying to keep quiet but still encourage him, you knew how much he liked to hear you when you were like this, wrecked, and all because of him.

“P-please, Leslie, don’t stop, pleas-”

He loved to hear you beg and you had been so damn good for him there was no way he would ever dream of stopping right now. Your thighs were trembling as his fingers pumped in and out of you, hitting that same spot over and over as his mouth stayed locked on your clit, tongue rolling over it in just such a way that had electric burning pleasure and tension crackling under your skin. His hand still on your thigh squeezed once, silent encouragement and you were right there, telling him so, hushed, back of your hand to your mouth, head thrown back, resting against the wall, shaking in his grasp as you breathed out, hushed on a deep inhale,

“Yes! Les-’m gonna-”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence, having to bite the back of your hand otherwise your uncensored and obscene moan would have surely alerted one of the party guests and you tumbled over the edge, coming against his tongue and around his fingers. Breathing labored, unable to keep still, writhing as much as he would allow in his grip and with you partially pinned against the wall and rode out your high with him dragging every bit of sensation he could out of your orgasm.

When you had finally stopped shaking and had pulled your hand away from your own mouth was when he finally pulled his fingers out of you and pulled his mouth away. You looked down to see him cleaning off his fingers and fuck that made you clench down on nothing, you just came for fucks sake you shouldn’t be THAT into him doing that and yet here you were.

You spoke first, breathing out a huge exhale as you said,

“Holy shit Les.”

That got a laugh out of him as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth and he confirmed with a smile and a nod,

“Yeah holy shit is right.”

You laughed a little too, he rested his head on your thigh and was looking up at you, both his hands on your hips and it was quiet for a moment. He looked so good, so content and happy, mouth still wet from you, some of the colored light from the string lights nearby playing across his face. What a special thing he gave you, such a treat, an undeniably hot, unforgettable memory. You reached down, fingers running through his hair, enjoying the closeness, he placed another kiss on your thigh and started to tell you just how much he loved them when you felt it. You knew he meant his praise but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a distraction as one of his hands had trailed down your leg and was removing your panties that were still hanging off of one ankle.

“Whatcha doing there?”

Another little laugh from him, not denying it, he held up your panties up and you attempted to grab them, he pulled them away and made a big show of putting them into his jeans pocket.

“I just gave you a pretty nice gift so I am taking one of my own.”

“Oh really? Expect me to go back up to the party with no panties, huh?”

That same damn charming smile, his hands squeezed your hips and he started to carefully pull your legs off his shoulders, letting you get your footing back, you were a bit shaky but you were standing upright just fine.

“Maybe. So I think it’d be hot. Sue me.”

It did sound hot but also troublesome, you didn’t want to have to worry about your slick running down your thighs all night with no panties there to help catch the undoubtable mess that would still be running out of you until much later.

An idea of your own.

I mean you were still under the mistletoe right?

You put your hands on his chest and looked up to him as you said,

“What if I gave you a different present, could I get my panties back?”

“Depends on what it i-oh!”

And just like that you had dropped to your knees, hands already working on his belt, mouthing over the very hard and noticeable erection straining in his jeans, making his sentence cut off. His breath caught as you opened his fly and what he said next made you smirk, not from the content of the sentence but more from the way he tried to sound confident and a little detached and aloof, but failed. He was so obviously turned on and very much into what you were doing.

“I suppose I could. Only if you do a really good job, of course.”

Your hand wrapped around his hard shaft and the sharp intake of air from him made you smirk harder and you parroted back what he said, confirming what he said,

“Of course.”

#BHF writing #Kinky December #OOF!#I should be asleep #But I wanted this ready to go for midnight so here it be!#Leslie Vernon eats pussy like a champ do not @ me he JUST DOES #Leslie Vernon X reader #THIRST #Slasher fucker stuff #Please enjoy this filth #I worked very hard on it!

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blesspastacraig · 4 years ago

Text

A Year in Review

I wanted to creat a list of sorts of everything I wrote in 2020, since I managed to do a lot.

Here’s my one shots:

Not Alone - Published 08 Jan 2020

"I keep telling you, I don't want to go" Craig complains as he burps one of his two newborn twin daughters. His mom, thankfully is burping the other. Craig knows he should be nicer to her but two newborns has him at the end of his tether.

"I know but I'm going to keep pushing you until you do" she says, swaying and patting Daisy's back.

or Craig and Tweek bond at a young parents group because they're the only two people with twins.

New Beginnings - Published 19 Feb 2020

Tweek doesn’t want to push her, so they’re both a little cautious of one another. Tweek doesn’t want to barge in and fill a role she hasn’t given him yet. She’s never had a second parental figure before, and Tweek doesn’t want to force himself into that slot. He barely feels worthy of being the father to his biological child, let alone a stepdad figure to this poor little girl who’s life he’s just invaded.

Or Tweek takes Craig's daughter to a daddy daughter dance because Craig is unable.

Love Chooses You - Published 29 March 2020

He's heard the phrase that you can't choose who you love before, and really, right now he knows it's true. Damien never would have chosen to love Pip of all people.

Rebuild - Published 11 May 2020

“I’m flying Craig!” Tweek cries from the top of the concrete slab. Craig doesn’t answer, only sighs. He sinks down knowing he’s gonna let it happen. He doesn’t want to let it happen but the alcohol has made him slow. Kinda in the same way the drugs have made Tweek fast. They’re out of sync with no way of catching up until sobriety. So Craig just watches, letting it happen. Like he’s watching his own body do nothing. The inner voice tells him to move, to stop it but the body can’t unstick itself from the ground.

Coming Out - Published 20 May 2020

If Tweek is being honest his friends were Craig’s friends, originally. Now they’re his friends too but before Tweek had been a bit of a loner. Not by choice, but for whatever reason kids at school either didn’t like him or just didn’t know he existed. He spent most of his time alone, reading books, studying, playing music or anything one can do alone to ease boredom. For the longest time he’d been the freak and now he actually had friends, like, for real.

Red Racer and Ice Cream - Published 12 June 2020

He could leave, but he knows Tweek will start worrying about him. Tweek is having a good night, he seems pleasantly drunk and is having a great time with Jimmy and Token. Craig doesn't want to wreck what is shaping up to ve a good night for Tweek. It's taken a while to get Tweek to really feel comfortable in social situations like these. He wants Tweek to have the best night he can.

Much Ado About Theatre - Published 15 June 2020

"It's in english stupid, just old english" Tweek reminds Craig.

"Whatever I don't get it. It's like reading gibberish" Craig says dismissively, clearly frustrated.

"Why are you -nghh- taking this class then?" Tweek asks, purely curious. It's not just Shakespeare Craig seems disinterested in. He seems uncomfortable onstage as a whole.

"Because you're taking it" Craig admits sheepishly, a blush appearing on his cheeks.

Sure - Published 19 June 2020

Craig gets his first piercing and Tweek accompanies for moral support. They talk about facing fears and the future.

or Tweek is covered with piercings and tattoos and Craig is a body mod virgin.

Firsts - Published 02 July 2020

Craig likes having a Birthday in the winter. It's kind of a good excuse for only inviting like, four people to his gatherings on the excuse they can't go outside. Craig was never big on the schoolyard politics, even when he was small. The idea that he had to have the biggest party, or the most extravagant and have to decide who or whom not to invite stressed him out. He likes having the excuse that he only had a small house, and that his Birthday was in winter in Colorado, so that he can only invite his best friends and be done with it.

or Craig and Tweek's first birthdays together as boyfriends.

Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Serotonin, Oxytocin and Vasopressin - Published July 11 2020

Tweek sighs boredly as he stirs the potion in his cauldron. It's not that he doesn't like earning a living making potions for people and casting spells but it's so much of the same thing. It's always love potions, that's all he makes these days.

Distracted - Published 26 July 2020

Tweek and Craig needed this break so badly. He feels kind of bad for Craig's mom, who is probably going to have a sleepless night babysitting their son. But holy shit, they needed this.

Stir Crazy - Published 14 August 2020

Craig Tucker: Tucker baby coming 2020! We could not be more excited to announce that Tweek and I are having a baby! There's no one else I'd rather go on this crazy journey with. - with Tweek Tucker.

or Craig is pregnant in quarantine.

Source Decay - Published 16 August 2020

Craig still hasn't taken off his wedding ring. He knows he should, but he just hasn't found it in him yet. He knows Tweek hasn't either, he's seen it in pictures even though now they've been separated longer than they were together.

Baby’s First Skateboard - Published 10 September 2020

Craig and Tweek never really grew out of skateboarding. They do it less often than they did before becoming parents, but they still do their best to make time.

You’re the Boss at Home - Published 18 September 2020

So he has mixed feelings about his last day. He knows he'll miss working, he's always been a working person and he knows he won't like sitting at home waiting to go into labor. But also, he doesn't have to deal with everyone fussing over him being pregnant anymore.

Little Star - Published 03 October 2020

This can't be happening to him, he can't have a baby! What would he do with a baby? He doesn't know. He doesn't even know what he's going to do when he goes into labour. He knows, inevitably he will. That he will go into labour, the baby has to come out some way and it's gonna hurt. He knows all this, but he can't bring himself to ask for help. He knows he's in trouble but he doesn't know how to ask for help.

Baby Love - Published 02 November 2020

Craig tries to swallow down the pain. He can't yell or cry out. Everyone will know then. He has to stay quiet or else everyone will know. He bites down on his lip hard and crouches on the floor near his bed. He has to just breathe, if he breathes through it he can make it. He knows he can.

This Time Around - Published 12 November 2020

Tweek knew he was pregnant with his second child straight away. It was a 180 from his first pregnancy, where he took months to figure it out. When he was pregnant with his first child, his son Teddy, he didn't really have much in the way of symptoms besides being hungry all the time. That was pretty easy to dismiss and write off. They weren't trying for a baby, so Tweek had no reason to assume he was pregnant. He only worked it out because he began showing.

Whatever We Are - Published 22 December 2020

It's hard because Stan isn't quite sure what he is to Kyle. Is it just sex? Is it more? Does Kyle maybe wanna make it more official soon? Stan doesn't know. He knows he loves Kyle and he'd pretty much do whatever Kyle wants. But for now, he's just enjoying the intimacy.

Temptation - Published 24 December 2020

Being summoned is kinda annoying. It's kind of like being asleep, super deeply and then pulled into the bright bustling world with no warning. It's no wonder most demons are angry and violent.

Tweek is an imp, so he's more on the mischievous, poltergeist side of the spectrum. He still scares the shit out of most people who summon him. Usually kids with ouija boards who don't know what they're doing. It's whatever, Tweek usually chases them for a bit, makes them scream and that's enough mischief for one day. Tweek can choose to appear by choice, and leave when he wants to but he rarely does. Humans are mostly annoying, so he stays in his own little world until some idiot summons him.

Traditions - Published 25 December 2020

"I hate Christmas" Craig sighs, looking around at all the lights and decorations. He glares at all the people bustling around. Don't they have homes to go to? He rests a hand on his swollen stomach, he certainly wishes he was home.

Here’s My Multichapters, completed and ongoing:

The Sound of Silence - Completed 25 January 2020

15 Chapters

Craig manages to find himself alone, jobless and a new parent. He struggles to put the pieces of his life back together and build something new for both himself and his daughter.

Don’t Break Me - Completed 26 March 2020

2 Chapters

"What are you -ngrhh- accusing me of?" Tweek growls.

"Literally nothing Tweek, I'm accusing you of your health improving? Isn't that good?" Craig huffs in annoyance. He's sick of his intentions being misinterpreted.

Insight - Completed 10 April 2020

2 Chapters

Craig listens to the incessant ticking of the clock on his wall. He can’t actually see it, it’s night and all the lights are off. But he can hear it, a constant reminder of the passing of time. He knows he should sleep, he really wishes he could but it’s just too hard. Knowing Tweek isn’t here but not knowing where Tweek is. He can’t help but worry even though he has so much more to worry about. His mom would tell him off, tell him he needs to rest but this thing with Tweek has him so messed up.

When We’re Older - Completed 04 July 2020

10 Chapters

When they're older they'll start again. They'll get married, find a house, do it all right. Have children when the time is right and build the loving, nurturing home they both have always wanted.

Stowaway - Completed 14 July 2020

3 Chapters

He's slowly beginning to accept it himself, yes, he's pregnant. He knows it but he's not quite ready to face the consequences yet. He didn't intend to get pregnant, he just got too drunk at a party and had sex with a childhood friend. Consensual but unprotected. He feels stupid now.

So he hides them, the baby, like a little stowaway.

Algorithm - Completed 12 August 2020

5 Chapters

Craig shakes his head. He looks at the homemade bracelet which spells Craig on Tweeks wrist. His heart breaks thinking about how Tweek will cut it off once he knows the truth.

Two for the Price of One - Completed 26 August 2020

4 Chapters

Craig has never been one to succumb to baby fever. He knows a lot of people in his profession do. Both he and his husband, Tweek, professional lives revolve around babies. Newborns too, and while Craig acknowledges that babies may be cute, other people's kids have never really triggered some urge to have his own.

Hungry - Completed 11 September 2020

2 Chapters

Tweek has heard about cryptic pregnancies before. He's seen I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant before, people saying they didn't have any nausea, felt normal, didn't put on weight. This isn't quite that, Tweek gained a small amount of weight. He felt fatigued, but he just put that down to stress. He didn't feel nauseous unless he had a headache, so it was really easy to blame that on the headache. The real only symptom he's had is the hunger. He doesn't think it's far fetched that he didn't realise, surely?

or Tweek doesn't realise he's pregnant because his only real symptom is being hungry all the time :)

Creek Week 2020 - Completed 02 November 2020

7 Chapters

My contribution for this years Creek Week 2020

All seven of these are short snippets of either fics I intend to write, or AU's I have left unfinished. But I thought it might be fun to share small excerpts.

Complicated - Ongoing, Last updated 08 January 2021

18 Chapters Published, 20 Chapters all together.

Craig kind of has an image. It's not that he's pretending to be someone else, but he likes to be perceived as aloof, cold and quiet. He's nice to people who truly know him, but he doesn't like to be perceived as soft from the outside. People already think he's kind of weird, and putting up those walls really helps him to keep unwanted people out. His boyfriend sees his sensitive side, his friends do and his family do. The rest of the world gets a cold shoulder, at least until he gets to know someone and decides to let them in.

Craig and Tweek figure out an unplanned pregnancy, Craig learns families come in all shapes and sizes. Especially LGBTQ ones.

AO3 Statistics:

Word Count: 261512

Works Published: 31

Top Five Fics by Hits:

1. Complicated

2. When We’re Older

3. The Sound of Silence

4. Stowaway

5. Hungry

All in all, not a bad output. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read, leave kudos and comment. ❤️

#2020 masterpost #2020 roundup #2020 year in review #my writing master post #my fic #my writing #craig tucker #tweek tweak #craig tucker/tweek tweak #sp creek #creek sp #creek #south park #south park fanfiction

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davidmann95 · 4 years ago

Note

How'd you like the new Death Metal special (and, more broadly, this week's comics)?

pretenderoftheeast said: Comics this week (12/9/2020)?

Batman: Black and White #1: The first of a platter of anthologies today:

* The Tynion/Moore story is predictably fire.

* JHIII is JHIII. Also he does a really nice surprising story about how Batman’s relating to this moment of the time, but let’s be real, you’re here because JHIII, and be assured he is JHIII as helllll here and it’s great.

* Dini/Kubert plays as the former building a story around accommodating requests by the latter, but that’s not a bad thing, and glad to see Kubert’s kept up the pace since his DK3/Up In The Sky creative rejuvenation.

* Ok I’m a philistine who has no idea what that Emma Rios thing was about but it was certainly pretty.

* Wilson doing Batman is surprisingly disappointing, but Smallwood doing Batman definitely isn’t.

DC’s Very Merry Multiverse: Not a very merry time! I hate to say it given this should be so geared to my interests, but this is the weakest overall effort we’ve gotten from one of DC’s quarterly anthologies in a good long while, at least among those I’ve picked up. Not to say it’s a dud, there are several nifty little stories in here including the much-hyped first appearance of Kid Quick (destined to become the Flash of Future State) and really almost everything here reaches ‘pretty okay’. But for $10, and a creative space that should reach so much more than ‘pretty okay’, I don’t know that this is a justifiable recommendation unless you’re understandably desperate for all the President Superman content you can get your hands on.

Tales of the Dark Multiverse: Flashpoint: I’m surprised I got it too, but the preview grabbed me and in practice it was a fun, mean little high-concept adventure of Reverse Flash being a total cock.

Wonder Woman #768: Credit where it is due, this has been getting a bit better in its closing stretch.

Dark Nights: Death Metal: The Last Stories of the DC Universe: This ruled. Obviously there was the one story folks are most interested in, but almost all of the tales in here lived up to being a ‘final’ story of sorts for their leads.

* The Titans bookenders were pretty nice even if it’s hilarious that their big rallying cry basically amounts to “by god, our book may be shit, but we’re valuable IP so we’ll never be cancelled!”

* Green Lantern is basically an epilogue to Johns’ run sans the baggage of bringing back Johns (that we get in two weeks with Secret Origin and god forgive me I’m so looking forward to that), and definitely one of my favorite efforts from Lemire.

* Wonder Woman’s the stinker in what’s nominally her own event. I can parse the roots of most bad Superman stories one way or another, but I just can’t understand what’s behind most bad Wonder Woman stories beyond that the people handling it simply don’t give a shit.

* Astonishingly, the Green Arrow and Black Canary chapter in here might be my favorite of the bunch? Simone at her best, a really sweet slice of playful, sincere romance about two characters I’m not by default invested in but ended up quite caring for here.

* This Aquaman story is everything I generally hate in Aquaman stuff, a big long maudlin speech about the weight of the world as he swims through a black featureless ocean, except here between the real heart Sebela brings to the script and the mood artist Christopher Mooneyham manages to evoke, it all clicks together.

* The Batman Family story feels like it can’t quite make its pacing work, but it’s still a heartfelt little ode to the theoretical power of the concept.

* Hey, that Mark Waid guy? Turns out he can write him some Superman. It’s not perhaps the total barnburner you might have expected - I imagine he’s saving his biggest hits for later - but it’s a very solid execution of a gangbusters concept, and Manapul steals the show with absolutely sensational, gorgeous scenic Superman imagery. I’mma say 60/40 in favor of them doing a Superman project together on either a main book or Black Label (I know Manapul was supposed to be locked into a creator-owned thing with Scott Snyder but that was ages ago), because this is a paring that’s yielded some immediate results and I imagine everyone knows it. And given my upbringing, nice to see a big, iconic, beautiful Superman story with him rocking the mullet.

Anonymous said: Haha holy shit Crossover is literally Cates taking that page where Spawn meets all the corporate heroes locked up and spinning it out into a series

Anonymous said: Does Crossover #2 hold the crown for the funniest, dumbest, most baffling opening page ever?

Crossover #2: Readers I’m not too big to admit I laughed my ass off at the first page, and at least a little bit for the actual reasons intended. The sense of homaging that Spawn scene in the context of a book about “Gosh, isn’t IP the best folks?”, or Cates’ dialogue...(shall we say) proving why he likes the concept of ellipses enough to name a character after them aside though? That it’s already crossed the line with its central metaphor from “indefensibly insensitive in its ridiculous self-centeredness” to “out-and-out cartoonishly offensive” somehow actually makes it more rather than less palatable; there’s no longer the secondhand embarrassment of waiting to see how bad Cates is going to handle this, it simply is the worst it could possibly be and readers have to accept and perhaps revel in the sight of him stepping on rake after rake. I cannot wait for him to finally give an interview on this book where he explains what the hell he thinks this looks like, and I hope my dad keeps somehow enjoying it forever because I totally wanna see what pit this descends to next.

Penultiman #3: This is absolutely agonizing and probably the most relatable take on a ‘superman’ ever.

Home Sick Pilots #1: A new creator-owned book from Dan Watters (whose big two credits include the stupendous “Afraid of America” with John Paul Leon in the last Batman Secret Files, and the upcoming Future State: Superman/Wonder Woman) and Peter Cannon’s Caspar Wijngaard, this new book set against the backdrop of a Californian high school’s punk scene in 1994 describes itself as “Power Rangers meets The Shining (yes, really)”. The former influence isn’t much in play yet, but thus far this is a book that merges building tension and freewheeling dopey teen bullshit to an extent that’s subtly impressive as hell, and seems likely to proudly take a place among the current horror comic renaissance.

Warhammer 40,000: Marneus Calgar #3: Ok again I don’t have any experience with this franchise but you’d better believe that cultural osmosis was enough that I popped for BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

King in Black: Namor #1: Kurt Busiek’s return to Marvel...sucks? Such is the power of Knull I guess even if he doesn’t manifest within the actual story here, this is a complete nothing of a comic and I’m not tuning in for issue #2.

Avengers #39: Eh, I’m not liking Aaron Avengers when it gets remotely serious nearly as much as when he’s doing stuff like having them finally help Blade with all those vampires or Captain America assisting with the delivery of an exploding space-baby in the back of a muscle car.

Anonymous said: That new Guardians of the Galaxy was something else. What do you think the odds are that Comic Books, with a decade or two of hindsight, recognizes Ewing as one of the best to ever do it?

Guardians of the Galaxy #9: I lack much context here beyond recalling from an interview that this is Ewing’s way of grappling with the ideas from Steve Englehart’s original unrealized vision of Star-Lord’s character arc, but wherever it stems from this is a hell of a comic.

S.W.O.R.D. #1: This is everything I’ve wanted from the non-Hickman X-books since the moment HoXPoX ended, and so much more, and also it is basically hilarious that Ewing is all but explicitly using his clout to force Marvel to let him to Ultimates3 under a currently cancellation-proof banner. Most importantly of all, Ewing has already mastered the subtle art of writing not merely Magneto, but the infinitely superior Jonathan Hickman Magneto. And good lord Schiti and Gracia, I already knew they were top-tier but these pages’d make a grown man cry.

#Week's Comics #Opinion

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warsmith-38 · 4 years ago

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How I would do RWBY Pt. 0

Disclaimer: It is easier to improve what already exist than it is to create something new. Boy howdy do I know that. That being said, I believe that RWBY has more than its fair share of flaws and this is how I would do it differently if I was behind the reigns. This is just a collection of my opinions and ideas which in the end will probably amount to nothing. I felt the need to do this because my brain just decided ‘nah motherfucker, you ain’t thinking of anything else from now on’ and this is the end result for nothing else would satisfy my rage.

I wouldn’t quite call this a complete re-haul, but more rather a rework with some of my own brand of polish. It’s not a compete rebuild from the ground up in a different world with different concepts and themes, but how I would go about a second go around with the series from the base that is already there. If a detail is missing from my musings then assume it is either unchanged or removed, depending on context.

If some of my complaints were addressed after I stopped watching, I honestly don’t much care. If it takes longer than 4 seasons to fix what I view as fundamental problems, then it’s far too little too late for me. I paid scant attention to the series post my stopping point and liked little to none of what I saw.

Please do not take this as a specific attack on anything other than the writing of the show itself. This is not directed or targeted against anyone, regardless of position or feelings on the topic at hand. If you ignore what I just said and decide to take this as an insult, then I say that you need to be more self-secure in your tastes and interests.

Things I would remove + reason why

Silver eyed warriors as a concept- it’s more or less the same concept as dojutsu from Naruto. It’s the fucking sharingan (rubygan). It’s not quite chosen one level, but crap like this is the blight of good protagonists. It’s fucking eugenics that makes you awesome not your own skills or training but on your bloodline. No need for personal development or life-changing hardship when you have a built in power that can be cultivated like a fucking bumper crop.

Maidens- Wasn’t intended originally and only made the overall story more cluttered with power creep and plot device. It’s a similar problem as above. No need for training or anything if people can just kill the person who has the power currently and take if from them. Which, at that point, why do you want that power if you’re already strong enough to kill and take it from the person who has it to begin with? It’s something someone just shouted out and they rolled with it because it sounded cool in the moment.

The Relics- McGuffin dragonballs that serve as plot device and little else. A story can be told without needing to monotonously race for Excalibur or the holy grail. Considering the Maidens, I doubt that the relics were intended in the first place and as such if you can’t tell a story without throwing something in after a few seasons because you realized that you didn’t have a plot, then you’re not that good at telling stories.

Oscar- The show didn’t need more main protagonists when what was already there wasn’t being given enough characterization to begin with. For that matter-

Quite a few characters- The cast is cluttered and convoluted enough as is with seemingly important characters getting the shaft in favor of yet another new character that would barely do anything. Time and effort seems to be put into one-off schmucks that would be better served making the story not need poochie the dog, let alone several. Character integration is not ‘create a character to do one thing and then pretend they don’t exist’. There’s already plenty of characters than can be used wherever.

The overt shipping bait, especially if it’s just going to be taken up or abandoned on a whim- I don’t mean relationship building, I mean the obvious baiting of a relationship that, in the end, might not even happen. All it does is dumb down characters and character arcs, draw out pointless scenes, and make the fans have conniptions one way or another. People are pissed off whenever things don’t go their way with shipping so the only winning move with these people is not to play their game. Looking at you Klance and Zutara. Either don’t do anything or have a fucking plan and stick to it and not make complete swerves when fans get uppity. If it genuinely matters to you, then pretend whatever ship happens at whatever point, I don’t care.

Changes to the world that I think would go over better-

Everyone has a level of aura with a naturally high level generally meaning that they might be able to unlock a semblance. A semblance is unlocked through some sort of specific event, typically a stressful one IE: Yang and Ruby are caught in the woods by grimm and Yang gets frustrated and scared at not being able to defend her sister before getting angry and her rage mode semblance unlocking. Not everyone who unlocks a semblance goes into combat schools but it is a requirement for acceptance into most of them. Having the potential to unlock a semblance seems entirely random but has a higher chance with genetics.

There are two types of semblances: 1 is hereditary like the Schnee glyphs, changing only slightly, if at all, through the generations. 2 is a random personal power like Yang having her rage mode as compared to Raven’s portals. Whichever you get tends to be random with the occasional exception depending on genetics and the specific semblance.

Every 1 in assumedly 10 people who have semblances have the potential to have two semblances, often times, but not necessarily, being one hereditary and one random. The process of unlocking the second semblance involves immense emotional distress and in some cases might not even happen for the individual who has the potential, period, thus skewing data. This gives an enhanced type power but isn’t protagonist exclusive. It shows a higher than average power capacity, but isn’t a gamebreaker to the same level as a fucking kekkei genkai or getting the powers of a fucking demigod. A good amount of characters would only have one semblance and be considerable badasses despite it and even be able to beat a couple of the few that have two.

Establish Menagerie as the official Fifth Kingdom, the newest of the great kingdoms. Maybe not the singularly strongest or most influential, but make it so Menagerie and its people, the faunus, have a considerable role in the world’s affairs, if even from an isolationist standpoint. Don’t have them as even a semi thriving entity that isn’t a kingdom because that only begs the question as to why the kingdoms are so important to begin with then.

Make the White Fang a faunus supremacist group that has very little support, if any, from the faunus people as a whole. Faunus right issues are history for the vast majority of the world and the White Fang as a whole is only using the problems in Atlas with the SDC as a means of trying to gain power. There are actual faunus rights groups trying to make things better for their race in Atlas and other marginalized areas but the White Fang dislikes them on the grounds that they go against their goal and it makes them look even worse.

Fucking pronounce names correctly, I mean, Christ. Weiss, the word, is pronounced like ‘Vice’. It’s an actual fucking word. It’s the German word for white. It’s like saying tor-till-uh not tor-tee-ah. Blake is Bella-doe-nah not Bella-dawn-uh. Shit like that. No you don’t need to put on a heavy accent to say these words but pronouncing things so inaccurately just makes you look like an ignorant rube (no, that was not a pun). I don’t fucking care what your reasons are. Why use these words in the first place if you’re not even going to try to say them right?

Ozpin is order to Salem’s chaos. Ancient demigods of both archetypes vying for power across the ages and the innocent peoples of the world be damned in the crossfire. Neither are entirely good nor evil but both are not exactly helpful to the free peoples on the world and the continued livelihood thereof. Their progenitor god created them to try and guide humanity in a balanced way. That seemed to work at first, but then failed like a bad marriage and they waged war ever since like a bad divorce. The grimm are a creation of Salem’s to test humanity and make then stronger through conflict. Ozpin ranges from the lawman to the fascist fairly duplicitously. The two can only be permanently killed by each other but neither wants to get too close to the other because of that exact same reason. If killed by other means, they will resurrect after a fashion no worse for wear.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Ruby Rose- It is a crime that the titular character has so little actual character beyond just being ‘Hyperactive Anime Protagonist #235’. Most of her (few) character traits are tell not show, and of course she’s got the fucking rubygan bloodline ability crap. She has next to nothing that isn’t allotted by default to most anime protags on the grounds of the stereotype. For the main character to have less character than any of the members of the fucking B-team is a travesty.

1. Give her a clear rebellious streak, a distinct problem with authority, and a headstrong attitude. Daddy doesn’t want her to be in danger, so she decides to become a huntress. She’s told to stay put, so she hunts down Roman. She’s told that she needs to stay home and recover, so she sets out on her own not thinking about the exact consequences. Make her the impetus for the team’s involvement with the problems of the world in the early seasons. Make her a driving part of the plot, not just being along for the ride or because someone else said so.

2. Give her blood knight tendencies. Make her VERY willing to get into a fight with the bad guys, not just fights in general, but fights against bad guys. Nothing over the top, but enough that she has a scene or three where she says “Shut up bad guy, skip to the part where we get to kick the crap out of you,” or something of that nature. Hyper combative characters are fun and ethical.

3. Give her more traits as a mechanic and weapon nerd. Include scenes of her fixing everyone’s weapons for fun or being able to analyze an opponent’s fighting style based on the type, design, and/or wear & tear of their weapon, make her a polyglot of weapons that can be at least proficient in using just about any weapon. Come to think of it…

4. Anything that could give her actual character traits. They don’t even have to be all that major traits, just give her enough so that we actually have a character with more definition than printer paper. She’s the main character, the titular character at that. This isn’t a video game with a blank-slate protagonist. If the main character isn’t even really a character, like, at all, then what’s the fucking point?

5. Convert silver eyes power into a second semblance for white fire vision that kills grimm like nothing else. Gotten as a hereditary semblance from Summer. Which is also why Summer was specifically targeted by Salem on the grounds that it makes her just a little too dangerous for her long-term plans. This makes it so she isn’t just the fucking chosen one, but still has a clear definitive reason to be involved against the big bad because, y��know, dead mom. Yes, this kinda goes into the whole ‘bloodline is what determines importance’ thing I wanted to be rid of, but it’s only a chance two generations instead of a massive lineage of nonsense and keeps more of the onus of involvement on Ruby herself.

6. Give her a very clear motivation that’s deeper than surface level. ‘Oh, I want to do the right thing’ is a flimsy as balls motivation especially compared to the rest of her team that has that AND an actual reason for thinking that way. Why does she want to be the good guy? What happened in her life that makes her this motivated to doing the right thing? Yang has her desire to find her mother (which, come to think of it, doesn’t necessitate being a good guy), Blake has wanting to make up for being a terrorist, Weiss has her desire to step out from under the shadow of her family’s reputation, even fucking Jaune, the b-team protagonist, who wants to live up to his family reputation, has a proper motivation to be involved in the story. WHY is Ruby involved beyond ‘I’m the main character’ level reasoning? As much as admitting it makes me wish to commit Sudoku, even SAO has better main character motivations. Good god, I need hooch after typing that.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Yang Xiao-Long- Her arc was mostly fine, barring some of the pacing. Raven being a maiden undercut the message of ‘screw that deadbeat bitch, go to your real family’ by making her important to the overall world state and confirming a measure of later relevance but that’s more a flaw with Raven than Yang.

1. Keep her motivation about getting strong enough to find her mother but add in the clear desire to kick her ass for leaving her and Tai. Of course it’s more about just getting the answers to her questions, but the ass-kicking should also be a major component.

2. Amp up the rivalry between her and Mercury. Mercury was designed as an opposite to Yang, I mean for fuck’s sake, look at him. Consider their respective backstories too; both raised in a single father home yet one was supported and loved (if a little neglected) while the other was horrifyingly maimed and abused. Punch vs kick. It works.

3. Make her more protective of her little sister, explicitly going along with her personal crusade to keep her safe (safer, rather). If she’s supposed to be the good older sister, maybe just maybe, something more than lip-service to that idea should be done. Hell, maybe she can be overprotective like their father, or even the exact opposite, not really giving a shit and then learning to give one. That might lead to a little tension and growth between the two of them.

4. Make her semblance consistent. Is she supposed to have super saiyan rage mode or is it energy buildup and dispersal? Is it supposed to be both? Just make it rage mode, for the sake of fuck, and don’t flip-flop. Speaking of…

5. Give her anger issues. Flesh out her being the kind of gal that would start a fight in a nightclub when she doesn’t get what she needed with little justification. This would stem from abandonment issues from Raven, Summer (inadvertently), and Tai and her general thrill seeking personality. This could lead to tensions and dramas until she overcomes it and learns to use her aggressive feelings and not let them use her.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Blake Belladonna- Shitty-kitty is shitty, here’s why.

1. Do something with the hypocrisy of being, more or less, princess of Menagerie, a world power albeit a minor one, and joining a band of terrorists that do more harm than good for the people they claim to represent. It’s like a trust-fund baby joining some charity organization in Africa for a few weeks, doing jack-shit to help, joining some jihadists, and then acting like she’s Mahatma Gandhi.

2. Make her arc less about running away and fighting Adam, more about realizing that running is for assholes and try to find her team to at least apologize for cutting and running like she did. Doing that and stopping Adam are not mutually exclusive. The friend thing should be the priority. As it stands she is almost rewarded for abandoning her team just to focus on her own problems.

3. Make her arc involve going from ‘There’s no such thing as pure evil’ to ‘Okay maybe some people are just too evil to work with’. Some people are too far gone and, despite still having good traits, will only ever continue to do evil things and don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone has some sort of good motive beneath the surface and, even then, does that matter when the only action they do is objectively evil? Still, y’know, save who you can, like Ilia.

4. Have Belladonna not actually be her last name. If she’s the daughter of a the chief of Menagerie, the closest thing the faunus have to a unified racial leader, then how the unholy shit does nobody recognize her name? She is, again, princess of Menagerie, yet nobody recognizes the name in a grander context. Have ‘Belladonna’ be a cover name so she can hide her identity better so that she’s using what should be a very recognizable real name in a tournament that is broadcasted worldwide. Her real family name could be “Nightshade” or some shit like that.

5. If she’s supposed to be ‘The quiet one’ maybe actually have her be quiet and not make big speeches every season or have loud arguments with her team. Just a fucking thought. If she’s still supposed to do that, then make her ‘the opinionated one’ or ‘the kind of mean one’ or even ‘the one who doesn’t shut up’. Blake, as seen, or rather heard, is not the quiet one.

6. Have her actually fucking interact with Ruby. Maybe they have a two-person book club. Maybe Blake teaches Ruby to meditate or something. Anything, anything at all would be fine, anything more than nothing at all. Blake’s whole interaction with the team shouldn’t just be through Yang and cursory scenes with Weiss.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Weiss Schnee- You can’t solve racism with like two scenes.

1. Make the racism thing a much more gradual decay rather than more or less disappearing after a single conversation. Hell, make jokes about it, ‘oh, no, one of my best friends is a faunus,’ stuff. It’s hard to unlearn an upbringing of hate, but she’s trying type stuff.

2. Involve her at least a little with the White Fang plot. It only makes sense that the heiress of the company that still more or less has slave labor is at least semi-involved with the plotline involving terrorists that want that company destroyed. Make her subject to assassination attempts at a young age, or even have her been kidnaped at a young age and held hostage, getting her scar in the process.

3. As evident by some of the intros, her rival was supposed to be Emerald. This could be serviceable, at the very least. The street rat pickpocket that had to learn life lessons the hard way and was taken in by the baddies VS. the rich heiress born with a silver spoon but raised by a dickhead. There’s potential there and it is a crime that it is not explored in the slightest. Even Yang and Mercury had a minor fight.

4. Like Yang, make her semblance consistent. Is it supposed to be summoning or physics altering magic symbols? These are two completely different powers, it’s not like super speed also giving super reflexes or whatever. Just make it one or the other, don’t bullshit us on these things. Or, hell, make it a second semblance she gets during the course of story.

5. Emphasize her loneliness. Make the main onus of her personal arc be about how she goes from this prickly, spoiled, opinionated, brat to a warm and caring friend who only wants the best for everyone. Yes, this might be the main intention in canon, but I feel it could have used a little more refining.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Cinder Fall- If she’s supposed to be Ruby’s chief rival and foil then she needs a lot of work to even be close. She shouldn’t be nothing but the rival, but at that same time she should have that be a considerable part of her characterization and role in the series. I feel the best way to do it is to have their similarities highlight their differences in both character and design. Basically, make her the Vergil to Ruby’s Dante.

1. Make her Ruby’s age. Being the same age as Ruby while initially outclassing her, and even veteran hunters, provides risk and contrast between the two. Throw in an evil sadistic streak compared to Ruby’s happy-go-lucky personality to further the contrast and you’ve got a good little yin-yang thing for them. It also shows just how bad someone can turn out if raised to be a killing machine.

2. Keep her using the bow/twin swords as a comparably simple weapon in contrast to Ruby’s, even in universe, overcomplicated Scythe/Sniper rifle. Both weapons are long range marksmen’s weapons as well as vicious close combat weapons but are still very different in essence. Also make sure she keeps the red with black and gold color scheme is contrast with Ruby’s Black with red and silver. Even minor visual cues can work to the rival schema.

3. Make her one of the people who have two semblances. Pyromancy (pyrokinesis? Fire bending, she has fire bending) and dilated perception (bullet time) so that Ruby’s super speed and the dilated perception cancel each other out, adding a little extra tension to the fights now that both parties’ signature abilities are moot points against each other.

4. Make her competent. She kills Ozpin and Pyrrha and then she either fails or draws every fucking fight she has afterwards baring nameless jobbers here and there. Even before that, she needed help to take down Amber and even manages to fuck that up. The more failures she has and the less intimidating she is. Too much of that and she’s just a jobber that makes you wonder why she was ever seen as intimidating in the first place. When that happens then Ruby beating her is just the status quo and not a triumph of any sort.

5. Make her Ruby’s long lost fraternal twin sister. Incredibly cliché, I admit, but siblings make the best rivals, especially twins. Once again, it’s all about adding the similarities and the contrasts. In this case it creates the ‘there but for the grace of god go I’ idea with the two of them. Ruby seeing it as how evil she could have turned out and Cinder seeing it as how weak she could have been (Eventually becoming how good she could have had it because I’m a sucker for redemption arcs) Who said that?

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Team JNPR- JNPR was fine-ish but the over focus on Jaune and the underutilization of Ren + Nora early on are both issues. B-team should not get jack shit before the A-team gets the lions share.

1. Downplay Jaune’s screen time. I doubt this is a particularly controversial statement. Jaune is not the titular character. This is (technically) a shoujo not a shounen. It’s supposed to be about the girls more than the guys. It kind of undercuts that idea when the guy (the side guy at that) gets the lion’s share of characterization, attention, and growth before the girl (the main girl) does.

2. Make Ren and Nora actual characters earlier on. Comic relief is all well and good, but either extend that to the whole team or make these two characters more than just comic relief in the early parts of the story. Make them, y’know, actual characters. They ain’t gotta be all that important, but they do have to be actual characters.

3. Make Pyrrha’s deathflags less blindingly obvious. We all knew Pyrrha was going to get clipped. The self-sacrificing type, all the musical and visual cues throughout, being based on Achilles, and ‘oh she just confessed to the boy she likes’. Homegirl was waving deathflags like an insecure redneck with the confederate flag. When you foreshadow obvious things that much it’s not a surprise to the audience when it happens and the reaction of the in universe characters seems overdone. If it’s not supposed to be a surprise then, whatever, but that’s clearly not the case if you’re going for just shock value. It’s fine for a character to die, but for the love of Jaysus you got to do something with it more than ‘this character’s sole purpose is to die for the angst and to up the stakes’. Pyrrha was just a plot jobber.

4. Make them a little more independent in the overall plot. Give them their own full sub-plots, have them go on their own little adventures, have them do things completely separate from RWBY that has plot relevance but not overtaking the main story in grandeur or importance. B-team gets B-plots and are cool in it of themselves.

Overt changes to (and complaints about) Qrow Branwen- Take or leave this, I just felt the need to include this because reasons.

1. Just make him Dante from Devil May Cry. Just make his personality the same as Dante from Devil May Cry. Make him stylish and cool but low-key a massive dork. He’s too cool to drink or smoke or anything harsher than PG-13. This series could use a guy like that, says I.

2. Make his semblance something that makes sense and isn’t just an angst generator. How do you even quantify ‘bad luck aura’ as a power? Make it short range teleportation as a connection to Raven’s portals. Make it so that he can direct the bad luck at will. Do SOMETHING with it that isn’t just an excuse for mostly pointless character angst.

3. This technically also counts as a Raven change but whatever. Make the Branwen family old nobility and not a loser bandit tribe from nowhere. Or at least make it so they used to rich or something. They come from a family that had a good amount of cash and even a chateau in Mistral. After the money dried up and the chateau ransacked by grimm, the Branwen twins had differing opinions on how to proceed. Qrow fully integrated into the hunter thing while Raven ran away and became a bandit, using it as further excuse to skedaddle on Tai and a recently born Yang.

#RWBY #RWDE #I guess #Ruby Rose #Weiss Schnee #Blake Belladonna #Yang Xiao Long #Ozpin #Cinder Fall #Tagging this as much as I please #Team JNPR #Jaune Arc #Rewrite #Hate if you wish #How I would do...#Pyrrha Nikos

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