#how we can create something from nothing to fill those gaps (maybe even if less of an actual story the greatest creation there can appear?)

[msue0027]

Why couldn’t I get into something normal, or at least something with consistent canon? Now I am digging into depths of Whoniverse (and we all know the canon doesn’t exist (it is what you want it to be (a bit like Schrödinger’s canon: it both exists and does not, and a bit like a Young Experiment, different when observed, and in 3 places at the same time))); and I am studying Arthurian legends – where every source gives you different facts. And I’m trying to make sense out of it. And create for those universes. It’s fun. And the greatest torture.

[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

[jangofctts]

Anything at All (boba fett x fem!reader) (part one) (part two) 

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: smut, even mORE thrONE fucking, oral sex (f receiving), boba’s a biter, unprotected sex (dont be silly, wrap thAT wiLLY), vaginal fingering, explicit language, boba is a grouchy dom kwjhgjh       

a/n: anyway I think yall forget im a writer and not just a Certified Clown, but anywAy here we be. HAPPY NEW YEARS ya FILTHY anIMALS im so thankful for all yall and im glad I can provide you with some entertainment kaejhejhr

  You haven’t seen Boba Fett in days. 

Called away on business you’ll never be included in or know the fine details about. It’s not kept away from you because he doesn’t trust you, or thinks you’re a mindless idiot—no—he’d rather keep his princess occupied with prettier things. No need to concern yourself with the the underbelly of what he now rules. 

You’re not upset about it—you’re not really a fan of watching petty squabbles that’ll result in someone’s chest being imploded by a blaster. You’ve seen enough of it in the cantina, and while you were never the one tasked with clearing the bodies out—it was still mildly traumatizing. Eh—no need to dwell. 

You’ve got other shit to do anyway. 

There’s a seemingly endless zigzag of secret hallways and dusty rooms within the palace, teeming with strange knickknacks and ancient artifacts that are more than likely cursed. Definitely haunted—but it doesn’t stop you from exploring or sorting through the useless junk. Besides—Fennec stayed behind, acting as your glorified babysitter for the past few cycles—ensuring your safety from both whoever dared step foot into the palace and the ghosts. What a lovely woman. 

Speaking of which—you hear her sigh and shuffle, shifting her weight onto her other foot as she leans back against a dusty crate. She picks at the dirt beneath her fingernails, lazily glancing up every now and then to check that you haven’t eviscerated yourself on a piece of scrap metal or something. Lucky for her, all you found today was an abandoned crate of old datapacs shoved in the back corner from what you assumed to be some sort of office. Yesterday you found a sword that was promptly confiscated.  

“I’d be careful snooping around in those,” Fennec warns as your fingers find the on switch. “You never know what sorta data the Hutts were keeping here.”

You shrug and wave away her concern, reading over the information that flickers across the screen. “I think I’ll be ok…See?” You pointedly wave the datapac in her direction. “This one is about the finances. Spooky.”    

Fennec rolls her eyes followed by an amused smirk that ghosts over her lips. You toss it aside and root around some more, pulling out another datapac. The blue hologram flickers to life and as you decipher the little lines of text your face falls. Each line is a name, previous and recently bought or traded people that crossed the threshold of the palace. Fennec was right. This isn’t fun anymore.    

“These are…slaves.” Your lips curls in disgust. “How is this still not outlawed? It’s barbaric.”      

“You’re not from Tatooine, are you?” Fennec asks as she meanders over and wrestles the datapac out of your hands. She switches it off and tosses it back into the dusty crate. You huff and cross your arms over your chest.  

“No,” you agree. “Im from Arkanis. But even there we don’t have slaves.” 

Fennec squats beside you, her elbows resting over her bent knees. She playfully taps your shoulder with the back of her hand and quirks a brow. “What’d I tell you—snooping doesn’t do anyone any good.”

You roll your eyes and shrug, a frown still etched on your lips. Fennec sighs, rubs her chin and then reaches out to push a stray hair behind your ear. A flush blooms up your cheeks at the gentle touch. 

“You have a sensitive soul, Kitten,” she chuckles, poking at your cheek that you’re certain she can feel the heat emirate from. “You said you were from Arkanis—tell me about it. Why come to Tatooine?”

Your lips quirk in a tiny smile as you bat away her pointer finger, saving your cheek from another poke. “Hey—not everyone likes rain ok?” You huff. “Besides, Tatooine wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”

She nods. Unsure what exactly to tell her--a silence ensues. It’s not terribly awkward but it’s enough that makes you jumpy and itching to move on from this room now stained with information you weren’t prepared on finding. You stand suddenly, brush yourself off and mutter under your breath about finding something less…heartbreaking. 

Fennec jumps up as well and when you leave the room her hand clamps over your shoulder. She spins you around and levels her gaze onto you. “You’re free to leave whenever you like. You know that right?”

Your brows furrow. “I know—don’t worry, I want to stay.”

Her head bobs with a satisfied nod. “We’d miss you if you left. You’re nice to have around.”

You blush again and mumble out a thank you, shooting off into another unexplored location to escape Fennec’s knowing smirk. Maker—you’re embarrassing.  

                               -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Boba returns later that afternoon—the shadow of his familiar figure stretches around the curved stairway, the purposeful stomps of his boots against the carved steps following with it. Your heart flutters within your chest, like a distressed creature with wings as you jump from your makeshift seat.

You come face to face with Boba. Or, helmet rather—whatever. 

The smell of hot metal and dry air sticks to him as he paces closer, closing the small gap that separates him from you. You’re frozen beneath the heavy weight of his stare behind the void like black of his visor as he plants himself firmly before you, close enough that his cuirass could brush your chest if he puffed out his own chest.   

“Hi…” You smile, a fragile vale of uncertainty blanketing the pair of you—still attempting to feel out his mood, sort through the general gruffness of his personality and gage wether or not you could reach out and touch him. The helmet is a tricky thing to read and his body language gives nothing away. You swallow your nerves take a leaping risk.   

“Let me see your face.” You murmur. You move your hands up to the edges of his helmet at a snail’s pace, giving him ample time to slip through your fingers—wedge a sharp thorn between whatever it is that you’ve built and name it for what it is.

He doesn’t choose that option. 

With a low hum, Boba dips his helmet closer to your outstretched fingertips instead. The metal is cool under your palms as they fold over the sides of the helmet and pull up. The metal whispers against his skin like wind through tall grass as the point of his chin peeks out, followed by his lips, his nose, and finally those golden brown eyes. They glitter with amusement as you release a shaky breath, the helmet the only thing acting as a barrier as you clutch it near your sternum. His mouth quirks when you blush and glance away—focusing on the little silvery nicks the green paint refused to cover. You rub your thumb over the blaster pockmark that dents the metal—you frown. You hope that wasn’t recent. 

Boba gently pries the helmet out of your hands and sets it onto the armrest of his throne. He purrs your name and pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, leading your attention back to him. Your eyes flit up his scars—your breath catching in your throat as he smiles.

“Hello, princess,” he says—the grit and timbre of this new nickname jumpstarting your heart to skip and choke on its own tireless beat.

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shake your head. “Boba, I’m not—“

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence—

Boba spreads his fingers over your jaw, tilts your head and swoops down to meet your lips in a dizzying kiss. Hard, hungry, victorious, breathless—like he’s spent years fighting and only now takes a moment to slow down—drown in the softness of your lips and skin. His hands claw at your arms, your clothes, your hair—like you’re the spoils of battle and he fears losing you to the shadows of his past and some hidden horror that nips at his heels. He kisses like a man terrified that this will be brief, intangible and something that’ll abandon him.

He trails after your lips when you break away—your lungs heaving for precious air. He doesn’t let you go far, ensuring your positioning by tangling his fist into your hair at the nape of your neck and scraping his lips up your cheek, enticing you into another kiss. You tilt you chin to meet him with equal fervor, whining as his warm tongue curls sweetly into your mouth. His existence fills your veins with liquid silver—evokes the bloom of crackling star fire beneath the cavity of your ribcage. Every thought starts with him and ends with your heart aching to burst into a million tiny shards.   

The next time you part,  Boba is the first one to pull away. He cups your cheeks between his weathered hands and plants a tender kiss just below your hairline. You swear you can feel the skin buzz from the touch—like every atom in your being was solely created for him to command and conquer. You sigh and lean into his palm. 

“I missed you.” You admit with a small smile. 

Boba leans closer and presses another kiss to your forehead. “And I you, little one.”

“I got worried, y’know,” you continue, your fingers tapping a trail up the front of his chest plate. You trace the repainted insignia with your fingernail and flash him a coy smirk. “You never called—thought maybe you found a new pretty thing.”

He grunts, shakes his head and sweeps a rogue strand of hair behind your ear. “Hilarious—my hands are full enough with you hounding me every five minutes.”

You puff out your bottom lip and feign offense, mumbling some lame whine like a petulant brat. Boba snorts and crowds closer. He presses his gloved thumb between your furrowed brows, smoothing out the wrinkles and then cups your cheeks between both palms. You freeze as he carefully knocks the crown of his forehead onto yours—it’s sweet.

An excited smile splits when he moves his head to your right, the syllables of each word rolling off his tongue sweeter than spiced honey. “I’ll make it up to you, pretty thing,” he whispers by your ear, his warm breath disturbing the fine hairs there. “How does that sound, hm?”

That’s not even a question you would ever dream of denying—you quickly nod. “I’d like that.” 

Boba drops his hands from your face and peels himself away. His eyes trickle down your figure—calculative and analytic—planning out each move to pick apart the entirety of your being. “Take everything off.”

You comply without a second thought—slipping free from the breezy cotton and scratchy poncho you stole from a storage room. The fabric pools at your feet in an unceremonious pile—leaving you bare for him. Despite the sickening dry heat that pollutes the air and causes beads of sweat to gather at your hairline—goosebumps rush up your arms under Boba’s piercing stare. 

Boba’s eyes flicker to the throne. A feral grin tugs at his lips. “Sit.”

This time you hesitate. Did he…? No—you must’ve heard wrong— 

He quirks a brow and gestures to the throne. “Well? Are you going to listen?”

Your tongue slides over your chapped lips. “O-ok..I just—never mind…”

Scrounging up some courage, you gingerly seat yourself onto Boba Fett’s throne. Chills race along the entirety of your body as the freezing metal seeps into your warm flesh. You squirm and beat away the urge to wrap your arms around yourself—he wouldn’t like that—probably would take it as some sort of insult anyway—

All your current discomforts melt away in a fraction of a breath as Boba Fett lowers himself to one knee, and then the other. A king kneeling before his very own throne for someone like you. Someone who’ll be lost to the pages of history and the endless swirl of galaxies and supernovas—you’re nobody to the world, but to him you’re everything. You inhale a shaky breath as a strange stroke of pride alights through your body as he peels off his gloves and maneuvers himself flush against the edge of the throne and between your thighs.    

Boba bows forward and slips his calloused hands around your ribcage to tug you closer. His lips land over your collar bone, slides his tongue over the protrusion then sinks his teeth into you there. You gasp as he slides lower, leading a trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake. Boba moves his palms, up and in to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples. A whimper escapes past your lips as he catches the pebbled bud between his lips, the hard enamel of his teeth scraping over it—meant to tease. Your nails dig into the fabric bunched around his neck as he moves on to suck your other nipple, the cooling saliva sending a chill down your spine as it dries.

You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core. You’re already wet—worked up and impatient. You roll your head back onto your shoulders and bite your lip. If you complain and tell him to hurry up you’re scared he’ll leave you like this—deny you that pleasure you’ve been craving for days.  

It feels like ages before he moves on from your breasts, now smattered with bruises and his saliva, and carves out a blinding path down your sternum, your belly, then your navel with his tongue. Boba circles your bellybutton—you force down the ticklish nerves and stay still for him. 

You don't mean to jump as his rough hands drop over your knees. You barely get out the first syllable of an apology when his hands slip up your bare thighs, curl around the swell of your ass and yank. You squeak as the edge of the throne bites into your tailbone, the majority of your lower half forced to lean on Boba’s shoulders and his greedy hands. He kisses the inside of your knee—you jolt with an airy gasp. 

Boba picks up his head and smirks. “Look at me when I taste you, little one.”

Mouth suddenly drier than dust, you nod dumbly. 

He hums, satisfied with your weak response and continues on.  

Boba’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver. They sweep up towards the apex of your thighs, settling close enough to reach your aching center. You know he’s there—it’s impossible to ignore him—but you curse anyway when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They steadily work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch. 

“Patience, princess,” he rumbles, shifting his weight to better reach your cunt. “Maker—you’re dripping already.”   

There's a moment just before Boba commits, his face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, hot breath, anticipation gripping your chest. And then he licks a broad stripe from the base of your pussy all the way up to your swollen clit. 

His mouth Is searing, his tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his head. He grunts against you as you drag him closer—greedy for everything he deems you worthy of. Boba’s mouth pinpoints around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter—it’s a struggle not to shut them completely. He asked you to watch after all… 

He then trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your entrance, skips over it completely to lick at the wetness dripping lower that threatens to pool onto the throne or the floor. He opens his mouth wide and hums in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. 

“Fuck—Boba,” you cry, canting your hips into his mouth. 

It's perfect. So fucking good. 

The tips of his thick fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the fluttering ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The two digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness, glinting in the low light. With a smirk, Boba thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that he refuses to stray from. It leaves you just hovering along the sharp edge of oblivion, the catch of his knuckles and calloused skin along your walls pure torture. Stars—he’s going to be the death of you—

Your hips arch into him, trying to urge him to go faster. Instead, he slowly retracts his fingers and removes his mouth. You gasp in frustration as your cunt clenches around thin air. It almost hurts. 

“I told you to be patient,” Boba chuckles, massaging a warm palm along the outside of your thigh. “You’re behaving like a brat.” 

“I’m—I—I’m sorry—“ You wheeze, trying to rope in some self control that fled a long time ago. Your wits are scrapped thin as you throw your hand against the back of the throne. You don’t care that he’s rendered you to a begging mess, your words slurred and hardly understandable. You're so close to diving off the edge—so near to those plush lips and weathered hands that’ll surely become your salvation. "Please! P-please—I need..." 

You're babbling as he drags his fingertips over your thigh, skims over your cunt, and traces a pattern into your opposite thigh. "Boba. Fuck. I pro-promise to be better—I can do it. Please—“

He complies.

Two fingers are thrust up into your dripping cunt, curving so deliciously into something that feels like unrefined plasma bolts. His mouth dips down and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. 

You're flying off you’re high, faster than a fucking speeder with tampered gears. You cum onto his tongue with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Boba keeps licking you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Stars implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jetfuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Boba, and feel the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue. 

Your brain swims in hazy bliss and fuzzy pleasure as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it hurts. You're too sensitive. Your nerves are rubbed raw and you're still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. He takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a blade against flesh. Your thighs quiver around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves that wrenches a cry from you. Your orgasm floods through you veins, bursting and rupturing every cell in your being. This one is blistering—charrs all the way to the fucking bone. Your core pulses around Boba’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease into a dull throb. You whimper and push at his forehead because he's still licking at your cunt. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick. 

Boba leaves absolutely no time to completely float down from your high—you squeak as his hands shoot up to grab at your hips, wrenching you off the throne and all but throwing you onto the same floor he kneels on. You flash him a dopey grin, letting your legs fall open for his enjoyment—

“Such a filthy princess,” he chuckles, extending a hand to cover your knee, bending it further out to expose more of your flushed cunt. “You taste sweeter than star cherries.”

You preen at his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

It earns you an amused huff. Boba scrapes the hand resting on your knee to the apex of your legs, thumb and forefinger gently parting your delicate, slick folds. You bite back a keening whine, utterly exposed to him as he slips the hood back from the throbbing knot of nerves at the top of your slit. Too raw. Your pussy clenches involuntarily, causing everything from your toes to your hips stiffen. Boba hums in delight at his handiwork. 

“Stars, Boba—please…” You beg, voice breathy and soft like whips of spider silk. Boba makes a sound that oozes with smug pleasure, teasing your sore clit with unadulterated glee. “Please,” you hear yourself whimper over your pounding pulse, shifting in his grasp and praying he’ll put an end to this sickly sweet torture.

“Pretty little thing, begging for my cock…” He rasps, darkly threaded sin and the husky scrape of the gray sea licking up jagged, black rock. You’re certain he could talk you into unraveling at the seams, untouched and putty in his hands for him to mold and shape. Boba’s other hand sweeps up your sternum, his fingertips dancing along the mythosaur pendant coiled around your neck. He then curls his thick fingers around the base of your throat and ever so lightly squeezes. “Poor baby—all worked up after a few days…I’ll fix that for you.” 

Before you can fully process, he grabs the swell of your hip and flips you onto your belly. The air from your lungs is knocked out of your chest, the abrasive sandstone bitting into the points of your elbows and patches of your skin and no doubt leaving behind irritated scrapes. You hear the shuffle of fabric and then Boba suddenly seizes your hips and arches them into his crotch, grinding the deliciously hard length of his cock through your wet folds. Throbbing and just as desperate as you are, Boba refrains from flinging you into another bout of teasing. He slicks himself up with your arousal and drags the tip of himself to your clenching center and sinks that first, glorious inch inside of you. 

With a low groan, Boba pushes in deeper, watching your tight hold flutter and accommodate his thick length. It’s the same as before during that night in the cantina—dreadfully full and all but bursting at the seems. The gentle rocks of his hips and gravelly praise eventually allow him to finally bottom out, his sharp hipbones resting against the swell of your ass as you shudder and groan. Fuck—

You can feel him in your fucking guts. 

Boba grants you a brief moment to settle and then—it’s catastrophic. 

Your jaw drops in a silent scream when he pulls back, all the way to the tip and slams back into your tight heat. Boba’s hand tangles into your hair at the nape of your neck and and pulls, forcing your back into a sharp arch. The action leaves more of you open, somehow pressing in even further. He hits so deeply within you—stars it feels like he’s splitting you open and laying you bare. 

His dark chuckle resonates above you—a bit breathy as he tames his own frazzled nerves. “Shit—that feels good. Doesn’t it, princess?”

Your incoherent babble makes him laugh as he gives your hair a playful tug, all the while he never stops thrusting in and out of you. You wiggle your hips, the slight shift makes it ache, and the sharp downward thrusts put delirious pressure on that patch of nerves that renders you dizzy. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s a tightly spooled cable, fraying and an inch away from snapping. Your gasping breaths pitch into airy squeaks as the fist twisted in your hair tightens, tugging your head back just a bit more.

Boba lurches foreword, the nip of beskar a frigid shock to the bare skin of your back when he lays over you, his elbows caging you in close. His head drops onto your shoulder blade, pressing sloppy kisses over the arch of your throat and slope of your shoulder—without warning he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck. Maker save you—

The feral drag of Boba’s teeth digging into your sensitive flesh skin makes you squeeze around his cock—Boba answers with a soft growl that vibrates against the skin of your shoulder. Somehow he fucks into you harder, his pace becoming brutal. Your nails scrabble against the floor, searching for some sort of anchor as you wail under him.

It’s too much—fuck, you’re gonna implode. Pinned between the rough sandstone and the hand in in your hair, mixed with the sharp pain of his teeth marring your skin—you loose it. Sensing your peaking orgasm, Boba’s fingers wedge between your legs to toy with your clit. He rubs quick circles with two fingers as he purrs words of filth into your ear—how good his pretty thing is for him, how well you came for him, how tight you are. 

“There you go, little one,” Boba says, his words like a tendril of dark smoke. “Cum for your king.”   

His efforts are quickly rewarded as you shudder and lock up harder than durasteel beneath him. A blinding surge of vicious heat, knocks you clean off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs as your nails dig into the sandstone—trembling and grappling blindly for a foothold in your own head. The cold chest plate is a much needed anchor for the overwhelming intensity that threatens to drown you and bury you six fix under.   

He bites down again when he cums, his hips digging into you with short, rough jabs. “Fuck—you take me so well.” You squirm, feeling his cock throb and spill into you, making the mess between your legs smear over your thighs. His thrusts stutter to a stop as he sighs deeply and pulls out, a mixture of his cum and your arousal spilling onto the floor. Boba huffs above you, drags a finger through your swollen folds and pushes it back inside of you. “Good girl.”

You shiver—reduced to a useless puddle with no intent from moving off the floor as Boba’s weight moves away. You could sleep here—that’s something completely plausible you think. Nice, warm dirt—

Boba purrs your name—the sound piquing your interest enough that you overcome the heaviness that’s settled in your body and move your head. He’s returned to his throne, cheeks a bit flushed and his chest rising and falling to recover precious air. You watch as Boba peels off his cuirass with practiced ease, and lays it with care onto the floor. He murmurs your name a second time and pats his lap, coaxing you off the floor. 

You happily slither onto his thighs, exhausted and all too eager to be swept up into the warmth of his arms. He grunts as you tuck your head under his chin and cuddle into his chest, relishing the rough scrape of his palms folding over your shoulder and the outside of your thigh. His soft breaths tickle the top of your head paired with the quiet, but steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your fingertips and ear pressed onto his sternum. Your eyes flutter shut and though a hushed silence falls over the room, there’s nothing to be said. 

Boba tucks his nose into your hair and you smile, the slow speak of your heart unraveling into a lush garden of something new and brittle—like flakes of frost in the early morning sun. He’s more bruise than bleed nowadays—a wound closed then reopened and he promises nothing of a future beyond what you have in these moments. And yet—

You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. 

taglist: @goldafterglow @djxrxn @velvetmel0n @steeeeeeeviebb      @stargazingcarol @ohiobluetip @anxiety-riddled-mando @absurdthirst @thesoftdumbass @huliabitch @max--phillips @silverfish-kingdom @krissology @teaofpeach @pettyprocrastination @nelba​ @beskars​ @jango-fettish​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @cobbvader​ @maybege​ @clonewarslover55​ @auty-ren​ @legally-a-bastard​ @bigdickdindjarin​ @thesparkleslugs​ @cryptid-candy​ @mandowhorian​ @pascaliprincess​ @mitchi-c​

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 4/5 - AO3 - Previous - Next

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen… only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

CW: Mentions of sex and implied sexual content

_______

“What?!” Geralt stared at Jaskier, who had one hand on his hips and the other flailing through the air like a wet fish. The last hour had been a whirlwind of emotions and Geralt was struggling to keep up. First, Eskel and Lambert’s teasing over Jaskier, which had practically given away his true feelings, and then Jaskier running off to his room, stinking of fear and regret… now this? Whatever this was supposed to be.

“We’ll tell the others that I was just being dramatic, I’m a bard after all,” Jaskier explained, a picture of nonchalance as he flicked his hand in the air, seemingly oblivious to Geralt’s inner crisis.

They stared at each other, both stubborn as mules, neither willing to back down, until Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be joking.”

“Nope!” Jaskier trilled, popping the ‘p’ and winking at Geralt as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The bard’s mood swings were difficult to keep up with on the best of days but Geralt felt like he was stuck in a storm, not too dissimilar to the burst of magic that Pavetta had created all those years ago. He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t move back. No, he was just a boat on the waves, being pulled by the currents of Jaskier’s tide.

“Fuck,” Geralt grumbled, not quite believing that he was about to agree to this. “Fine. How do we do this?”

Jaskier glanced at the bed. “Is it squeaky?”

“What?”

“The bed? Is it squeaky?”

This was ridiculous, but it was too late to back out now. He’d started this after all, dragging Jaskier all the way up this godforsaken mountain, to a crumbly keep in the middle of a harsh winter. The least he could do was let Jaskier have his fun. He would just have to hope that he didn’t get aroused and make it awkward for both of them. Well, Geralt supposed he could just blame it on the circumstances and weather the inevitable teasing from the bard. “No,” he admitted.

“So… how much will they be able to hear?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head, his hand still resting on his hip in a way that was just so entirely Jaskier.

“What?”

“Gods, Geralt. It’s like blood from a stone! Vesemir said witchers have good hearing. So our conversation now? Is that safe from prying ears?”

Geralt frowned, focussing his witcher senses. The extra set of mutagens had given him an edge over the others and from their room he could just about hear a faint murmur of voices but he couldn’t make out any words, or even who was talking. So he nodded. “We’re fine.”

“And what if we start shouting?”

“Less fine.”

Jaskier smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his tongue flicked out between his teeth, dragging along his lips slowly. Geralt was entranced. The air grew heavy between them and Geralt felt as if Jaskier was trying to seduce him for real, not for some silly game to trick the other witchers. A heat pooled in his core as Jaskier’s eyes roamed over his body, the same way they did when Jaskier was trying to lure some unexpecting fool into his bed.

Only now Geralt was the fool.

And it was working.

“What about moaning?” Jaskier purred, closing the gap between them, his hands splayed on Geralt’s chest. The bard’s gaze kept flicking down to Geralt’s lips, his fingers trailing along the crevices of Geralt’s heavy jumper.

Geralt swallowed, his mouth feeling too dry. What the fuck was Jaskier trying to acheive? The idiot had definitely said pretend to have sex… hadn’t he?

“Jask,” he murmured, a low warning. This had gone on long enough, and Geralt’s control was beginning to crumble. He wanted nothing more than to take the bard into his arms, to kiss that stupid grin off his face. To wreck those pretty lips that had teased him with every lick for years, with no idea of how badly it was affecting him.

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier whispered, standing so close that his breath was tickling, warm against Geralt’s skin.

The sweet scent of arousal was wafting off of the bard in waves, making Geralt feel heady, and the world seemed to fade around them until it was just the pair of them. It reminded him of their first kiss, a trial unlike any other in Geralt’s life, one to see whether they’d even have a chance of pulling off this crazy scheme, just because they hadn’t wanted to be parted for winter.

Because Geralt hadn’t wanted to be parted for winter. Every year they separated, Geralt felt like he was leaving a little more of his soul behind until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Rather than admitting the truth to Jaskier, and actually confessing his feelings, he’d been a coward. So they were pretending to be in love. Chaste kisses, fake touches, lies.

It was all lies.

By gods, he wanted it to be real.

He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to clear his head of Jaskier’s scent. “How do we fake it?”

Jaskier’s flirtatious facade dropped, for barely a second but Geralt still saw it. He knew the bard too well to miss the subtle change in his expression, but Jaskier was an expert, a trained actor, and he masked his mistake well. For anyone else it would have worked. He plastered a grin on his face, clearing his throat as he stood back away from Geralt. Ringed fingers patted awkwardly on Geralt’s chest as the distance grew between them. “Fake it, yes. Well, I was. I was thinking some jumping on the bed, moaning, grunting, maybe some dirty talk,” Jaskier laughed, waggling his eyebrows in a way that was completely ridiculous but unbearably endearing, and Geralt wanted Jaskier back in his space. The distance was too much.

And then an idea struck him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head and smirking at the bard. “Won’t work.”

“Oh yeah, and how would you know?”

“I told you, we can smell it.”

“Smell… sex?”

“Yes.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, a bright pink flush colouring his cheeks. His mouth dropped open as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Ah. Right then… well, umm. We don’t. We don’t have to…”

“They’ll wonder why, you said yourself,” Geralt murmured, once again closing the gap between them, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and running his thumb through the bristles of stubble on his jaw. The bard seemed to freeze under his touch, staring back at Geralt, his mouth dropped open, and that crackling spark between them was back, licking across Geralt’s skin. His heart felt like it was caught in his throat, a flicker of anxiety squeezing in his chest. It would be hard to explain this as just friendly banter should Jaskier reject him now.

“You want to?”

Geralt tilted his head. “Do you want to?”

Jaskier barked a laugh, his fingers flexing and coming back to gripped at Geralt’s clothes. “Only if you want to. Oh for Melitele’s sake!”

The bard crashed their lips together in a kiss, his fingers cupping the nape of Geralt’s neck, holding him close. Geralt moaned into Jaskier’s mouth as his lips parted, allowing Geralt’s tongue to slip against his. One of Jaskier’s hands trailed down Geralt’s spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, until the bard’s fingers gripped Geralt’s arse, pressing their bodies together. Arousal and lust filled the air around them in a cloud, sweet and intoxicating, more addictive than any drug. Geralt groaned into the kiss, breaking their lips apart so Jaskier could breathe, but never letting his lips leave Jaskier’s skin that was warm and salty on his tongue. He pressed kisses along Jaskier’s jaw, nuzzling his nose into the bard’s neck as he breathed in that delicious scent, sweet chamomile and an underlying musk. Jaskier whimpered, the sound creating a quiver of vibrations in his throat, tingling against Geralt’s lips.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, the name; a prayer as it rolled off his tongue, a whisper in the otherwise silent room. Geralt had never heard his name said in such a reverent manner, like he was all that mattered in the world. It was almost too much.

Witchers don’t feel.

Witchers can’t feel.

Witchers can’t fall in love.

Well, it seemed Geralt hadn’t gotten that memo when he was going through the trials. He loved, and he was so in love with this idiot that was in his arms.

Love.

Sweeter than honey.

Jaskier’s scent.

Geralt pulled back with a start, staring frantically at the bard as if he could figure everything out just by looking in those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. It was no use, Jaskier was pouting up at him, confused and a little hurt, but there was no trace of love… not that Geralt knew what he was looking for. People looked at him with horror, fear, occasionally lust but never love. Would he even be able to tell?

“Geralt?”

“Fuck.”

Jaskier cupped his cheek, blue eyes searching and panicked. “Geralt, what’s going on? I’m not Yennefer, I can’t… I can’t read your mind. You need to talk to me, please.”

After taking a long breath, Geralt closed his eyes. “I-I… fuck.”

Jaskier’s fingers on his cheek moved, brushing a lock of hair behind Geralt’s ears, and there was a soft press of lips against his, gentle and grounding. Before it could get heated, Jaskier pulled away, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, and Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his own. The mood shifting from something hot and burning to something all the more intense, intimate. “It’s okay, dear heart, I understand.”

“But--”

“I love you too, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his breath hot against Geralt’s lips, and he said it so confidently, without any fear. There was no way those words could be taken any other way. Jaskier was in love with him.

Jaskier was in love with him.

Actually in love with him.

They were alone, no need to pretend or act or lie. This was all real, and Geralt suddenly understood why people said they were on top of the world. He felt invincible, with this delicate flower, so mortal and breakable, by his side. He could take on the most fearsome of monsters and be absolutely fine, as long as Jaskier loved him.

And that made him feel unreasonably angry. All the lies he’d been fed as a child. Love was a weakness to be exploited.

No.

Love was his strength, his greatest weapon.

“Geralt, darling…” Jaskier’s voice, low and warm like a summer’s day, snapped him from his thoughts. “I adore you but, but… can you let go?”

Geralt growled, blinking as he focussed back into the room. His fingers were digging into Jaskier’s hips, and judging by the look on the bard’s face, he was hurting him. “Shit, sorry.”

Thankfully, Jaskier just laughed, a beautiful musical sound that made warmth blossom in Geralt’s chest. “Oh darling, what is going on in there?” A long finger tapped Geralt right in the middle of his forehead, and then Jaskier placed a hand on his hip and cocked his head, a pout playing on his lips.

“Hmm, pondering on the subject of love.”

“Oh, ho, ho!” Jaskier giggled. “We shall make a poet out of you yet, witcher! And what is it about love that has got you all grumpy and scary face?”

“Witchers don’t love,” Geralt repeated the familiar words, though now they felt empty and bitter on his tongue.

Jaskier scoffed. “And yet… only significant others are allowed to Kaer Morhen? That’s still a load of bollocks, you know. As if our decades-long friendship isn’t more important than a quick summer fling.”

“But you love me.”

“Ah yes, but… oh shush. You know what I mean, Geralt!”

Geralt chuckled. “Hmm.”

“You. are. Terrible!” Jaskier snapped, clearly starting to spiral into one of his moods, but Geralt had a better idea. He scooped Jaskier up into his arms and over his shoulder in one swift movement. “Oi!”

“You talk too much.”

“And yet, you love me,” Jaskier trilled happily “Now, take me to bed, witcher. I think we’ve both waited long enough.”

Geralt chuckled, throwing Jaskier down onto the bed. The bard squeaked as he bounced on the mattress but soon regained his composure, tongue slipping between his lips as he gazed up at Geralt with a smirk. He looked beautiful, clothes already a mess and his hair tousled from their kisses and his own habit of messing it up when he got anxious. His cheeks were still a little blotchy from the earlier tears but there was no denying his beauty… almost elf like in his elegance. Geralt felt like he could stare at his bard for hours and never grow bored of the sight, but he was allowed to touch now, and that was just too tempting. Years of restraint, and now the chains were broken. He crawled onto the bed, resting between Jaskier’s spread legs and pressed their lips together, slow and lazy.

They had all night after all.

[whump-town]

Maybe Time Running Out Is A Gift

Very much so inspired by "If We Were Vampires" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

Hotchniss— just domestic bliss and no catch

There’s something about these nights, the summer nights that sit thick with humidity that seems to draw him that much closer to her. They have mingled enough that it wouldn’t be the first time he got his sweat all over her-- he is but a dorky man at the end of the day and deprives a twisted joy out of coming into their home wet with the sweat from working outside and wrapping her up in his arms so she has to feel it. He’d done it just today after seeing her poking about the house in jean overalls and an old sports bra. Had known the rush of mischief he’d felt when she groaned and tried to get away when he grabbed her. She’d thought they were far too old for these antics, it’s clear he doesn’t agree. Which is a rich thought coming from someone who waited until he was pinned under the sink to tickle his sides so he couldn’t escape.

The air conditioner hums away as it tries to overpower the Virginia heat and the windows Aaron insisted they leave open for the slight draft. She’s not sure why she caved to his argument because now he’s the one swaddled in his blankets, tucked up against her, and she’s sweating her ass off. It’s in moments like these that she’s reminded of that fury she harbored upon their first meeting. Of the stubborn as all hell man whose desk she’d stretched across to shake his hand only for him to meet her eyes and purposely get her college wrong. He’d admitted this years ago, a shameful blush creeping up his neck as he retold his thought process. Of the joy, he’d gotten out of her annoyance and she’d whacked him with the closest magazine she could find being reminded of just how easily he has always managed to get into her head.

That man that day has been many things over the course of their lives. Her enemy, the man she was hired to take down. For a while, she’d thought about it. He was a hateful man and she a spiteful woman-- the perfect mix of misery to see that in one another and exacerbate it exponentially. Then a mystery, an enigma she looked at like the most fascinating puzzle and, despite her best attempts, had begun to like. Somehow they stumbled into acquaintances until it was him she wanted to tell her shitty jokes to and him she wanted to wait for to go get drinks. To sitting beside his unconscious body in the ICU, listening to his labored breathing and wondering if this would end if for him. How much will he give before it becomes too much?

Now he’s the man drooling on her shoulder, whose arm over her hips is comforting and familiar. She wants to shake her head at him, to complain about how clingy he is, but she knows she’s lucky. The men of her past are horrible and they make a little drool seem like nothing at all. Her father was emotionally manipulative, never raised a hand but sometimes he threw words like the crack of a belt. She could feel their sting on her cheek. There was John, just a little older than her, but enrapturing with his cigarettes and free will. He’d used her and abandoned her when their actions had created a life neither would survive. How many between then and Ian? She can’t even remember them all. The other girls used to call her a whore but she had no concept of her own body. Just that she liked the attention of men and the only way to keep that attention was sex. It worked with every man she ever met.

Except for Aaron.

She can remember the flood of embarrassment she’d felt the first time she tried to stick her hand down his pants. The way their casual kissing had gotten a little heated and he’d stopped her, gently rubbing her hand as he pulled it away from his belt. “Slow,” he’d reminded her and she’d blushed but he’d soothed that too. Reminded her he just has to be sure if not for their jobs then for Jack because he’s not exactly given set a great standard for dating. He’d kissed her again, cupping her cheek, and turned his attention back to the movie. She still remembers the shock of that. Of him. The way he kissed and touched her like every single second she allowed him close was something he cherished. She doesn’t think anyone’s really touched her like that. As if they meant it.

Now she’s stuck with him.

Despite the grown man laying all over her and the heat of the room, she manages to fall asleep. Somewhere between his soft snoring and thinking about the garden and the flowers he’s left on their porch still in their containers.

When she wakes he’s not in bed. The early morning has not brought on the wrath of mid-day’s heat, leaving the air conditioner to power on and her to shiver under the blankets without him there to wrap himself around her. She lays there for a few more moments before her left hip starts to ache from the position and she realizes that she has to get up to stretch and pee. In motion, there’s no point in crawling back into bed. Not unless she can convince Aaron to come back for a nap later.

She pulls on an old pair of his sweatpants before venturing out to him. He’s full of all the same old habits so she knows exactly where he is. “Good morning,” she greets, stepping out on the porch. He’s surrounded by children, sparring her only a glance as he looks up from his apple cutting. This is an everyday sort of thing. Every morning at seven he greets the neighbor’s children on their porch, bringing with him three apples or oranges to divide between himself and the children as they wait for the bus. She’s wordlessly passed an apple slice.

“So,” she asks, taking a seat on the porch swing and smiling as one of the kids climbs up after her. “How are we doing this morning? Ready for school?” Most of the kids are elementary schoolers so they cheer with big gap-toothed grins around the slices of apple Aaron’s supplied them. They have only one high schooler, a seventeen-year-old who simply winces around his apple. She doesn’t miss it. “Have you gotten any of those college applications in back yet?”

Aaron looks up, hand stilling to wait for an answer.

Arthur, the boy in question, averts their gaze to swallow thickly and admit, “I-- I don’t know.” He bites into his apple, kicking at the concrete corner of the edge of the porch. Anything to avoid them, to pull the attention back away from him. “Don’t want to look.”

She should have known, he’s placed the whole porch between them and him. She hums, “why can’t you check them?” She knows he’s got other things to tend to which is probably how he’s been able to put off checking the applications as long as he has. Melancholy hits her a little hard as she recalls the last time she and Aaron had to help an anxious to the point of anger teenager through the thorns and thickets of college application papers. Jack hadn’t been very happy about all the paperwork either. Smart as a whip but dissolving to the point of tears by the pure amount of information he needed to fill in until he’d give up with an angry wipe of his face and the soft admission “I don’t understand it”. It had all been worth the tears of joy and Aaron’s near heart attack at his son’s sudden shout when he’d gotten them back. He’d taken his laptop back to his room, needed to be alone just in case they came back bad.

Of course, they hadn’t.

Arthur glances at Aaron before swallowing and shrugging. “Dunno,” he mumbles.

The bus is his saving grace and he wastes no time throwing his bookbag over his shoulder and offering a quick wave before tearing off for it. The other children bounce about as Aaron splits the rest of the apple in his hand between them. “Arthur!” he shouts, watching between the knife in his hand and the teen now coming to a staggering halt. “Just check the applications, huh? I’m sure you got into all of them. They’d be fools not to take you.” Aaron’s already looking back down, mumbling something with a smile to the others before sending them off. Never sees the way Arthur looks back at him, stunned in silence until one of his sisters smacks into him and jolts him back to Earth.

Emily observes Aaron for a moment, watches him pop the last sliver of apple in his mouth before wiping the blade of his pocket knife off on his jeans. Observing the blade for a moment before shaking his head and muttering, “damn things dull again.” He meets her gaze, oblivious to her thoughts, and shows her. “I think I need a new one.”

She could care less about his stupid pocket knife-- especially when she knows he’s had that one for longer than she’s known him and he won’t get a new one. She’s lost thinking about how old they are. How the two of them have surpassed every joke they made in their pasts about dying too soon, too young. They’ve raised Jack and have somehow made it to the age where she realizes, that they’re at the grandparenting age. Something she hadn’t even thought about until seeing Aaron just now. His baggy old sweater and the ease he has with being around children that would be the perfect age to look as if they were his own grandchildren and suddenly she yearns to see him with them. To see Jack become a father and to be able to see that light in Aaron’s eyes.

And, well, maybe she’d like a son or daughter-in-law out of Jack too and grandkids. A woman can dream… when was the last time she even got to hold a baby?

“Coffee?” Aaron asks, standing from his rocking chair and offering her hand. She nods and takes it, wincing at the chill of his skin. It reminds her that Thursday he has two doctor’s appointments both of which he’ll hate, not that he likes any of them, but he really hates the meeting with the orthopedics who push at his sore hips and want to check every square inch of his body. All for the same old thing. A higher dosage of the medication he takes for his shitty vascular system and the threat that if he doesn’t start taking care of his right hip better with the exercises they advise he’ll be hobbling about with a cane by the end of the year.

But they always say that. He’d rather just take the cane and call it a day.

Meanwhile, she gets by with her obscene amounts of coffee. Her hip is always hurting but she never does anything about it and her doctors praise her for excellent health and great blood pressure and just everything. It drives him crazy.

He makes the coffee while she’s puttering about the house, two cups made the exact same way. The way she likes because he already knows he’ll get halfway through this cup, like he always does, before leaving it to entertain some random thought he’s had. Which means he’s leaving it for her to finish and he also really likes the ratio of creamer that she prefers and it’s a good reason to indulge in all the silly little fancy additions he can make to it.

She takes the mug he offers with a smile, sipping the too-hot liquid before it cooled enough and sucking in a breath through her teeth with a wince. The same mistake every day, she never learns. “Will you get those flowers off my porch?” she asks. She pulls the sliding glass door to their backyard open, stepping out and knowing he’s right on her heels. “They’re going to die if you don’t get them into the ground.”

Last week or maybe Monday they’d gone out to Lowe’s to get her lumber for a bookshelf. He’d wandered off while she found what wood she wanted and what stain she thought would go best. She was not surprised when he came back grinning and told her about the flowers he’d loaded into the cart. She’d only half-listened as the Lowe’s guys put the wood in the back of the truck but the point is there will be lots of yellows and purples and, she can only remember one of the names because he’d particularly excited about these, orange black-eyed susan vines. Which are all sitting on the front porch waiting for him.

He grunts.

“And make sure you put sunblock on your neck,” she adds, sneaking a smirk his way. The last time he’d been gardening he’d taken off his hat and burnt the hell out of the back of his neck. Was miserable for days because of it and, naturally, all his groaning became her problem.

He squints his eyes at her but says nothing. He’ll remember the sunblock this time.

They separate off into their tasks for the day.

She leaves him on the back porch with a kiss to the temple and rustle of his hair, off to find her copy of the “The Illustrated Man” wherever she left it last. She’ll take it out to the hammock between the trees in their backyard so she can watch him as she takes breaks from reading. He’s already brought his flowers around when she gets back out, standing there looking all kinds of confused as he scratches his head absently as he thinks. Eyes darting around the dirt as he comes up with how he wants to plant the flowers.

“We can get mulch Thursday after your doctor’s appointment,” she says as she passes, patting his butt as does so. He’s lost the sweater stripped down to his worn jeans and a thin white t-shirt. He grunts at her suggestion both as a yes and a wordless complaint at being reminded of his doctor’s appointment.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out where he wants things and she watches him get to it. She’s certainly had her fun picking at him for filling his retirement with something so typically feminine as planting flowers but she thinks it’s terribly sweet. She loves just how proud he is of his little garden and every year he talks about planting vegetables too. The man’s got a hell of a green thumb, he could do it.

With a hum, she stretches out in the hammock and makes a mental note to ask Morgan if he knows anything about vegetable gardens. If they can get him over here to pull the ground up she’s certain Aaron would have something down in the dirt as soon as he could. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t already have the seeds ready.

The kids would love that. She smirks into her book, satisfied with herself. It’s settled then, she decides. She’ll call Morgan and get Reid to help them find vegetables that are in season. They’ll love that.

It’s the perfect beginning to her day and with any luck, it’ll stay that way.

[princesssarcastia]

first hp and now MCU *sigh*

sighs. anyway the reason the jane foster au thing is taking literally seven years is that I’m physically incapable of writing for the MCU without fixing everything I thought was dumb about it.  can’t just do a canon re-write because I Refuse To Condone XYZ.  The things I thought were dumb are many and myriad, but here’s one of them:

In Infinity War, they won’t destroy the mind stone while it’s still attached to Vision because they “don’t trade lives,” even though Steve made the same damn sacrifice, whatever.  But the thing is the avengers then immediately travel to Wakanda and start trading Wakandan lives for Vision’s.  They trade so many lives for Vision’s, and in the end it doesn’t even matter because they have to kill him themselves anyway.  SO all those Wakandans died for nothing.  They died for the aesthetic of the avengers having an army.  They died because no one thought through “yeah, T’Challa is totally down to sacrifice his people’s lives for one android he isn’t close with.”  They died because, let’s be honest, the lives of those random Wakandan soldiers meant less to not only the white main characters, but also the white movie creators. hmm. what could possibly be the impetus there.  mostly stupidity, but probably also some racism, lbr.

anyway.  all this to say what follows is a snippet where a) the battle to save vision isn’t taking place in Wakanda proper because the avengers don’t trade lives...other than their own.  In fact, it’s taking place in the arctic circle, where Wakanda has a shielded research station with no civilians that Shuri can appropriate to fix Vision without having her citizens die needlessly.  b) it’s just the avengers there, because they’re willing to put their own lives on the line for their friend and their principles. c) they’re using the mind stone as a lure to keep Thanos’ giant monster army focused on them, in this unpopulated place, rather than a city or a country.

you didn’t really need to know that, actually, because this fic snippet is about bruce banner.  explicit tw in the tags you may want to check for if you don’t mind a spoiler.  anyway, oh well, long walk for a short drink of water:

The walls shake with something other than the wind, and Bruce grits his teeth against whatever extrasensory response the other guy is having.  If he doesn’t want to come out to play, then he doesn’t get to raise the hairs on the back of Bruce’s neck.

The other guy.   After two years being trapped while he gets to play, maybe Bruce is the other guy now.  Maybe the Hulk—

“Doctor Banner,” Shuri says without looking away from her interface.  “If you’re going to help, then help.  Otherwise stop distracting me and get out.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four...”You’re right.  Sorry.”  He turns back to his equations and keeps calculating what kind of energy source they can create here to replace the mind stone.  Vision may be able to survive without it, but it’s ridiculous to ignore that it serves a purpose in keeping him not just alive, but functional.  There’s a difference between surviving and living and the Avengers aren’t risking their lives just so he can—

Boom.

Dammit.

Shuri’s guard, the one T’Challa left with them—Ayo? Was that her name?—steps further away from them and speaks into her bracelet—kimoyo beads.  Bruce strains to ignore it because he doesn’t need to know what he’s missing outside, doesn’t need to know how poorly the battle is going for his friends, his—his shield brothers, Brun would call it, without him.  There’s no doubt in his mind Shuri could save Vision without him and there’s no doubt in her mind, either; he’s here as a courtesy and because it’ll go faster, at least.  Because he’d be useless otherwise, sitting there with his thumb up his ass while his friends fight and die without him, without them, dammit Hulk—

“Princess,” Ayo calls. 

“Not yet.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know how long, I’ve never done a neural reprogramming for an android before.”  Shuri purses her lips.  “Longer than this, certainly, to revolutionize a field that doesn’t even exist yet.”  She reprograms another synapse.  It looks like maybe thirty percent of them are done.  Thirty percent, after four hours.

Bruce glances at Ayo from the corner of his eye because he’s a masochist and he can’t help himself.  Her face is troubled, and so is Okoye’s on the projection hovering over her wrist.

“Ayo, tell her she needs to hurry up!”  The projection twists like the general has taken her hand from her face.  There’s a flash of silver, a war cry, and a brief, incomprehensible glimpse of something black and twisted and horrible.  It cuts out in the middle of the creature’s answers screech.

Ayo slowly lowers her hand back to her side, and Bruce tries to focus back in on his work.  Tries to focus on the math, on the energy readings, on Vision’s life in here instead of all the death out there, because if he doesn’t—

“I really am going as fast as I can,” Shuri says in a small voice.  Twenty.  She’s just twenty years old, what was Bruce doing at twenty?

Don’t go there.  Don’t go there, Bruce.  Shouldn’t have come back to the Arctic, that was just asking for trouble.

Focus.

What would happen if he lost it, and the Hulk refused to come out?

Focus.  Focus on Vision, on saving his life.  Save lives.  Save his life.

“So you're saying that the Hulk... the other guy... saved my life?”

Another explosion rocks the room, rocks the station, rocks the damn arctic ice pack they’re standing on.  It’s the biggest one yet.    “Evacuate the southeast quadrant.  All personnel in the southeast quadrant, evacuate to the next defense point.”  The intercom doesn’t even crackle as it activates over their heads and Bruce is struck by how odd that is; it’s almost more unnerving that the idea of the situation escalating to the point of evacuation.  Ayo pulls up a map of the station on her kimoyo beads and manipulates it, pulling up what he assumes is the southeast quadrant.

“That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?”  

“How bad is it?” Bruce asks.

Ayo’s eyes dart to Shuri, who is nothing but relentless; he hasn’t seen her stop once this whole time.  “Bad.  They have breached the facility’s outer defenses.  Princess, perhaps we should—”

“No!”  Shuri all but shouts.  “I will not evacuate, I will not abandon this mission, we’re not finished yet.  Tell someone to come fill the gap.”

“Princess, if they have not already done so, then they may not have the manpower to do it.”

“Then call reinforcements!”

There are no reinforcements because this is a hail-Mary, vigilante mission and all the Avengers on-world are already here.  T’Challa isn’t bringing any more of his people into this, and Steve and Natasha and Tony would never ask him to.   When they fail, that’s it, it’s done.  And so is Vision, and this will all have been for nothing. 

“I guess we'll find out.”

Bruce pushes his glasses off his nose and pinches his brow.  He can’t even think about this; he’s thinking about it without thinking it, a glaring absence that lets you see the shape of it regardless.

“This wasn’t just a Wakandan station, right?  I mean, you guys opened it up to other countries for the science and information exchange?”

A pause.  “Yes.”

“Any military?”

A longer pause.  “...Yes.  Dr. Banner, what are you...”

She trails off as Bruce looks up.  There must be something in his face.

“Did they leave anything behind when they airlifted out earlier?  Weapons?” He adds, because there’s no use beating around the bush.  No time. 

“Probably, but you will find nothing there of any use.  Wakandan technology—”

“Is much more advanced, I know.  But you don’t really have any projectile weapons.

Ayo’s nose crinkles up in disgust, but is already turning back to her charge.  “Of course not.  So primitive.  Princess, we will need time to evacuate to the ship, please.”

Shuri cuts a glance at him, seemingly ignoring Ayo.  “What do you need a projectile weapon for, Dr. Banner?”

“Something desperate.”  He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table.  “Stay here, Shuri, finish your work.  Save him.”

Bruce has never asked anyone else to risk their life when his own would do. He’s not fucking starting now, when the whole universe is at stake. 

Between him and Shuri, Ayo reluctantly lets the issue go, but he can tell if Thanos’ army gets a single step closer to her Princess, Ayo will throw her over her shoulder and sprint for the quinjet, mission be damned.  He marches out of the room and follows Ayo’s directions to the nearest storage area; the American one, as luck would have it.  Because of course the American team brought guns to the Arctic Circle on a science and information exchange program.  Of course.  A few M11s just lying around, lost in the hasty shuffle to abandon this place.  Bruce picks it up and just holds it.  Feels the weight in his hand.  Ayo was right, they are primitive; primitive and ugly and violent and only good for one thing. Another impact.  The station shakes again, and the lights flicker above his head. Now.  It has to be now. He doesn’t have a radio, but he knows where the southeast corner of the building is, so he keeps the gun in a tight grip and heads that way. Three corridors away and he starts to hear noises.  Yelling.  Screaming.  Gunfire.  Energy bursts.  The ring of Steve’s shield, the whine of Tony’s repulsors.  And above it all that same horrible screeching noise from those creatures invading their planet at the behest of a genocidal maniac trying to kill Bruce’s friends. Kill the Hulk’s friends. Louder, and louder, and louder, until he can’t even hear himself think which is good because he doesn’t want to think about this he never wanted to think about this again even though he did, a lot, like after Lagos and Sokovia and Sakaar. The team has driven them back from the breach in the facility, that’s good.  Wind and snow come howling in through the massive hole and Bruce shivers and tells himself its from the cold. Outside is...pandemonium.  His friends are like brief sparks of light in a sea of writhing, angry, violent darkness trying to tear them apart.  There are so many of them he can barely see the horizon and they show no sign of stopping. In the distance, he makes out Steve, locked in fierce battle with something that looks less like a bargain bin eldritch horror and more like one of those Black Order people. He’s losing.  Even Bruce can tell that. “Now would be a really good time for you to get angry” He’s always angry.  But the anger isn’t enough anymore. “Bruce, what are you doing out here?”  Tony screams at him, flying towards him with his hands still targeting energy blasts at the enemy.  “I thought you said the Hulk can’t come out, you can’t be here!  Go help Shuri!” Ten, nine, eight, seven—oh, fuck it. “Won’t, not can’t, Tony.” One breath.  Two breaths.  He squeezes the grip so hard it starts denting his palm. “Those are functionally the same, big guy, so get the hell out of here.  We got this!” “No you don’t, we’re losing!”  Bruce takes a short inhale through his nose.  “They’re not functionally the same when I can force his—our hand.” That finally makes Tony look at him, and Bruce doesn’t know if he catches it on his own or FRIDAY points it out to him, but he finally sees the gun.  He dissolves his faceplate and looks at Bruce with wide, exhausted eyes.  “No, no, Bruce, don’t you dare, Bruce!” He lunges, but he doesn’t make it before the gun goes off, the bullet tears through Bruce’s mouth and then—and then nothing. The Hulk roars.   Anger isn’t enough anymore.  Self-preservation will have to do.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Three

Chapter Three: I Hear Her Voice in the Mornin' Hour

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

Shepard," the cold voice greeted her, the mechanic gravel unneeding of the visive tone, "or is it the fragment of your former self?"

Jane's head craned slowly, letting her eyes rake over the colossal figure of the derelict Reaper that sat before her. Should she be trembling? Why was she trembling?

"Brave words, for a dead roach," she murmured, wavering in her conviction.

"Your victory accomplished our end goal; your struggle was in vain."

Jane looked away from the synthetic, training her vision on the open sky above her. Lifting a hand above her face to shield it from the afternoon sun. The Citadel was a stark presence in the sky. It was a thing of awe. Now it was a wreck. While four of the arms remained, it wasn't without severe damage to the remaining limbs. The bright center of civilization flickered, struggling to sustain itself after the attacks that likely left millions dead. With the detonation she caused.

"Was the price to defeat your salvation truly worth it? You may think your species achieved enlightenment, but will it last to see those vain promises through?" The Reaper grew louder, a hint of yellow reflecting across the glass-like surface of the optic lenses, "In your hubris, you have destroyed everything that kept your species together! Witness the Citadel! How many died for nothing? How many more will die from starvation? Disease? Eachother? Will you watch your peace crumble?"

Trying to block out the voice, she focused on the rations half-eaten in front of her. Another task she no longer took pleasure from, another waste. Feeling this heaviness was quickly becoming unbearable; she was a beacon for passion and fire. A goddamned, fucking hero. One with a will that ignited others, not a tired soldier that snuck away to avoid eating a full meal. Not someone questioning why they remained. The goddamned bit was right, at least, there was no luck here. Just beating after beating.

She was so alone.

Where were her friends? How long would she have to wait? After all they had been through, wouldn't they at least attempt to find her? She wasn't far from where she had made them leave her behind. Already, she had been back to the beacon several times over the fortnight since the LT had conscripted her into this ragtag community.

She needed the Normandy crew. Her mind whispered horrible things. Taunted and dogged her in each agonizing moment of calm. All she held was death, screaming, the weight of all the choices she made. Her soft place was nowhere to be found.

"This legacy you attempted will end in the spoiling of your name. Villanhood only matched by the word 'Reaper,'" The machine was rarely silent long, it was content to keep speaking filling the silence that Jane left, "a Shepard only heralding death and destruction, because your weakness was what you thought strength. Overconfidence always leads to downfall."

In a simmer of sudden rage, Jane gathered energy into herself, merging the familiar burn and tingle of dark matter and letting it stir just beneath the surface of her skin, pleasure, fury, and a twinge of pain. Just the way it should be. It released in a single burst.

"Pathetic."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The Recruit caught herself before she toppled ass over tea kettle, fists grinding into the ground before her to stabilize. Her signature move from cocky grin to a deadened expression had yet to sit right with him, but as he was learning about his woman, forcing an issue wasn't going to move it aside any quicker. Reflexively adverting his gaze to allow her pride the room to readjust and soothe her attitude. Most in his company did not understand his patience with the newest recruit, but they couldn't empathize with the bittersweet familiarity it welled up inside his heart.

With any luck, he could one day reiterate to his son how proud he was of him.

"LT," the woman chirped, a hint of a smile crawling up the side of her mouth.

"Recruit," the old man was looser with his smile. With an admonishing raise of an eyebrow, he drew a finger across her philtrum, "I see you've met our lawn gnome. Still haven't named him yet."

Jane's eyes rolled and a smile she could not fight spread across her features, "Harbinger," but the utterance came out with surprising severity.

"I'd have gone with Harold, Pookie even," he mumbled, dragging a handkerchief across the underside of her nose.

Just as quickly the moment was gone, she pulled away from him. A token of gratitude left in the form of a gentle smile, "did you come out here to bother me, or did you need something?"

This was the prickly personality he didn't care for as fondly. Requiring a brief moment to placate a moment of hasty rebuke, his gaze moved to the half-empty can and the lid that lay a few meters downwind—twice ignoring the blood that peppered the ground beneath her seat. Perhaps he didn't have the patience to baby another mouthy soldier, and she seemed content to throw herself away. But in the same vein, he had regretted doing that years ago with his own child. Sure, this woman was a stranger, but she belonged to someone that worried about her. His innate integrity could hold him out a bit longer.

"You know, we don't have enough supplies to be wasting it," Roy found something to vent the heat building inside.

Jane's bright blue eyes that reflected the setting sun snapped to the can, a wince revealing the words did strike something, "you eat it then. I've been watching you pawn off your rations."

He accepted the can, plopping a hearty portion into his mouth, "still tastes like shit."

"I could really go for some steak fries and chutney," Jane mused gently.

"I'm thinking I could make that happen."

The woman's full attention turned to him, the fine fuzz of her returning eyebrows raised at him.

"Give or take a few weeks."

"I'm assuming you have a plan?"

"Yeah," the man paused, testing out the recruit, the hold on her patience proving to outlast him for the first time, "I'm hoping to test out your skills. And you need to start earning your keep."

"Ready and willing, sir!" She snapped to attention, a foreign energy oozing from her at this moment. Not that he doubted her willingness to come along, he was just surprised to see her motivated to do something.

"Hold your horses, Recruit. You may not be so excited when you find out what we are doing," not that he had much doubt about her grit, "it should be a standard supply run. With a large Krogan exception."

"Krogan, sir?"

He nodded, "before this mess all started, I had a small orchard; I knew a guy from London that shared the hobby. He was more into plants in general, but anyway, I couldn't recall his exact address but knew about the general area his warehouse was located. It should be a rapidly growing, resistant crop. The problem is the Krogan found it first."

"Are we trying diplomacy or just rushing in?"

"I want to try the former, the ladder only if things go south. Some big wig Clan Urgnut-"

"Urdnot."

Roy cleared his throat, that did sound right, "Urdnot was holed up there. Smart move on their part. But they don't have a protected area with access to sufficient sunlight to grow anything, and more importantly...hopefully, they aren't likely to know how to grow the crop."

"You're hoping to grow it within the atrium?" it seemed the recruit was astute enough to guess at the plan without it needing to be spelled out, "trading access for food and maybe protection?"

"If we are lucky."

He had already began to act hopefully, ordering the healthy refugees under guard to start collecting and tagging soil for growing crops. They had some luck, even if it meant desecrating the dead's gardens. The corporate offices he felt less guilty about robbing them of soil.

Finding power had been an easier ordeal; military generators were easily plugged into the grid to power the essentials like heat and some lighting. Water filters were easily found, and London's preference toward rain lent them an easy water source. They weren't foolish enough to rely on a regular storm pattern and already had begun to build a reserve of water. Communication was an entirely separate issue- they needed to find an engineer and fast. Or rely on another splinter group to fulfill that gap. On the subject of protection, he didn't want to let on how direly he needed the talks to go peacefully. Once word got around that they could produce food, the untold number of refugees and nefarious forces pounding on their doors would create unfathomable problems.

But all this conjecture was counting chickens before the eggs hatched.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Jane kept her assignment besides the Lieutenant with minimal complaint. They couldn't know that keeping watching along occupied territory was old news to her. While she was used to point, settling into the left flank was quickly done.

It was nice not being the center of attention, without the burden of anyone looking to her for guidance. Without the worry of making a wrong call, she could let down some of the instinctual guard associated with the position of leader. Luckily a hard call wasn't required for this part of the journey, the few-kilometer trip went by without incident.

"LT," she pressed once the first evidence of a perimeter came into view, "have you ever met a Krogan before?"

The male on her right smirked, rolling his eyes. Roy stopped, pulling a deep breath. Some of his stoic calm wearing at the edges. Jane knew this wasn't because of her, she had yet to do anything that would constitute annoying the man. He was nervous.

"No, but how different can they be?"

The man chuckled, "I heard they're almost mindless brutes."

Jane threw him a sharp glare, "they're the rough and tumble type, but not mindless. I'd suggest reminding him of home."

She could guarantee cooperation if Shepard wanted to come out. Shepard liked to remain locked away anymore.

While the man to her right heavily rolled his eyes, Roy seemed to take it under consideration. His gaze flickered back to the path before them, hesitation now more detectable in his manner.

"Maybe you-"

Roy's voice stopped with the interruptions of Jane's pistols suddenly unfurling to full length.

"Don't stop," a gruff Krogan voice called, "I'm looking for a fight."

A second voice was a little more reasonable, "what is your business? This is Krogan territory."

"Human territory," the man retorted with surprising gusto, "you overfeed iguana."

For his bravery, the man collided with the road the third but silent Krogan finding the insult not to his liking. The first Krogan spurred on by his comrade shoved Roy aside, the older man spun without resistance to the ground, "humans are so soft."

Jane was purely lucky that the more tolerable Krogan was nearest to her. It didn't make her less angry. Yes, pushing over the douche of a specimen was permitted but bringing the old man into it? She expected better of Clan Urdnot. Pissed off, the female stormed for the offending Krogan.

Now, she wasn't foolish enough to go in guns blazing, but she knew a better way to deal with the offending reptile. According to Zaeed the spot she had to hit corresponded with a weak spot on the species' frontal plate. If she had a knife and the gall to do so, she could rip that piece off and cause the Krogan to panic. But on the less violent and more in line with the peacekeeping mission she had a superior move: simple, elegant, and a returning item on her personal bucket list.

Headbutting another Krogan.

In retaliation, he glowed blue.

It never came to fruition as the reasonable member stepped between them, "you have offended her krant. Let it go." But his smirk didn't go unnoticed, "what do you want?"

"We're here to speak with Wrex."

The Krogan chuckled, "you have an impressive quad. But I don't think the clan leader is interested in what you have to say."

"You really want to test that? Would we really be here if wasn't important," Shepard's fire returned, "what other reason would we have to seek out the Krogan?  Certainly not for the fight." She motioned toward the two with her.

The Krogan gave an exasperated sigh, "fine, but only one of you. The other two wait."

Jane pivoted and proffered an open hand to the LT, "this is your ball game, sir. Do us proud."

[tuanhood]

rumor

pairing: kim yugyeom x reader

genre: smut, enemies to lovers au (kind of)

warnings: 18+, public oral sex (female receiving), cursing

word count: 5k+

summary: the bane of your existence, kim yugyeom who has been bothering you consistently for the past 6 months comes to find you in the library, because well... he heard something.

a/n: keeping it going with the smut i GUESS. my russian mother would literally die if she knew i was doing this instead of writing my dissertation. :) this is barely edited but go easy on me OK. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here you were. Another Thursday night in the library, endlessly highlighting the printed-out text in front of you. Your eyes shifted towards the other portion of the table you were sat at. It was filled with papers by students from the course you were TAing for and its placement in front of you was another overwhelming reminder of the work you had to accomplish before the weekend. A thought occurred to you that maybe it was worth it to take a break before you really got into grading, but as you glanced at your phone for the first in what felt like hours, you realized there was no time for a break if you wanted to finish everything on time. 

It wasn’t always like this, you used to have fun, but as time passed and you went on in your collegiate career, there was more time for work and less time for play. You wanted to say a big fuck you to your friend Mark and his “work hard, play hard” motto, because who the hell could do both equally and not ruin their life? 

Just as you were about to text Mark and ask him for 500 words on how his life mantra could be applicable to literally anyone, you heard heavy footsteps coming from somewhere on the floor of the library you occupied and it was almost as if your comfortable atmosphere shifted. As the footsteps grew closer, your body tensed up in preparation for the interruption you felt that you were about to endure. 

“Shove it Yugyeom,” you said without looking up at the tall boy. Kim Yugyeom had bothered you so much in the past 6 months that you practically had a sixth sense for whenever he was within distance. 

“Dude, why are you so mean to me?” 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration, “how many times do I have to tell you that just because our moms are friends, doesn’t mean we are.”

He pulled a chair from the table and flipped it with the back facing you, plopping down, his arms folded on the chair’s back. “Okay but the reason I’m here is actually really important.” 

Knowing Yugyeom and judging on his insistent tone, you knew it wasn’t actually going to be important. The two of you had known each other most of your lives because of your respective mother’s being lifelong friends. You had always wondered what it must have been like for them, having such a strong bond of friendship that they would make it a pact to have children at the same time and force them into being friends. Unfortunately for them neither of those things really happened – your mother became pregnant with you and it wasn’t until two years later that Yugyeom’s mother followed. However, despite the small age gap, they still tried to manufacture a friendship between the two of you. By the time you were thirteen, they gave up. 

For months Yugyeom had been finding you on campus and was constantly bothering you with things that he deemed to be paramount, but instead were things such as “what bedding do you think I should get?” or “hey are you going to your mom’s birthday party? Should we carpool?” Obviously, you would be going to your own mother’s party, so why did he have to ask you? All of his questions, comments or concerns, could easily be discussed over text, but for some reason he had to come find you in person. Every. Single. Time. 

At first you blamed it on his age and innocence. He was two years younger than you and his common appearance in your life with things that were “important,” probably had to do with his adjustment to university life. You were the only person he knew, so it was a given that he would come to you with questions or in need of advice. But after 6 months and the large friend group Yugyeom had grown on campus – you knew that had nothing do with it. 

Losing your place in your notes, you groaned and looked up at him, realizing as long as he was in your presence you wouldn’t be able to get any work done, “what is it Yugyeom? What could be so important that you had to come bother me yet again.” 

You noticed Yugyeom cower back a bit at your annoyed tone, clearly striking some kind of nerve within him and it almost made you feel regretful on how you’ve treated him lately. It was certainly much worse than you had been with him in your childhood. 

He clicked his tongue as if signaling that he meant business, “well… I came to ask about a rumor.” 

The order of business that brought Yugyeom into your midst today immediately made you let out a snort from your mouth. He still didn’t understand what “important” meant, even after all this time. You especially didn’t pay any mind to what was or wasn’t going on with Yugyeom’s little friends. Rolling your eyes, you picked up your forgotten highlighter and put it back on the page, you predicted that this visit couldn’t last much longer. “I really don’t care about what’s going on with lower classmen.” 

“It’s not about anyone in my year… It’s about you.” 

You paused, dropping the tool in your hand, once again forgotten, wondering if you had misheard him. Campus was full of hundreds – probably thousands of students more interesting than you. Nothing you’d ever done could be warranted as interesting enough to be circulated throughout campus whether real or not. “Excuse me?” 

“I heard a rumor about you.” And a rumor that was widespread enough that it could somehow make it to Yugyeom? You were certain that he had to be mistaken. 

His eyes looked around the room. You noticed they wandered to the sheets of paper in front of you, your hands and the shelves of books surrounding the table. He licked his lips before speaking to gain confidence before he continued on, “I want to know if it’s true.” 

Usually conversations with Yugyeom contained a lot of back and forth. There was never this much air that left room for thoughtful pauses or awkward silence. It had always been him asking random things or making comments that led to you snapping at him. This time you weren’t really sure what to say. Being so perplexed by the encounter and why he was concerned about a rumor regarding you, left you unsure of how to respond. 

“It’s about you and Park Jinyoung. I want to know if it’s true,” Yugyeom bit his bottom lip so hard, you thought he would draw blood. 

Blankly, you blinked at him, wondering why anyone would be fixated about you and Jinyoung, “first I kind of have to know what the rumor about the two of us is.” 

“Ugh I knew it,” Yugyeom narrowed his eyes at you, and it’s perhaps the first time you’d seen him show any kind of negative emotion. Even after all of your countless ignoring and bitter words towards him in the past, he would always maintain the same bright smile and puppy dog look in his eyes. It was something you actually admired about him. 

“Knew what? I didn’t say anything! I’m asking you what you heard. What the rumor is!” You whisper shouted, in an effort to remind yourself that you were in the library after all. 

“If it wasn’t true you would have just denied it!” Yugyeom insisted. 

Now it was your turn to be angry, through clenched teeth you asked him, “what the fuck is your problem?” 

He stood up briskly and the chair shook from his sudden stance, “you fucking Park Jinyoung, that’s my problem.” You widened your eyes at him, especially since you had hadn’t really ever heard Yugyeom curse, “what?” 

“People are saying you guys slept together.” 

His words caused you to freeze up for a moment, but you felt a need to play it off, to not show your hand. “Yugyeom… Jinyoung and I TA for the same intro Lit class. That’s it. People like to create drama… especially if it’s about their superiors.” The way you defended yourself made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Ultimately, you had no reason to explain anything to this guy who wasn’t even classified as an acquaintance to you. Kim Yugyeom had no real place in your life. “And why does it matter to you? I can sleep with whoever I want… Not that it’s any of your business or anyone else’s.” 

For some reason you found yourself unable to look up at him. It felt different then the times you simply avoided his gaze as a method of ignoring him in the hopes he would leave. This time you felt just nauseous. First you were being defensive with him and now you felt too nervous to look at him? What was wrong with you? “So, it’s true then, huh?” 

At his words, you sighed, lifting your eyes up slowly to finally look at him again. For a moment, the thought entered your mind to lie and you had to shake the delusion out of your head. Why lie to him? You had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed about… and yet why did it cross your mind to be dishonest with Yugyeom, as if to shield him from it? Before you could regretfully change your mind, you responded, “yes, I slept with Jinyoung, but it was literally forever ago. We’re just friends. I don’t understand why it’s even coming up now.” 

It surprised you when you noticed his hands had clenched into fists at his side and you tried to conjure up something in your brain that could explain why he cared about this so much. Your heart pained a little from his aggression and you wondered if you were going to start wondering why you care so much about this. 

“Why do you care?” You asked, rolling your eyes to put on an act of nonchalance. 

“It’s embarrassing!” 

“Why the hell is it embarrassing?” 

His fists finally unclenched and he threw them down in annoyance at your question, as if you were supposed to be able to read his mind. He answered you as if his reasoning was the most obvious thing in the world, “my friends keep teasing me about it!” You couldn’t help but notice the way he whined at the end of his sentence, like a small child being annoyed about finishing their food. 

“Yugyeom… I don’t think I’m following. Why does who I do or don’t sleep with embarrassing for you?” 

“Because…” he took a deep breath in as if contemplating whether he should go on and there was a long pause before he continued, “because it’s embarrassing that this is going around about someone I like.” 

Shock washed over the features on your face. This was it? This was the reason why he had been acting so ridiculous? You certainly weren’t expecting that. “You have feelings for Jinyoung? I-I’m sorry Yugyeom, but I swear it’s in the past… and if it makes you feel any better it wasn’t even that good of-” He cut you off briskly not wanting to hear where you had been going with the thought.

“No, I don’t like Jinyoung.” He rolled his eyes out of frustration at your lack of understanding. 

“Then I don’t know what you’re talk-” this time you cut yourself off when your brain finally caught up to the rest of you. If he didn’t like Jinyoung... that meant he likes the other person in the rumor… and that other person in the rumor was in fact you. Which meant that Yugyeom must like… 

“Me? You like me?” Your voice got higher, a nervous habit that continued to grow whenever you were in a stressful situation. A situation you couldn’t easily see the conclusion of. 

Judging on Yugyeom’s gaze, one could say that the conversation didn’t faze him – that he was confident even, but as you glanced down, you were met with the fidgeting and shuffling of his feet. “Yeah. I do, so what?” 

After all this time and after everything you had said or done to him, he still liked you? 

You looked back up to his face and saw the hard and cold exterior he tried to put up between the two of you. He was attempting to make it seem like he didn’t care. That putting his feelings for you out in the open and holding his heart out in front of you was no big deal. You knew from knowing Yugyeom from all these years that this was no simple feat for him. You knew he was probably shaking inside, nervous and afraid of the rejection that he had expected to come from you. He had put on an act, because he thought that’s what you wanted and because he didn’t want to show you his true feelings when the hurt that he knew was coming finally came. 

You studied his face for a moment, his features and glimpsed into his eyes that you knew would hold how he really felt. 

Yugyeom felt the silence between the two of you get heavier and heavier with every moment that passed. He felt uncomfortable and he just wanted you to tell him what he knew he was probably going to hear from you. “I bet I’m ten times better than Park Jinyoung,” Yugyeom mumbled quietly to himself, clearly not meaning for you to hear it, but hear it you did. 

His words shocked you and you felt a nervous flip in your stomach, but the good kind. For some reason you couldn’t help but think back to Mark’s stupid motto as you looked Yugyeom up and down, checking him out. Before you could process what, you were doing, you began to gather all of your things on the table without a word to Yugyeom. When you were finally done you saw the panic in his face as he wondered if you were just going to leave him without a word. Instead you surprised him, placing your backpack in one hand and you grabbed his hand with the other, “follow me.” 

He didn’t move and you almost fell back against him at his pull, “where are we going?” 

“You’ll see come on,” you rolled your eyes at him and tugged him forward once again towards the stairwell of the library. Both of you climbed the stairs in silence, and you found yourself grateful that he followed you. It was difficult for you to understand what it was about the situation that had you more nervous – that he had come with you or that you were doing this at all. 

When you finally reached the fifth floor you led him through various stacks of books and multiple rows of shelves until you were both in the back corner of the floor. You stopped in between two shelves and he glanced around the books surrounding you, “why are we in medieval literature?” he asked.

“Because no one ever comes up here.” 

He blinked quickly, not understanding your reasoning for bringing him up multiple flights of stairs to be amongst more dusty books. 

“And there are no security cameras up here,” you continued, hoping that something would click for him. If it took him much longer to figure out what you were trying to communicate, you were afraid you might lose your confidence in doing this. You tapped your foot lightly against the ground, “so are you going to show me?” 

“Show you what?” He asked completely oblivious. At this point, he was just grateful that you hadn’t kicked his ass after he had confessed to you. He had to be honest with himself, he hadn’t come to find you expecting to tell you about his feelings for you. He thought they had been clear from the beginning, but after the third or fourth time you had reacted negatively to him appearing in your life during these past 6 months, he figured that you would never see it without him explicitly telling you. And judging on how much you seemed to hate him – he had come to the conclusion that he would never tell you. But after hearing about you and Park Jinyoung from his friend Bambam, he couldn’t stop himself from marching to the one place he knew you would be on Thursday night – the library. 

Yugyeom had always pictured your reaction if he was to tell you about his feelings for you and it always ended with him having a bloody nose, a new bruise or a pain in his foot after you stomped down on it in anger or disgust. The worst part of this situation was that so far you hadn’t done any of these things and for once he didn’t know what to expect when it came to you, somehow that scared him more than being flat out rejected. Wait… maybe you were bringing him up to the isolated section of the library to do your damage and hit him? 

“Jesus fucking Christ Yugyeo-” You cut yourself short when you noticed your hands had involuntarily thrusted towards him, clenching as if you were about to wring his neck and the way your tone shifted to frustration. Exhaling, you relaxed your hands and put them down, rubbing them against your thighs to calm yourself down. You weren’t trying to be your normal self towards Yugyeom, you were trying something… different. Much different. 

It seemed to you that the only way you’d be able to get Yugyeom to well… get it was spelling it out for him. 

“You said you bet you were ten times better than Jinyoung... so show me.”

Nothing leaves Yugyeom’s mouth in response and he stared at you blankly. Had you read this wrong? Were you embarrassing yourself? At his lack of words, you felt your confidence chip away piece by piece and your face grew hot. 

Then everything seemed to fall into place for Yugyeom as his mind begins to compute the words leaving your soft pink lips that he’s wanted to kiss for so long. He noticed the way that your eyes are no longer fixated on him, and instead begin to look over the place nervously, pretending to find the books around the two of you more interesting. 

Due to the lack of response from Yugyeom, you’re surprised when you he takes a step closer towards you and you feel his hot breath near you just as your eyes became glued to a text about women’s literature in the Middle Ages. 

You looked to his brown eyes which stared at you so deeply you felt as though you’re about to suffocate. Although Yugyeom’s always been much taller than you, you’ve always somehow felt bigger than him – older, wiser and more mature. But for the first time ever, under his hypnotic gaze you felt innocent, small and like all you wanted was for him to take care of you. 

As he took another step forward, you took one back until you’re pressed against the bookshelf, unable to take back your decision, but you could feel that deep inside of you that you didn’t want to. Both his hands went to either side above you on the shelf and he looked down at you, a new lustfulness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Is this okay?” 

Nodding your head, you bit your lip to stop the smile that dared to spread across your face and Yugyeom caught it immediately. He brought his right hand down to your hair and brushed some of the strands out of your face softly, “you know… you don’t have to pretend to be this cold, mean person all the time… If you want to feel something, you should just… feel it.” At his final words his hand moved to a permanent position on your cheek as he leaned down to connect your lips together. At first you remained frozen, but as his left-hand slides from the bookshelf to land comfortably at your waist as if it was always meant to be there, you melted into the kiss. Your lips parted and his tongue slipped into your waiting mouth softly, without rush or urgency and somehow that gentleness alone made you feel like all that existed was that softness and the mixing of your breaths. 

The slow, sensual pace that you savored soon began to pick up as Yugyeom deepened the kiss, pushing himself closer to you on the shelf. Your hands that had remained mostly stagnant and at your sides soon began to drift up to run through his hair as if they had a mind on their own. When you first heard him let out a small moan from your tugging on his locks, you felt a fire ignite inside of you that told you that you wanted to hear more. With every tug, Yugyeom’s fingers dug into your hips and soon he let out a sigh of content as his hands moved to rest on your ass. Your lips worked seamlessly together as if it was the missing puzzle piece you never knew you needed. 

“Let me show you something else I can do better than Park Jinyoung,” Yugyeom said through a raspy breath, against your lips. His hands squeezed your ass before they moved around to the button on your jeans to undo them. It feels as though he works in slow motion as he pulled down the zipper and moved his hand inside, slipping them over your panties. His lips still on you and his hand in a place where you never thought you would need him; your breath grew heavier and heavier. 

Your knees buckled as Yugyeom’s fingers suddenly brushed your clit through the thin cloth and he grinned into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you up. You tried to focus on the feeling of Yugyeom’s fingers rubbing your through your underwear, but soon he withdraws them. You whimpered at the loss of his fingers against you and he gave you one last soft peck before he disconnected his mouth from yours as well. You missed the contact, wanting to make your lips even more swollen than they probably already were. 

Yugyeom chuckled at your needy reaction and he caressed your cheek in a reassuring manner, “don’t worry it’ll be worth it.” 

You grew confused, wondering what his next move would be, but as he crouches down onto his knees in front of you, pulling your jeans and underwear down with him it begins to dawn on you. You felt yourself grow more wet at the thought. 

“I need to taste you,” he practically whined, “let me clean up the mess I made between your legs.” If Yugyeom had said anything remotely close to that in the past, you know you would have smacked him across the face, but instead you felt yourself involuntarily moan, turned on by his words. 

Still leant up against the bookshelf, you spread your legs apart, which was proven difficult with the jeans and underwear around your ankles, but Yugyeom grabbed them in an effort to help you. When you were comfortable and well situated, he settled himself between your parted thighs and grew closer. 

First all you felt was his hot breath on your clit and he softly blew to tease you, as if paying you back for all the countless you shrugged him off. When you let out a whimper that sounded a little too desperate, even for your ears, he decided his short-lived teasing was better off short. He took one last look into your eyes before he leaned in without hesitation. His tongue first gave a slow lap as if savoring your taste, and he let out a groan that made you feel more wet than you already were. Soon he began to pick up the pace and he used the way your hips moved against him and the little sighs coming from your mouth to feel what it was that you like and don’t like. When he sealed his mouth around your clit in a soft suck, your hands instinctually went back to his hair to bring him even closer to you. 

“How do you taste so good,” he mumbled mostly to himself, followed by a noisy kiss and delving into you further. 

A sudden and continuous swirl of his tongue against your clit caused you to let out a loud moan that you couldn’t hold back even with all of the strength in your body. With his lips still attached to your clit and continuing his ministrations, he tapped his fingers on your thighs in an effort to remind you to be quiet. You both may have been in a secluded part of the library, but you were still in the library. 

It was when you really looked down at Yugyeom that you felt as though you were going to combust. For some reason to see the younger boy that you had completely written off for most of your life, and especially the last 6 months, with his mouth on your clit with a look of pure satisfaction on his face made you feel closer to your high. 

His sudden harsh sucking as if he was a man eating his last meal, caused you to lift your hips off against the book shelf and into his face further. 

“Yugyeom…” You moaned out with eyes squeezing themselves shut. Hearing his name fall from your lips in bliss – something he had always wanted and dreamed about – edged him to go even harder and faster, wanting nothing more to see you fall apart before him. 

When he slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping them quickly, with his lips still attached to your core, you began to feel dizzy just at the pleasure. He pulled his mouth away for a moment to watch his fingers sink in and out you, pleased to look up and see how overcome you were with the way he was making you feel. You let out another cry when his fingers curled in you, finding your g-spot with ease. When he reattached himself to your clit and his fingers found that spot in you once again, it all became too much and you felt yourself closer to your climax. You tried to push his face away from you, trying to let him know that you were close. 

“Cum on my face. I want it, I want it all,” he said muffled against your core at your effort to move him away from you. 

At his words and the continual, brutal pace of his tongue and fingers, you felt your hips buck into Yugyeom’s face and yourself clench around his fingers, orgasm washing over you hard. You attempted to keep your moans in, but the feeling you get through out your entire body is too much to contain as you let out a load cry from your release. One of your hands left Yugyeom’s hair to aggressively grip the book shelf behind you, causing a book to fall from the shelf and hit part of Yugyeom’s head and his back on the way down. 

“F-Fuck Yugyeom I’m sor-” He shut you up as he continued to lap at your core, letting you ride out your orgasm as if he was in his own world where a book didn’t just fall on him. 

After a few moments in your own blissed out state and deep breaths with your head against the book shelf, you looked to see Yugyeom getting up off of his knees. His mouth and jaw glistened from you and if he minded how wet your release was, he didn’t show any sign of it. On his way up to stand before you, he lifted your underwear and jeans up your legs. 

He smiled smugly, “not bad for a kid, huh?” 

You shyly looked away from him, feeling like the kid. 

“Yeah whatever, Kim Yugyeom,” You said rolling your eyes, and he catches the smile that was written across your face. When your eyes met again, he stared at you so deeply with so much fondness that you felt yourself grow weak for the second time in the last few minutes. 

Bringing your hand up to gently rest on his cheek, you pulled him in for a kiss, wanting to show him the same pleasure he gave you. He let out a loud groan when your hands reached his jeans in an attempt to unbutton them. 

“Um… hello?” 

You both froze at the voice and broke apart to look at each other in panic.

“Shit,” you whispered to him. 

Yugyeom widened his eyes as if asking you what to do, “don’t look at me!” 

“Is uh… someone there? Or… two someones?” The unknown voice called out into the stacks. The sound of the voice made you feel sick. You didn’t know how long they were there or how much they had heard and especially because you were 90% sure you knew the voice. 

When Yugyeom looked at you again with fear in his eyes, you realized the roles had been reversed once again and you were back to being the older, wiser one out of the two of you. This time however, his look to you for guidance didn’t annoy you as it had in the past. Instead, you felt your stomach flip and it go straight to your core. 

Your eyes wandered to the floor, where you see the piece of literature that fell and hit Yugyeom. Reaching down to grab it, you motioned for Yugyeom to crouch down with you, “okay, on the count of three, you’ll grab my backpack and I’m going to throw this the opposite way. They’ll probably hear it and go look where the noise came from. That’s when we’ll run towards the exit.” 

“Why do I have to carry your backpack?” Yugyeom whined. 

Rolling your eyes, you answered him, “because a gentleman always carries a lady’s things.” “You just want to be the one who throws the book.” 

You shrugged, pretending like he didn’t have you figured out already, “now come on,” both standing back up you nodded at him to signal the beginning of your countdown. 

“One…” you whispered, looking back at Yugyeom who licked his lips in anticipation, “two…” 

You paused hearing footsteps, “three!” you scream whispered at him as you threw the book in the opposite direction, in one of the book stacks, praying you don’t get seen. At the end of the countdown, Yugyeom grabbed your backpack and your free hand, both of you running towards the exit. 

You both practically stumbled down the stairs of the library, unable to contain your laughs as soon as you’re free and on the front steps outside. 

When finally caught your breath from the running and laughter, it dawned on you the events that had just taken place and what you actually just did in the library. “Holy shit… I can’t believe we actually did that. That was kinda fucked up wasn’t it? That we did that in there?”

“You said no one goes into the Medieval Lit section!” Yugyeom complained as soon as he’s caught his breath. 

You bit your lip and nervously looked at him, “Well for the most part no one really does! There’s only one person I know of that does…” 

“Who?” 

“Park Jinyoung.” 

He let out a snort, “I can’t believe you.” 

You shoved Yugyeom lightly, “It’s not like I knew he would show up!” At your words he pulled you towards him and close enough until his mouth brushed your ear, “I bet you wanted him to catch us. You dirty girl.” 

With widened eyes and once again turned on by none other than Kim Yugyeom you moved away from him gently and take his hand in yours, “come on.” 

“Where are we going?” He asked for the second time of the night.

“My place. I have something I want to show you,” You answered him, attempting to pull him forward again. “Oh and what’s that?” He had a smug smile on his face, clearly wanting to torture you. 

“Kim Yugyeom, I swear to God,” you wondered if he was really going to do this to you, “you better come with me so we can finish what we started or I’m starting a rumor about you.” 

He pulled your arm until you were back against him, your body flush with his front and you felt his hands go to your ass, “nah I know you wouldn’t do that.”

You pushed your hips against him and he let out a soft groan at the contact against him, his hardness being neglected this entire time, “try me.” 

He smirked at you, “fine… let’s go before I fuck you on the steps of the library. Then there’d be a rumor about both of us.” 

“If that happened that wouldn’t be a rumor. That would just be fact,” you explained to him, grabbing his hand again. 

“So that’s a yes?” 

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled. Kim Yugyeom was doing things to you and making you feel things that you couldn’t deny it any longer, “come on Yugyeom.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

[braindeacl]

World Turned Rainbow | Eilidh & Metzli

SETTING: Crest Works Art TIMING: Last night. PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Metzli have some fun in the gallery.  WARNINGS: Drug use

Approaching people had been particularly daunting the past few days. Most of the wounds had finally healed, but Metzli still appeared a little worse for wear. Even sporting their favorite suits, they hid away. Keeping to their office, they worked on the new budget they acquired thanks to Bex. Who they had drank blood from, twice now. With a groan, they pushed aside the pestering thoughts and the even more pestering paperwork to talk a walk in the gallery. Today they would greet their patrons as they usually did, today they would start anew. 

Hair lively bounced with each clack on the tile floor, welcoming every person they saw in the gallery. There was a new rotation of works, so the place was filled with more people than usual. Some were the artists themselves, and some were intrinsic minds that delved into the art world, seeking to gawk at works they could not create. Maybe even seeking a small escape into the images depicted on canvas and stone alike. 

As Metzli made their way to the back of the main gallery, a fair woman caught their eye. She was studying their painting, possibly even admiring it. Their smile grew, making their rounds until they reached her, saving her for last. “Good afternoon,” They greeted her with a smooth and gentle voice, trying to make a good first impression. “I see you’re enjoying my masterpiece. I have another just down that way, but this one is much more special.” 

Those walls still pressed against her skin. Clung to Eilidh like a lover’s embrace. But love was not returned. Instead, it was stolen from her; left her hollow. Determined to render her a copy of that underground prison. Or to fill its own cavity. But it was endless and she was finite and could only give up so much before she was nothing. And that nothingness knocked on her door. So, she ran from it. All across town. Filling her mind, her soul, with all it could offer. So the knocking was harder to hear. So the cavern had other things to steal. Mindless wandering led her to the gallery. A first encounter. Not that she wasn’t interested in the arts. She just preferred the creations of nature than to canvas. But it was new. And she needed new. And these walls didn’t cling to her.

And luckily the creations of nature weren’t far. Imitated upon the canvas. From a distance, some could be mistaken for windows. Stuck in time. But close inspections always revealed those telling brushstrokes. Eilidh passed by these frozen windows—peering into days long gone. A stroll through time and space. Until an outlier arose. Less of a window to the world, more like a window to the mind. Though she did wonder the truth of its depiction. A living raven didn’t seem interested in suits, but a decayed one might. Was there one right now, somewhere, enjoying a three-piece? Ponderings stopped with a voice. Like a cool stream after a hot summer’s day. Eyes followed its trajectory—found a matching visage. Peppered with signs of distress, but a delightful visage to look at, all the same. Attention took turns with the creator and the creation, noting how both sported a dashing ensemble. “Oh? ‘Cause you two match?” A chuckle tickled her lips.

“I was going to say it was because you were looking at it, but that response is a thousand times better,” Metzli replied delightedly, their smile growing wider at Eilidh’s witticism. It wasn’t often that someone caught them off guard like that—in such a positive way at least. Upon further inspection of the woman, she was almost certainly a whole foot shorter, but they did have a soft spot for those too small to reach their head. “Beauty and wit, I like that. I’m Metzli Bernal, creator of that painting, and owner of this gallery.” They adjusted the cuffs of their sleeves before clasping their hands behind their back. 

“Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” They asked, leaning in slightly with an aura of not only attention, but intention. Regardless of whether or not Metzli would strike out once again—because somehow everyone they flirted with was taken—they didn’t care. Finding solace in simple connection and idle prattle was becoming a frequent thing. Something they could get used to, especially if the people of White Crest were all this funny and intriguing. 

Beauty and wit! They were certainly obvious in their intentions. It was charming and refreshing, the forthrightness of it all. Burst of a chuckle shot from Eilidh’s mouth, exposing her gapped tooth smile. “Ah, owner! Flirtin’ a common tactic for business reasons? Or’s this personal?” Despite the implied accusation, her tone remained light. A soft jab if assumptions were true, or an open door for following coquetry. The name held a ring of familiarity, though she could not place its source. Not uncommon, this was a small town after all. Metzli grew closer—a slight adjustment in posture, but height resulted in them nearly hovering above. Eilidh leaned in turn, fitting in that space below their head. Keeping those eyes locked upon their own. Held it there, before a finger pressed on their abdomen. “Got a button loose.” When they fell for her trick, that pressing finger switched from abdomen to nose, flicking it. “Bloop.” Something rumbled in her chest, it sounded amused. “Call me Macleod.” 

“It certainly can be,” Metzli replied, shrugging and snickering softly. Her gapped smile was endearing, leaving them with a buzzing in their stomach. How strange, they thought to themselves. “But this approach is for personal enrichment. It’s not often that I get a patron with your charm.” It was true. Eilidh’s lightsome approach and attractive features had a pull that was like a moth to a flame. 

Falling for the juvenile trick, Metzli returned the laughter and enjoyed Eilidh’s in return. It was only then, when listening to her entertained reaction, that they heard a lack of something. A lack of a heartbeat. The pull grew even stronger, prompting them to continue, “It is an absolute pleasure, Macleod...” Metzli motioned for a handshake, pulling in her death-ridden hand to plant a small kiss to the back of it. “Wait a minute. Macleod. Why does that sound familiar?” They asked, a look of recognition painted on their face. Her name sounded so familiar, but they’d never seen her face before. Wouldn’t be hard to remember. “Have we met?”

A brow quirked in amusement. The charm was thick and loud, and Eilidh let herself be washed up in it. A wonderful distraction. And perhaps a bit of fun for later. “And I don’t often meet someone so blunt.” Especially in this town, a place of many secrets hushed on the wind. She understood the need; took part as well. But it often bled into the personal. This person seemed untouched by it all. Easy to read. At least, that's what she told herself. And she liked what she was reading.  Her hand did not feel their lips press—too soft to combat the numbness. But eyes saw the motion, replicated a warmth on the back of her hand when Metzli met it. When head returned upright, she saw that flash of recognition play out in their eyes. Mirrored in her own mind moments prior. “Likely. Small town. Hard to avoid anyone. Got any one-nighters you can’t place a face to?” Spoken in jest, though that exact situation had occurred to her in the past. Blink. Something stirred in the back of her mind. A something that would solve the puzzle, and she knew it would, and it knew it would. But it stayed just out of reach, on the tip of her tongue. Then it finally fell to the back of her throat. Her head cocked curiously. “Mushrooms?” Tone implying the word may as well had been a nickname for an old friend. 

“I don’t think I’d be able to forget a face like yours,” Metzli said cooly, smiling as bright as a summer’s day in July. “Besides that, I’ve managed to strike out consistently due to everyone being in a damn relationship. No one likes to have fun anymore.” A mocked frown plastered itself on their face, rolling eyes that settled once more on Macleod. 

Their brow arched, “Mushrooms!” This time excitement tethered itself to their voice. Macleod was the woman they grew an innate interest in over something as simple as the internet. “Ah! Yes,” Metzli hands clasped together and gestured in victory upon finding the answer. “I was greatly disappointed that we never got the chance to meet. This’ll do though.”

Space was subtly decreasing between the two, unbeknownst to Metzli, they were leaning in further. They were so much taller, so they naturally had to do so in order to be as close as they wanted to be. Well, as close as was socially appropriate. “You wouldn’t happen to have any on ya?” They asked, narrowing their eyes with playful curiosity. “We could have a little fun right here.” Their left eye winked, with a grin that knew how stupid they were being. It was all for Eilidh’s amusement, just so they could see that smile. 

Another trait of small towns—committed relationships were frequent. Or there was someone else on the mind, yet to be entwined. Eilidh didn’t mind the potential baggage the latter brought. She rarely stayed anywhere long enough for it to cause issue. “Everybody does know everybody. Just gotta know where to look.” She winked. “New in town?” Ding, ding, ding—assumption confirmed. There was the beginnings of another smile at the connection. Seems fate intended them to meet. All obstacles be damned. Like that night. “Right…” Mind flashed to the tree, to the darkness, to the nothing, to the…

…… 

Air grew tight, walls closed in. Eyes tried to focus back—saw the walls were made of fabric instead of dirt. Instincts pricked and snarled. Head struck forward under its thrall, thumping onto the other’s chest. When the two pair of eyes met again, old spark had returned in Eilidh’s. “Like how you think.” Spoken as if the previous action hadn’t transpired. And mind so cloudy, part wondered if it actually had. Her hand dug into a pocket, fishing out the drug of choice. Bits here and there, remnants of a larger pile recently reduced. Another distraction. Bag wiggled, as did her brow. “Got enough for a hit.” Unknowing it may be of use, in those moments alone, her stake was left back at her trailer. But she always carried a blade, strapped securely to a thigh. And knew it well, if the need arose. Until then, she’d enjoy the fun this Metzli could provide. They seemed to be full of it. 

The impact to Metzli’s chest made them exclaim in surprise, “Oof! Ow!” The wounds from the eventful night with Milo made themselves known, making the space grow as they stepped back and gathered themselves. Before doing so, Macleod looked a little frazzled herself, but there wasn’t enough time to dwell on that or their wounds when she pulled out her bag. “Yeah I’m definitely pretty fresh. I’ve only been here eight months.” Eyes darted about the gallery. There were too many people to do anything privately, but they were feeling pretty lively today.  Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, settling on a decision. 

“You wanna do it now, cariña?” Metzli began to tease, their lips curling into a mischievous grin. Their accent binded to their words, embarrassment showing on their face for mere moments. “We can give these paying customers a real show. A performance piece.” A cold hand brushed against the wall near their painting, leaning sultrily, no longer imposing on Eilidh’s space. 

Eilidh’s mind travelled back to the woods, to that destined spot. But eyes perceived the crowd, the bodies swarming the walls. Mind’s premonition would be left unfulfilled—own body deciding to remain amongst the others. The others so unexpecting of what was running between the two’s thoughts. Of the fun that would be had, a few paces away. Fun for them, at least. Another amused rumbling formed at the idea—compelled her to stay. To let them lose themselves, right then and there. What would be unlocked, in those frozen windows covering every surface? She was excited to know, to see. “Hope you got insurance.” Voice light and playful, but there was a steadiness to her gaze. Implying a hint of truth. Hands worked swiftly to reveal the mushrooms to the stale air. Brittle lilac wanting to break, and it did so gladly as she separated a chunk into two. “Fuck the customers. Just focus on me.” Her piece slipped passed her lips, down throat. Other half remained in her hand. But she offered it to Metzli, almost pressing it on their lips. 

Eyes widened, shock and surprise from Eilidh’s excitement and subsequent approval covered their expression. Her tenacity was unlike anything Metzli had seen before. With no regard for her surroundings, their lips curled into a smile, watching Macleod take her piece. They were really going to do this. Perhaps their impulsivity and lack of thought on the matter was going to rear its ugly head at them later, but they didn’t care. At least, a part of them didn’t. The other, more responsible half that adored the gallery cared a lot. Insurance was something they definitely had, but they couldn’t imagine what damage could be done right now. Not when Macleod was offering their piece to them. 

Silencing that irksome voice, Metzli leaned forward, “The customers aren’t the ones I want to fuck. So I’ll gladly focus on you.” Their voice was low, raspy, and wanting as they ushered the mushroom in Macleod’s fingers to their lips, using their teeth to take it and then standing erect to chew and swallow.

Maybe this would be disastrous, maybe this would be detrimental to their gallery; or maybe, just maybe it was the fun they needed to unwind and feel free for a while. Finally relaxing into the decision, a hand slid up Eilidh’s arm, “You want to give them a show? Bet we can scare them into leaving.” The hand slid back down and brushed away to rest back at their side. A chuckle escaped the confines of their throat, and they pushed away from the wall to stand closer and wait as the mushrooms took effect. 

Brows rose and fell in unison. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” Despite attention being placed on that surrounding congregation, eyes did not leave Metzli. Short, airy laugh rushed through. Disturbed a bit of fabric on their suit. “Seems bad for business. But, since you don’t mind.” In the dwindling window of normalcy, Eilidh took a fleeting moment to refamiliarize herself with those glimpses in time. Gaze returned to one that piqued the most interest. And grew irate when others had fallen to its thrall. Hand brushed against Metzli’s arm—as theirs had done to hers. Almost tickling against the skin. But it ended with a hold—teeth flashing—and she led the two of them over to her favored painting. As distance grew short, teeth flashed again. But their intentions were different for these other onlookers—snapping and cracking in a threat. Murmuring amongst themselves, they hurried over to another section of the gallery. Clearly satisfied, she beamed back at Metzli. “Let’s start here.” The smile remained, strong and firm, as a warm trickled down her head. Fell down into her eyes, melting the colors of Metzli’s suit together. 

Watching Macleod snap like a madwoman at the patrons, a breathy giggle surfaced, one that Metzli had never made before. It was unrestricted and high, echoing in their ears as amorphous colors blurred past them. When they came to a halt, the world tilted and a hand grabbed firmly onto Eilidh’s shoulder to keep balance. Another giggle brushed their throat, the sensation a buzz that sent a chill down their spine. 

With their faltering focus back on the Eilidh, the colors on her clothes melded together and hummed so powerfully that it reached the surface of Metzli’s skin. It made their suit jacket and tie grow in weight, a weight they wanted to remove, so they did. Their jacket and tie fell to a heap on the floor and the outside onlookers continued to murmur, furrowing their brows in confusion. Undeterred, their dress shirt became halfway unbuttoned. “Your wish is my command, Macleod.” Fangs greeted her as their mouth formed a toothy grin, eyes glowing red as the excitement peaked. Only Eilidh could see, Metzli’s back faced the patrons. 

Cold lips suddenly pressed against those matching in temperature. Arms wrapped around in a firm embrace. The voices surrounding the two grew louder and more disturbed, followed by one of their employees asking Metzli what they were doing. Breaking away, they said, “New performance piece. Don’t mind too much.”

Her eyes remained transfixed on the painting. Watched as stagnant waters became rapids. As a sudden wind breathed life into dead trees. Fronds turned fingers—reaching out to Eilidh. Passed the frame, into the air. Entwined around her arms, gripping her down into the fixed window. Bursts of colors; bursts of sounds. Drenched in rainbow and symphony. Crash of cymbals carried a familiarity. When she followed that déjà vu, found the source was her own throat. Overcome with giggles—harmonizing into an ensemble. Her hands danced to this music, fluttering by her face. Other hands found her, different from the ones before. Pulled her out instead of in—into an embrace. Mouth found a partner and those giggles reverberated down both throats. Tongue soon followed, over two sets of teeth. Finding its own match, intent on staying.

Until a familiar click.

Mouth and teeth snapped shut, barely missing snapping Metzli’s lip in turn. A sizable crowd had formed, but Eilidh’s eyes easily found the perpetrator. Betrayed by the sheen of camera’s lens. Every spectacle had its memorabilia. Her lips peeled back. Teeth shook under the snarl stampeding out. All things heightened, even anger. One swift step, and she was close enough to grip the camera. One swift tense, and it cracked and snapped under her fingers. Clattering to the floor in unrecognizable bits. 

“Everyone out! Get everyone out, Richard. And go home. Everyone goes home. This is a private performance.” Metzli commanded, seeing how Macleod responded to her picture being taken. It was hard to focus, colors and shapes melding together harmoniously, making their skin vibrate. The customers and employees only saw their side profile, a method they were using to hide their vampiric features. Everything continued to shift in their line of sight. They felt like they were floating, forgetting the small interruption already and pulling Eilidh back into them. Everyone was shuffling out already, fear halting any other captures from being taken. 

Macleod’s features seemed to jitter, a comfortable sight, even bordering on satisfying. “Forget them. The gallery is ours now.” Metzli pulled her face to lock eyes with her, gently taking her chin and guiding her face. The dance of hums increased, all the paintings joining in on the ensemble to create a euphonious experience.

While Metzli stood obscured, the crowd could not even attempt to ignore Eilidh. Teeth still bared—exposed to air that forced salivation. Dripped down her chin. Mouth turned waterfall, and when she looked down a river had formed at her feet. It gushed out, lapping at the departing crowd. As eyes returned to them—bodies weaving in and out—she threw the remaining chunk of camera in her hand. It meddled with those bodies, lost to that flow. Brought the giggle back to her lips, despite the reasoning lost on her. The sound felt good on her ears, and they hardly noticed when departing footfalls stopped. Alone.

Attentions turned from the emptiness to the beauty beside, gentle touch instructing. But the wild still claimed Eilidh. Gentleness was not returned; she leapt onto Metzli with a hunger. Mouth met them, as mouth did when hungry. But it was with lips instead of teeth. And the world was rainbow again.

[expectingtofly]

Morning Confessions (or, Waking Up Next to An Angel)

~1.3k dean/cas fic

also posted on ao3

Dean woke first in a haze of warmth and contentment, then in a slow realization of where he was and who he was with. Opening his eyes, he looked at the angel pressed up against him. Castiel’s head was half-buried in the sheets, his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, and the sight caused a warmth in Dean's chest, an instinct to pull Castiel closer.

Along with the instinct, however, came a flush of guilt at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments, enjoyed them as much as the flurry of kisses and clutches and gasps that preceded them.

“We can’t do this again,” he’d said two months ago, the morning after their first night together. After their second, he’d amended the statement: “This doesn’t mean anything, alright? We can hook up every once in a while, but that’s it. That’s all this is.” Castiel had nodded and that was the last they spoke of it.

Castiel’s eyes were closed in faux sleep; he always stayed the whole night—a fact which created a mixture of emotions in Dean, none of them in keeping with the cool, unattached manner he tried so hard to maintain around Castiel. He’d even mentioned it, told Castiel, “You don’t sleep, you don’t have to lie here all night.”

Seeming to blush—though Dean doubted angels could be embarrassed—Castiel had said, “I don’t mind. I want to watch over you.”

And Dean didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed the warmth of Castiel’s body against his all night, how much he relished waking up to the angel still next to him.

In the quiet of this morning, before he rose and left the motel room, spent the day trying to pretend nothing had happened between them, Dean studied Castiel: his soft, dark eyelashes, the curl of hair around the curve of his ear. The eyelashes fluttered, then blue eyes gazed up at him.

Dean’s breath hitched and he hastily looked away. He stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be engrossed by the dark water stain above their heads.

Whoosh.

Dean startled at the sudden absence of the heat of Castiel’s body against his. He looked to see the blankets settling down in the spot where Castiel lay a moment ago.

Damn flighty angels, Dean thought. Then the sound of water running made him realize the bathroom door was closed, light coming through the gap at the bottom. Frowning, he sat up to get out of bed, then swore. Castiel stood by the bed in his way, naked.

That sight, as always, was enough to render Dean speechless for a long second. He glanced back at the bathroom, the door now open and the light off, and back at Castiel. Only Castiel wasn’t standing in the same spot anymore.

The sound of wings made him turn to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, now almost fully dressed, pulling on his trench coat.

“What the fuck?” Dean managed.

“I, umm,” Castiel tapped his fingers on the bedspread, then pulled his hand away and smiled at Dean. “Do you want food? I can get you breakfast.” With another whoosh, he was gone, leaving Dean staring at the opposite wall.

Then Castiel was dropping a takeout bag on the table with a thump. Dean blinked and Castiel was standing by the bed again saying, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I grabbed five different varieties of bagels and—”

“Woah, woah, Cas.” Dean grabbed his arm. “You’re giving me whiplash. What the hell’s going on? Why’re you flying around everywhere?”

“I, um... I suppose I’m… nervous.”

“Nervous?” He didn’t know Castiel, “stoic angel of the Lord,” could get nervous. “And your wings are going haywire?”

“They’re not haywire,” Castiel replied, sounding annoyed. He straightened his shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean took a deep breath. In his line of business, that was never a good thing to hear. Angel or demon problems? A new apocalypse? Steadying himself for the inevitably bad news, he said, “Alright. What?”

Another whoosh, and Castiel was sitting on the bed next to him. “Fuck! Cas!” Dean exclaimed, nearly falling out of bed. Castiel grabbed his arm to steady him. “You wanna give me a warning next time?”

“Sorry."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel traced the floral pattern on the comforter. The serious furrow in his brows should’ve made Dean nervous, but he found himself studying Castiel’s profile instead. His jawline, his dark hair tousled from all his flying around, probably. He had the sudden urge to touch Castiel’s face, the nape of his neck, to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but he kept his arms crossed and studied the comforter himself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Castiel said quietly and Dean’s heart sunk. He had known this shaky thing between him and Castiel couldn’t last. Castiel was an angel; he had the world at his fingertips. Why would he ever be content with Dean?

Castiel continued, “I think this, our sexual relations, means more to me than it does to you.”

It took a few seconds for those unexpected words to register. Dean blinked. So... Castiel had caught feelings. Another apocalypse seemed easier to deal with than the way that realization made him feel.

In a rush, Castiel touched his arm and angled his body to look at him.  “I know that wasn’t part of our agreement. You said no strings attached. And I thought I could do that, and if not, I could hide my true feelings, but it seems I can’t, after all. I thought… I thought you should know.” He dropped his hands into his lap and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest. He wondered if Castiel could hear it.

“You want more,” he said slowly. “Like a relationship.”

Castiel nodded sadly.

“Maybe,” Dean started, then stopped. He didn’t know how he planned on ending that sentence. But the look Castiel turned on him, the wide hope in his eyes, urged him to say what had been building up in him since the first time he woke up next to Castiel. “Maybe we can have more than just..." He gestured to the crappy motel room, themselves, trying to encompass the transience of their hook ups. “This,” he finished lamely.

“Really?” Castiel asked, studying him. “You want that?”

More than anything. To hold Castiel's hand, to feel his arms around him every night, to wake up to him every morning. Everything he wanted to say got caught in his throat; the words seemed too heavy, too great to say aloud.

“Yeah, yeah, I do," he managed.

A smile spread on Castiel’s face and Dean hastened to add, “But no one can know, alright? I mean, maybe Sam can know, but no one else.” No, that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted: to call Castiel his, to let everyone know this angel had chosen him. “This can’t be public knowledge. Dean Winchester doesn’t date, much less have a boyfriend.”

“I’m your boyfriend now?” The excitement in Castiel’s voice made Dean’s heart jump.

“Oh, um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to be?”

"Yes." Castiel took Dean's hand in his own and held his gaze, his eyes serious. "I would like that very much.”

"I would like that very much too," Dean echoed since words were still escaping him, then Castiel leaned forward and kissed him, and there was that warmth again filling Dean's chest, perfect comfort and ease overwhelming him. He lifted a hand to Castiel's face, hoped he could press onto Castiel's lips everything he couldn't put into words.

When they slowly pulled away, Dean was breathless and Castiel was smiling at him. Nestling closer, Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. It didn’t make sense, Dean thought, the way this angel felt towards him. He was half-convinced this sudden, new relationship was all a dream. But even if it was, even if he did suddenly wake, he knew he’d wake to Castiel watching over him.

The thought made him smile and, looking down at their hands, he intertwined his fingers with Castiel’s. The happy sigh Castiel made said it all.

Tagging: 

@spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in future destiel fics :)

[honeybunchcalum]

𝒲𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉- 𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝐵  (part of ptersparkers writing challenge)

I’m a 5sos girl at heart, and this song really fit this fic, so I had to 

Summary: John B promises to help Winnie learn to let loose, the process of which involves skinny dipping, a bucket list, and some really good advice (and inevitable flirting, of course). 

Pairing: John B x OC

Warnings: language for sure, and some nudity 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: HUGE thank you and credit to @alexandracheers for editing this fic and giving me feedback! She also has a fic for @ptersparkers writing challenge that you should check out!

The main character is based a lot on myself, so for all you borderline uptight and academic overachiever readers, this one’s for you to relate to! 

I also aged the pogues up a few years, so all the characters are 18/19.

GIF credit: @sharmans​

“What would you do if you weren’t afraid of everything?” 

The sun grazed over facial features as it set, blurring some and sharpening others. Yet another day of summer gone, but the opportunity for a hot summer night followed the horizon. 

“God, I don’t fucking know, everything and anything! Also, I don’t appreciate that generalization, I’m not afraid of everything,” she trailed off.

“I know you know,” John B said while flopping down onto the towel that he had just finished smoothing out on the sand. “There’s never been a time when Winnie doesn’t have the answer to something… especially when it’s about herself,” he mumbled the modifying words as to make sure she didn’t hear, but she did. 

A few seconds later there was a handful of sand sprinkled throughout his curls as she laughed.

Winnie was a “conscientious and goal-driven girl” as every professor of hers had described her. As she’d come to realize, those words are just the nice way of saying “uptight over-achiever.” 

She wished she could be something outside of that. Outside of a ‘certificate of achievement,’ or a picture perfect transcript. Do something for once and make a decision or mistake for herself. That’s what she had come down here this summer to do after all, right?

“Fine, then I shall rephrase.” John B shook the revenge-filled sand out of his hair and asked, “What are you afraid of?”

Knowing that would be an easy question for his borderline-uptight friend to answer, he quickly added a condition, “and not the standard ‘failing a paper, looking bad, or not being at the top of whatever-the-fuck class you’re in’ fear.”

“Well, you’ve basically got all my bases covered with those,” she replied. John B raised an eyebrow at the mention of covering her bases. 

“You’re so annoying,” slipped out of her mouth accompanied by the obligatory eye-roll. She laid down on her own towel not too far from John B (certainly more gracefully than he had) and looked up at the purpling sky. 

The beach was beginning to empty as all the vacationers returned to their rental homes. It was her and John B’s favorite part of the day. They basically had the whole beach to themselves aside from the late-night skinny dippers, but they weren’t due for another few hours. 

It was peacefully silent for what felt like hours, just the two of them side by side on the towels that John B always kept in the van for spontaneous beach trips like this. 

Winnie started to drift into her daydreams of her future--walking down crowded city streets to the subway in a fashionably professional outfit on her way to the courtroom for her breakthrough case. Then she flipped to her daydream of writing in a cozy coffee shop. Writing about anything and everything--even the hazel-eyed boy beside her and how he just lived, nothing more or less (and sometimes without thinking). But that was just John B, and she felt the need to document it beautifully somehow, and make sure she’d remember him just as he is. She knew she couldn’t get it more right than he was then, right next to her, just as he had been all summer. 

“So, what’s your answer?”

“What?” Winnie had already forgotten his question, and was definitely startled. 

“To my question... I saw ya thinking there,” John B chuckled and looked up at the sky as well, “unless you were off in your lawyer daydreams again.”

“Well maybe I was, but I also have an answer for you. I can think about multiple things at once, y’know?”

“I know a little bit too well, Winnie. You’re always lost in your thoughts about something,” he replied while playfully touching her arm. 

She started to feel a weight on her chest and in her throat, first off because John B was now staring directly at her, and more prominently because she knew her answer all too well, but didn’t want to say it. What if John B didn’t understand, or if it sounded dumb?

“John Booker Routledge,” she spoke strongly, “I am afraid of being ordinary, being stuck and not having the opportunities to do enough fun shit while I’m young, and also worrying too much about all of these things at the same time.” 

By the end of her proclamation, Winnie was in tears. 

“It sounds...s-so stupid,” she was laughing through some sobs now, “like I’m the one in control of my own life, a-and I can’t get it right. I want to be young and do fun shit, but I-I-just can’t because I feel like-like I know better than to knowingly do something stupid.” Talking through things, even while she was choking out sobs, had always made everything she was feeling make sense. 

“Look, you hang out with young and dumb every day,” John B laughingly pointed at himself, “and while I am a bit offended by your ‘ordinary’ fear-”

Winnie cut him off with a sob-filled, “I’m so sorry, John B, I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, Winnie. I’m getting to my point here…” he reached out and held her shoulders. 

“...which is that you don’t know how to let go. And you’re already not ordinary, at least to me. And I can tell ya that JJ, Kie and Pope will tell you the same. I wouldn’t have been hanging out with you every night if you were.”

John B punched her arm to try to clear the seriousness in the air. “C’mon, you don’t really think I’d hang out with someone ordinary and boring, right?”

“Right,” Winnie replied.

“What was that, can you say it again?”

Dripping in sarcasm, Winnie repeated herself, “John B, you’re right.”

“Thank you.”

He turned away from her for a second and glanced at the purple sky that draped over the ocean, seeming to string words together in his mind. 

After a few seconds he started, “Coming from me, I feel like you can’t plan everything out. Some shit just happens--shit that you can’t make happen, Winnie, no matter how much of a control freak you are.” 

John B was right, she was a bit of a control freak; she’d admit it. 

“Like, do you think I was trying to make JJ stealing 25k from a drug dealer happen?” 

Now he could chuckle at the memory, and Winnie at the secondhand telling of the story since it seemed so outrageous. 

“Everything can’t be picture perfect, Winnie, a lot of things are messy” he was nervously fidgeting, which was very unlike him; John B was always so sure of himself. 

“And unexpected, like this--” he raised his hand and flung a clump of sand at Winnie.

She instinctively scoffed, but then laughed. At least it derailed the overly-serious energy that John B created. 

“You know, I was really starting to take you seriously, John B.”

“Ouch, Winnie,” he cracked a smile, “Well I’m glad you tried because it was part of my life-changing advice.”

“Which is…?” 

“You have to do what you feel is best for you right now. I’ve always told you, you need to be who you are now.”

“And throwing sand at me felt right to you in that moment?”

“Yes. But you have to admit that it’s good advice. My dad would always tell me, and it just stuck with me. So now, I relay it to you.”

Winnie let the words mellow around her mind for a few seconds. It was really great advice, especially for someone like her. She let her eyes scan the beach around her. She had an amazing landscape that was totally memory-worthy right in front of her. And more importantly, she had the time. The time to be here, in the moment, with her best friend. 

Although she had only been on the island for a few weeks, Winnie knew there was something special about John B. They were complete opposites in a way--an uptight law student from the city, and an easygoing surfer from the island. But they complemented each other: while she may have read more, he had seen more. And that’s what made them such a good pair.

They could both figure anything out, whether it was Winnie perfecting John B’s college essays and finance records for after his gap year, or the trademark stories of John B escaping trouble on the island. 

“Another philosophy I live by is that you should try everything once,” John B started. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that from JJ too,” she smiled, remembering the times in the van that JJ spilled his life philosophies while slightly under the influence. 

“Also, at the next kegger, you are definitely hanging with me, I’ll teach you how to have some fun,” John B added, as Winnie agreed, looking forward to it.

-------

After a few seconds, Winnie asked, “So it’s about 8:25, what are we doing right now? And what have you not tried?”  

“I see you took my advice to heart. There’s not too much honestly,” he nervously laughed, reminiscing about his countless long nights. “Your wish is my command on this lovely Thursday night. Whatever is on your, what I assume, color-coded bucket list,” he teasingly continued.

Winnie playfully scoffed. “Actually, it’s just highlighted, Mr. Routledge. Anyway.... I choose skinny dipping.” She spoke with a glow in her eyes and no hesitation, maybe she had planned out this moment for a while, waiting for this exact opportunity. But that’s one thing she wouldn’t admit.

John B’s jaw practically dropped to the ground. His eyes widened; she’d managed to pick the one thing he didn’t have experience with, which is impressive. 

The two had always poked fun at the nightly ocean skinny dippers; he never thought Winnie had the desire to partake in it. 

He ran his hand through his curls in an attempt to conceal his jitters. He would do anything for Winnie, and this is what she wanted. He couldn’t lie to himself--he would only consider something like this with her. As much as she trusted him, John B trusted Winnie. 

“No prob, sure, let’s do it,” the brunette slightly rambled. 

Winnie undoubtedly picked up on his fault of confidence. “Are you sure? We definitely don’t have to… I mean driving with the windows down is also pretty high up on my list.”

“Yeah,” he flashed a reassuring smile. One full of serenity and comfort. He pulled his t-shirt off as Winnie did the same, along with her shorts. The two awkwardly looked at each other, as if searching for each other’s cue to continue. Winnie gave John B an up-and-down glance, to which he knowingly turned around with an, “oh, yeah,” so she could further undress. 

It was dark enough on the shore now for the teens to be unrecognizable, but Winnie ensured that the towels they were currently wrapped in would be waiting for them right in front of the tide lines, in case the need for a quick escape dawned. 

There was an unspoken promise between them that lustful stares would not be exchanged, but quick glimpses would be inevitable. With that, towels were dropped, and John B started the countdown to rush into the water. Before “one,” Winnie already took off running towards the calm waves. 

By the time she was up to her knees, she was yelling, “Holy shit! That’s cold! Oh my God!” 

Seconds later John B was yelling the same before they both had dipped underwater to get used to the temperature. They came up from underwater with their faces almost inches apart. Their eyes locked for a moment. Nervous laughter followed as Winnie moved backwards, not remembering to keep her arm over her chest. 

“Shit, uh, sorry,” John B looked away from Winnie.

“It’s okay,” she giggled, “I don’t really care. I also don’t think there’s really a way to prevent that.”

Within a second, John B had started a splash war, and the rare serious energy dissipated. 

Ten minutes in the cold night ocean was more than enough. Luckily, no late-night walkers stumbled upon their antics. Now they sat on the sand peacefully wrapped in their towels. Winnie cuddled into John B’s chest. It felt as though time had stopped in her mind, yet the ocean continued, as did the waves and the heartbeat of her best friend both pounding in her ears. John B was warm, sweet, and wise. Especially now, with his curls a perfectly-laid sopping mess and his chest so comforting, the warmth took over. Winnie sought to ingrain this feeling into her mind. 

John B admired Winnie as the towel adorned her chest and the dull glow of the night slightly illuminated her face. He couldn’t deny it--she was very pretty. 

He pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked down towards the girl on his chest. “I knew you could let go, and not give a fuck, you don’t need me, Winnie.”

“No you did not know that,” she protested, “you’d told me I didn’t know how to let go like, 10 minutes ago.”

“Ok, yeah I did say that. But… would an uptight Winnie suggest skinny dipping, get me to do it with her, and also play it cool when I accidentally saw her boob?” 

Winnie thought about it: John B was right. In the moment, without overthinking, she did know how to let go and do whatever felt right to her at the time. 

“No…” she responded. 

“So you’re not uptight! I proved it to you, and I didn’t even have to argue with you about it-- HA!” John B retorted, pulling away from Winnie so he could now look her directly in the eye. 

“I guess, yeah. But you did go in the ocean with me, naked, for me to get to this realization.”

“Were you just trying to get me naked?” John B jokingly gasped. 

Doubled down in laughter, Winnie managed to respond, “No, definitely not, but you did it willingly, which was a win.”

“Well, I can say I did it.” John B seemed content, and he truly meant it. You should try everything once, right?  

“I’ve got the van radio and windows rolled down and ready for us, if you so desire.” 

“Why of course, Mr. Routledge, my prince charming, please fire up our carriage.” Winnie smiled, which was a repeated pattern throughout the whole night. The tears from earlier were forgotten, with aches from smiling too much replacing them.

They practically jumped into John B’s van, scantily clad, with Winnie’s hand already on the radio knob. She turned it to a station playing a summer song that would eventually become overplayed within the next few months, but that was ok. Maybe better, even, since each inevitable time this song was on, it would remind her of tonight.

Tonight. He’d truly seen her as a person, physically and emotionally now, with ease. He saw her as someone more than just an uptight student, and she realized that maybe she wasn’t always uptight, after all. He was willing to put aside his apprehensions and trust her, just as she’d come to trust him.

With the windows rolled down, and the radio almost unbearably loud, Winnie felt bliss. True and uninhibited, like this is what she was meant to be doing with John B, at this moment in time. 

Winnie’s eyes couldn’t resist scanning John B’s frame next to her. The way his calloused hands gripped the steering wheel, the flex of his arms, his wet caramel hair regaining its curl, and most notably, the smooth and tanned skin of his chest. He was damn gorgeous. And now gazing over at her. 

“Shit, he noticed me staring,” she thought. But he didn’t seem fazed or embarrassed by her gaze at all. He flicked her the trademark John B smile. “Like what ya see?” He gave an eyebrow raise.

“Oh, shut up,” she spit back and turned the radio up even further, starting to scream the lyrics to the catchy song. She felt the wind blow in her hair as the roads she drove down each day gained a newfound beauty.

-------

“I’m beat,” Winnie exasperatedly stated once John B pulled the van up to the Chateau. 

“Yeah me too, that’s enough ‘young and dumb’ for tonight. You don’t mind sharing the pull-out with Kie, right? I kinda forgot she was staying over tonight...” 

“Yeah, no prob,” Winnie responded. She really didn’t mind sharing with Kie, but secretly wished John B would invite her to his bed for the night.

She opened the screen door of the house, and after she got ready for bed, practically flopped on the pull-out couch. 

Kie groggily groaned, “Ugh, Winnie don’t do that, I’m tryna sleep. Why are you back so late anyway?” 

“Sorry, beach night with JB,” Winnie whispered, only to realize that the girl beside her was already asleep again. Winnie was practically shaking from her excitement as she looked back on her night, especially after John B threw a “g’night Winnie” her way.

------

Winnie knew she had slept too late when she’d woken up without Kie next to her, probably already at the Wreck for the breakfast shift. She stood up and made her way to the bathroom, peeking around to make sure that only John B was in the house and Pope or JJ hadn’t made a surprise visit. 

She’d wanted to make a move last night. Especially when he’d caught her staring. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror to psych herself up: it was now or never.

She rounded the corner to John B’s room and knocked on the doorframe, since he always left the door open. John B sat up and gave a raspy, “hey, Winnie.”

She cut to the chase, as she sat down next to him on his bed. “I think I overthought something I shouldn’t have last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, shoot, what is-”

Winnie cut him off with a kiss that was well-received. His lips molded to hers as his hand moved to her cheek and then to her hair. He pulled away. 

“Funny enough, that’s something that’s actually been on my bucket list, too.” 

“Well, I’m happy we’re efficient in crossing things off our list,” Winnie smiled into another kiss, now being the one to pull away. 

She was on her way to living the life she wanted.  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging some of my mutuals: @noshamenion​ @darkrosekuwonu​ @cccatz​ @poguelifesurfshop​ @maybankiara​ @tothemoonmikey​ @singledadharrington​ @kindapinkskies​ @outerbanqs​

[brokenjardaantech]

abstract ghosts, concrete lives

written for this prompt challenge. rated T for potentially disturbing scenes but nothing too graphical imo.

relationship: captain allen/simon

fandom: detroit: become human

summary: 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality.

also on ao3

---

Louis Allen prides himself in being able to more or less take care of himself properly despite having lived alone for more than ten years. Of course, his usual routine has been disrupted since the arrival of a certain little kid on his doorstep, but that doesn’t change the fact that he goes to sleep and wakes up regularly unless his child needs him and he is woken up by their cries; even if he is tired enough to sleep through them, there is always Simon to take up the job, and by now Shub sees the android as their second father more than anything else - not that Louis will have it any other way, the android being more human than most actual humans he has ever met. 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality, Shub being compressed into the simplest shapes before shattering like broken glass, Simon’s body falling apart piece by piece as his face twists in the gravity of an object heavier than a black hole and his arm stretched outward awkwardly and his mouth open in a static-filled scream, a tide of white and brown that manages to remind him of the darkness at the same time sweeping them away until he blinks and his heart races and suddenly he is back to staring at the ceiling of his bedroom with Simon curled up against his side, the android’s breath too deep and regular to be a regular human’s but his movement and position also too human to be a regular android’s. Simon’s mere presence and regular heartbeat are usually enough to calm Louis down, but as the cycle repeats itself for the sixth time and midnight passes, he knows that it isn’t going to help tonight. Not wanting to disturb the android’s stasis with his own tossing and turning in case those images turn into actual nightmares which he would have no control over, he slides off his bed, careful not to disturb Simon, and pads first to check on Shub, finding them still sound asleep and their vitals steady and strong, then climbs the stairs to the attic which is, most of the times, his own space. 

A small window allows him a narrow view of what is outside his house from this angle, and normally speaking he can stare at the nothingness until he bores himself out and falls asleep because of it, but tonight, the shadows and darkness only brings out the ones his mind creates for him to fill the gaps in his memory that he has known since a long time ago that exist but never sought them out: they are mostly from before his eighth birthday which to this day he still has zero recollection off, but on top of that there are also moments with his mother who went MIA shortly before he graduated from high school, things that he did together with his father that returns as him speaking more than ten languages without a single memory on why and how he learnt them, events that he brought his sister to (or vice versa) that confuses him whenever she mentions them because he never remembers. Tonight, they all blend into one, reality mixing with imagination and memories that should have been long gone but choose this moment to resurface temporarily before disappearing like wisps of dissipating smoke, untouchable and uncontrollable and gone just like the ages. So he alternates between drawing and writing, trying to capture bits and pieces of the images at the front of his mind with his stylus and his fingers while being completely oblivious to the numbness of his crossed legs and the knot forming on his back and the dryness of his eyes, but even though the logical and adult part of him tells him that he isn’t exactly twenty and young anymore and he should be aware of the strain he is putting on his body, the part of him that has always been running from the lost memories, the one that somehow manages to remain a scared little boy despite four decades’ worth of life experience and growing pain - it just takes over and urges him to let everything out until his entire body is shaking and the page is full. Guided by the magnets within the two devices, the stylus snaps to the side of the tablet automatically, its light blinking yellow to indicate that it is charging, and Louis puts down the tablet on the floor next to him before he closes his suddenly-heavy eyelids and unwinds his body with a wince and too many popping joints and needles underneath his skin. He picks up his tablet again to take a better look at what the hell he spent the last… two hours and a half working on just to hear the familiar creak of wooden floorboards, the attic illuminated by the faint blue glow of Simon’s LED. Louis freezes like a deer in headlights.

The android folds himself into the already-cramped space of the attic and sits with his legs folded underneath him next to the human, his hand reaching for Louis’ thigh, and the warmth through his sweatpants is enough to drain whatever fight that remains in his body away. So much for going back before Simon notices.

‘I woke up and you weren’t there,’ Simon whispers without breaking eye contact. Then he cocks his head, his LED spins yellow, and he continues, ‘You didn’t sleep at all.’

Louis blinks and looks away, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Can’t.’

He can feel Simon’s intense gaze on his own face. ‘Why?’

He starts fidgeting with the stylus by removing it from where it’s attached to the side of the tablet just to let it snap back again. ‘Memories,’ some images still flash in front of his eyes, but they are less haunting now, less graphic, less detailed, ‘or lack thereof. I try not to think about them.’

‘But…?’

‘Sometimes they just come back and haunt me.’

‘Do you want to talk about them?’

Louis unlocks the tablet to view his creation again, a mixture of abstract images and words that don’t make sense when put together that hurts his head to look at, telling him that keeping it and letting anyone else even glance at it is a mistake, is a torture, and that it shouldn’t have existed in the first place, but they are a representation of his own head so they must have been there since a long time ago but it’s just his damned fault for avoiding the issue and running away instead of facing it heads-on and maybe solve the problem instead of losing sleep and making shitty evil art and making other people worry about him and probably not being able to be a good father for his child in the morning because of sleep deprivation and -

The tablet is taken out of his hands with its screen turned off, suddenly leaving his hands empty and flexing and scrambling for something to hold onto, and the next thing he knows is that there is a warm body pressing against his own and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, grounding him and giving him very little choice on where his hands should go apart from winding them around the android’s waist as well. He inhales deeply, smells the detergent on Simon’s shirt and the body wash that they share, and the chain of thoughts slows down and turns itself down until the thud of their hearts overwhelm it. He suddenly feels restless, his hands twitchy and itching for things to do, but he’s lost, his brain isn’t working, and his eyes refuse to close even though he’s suddenly so, so tired.

Simon stills, and that is when Louis realises that the android has been rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to further calm him down. ‘Let’s get back in bed, shall we?’ he asks, his voice soft and barely audible, but the way he phrases it makes it sound more like a command than a question, so Louis lets himself be guided down the attic and back into their bedroom under the covers, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. ‘Do you want me to stay awake with you, or may I go into stasis for now?’

‘Stasis,’ Louis answers immediately. ‘You need it.’

‘And so do you, but here we are.’

‘You are aware that you will most likely take over most of the childcare, aren’t you?’

A soft smile appears on Simon’s lips. With a hand on Louis’ cheek, he leans forward to kiss the human chastely and then pulls back. ‘We’ll figure that out when we wake up again. For now, try to go to sleep, okay? And don’t leave the bed even if you can’t; it’s better than getting up and working.’

Louis nods, and Simon’s eyes slip shut and his body relaxes immediately as he goes into stasis. He scoots close and holds him to feel his breath on his skin and his chest rise and fall against his hand again, and even though the images pull him away from slumber whenever he nearly falls asleep, everything remains relatively peaceful compared to the overwhelming barrage from before. Head now clearer, he thinks of what he will do after both Simon and Shub are awake, recalling bits and pieces of information that he gathered from his surroundings and his work to help himself make decisions: tomorrow is a weekday and has a high chance of being sunny for the whole day on top of being his day off. There are no appointments for Shub and neither does Simon need to report back to a CyberLife store for check-ups anymore, there are enough ingredients in the kitchen and the fridge to make a light meal for himself and Shub, the parks will also be relatively quiet because all other children are at school; maybe he and Simon can bring them there, have a picnic together, let their child have their fun without being harassed or bullied by other children because of their cybernetics and prosthetics that extends all the way from their face to their feet. He might need some strong tea to keep himself awake or a nap in the park to recharge halfway through the day, but it will be another day when the family can spend the whole day together and relax, another happy memory for Shub before their inevitable… no, he has faith in his sister and her people. They will figure out a way to make sure that Shub has many happy years to live before old age takes them. They have to.

Dawn comes with light alongside the grumbles of a hungry child rousing but not quite awakening yet, and Louis feels more than sees Simon’s smile against his neck as the two of them slide out of bed and begin their usual morning rituals with practised fluidity. He forgoes going to the gym in favour of spending a slow morning smelling of tea and warm breakfast at home with his family, knowing that it won’t matter much if he only skips it for a day and doesn’t let it become his habit. Ah well. Not like staying up all night is something he is planning to do often.

‘Picnic, Shub?’ he asks after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. ‘Just you, me, and Daddy. How does that sound?’

Shub’s wide green eyes and her flailing limbs are answers enough, and as Louis’ own eyes meet Simon’s sky blue ones, it is as if one gaze is enough to communicate everything between them, Louis moving to prepare for the upcoming trip to the park that may seem insignificant to most children but is certainly a big thing for their child while Simon coaxes Shub to finish the last of their breakfast and swipe the plate away from grabby hands before loading it into the dishwasher. 

It is another day.

[sonicringbond]

Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 19

As prompts have been pretty slim recently, I held a survey to determine what I would write for this scene. Is was a bit of an interesting outcome, and I hope everyone enjoys the results. So please, enjoy...

     ~I could really use Sonic’s help. He’d rescue me in no time.

     ~I could really use Mighty’s help. I’m sure he’s more than strong enough.

     ~Hm? What’s that? What am I talking about? Hehehe… well you see…~

     “KYA~!”

     Rosy screamed as a stone fist the size of a ten-story building crashed into the stone brick bridge she attempted to run across. The impact brought up massive waves of icy cold water and she was thrown high into the air where she was nearly lost within the flurry of snowflakes. “Stop picking on me!”

     Afforded a fine view of the possessor of the giant fist, Rosy yelled at it and made herself an ample target where she was defenseless in the air. “Eep?”

     What possessed the stone fist of such great size was a golem not unlike the ones Rosy had seen before. It was however the most massive one she had seen to date. Its ten story tall fists were but the end point of its arms that formed an arch like structure that served as most of the construct’s body. Like most golems possessed of a green gem to power it, this one lacked a head of any kind. The gem that powered it however was also massive. Unlike the ones that powered its lesser cousins and could be held between thumb and forefinger, this one was nearly the size of a three-story house itself. Rosy could sparse imagine how many Rings were used in the construct’s construction, no less the amount of vegetation that seemed to give the golems life.

     Even with her speed though she did not have the time to ponder about it as the construct turned to strike her from the air. So massive an object striking her would be disastrous, even though the Rings she carried would absorb any direct physical harm she would endure. And they did, scattering as she was launched through the air like a cannon ball.

     She barely had time to curl into a ball before colliding with a massive structure of stone bricks which she rebounded off and down into a barren courtyard. Recovering her Rings seemed impossible and she was soon traveling as fast as she could on the slick ice. This meant well below her speed of sound maximum, but staying still would be lethal regardless.

     ~So, what happened here? I really don’t know. I’ve been unlucky in finding clues to track down my friends, so I’ve still been following rumors. I need to stop that as it seems to be nothing but trouble for me. But how was I supposed to know that the giant statue out here was a golem. No one said so!

     ~Ah~ What am I saying. I thought it might be. I really did. It was kind of just blind hope that maybe Sonic had heard about it too and thought it was a giant golem. Really, I should have just stuck to believing that it was a curiosity that Mighty would want to see.

     ~It’d be nice if I could at least run away though. It’s freezing and It’s getting harder to find any rings.

     ~Why can’t I run away? Because the golem broke all the ice leading out to this crumbling old ruin!~

     Swimming was not an option for Rosy either. As she neared the edge of the island in the once frozen lake, the water raged up in powerful destructive waves that would have been impossible for her to withstand. The cause of the waves was none other than the unseen force that kept the legless, arch shaped golem in the air as it raced around the island to meet her.

     “Not again!”

     Slipping and sliding to a stop, Rosy attempted to regain her traction to flee the other way. The golem would not afford her the time and again struck the island with tremendous force. With a bit of better luck Rosy managed to jump up before impact and was launched by a chunk of rubble that rose up to meet her.

     “Oof!”

     The debris may have stolen her breath away, but it also provided her a foot hold she could use to escape the golem’s next attack. The golem itself seemed to recognize the situation and instead of swinging its fist again instead gathered light into its core.

     “Oh no!”

     The beams of green light fired from the gems that powered the golems were no laughing matter even from the ones more around Rosy’s size. But one fired from a gem the size of a three-story building would be catastrophic.

     Rosy had no intention of seeing how she would fair against the golem’s next attack and rolled the rock over so she was pointing back toward the ground. A gapping maw the size of the golem’s fist awaited her below and she had no idea what awaited beyond it. Still, she could not risk the golem’s beam weapon and kicked off the rock towards the hole. Curling her body into a tight defensive ball she hoped her typical springiness would allow her to rebound safely from what awaited her below.

     Above Rosy, the golem’s gem finished charging and a bolt of green energy tore through the cloudy sky. It devastated more of the ancient stone brick structure and released a rain of Rings in the wake of the destruction that further stripped the ruin of any identity of its former function. Rosy herself presumed the ruin might have been a town at some point, but if so then she had found her way into its aqueduct tunnels.

     The opening created by the massive golem led Rosy straight into an underground channel of icy water. The temperature of the water near stole her breath away, no less her consciousness and she struggled to swim to the surface.

     “Ugh!” Rosy groaned and gasped for air, pushing her limbs to propel her through the ice water filled veins of the ruin. Between breaths she managed to complain in an off handed way as she hoped the golem lost track of her. “At least I actually can swim in here!”

     ~Really, I had no idea where I was going, and the cold was sapping me of my strength. I really don’t know how Sonic and Tails do it. They just seem to run through icy cold water like they don’t feel it. Is it another use for the Rings I don’t know about? I know they can be used to absorb toxins from the body. Sonic taught me that, but can they also be used to ward off extreme temperatures? Ooh~! I really wish I could find Sonic and ask him.

     ~First, I have to get away from this golem. Ooh~! What an awful turn of luck! I can barely stay conscious. But I’ll freeze if I don’t. I can’t black out now.

     ~And yet I did.

     ~So how am I still telling my story? Well, someone must have rescued me. Or at least that’s what I presumed waking up beside a fire in the depths of the ruin.~

     “Hello?” Rosy cried out as she sat up, the heavy blanket around her fighting against her weakened form. “Is anyone there?”

     She did not want to succumb back to the darkness of an uneasy sleep, but Rosy fell back down anyway as the warmth of the fire was too comforting and the blanket too heavy. She refused to let her eyelids grow heavy though, and with a burst of internal energy forced them to stay open.

     With open eyes Rosy needed something to look at and set about scanning the chamber she occupied. What she found was old beat up cookware and hunting and fishing supplies. “Does someone live here?”

     “For someone half frozen you sure have a lot of questions,” a surprisingly youthful voice criticized Rosy from somewhere behind her. “Though I have a few of my own. You didn’t honestly think that you could stay warm dressed in that little did you? Or maybe you got stuck here like I did because of those blasted Rings!”

     Forcing herself to roll over under the blanket a look of astonishment soon adorned Rosy’s face. “You’re not just young sounding! You’re a kid!”

     “Who are you calling a kid!” a sapient koala in a heavy fur coat and holding an archery bow yelled at Rosy, denying that he obviously was. Rosy herself was technically still a child as well, but the youth was easily younger than her and she felt a need to see him safely from the island and the golem that ravaged it. But first proper introductions were due.

     “Tee-hee! I think we need to start from the beginning,” Rosy again tried to force herself to sit up. It was a vain effort and she puffed up her cheeks in frustration. But only for a moment. She wanted to start with as a good of an impression as she could. “I’m Amy Rose, but I prefer to be called Rosy. I’m from a really faraway place and kind of lost right now, but everyone here seems to see me as a sightseer.”

     “Well you picked a terrible spot for sightseeing,” the young koala sighed, his shoulders slumping as he was faced with the possibility of having to protect Rosy.

     “Well, I’m also looking for my friends,” Rosy tried to defend her actions. “We got separated after we were attacked by some mean old sky pirates and the golem here sounded like something two of them might come check out. Ooh~! I really wish one of them had too. They’d beat that mean old golem in no time!”

     “What! Are your friends golem hunters too! Why would golem hunter’s hang out with a sightseer?”

     “No, no, no,” Rosy tried to correct the young koala, waving her hands under the heavy blanket in emphasis. “All of us are from really faraway lands. I mean really faraway. All your customs here are so weird to me. I feel kind of exotic traveling around.”

     “You just seem kind of stupid to me.”

     “Hey!” Rosy finally found the strength to sit up, fueled by the uncalled-for insult. “You just can’t go around calling people names. Besides, I gave you mine. It’s Rosy! And you still need to tell me yours too!”

     “It’s Patch. But everyone calls me Draw because my archery teacher always yelled it at me during practice.”

     “So nice to meet you Draw!” Rosy chirped cheerfully as she suddenly dashed out of from under the blanket and took Draw’s hands in her own.

     “Gah!” Draw recoiled in surprise at Rosy’s speed. “How did you–!”

     “Oh, you mean my speed. Tee-hee! It’s kind of a long story, but I can run so fast that I can get to you as fast as my words reach your ears. At least when I’m having a good day.”

     “How is that even possible?” Draw asked trying to pull away from Rosy. It was a vain effort, as Rosy was far stronger than she looked and had already decided that Draw was her new friend. Of course, that meant she gladly explained as well.

Scene 19 · CLEARED Hope on Ice, to be continued

-----

And I’ve yet introduced another character. Comically, unlike Gill I actually have know just how long he’ll be hanging around for. If he comes back after that point will be up to my readers. Though for now him and Rosy just need to deal with a rather troublesome golem. I hope everyone will join them next time as well!

Thank you for reading!

-----

Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – Jungle Joyride - Night – By SEGA & Kenichi Tokoi – Sonic - Unleashed Original Soundtrack: Planetary Pieces

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

[namjoonchronicles]

eclipse | th

↳ pairing taehyung, you

↳ genre drama, fluff

↳ words 1.4k

↳ warnings mention of world ending, descriptions of it, eclipse, heart-wrenching things~

↳ song jp saxe ‘if the world was ending’ feat julia michaels

Some love, some type of love wouldn’t have been together despite all. In those brown irises, you see a familiar kind of feeling. You would look at him less than a second, afraid that you gave more than what should be invested. You know in your heart that he would love you if you gave him room, but time was never right. So now you’re left with whatever it is that makes you whisper his name, and never let them past your lips.

How would you spend your last day on earth? For all we know, with each day passes, we are a step closer to the End.

Maybe last mug of coffee that he hates the taste of. Maybe one last news on the TV. The curtain is open wider than the rest of the days that passed this year. You sat on the floor, leaning against the baby blue sofa that he had chosen. Ignoring the drawings, he had nailed on your walls without your permission. You shouldn’t be comfortable with the memories of him, floating around the house that’s yours. Or the house that seemed like yours.

“The eclipse will begin around 11.15am, peaks at 1.13pm and ends around 3pm, says expert,” the news anchor chatters delightfully. The incident said to occur every 22 years, and it made you think, you could spend today alone, with your coffee mug, or you could spend it with the very person you’re thinking of. But is he thinking of you too?

For all we know, an eclipse is one of the signs that the world is ending. And the fear, for the unknown, for whatever that comes next, Taehyung would know what to say to these suppressing thoughts. But he’d hate the coffee that was wasping around your breathe. You remembered how it would ruin his entire day. You remembered the way his face contorts. At first you thought it was funny. Then it became clear that you need your coffee more than you need Taehyung. As comical as it sounds now, you couldn’t have made him stay no matter what you say, no matter how you carved yourself to fit his ideals.

But that’s how women are, Taehyung twitches in his seat. He sits on the tall stool, his thumbs kneading the clay, next to the curtain-less window. Far on the outskirts of the town. Far from you.

“They remember all the wrong things we did to them, and they remember none of their own, towards us,” he carved the eyelid on his sculpture.

He knows you weren’t in it forever, and it was honestly fine. But then he felt the third quake. And then he felt the third quake. He almost stumbles off his stool at the speed he was going. He didn’t even wash the clays off his beautiful fingers. He just left his sculpture, grab the coat by the hangar, and dashed out the door. Because if the world is ending,

If the world is ending.

He’d rather be next to you.

Not the sculpture of you. But the real you.

He was scared and he didn’t care if you don’t feel the same. Who cares about the coffee you tasted like, when your smile was all he could think of when he is away. Who cares about the way you nag about his shoes scattered on the floor, when the sound of your voice keeps ringing in his head. It was when he climbed into the driver seat that he decided that if the world is ending today, he wants to hold you in his arms.

He sped through the traffic, the traces of the drying clay covering the extent of his steering wheel. He bits his lower lip in the rush of adrenaline, the tip of his finger feels numb and he wasn’t sure if it’s because of the hours he had spent to make yet another sculpture of your face, your expressions.

Here he was, creating something that probably would last the blow, some kind of remembrance of a beauty like yours, but it was your face he would rather see when the world is ending.

Because some love, some type of love needs the world to end for them to be together.

The street was filled with empty cars, left abandoned. The sky turned brilliant orange, cloudless. When he knows the road to your home by heart, there was no guarantee that you’d be there. And it felt fine, but not really. Even then, he wanted to lie to himself. The traffic doesn’t move. Taehyung frantically honk the car in front of him, but it doesn’t budge at all. He left his keys in the ignition, his wallet, his life-long savings and pushed the door, dashed through the gaps before it could fully open. All he hears is his own heavy breaths.

His steps gradually sped up, until it turns into a full jog towards an apartment, next to the stairs leading to the underground train. With the elevator out of order, he had to resort to the stairs 13 floors up. It seemed endless.

By the time he reached 7th floor, he was sweating profusely. His forearm hair stood up; his cloth stuck clad on his buffed-up chest. It’s 12.58 noon and the face you had when you opened the door, felt like coming home. He hastily gathered you in his arms, panting hard, your hair plastered on his sweaty face. Your sweater paws pats his lower back lightly, to offer some comfort. He was shaking, shivering, lips quivering. No words were exchanged. No words were needed.

All that you are was two soul that was scared. Difference was he was more apparent than you. And it reminded you how your relationships had been.

“You… came,” was all you could say.

“Where else would I’ve gone,” Taehyung said, with that familiar boyish smile.

As you sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa, and he was sitting with one knee propped up, opposed to you. A questionable glint in his eyes as you passed him a stare longer than he remembered you ever gave him. It was then that he noticed, he realized, that you never want to give your hundred percent not because you didn’t love him, but because you do.

Now that you sat there, in this house alone, he sees you for what you are instead of what you’ve made yourself to be. And he learns from you, that even clear eyes can conceal the truth. If only he stared longer, then. He would have seen it. He leans his head back but never breaks eye contact with you. You see resentment, and love; a very unlikely combination. But his heart brought him here, of all places, that has to mean something.

You knew pain when your family comes in between this man and you. You knew pain when all you wanted to be was together but couldn’t and can’t. You knew pain when you look into his eyes and love him still when he was holding someone else’s’ hand. You knew pain when you had to let him go, when you still very much want him. It wasn’t because of coffee, or the fact he hates it. It was trivial to compare to the real reason. Because it was easier to nitpick on all the little things, than it is to talk about the bigger reasons.

“How’s your parent?” he asked.

“Still hate the same thing they did,” you brought the brim of the mug to your lips.

“Still hate Kim Taehyung for his lineage,” he finished your words.

Your eyes fall, but not because you were apologetic, but because there’s nothing you could do. When they rise, they glide to the wall clock.

“It’s almost the full eclipse,” you reminded.

Taehyung glances to the glass window and the sun was totally covered by the moon. A ring was formed. That’s when he crawled to you and pressed his lips on yours. The quake begins to intensify. Photos began to fall to the floor, shattered in pieces, small vases lined up along the windowpane vibrates in place before falling to their side.  The insides of the fridge rattles against each other, and Taehyung cradles your face in his large hands, deepening the kiss.

The building behind him slanted, and at one point, it felt like you were levitating. While everything falls apart, Taehyung’s warm hand keeps you safe. You’re the safest you’ve ever been with him.

The world had to end for you to be together. Because some type of love, requires it to be so.

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COPYRIGHT © 2019 namjoonchronicles do not repost, happy 24th birthday taehyung, shine on, love you

[worldbuildingworkshop]

Worldbuilding Tutorial #11: Outlining History

Intro I received a request (a long time ago, by this point) to write about how to go about constructing a world’s history. The request is as follows:

Can you write more about how to develop a history for your cultures? And how much is adequate for a good story/campaign? You mentioned time altering things in the last one, and changing empires and migrations can create reasons for the spread of peoples, religions, cultural elements, and political forms. Great series!

Thus, without further ado: history!** **Disclaimer: This is one I might have otherwise waited longer to do, because it can be a bit fiddly compared to a lot of other aspects of world building. If you’re following these tutorials while building your world, you may want to wait on this one ‘til later!

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There are a few ways you can approach writing your world’s history. Which one you pick depends mostly on how much you have written about other parts of your world so far. If you have a lot decided-upon already, you may want to start by working backwards; if you’re still in the process of deciding what you want your world to look like, you may want to work sequentially instead. There are other ways as well, depending on what role history is going to play in your world - I’ll outline them each below.

Working Backwards In most cases, you’ve probably already got a fair amount about your world decided, whether it feels like it or not. Maybe you’ve already got a larger map with the major cities and borders marked out, or you have a sense of the cultural time and place you want parts of your world grounded in (example: the classic Tolkein-esque fantasy setting being medieval western Europe); either way, you’ve got a clear image of what your world looks like and the standards of everyday living. What you want to do is start from there and, well, work backwards to write your history.

The first question when looking backwards is, of course, what do you already know? Look back through your notes. What’s your cosmology - how did the world and its people come into being? Did they come to be slowly over time, evolving from prior species and working through their stone age (or equivalent) and onwards - or were they manifested as they are now, with or without cultural and technological assistance from another source? Consider how long it’s been since your world was populated, where they started from, and where they have ended up. That will give you some sense of the distance that you’re looking to fill.

If you have places that you’ve already established - particularly cities - take a look at those as well. Which one is the oldest? Which one is the newest? What order were they built in, and by who? Are they still controlled by the same cultures that founded them? If not, when did they change hands - and how? This can go for other locations, too: dungeons, the local dragon lair, a major spaceport, a pirate hideout, you name it. You can go through the same process with other things too: a major trading company, a secret order, a ruling bloodline or house, an ancient and powerful being, you name it. Figure out what order everything that exists now came in, and write those out in an outline to get a sense of which things started to come into being during the same time period. Are there any patterns? Jot those down.

The other thing to consider is the question of prerequisite. What needs to have happened in order for things to be the way they are now? If your world has a ruler or government, that had to be founded at some point. If your world is spacefaring, they must have acquired or developed the technology for that at some point. If two countries or cultural groups are enemies, something must have happened to spark that enmity. Consider what the basic prerequisites for your world in the current day are, decide how long ago they happened, and note that down with your locations. As a rule of thumb, for determining age: dynamics that are more settled have been ongoing for longer; and dynamics that are still shifting or subject to change are more recent. This isn’t always the case, but it’s a good “when in doubt”.

Once you have major places and events sorted in order relative to one another, look for clusters - groups of events that all seem like they happened in the same time period. Do they share a history? Did the same thing instigate multiple events? Did one of these events lead directly to one of the others? Trust your gut - if it says yes, then yes; if it says no, leave it be for now. Look also for any big gaps - if there are long periods of time between clusters of events, why? Either decide why nothing of importance happened during that time, or fill them in with the little steps that bridge the point between the older event and the newer one. Continue to fill in the gaps until you’ve got something that looks roughly like you want it to for your world.

Sequential Development If you’re working through a process of building your world from the ground up - perhaps literally - you may want to develop your history sequentially instead. That is to say, starting at the beginning and building out from there, and following that development wherever it leads. This one tends to work less well if you’ve already got a clear idea of what your world looks like right now, although it can still be done even so.

As always, the first question to consider is what you already know. The species and rough cultures you’re working with can be a good place to start, since that influences all that follows. Based on those factors, you’ll want to start with determining early population centers - I’ll write on that more extensively in another tutorial, because that’s a doozy - and working a bit with the development of early civilizations. How fast do they develop? Do any of them get wiped out, through war or disease or natural disaster? Where do the survivors of these fallen civilizations go, and what impact do they have on wherever they end up? Consider all the empty spaces on your map - who’s going to start to reach out to those first? Are the settlers deliberate expansion attempts from a civilization - or dissidents from it? What is their reason for moving into these places? Play with the dynamics of early civilization and see what survives. 

Survival is not the only factor to consider: for those civilizations that hang on for long enough, change is a factor as well. Cultures don’t simply stay the way they are for hundreds of years; they change, in a myriad of ways. As they expand, for example, they may need to adopt new ruling structures that suit a larger domain. Or as they develop new technologies or discover new resources, a culture will adapt to and incorporate (or vehemently reject!) those discoveries. As other cultural groups move through the area - the remnants of fallen friends, or invasion from enemy forces - a culture will pick up pieces from other cultures, particularly those most relevant to the point of contact. Is the primary contact between two cultures trade? Then expect that influence to come in the form of aesthetics, transportation, and status. Is the primary contact more like an incorporated population of refugees? Then the influence may come in the form of family structure, religion, or holidays. Consider how that change may ripple out to the larger culture - will it be celebrated? Suspect? Spurned? By whom, and why? What follows, and what changes?

Sequential history development is really a matter of following these questions through to their natural conclusions. Moving from early civilizations into middling ones, there are other factors to consider. What cultural origins are no longer relevant? A culture may have had its origins in herding, but if herding is no longer necessary (or possible), what will creep in to fill its absence?  What changes are necessary to accommodate an increase in population, or physical territory, or changes in the landscape and climate itself? There is also the matter of the influence of prior history itself - for example, we would never have had the Italian Renaissance without the efforts of Arabic scholars translating old Ancient Greek works; and Rome always aspired to be Greece, even if its vision of Greece was deeply distorted by its own cultural lenses. What do the people now think of the people who were? What do they even know about them? Do they look down on them, do they idolize them, are they merely confused by them? These questions change culture too.

If you ever find yourself in a place of not being sure where things go next - if there’s not a clear sequence, or your world has become too stable - introduce something radically different. Natural disasters in their many forms are always good candidates; so are plots and conspiracies, sudden deaths of important figures, first contact with a perviously-unknown Other - you get the idea. Something to shake things up a bit, and something that there isn’t an immediate or obvious solution to. History is, ah, exciting (or rather, chaotic), despite historians’ best efforts to paint it in as dull a manner as possible - and full of crazy things and crazy coincides on even the most sane of days. 

The last thing to consider as you develop is to think beyond merely events. People are an easy example - who drives these changes? Who will become the important, storied figures of history whose tales and influence survive long past their deaths? Locations, too - what new locations will arise, out of discovery or opportunity or necessity or tragedy? Artifacts is another; what are the important artifacts that come out of this history, and what happens to them? Who owns them, and what do they gain from it? Stories is another good one, especially as civilizations move into ideology as a primary motivator - what stories from their past are these civilizations striving to live up to - or avoid at all costs? 

Keep going until you reach the point in your history that you’re ready to settle at, whether for your own story or game or interest; then flesh it out in more detail. And, of course, you can always go back later to fill in more things as necessary.

Spiderwebbing This is a method you may want to use if you already have a few key historical moments in mind - the fall of an empire, the assassination of a political leader, the arrival of a prophet, the theft of some holy jewels, you name it. Spiderwebbing is similar to working backwards, but involves “spidering out” from several key points rather than from simply the current state of your world. With spiderwebbing, you look at each event and then spin your history a little forwards and a little backwards - what had to happen in order for this event to come to pass? What are the consequences from this event, both immediate and long-term? You can then draw the before and after out a little longer and a little longer until you connect the major events of your world into a chain of its history. Once you’ve got the chain, you can build off details as needed to support the chain and fill in the gaps. How did these events impact or affect those who weren’t directly involved? What was going on elsewhere in the world? 

Final Considerations If all else fails, consider the factors that motivate changes in history. Need is a big one; people will go to great and even desperate lengths to obtain the things that they need. Want is another big one; people are also willing to go to extraordinary lengths to obtain things that they want, and the more resources they have to do it with, the greater those lengths can be. These things don’t only have to be resources; they can be power, agency, and knowledge can all be needs and wants too. Values is another big one - how do you ensure that you continue to pursue the values of your culture? Do you try to spread your values to others - and if so, how? What do you do if your neighbors practice values directly counter to your own? What if it’s your own people who reject these values? Mystery is another one, particularly if your species is like humans - what is left to be discovered? What remains unknown? What happens if we try x, y, z?

How Much History Do You Need, Anyway? This one harkens back to the fundamentals of world building - which is to say, consider what purpose you’re building your world for. If the story that you’re telling is ultimately one that has little to do with history, there’s no need to go all-out; what you want to develop may resemble a list of historical fun facts more than it does an actual outline, and that’s okay. On the other end of it, if the history of your world is absolutely integral to the story you’re telling now, you’re going to want to go deep. If your world is static - that is to say, not being influenced by anyone besides you - then you can afford to develop a little less now and add more later as you need; but if your world is dynamic - that’s to say, there are others who will influence it as well - you’ll need to make sure you put in just a little more work up-front than you think you’ll actually need. Lastly, of course, there’s the matter of fun; if you’re having fun with it, there’s no reason to stop before you’re tired of it. 

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Next tutorial could go in a couple directions. Either it’ll pick up where the last tutorial left off and go into day-to-day aspects of culture, or it will deviate back into the fundamentals of civilization (as per the note towards the beginning of the Sequential Development section up there). Or, as always, if someone has a specific topic request, I’ll happily answer that instead.

[mayrubyy]

Clouded (m)

➻ Pairing - Chanyeol x Reader  

➻ Genre - Angst

➻ Word Count - 4.4k

➻ Rating - (M) |  Masterlist  |  Status - Ongoing

Warning! this contains mature and angst themes. (don't worry nobody's going to die) but please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with the said themes and if you’re under 18.

also, I want to thank @yeoldotcom for being a sweetheart and helping me out whilst working on this series. Go show Zee some love! ♡

☾ Part One

Every time he hooked his arm around and told you ‘love wasn’t real’ you believed it. He was right─ love cannot be real and so you agreed. Until you realized how wrong all of this was. He didn’t believe in love and neither did you. Yet, every time his lips pressed into yours, it gave you the kind of rush nobody else could. Even when your heart was broken, he was there to help you heal and piece it back together. So much for mending it until he earned the privilege to shred it back to pieces again. His crooked smile before he left you without a trace, his words gnawing at your heart like venom seeping through you, slowly killing every fiber of your fragile being.

He warned you and it was true.

Love was never easy with Park Chanyeol─ it was nothing but a clouded mess of emotions, mercilessly fogging up your heart and your mind in the worst possible ways with no escape.

And turns out, it wasn’t real all along, just like he had told you from the very beginning.

“How conflicting,” you gasped under your breath, digging your balled fists into the large pockets of your–his–hoodie. Oversized and fluffy, its purpose was to keep you warm in this cloudy and damp hour, not remind you of him. 

“Get out of my head. Ugh.“ 

If you earned a penny every time he crossed your mind, you wouldn’t be standing here sulking like a pigeon. Do pigeons sulk? They do look paranoid but they are very adaptable, aren’t they? They could be working undercover for all we know, you however, were struggling. 

Your best friend was taking too long to return with your drinks. Should have helped yourself, you chew on your bottom lip as you cross your arms to fight the cold weather and its thoughts that were sweeping around you. It was him who was eager and bent upon stopping by 7-Eleven, a major excuse to catch, in his words ‘a quick glimpse’ of his crush who worked there. Moreover, the word ‘crush’ in your head, wasn’t so uplifting. 

Rainy days like these, oddly enough, resonated with things you strongly felt about. Your emotions gusting through the wind and your feelings like raindrops dripping down the foggy panes. The thumping of your heart was loud against your chest and your eyes were on the ground watching the stream of rainwater gushing and coursing down the road against the sidewalk. If anything, you wished the pain got washed away along with it.

Was it comforting? In some ways, yes, maybe because it felt like nature knew you, that perhaps it was genuinely listening to you, unlike the rest. The silent wailing within you was hopelessly awaiting its turn to expose itself– making you believe it came in the form of thunder. 

The thunderstorm was your ultimate white noise, the one you relied on, always doing a good job at drowning your incessant thoughts away, down into an abyssal corner within your waning threshold, the one you thought you created for your own good, a space where you held the darkest of your secrets, all perfectly sealed in one place. 

You had your flaws, it wasn’t like you could declare them to the world. Nobody cares anyway, right? So, what were you before this? It got rubbed into your face plenty of times. “Things aren’t always what they seem”. The same old warnings. “You can never let your guard down”. 

Bullshit. 

The idea of falling in love, as dreamy as it may sound, very well was planted somewhere in the back of your head that had its own untold glitches. As you grew up, you came to realize the world wasn’t innocent. After the many heartbreaks you’ve seen your friends have and especially after dealing with one yourself– love was starting to fade from view, like a toxin that needs to be labeled with several warnings everywhere. 

It was delusional enough to fancy that on a warm summer’s day, conversely, you were going to be head over heels for that certain someone. Things like that happen only in fairy tales for crying out loud, not in real life. But merely being aware isn’t always enough, either. It’s never enough to be quite honest.

The pain and hurt would come for you sooner or later in life. It was universal. 

Sure you were aware but, him? You couldn’t tell if you were cynically chuckling to yourself for believing you were never going to fuck up or quietly bawling your eyes out trying to erase him from your mind as you stood by yourself on the pavement in the heavy rain. 

At first, it was painful, gnawing at your heart like it was going to kill you. Now? It was more or less a kind that ripples, warning you subliminally, floating beyond your spectrum of understanding. There’s this uncertain feeling like you’re not able to decide. Isn’t that what everyone’s been warning you about? 

This awful disease called love? 

You lift your heels up, balancing your frail body on your toes out of boredom or rather to give yourself a break from all the incoherent babbling in your head that won’t stop. 

“Sorry for taking long”. 

His voice brings you back on your feet. “Watch your step, Y/N. You don’t want to slip and fall into those puddles,” he added, concern floating in his eyes as he hands you a steaming cup of coffee.

“That would be painful and..embarrassing”.

It wasn’t like you were clumsy or anything. Embarrassing is fine but pain? What could possibly hurt more than having the person you loved unconditionally to desolate you like this? Definitely not the cold hard ground. 

“Ah don’t worry about it, Kyungsoo,” your voice came out unusually hoarse, considering you hadn’t been speaking much lately, the scratchy tone didn’t surprise you. 

Clearing your throat you watch him waving back at his crush in the store. His cheeks had turned a warm shade of pink and his face was gleamingly radiant, unlike the gloomy weather. His glasses were attracting steam from the coffee– fogging his vision and making him take them off to wipe the condensed frame with a sigh. Your best friend was adorable, you know, the dorky kind of adorable. 

You were glad to have him around. To help you out of this wrenching lovesick of a voyage, being the emotional klutz you were, he kept you from straying away and suffering all by yourself and he never really seemed to be complaining. Kyungsoo offered you all the support you needed but inevitably, it didn’t fill the empty space that lingered in the depths of your heart, a certain space that desperately longed for someone. 

A space that could never be replaced. 

The warmth from your own cup begins to seep through your palms, bringing the rim to your lips, you take a whiff of the beverage and for a moment, you halt your breathing, the strong aroma infused with caffeine wafts through your nose, implacably threatening to burst open the floodgates you’d so struggled to seal. 

The clouded memory of him returning to you.

“Isn’t this your fifth one?!”.

“I need to finish this song,” mumbling in his husky voice he makes a plea, “please”. 

His long fingers busily tapping keys, going back and forth between using the mouse and adjusting something on the audio mixer. His composure was unswerving as he glided on his chair from one instrument to the other. 

For a brief second, he had his tongue out, wetting his lips, eyes unwaveringly fixed on the screen. You couldn’t help taking your eyes off him as he swallowed, watching his adam’s apple bob slightly. Swiveling in your direction, you hear him rasp, “just one more”. He was drumming his knees now, giving you his signature puppy look, amusing you more. 

“You might get a heart attack silly,” a soft chuckle erupts from you. “Too much caffeine is never good, Yeol”. Your eyes scan the freezer and you’re baffled by the amount of Iced Americano(s) all perfectly lined and stocked in his mini-fridge. God, he’s addicted. He simply couldn’t get enough of it, could he? You can see why. This probably answered your question to his hyperactive self and the plausible conclusion to why he keeps rushing to pee every odd god wilding hour. 

Maybe a second has passed, you’re not sure, you peer back to his side and all you see is him casually springing up from his chair, towards you. There’s nothing but silence except for your own muffled breathing and he’s dangerously closing the gap, squishing you to a corner. You feel his hoodie press into your soft arms, his knee scraping against the bare of your thigh as he helps himself through the door and reaches for his favorite drink in the fridge.

“You were saying?” he quips while his hand slithers from between your arm and your waist, amorously in fact, for a straw in a holder that was on the shelf behind you. A quiet yelp falls from your lips as his hand caresses its way back out and the next thing you know, he’s looking into your eyes, popping the straw in and saying, “sip it”. 

“Come on”.

The tip of the straw was now aligned to your lips and his knee pressing into your inner thigh wasn’t helping the tension that was compellingly building between you two. “Has the sugar gotten to your head, Park?” you pierce your eyes back into his. Except, he doesn’t budge, his lips conceitedly curl into a smirk instead. Seeming utterly unfazed, hovering his huge self over you, he leans closer.

“I believe I said,” with his gaze undeteringly much sharper than before, he repeats himself, “sip”. 

Fuck, he was rude. 

Who was he to order you around like this anyway? He was many things– a giant baby? a fluffy human? an incredibly talented man? His collection of Rilakkumas and his Nick Wilde sheets screaming furry for fuck’s sake. 

Chanyeol was all things but your boyfriend. 

“What if I don’t?” you chirp prodding your finger into his chest. Proving him wrong that you weren’t the only one affected by the proximity. Looking down at you, watching you wantonly drag your finger down his torso, he quirks an eyebrow.

“Playing, are we?”.

What exactly was he getting at? He was the one towering over you. He was the one forcing the cold metal straw against your lips. He was the one further pushing himself into you, practically pinning you against the shelf. All you did was a small nudge and look at him go. 

“Look who’s talking,” you taunt as your palms land on him, smoothing over his chest. Feeling his chiseled frame through the hoodie you bite your lip, quite wishing it was off so you could feel the real stuff that was hiding underneath the fabric instead. You were quick to run your fingers up his broad shoulders, maybe he liked your ministration a little too much. Maybe it helped him release all the stiffness he procured from spending all night in his studio.

“Fuck, do that again–,” a string of hissing and groaning followed. Chanyeol was definitely liking the digging of your thumbs into the blades of his shoulders. Resting your fingers around his nape, you ran them up, feeling his hair brushing against them faintly before trailing back down. You then began drawing circles with the ends of your thumb into the crevices above his collarbone earning another satisfied groan from him. 

The look on his face was so captivating, his head was flung back and the strong desire to want to kiss him was slowly creeping up your mind. Should have just listened to him and sipped the goddamned coffee. You were now more than intrigued with how exposed his neck was to you. Why did he have to be so attractive? You were so enraptured by him like he had cast some enchanting spell on you. You knew you had to take your hands off him otherwise–

“Hmm?”. 

Mayhaps, he sensed the tensing of your fingers on his skin. There was a pout adorning his face and his brows were cutely furrowed. What exactly was this man? How could he switch from looking extremely hot mere seconds ago to now of a soft baby wolf? Who was the furry now? You or him? 

Ugh. 

Exasperated, you shake your head. “If you’re done,” you huff, quickly drawing your hands away from him, “let me through”. 

“What?”.

“I thought you liked when I was like this,” the victorious glint in Chanyeol’s eyes was nothing short of cocky. His right hand was slowly skimming along your waist and his thumb was fervently stroking its way up to a certain spot on your body, the one he knew too well that made you writhe under his touch, the one that was below your rib. 

“That’s not what I–,” before you could protest, in a blur, the stupid drink in his hand was gone, tossed aside and his large frame was engulfing you, pulling you into his huge arms.

How long had it been that you were confined like this? 

If only he had given you the chance to calculate which he obviously didn’t. 

His lips eagerly crash into yours without any warning– allowing you to taste traces of coffee in his mouth as his tongue languidly rolled against yours.  At first, you were not exactly sure if you were liking it or hating it. Heck, you’d be wrong if you said if he was bad at kissing. He wasn’t lying when you first met him and he jokingly raved about how his expertise was kissing, that you won’t ever come across a better kisser than him who walked this earth.  

What a cocky loser Park Chanyeol was. 

The studio was small and the sloppy sounds from your messy but incredible snogging session had left you both needy. You were still pinned against the shelf, your hands clutching onto his hoodie, your bottom lip between his teeth and his expensive rolex grazing against your thigh, cold on your skin as he gripped onto it tightly. His other hand was around your face, holding it on one side, thumb sensually sweeping over your cheekbone. 

Godfuckingdamnnit. 

Why was it so difficult to push him away? 

“Chanyeol,” you let out a stifled moan against his swollen lips. You hoped he would listen, you wish he did, he was fiercely leaving kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, the sensation sending you into a euphoric swirl as he began nibbling on your delicate skin, leaving traces of pink in his wake. 

He was so eager and so erratic, with his hot breath fanning against your ear, he teases you. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?” his voice was rough and so tantalizingly deep, he was right. He was driving you crazy, maybe furious even. “Tell me Y/N– ”, before he could continue the sudden ringing of his doorbell startles you both. Hesitantly he detaches himself from you, pausing before tilting his head to the sound like a puppy. 

Who could it be at this hour of noon? 

He looked slightly annoyed but unbothered like he wasn’t intent on ever receiving the door because he was more absorbed on you right now. Lowering his eyes back on you, his intense gaze softens as he returns to cup your face for a small peck before another bell goes off. 

Geez. 

This time Chanyeol groans, kicking the shelf as he clumsily pulls himself away from you, the jerking causing one of his action figures of Luffy to tumble and crash straight onto your head. Ouch. Fuck, did it hurt. He drags his feet to attend the intruder who ruined his moment with you. Checking through the security cam he realizes it’s Taehyung. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?!”.

“Shit! I completely forgot!” you storm out of the studio cursing and towards the bedroom looking for your jeans. God knows where Chanyeol threw it during your heated moment with him last night. “Taehyung’s here to pick me up”. You tell him nearly out of breath as you rapidly start throwing your clothes on.  

Hearing you from the room, quickly enough, Chanyeol’s expression turns dry, he looked so displeased hearing the other’s name fall from your lips. “I’m telling him to go home,” sullen with downcast eyes, he mumbles ruffling his fingers through his pink tousled hair.  

“Why don’t you stay?” It was odd hearing him say that, especially for someone who didn’t believe in love, everything he ever says has always been a complex puzzle to you. Something you struggled to piece together. You watch him stand firmly in front of the cam like he was ready to knock the teeth out of Taehyung if heard him press the bell one more time. Hearing you sigh loudly, he pauses, momentarily pursing his lips as he watches you pull your jeans up. 

You really wished you could stay but you had to go. 

“Yeol, you promised,” you remind him as you fix your hair and tuck your shirt into your jeans. This was the part you didn’t like dealing with. To look at him like this – to come to terms with whatever that was going on between the two of you. 

“I know,” he walks towards you, his hand scratching the back of his neck and this time, though his tone was soft, it was laced with so much need, it made it even harder for you to swallow. “We promised”. Looking down at you he wraps his hands around your waist, slowly pulling you closer to him, he presses his forehead against yours as he tries to coax you, “but, I want you to stay”. 

“Please”.

You feel his lips ghost over yours and there were so many parts of you screaming, telling you to stay but you know you couldn’t, not like this, not after the many arguments you’ve had with him. It may have seemed like things were going pretty smoothly up until now but quite frankly, they weren’t. You had been pushing it aside for months now and it had reached the point where you knew it had to stop. It did not matter if it was for better or for worse.  

Never had you both confessed what you truly felt for each other. It was more like a let’s comfort each other thing than being in love or dating and all of this was strange. It was strange to have fallen for the wrong person, strange to have found comfort in someone who wasn’t willing to take it any further. You were so vain about love, right? You thought you knew better but here you were.  

‘On a rainy day, you can come to me and I’ll make you pancakes–you know if you’re hungry and all but when the sun’s out again and shining, our rainy night filled with all this cozy stuff will come to an end. You cool with that?’. 

That’s what he told you. That it wouldn’t be anything more than this. That there would be no strings attached. That’s what the promise was about.

And tonight? It was probably just another rainy night for him. Like it was last night. The sun would soon be back up and you’d have to part again. You were okay with this in the beginning but now? It was bothering you, fostering you that you couldn’t have him like you truly and hopelessly wanted to. He would ask you to stay one more night and then what? Tell you to leave? No. He didn’t do that. He would just disappear until it starts raining again. Until you go knocking and begging at his door. Sometimes he’s quick to invite you in but sometimes.. 

He never answers the door.

In his words, ‘love is all make-believe’ and illusive and you rolled with it at first having thought that you wouldn’t ever fall this deep but never had you been so wrong in all your life. Out of all the people you had to fall for Park Chanyeol. The one who had the same belief as you about love. Someone so rigid, someone who wouldn’t surrender to the idea of commitment. 

It was exhausting to keep arguing with him and endure an endless torment when he would disappear every time you brought the matter of what if there’s more to us. And now, you weren’t going to let it happen again, not anymore. You reached the point where you’ve had just about enough of these vexing whirl of emotions. 

“Chanyeol, please listen to me,” with a clutch on your heart you struggle to remind him of the promise you made to each other, “if I stay, we’re only going to fuck things up”. If only he would listen, this was the thing about him, he only made things harder for you, never easy.  

“Y/N…”.

“I’m not asking you to stay forever”, it wasn’t helping that he was squeezing the side of your arm, his words, however, as bad as it may sound, were squeezing your heart. You were fine moments ago inside the studio. Why does he have to make everything so personal and so complicated when you’d both already figured it out by now that you weren’t meant for each other. 

“Stay the night,” he had crossed the line. He softly began peppering kisses on your neck, “please”, repeating himself word after word, “just for tonight”. 

You’ve lost count of how many times you’d given in. But, it was the way he touched you, kissed you and spoke so sweetly to you, his sweet lies always pulling you back towards him, like you were being dragged deeper into the lion’s den. He wasn’t bad or anything of that sort, he just had many flaws- like the ‘awful disease called love’. 

“Come stargazing with me,” he plants a kiss to your forehead, lacing his fingers with your own, “please?”. 

You knew it was a terrible idea. The aftermath would be beyond your control. Perhaps, it already had slipped out of your hands when you agreed to stay last night alone and now you were being pulled onto the loop being completely aware that the elastic might snap at any moment and hurt the both of you. Yet, you’re allowing it to let it slip again. 

“For the last time, Yeol”. 

With a heavy heart, you bury your head into his chest, letting him consume your meek frame completely.  

“Only for tonight”.

How exactly did you get yourself into this mess? What could have possibly gone so wrong that you were stuck in this rut? 

It was so clear in the back of your head, big red flags everywhere. Maybe you should have simply stayed away from the perpetual matters of love. But, isn’t running away from it solely what brought you here? Where you least wanted to be in the first place. 

Why couldn’t Chanyeol understand this? It also didn’t help that he would get extremely territorial and upset whenever you crossed paths with Taehyung. You hadn’t planned for any of this, it was like you were being hauled deliberately, by some dark cruel force, something you couldn’t keep a leash on. 

Was it your luck or simply your fate? 

You should have known better when you both first made the ‘fuck love’ pact. Acting like you did was definitely not helping where all of this was going.

“Yeol,” you call his name softly, trying to wake him up from his slumber. You could have easily left him, without having to worry about the argument that would eventually follow but that was worse than acknowledging and telling him the truth. Avoiding the situation wasn’t going to fix the trouble you two were so unawarely brewing. 

“Babe, wake up,” combing through his pink locks, you kiss him on the cheek, “don’t you want to go stargazing?”. He looked beautiful, his eyelids were puffy, tired from spending all night working in the studio. You didn’t want to wake him up but you couldn’t stay much longer either. You watch him slowly stir, turning his large body to your side. He takes your arm into his own, hugging them and nuzzling his face against your hand. He was purring like a kitten, his sleepy groans making your heart swoon. “Wake up, baby wolf,” you pat his face to which he smiles with his eyes still closed, being the sneaky little pupper he is. 

“Want me to leave?” drawing your hand away from his strong grip, you push yourself off the bed, instantly, before you could get off, he was pulling you back into his body and his arms began tangling around you as he buried his nose cozily into your neck, his breath fanning against your skin, hugging you closely from behind. 

“Who said you could leave?” he rasps in your ear, the tone in his voice making you shiver. You never understood what this boy was. He was so clingy but also so unforgivably cold. You thought you could predict his movements yet, he was so unpredictable. He would behave one minute like he’s cool with it but the next second he’s already changing his mind. 

Not a few hours ago he was this furious, an out of control asshole, raging telling Taehyung to fuck off. You had to make several calls and apologize for Chanyeol’s irrational behavior. You knew why he was so mad at Taehyung but it had already been settled and he didn’t have to act so tough. 

Now? He was being this cuddly giant, hugging you and completely wrapping you in his warmth. 

Talk about being possessive. Something was definitely wrong with him but you weren’t really complaining. He was flawed, sure. But these things about him, they were what drew you towards him and as much as you hated admitting the truth, Chanyeol made your heart flutter. You were falling for him, harder than you could have ever imagined and this is why you had to remember the promise. This is why you couldn’t stay. You both had to accept that, the truth was and is always going to be bitter.

Much bitter than what you both deemed of love to be.

A/N - alright this took forever and unfortunately I couldn’t squeeze in the original almost- 8k words yikes because Tumblr keeps glitching. Part one of Clouded is finally out and I’m not sure how I feel? I’m excited but also very nervous? If you’ve read the prologue and the snippets you might have an idea of what’s going to happen later. There’s a lot more coming and I promise it’s going to be an emotional roller coaster. Things are going to go down and y/n is going to suffer I’m sorry ahsjskk. Thank you so much for waiting for Clouded and for taking your time to read it 😭 I hope you’ll enjoy this series! ♡

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