#intense enough to give it a breather and a second look before posting it

[giantkillerjack]

i love that you are still here on this earth. i am relieved that we've both made it this far. and i am so, so happy to be here on this planet with you. thank you for that.

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[thesunmeltedthegrayaway]

Protective: Dallas Winston x Reader Imagine

Warning: This imagine does have details of a tumultuous relationship that may be upsetting to people who have experienced these details themselves. 

This is a request! If you would like to make a request take a look at (this post) for all of the characters I am currently writing for.

The request is...

My Multi-fandom Masterlist

My heart sank when I saw him across the room at Bucks. My ex-boyfriend, Anthony seemed to have been following me where ever I went. He was obsessive and controlling, and he couldn’t stand it whenever I hung out with the gang. But, he never hated anything more, than me hanging out with Dallas specifically. He could tell how close we were and how Dallas was doing everything in his power to get me the hell away from Anthony.

So, Anthony ended up isolating me away from Dal and the gang even more than before. But, that move was what ended up making me end the relationship in the first place. I wasn’t going to leave behind the people that I loved because of an extremely insecure excuse of a man. By the end of the relationship I just had one regret in my mind... I wish I had left him sooner.

I had moved on, honestly I did. By the time out relationship was at it’s end, all the love that I had ever felt for Anthony had been gone long before then. Anthony on the other hand, didn’t feel the same way. He always seemed to be near me where ever I went. It was as if he was expecting me to come crawling back to him again. But once he saw that Dallas and I had gotten together, he had gotten a bit more... intense in his intentions. Anthony was still smart however whenever he would approach me. He would never try to convince to do anything if Dallas was around. Probably because he knew Dallas would knock him out 3.5 seconds.

But I couldn’t help but feel tense still when I saw him. Anthony was unpredictable and could change emotions at the drop of a hat. No matter how long I had separated from him he still seemed to have an effect on me. I tried to ignore him and keep myself calm. Dallas, noticing a change in my demeanor immediatly began to question me.

“I’m fine Dal,” I wrapped my arms around one his, I rested my chin on his shoulder. “It’s just a little stuffy in here.” 

I wasn’t technically lying, it was pretty hot in there. I just wasn’t giving out all of the details.

Dallas looked at me skeptically over his shoulder. He could see through the facade I was trying to keep up. I gave him a small smile and a peck on the cheek in response to his look before saying.

“Really I’m okay, I’m just going to stand outside for a minute.”

Dallas’s look of skepticism hadn’t changed but I left before he could push me for an answer.

The cooling night air felt soothing as soon as I had stepped out in it. There surprisingly wasn’t anyone else standing out. Usually a pair or two of people would be smoking or just coming out to take a breather. But I wasn’t going to complain, the last thing I really wanted to do was talk to somebody I didn’t really know. 

My flushed skin slowly began to good off, the heat slowly melted off of my face and the wind blew a bit harsher than before. The tension I was feeling slowly began to lower but I could still feel it’s effects in my blood. I had calmed myself down long enough to feel comfortable going back inside. 

But then, I ran into the very thing that caused me discomfort. Anthony blocked my way, preventing me from going back inside.

“I wanna talk to you.” He says cooly.

I sighed out in annoyance and fought the urge to roll my eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want to talk.” I reply tensely.

“Well I do so you need to stand here and listen to me.” He demands making me scoff at him in disbelief.

“No you can’t demand me to do a damn thing anymore. I don’t know if you remember it or not but, that’s why I left you to begin with.” 

I ranted, my skin began to feel flushed again, my nerves had come back.

“There, we talked, leave me the hell alone now.” I attempted to brush past him my arm was roughly grabbed, I yanked back, freeing my arm. It made me stumble back.

“Leave me alone.” I repeat in a strong voice but Anthony ignored me. I tried to get past him again but he grabbed me again, not letting me go.

“You need to listen to me.” He hisses repeating his sentiment from earlier. His grip tightens, he leers down on me as I try to break free from his hold.

“Get off of me.” I grit out, he didn’t listen. “Get off!” I shout out.

The next few seconds pretty much flashed by me. One minute a bruising grip was on my forearm and then the next it was ripped off of me. 

“She said get the hell off of her.” Dallas sneered, he pushed Anthony back making him stagger.

Anthony’s once angered look dropped once he saw who got him off of me. He tried to maintain his tough exterior however, he puffed out his chest and glared at Dallas. 

“Forget about him Dal, let’s just go back inside.” I said in a hushed tone, I began to grow nervous at the skyrocketing tension between him and Anthony.

Anthony began to laugh at my demeanor. “You should listen to her Winston. she knows I would kick your ass if you tried anything with me.” 

He tried to sound cocky in his threat, but the end of his sentence ended in a tremble making it obvious that he was beginning to get nervous.

“Look can you just fuck off already?” I snap. The last thing I wanted was for Dallas to get into a fight. Because knowing in his luck, he’d end up leaving Bucks in cuffs.

“Can you just shut the fuck up already?” Anthony rebuts. 

As soon as those words left his vile mouth Dallas step forward aggressively making him jump back. I quickly grabbed onto Dally before he could get any closer to him.

“You wanna try talkin’ to me like that? You wanna try and put your hands on me like you did to her?” He huffed out angrily.

Anthony looked at his disheveled and angered form in apprehension. He looked eyes with me before biting his lip, he then walked off not even bothering to reply to the both of us. After waiting for Anthony to leave my line of vision I let Dallas go.

 He turned around to look at me, his face still filled with anger. “You okay?” He asked, his softness in his voice did not match his demeanor.

“Yeah I’m fine... I’m sure all I got was a bruise.” I shrugged off the jacket I was wearing. I could see a faint purple hue of finger imprints of my forearm.

Dallas huffed in an angry breath as he look down at my arm. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“It’s alright Dal, he’s not worth getting your hands dirty.” I say quickly wanting to get him to calm down. I stood in front of him, resting my head on his chest. Dallas’s arms wrapped themselves around me making me close my eyes in comfort.

It would be worth it to me.

[ladyeliot]

Dance with me

Request: Anonymous:  Hi saw your post for the Valentine’s Day request and that’s really cause that’s my birthday too so yay 😀 anyway how abt a tony x reader exes angstfluff thanks

Pairing: Tony Stark x Fem!Reader

Summary: As is customary on Valentine's Day, a charity gala is held by your company to raise funds, but this year you'll have to face it alone - your ex-boyfriend won't be with you, or maybe he will?

Warnings: Angst and a bit fluff.

Word count: 2712

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Valentine’s Day (Prompts)

Your company's annual fundraising party couldn't be more ill-timed. You still didn't understand why it had to be held on 14 February, well you had a pretty good idea. Year after year the upper echelons of New York City and its environs gathered together, more than for a charitable cause, to find the next gossip that would be the most talked about for months to come.

In years past, the only thing that had saved you from the suffering and discomfort you felt every time you walked through the door was your companion, your partner, but that year you had to face all those vipers on your own. The relationship with Tony Stark had come to an end after four years, more than mutually, you took a big part in that decision. Things were becoming difficult for you, it was hard to overcome all the events he was involved in day by day, as well as his constant attempts to save himself from death. You couldn't cope.

It was arguably the most complicated decision you had ever made in your life, there was a long and complex history, your relationship was by no means simple, nor was it easy to begin with, so obviously it wasn't easy to end. You had to endure news that reported Iron Man's disappearance, that he was badly injured and some had even given him up for dead, then everything was solved, but you didn't want to see the day when he really was, you couldn't bear it. It wasn't easy for him either, he was afraid that his actions would put you in danger, so he understood what you were telling him, he accepted your decision and accepted it in the end. You also accepted his decision to go on with his life as a superhero, you could never ask him to do otherwise.

The Frick Collection art museum on Manhattan's Upper East Side was the selected venue for the charity event. It had been ranked for two consecutive years as "one of the most memorable parties of the year" by the New York Times, but your viewpoint was far from those words. Unlike the vast majority of those present you made a rather discreet entrance, you had made the decision to stay calm and leave as soon as possible, so you would have a few drinks, chat with the guests and put the day behind you as soon as possible. After all, it was your duty to get your company's guests to donate as much money as possible to charity.

You could not deny that the atmosphere was not pleasant, visually you found yourself enveloped by numerous pieces of art accompanied by the sweet melody of an orchestra that filled the atmosphere. The architectural elements of the place also generated an escape from the outside world. Generally the conversations were banal, related to work, art, politics or social life, nothing you couldn't cope with, plus the glass of champagne you were holding in your right hand helped with that.

The problem came when they began to notice that you were not accompanied by Mr. Stark on this occasion. Time after time it was your turn to report that the two of you had decided to go your separate ways, and time after time you had to listen to the lamentations, looks of pity, and on several occasions critical remarks about him. What you didn't know was that in the crowd there was a pair of curious eyes watching you.

Your limit was coming to an end, so you decided to escape the atmosphere for a few minutes to get some fresh air, you needed a breather if you were to last a couple of hours in this place. The gardens were just as engrossing as the interior. There was not a single leaf protruding from the vegetation, and the singing of the fountain water professed a relationship in your body, no one could tell you were in the middle of the island of Manhattan.

"Have you given up already?" you closed your eyes as you heard that tone of voice behind you. "I was surprised to see you talking so long with Mrs. Fox, at one point I even thought you were going to spill the champagne on her dress."

Without turning around you smiled at his words, for more than once you had thought of throwing your glass of champagne at them and leaving the place.

"You look beautiful tonight," you felt her voice grow closer. "You've always known I love that dress."

Her body was so close to you that you felt her jacket brush lightly against her bare back. At no time had it crossed your mind that Tony would show up there that night, on the contrary, you thought he would be anywhere else but New York. Taking a breath of air into your lungs, giving yourself strength, you decided to turn around and face him face to face. You hadn't seen each other for months and the last time you did, things didn't go so well, so you hadn't spoken to each other again.

"What are you doing here, Tony?" you asked in a serious tone, which didn't surprise him.

"Assuming this is a benefit party," he began holding out his hands, "I'm guessing drinking several dry martinis, Scotch, champagne, putting up with comments I don't care about and letting them praise me to get my money's worth."

"I thought you hated these kinds of parties," you expounded somewhat uncomfortably at the situation.

"And I do," he stated bluntly, taking a sip of his martini. "But you have to think about charity too, don't you?"

You knew him well enough to differentiate his tones in conversations, you knew when he was using his ironic tone, when he was lying, when he was insecure or when he was speaking from within. On this occasion his words contained extra information that he wasn't telling you, so you opted to give up on him, you had to deal with the people inside that building, you couldn't start a war with Tony right now.

"In that case," you started to walk away towards the inside of the museum, "I hope you enjoy your evening, Tony".

You had left Tony and his dry martini behind, now all you had to do was get through a couple more hours without incident and the day could be over. You picked up another glass of champagne from the tray of one of the waiters and before you could look for a target you were already inside a group of investors of your company showing the best of your smiles.

You kept the thought of him being there from your mind, but it was practically unavoidable for you. You didn't want to destabilise yourself, but it was more than evident that you still felt something towards Tony, feelings don't go away overnight and even more so towards a person you had loved with all your being. He knew it, he had an advantage in that sense, you weren't as good as him at hiding feelings, that's why you chose to stay as far away as possible from your ex-partner. But it wasn't possible.

"Mr. Herbert, Mr. Johnson," as if out of nowhere he joined the group you were conversing with. "Oh, Mrs. Johnson, you look splendid tonight."

Tony's compliments fell on Mrs. Johnson, who blushed when she heard them. Who didn't blush when someone like him told you how beautiful you were? He had a superhuman power over people, and he played it really well.

"Would you allow me to steal Miss Y/L/N from you?" he asked flashing a smile on his face.

"Please," they offered.

"Excuse me," you said with little escape. "I won't be long."

As if you didn't have a word in the matter Tony tackled you, walking a couple of feet away from the group with whom you were getting to close a big deal for the future of the company.

"Tony was about to-"

"Dance with me," he said curtly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What?" you asked a little puzzled.

His brown eyes stared into yours. You began to get a little nervous at the intensity of his gaze, so you looked around.

"Dance with me."

"I... I don't have time to dance with you," you explained, gesturing with your hands. "I'm here working, you know that better than anyone."

"I know," he nodded his head without taking his eyes off you. "That's why I'm asking you to dance with me. You know I'm the biggest benefactor of the night. So... dance with me." Tony lowered the tone of his voice, more seductive, one you knew perfectly well.

"Are you... blackmailing me? Or, worse, are you buying me with money?" you asked with a somewhat surly frown.

"I wasn't the one who said you were working," he defended himself. "But looking at it that way... there's no one else here who would get the money out of me."

"I thought you were doing this for charity," you attacked him.

"And I am," he said with all the confidence in the world. "But I need you to give your hand out to please me, too."

Tony offered you his hand along with a slight smile slanted across his face. You were playing with fire, you really would be if you decided to take his hand and surrender at his feet. The night would turn around completely, but what you feared most was how it would end. Inside you two opposing parts were fighting to select the best decision, on the one hand your brain was literally telling you to reject him and get out of there as soon as possible, on the other hand your emotions were screaming at you to take his hand and let yourself go. Whatever you did, you were likely to regret it later, so you chose to regret doing it.

You took a breath and released him by placing your hand on his, which amplified his smile even more. Without a second thought, he led you to the dance floor, where the melody coming from a group of musicians could be heard with more effusiveness. It was relaxed, soothing, inviting you to dance in pairs. Tony gently pulled you to his body and placed the palm of his hand on your bare back, too far south for your liking, on the contrary, you placed it on his shoulder.

"Relax," he whispered inches from your face. "We've done this many times."

"I'm relaxed," you lied in a way he couldn't quite believe, so you tried to justify yourself. "I'm just thinking that I should go with Mr. Johnson to-"

"Oh, you're thinking about another man while you're dancing with me?" he asked cutting you off with mock indignation. "Very nice."

You ducked your face with a small smile, which he himself returned along with an intense stare.

"Did I tell you that you look amazing tonight?" he asked, searching your gaze.

"I think you commented on it when we met in the garden," you said, trying not to fall for his charms.

"Then I'll reaffirm it again," his martini breath reached you. "You look beautiful. Plus you're wearing the perfume I gave you."

Discomfort at his words came back to you, and though you avoided showing it your unconscious inspections of your surroundings, avoiding eye contact gave you away.

"Look at me," he demanded.

As you complied with his request, you realised that you didn't know if you would be able to go through with it. The proximity you were having created an intimate situation that was causing numerous memories and feelings to come to your mind and body. For Tony it might have been easy, but for you it wasn't, mostly because you knew that when it was over you were going to go home, to face the reality that he was no longer present. You were not as strong as he was. You hadn't seen him for months, since you broke up, and you knew that it was going to end up hurting you, so you decided to put an end to that dream.

"I think..." you dropped your hand from his shoulder. "I can't go on."

With a calm step you walked away from him, leaving him alone among the other dancing couples, forced a small smile to dedicate it to those people who waved at you as you passed them and headed back outside, finding a place under the night to regain lost strength, praying that Tony wouldn't show up there again. But he wasn't giving up so easily.

"Are you okay?" his figure appeared behind you.

A lump took over your throat as you heard his voice again. You took a deep breath and told yourself to be as nonchalant as possible about the situation.

"Yeah, I just needed to get some air," you commented impassively.

"Okay, I thought you looked a little uncomfortable," he commented, moving to your left side. "You know, it was just a dance."

"Are you kidding me, just a dance?" you said somewhat offended that he barely noticed. "Okay, fine, maybe it's just a dance for you, but it wasn't for me." You had already started to blurt out everything you were thinking, so now you decided not to stop. "These last few months have been horrible, but I was finally starting to take charge of my life completely, and this is a step backwards, I don't want to fall."

"Fall?" Tony cocked his head to one side, clicking his tongue a little. "Do you...do you think these past few months have been easy for me? Because I reckon you think it has been, that I've been 'enjoying the freedom', as you called it."

Tony reminded you of some of the words that came out of your mouth the last time you met at his house, when you went to pick up your things, a fact that embarrassed you greatly.

"I don't think that," you defended yourself by turning away.

"It seems so," his words were firm, as was the step he took towards you. "Listen, I think you know me better than anyone, and just because I don't have the facility you do to show how I feel doesn't mean I'm not affected by things. In case you're interested to know, I haven't left the lab in five months."

The expression on Tony's face had hardened, as had his words.

"I came here with the sole intention of seeing you, of feeling something again," he clenched his jaw.

"And what position does that put me in?" you asked raising your tone as he did and boring your eyes into his. "You come here, you see me, you feel something and you disappear..."

"Who said anything about disappearing?" he frowned lifting his chin.

"Tony, I don't know with what intention you came here tonight or what you expected to happen," you said, feeling more vulnerable, with a tone of sadness, "but what is clear is that we made a decision and no matter how hard it is, we must accept it. It is clear that there are still feelings, at least on my part, but let's put the past behind us," you paused under his watchful gaze. "I'd better get going."

Saying those words and checking the stiffness in Tony's countenance you opted to continue on your way.

"Wait," Tony stopped your steps by grabbing your arm. "You think I can let you go after what you just said?"

"Enjoy your night, Tony."

That's how for the first time you were brave enough to take back the reins of your life, closing the door to the past and opening a window to the future.

Taglist Open (DM)

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[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Dincobb Week Day 7 - Alternate First Meeting (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have one piece and it's SFW.

Alternate First Meeting - in which the Jawas weren't there but a Mandalorian was

There’s a small, struggling human shape toiling across the desert below the Razor Crest. Din notices it from a distance. Someone alone and on foot. No speeder, no bantha. Leaving an uncertain, wobbly track in the sand. Doomed, out there.

It’s not his problem. And he’s busy. There’s a big bounty to track down, someone Bib Fortuna wants contained in order to consolidate his new power. He hasn’t got a contract from this high up the Tatooine power structure before — it seems the regular guy bit the dust along with Jabba, opening up an opportunity. Din doesn’t know him, but he’s heard he was a Mandalorian, so the galaxy is a little worse off without him — but there’s nothing he can do about that, he just has to stay focused on his own work, take care of his own people.

It’s not his problem.

Damn it. It’s one thing when people have done something to place themselves beyond his sympathy, when they’ve threatened him or what he protects, but he can’t just ignore whoever is stupid enough to try to cross the desert alone and on foot. Maybe he doesn’t have to do anything now. The little figure just fell over and lay still.

Still, he lands close by and goes over to check.

It’s a man, one of the local settlers from the look of him, grey-haired and lanky. He’s not remotely dressed for this — not even a hat to keep off the sun, let alone a robe or a poncho, just a shirt and pants. He didn’t intend to cross a desert in that outfit. He doesn’t have a canteen. He was carrying a camtono — no idea what’s in there but presumably something of value, just not of any practical use for his survival. His breathing is shallow, but he is still breathing. Din picks him up, with some difficulty since he’s a dead weight, slings him over his shoulder, scoops up the camtono and carries him up the ramp into the hold of his ship, where there’s shade.

He places the man on the floor, sitting up against the wall with his head lolling, and examines him. He’s badly dehydrated; when Din pinches the skin on the back of his hand it takes several seconds for it to smooth out again. His lips are chapped and cracked and he’s covered in dust and dirt. He needs water, but if Din just pours it down his throat he’ll choke, so he goes and gets his own canteen, fills it from the galley tap, brings it back and shakes the man’s shoulder a little, crouching beside him.

“Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me. Can you hear me?”

The man stirs a little, his head rolling from side to side before he manages to lift it up. He looks at Din blearily, with suspicion and some alarm, and makes a faint croaking sound, his mouth clearly too dry to speak audibly.

“You’re safe. Drink some water.” He offers the canteen and the exhausted man moves like lightning to grab it. He puts it to his lips and drinks frantically, water trickling from the sides of his mouth into his beard and down his neck as his throat bobs, looking up at Din with disconcertingly sharp eyes. He looks ready to do murder when Din takes the canteen from his hand, but doesn’t have the strength to stop him. “Take a breather,” says Din. “You drink too fast and you’ll throw it back up.”

The man pants and sniffs, and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm before clearing his throat and saying hoarsely, “Who’re you?”

“I’m a bounty hunter,” says Din.

“They send you to get me?” the man asks.

“No. I was flying by and saw you pass out. I don’t know who you are.”

“Name’s Cobb Vanth,” says the man, then, politely, “May I have some more water?”

Din hands it back to him and he drinks again, his eyes closing this time as if in bliss. He lowers the canteen after several more deep swigs with a soft “paah” and catches his breath. He peers at Din again. “Are you a… you’re a Mandalorian, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve never met a real Mandalorian.” He chuckles. “Heard stories. I know you’re good at killing.”

Din lets that pass. He’d like to think there’s more to him than that but he won’t deny he’s efficient.

“And you’re a bounty hunter, you say?”

Din nods.

“So you’re for hire?”

“You’ve been out in the sun too long,” says Din. “You can get some rest now. Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“No, I’m asking…” Cobb sits up straighter, pulling himself together. “I know some people that need killing. And I can’t do it all by myself.”

“I’m not a hitman,” says Din.

“You don’t understand,” says Cobb. “The Mining Collective.” He’s clearly still exhausted, but pushing himself hard. “They moved in on my town. The night we got news of the Death Star blowing up. We didn’t even have time to celebrate.”

Din’s heard about that in vague terms over the past few days; it doesn’t make a great deal of difference to his day-to-day, though he’s glad to hear of the Empire going down. Maybe sometime soon it won’t be so dangerous to be a Mandalorian. He won’t hold his breath, though. Can’t be disappointed if you don’t get your hopes up. The Mining Collective is bad news too. He nods.

“I lit out. Took what I could from the invaders. Grabbed a camtono,” Cobb says, looking around vaguely and then nodding when he spots it by his feet. “I wandered for days. No food, no water. And then… I was saved.” He gives Din a sly smile and points at him. “I guess every once in a while, both suns shine on a womp rat’s tail.”

“Guess so,” Din says, and begins to stand up. Cobb grabs a handful of his cape and holds on. He’s still weak, but he is quick. “Listen to me,” he says. “I’ve got treasure. That camtono. It’s full of silicax crystals. It’s yours if you help me. Help me take back Mos Pelgo.”

Din has to think about that. A full camtono of silicax is nothing to turn up his nose at. Depending on what Mos Pelgo is like, this could be a side job that doesn’t take too much time away from finding Fortuna’s bounty. Depending on the quality of the silicax he could be almost doubling his payday, and he has a lot of mouths to feed. He sits down. “Tell me about Mos Pelgo.”

It’s manageable. Mos Pelgo is just a flyspeck on the map. The Mining Collective hasn’t committed a whole lot of resources to it because they don’t have to, not to control a small population of frightened and demoralised people armed only with mining equipment. He has an armed ship and it amounts to a few minutes’ intensive work culminating in a fireball outside of town. He circles to make sure there are no survivors leaving the wreckage and returns to land closer to the settlement.

Cobb Vanth is grateful, relieved. It’s a good feeling when he can do that for someone he actually likes. Pretty rare too. Cobb is brave and resourceful and not too proud to ask for help. He likes that. He asks Din to have a drink with him before they settle up and while he declines the drink Din is happy to sit with him while he has one. It’s just the two of them in the shady cantina at the end of the day. Cobb keeps looking him up and down appraisingly, and it’s mildly disconcerting but not unpleasant.

“Would you consider staying?” Cobb asks. “As our defender. We can make it worth your while.”

Din shakes his head. “I have my own people to get back to.”

Cobb sucks his teeth, thinking. “Well, would you consider selling me your armour so I can do it myself? Take it out of the camtono too.”

Din’s back straightens from the more relaxed posture he was sitting in. “No,” he says.

“You can always get more, can’t you?” Cobb protests.

He clearly doesn’t understand what a repugnant suggestion it is, and Din doesn’t have the time or the inclination to walk him through it. “To get my armour you would have to pry it off my dead body,” he says. “Don’t ask me again.”

“Then we’re just as vulnerable when you leave as we were before,” Cobb says. “Sitting ducks for the next syndicate goons.”

“I’m sorry but that isn’t my problem,” says Din. “I’ve gone out of my way to assist and I need to get back to my job. You’re a survivor. You'll survive. Good luck.” He gets up and turns towards the door, he hears the clatter of Cobb’s chair overturning and — the man is quick — he feels something blunt and hard butting into the back of his neck, where he’s only protected by the folds of his cape. If he’s not mistaken, that would be the muzzle of a blaster. Must have been dropped by one of the Mining Collective goons in their rush to leave. Cobb is a survivor, a scavenger; of course he picked it up.

Cobb’s voice is urgent, sharp. “Take it off,” he says, “or I will.” He’s also still recovering from his exhaustion and dehydration. He’s not strong right now. Din simply drops down, whips his leg out and kicks Cobb’s feet out from under him, then rises up as he falls down and steps hard on the wrist of the hand that is indeed holding a blaster. He presses down with his boot until Cobb swears and lets go of the blaster, and then he kicks it away; it skitters under the sagging old piano by the wall. Cobb keeps on swearing and cursing him, sitting up wringing his bruised wrist with the other hand.

“What am I going to do now? What the hell am I going to do now?” he keeps saying.

“I can sympathise with your motives,” Din says, “and that’s why you’re alive now.” The camtono is standing on the table where Cobb set it, and Din picks it up and sets it down between his legs where he sits on the floor. “You should be able to buy the kind of gear you need with this. Try the Jawas, or the black market in Mos Eisley. Don’t tell anyone about me. The Guild takes a very dim view of freebies.”

“That’s it?” Cobb asks, looking up at him from red-rimmed eyes.

“That’s it,” says Din, and turns to go.

“I don’t know your name,” Cobb says abruptly, behind him. Just for a moment, Din wants to tell him. He wants to hold onto the feeling he had that they could have been friends. But Cobb is not his problem. He has more than enough of those.

“I don’t expect our paths will cross again,” he says, and he leaves.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Hi Shanna! I really liked how detailed and technical ur dance ranking of twice was--as someone who has no formal dance experience, it was enlightening. Would u mind doing one for bts? Only if u want to of course :)

Hello! I have a few of these in my inbox, so yes! I will do this one for bts (but then I must stop before this becomes my blog LOL). I’ll give the same caveats I gave for Twice, though. 1) Dance is always somewhat subjective because it’s an art form. I can talk about technique, but at a certain point my favorite dancer might not be someone else’s favorite dancer because of performance quality, and 2) ALL OF BTS ARE GREAT DANCERS! You don’t become a professional performance artist without already being head and shoulders above the rest. At the end of the day, all are fantastic. 

NOTE: Please don’t use my words on any other platform/to respond to the boys. I’m posting only to give some insight to their skills, not to try and critique BTS. They have dance coaches, trainers and choreographers for that. They absolutely do not need some random person on the internet telling them what they should be doing.

With that in mind, here are my personal thoughts/loose ranking of bts at dancers:

1. Jimin. Not that I’m biased. LOL but seriously, part of the reason I’m drawn to Jimin is because he’s such a fantastic performer. With dance, a lot of people think it’s just body type which can make or break a dancer. To some extent, this is true. If you aren’t born with amazing arches, turnout or flexibility, there’s only so much you can do to improve. That said, there’s a certain intrinsic performance quality which also can’t be taught. You either have it, or you don’t and Jimin has it. It’s mesmerizing to watch him on stage. He has such fantastic control when he dances; his execution of choreography is flawless, but he also puts his own spin on things without standing out too much (a bad thing, when you’re dancing as part of a group!) Jimin does have a background in contemporary/ballet,  which is different from Hobi. One of the places this is visible is in how grounded Jimin is with his transitions/how he finishes his movements. This is SUPER dorky of me lmao, but one of my favorite moves I’ve ever seen him do is this roll up from the ground at 2:05. The absolute CONTROL Jimin has; his heels don’t move an inch, which is so hard to do. Another impressive move to me was the jump Jimin did in the Dynamite dance break (1:09). Neil Haskell did this freaking move all the time on SYTYCD lmao, and it was a staple “trick” on the dance circuit for years, because it’s hard and requires a gymnast/martial arts background. LOTS of control and complicated timing. I could honestly go on for pages about Jimin’s performance quality, but I’ll stop and say one other thing. I occasionally see people praising Jimin as an amazing contemporary dancer (on par with professional contemporary dancers), and I do think it’s important to clarify Jimin diverged from that path nearly ten years ago to become an Idol dancer. Those are two very different styles of dance and although Jimin is FANTASTIC, it’s okay for him not to be the best at every single dance style! lol he’s the first one to say (because he has, while watching the black swan orchestral video) he couldn’t do some of the things professional contemporary dancers can do. (I will add though, yoongi is also right in that I have full faith Jimin COULD have done those things, had he chosen to pursue that path). ANYWAYS. I’ve rambled enough about how much I love Jimin. ONWARD!

2. Hoseok. Surprise, surprise! LOL okay, so let me start by saying out of all BTS, Hoseok is what I consider the smartest dancer. What I mean by that is, the man never burns out. He knows when to conserve his energy and when to go all out. Hoseok is the master of rise and fall in intensity, and there’s a reason he’s highly regarded by all dancers in the industry. Hoseok also seems to have a choreographer’s mind, whereas you don’t see this as much with Jimin. To clarify, being a dancer and being a choreographer are two separate things. It’s like being a soccer player versus being a coach. Being a choreographer requires a big-picture mentality not all dancers have. Hoseok has this though, and you can see this in the natural leadership role he takes whenever they’re rehearsing on their own. He sees mistakes, fixes transitions, etc. (it’s hot, but I digress). Hoseok has a background in various styles of hip-hop, which is really clear when he freestyles. He’s demonstrated popping, tutting, locking and more, which you really only learn through rigorous hip-hop training. His MMA 2019 solo is WILD because he showcases like, five different styles all within a minute. They’re all sub-genres of a genre (hip-hop), if that makes sense. He doesn’t have the same contemporary background as Jimin, which is somewhat apparent whenever BTS leans into more contemporary styles (spring day, black swan, etc). Hobi is good, don’t get me wrong, but his spot isn’t as natural, he’s not as flexible and sometimes you see him overthinking movements. But anyways, Hoseok fancams are the BEST. Go watch one today.

3. Jungkook. Jungkook has improved SO. MUCH. Y’ALL. I can’t stress this enough! A lot of BTS fans probably remember Big Hit sent Jungkook to LA for a few months prior to debut to get him to loosen up in his dancing/improve his performance quality, and boy did he ever. Overall, I think Jungkook’s biggest strengths are his 1) endless stamina (wtf lol) and 2) lately, performance quality. When I’m talking about stamina, I mean Jungkook always goes full-fucking-out in performances and it catches the audience’s eye. One example which comes to mind was during MMA 2019 Dionysus. If you start at like, 2:10, BTS does this really exhausting floor part and then you see everyone around him conserving their energy as they move into the next chorus. It’s supposed to be a breather in the choreo lmao but Jungkook is FULL OUT. It’s his intensity and strength which really makes him stand out as a dancer. If I had written this a year ago, I would’ve said Jungkook’s biggest weakness is contemporary dance. The flip side of the coin to being strong is it can be difficult to slow things down and display the same intensity with slower music. Then, he went and did Black Swan. Like... just watch this spring day performance and contrast it with this black swan one for jungkook. He has gotten SO MUCH BETTER at staying grounded, moving through his transitions, instead of rushing past them to get to the next step. I’m just really proud of him. I still think hobi + jimin have a leg up on him, but Jungkook is a close third.

4. Taehyung. When you get to Taehyung + Yoongi, things start to get blurry. But since this is a list of my personal preferences, I’m going to put Taehyung first because for me, performance is everything. In my opinion, Taehyung’s performance quality is second only to Jimin. More immature dancers will often refer to performance as “making faces.” I.e., purse your lips on count five, smile on count 8 and frown on count 1. A mature dancer though, knows dancing is really an extension of acting. You need to embody the emotions of the song and convey them to your audience, and not just through your facial expressions! I think Tae does a really great job of this, and I’ll often watch his fancams, even though his dance technique isn’t as strong as say, Jimin or Hobi. That’s Taehyung’s main weakness, in my opinion. If he’d started dancing at an earlier age, or taken ballet/contemporary.... lord, idk LOL. help us all.  

5. Yoongi. THIS MAN! Used to be a b-boy and the background is crystal clear if you’ve ever watched a Yoongi fancam (and if you haven’t, what are you doing with your life?) There’s an effortless quality to his movement and, when he wants to, his strength + performance quality rival Jungkook or Taehyung. That said, I think the main reason I’m not ranking Yoongi above them is consistency. Yoongi, simply put, isn’t a dancer. He’s a rapper/producer who likes to dance and enjoys dancing as part of BTS. I’m not saying he doesn’t like it, but it’s not his main passion, unlike some of the others. His intensity can vary depending on his visibility, which again, isn’t a bad thing. When Yoongi does turn it on, he turns it ON. He’s also very comfortable onstage, which is important. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate in his improv (esp. in his solos or rap line performances), which gives his stage quality a more natural ease.  

6/7. Namjoon + Seokjin. I honestly don’t know who I would put as seventh; it’s hard to pick. And again, I don’t consider either of them to be bad dancers. It’s just when you have a group of people and some have prior dance experience/a strong passion for dance, and some don’t... it is what it is! I will say I think both Seokjin and Namjoon have grown tremendously over the past years. They’ve become so much more comfortable onstage, and it really shows in their performance quality. Sometimes, being confident you won’t look stupid is half the battle LOL. The other thing I’ll say is their execution of choreography is always down pat. You’ll rarely see either one messing up the steps, which means they practice a LOT. Sure, there are areas where their technique could be improved. Quality of transitions, staying grounded through difficult moves, always using their spot on turns... but I think it’s amazing that, despite their lack of formal dance training, they both keep up with some of the above dancers. Like... fuck it up, guys. 

and that’s all! thank you for reading if you made it this far LOL WOO, BTS!

[thirstyhellfirenacht]

SnapChat

@sofabearr Did an AMAZING drawing of Beetlejuice for me a while ago so of course, I had to write something based off it <3

Summary: You’re on vacation and to your surprise, your favorite demon sends you a friend request on SnapChat.

Words: 1.7k

ReaderxBeetlejuice, being a tease and a brat on snaptchat, slight Daddy Kink

You had been gone all of three days into your vacation when you received the notification on your phone. You opened up Snapchat to see an odd screen name combined with a picture of your favorite demon, and you couldn’t help but grin. 

Delia had given Beetlejuice a smartphone weeks ago when he was complaining about how people just left the house all the time. He was lonely and desperately needed company, or at least a shiny new toy to keep him quiet. 

You smiled, sitting yourself by the window overlooking the beach in your room. The rental house hadn’t been cheap but it had been worth it, your friends who you had chipped in with to do this were all out doing their own thing for the day, but you had just wanted to relax and catch up on some reading.  

You accepted the friend request and within moments you had a message from him. It was a selfie of his face way to close to the camera with an exaggerated frown. [When r u cuming back??] 

A giggle escaped your lips, as you took an equally ridiculous selfie back [The 13th like it says on the calendar] 

A direct message this time, with no picture. [u kno if u summon me we wouldn’t have 2 wait] That was true, and it was something that you had thought about for a while. It’d be easy to summon him here, but with so many people around you didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing him or getting hurt. Sure he’d gotten better about the whole murder thing, but you weren’t quite ready to take that chance. 

Still... it wouldn’t hurt to tease him a bit, right?

You aimed the camera at the window, not letting him see you, and hit record. You softly sighed his name one time before sending it off to him. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinning as you waited for his response. 

[Fuck yeah, just two more times Babes.] A picture of him with sunglasses appeared, and a light blush dusted across his cheeks. You quickly hit record again, this time all but moaning his name in a way that you knew drove him crazy. Even though he was so far away, you could so clearly imagine the way your voice hit him; how a shiver would run down his spine as he felt himself being pulled towards the person summoning him. 

[Come on, one more time for Daddy~] You couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the picture. His shirt was discarded and the angle of the picture was showing off socks with sandals; a classic dad staple. 

You hit record once more. “B-Bee-.... Ahh..... nah I’m good now.” you giggled before hitting send. Oh, he was gonna be so mad. 

[THIS IS AN ABUSE OF POWER.] You couldn’t help but laugh at the message. You felt a little bad, but after all the teasing he’d done to you in the past, it was worth it. 

[Sorry Beej, Snapchat isn’t usually supposed to be for summoning demons.] 

The next message took a few minutes to come through. You worried for a moment if you had been too mean with your summoning tease before a new picture message popped up. 

[Is this how breathers use snapchat? ;)] 

You stopped breathing for a moment as the picture popped up on your screen. He was smirking at the camera, and his hair had turned bright pink. He was still shirtless but his pants were unbuttoned and his erect cock was in his hand. Even in a picture his eyes were intense as if he could see you through the screen. It suddenly felt much warmer in your room. 

15 seconds wasn’t nearly enough time to take in the picture before it disappeared forever. You wish you had screen-shot it, but instead you tried to ignore your growing arousal. Two could play at this game. 

You removed your shirt, leaving your breasts only covered by a tasteful bikini that you had bought for the trip. Aiming the camera at your chest, you ran your fingers along the material, tracing the curve of your breasts lightly. Your phone was much newer, and the camera could pick up the goosebumps that were being raised against your skin. [I suppose this is a fairly common use for this app ;)] 

While you waited for the reply, you slipped out of your shorts and walked over to your suitcase, digging through it and pulling out a green vibrator that you had packed for the trip. You hadn’t thought you’d get that much use out of it, but you were now very glad that you brought it. 

As you settled back down by the window, your phone buzzed with another message. This time it was a video of him groaning and playing with his nipples. You squirmed in your seat as you watched his fingers dance across his chest and imagined that you were the one doing it to him. “Fuuuuuuck” he groaned out your name as the clip ended. 

You quickly went to work propping up the pillows next to you and setting your phone on them so that the camera was looking right at you. Hitting record again, you got on all fours and smiled at the camera before lifting up the vibrator to teasingly lick it. You used your tongue to lick all the way up it, making sure to pay special attention to the tip before sliding it down your chest. That was as far as you could go before the clip ended. 

He re-played the clip and you couldn’t help but be proud of yourself. He always loved seeing your tongue at work, it was nice to know you’d have that effect on him even from so far away. 

[UR A TEASE] His cock was in his hand again and he was doing his best to mimic what you had done to your vibrator. His hips were twitching and it looked like he was already on the verge of cumming. 

[Awww, already that pent up after only a few days?] You played with your bikini top again, just allowing him to see to see what you were hiding underneath. With your free hand you ran it along your inner thigh before running your fingers over your clothed mound. Again you softly sighed his name before the clip cut off. 

Instead of waiting for a reply, you started a new clip again, this time you slowly removed your top before running the vibrator along your breasts, not turning it on yet. [Because I’m doing just fine ;)]  

[FUCK] He was gripping the base of his cock, squirming and rocking his hips as if he was trying to hold off on cumming already. “You’re lucky you haven’t summoned me.” he growled. “If I was there I’d fuck you against that window for everyone to see.” He wrapped a hand around the head of his cock as he talked. For a moment you wondered how he was able to hold the phone, and his cock like that before you remembered his demon powers to grow extra limbs. 

You were starting to regret not summoning him. 

You finally turned on the vibrator, letting it rest against your still clothed clit. This was now about teasing him and making him lose control. The idea that you’d come home to a demon ready to punish you by fucking you senseless was too good to pass up. 

The recording started again. “Ooooh fuuuuck Beetlejuice...!” you whined and rocked your hips against the vibrator for a few seconds before moving the bikini bottoms to the side. “Daddy, please fuck me~” you practically purred as you ran the vibrator over your clit. Even though this was now mostly for him, you couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of your clit getting attention; especially knowing that Beetlejuice would probably do anything to get his mouth between your legs. He’d eat you out for hours if you didn’t kick him off you. 

It took another few minutes for him to reply, but you kept teasing yourself as you waited patiently, imagining what he was doing, or what he was thinking. 

He was taking too long to respond, so you send another one. This time you slipped the vibrator inside you, and you let out a long moan just the way he liked it. “Ooooooh.... Oh fuck, it’s not nearly as good as you are...!” you whined, grinding down and feeling it pulse and vibrate against your inner walls. “But maybe if you ask nicely.... I’ll summon-” 

The clip cut short, and you waited again for him to respond. This time the response came quickly. He was still holding the base of his cock, while another one of his hands was quickly stroking his shaft and thumbing the leaking head. [PLEASE] “Fuck fuck fuck, babes please summon me! I’ll do anything! I’ll let you ride my face, I’ll tongue fuck you! Upstairs, downstairs, buttstuff- whatever you want PLEASE” 

You would have summoned him, you really would have, but when you hit record it didn’t quite go as planned. You reached down to play with your clit as you fucked yourself with the vibrator, his name escaping your lips once... then twice. Except the second time, you couldn’t stop thinking about how hot his voice sounded as he begged for you and the second time his name escaped your lips it was followed by a loud scream as an orgasm hit you in full force. You shivered and rocked your hips as you imagined Beetlejuice’s fingers and tongue on your dripping pussy. 

As you came down from your orgasm, you smiled a little bit as you threw the caption over the video. [Just had post-nut clarity. See you later!] 

It was mean, and you were certainly going to be punished for it later. But you had never had a chance to have this power over him before, and you certainly weren't going to let it go to waste. You turned off your phone before even giving him a chance to reply. 

Oh yeah, you were totally going to pay for this later, but for now you had a book you needed to catch up on and a toy to clean up. 

[freshlybakedspiderbread]

I brought up hanyang type 88 here and i said i’d explain, so here I am!!

okay so first off here’s a bunch of likely useful context about girls frontline. There is this feature in the game called digimind upgrade, or mod 3, where certain t-dolls can be upgraded past the normal maximum levels and stats, and at the same time gaining whole new abilities and also a new design. Basically a reinvention. There are like hundreds of playable characters in the game, and only a fraction will get mod 3s, typically the ‘main characters’ who are relevant to the major ongoing plot.

two things about getting a doll who has the ability to do digimind upgrade, to actually do that. One, is that it can be very costly in terms of in-game materials. like, maybe i just played the game wrong but I would have to grind for weeks in order to amass the materials to upgrade just one doll to mod 3. So even though by now there are dozens upon dozens of dolls who are capable of this feature, i’ve only actually done so with like, less than one dozen. A normal player probably has to be picky.

secondly, and this is the big one, every t-doll’s mod 3 comes with story cutscenes that become available for you to view upon upgrading them. Personally, i think most of the only worthwhile mod 3 stories are the ones that are associated with the actual major characters of the main story, especially since their upgrades actually happen in-canon and their mod 3 stories fill in blanks or otherwise expand upon the regular story chapters.

for the t-dolls who aren’t major characters that get digimind upgrades, their associated stories tend to follow a very basic pattern. They’re feeling like they are falling behind other T-Dolls in abilities or are otherwise experiencing a drop in confidence in their abilities, but then find the resolve in them to either change themselves or stand by an aspect of themselves, and this leads them to heading to the lab to get upgraded. obviously theres some nuances here and there depending on the character, but a lot of them, from what i saw, follow this basic pattern.

hanyang type 88 has a mod 3 but i certainly never wanted to see it. Firstly, using the feature at all takes up resources are kinda precious so i wasn’t just gonna use it on anyone. Secondly, she is just one of many one-off t-dolls that basically dont ever show up in any actual main story cutscenes or even funny events. Thirdly... you saw what she looked like in the linked post, i was in no rush to make use of her.

That being said, even if you don’t ever upgrade a t-doll, simply having them in your possession allows you to at least view the first of four parts of their mod 3 story, which nets you a small amount of those materials needed to see the rest (its a pretty fiendish system, huh o_O). I was lacking in some materials to upgrade a doll i cared about, so i just mucked around, eventually happened upon type88 again and decided that instead of just immediately feeding her to the furnace, I’d watch the first chapter of her mod 3 story. I watched it, it made me just curious enough to look further, and well. ...I got into it. Exactly what I got into, i shall now just elaborate and summarise the whole thing in my own way! Warning, it’s long!

(disclosure: my summary will bias towards my own preferred interpretation whenever any aspect is somewhat vague.)

The story starts with type 88, or as she is called by others in griffin base, Ai, working her shift in the base’s cafe, because what else would she be doing.

i hate looking at her! Anyway, its just a pleasant peaceful day and Ai is taking the logistic person, kalina’s order when suddenly in the middle of a conversation, Ai freezes in place and starts making worrying sounds.

kalina here and the t-dolls present in the cafe are concerned, and talk about how Type88 has actually been crashing like this more and more frequently lately, yet has not reported any of this to the maintenance crew despite the advice of her friends. They try rebooting her on the spot, but it has an even more concerning effect, because she starts erratically acting like she doesn’t recognise the others, and talks about how she is a maid in “Jiangcheng Cafe”. Afraid that her neural cloud (her mind) has been scrambled, they put her to sleep and bring her to the repair bay.

Its in the repair bay where they explain exactly what is wrong with type88. She is a fairly old doll, and her processing capacity has been severally clogged up for a long time. Her internal memory is overflowing because many large sections of her mind is filled with very large encrypted files (memories that she stored away). she is likely to keep crashing and possibly even cease functioning entirely one day if those encrypted files are not deleted, but nobody is really keen on just deleting parts of her mind without her consent. For now, kalina just opts to try and decrypt the files and see what they are.

And from here, we watch type88 memories from her perspective. Sort of. Kind of. It gets complicated later but for now, we view the first memory of her life, not as a combat t-doll type88, but...

...as 59898, a doll designed to be what is basically a ‘crash test dummy’ for testing artillery technology in a research station. With a purpose like this, 59898 has an (ostensibly) rudimentary AI. Her learning ability is intended to be used to better aid the results of their testing, but she also knows how to understand and even imitate specific human gestures in order to better respond to instructions or conversation, even though she herself has no voice module to speak with. She is assigned to assist one specific person.

first off, i was pretty shocked right off the bat that this story above so many others actually has unique assets to it. The above two sprites don’t show up anywhere else in the game, i don’t think. Secondly, this woman’s name is only ever spelled with those white squares, so I’m stuck with having to just calling her ‘the pilot’, as dry as that sounds... I just don’t want to type out weird characters every time, or call her ‘triple cube’...

Anyway, so 59898 is assigned to help this woman in testing artillery tech (stuff like mechs and tanks). I should mention really quick that in the game’s story, during this point of time is when world war iii is happening, but that’s just a backdrop for robots to eventually gain more prominence. Anyway, we move on to the second memory, where some time has already passed. At the beginning of this memory, the pilot is visibly depressed, which 59898 takes note of.

Her ‘comfort mode’ consists of patting the pilot on the head, who while surprised, actually is grateful. She feels comfortable enough to talk about her worries aloud to the doll, mentioning how she is a war refugee and has to make a living in the research base because she can’t go back to her home in china, at least not before making enough money for a very expensive and exclusive train ticket. She continues to talk at length to the doll...

...not that the test doll is capable of responding to anything she says. The pilot insists that she’s happy just to have someone listen to her though, since she feels like she can’t really express her feelings to any other person on the base. Despite that-

That aside, the pilot says that referring to 59898 by her serial number all the time feels a bit weird, so she decides to give the doll a name. (I sure wish the story would give this woman a name too, other than ‘three white squares’ but oh well...)

She talks more with Jiangcheng Ai, or just Ai, after that, asking her if she’d like a change of clothes sometime, like some casual clothes, or an old maid outfit from an old cafe job she used to have (I guess they had to throw in any explanation for that outfit somehow) Point is, more and more time passes.

As time passes though, and we go into the third memory, the pilot brings up complaints to her superiors about how the more recent testings, becoming more increasingly intense and frequent, are putting a great strain on Ai, and even repairs can only help maintain her chassis so much. She insists on wanting to take Ai’s place in the testing, but they refuse because, well, Ai’s entire purpose is to take the strain of these tests so that the human pilot doesn’t have to, and the doll is just a tool there to pave the way for the pilot to eventually take over the mech in action

The next time Ai wakes up from her most recent repairs, the pilot is there to greet her, and Ai can tell straight away that she’s unhappy and tries to comfort her again. The pilot is not surprised at this and talks about how this is how Ai has been since they first met. She goes on to say how all the other people on the base don’t know her half as well as Ai does. Ai tries to understand and determine what the pilot’s intentions with saying all this is, but she cannot do so and can only listen while offering ‘executing - affirmative nod’.

The pilot talks about how once the war is over, she’d like to take Ai back home with her, where they could go to all sorts of gatherings, and the pilot would introduce Ai to her friends.

Ai reviews her personal data, confirming that she has no owners or obligations other than the pilot, so she executes another affirmative nod, and the pilot says this:

As Ai tries and fails to further determine this, something bad happens! if you’ve read this far, i’m sure you’ve already guess what happens next...

At that exact moment, a warning goes out and the research base is being attacked by nebulous enemy forces. With no time to talk anymore, both the pilot and Ai head out into their first real fight.

They spend a good long while repelling enemy forces, working well together and apparently using all sorts of wacky anime weaponry like beam blades and whatever ‘retrograde evasion’ is!

obviously though, you already know this isn’t going to end well for them... When the pilot takes a breather, Ai moves to protect her, but at a critical moment, a sudden high-speed projectile comes her way. In the next instance there’s a crash, and we move onto another memory. Where its all fire and debris, and Ai can’t move.

^ this text box actually repeats several times, indicating that she is repeating her scan for life signs over and over. She gets an internal warning from her systems (differentiated with red text) that she has insufficient power and it warns her to immediately cease ineffective operations. [Unable to detect owner life signs] repeats again.

At this point, uuuuh, its a little stupid actually? because two humans show up, reusing generic ‘bad guy’ sprites from other events that don’t match the current environment and situation at all (one is in a suit and the other is in casual clothes). but the reason they’re here is to provide exposition out loud about what happened. It looked like the human’s mech took a hit for the doll and was blown to bits, though they talk about how that doesn’t make any sense.

Ai at this point tries to execute a bunch of different actions like hugging [target not found] and screaming [no relevant module] but they all fail, and her internal systems tell her that her power is running out and she will cease to function in 30 seconds.

So in those last 30 seconds, Ai decides to quickly review her internal files. the damage she took has corrupted her memories and she doesn’t have the time to properly go through them, so she executes a ‘simulated processed records’, which basically mean she’s just filling the blanks of those memories herself with simulations.

And I have to say. I was decently into and enjoying this little story so far, but its this part that’s the reason i became forced to make this stupid giant post. the first ‘memory’ loads up, and we see the pilot.

Different ‘memories’ of the days spent with the pilot are loaded back to back, each are very short and only last a few lines. Across these files, the two of them talk comfortably with each other, Ai is invited to go get coffee with her, the pilot talks about how going alone is boring and would rather spend time with Ai, Ai saying back with her own words that she always likes spending time with her, etc etc etc.

And then finally, she loads one last ‘memory’, from earlier that same day, before the explosion and the fighting.

and she shuts down.

i passed by this scene the first time all calm, but an hour or so later when I was in the bathroom replacing shampoo bottles, i started thinking about it and I literally started sobbing. And then again later that night when i was in bed. I hate this game!!

so that’s the ‘end’ of that, and the next scene opens, once again in griffin base’s cafe, except...

Ai is sporting a brand new (ugly) look. She says she’d like to take kalina’s order but she was just leaving on other business, as she likes keeping herself busy with all sorts of work around the base ever since she got upgraded into a gundam gajinka. and after she leaves, kalina talks with the other dolls about how Ai used to have some cache issues because her neutral cloud was too full, but upgrading into this new chassis easily fixed that and even allowed her to make use of her old locked away abilities.

Because of the way this scene in the cafe opens up exactly like the very first one at the beginning, it makes me believe that this final scene is also a simulated ‘memory’, that is, Ai filling in the blanks of her corrupted memories with what she wishes to be reality. And i feel confident in believing that because after the scene fades to black, we see more of her internal system monologue.

She (the system) says that the priority execution is to preserve those encrypted memory logs. She does so, and the neural cloud upgrade is complete with confirmation of no loss files. With no risk of deletion in this new form, she executes the command to unlock the encrypted memories. And finally...

[spiderbread dies]

i still wouldn’t use her in gameplay because i can’t stand looking at her design but  i told you all i eat up robot with feelings stuff and this is like prime example of exactly that... and if i didn’t make this post, i think my own neutral cloud’s cache would be at risk of overflowing x_X!

[mannien]

“You’re Shaking”

Pairing: Tom Holland x Millie Beaver (my own fictional character)

Summary: When Millie is supposed to be strong and emotionally ready to celebrate her sister’s wedding, the best friend arrives to the rescue. 

Word Count: 5.6K

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, friends to lovers tropes, weddings 

Author’s Note: HEY! HI! I’m new at this! This is my attempt at the writing challenge made by the lovely @cunaeparker! I would post it on the deadline on the 30th, but it’s my birthday as well, so I’ll be probably busy eating chocolate then. Also, it’s a part of the fic that I’m currently writing, hence the specific characters here. If you have any questions about the plot, just ask! 

        When I first heard that my oldest sister was getting married, I knew I wanted to be a part of this. She may have not known that, but it’s been a very emotional ride for me, personally. Seeing her life roll out a red carpet in front of her, leading straight to the world of eternal love and happiness, it made me realize a lot of things about myself, too.

           First and foremost, it showed me what love should look like. Liz and David were the definition of true love for me, and I could not thank them enough for unknowingly telling me this. But months of preparation, more frequent family dinners, and a bunch of personal issues later, the reality hurt like a motherfucker. Since their eye-opening engagement, I’d been struggling with my own relationship and my own happiness.

           It’s not that I didn’t like my boyfriend Frank. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have spent over 2 years together. He was kind, a little less thoughtful than I would like but still a decent amount, very handsome, and a tiny bit more intelligent than me in our common areas of expertise. In addition to it all, he was able to handle me, a very messy head, so there was really no reason for me not to be with him any longer.

Except, there actually was.

I never mean to point fingers either, because I don’t blame people for my feelings. But a number of conversations with my best friend also showed me that there are people caring more about me than Frank; people who are willing to sacrifice more and who pay a lot more attention to the details that make me, well, me. Although, perhaps I shouldn’t compare those two relationships; the guy who got to make out with me has known me since we took the same advanced journalism class at the university. But the one who actually knows the size of my shoe and what allergies I used to have, he’s known me forever. Of course, we had our better or worse times; months when I would be too busy writing essays to talk to him, and he would be lost in filming another blockbuster movie. But at the end of the day, he was like a brother to me. He took care of me. However, most importantly, he knew I was unhappy with Frank and he pointed it out to me a couple of times.

My sister’s happiness and my best friend’s care worked, though. They made me face the reality. They hit me in the face with it so hard that I’ve been feeling like shit for the past month. It’s been exactly a month since me and Frank broke up. To top it off, precisely two hours before the ceremony, at this gorgeous castle in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, my memory played me and told me: “Hey, Millie! It would’ve been your and Frank’s 3-year anniversary!”

This unbearable stream of thoughts hit me when I was watching Liz smile to the mirror at her glorious hairdo. It wasn’t too complicated, her hair was only curled and pinned up in a few right places, but her beaming expression was something to die for. She was ecstatic to marry the love of her life and I couldn’t blame her; it was her day, she was beautiful, and her fiancée was the nicest and most trustworthy man in the world. My torn apart heart envied her, but my face squeezed out the tiniest smile. She was happy, and nothing else was important.

“Come on Millie, let’s give her a breather.” Our middle sister pulled me out of trance. She already had her face full of a glittery, smoky makeup. Leaving Liz’s room meant we will see each other again during the ceremony, and that I needed to get my shit together.

We walked down the dark hall to where our rooms were, just a few doors apart. Our whole way from Liz’s she was on her phone and I stayed silent, patiently listening to her fingernails tapping against the screen, while I did all I could to hold back the disgustingly growing need to throw up from stress.

“Sam, could you stop for a minute?” She looked up at me, right when she was about to open the door to her room.

“What’s up?” She asked, her eyebrows narrowed in concern. I opened my mouth to say something, but I wasn’t even sure what would I allow myself to say. Should I say I’m nervous? Should I start rambling about how my heart is still aching, especially so because of the wedding? How I was supposed to have a peaceful relationship and an obvious choice of date for my sister’s big day but instead, I had to realize that I simply wasted 3 years of my life and emotional devotion?

“Do you…” I started, but nothing came out. I had to swallow down the terrible taste in my mouth. “…how do you turn off your emotions for an event like this?”

“Oh, sweetie…” She no longer had her pretty London accent. A few years in California made her tongue roll differently on each word, and I could barely feel the warmth of her voice. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, especially now.” He hugged me, but not with all she had in her, because we both respected the effort put into her face. It saddened me, but that was the reality.

“I’m sorry, too.” I whispered.

“Hold on tight, okay? It’s gonna be alright. You’re a fierce one, Mills.”

“I wish I was.” I pity-laughed at myself, but soon regretted that. Sam’s hand slapped my arm quite harshly.

“Hey! Stop that right now. Go on, put that fancy dress you’ve got, make your eyes and lips pop, we’re the Beaver girls, right? Now chop-chop, move your arse.” She pushed me in the direction of my room with a grin. I tried to mirror her expression just for the sake of her attempt to be British again. To be homey, again.

When I was trying my hardest not to lose it emotionally, I focused on practical tasks. I mastered my makeup and sprayed myself with that setting spray the world was screaming about. My hair was a little unruly and I needed an extra bobby pin, if I wanted it to stay up and show off my dress. The self-conscious me didn’t want to, but Liz would want me to. And today was about Liz, so I fought with that high, slightly messy bun until my arms went numb.

My dress was the trickiest part. It required me to tie three bows and zip my whole back up to the neck. Maneuvering all that without messing up anything else in my appearance didn’t sound promising, and being harsh with the material wouldn’t work either. The dress was a work of art to me, so when me and Liz both looked at it one evening, she told me straight away she will ditch the sister dress code. She didn’t make us wear all similar colors, but rather encouraged me to pull the most ‘Millie Beaver’ look I was capable of. So, I ended up with a black tulle uneven material ending somewhere above my knees, going up to the waist in the tiniest folds in an A-line skirt. The see-through, sheer fabric was covered with draped embellishments made out of the tiniest sequins. They made a sort of brush-paint effect that covered my body from my bottom just above the round of my breasts. The neck and loose sleeves made of the thinnest black mesh which barely changed the color of my skin, ended with intense black stripes ready to be turned into the prettiest of bows. I don’t know if it complimented my body, but it definitely made me feel like the prettiest version of myself.

           As I was getting into the long sleeves and pulling the body above my boobs, I loud knocking noise interrupted my focus. Intuitively, I looked at the time and exhaled a calming breath, knowing I still have some time and I’m not running late. I held the top of my dress with my right hand, not wanting it to slid down when I open the door.

           Tom looked ready to knock again. His fist hovered in the air for a second, until he raised his eyes and noticed me. He smiled down at me with the warmest facial expression I was given today by anyone, or so did I think. I couldn’t help but give him a one good look over. He was dressed up in a very deep navy-blue suit; the kind of navy blue that makes each man look a hundred times more attractive. The way it clung nicely to his broad shoulders told me it was tailor made from a thick and rich material. His crispy white shirt had a few buttons unmade, so it didn’t hug his neck but rather made his throat more exposed in a way that I always tried to avoid. The smile reached his eyes and woke up the wrinkles around them, making his face look even prettier than before. His short brown locks were tucked away nicely with the tiniest amount of hair gel, and I knew right away he had done it on purpose; I’d used to make fun of the shiny look he so often went for at public events.

           I could swear that all these details about his appearance my mind grasped within seconds. He didn’t make a funny comment about it, he just greeted me sweetly and nodded at me.

           “Hey, Mills.”

           “Hey!” I tried to return his smile in a way that would tell him how happy I was to see him. Or maybe how relieved? “Come in, just… avoid the preparation mess.” I laughed and let him in. I closed the door and unintentionally glanced at the way the suit nicely covered his muscular back and bottom. “Look at you, movie star!” I tried to whistle, but I failed and just blew into the air with a little swish to it. He turned to me with a raised brow and laughed at my poor attempt to be sassy.

           “I called you, I didn’t know if you were busy right now and I didn’t want to interrupt if you were with Liz.”

           “Oh, sorry,” I mumbled quickly, getting close to the phone that was peacefully left alone on the nightstand and charging. “I’m not feeling good, so I just wanted to get ready and face the world after.”

           “What’s wrong?” His face scrunched up in concern.

           “Just, you know…” My lips formed a tight smile. I shrugged and as it made the shoulders of my dress slide down my arms a little, I remembered that I still had to fix it and put on properly. I hugged the material tight to my chest and fought the terrible urge to bite my lips. “… a bit stressed out.” I mumbled, not willing to go into detail and break down. My mind worked really hard to change the subject as quick as possible, just because he knew I was overreacting and he would want me to be honest. It was a self-destructive behavior, really, but I couldn’t help it when the vomit was trying to make its way up my throat once again. I glanced at him fidgeting with his hands and only then noticed that he was holding two ties in his left hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t let him. “So, spill the deal Thomas. You’ve never told me who’s your plus one?”

           He watched me carefully, as if he already knew what I was up to. I hated this about him, but he played well. A knowing smile spread across his lips as he held up the ties.

           “That’s actually one of the things I wanted to discuss with you. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable tonight, so I wanted your help with these.” He held both accessories in separate hands and put them close to his chest, comparing the way they looked with his suit.

           “You can’t choose your tie?” I asked with a chuckle, while pulling the dress completely over my shoulders and hoping it would stay in place, although unzipped and untied. “What happened to your fashion sense?”

           “Well, the fashion sense is still here, I mean…” He started cheekily, giving me a slow pirouette to show off of his outfit. “…it looks pretty good if I’m honest.” He laughed. “But no, I wanted to ask you because first of all, you know better,” the pure confidence in his voice made us both chuckle happily again. “and second of all, this option is for me going solo,” his hand holding a striped tie in different shades of blue moved to the middle. “and this one matches your dress, so that I could be your plus one.” He held up closer the burgundy one, with tiny golden embroidered elements. It was almost the exact shade that my dress had bursting out the most from the waist. We would match in a very delicate way, not overwhelming others with the similarity, but rather stating that we probably knew what we were doing.

           My heart was rapidly beating, making my insides warm up from this single gesture that he offered. I felt tears well up in my eyes. He knew I was hurting during my relationship, he saw me hurt when I fought for what I had with Frank, as well as he saw me in pain when we called it quits a month ago. My lower lip quivered, not sure if it wanted to let out a tiny sob, or spread wide in a smile. I felt confused emotionally, but the simplicity of Tom’s thought spread a fuzzy feeling across my body.

           I moved closer to him, forgetting about the lipstick and biting my lower lip. I took the dark red tie from him and straightened it up, before pulling it over his neck with a small smile. I started the first two moves that I had known from TV, but then absentmindedly started to play with the fabric, trying to look professional.

           “Do you even know how to do it?” He tried not to laugh too much at me, so his stifled joy ended up in a sucked in smile.

           “YouTube knows.” I smiled up at him. His eyes glistened in a joyful expression as he breathed out a giggle. He took out his phone from the jacket pocket and quickly searched for an easy tutorial for me.

           “Go on.” He encouraged me and held his phone up, so that I could see the instructions. I focused on the task and felt the nerves creeping away. My hands slowly relaxed and in swift motions I finished up a loose knot. He noticed my progress and threw his phone on my bed. His gaze was fixated on me; I could feel his brown eyes watching me carefully.

           “Can I finish this off?” I asked very quietly, not sparing a look at his face. My fingers hovered over the undone top buttons of his shirt and only when he didn’t reply, I looked up. He was already watching me with an expression I rarely saw on him. He was eyeing my face so closely and delicately, almost as if he tried to memorize that moment. He gently nodded his head and did so while locking our eyes. I swallowed heavily, trying to push away the nauseous feeling that crept back in as a nervous reaction. Very carefully I started working on the little buttons. Then I put his collar up to fit in the tie and gently pushed up the knot, focusing on not wrinkling anything. Then I smoothed out his shirt and smiled proudly to myself.

           “Well done!” He chuckled at my childish pride and touched up the knot himself.

           “Thank you for doing this.” I whispered, tapping lightly at his chest. I smiled up at him, feeling the tears threatening to escape again. I moved away from him; I didn’t want to become a mess shortly before such big and happy family event.

I started walking towards the bathroom and attempted to zip up my dress at the same time. Soon enough it turned into desperate fumbling with the material at the beginning of the zipper, because it sucked in a tiny piece of fabric. I couldn’t imagine taking it all off and then putting on again after a fight with the zip, my perfectly imperfect bun wouldn’t handle it well.

“Hey, could you give me a hand here?” I turned to him, as he was putting his phone back in the pocket. We used to see each other in many innocent, yet body revealing situations. Hence, we were usually comfortable with one another so that sleeping in the same bed only in our underwear was okay. We made fun of each other’s bodies and somehow, we knew them probably also for the sake of memories from our shared early childhood.

But it felt different this time. The fact that I was so emotionally exposed to him today was possibly one of the reasons why I felt nervous. I knew we were best friends, he was a brother I never had, but suddenly it felt intimate. I was conscious about the fact that I had no bra on, and although I made sure I wasn’t flashing him anything, he had to reach to my lower back to fix the zipper and then slide it across my bare skin.

“Please be gentle with it.” I added. His knuckles softly pushed against me, when he tried to slowly pull the zipper up.

“Exactly how gentle are we speaking?” He chuckled. Then he put one hand on my hip and led me slightly backwards, so that he could sit on my bed.

“Gentle as in I spent all my savings on the only dress I have for my sister’s wedding.” I turned a little to him, trying to steal a glance at what he’s doing. “It’s okay if you can’t do it, I’ll have to try…”

“Shut up, I’ve got it.” He shushed me and pushed me slightly forward again. I felt him stand up and take a light grip at the zipper, before gently pulling it up my spine. “Straighten up.” I stretched out my back as he asked, or maybe even a little too much. My hips moved backwards and made my butt hit his front. It made me feel nauseous again; I was definitely not ready for a wave of seemingly irrational feelings. It was just Tom, and yet I was scared of accidentally touching his crotch with my ass. “Alright, all pretty here.” He smoothed out the material on both my shoulders and I could feel him hesitate for a moment, before he let go of me completely.

“Thanks.” I smiled shyly at him and made my way to the mirror, before he could say I was nervous. I started working on the bow on my neckline.

“Oh, so you’re tying them all up?”

“Yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to look. So you better watch carefully, cause I can’t do the other two as pretty as this one.”

“Man, I thought I only came here to decide on a tie.” He moaned mockingly. I could see him in the mirror, he came up to stand next to me and watch my fingers in action.

“You’re free to go, I can always ask my mom to do it for me.” I shrugged, straightening up the loose ends of the bow.

“And leave my date for the night? No, thank you.” He winked at me cheekily, and I laughed at him. I pulled out my tongue at him and scrunched up my nose. “Don’t do it, your face will stay like this forever.”

“Wouldn’t you like that? At least you could laugh at me, if my jokes aren’t funny to you.” I challenged him, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, at least one of us has to stay pretty.”

“I thought you said you were pretty?”

“The word is CUTE.” He emphasized. “And there are people who agree on this.” He added. I reached out with my hand to him, so he could try and make an even bow.

“Your granny?” And there it was. Making fun of him as a coping mechanism, whenever I was noticing the upside of his appearance and thinking about it longer than necessary.

“She’s my number one fan, so she counts.” I pointed at the longer end of the knot, so he started fixing it to make it even with the other.

“I thought she was Paddy’s number one fan. Or Sam’s for his abnormal cooking skills.” He smiled soundly at this. “But hey, don’t worry. Your best friend is your fan.”

“You mean Harrison? Yeah, he’s okay. But he’s got history of being more of an assistant, you know?” Tom snorted out a loud laugh at his word and I couldn’t stay silent at that.

“I thought you had another best friend?” He pretended to be deep in thought. I briefly checked on the ready bows and straightened up my sleeves.

“Can’t think of anyone else. Care to share?” He playfully scratched his chin like an old aristocrat. I moved around him to start gathering my things, keeping in mind that I should touch up my lipstick.

“For all I know, you’ve had one super fan ever since you met her as a wee nicked kid.”

“Wow, I must’ve had a very peculiar taste in choosing my best friends.” He laughed, and I only sent him a sideway smile. Although I was the one to encourage our fun exchange, I wasn’t sure if it made me feel comfortable. I wasn’t doubting his friendship, but sometimes I would get this nagging thought starting with ‘what if….’ I didn’t know how I felt anymore, and the sole fact that I was packing my small handbag to my sister’s wedding was near to give me a serious panic attack.

I sat down on a little chair next to the window and started doing up my deep red, velvet lace up pumps with four cross-straps that ended in tiny golden buttons. These were also way out of my every-day comfort zone, but figured as the prettiest pair of shoes I owned. Plus, they went well probably only with this dress. I actually had to spend a couple of days walking around the house in them, just so I could remember if I could walk in high heels.

I stood up, slowly moving around my feet to adjust the fit, and that’s when my mind became a complete mayhem.

“You look so foxy. You should wear heels to work, I bet they would take your ideas seriously in these.” Frank’s words kept on replaying in my head and I was ready to rip those shoes apart. I felt a terrible scrunch in my tummy and I couldn’t hold it anymore. As quickly as I could without tripping over, I made my way to the bathroom and knelt next to the open toilet, ready to empty my stomach any second. A loud sob escaped my lips when nothing would come out and I had to live through the worst wave of nausea. I started ugly-crying, letting go of every inch of calm that tried to keep my nerves under control. I leaned with my elbows on the toilet seat and just held myself there.

“Minnie, are you okay?” I felt Tom squat beside me, his hand gently laid on my back and started rubbing it in soothing circles. I just shook my head and kept on crying, unable to even talk to him. I tried taking deep breaths to calm my body down, but another loose thought about my ex-boyfriend clouded my head and I leaned over the toilet again, hoping this could end already in one way or another. Tom’s free hand went to the bow that started hanging in a risky zone and tucked it close to my chest. His other one went up, massaging slightly my neck to help me relax. “I will breathe with you, okay? It might get better if you follow.” He said in a hushed, yet stern voice. “Come on, one large in,” he inhaled loudly and I tried to mimic him. “now hold it for a second for me, let your body relax,” except that I couldn’t, and my face scrunched in misery. “It’s okay, try again Mills. It’s just a panic attack, you can get through this. Come on, breathe.”

He guided me through a few more deep cycles until my crying stopped. Somewhere during the second inhale I was breaking again, so he rested his forehead on the side of my head, right above my ear, where I could feel his breath on my skin and focus solely on it.

“That’s my girl. You’re safe with me, okay? I promise.” I only nodded rapidly. He slowly moved away to kiss my head in a protective gesture, as he used to whenever he was being affectionate with me.

“Fuck, I’m such a mess!” I groaned in frustration, still feeling the heavy beating of my heart. I sat down on the floor, trying to untangle my feet from under me and rest them somewhat comfortably, even if it meant resting my legs in the most revealing pose. I rested my back on the side of the bath and hid my face in my hands. I squeezed out a few more tears, until I felt a gentle tug on both my wrists.

“Look at me,” Tom asked sternly. He massaged my wrists and patiently waited for me to lift up my eyes to his concentrated gaze. “You’re a mess only if you let yourself feel like one. And I’m not here to see you miserable.”

“Easy for you to say! My sister’s about to get hitched and I keep on thinking about how… how I used to hope, that this would be me and Frank one day because my mind is so fucked up and… and I allowed him to treat my feelings like shit! Just because I wanted someone to fucking love me and want to have a life with me and be my fucking lover!” I let out loudly with a broken sob mid-sentence.

“For fuck’s sake, stop hurting yourself!” He raised his voice and I could feel my heart drop. “I understand it fucking hurts. And I’m so, so sorry, I know you were deeply invested in your relationship with Frank, I get it. But please, for just one moment, try to imagine how would it be if you stopped dwelling on this shit!” He took a frustrated breath and tried to remain composed. He stood up and leaned back on the sink with crossed arms. He closed his eyes, but then started watching me carefully, as if to see if I was going to snap again.

I just sat there motionlessly, too shocked to react in any way. My brain was tired from the panic attack, my body ached from the nerves, and my tongue got cut off by shame. I closed my eyes and tried to rethink my current situation, sort out my feelings. There was a part of me that wanted to reach out to hope, to reason, and to the right place in my heart. Right when I was imagining the right place for my heart, my eyes snapped open to check if Tom was still standing there. He was, eyes glued to me, posture flexed and ready to react. But his face so soft I wanted to burst out in tears again. He was this soft for me.

I reached out to him with my hands and he pulled me up from the floor.

“Exactly how many times should I fucking remind you that you’re better than this, that you actually are lovable, and that there are people who care about you more than that asshole, the one who actually called himself your boyfriend for three years but didn’t deserve it at all?” He asked gently, stepping closer to me. He swiped his thumb underneath my eye, where probably a mascara disaster was happening. Tom gave me a broken smile and it was that smile – the one that made my heart grow and get warm. And suddenly I got goosebumps across my whole body because he was the one to make my mind shut up. All that was left was pure admiration for his care, for his tender smile and for his sparkling brown eyes. This revelation made me feel incredibly exposed to him and almost made me feel shy.

“Could you tell me that one more time?” I replied quietly, still feeling the touch of his hand on my cheek. Curiosity led my voice and made me swallow hard. He smirked at me in a way that I knew made girls swoon over him. However, this time was different and I was the one over the moon.

“Millie, you are incredibly lovable and I fucking care about you. You can get through this and you will, just get your shit together.” He chuckled at the end and I mirrored his reaction, but still heard the first two most important phrases ring through my head. “You are too gorgeous to be still thinking about someone who didn’t make you happy, alright?”

“You promise?”

“Do I promise?” He asked dumbfoundedly and turned us both around, so that we were standing in front of a tall mirror. “Look at yourself, you’re a doll,” He wrapped his arm around my waist when he said that. It felt really warm and right. “you’re perfect in every inch, you look exquisite, hell I’m gonna say it…” he started before cracking a soft, almost nervous laugh. It was obvious he tried to stay composed and professional, but he broke. “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, that’s it. End of this discussion. Now fix your pretty face, get your fancy bag, and we’ll go see your sister at her happiest.”

I did as he asked but with the amount of warm words that kept replaying in my head, the fifteen minutes that it took me to freshen up felt like a mere second. I felt as if my body was just existing and my soul was floating beside me, intently watching my and Tom’s every move. My floating side kept pushing me into his side, knowing that it will be the best way to stay safe and content. Tom always was a gentleman, his parents raised him well. However, this time when we walked down the corridor to the stairs, and then to the foyer where some guests gathered before entering the main hall where the wedding was supposed to take place, I couldn’t stop thinking about these little gestures. Carefully keeping his hand on my lower back whenever we were turning or passing someone. Smiling down at me whenever I stole a glance at him. Letting me go everywhere first, but not before smoothly checking if there was anything I would possibly trip over. Staying by my side all the time and making sure I was okay. Of course, he was now my date to the wedding. But if any of his brothers were at his place, it wouldn’t be the same.

We were approaching more crowded groups of people and I slowed down. I started feeling incredibly self-conscious and uneasy, especially with the looks that people I knew gave me. Most probably, they looked because I was the bride’s sister, I was finally wearing heels, I had the most makeup since last Christmas, and Tom was side by side with me. Although I doubted it stunned our families that we could be seen together, there were a lot of Liz and Dave’s friends whom we didn’t know, or just old aunties who loved a good gossip. I became fully aware of all of the eyes pointed at us and I felt my insides tremble dangerously. I stopped abruptly and tried to mask my nervousness by fake-fixing my dress. Tom looked back at and raised his funky eyebrow at me, silently asking what’s up. He stepped closer to me and blocked the view of the most intense stares. I stared down at the bows at my sleeves and started anxiously rearranging the strings. I exhaled with an audible shake to my breath and closed my eyes. We stood face to face and I could feel him watching my movements.

“You’re shaking” He whispered, bringing his mouth to the side of my head. Then I felt his fingertips gently touch my hand, before he slowly slid his fingers through mine. Our hands molded together and it calmed me in a way I didn’t know was possible.

“I’m nervous.” I mumbled, so that only he could hear. He left a sweet kiss on my cheek and winked at me.

“No shit, Sherlock.” I let out a nervous laugh and he seemed pleased with my reaction. “Come on, head up, you’re gonna walk in hand in hand with Peter Parker.” He slowly maneuvered the hand he was holding so that I could easily take his arm in an elegant way

“I would rather walk in with Tom Holland.”

“You’re lucky he’s friends with Parker. You can have both.”

.

.

.

Tagging some of the people who I wish would read this bc I love their blogs even though not all of you probably love Tom but I LOVE YOU

@lauras-collection @peeterparkr @thirsttrapholland @fondlynarry @niallandtommo @heyhihellowhatsup0 @constellationsv @angel-spidey @starkissedholland

[kingdomofallthehearts]

The New Girl in Town

SoKai Week 2020 - Day 2 - First Meeting

Synopsis: The teacher introduced a new girl and for some reason Sora can’t help but notice her.

Featuring: Sora, Kairi, Riku, Selphie, Wakka, Tidus

Prompt for the Day: First Meeting / Unseen Adventures

“Alright children, I’d like you all to give a warm welcome to our newest friend.”

Standing beside the teacher was a petite girl wearing a white dress with big purple flowers along the trim. She had shoulder length hair the color of fresh raspberries and her eyes were bluer than the sea surrounding the islands.

“Her name is Kairi. She’ll be staying with us for a while, so be nice.”

Before Sora even had a chance to introduce himself, a bubbly brunette in a pair of yellow overalls and a white t-shirt ran over to greet the new kid.

“Hi Kairi! My name is Selphie. Let’s get along!”

“That’s Selfie for you,” a voice said from behind, disrupting Sora’s thoughts. “—Woah, Riku! You snuck up on me!” “Did not. I was here the whole time. You were just too busy staring at the new girl to notice, which is very rude by the way.” “—I…I wasn’t staring! I was just… listening to the teacher! Yeah, that’s it!” “Whatever you say.” The young boy with silver locks gave a knowing smirk, but he opted to drop the argument. After all, he was a year older than Sora. He had to be the bigger person. The more mature of the two, which annoyed Sora to no end. Usually, he’d push back against Riku’s apathy, but a fit of giggles from the two girls distracted Sora from any feelings of irritation.

“Hey Riku, do you think that’s the girl living at the mayor’s house?” Riku made mention of such a girl earlier when the two were playing at the secret place. In fact, they planned on visiting later that day, but once they arrived at the mayor’s house there was a maze of long legs blocking them from reaching the front door. They opted to try again on a day that was less crowded, but never got around to it.

“It has to be. It’s not like we get many visitors. And what are the chances of two girls our age moving here at the same time?” He was right. That’s Riku for you. He always had an answer to everything, even when speaking to the adults! Sora was proud to have him as a best friend.

Another fit of giggles erupted from the two girls. What are they laughing about? Sora didn’t understand girls at all. Selphie was the only girl around Sora’s age, but she never wanted to do anything fun! She wasn’t interested in racing to the shack or swimming in the water or playing with swords. All she wanted to do was talk and build sandcastles. Boring. Yet Sora couldn’t peel his eyes away from the girl with bright red hair. Kairi, was it? There was something different about her.

______________________________________________________________

After pre-k, the children made a habit of rowing to the play islands. When they were younger, they could only go to the island when their parents were available. But with Riku and Wakka being the oldest of the group, they convinced the parents to trust them. Well, Riku did most of the convincing, but it worked nonetheless.

Sora and Riku just finished an incredibly heated race and needed to take a breather. As they were catching their breath, a pair of sandals approached them.

“Hi there!” “—H…hiya.” The new girl?!? What is she doing here? “Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” Riku cut in, “I’m Riku and this shorty is my best friend Sora.” “Hey, my mom said if I drink a whole lot of milk, I’ll be taller than everyone! I bet I’ll even be taller than those trees!” “That’s impossible.” “No it’s not!” “Yes it is.” “No—“ Suddenly a burst of the joyful laughter Sora heard before erupted from the new girl. It sounded like… well Sora didn’t know what it sounded like. He just knew that hearty giggle made him feel all tingly… in a good way! Riku must have felt something too, because that infectious laughter had the both of them smiling ear to ear. “My name is—“ “Kairi, right? We heard the teacher introduce you earlier.” So Riku WAS paying attention. And he had the nerve to poke fun of me for watching her interact with Selphie. “—Wait a second, weren’t you hanging out with Selphie?” “Yup. She introduced me to Tidus and Wakka, but then they started arguing, so I decided to see what you two were up to.” And lo and behold, Sora and Riku could make out an angry Selphie frantically shaking her finger at an equally angry Wakka and a defeated looking Tidus. “So, what are you up to?” “We just finished a really intense race! You should’ve seen my victory!” “Don’t you mean my victory?” “No way! I totally got here first.” “No you didn’t.” “Did so!” “Did not.” “Did—“ Suddenly Sora could feel those unfamiliar blue eyes watching him. He didn’t feel like arguing anymore. “I… It doesn’t matter,” Sora conceded to Riku’s shock. That was usually his job. “Kairi’s here now, so let’s ask what she wants to do,” Sora said as he turned to face her with a wide grin. “What… what I want to do?” “Sure! Let’s play together!” “Hmm…” Kairi carefully considered their options. The boys looked pretty tired from their race, so that was out of the question. And nobody brought a swimsuit, so they couldn’t go swimming. What to do? What to do? Her bright blue eyes grew even bigger as inspiration struck. “How about we build a sandcastle?” she asked with confidence. “That’s a great idea Kairi,” Riku concurred. Sora, however, immediately regretted asking Kairi for her input. “Ye—yeah,” he managed to choke out. Sandcastles. How fun.

______________________________________________________________

The three sat on the wet sand ready to get their hands dirty, when they were startled by loud shouts coming from the opposite end of the island. Whatever argument Selphie and Wakka have gotten into has clearly escalated. And poor Tidus was caught in the middle of it.

“You guys can get started without me. I better see what’s going on.” That’s Riku for you. Always the responsible one. But in this case, Sora wanted to go instead. Anything was better than building sandcastles. However, Riku was already halfway across the island before Sora could protest.

Kairi picked up a nearby bucket and started filling it with sand. She never made a sandcastle before, but she knew what castles looked like! Or at least, she had an idea of what castles looked like. Kairi wondered what it would be like to live in a castle, but quickly pushed the thought out of her mind when it was time to flip over the bucket. She slowly lifted the compacted pail and… “Perfect!” she thought. She lifted her head to see if Sora was admiring her work, but found him pushing around sand with a stick looking unsure of what to do.

Oh no. He doesn’t look like he’s having fun. Was this a bad idea? Kairi was starting to doubt her decision until she spotted a shovel next to her foot.

“Here.” Kairi handed the plastic yellow shovel to Sora. “You can dig the moat.” “The moat…” Sora repeated, “what’s a moat?” “It’s a giant hole filled with water that goes around the castle.”
 “Why would you want a giant hole filled with water around a castle?” “To protect the princess! You fill the hole with piranhas and sharks and uh… jellyfish so bad guys can’t capture the princess!” “Castles have piranhas and sharks and jellyfish!?!?” Sora was starting to think maybe sandcastles weren’t as boring as he once believed. “Of course! They also have traps that are meant to capture any enemies who dare to enter. And if a bad guy somehow gets passed the moat and the traps, he would have to fight against a lot of strong knights.” “Woah! Knights! What are we waiting for? We have to help them!” Sora jammed the shovel into the sand as fast as possible to create a moat as deep as the ocean. “Do you like knights, Sora?” “Obviously! Knights are the coolest. They wear shiny armor and use weapons that can take down dragons and are the strongest people in the world!” “Hehe, if you like knights so much Sora, you should be one!” “Re—really?” Sora wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt embarrassed. “Th-then if I’m a knight, you have to be the princess.” “Oh—okay.” Kairi was suddenly feeling hot. Must be the island weather. She wasn’t quite used to the heat. “Alright!” Sora’s previous embarrassment was replaced with a newfound enthusiasm. “Don’t worry Kairi, I’ll be the toughest knight around. Nobody will be able to defeat me, not even Riku! I’ll protect you from all the bad guys.” “Then, I’ll protect you too!” Sora’s enthusiasm was rubbing off on the redhead. “What? Princesses don’t protect knights.”
 “Why not?” “I’m—I’m not sure.” “Then I’ll be the first.” She beamed at Sora and he smiled back just as wide. If Kairi has the power to make building sandcastles fun, who knows what else she can do? I should ask her to play tomorrow and the next day and the next day and the day after that! We can run and swim and build sandcastles and… who knows? Maybe I can even show her the secret place.

Sora looked up and watched Kairi concentrate on stuffing her bucket to the brim with sand. Almost on cue, she raised her head to make eye contact and let out that whimsical giggle Sora couldn’t get enough of. He definitely wanted to show her the secret place.

As the day turned to dusk, Sora and Kairi worked tirelessly to build an incredible sandcastle. They wanted it to be perfect. After all, they had a promise to keep. It would only be later in life that the two would learn a knight and a princess don’t need a castle to protect each other.

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Notes: Behold! Prompt #2! Featuring an original story this time :D But in all seriousness, thank you for the likes and reblogs on my last post (and the tags... I’ve enjoyed reading them :p) I do have something in the works for tomorrow’s prompt so hopefully I’ll finish in time, but who knows. Anyway, I hope everyone is enjoying sokai week as much as I am!

[sundropscribbles]

To a Fault | Eleven x Reader | 4.9K

Guess who’s baaaackk.. ♥️ Hello again, my dears! I’m so excited to finally be posting again! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I can’t tell you all what all your patience means to me.  This little request is for one of my darling anons — I hope I’ve not gotten too rusty! Enjoy!

By your personal standards, you didn’t have what you’d have referred to as a high tolerance to pain. If you were honest, what you had was really quite the opposite of any tolerance at all, and while it could be inconvenient at times, but it was something that you had always known about yourself — that you had always found ways to live with.  

Ironically enough, you remembered learning the technical side of it all once upon a time, during one odd lecture or another, in some old classroom; evidently, the human pain tolerance operated on a scale that had started out much more scientific than the not-so-smiley-faced diagram that most everyone had seen at least once at their local emergency department.  Funnily enough, it was something that you could almost hear The Doctor waffling on about in your head. It was exactly the sort of thing that he would have enjoyed flaunting knowledge about, you knew, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt the awkwardness of your situation at the present. Because you also knew him well enough to know very well that all of his enthusiastic rambling would dip into the realm of an angry lecture very quickly if he knew that you were currently holding your breath and gritting your teeth through what was easily an eleven — maybe even a twelve — on that old pain scale.

True as that was, though, you weren’t currently in the sort of situation that allowed for you to pause and lick your wounds, and you weren’t a child, anyways; you could knuckle through a little bit of pain. And that aside, the last thing that you needed was for The Doctor to have to stop doing what he was doing to worry about you. Though he would deny it, his priorities in general could go a bit askew from time to time, and if there was anything that he could never, ever bring himself to put on the back-burner, it was your safety.

As things sat, your distracting him would have meant his choosing between your comfort and the safety of the thousand-and-some-odd beings onboard the ship that he was currently using the TARDIS to tow out of the atmosphere of a planet doomed to implode on itself (and thus take everything and everyone nearby with it).  Obviously, you weren’t willing to let it become an issue.

It wasn’t as though your injuries were urgent, anyways — they weren’t. You weren’t seriously maimed or bleeding. You could still walk, and you could still breathe — well, for the most part. Any amount of pain had always had a tendency to knock the breath out of you, and today was no exception.

You’d have been lying through your teeth, though, if you’d said that you hadn’t been in a bit of a fog since you’d boarded the TARDIS.  You hadn’t allowed the full extent of it to hit you until then — until you were somewhere safe, familiar. The Doctor didn’t need your help anymore, not here, and so you had taken it on your own authority to sit yourself down for a breather.  Sitting seemed to help stifle the throbbing pain in your ribs that had yet to fade — that you weren’t sure would fade anytime soon, if you were honest. It was only so often that you were thrown sideways into a wall like a rag doll, after all.

“Well! I think that well and truly deserves a Geronimo, (Y/N), don’t you?” you hear The Doctor call to you from the other side of the console, and even despite your hunched over, close-eyed state, you snort. The next thing that you hear is his enthusiastic schpeel to the passengers of the rescued ship, so you don’t make the most enthusiastic effort to respond.

“Yeah, yeah,” you acknowledge him, voice hushed. “Geronimo.”

While he busies himself giving instructions to the passengers — be cautious, stay safely onboard the spacecraft, etcetera etcetera — you adjust your position in your seat beside the console. You have to bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle a low whine when the movement aggravates what you’re mostly certain will end up being couple of broken ribs, and you’re grateful in that moment that The Doctor’s attention is elsewhere. You’re almost certainly wearing your pain on your face, and keeping his suspicion at bay would have been infinitely more difficult had he been paying closer attention.

You predicament only gets worse when the TARDIS gives a rattle as she comes to a stop, and you can’t say for certain that you don’t black out for a solid few moments as she gives a final sputter of effort.  You hear The Doctor speaking once more the moment you’re able to focus again, but that’s not the only thing you hear. As you force your focus to stay concentrated upon your labored breathing you also notice the TARDIS making a few choice noises — insistent and agitated beeps and whirs that you can just tell are directed at you.  

You make a face at that and shake your head.

“Shut it,” you murmur, gesturing sharply with one hand. The last thing you needed her cluing The Doctor in to your pain, or — goodness forbid — the trouble breathing that you were currently dealing with. If the reveal didn’t come from you he would only be more upset, and it was only going to be a moment or two more, wasn’t it? You would be able address it soon. You wouldn’t have a choice but to tell him regardless (since you would be in no shape for further adventuring anytime soon) and it was really no big deal — that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The ribs that you were absolutely certain you had cracked at this point had other ideas, however.

The TARDIS gives a much more insistent, higher pitched groan as she sputters to a stop, and between that and the abruptness with which you sit up to shush her, you can’t even begin to stifle the sound that’s forced out of you.

You cry out, and the sound of it is something in between a grunt and a strangled scream. Your first instinct is to cover it up somehow, but even that is pushed to the back burner by the pain thats blossomed outward from your injured left side.

“Oh, bloody hell,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut as you do the best you can to catch your breath. Beneath the sting of pain there’s a horrid sensation — something of a grind, like something has gone and shifted violently out of place. You think, at the back of your mind, that you hear the TARDIS give another (much louder) chirp, but before you can even consider it, you hear The Doctor’s voice.

“(Y/N)?!” he calls, and before you know it, he’s at your side with a hand on each of your shoulders. “(Y/N), darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to smile through the agony as you meet his gaze. “It’s nothing,” you start, but before you can say anymore, he scoffs.

“Oh yes, that’s right, because you double over and shout bloody murder all the time,” he quips, and you look at him, wide-eyed and startled.  You’re rather surprised to find him smiling in spite of his sarcasm, and you shake your head, forcing a sigh out through your clenched teeth.  “Now tell me what’s going on, would you?”

He brushes a bit of hair back from your face with one hand as he presses for information, and it’s then, approximately, that you give in and let your guard down. He obviously knows that there’s something wrong at this point, and you know very well that he isn’t going to let it go until you explain.

“Blimey, it’s just — it’s my ribs, I think,” you admit, and move one hand to cover the offending spot. “When we were in the tunnels, and those — those snake-y things came up through the ground, I hit one of the rock walls quite bloody hard.”

He makes an almost offended sound in response, glancing between your hand on your ribs and your face as he looks you over.

“You never said anything, did you?” he begins, and touches the back of your hand gingerly. It takes everything in you not to wince at that alone, but you smile and acknowledge his question a quick shake of your head regardless, hissing as he begins nudging you gently backwards. The console seat doesn’t allow for you to stretch out very much, and to sat that you were grateful for it would have been a massive understatement.  Every inch you move intensifies the pain, and you’re not sure you’d be able to handle unfurling yourself completely.

“No, I —“ you begin, but pause to catch your breath as he prods at your side very, very gently. “I didn’t, because so many other people’s lives were on the line, and I couldn’t — I wasn’t going to get in the way of you saving all of them.”

The look he gives you in response to that is one of absolute bewilderment.  There’s an intensity in his eyes as he stares you down for a moment, and you’re just getting to the point where you feel a bit like squirming under the scrutiny when he finally breaks his stunned silence.

“That’s… that is completely absurd.  You’re completely absurd,” he snips, looking at least mildly annoyed as he lays his hand overtop of yours, atop your very injured ribs.  You narrow your eyes at that, and a tiny twinge of hurt rears its head as you struggle to process what he’s telling you.  It doesn’t last terribly long, though, because he’s quick to follow the insult up with something that lands much differently. “(Y/N), your safety is more important to me than anyone’s. I don’t care if it’s a city, a planet, or a galaxy — you’ve got to tell me when you’re hurt!”

It takes you a good second or two to process what he’s said, but the moment it settles with you, you blink.  Various emotions come crashing over you like a tidal wave, and it certainly isn’t easy to take it all in at once. There’s a warm fondness (thanks to his protective streak) , a tiny swell of pride (because he’d definitely just proven you right), and last but not least, an overwhelming feeling of love (for very obvious reasons).  The result of it all is a chill on your skin and a gathering of tears in your eyes, and while you breathe a shaky sigh out through your teeth, he mumbles under his breath and proceeds to lift your hand away from your ribs as carefully as he can.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t, though,” you argue, though it admittedly doesn’t have a whole lot of fight to it. How could it, after all?  “Making sure all of those people were out of trouble was more important than some painkillers that I could wait an hour for.”

He continues to grumble halfheartedly, first in response to your argument and then even more so as he so a he fiddles with your tee-shirt, moving it out of the way so that he can properly see the damage done to your body.  You look away at the same moment, almost as though you’re still trying to deny how bad the pain really is.

“And that, (Y/N), is one of the things I love best about you. You’re selfless, so selfless. It’s to a fault sometimes, though, because this is not the kind of thing you should be hiding!” he exclaims.  The abruptness with which he raises his voice startles you, and on instinct alone, you look back toward the thing that has him so upset.  The sight of it startles you as much as much as it seems to have riled him up, and your wince as you take it in.

There’s not a doubt remaining in your mind that your ribs are broken; your entire left side is a startling shade of burgundy fading to purple, and the darkest bit of color centers around that one spot, where you’d been sure you’d felt that sick grinding sensation earlier.  It knocks the breath out of you, a bit, as though the pain alone hadn’t been more than enough to do that.

“Fuck,” you swear, and shake your head as you look away.  

“Quite right,” he mutters.  You think for a second that he’s going to continue his irritated rambling, but to your surprise, he doesn’t.  He goes on doing what he’s doing in silence for a good moment or two, and the most you hear out of him is a mildly frustrated sigh.

“Darling,” he calls out to the room, and before you can think to question who he’s talking to, you feel something odd. The sensation almost feels like a blanket of very low voltage electricity settling over your skin, and it gives you goosebumps. The majority of your hair stand on end, too, but as quickly as it manifests itself, it’s gone.  You’re about to ask what’s just happened, but before you have the chance there’s a display flickering to life at your side; a display that looks very much like a digital recreation of your body.  Well — the shape of your body, anyways.  There’s no detail to the flickering image apart from a skeletal system, but even that focuses primarily upon the injured bit of you.  

“Thank you, Dear,” The Doctor muses, and proceeds to examine the image himself.  You realize, then, that he had been addressing the TARDIS, who had seemed to know from the get-go that you were quite seriously injured.  You hear her give a self-satisfied chirp in response to The Doctor’s thanks, and at that, you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“How bad is it?” you ask in a quieted voice — a voice that, for all intents and purposes, says “okay, you were right and I was very, very wrong“.

“Bad,” he says simply, and you meet his gaze with a frown. “There’s nothing punctured and nothing bleeding, but you’ve got two broken ribs.”

You make a face at that.  You had hoped at the very least that you would be able to keep it to one broken rib — or better, none at all.

“Blast it,” you mutter, and then groan when he waves hologram-you away and turns his attention back on your real, physical body.  He moves to rest one hand across the violent blossoms of red and purple and blue that decorate your skin, and for a solid moment or two, he does nothing but look at you. You’re about to ask if there’s anything else you should know when he heaves a sigh, removes his hand, and drags his fingers through his hair in an exasperated manner.

“I’m perfectly capable of multitasking, you know.  One of the best, if I do say so myself. I excel at multitasking,” he complains, and you blink. “And frankly, I’m offended that you would think otherwise.  How long have we been together, (Y/N)?”

The longer The Doctor rambles the more frantic he looks, and even though you know that he’s genuinely upset, you can’t help but giggle (even if it does hurt like hell).  There’s also a tiny part of you that does pirouettes at the way he phrases things; “how long have we been together?” Like you’re an old, bickering married couple.  Even though that’s almost certainly not the way he intends it to come across — because goodness knows he’s never been one to blatantly acknowledge whatever feelings might be festering between himself and anyone he cares about — it makes you feel warm inside.

Together.

“And now you’re laughing at me!” he accuses you, and it only makes you laugh (and by extension, wince) even more. “Really, (Y/N), do you not trust me to take care of you and keep our immediate surroundings from going up in flames?”

“Of course I do,” you tell him, and he drops his hands to your knees, then, finally breaking out into a smile as he kneels before you.

“Then, for the sake of anything and everything good, let me know when you need to be cared for,” he insists, and you snort.

“Alright, alright! You don’t have to lecture me anymore,” you tease, moving as best you can to lay your hands over top of his.  “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

You feel him turn his hands over, then, and you smile as you feel his fingertips brush your wrists, and then your palms as he moves to stand.

“You better have,” he says with an accusatory finger pointed in your direction, and you only grin.  “Right.  Now that I can get on patching you up, I think it’d be best if we laid you down.  There’s not a terrible lot I nor anyone else can do for a pair of broken ribs, but sitting around all curled over in this uncomfortable old seat is going to do even less to help you.  Does that sound alright?”

You keep a watchful eye on him, smiling privately as he goes on about your options, and when he looks your way for an opinion, you give a nod of agreement on instinct.  Your second instinct kicks in soon enough, though, and you make a rather pitiful sound as you consider what getting to your bedroom is going entail.

“Lying down sounds lovely, but getting there is going to be significantly less,” you point out reluctantly.  He seems to soften a bit at that, and he nods his head as he surveys you, evidently looking for solutions to your problem.  

“That’s not a bad point,” he admits, and you sigh softly.  There’s a part of you that regrets not stumbling off to your bedroom straight away; you had certainly thought about it, when you had still been making a significant effort to keep your condition under wraps.  While The Doctor would still have found out (because the TARDIS would have tattled on you, you were certain), it would have made this part of things a great deal easier.  

“I might just be able to make it easier, though,” he suggests, and you cast a curious glance his way.  You don’t get the chance to ask him what he means before he’s coming back your way and kneeling down once again.  He holds his arms out in front of him, then, and looks at you expectantly.  You look back at him, bewildered for a good couple of seconds.  “C’mon, then, all aboard,” he urges, and you blink.

It hits you, then, that his intention is to carry you to your room, and your cheeks turn a very warm shade of pink very quickly.

“Oh — alright, yeah,” you stammer, stamping down the immediate urge to ask him whether or not he’s sure of this particular plan.  The better part of you is screaming at you to shut up and let it play out, anyhow, and in the end you wind up following its demand.  It’s a bit of a process for you to even sit up straight, let alone to rotate enough that you can tuck your knees into your chest, but you manage, and soon enough, The Doctor slips his arms underneath of you and scoops you up.

He’s careful and particular as he tucks you in against his chest, making certain that he doesn’t agitate your injured ribs or jostle you too much as he stands up.  The state of you must very well stifle your own restraint, too, because the moment he has you settled into his arms you lean into him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and resting that way.  The pair of you aren’t physically affectionate very often, after all, so it’s definitely to your surprise when he turns his head and presses his cheek to your forehead.

“You see? It’s better when you let me dote on you, isn’t it?” he says in a tone of voice that’s clearly playful.  You can hardly help but smile, absolutely smitten as you nod your head and bring one hand to rest upon his chest, just below the deep purple bowtie he’s taken to wearing recently.

“Yeah, yeah… I suppose,” you sigh, intentionally dramatic in both voice and attitude.  You hear (and feel) him laugh as he begins walking, around the console and up the stairs toward your bedroom.  

It’s not a lengthy trek, and you’re thankful; The Doctor’s stride is long and no matter how careful he is his steps jostle you just a little more than your aching ribs might have liked. Soon enough, he’s lying you down atop your bedsheets as gently as he can manage.  He takes a moment to brush your hair back from your eyes again once he has you situated, just the way he had done earlier, and your heart skips a beat (maybe two) at that.

“Now that that bit’s handled.,” he says, straightening both his jacket and his bowtie as he gets to his feet. “I’ll be back in a mo.  I might not be a proper medical doctor, but I do have a few things that can help.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond before he’s off, hurrying back down the stairs and (assumably) into one of the TARDIS’s many storage room to retrieve the items that he’d mentioned.   You snicker as you watch him go, quietly amused at the way that he seems so intent on playing nurse. You don’t mind it a bit  — you don’t think you could mind it if you tried.  The Doctor is always busy, both in body and in soul, and to be at the center of his attention is a gift in itself.  

It’s not thirty seconds after you’ve laid your head back against the pillows before he’s back, with a smile on his face and the aforementioned supplies in hand.

“Alright, The Doctor is in!” he announces, and the sheer cheesiness of it startles a laugh out of you (and by extension, a low, pained whine). He shoots you an apologetic look, then, shrugging his shoulders as he gets to his knees at your bedside once more.  “Sorry — that joke never gets old, does it?  I don’t think so, at least.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” you agree, and smile as he begins laying his makeshift first-aid supplies out across the nightstand at your bedside. You make your best effort to sprawl out a bit more while he does so; he can’t exactly tend to your injuries with you curled up as you’ve consistently been since the incident.  It takes an immense amount of concentration on your part not to wince or groan or tear up, but you manage it, and the next time you look at The Doctor, you find him watching you intently.

“I really, honestly can’t believe you sometimes, (Y/N),” he remarks, and you blink. “And that’s a bloody feat, isn’t it?  There’s not a lot of things left in the universe that surprise me.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” you argue without much fight, assuming that he’s still caught on you keeping this entire issue to yourself for such a long time.  You’d already accepted the fact that you had made a mistake, and you weren’t much up to hearing any more on the matter.

“No — I mean, yes, you did! And apology accepted,” he says hastily, shaking his head as he goes about nudging your tee-shirt out of the way as carefully as he can manage. “That’s not what I meant, though. I was just talking about you - generally, yes? Good.”

With that he turns his focus back on the supplies and picks out a particular-looking tube of something or other, and before you have the chance to ask what it is, he’s unscrewing the cap and gathering a fair amount onto his fingertips.  You wince, at first, when he takes the goopy something-or-other and begins applying it to the bruised bits of your skin, but it’s not even a few seconds later that all of the pain you’ve been dealing with begins to subside significantly. What had been an eleven or a twelve on your scale upon boarding the TARDIS rapidly drops to a nine, and then a seven, and then maybe a four.  

“Oh — alright?” you say, your voice soft and a bit high-pitched due to your surprise on both accounts.  “What’s—“

“Embulicaine — numbing agent.  Basically a lot like novocaine, but much, much stronger and a whole lot more effective,” he explains before you can finish asking.  You purse your lips and nod your head; you suppose you should probably have expected that an extraterrestrial first-aid kit would definitely contain a few things well beyond your Earth’s time.  

“Right,” you acknowledge him, watching with interest as he finishes up with the miraculous gel and trades it for what looks like a very large gauze pad,  which he proceeds lay across your ribcage.  He then gathers a wet washcloth to pat the thing down with, and to your surprise, it seems to adhere to your skin with that alone.  You shake your head a bit at that, smiling an awed smile as you admire both his work and the the supplies itself.  You look away a moment later, though, in favor of laying your head back into your pillows and closing your eyes.

You don’t expect him to elaborate upon what he had said earlier, not exactly — he’s not one to open up and be vulnerable at any capacity, and forcing it upon him usually doesn’t get you very far.  To your surprise, though, he rounds back on the subject of his own accord, a minute or so later.

“What I meant when I said I couldn’t believe you was — well. Just that. You’re human. So human. But you’re always going and acting like so much more — like no one I’ve ever met before, putting everything and everyone else before yourself,” he comments, and you have to fight the urge to open your eyes up wide and turn your startled gaze on him that second.  If there’s one thing you’ve learned in all your time with The Doctor, it’s that he can be a bit like a caged animal with his feelings, and if you rattle the bars, he’s likely to shy away or bite.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” you muse, opening your eyes and looking up at the ceiling for a brief moment. You close them again as you speak your next words, however, doing what you can to look and sound as noncommital as possible. “I think that sounds a little bit like someone else I know.”

You hear him scoff at that. The next thing you feel is his hands smoothing over the bandage as he finishes up applying it, followed moments later by a shock of cold that makes you suck a breath in through your teeth.  

“Well, you aren’t wrong, but that’s not the point,” he supplies, and it’s then that you turn your gaze back on him.  A smile plays on your lips as you watch him, no longer working, but instead looking intently down at the ice pack (the thing you assume is an ice pack, anyways) as he speaks. “You’re bloody strong, (Y/N), that’s what I’m saying.  And it well and truly shocks me all the time.”

A rosy color heats up your cheeks for the second time in an hour as you process his comment, and the intensity of it only grows as he looks your way and smiles an unusually vulnerable smile.

“And while I’m very much not in support of this hiding-potentially-life-threatening-injuries-from-The-Doctor idea, I’m also unbelievably proud of who and what you are,” he concludes, and to say that you were overcome with butterflies and gratitude and unabashed happiness in the moment would have been putting it incredibly lightly.

“Thanks, Doctor,” you say softly, and he nods his head, shying away once more in favor of gathering up his first aid supplies and dumping it all back into a pile on your nightstand.

Not much is said for a good few moments, but you don’t mind; it’s a good opportunity to take it all in — the day’s events, the overall state of you, The Doctor’s rare openness... it’s all quite overwhelming, as a whole, and a moment of quiet is exactly what you need.

And The Doctor seems to agree, because as soon as he has things sorted, he kicks off his shoes and rounds the bed.

“Right then,” he says as he rolls onto the mattress next to you. He shuffles up behind you, careful as ever as he cuddles right up with one long arm slung over your shoulders.

It’s a pleasant surprise, and you raise an eyebrow as you turn your head as well as you’re able to look at him.

“What’s all this?” you ask. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not complaining, but—“

“Next of The Doctor’s orders. Now hush,” he insists, and you snort.

“Alright, alright,” you muse, and settle in once more.

“As proud of it as I might be, all of your bravery scares the hell out of me sometimes,” he reasons, and you laugh softly.

“Fair enough,” you murmur.

It may be unusual of The Doctor be quite so clingy, but you’re not about to deny him.  And, well… it was doctor’s orders after all.

[glumpiglet]

Reassurance (Beetlejuice x F!Reader)

Uh.. Hi..Its a me..a humble fic writer joining the massive phenomenon that has been the obsession with our fav feral ghost boi. I’ll write a more in depth first post but basically yeah...I just wanted to contribute and uh I’ll be happy to take any tips or comment..Long time tumblr reader..First time tumblr writer.

Basically there was a prompt post by @boopeen that had angst and fluff prompts so I’m like.. maybe I’ll take one from each list and then this was born.

CW: Bit of swearing, slightly smutty, bordering on NSFW. A mention of Daddy!kink.

Thanks guys <3 I love this fandom

Angst: "no, you're wrong, and here's why."

Fluff "that means a lot, thank you.”

This was the part you were dreading. Glancing at the clock, you noticed it had been an hour since you started getting ready. Not that there was any worry though, the friend picking you up was always late. You had sat at your vanity and painted your face flawless. Fussed with your hair enough to have it the way it looked best tonight, had even put in the dangling earrings, and now just were standing still, bra and panties, hands on your hips, staring at a steadily growing pile of clothes on the bed. Options were running out..  

It wasn’t like fashion was never a strong suit. All your life you had been outwardly confident. Sure, you knew what looked good on other people, you had very fashionable friends that always turned to you for advice, but had been weary of things actually on you. 

Why did you bother buying any of this crap? You hated most of it. Only a few choice outfits would make your rotation. The rest of it was either stuff friends pressured you into buying, or things that might have fit better last year, but people weren’t lying when they said being in a relationship could cause you to gain weight. 

Especially when said boyfriend was the spoiling, gluttonous little demon boy you called lovebug. 

Speaking of the devil, your eyes caught a green blur of movement before your body was scooped up in a tight embrace. Beetlejuice had no patience. 

Even as he had strolled out of your bedroom earlier, claiming to be going to watch some t.v, ‘leave you to that girl stuff babes.’ You had seen him outside your room, peeking in, trying and failing miserably to be sneaky. It wasn’t that he wasn’t invited in or anything, but he was silly your ghost demon boyfriend. It was his attempt at giving you ‘space’. 

He knew he got especially clingy when you were going out.

If he had it his way you’d never leave the house. All his all the time. After many conversations, some louder and angrier than others, you had both come to a happy medium of trust and honesty. 

Of course life wasn’t perfect. 

Beetlejuice was impulsive, chaotic and emotional. 

You were stubborn, dramatic and forceful. 

The two of you butted heads just as much as you made up, but you knew your relationship wasn’t ‘toxic’. If anything your relationship had only been getting stronger. Your demon boyfriend was very understanding that you couldn’t live your life that way, a breather stuck with the dead all the time, as sweet as he might make it sound. 

But you did want him around, no debating that. 

“Changing your mind, babes? Can’t blame ya, you know I’m much better company,” Giggling at his scruff tickling your neck, along with his sloppy tongue. You caressed his arms as you left his embrace, wiping at his saliva and went for your closet. Distraction could not win, tempting as it was or not. 

Maybe you could wear the jeans you recently bought with that blouse you got for Christmas….Except you needed to put on your bodysuit for the blouse, it was too see through..Where was that thing?

Your backside was burning with Beetlejuice’s intense gaze as you rummaged into your closet. Wanting to be a bit cheeky, pun intended, you shimmied your hips and said saucily, “Sorry BJ. I haven’t changed my mind. Just trying to figure out what to wear,”

Seduction attempts were honestly quite easy with your boyfriend. It literally took almost nothing to get Beetlejuice going. You had even seen him get aroused by you making a sandwich.

“You licked the knife, babes.” Had been his excuse.

No complaints though, you were a woman in your prime. Humming in pleasure, you felt your hips get taken by chilled hands, caressing across the fabric of your underwear and backside, straight up massaging your ass.

“Mmm...Put on that black dress you know I love.” You crinkle your nose at his suggestion. His touch was wanted, his opinion..Maybe not so much. 

“Ugh, I wear that all the time.”

“Why are you being so picky? Trying to impress someone?” Chuckling softly, you had to commend him for trying to not sound suspicious. You knew Beetlejuice too well, turning around to see the tell-tale red tint beginning to come through his hair. You spare him a wilted look. 

On the tip of your tongue you had “yeah my other boyfriend.” But since the incident, you had been more diligent to think before you spoke with Beetlejuice. 

You had a habit of speaking before thinking, and before Beetlejuice you had no intention of ever curbing the reaction. But as with so much, he changed your view. Not because you had to walk around on eggshells with him, but you were getting to know his insecurities better, and respected that he didn’t like you making jokes like that, even if they were jokes.

There were other ways to be a brat.

Tilted your head, throwing over your shoulder, you whispered, “Don’t be silly. You know you’re the only one for me…..Daddy.”

No one, however, could say you didn’t know how to push his buttons. Beetlejuice purred like an alleycat. Luckily you hadn’t put on your lipstick yet, so you were okay to play a little.

Cupping his chin sweetly, you pulled him down to press your lips gently. Taking the lead, he was obviously giving you the reins, turning around fully to grab at his hair. Parted lips sucked and pulled against each other. 

Beetlejuice was holding back very well, good boy that he was. There was no choice but to reward him by scratching and pulling at his once again changing hair, not even having to look to know it would be bright pink this time. 

Your demonic mood ring growled and preened, more so like a beast than any sort of man.  

Not wanting to get too mussed up, regrettably you pulled back, trying not to laugh at his face following yours, lips pouted and eyes still closed, a dazed expression on his face. These were the moments you craved. Those soft, sweet moments you lulled him into with all of his chaos and craziness. That little ol’ you could bring this powerful being into your submission. 

Waiting until his eyes drifted open, all smiles you continued.

“Now please let me get dressed,” Kind enough to guide your love drunk boyfriend back to sit on your bed, you reevaluated the choices in the pile. Okay, these were the things you wore enough to consider them passable…...

“How about this one?” You considered the modest, billowy item he held, deciding to humour BJ, putting your arms through the holes of the dress he was holding. Laughing as he awkwardly stuck your head in, not knowing how to drape it on, you helped him happily.

Standing at the mirror, swaying, imagining how you’d look in this after a few hours in a smoky, hot club. 

“That looks great, babes! I don’t think I’ve seen you in this,”

Your critical eye still caught the flaws.

“I can see my rolls in this,”

“So? I love your rolls,” Beetlejuice joined you in the mirror, locking golden eyes with yours, a predator’s gaze. He grasped at your waist, across your problem areas with fervour. You scoffed and tore the dress over your head, throwing it unceremoniously back into your pile of shame. Beetlejuice, not deterred,  continued his search with glee, seemingly happy to be helping. It coincidentally was helping with your dying good mood. 

You tried not to get down on yourself. You knew you were cute. Had a generally pleasing face. People called you pretty. Being beautiful? Maybe not that far. The idea of being sexxy had never even occurred to you until you had stumbled upon Beetlejuice. You had never thought so but you knew he had no qualms with the eager way he always admired your body.   

“Ooo! Put this one on!” Pulled from your thoughts, watching as BJ pulled a colourful one from the hoard, he seemed to consider for a moment. “On second thought, no. Your tits look too good in this.”

“Beetlejuice!” You squealed as always at his candor, grabbing at the sweater he was holding. You quickly whipped it over your head turning to look in the mirror. Immediately you noticed your stomach protruding, distorting the design on the front. Even this one had become tighter, arms looking like sausages in their casing. That was it. A person could only take so much.  

“I have to face it BJ. Everything I wear, I look disgusting.” The comment tried to sound normal, but you couldn’t stop the anger in your voice. 

At the sudden silence, you looked up from yourself to your boyfriend. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. You guys had never really had a talk about your insecurities. It wasn’t something that happened on purpose, there was no need to ever discuss it before now. 

It was hard to feel insecure with the way he worshipped you nightly. 

It didn’t stop it from feeling like your truth at times, especially when the answers were in front of you. 

"No, you're wrong, and here's why." Grabbing once again at your arms, you were whirled around, trapped against the dresser.

“You are so fucking beautiful babes. It hurts sometimes to think that a gorgeous breather like you puts up with a creepy old guy like me,” Beetlejuice even went so far as to clamp his hand over your mouth, stopping the protest, surprising you.

“But I know you do because you see the me…..Inside of me,” It was hard to not melt when Beetlejuice was being so naively honest. How this demon could be so menacing one moment, and marshmallow fluff the next, it sometimes made your head spin.

“Who cares about the clothes anyways?! Babes, you could be wearing garbage bags with nothing on your feet and you’d still be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole afterlife,”

At your ghost’s praise, the realization of being ridiculous began to break through. You knew that you were happy and healthy, which mattered more than whatever dumb voices whispered.

“I know you don’t see it, it’s just...Some days I feel like I look fine and others…..I don’t.”

Beetlejuice embraced you, pressing his entire body against you. Listening to him breath in your hair, taking in his own mossy, earthy smell, you felt peace.

“Even if you don’t feel it, that’s okay. I’ll always tell you your beautiful...Uh… I mean, as long as you know…We’re...dating.” Any mention of commitment was difficult for BJ. You knew of his … ‘Family’ issues and his fears of loneliness and abandonment. If anything, it made you love him even fiercer. 

He would tell you he loved you, when he was ready. You guys had been basically living together for almost a year. It was clear how he felt, even if he couldn’t voice it. You weren’t pressuring him, you could see how hard it was for him.

Affection and sex were the things Beetlejuice didn’t struggle with, always needing to be touching you, constantly buzzing around your area, trying to steal all your attention. Was he a massive pain in the ass? Of course. But you could withstand his quirks, all for the prize of your devoted bugman. There’s nothing you would change.

Taking his grimey face, you lovingly looked up at the weirdest, and the best thing that ever happened to you, and smiled. 

“That means a lot, thank you.”

[ichigopanhpff]

BNHA Fic: Blink! Ch. 24

Read Ch. 23 | Masterlist

Hope everyone had a good holiday season and a great New Year! The next few chapters will be posted sporadically. I need to concentrate on finding a new job the next few months.

As fun as it is to write “Blink!”, I’ve been finding the lack of motivation to post since it’s not getting much reads. This was to be expected considering it’s not a reader insert and it takes place in S4.

The grandiose ball room was brightly lit with a crystal chandelier at the center, with decorative sconces symmetrically placed on every wall that wasn’t a full on window with breathtaking views of the Tokyo nightscape. Waiters dressed in white jackets and black vests served glasses of champagne, cocktail and hors d'oeuvres to the self-important adults chatting away incessantly with some top tier heroes and other ambassadors. A live 3-piece jazz band could be heard playing to give the party some ambiance. Ren spotted her mom talking with Aizawa and two other unknown faces.

“I guess I should go say hi,” Ren sighed. “Let’s meet back at this spot in an hour, then we dip. I really want that ramen.”

“It’s a plan.” Seri gave her a thumbs up and all the luck, watching her friend walk off.

“Kubo-senpai...” Todoroki softly called. “About what we were talking about before...”

She looked up at the red and white haired boy, her gaze falling more on the cautious side.

“While it’s true I need to sort out how I feel about Ren-senpai, please know I intend to be honest and the last thing I want to do is hurt her in any way. And… I really do care about her. It’s not much, but that’s the most reassurance I can give you at this time.”

Seri softened her expression at Todoroki and sighed, closing her eyes in understanding. “You two really are alike. She’s doing the same with you.”

“Is… she?”

Seri watched Ren’s side profile in the group of adults, looking attentive to their conversation. “So, does she know your story?”

“The timing was never there,” Todoroki said. “But I get the feeling she knows some parts already based on what I could tell her.”

“It should come from you, not from her assumptions.”

“Seri. There you are,” a man’s deep voice called, making her let out a soft, tired breath from her lips.

“The shackles are here in the form of my father,” the owl-faced girl lamented. “See you in an hour, Todoroki-kun.”

And then there was one.

Casually walking around, he grabbed an hors d'oeuvre from a moving platter and took a small bite, immediately grimacing at the sudden taste of freezer burn. Quickly finding a napkin, he vacated the vile item from his mouth onto it and balled it up in his fist. He now understood why both his upperclassmen were looking forward to ramen. Looking around the room, he recognized a few heroes, even though they weren’t in costume.

Was this what being a pro hero is?

Rubbing elbows with powerful people who do nothing but desk work and mindless chatter?

No wonder his father didn’t like coming to these events.

Having other important government people and heroes approach him in the span of half an hour, he politely excused himself and made his way out to the restroom to center himself.

He is representing Endeavor, the number one hero of Japan, after all; he’ll have to be at these events again when he’s older. As annoyed as he was to be here, at least he’s able to get some form of experience from this. Plus, the company helped.

After a series of extremely mind-numbing adult conversations about the current state of government policies on heroes and such, Ren was able to recuse herself to get some air. The moment the door gently slammed shut, she walked a few steps and let out a huge breath while taking off her draped blazer and slid down the wall.

Were she to do this for another second, she’d literally suffocate. She was mentally reminding herself she’s doing this for the ramen

 And it was damn well worth it.

“Senpai?”

She looked up to see Todoroki.

“Are you okay?”

“Just taking a breather.” She patted the carpeted floor to get him to sit next to her, to which he did. “How are you doing?”

“The food is horrible and these shoes pinch my toes,” the bi-colored haired boy groaned out.

“Tell me about it.” She lifted her right foot up to show her 3-inch pumps.

The two chuckled listlessly and sighed, letting the serene silence sit. The two closed their eyes.

“Ren-senpai?” “Hm?”

“If you’re not too tired tonight, do you have some time… to talk?”

Ren slowly opened her eyes to turn her head to Todoroki, who still has his closed.

“Um… sure.”

A short beat soon after, he slowly stood back up and patted his backside off from any possible dirt from the carpet.

“I guess we should head back in.”

“Do we have to?” she whined and slowly made moves to stand. The duo-quirk wielding boy held his hand out for her to grab for support, to which she accepted.

“Unfortunately, yes. They’ll notice we’re missing.”

Standing back up with a short grunt and feeling the pressure on the balls of her feet, she dusted herself off before thanking him. As they turned to go back in, a deep voice called out to Ren.

“Shit...” she mumbled out and furrowed her brows with drooped shoulders before turning to meet three tall and sharply dressed boys who looked older than her.

“You know them?”

“That’s… one way of putting it.”

“Thought that fine ass was you, Takahiro,” the boy with messy black hair and glasses arrogantly belted out and looked her up and down with lecherous desire. “Damn, you filled out nicely.”

“And hello to you too, Edogawa,” the pink haired girl greeted in a terse, monotone voice.

Behind him stood two more boys; one was tall and boxy with his brown hair done up in a pompadour, the other a slender build with his blue hair in a swooping quiff. They were all wearing expensively tailored black suits with their own accessories. “Goto, Hattori. You two look well.”

Hate is often a very strong word she would never use other than on Chisaki Kai; but she hated these three boys with a passion.

Edogawa Ken. Goto Daiki. Hattori Kyosuke. The sons of three high-ranking embassy officials. Having been childhood friends, they were thick as thieves by the time they could walk, talk and quirk. Some would say they were the male counterparts of her, Seri and Tomoe; only difference was they were extremely rich assholes.

Todoroki was quick to catch on as to who they were: The Preppy Posse.

“Heard you got into U.A., Takahiro,” Hattori remarked with a snobbish tone. “Tryin’ to be a hero with that weak ass quirk of yours?”

“She’s already one,” Todoroki stepped in to defend her honor. “She has her provisional license.”

“Oh, my apologies then, Miss Taka-hero,” the blue-haired boy mocked with a bow and chuckled at his own pun.

“Wow, they really give that shit out to anyone nowadays,” Goto sneered and crossed his arms. “The pro heroes must be desperate since All-Might retired, huh.”

Ren quickly gripped Todoroki’s forearm as he tried to lunge at them. He quickly turned to look at her lightly shaking her head, reminding him to not engage.

“You… Two-tone boy.” Edogawa took three steps toward him, analyzing his face. He put his hand up to cover up his right side and focused on his left only.

“Holy shit,” he chuckled out in disbelief and took two steps back. “You’re Endeavor’s kid.”

“And if I am?” His voice was deep and rough through gritted teeth. The gentle hetero-chromatic eyes Ren was used to seeing were now intensely harsh and cold, glaring at the ring leader.

“Bro, no disrespect.” The black-haired boy held his hands up in neutral. “Just an honor to meet the son of the number one hero, is all. No need for the fire, my dude.”

He held his hand out to shake as a friendly gesture, only to come up empty from the dual-quirk wielding boy.

“If you have no more business with us,” Ren quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation, keeping up with the curt act. “We really should be getting back to the party.”

As she spun and grabbed Todoroki by his wrist to make their escape, Akahiro immediately stretched his arm and grabbed her waist, yanking her away from the bi-colored haired boy. She forgot his quirk was Nobi Nobi* and inwardly cursed at herself for it.

This was going to be troublesome.

“Ah-ah,” the messy jet-black haired boy tutted with a menacing grin on his thin lips. “Actually, we have business with you. Personal. Business.”

He leaned in close enough to Ren to shy away to gain what little personal space she could get, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume.

“Ooh hoo, you even smell nice,” he growled out and flashed a toothy grin at her.

He hungrily licked his lips as his free hand stretched around and caressed her backside, forcing her closer to his body and felt something halfway hard press against her thigh. Todoroki was seething with rage.

“Let go of her!” he growled out and summoned ice in his right palm.

“Todoroki, stop,” Ren commanded. “Just stay calm.”

She made solid eye contact with him, mentally projecting him to trust her.

“Yeah, Todoroki. You should listen to her,” the boy jeered with venomous elation. “We’re in the Embassy building at the heart of Tokyo. You let your quirk loose here, your hero career will end faster than you can apologize. Not even your dear ol’ dad can help you out.”

Clicking his tongue in anger, his logical side kicking in to assess the situation, released the ice in his hand.

“What a good boy you are,” Edogawa commended in a vindictive manner before turning back to Ren, leering at her through half-lidded hungry eyes. His gaze then went further down and leered at her breasts, imagining all the things he was going to do with them.

He tilted her chin up at him and spoke softly in his deep voice. “Now, if you don’t want your mom to get in trouble with, say, having your asylum status revoked, you’ll be a good little kitten and come with us.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she arrogantly stated with a matching smirk.

“Oh?” His interest was peaked. “And what makes you so sure?”

She leaned in and whispered, “Because I know about ‘Remedy.’”

The boy’s grin immediately dropped to a scowl. The hand wrapped around her back slipped to the front and roughly slammed her onto a nearby wall by her neck, knocking the wind out of her lungs and grunted.

“Senpai!” Todoroki exclaimed. As he made moves toward her, Goto and Hattori stood in between.

“Not so fast, lover boy,” Hattori tutted.

“You fucking bitch,” he growled out with dark, angry eyes. “How the fuck you find out ‘bout that?”

“Oh, I have my sources,” she laughed wryly through strained breath. Her rebellious hazel-green eyes didn’t leave his and saw panic flicker in his irises for a second. “You’ll let me go right now if you don’t want it leaked by accident at, say, an important event where mommy and daddy are at tonight.”

Growling with dissatisfaction at the fact this nobody damaged his pride, Edogawa crudely released his grip.

“We’re leaving,” the boy hastily barked. “They’re a waste of our time.”

Edogawa stomped off angrily, with Goto and Hattori following not too far behind. Todoroki immediately ran up and held onto her for support as she placed a hand on her chest and gasped out loud, lightly wretch coughing.

“That was reckless,” he scolded. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” she wheezed out and rubbed her neck. “Guys like that… You gotta use your brain rather than your quirk to beat ‘em.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I know something that’ll get him into a lot of trouble. Call it insurance.”

“Senpai… I’m glad you’re on our side,” he blurted out. “You’d be a pain to deal with as a villain.”

“I almost get choked out and that’s what you say?”

Ren could only chuckle as Todoroki huffed a sigh of relief from his lips and slowly drew her into a one armed hug. Her limbs stiffened up at his touch, stunned by his action.

“I couldn’t do anything to help...” he spoke into her shoulder, feeling his hot breath cascade down her arm. “I’m sorry...”

“But you did.” Ren relaxed and reached her right hand up to pet the back of his head, consoling him. “You trusted me.”

Before they could continue with their conversation, they were interrupted with someone clearing their throat. The two turned to see Seri staring intently at them with her yellow and black owl-like eyes with her hands on her hips. She was clearly unamused.

“This isn’t a love hotel, you know,” she flatly pointed out. Realizing how close they were to each other, Todoroki suddenly released her and looked away shyly, remembering their talk earlier. The owl-faced girl then noticed the now formed bruise on her right forearm and red marks around her neck.

“I-I’m gonna use the toilet real quick,” the pink haired girl muttered and sped walked into the bathroom.

“Todoroki...” Seri spoke in a growing dark voice. “What did you do?”

He inwardly panicked as her eyes started glowing and felt his body going numb.

“It’s not what you think,” he calmly explained. “The posse approached us.”

The girl immediately stopped and asked him to explain while Ren was fixing herself up to look presentable again.

“Those bastards...” she angrily hissed out as their friend emerged from the lavatory. “Ren, let’s go fuck ‘em up.”

“We don’t need to,” she calmly replied and went to pick her blazer up off of the floor to dust it off before draping it back on her shoulders. “I got collateral on one of them.”

“What kind?”

“I think I heard her say something called ‘Remedy’?” Todoroki spoke up.

Her eyes grew went wide when Ren’s train of thought quickly hit Seri.

“I hope you took extra precautions, you idiot,” her snow owl friend scolded.

“Of course I did,” Ren defensively huffed out as a matter of factly. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’m sorry.” The red and white haired boy interjected in confusion. “What are you two talking about?”

“Ren-Ren used the Dark Net to obtain her information,” Seri revealed and crossed her arms. The boy quickly glanced over at his upperclassman in shock. “Talk about high risk.”

“It was a calculated risk and it paid off,” she briskly corrected. “Would you rather have me end up being their plaything and calling ‘em ‘master’? I sure as hell don’t.”

“So what is ‘Remedy’ exactly?” Todoroki asked. “And why was Edogawa so scared by it?”

“Our lovely stretchy worm has been secretly investing in overseas quirk-boosters and playing the black market,” Ren explained in a hushed voice. “And here’s the kicker: the money’s partially from his inheritance to which he laundered through ill-gotten gains in other drugs and firearms. I’d say the only smart thing he did was doing it through an alias, but little did he realize the money trail he poorly covered up.”

“So why can’t we report him now and have him arrested?”

“Diplomatic immunity. That’s why,” Seri bitterly spat out and crossed her arms. “We need substantial physical evidence to catch him.”

“Gotta love government loopholes,” Ren irritably lamented and sighed. “You’ll learn quickly not everything’s black and white in their eyes, Todo-kun. As much as heroes think they’re in the right in dealing with villains and doing a service to law-abiding citizens, there are situations that call for dirtier tactics to justify the means. I’m sure Uncle All-Might and even your dad’s got stories to tell you about.”

“And this is the stuff school tries to shelter us from to prevent cynicism from spreading in the budding hero community,” the owl-girl mentioned. “It was inevitable for us due to our upbringing.”

“So why tell me about this?” the bi-coloured haired boy finally asked.

“Because you’re capable,” they both said in unison.

“You’re the type who calmly analyzes a situation in order to decide the best course of action,” Ren praised. “Like you did before with the posse.”

“And you’re well aware of your status so you don’t act brashly,” Seri added.

“You speak too highly of me.”

“You have two of your senpais acknowledging your intelligence, Todoroki-kun,” the snow owl girl firmly stated with a small smile. “Now’s not the time to be humble.”

“Anyway, we should head back in,” Ren finalized. “I’m sure our respective parents would’ve noticed we’re gone by now.”

“Hurray,” Seri unceremoniously cheered and rolled her eyes.

The boy stood by himself for a moment to collect himself from their words of encouragement, watching the two girls walk back to the ballroom entrance. Ren stopped in her steps and turned back to him.

“You coming?”

Rejoining the group, the three re-entered the ballroom without fanfare.

“Ren! There you are,” her mom called and walked up to her daughter, noticing the marks on her neck. “What happened there?”

“Huh? Oh! I think I may be allergic to the perfume I’m wearing,” she quickly fibbed. “Couldn’t stop scratching.”

“Be sure to get that checked out tomorrow okay?”

“’Course mom.”

“Seri,” Ren’s mom warmly greeted and drew the girl into a hug. “You doing well in U.A.?”

“Of course, Aunt Victoria,” the owl girl responded with a small smile after releasing. “Who else will keep Ren-Ren out of trouble?”

“I’m actually offended you see me as a problem child,” Ren feigned betrayal by splaying her right hand over her chest and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Oh and who may you be?” Victoria turned to Todoroki and asked. “I didn’t see you on the video call last time.”

“I’m Todoroki Shouto, ma’am,” he politely introduced himself with a light bow. “I’m here in representation of my father Endeavor tonight as he’s still recovering from his injuries. Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Takahiro.”

“No need to be so formal, Shouto-kun,” Ren’s mom disregarded with a wave of her hand. “Victoria’s just fine.”

“T-Then I will greet you as you wish.”

“How is your father by the way? The injuries he sustained looked pretty serious,” she asked with genuine care in her tone. “I do hope he’s not pushing himself too hard.”

“Thank you for your kind words, but my father will be fine,” he reassured in an almost robotic manner. “He’s gone through worse scrapes.”

“While that’s true, I still do worry about all the pros out there...” The elder Takahiro trailed off and looked at her daughter. “You all put your lives on the line everyday and anything can happen that’ll turn a minor situation into a major one.”

“It’s an occupational hazard, mom,” Ren stated and rolled her eyes. “We’ve talked about this before.”

“I know but I still worry,” Victoria firmly stated and drew her kid by her waist to hug her.

All her daughter could do is sigh, knowing anything she’d say wouldn’t quell her doubts. As conversations continued, Ren noticed something amiss from her peripheral. Hattori came in stumbling about like he drank too much whisky; he was sweating profusely and tugged at his tie to get air, his eyes bloodshot. She quickly scanned the room and the other two were no where to be found. To prevent making a scene, Ren excused herself and stealthily approached him from the side.

“Hattori,” she called softly to catch his attention. “You okay there?”

All he could hear was gagging and she looked down to see his form hunched over and foaming at the mouth. She pulled his collar down to see a reddened puncture wound at his jugular and pulled him up to support his heavy frame.

“What did you take?” she whispered. “Get it together, man.”

“I-It’s a-a-all your fa-fault, Taka...hiro,” he stuttered out and slowly turned to meet her shocked expression. His eyes started gradually glowed red and charged up.

Oh shit.

She pushed him away in time as his eyes shot out lasers that hit the hangar loop of the chandelier. The decorative centerpiece snapped and made its way down, drawing party goers to run for cover as it crashed down with scattered crystals flying across the marble floor.

“This… is your doing, Takahiro!” Hattori huffed out and stared at her with glowing red eyes and shot at her again, not caring about the patrons around. The moment she dodged, Todoroki quickly created an ice wall in between the startled guests to absorb the laser attack. The slender boy roughly gripped his now messy blue hair and screamed, peeking the tip of his now blackened tongue.

She tapped her bangles to transform into T-clubs on instinct.

Seri immediately jumped to her left side and asked, “Hattori, is he...”

“He’s boosted,” she huffed out, watching the boy’s form wreath in pain and clawed at his chest.

“Leave this to us,” Aizawa came up from behind them and prepared his Capture Device. “Help with the evacuations.”

“He’s after me,” Ren stated. “I should take respon–”

“That doesn’t mean you ignore your other duties as a hero,” the ebony haired man firmly lectured and walked past her to shield the three U.A. students. “We’re the pros here, not you.”

Before the pink haired girl could even move, Hattori charged at full speed toward her, only to be intercepted by one of Fourth Kind’s brutish strength from two of his four arms.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, young’un,” the four-armed hero gruffly spoke and rebounded his body back.

“Be careful of his quirk,” Ren warned. “His ability is to absorb attacks and recoil it in the form of kinetic energy through his eyes.”

“You kids and your troublesome quirks,” Aizawa blurted out and clicked his tongue. “Thanks for the intel. Now go.”

Ren knew they could handle it and gritted her teeth. Both Seri’s and Todoroki’s voices brought her back as they ran to assist Gang Orca and Kamui Woods with clearing the building before it went on lockdown. Within the maelstrom of panicked party goers, Ren found the back of her mom’s head.

She was safe.

One less thing to worry about.

Moments later, they were all out in the main driveway of the embassy building, all looking up in hopes of seeing what’s going on. Ren could only wait with baited breath and scanned the growing crowd for two certain boys.

“Ren,” Seri called with a hushed voice by her side. “Goto. Four o’clock.”

God bless Seri’s owl quirk. The pink haired girl gingerly moved backwards to not attract attention and immediately teleported behind the person of interest. He let out a light gasp upon feeling her locking his left wrist.

“Move and I snap it,” Ren spoke in the shell of his ear in a low voice. “You will answer my questions in the form of head nods. We clear?”

Goto swallowed thickly and nodded, with beads of perspiration rolling down his temple.

“Is there a booster in Hattori’s system?”

Goto nodded once.

“Did he inject it in himself?”

The stocky boy shook his head furiously.

“Is Edogawa still here?”

He hesitated to answer and saw his shoulders visibly shake.

“Is Edogawa responsible for this?”

The brown haired boy bit his lower lip and clenched his free hand into a fist, fighting crocodile tears. They were both his friends. He couldn’t possibly out them! A sudden thought crossed her mind: Could Hattori be involved with Remedy and this was a fallout situation?

“Goto, you need to tell me now,” Ren’s growled out. Her patience was running very thin. “The longer you hesitate, the more danger Hattori’s life will be in; he can die.”

The boy finally conceded and choked out, “After we left you, Ken… checked something on his phone. He was pissed about something he read and popped some kinda pills before getting into it with Kyo,” Goto whimpered. “Said something about being snitched on.”

“So he thought Hattori betrayed him.”

“Kyo didn’t know what he was talking about and next thing we knew, Ken...” He stifled his words and softly dry sobbed. “I’ve never seen him this angry before. The drugs he’s been taking’s been making him more paranoid than usual.”

“Do you know the booster dosage that’s in Hattori’s system?”

Goto furiously shook his head no.

“L-Look,” he stammered out. “I-I’m sorry for all the shit we said about you, but please...” The boy desperately pleaded. “Save Kyo. Because I can’t. Not with my quirk.”

Goto Daiki’s quirk is Machina, where he can communicate with and fix anything machine-based. As much as he hated it, it’s been proven useful in becoming the go-to I.T. person in his circle of friends and family, albeit annoying and tiresome. However, he can only activate this only if there’s something wrong with its functions and can’t hack.

Releasing his wrist, Ren said nothing more and zipped away from him to regroup with Seri and Todoroki. She didn’t like the boy, but you can’t fake that kind of desolation.

“Did you get anything out of Goto?” Seri hurriedly asked.

“Hattori and Edogawa had a fallout. Stabbed a booster in him, so we’re on borrowed time,” Ren summarized.

The penthouse windows immediately shattered, raining glass down below. Todoroki summoned a giant iceberg to shield the people from being hurt as they ran further away from the entrance. They saw a small dot jump out with the debris; it was Hattori.

“How are you at using your flames, Todo-kun?” Ren quickly asked.

“Not good enough to propel us mid-air to catch him.”

“But you can get into air?” Seri chimed in.

“Halfway.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

“Seri! You will stay here,” a booming voice rang out. The three turned to see a tall, portly man glowering down at them. It was her father.

“I don’t care what you think of my choices, father, but there’s a life that needs saving right now,” the owl-faced girl angrily snapped. “I need to be a hero.”

“Where you need to be right now is safe and away from harm,” he firmly demanded.

“Mr. Kubo, with all due respect, I need Seri,” Ren cut in. “Time’s of the essence and she’s essential to our plan.”

“Ren, let’s go,” Seri dismissed her father’s request and sped walked away to Todoroki’s side. “He’s too stubborn to understand.”

Her pink-haired friend stood stationary for a beat, facing her friend’s dad.

“Ren?” she called.

“She’s not as weak or fragile as you think she is, Mr. Kubo,” she softly spoke within an earshot, firmly meeting the man’s aged brown eyes with determination. “Watch her.”

Seri’s heart swelled with pride and purpose hearing her best friend’s praise. Rejoining the group, they made their way to the curved frozen structure the two-tone hair colored by created before. The two grabbed onto Ren’s shoulders and teleported them halfway up the ice.

The grayish white-haired girl closed her eyes and took a breath, spreading her arms out as they transformed into white spotted owl wings; her hands morphed into sharp, black talons. Reopening her yellow tinted eyes, they were focused and ready to go.

“That never gets boring to watch,” Ren gushed with a smirk. “Let’s go, Hedwig.”

“The name’s Athena, zippy,” she blurted out and flapped her wings a few times to prepare for take off. “So what’s the plan here?”

“Todo-kun’ll use his ice to restrain his movements and eyes while I try to knock him out cold. Your job’s to bring him down safely,” Ren briefed and tapped her bangles to transform them into T-clubs again.

“How will you get down?” she asked with concern.

“I’ll figure something out. He’ll be with me.”

Seri took a running start and flew up at an incredible speed, causing blow back from her wings. Ren shivered slightly only to feel something warm immediately envelop her.

“Your lag will get bad if you’re too cold right?” Todoroki held his flame engulfed left hand out to her. Ren hastily rubbed her hands and hovered over it.

“I’m good now, thanks.”

“Hold on tight,” he instructed as he turned his hand back. She gripped onto his torso, with his right arm snaked around hers. “I can’t do it like Bakugou or my old man, but I’m gonna try.”

Torquing his fire to near maximum output, Ren and Todoroki blasted up into the air at an awkward angle and neared Seri’s flying form. As planned, he cut his fire as Ren zipped across the sky like a zig-zagging shooting star to get close to Hattori’s falling figure. The dual-quirk user immediately gripped his shirt and encased his body in ice and let out a white breath from his lips. Ren released her grip and struck the laser eye boy at the base of his neck, knocking him unconscious. Seri then swooped on by and caught him with her back with a soft grunt before making her way down to the ground.

The spectators screamed as they watched Ren and Todoroki free fall at an alarming speed. The two strained to grab each other’s hands before succeeding seconds later. Unable to see where she could teleport them to safety due to the blistering cold G-force winds blinding her, the dual-haired colored boy angled his right hand down and conjured ice from his palms, creating a makeshift bumpy slide. They roughly landed on the slippery surface and descended at an alarming velocity. The boy then created an ice cushion at the bottom and grabbed Ren to shield her with his body from the collision. They hit the ice wall with a thud and knocked the wind out of his lungs.

The two heavily panted and felt their hearts pound out of their chest from the adrenaline; their hair a disheveled mess from the wind and fall.

“You okay?” Ren finally spoke between breaths.

“Yes...” Todoroki swallowed hard and gulped up air, releasing a large white breath from his lips. Parts of his arms and face had remnants of ice lingering. “You should plan better next time.”

“Noted.”

They gingerly got off of the ice and back up on their feet to make their way to Seri, who was with an unconscious Hattori by her side. Todoroki walked up to him and shielded his eyes with ice in case he woke up and went berserk again. Moments later, Aizawa and Fourth Kind emerged from the crowd to take care of the rest with the now arrived authorities. Goto could be seen with his parents and talking to detectives. Todoroki melted the ice he used to restrain Hattori before he was slapped with a pair of cuffs and goggles on the gurney before tending to the other structures he made. Edogawa was still no where to be found.

“Ren!” her mom cried and ran at her to tightly embrace her daughter. “Are you hurt anywhere?!”

She released and looked at her mom with a small smile of reassurance. “I’m fine. Todo-kun used his ice to cushion our fall.”

“Never scare me like that again, you hear me?!” Tears were flowing freely from her aged green eyes and drew her back into a tight hug before making her way to the bi-coloured haired boy.

“Todoroki-kun, thank you.” She firmly gripped both his hands into hers. “You were brilliant.”

He shyly looked down with a matching blush and softly smiled.

“It was Ren-senpai who came up with the plan–”

“But you saved her,” Victoria added. “Knowing my daughter, I’m sure she didn’t think that far ahead.”

“Wow, you guys are just on it with the insults tonight,” Ren blurted out with exasperation and crossed her arms.

Their celebration was short lived and sensed something launching in their general direction. Ren immediately tackled her mom to the ground to shield her. Todoroki ducked below and was on high alert. The police and other pro heroes jumped out and aimed their weapons at the hidden assailant.

“You… You fucking told them didn’t you?!” a hoarse voice shouted from the shadows and out emerged a disheveled looking Edogawa. His hair was a mess and his once neatly tied tie disappeared. The boy obsessively clawed at his own throat and smiled manically.

“You bitch, you did this...” he muttered out and dryly laughed to himself. “You’ve ruined me!”

“Stand down, Edogawa,” Aizawa told him and prepared his device in his hands. “You’re surrounded by cops and heroes. There’s no where for you to run.”

“Oh, that’s where you got things wrong, hero,” he tittered out in frenzy.

The boy took out a vile of black substance from his jacket pocket and aimed to stab it into his neck. Ren teleported over just in time to hold his wrist back by force and twisted it far enough for him to loose his grip on the booster. Aizawa timed her moments perfectly and used his quirk to disable the boy from using his.

“Whatever’s happened, it’s not worth your life.” Ren tightened her grip on his wrist, her eyes focused only on his bloodshot ones. “Not like this.”

Edogawa could do nothing but whimper and collapse on his knees, completely breaking down. As the authorities closed in on him, she held out a hand to stop them in their steps. This wasn’t what he needed right now. She released her grip on his wrist and knelt down beside him. Fourth Kind slowly approached her and placed one of his hands on her shoulder, allowing him to take over.

“He’s… fragile right now,” she softly spoke to the four-armed man. “Take care of him.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Not particularly,” she flatly blurted and took a few steps away. “But he still deserves some kind of sympathy.”

Slowly making her way back to her mom and friends, Ren suddenly got hit with an overwhelming sense of vertigo and staggered. Unable to control her motor functions, she fell into Seri’s feathery arms, who rushed in on time to catch her. Victoria and Todoroki followed not too far behind.

“Ren!” The owl girl gripped her friend tightly. “Did he do something to you?!”

“Think I… “She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, letting out a light, shaky breath. “I overused… my quirk...”

“My God, woman. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” Seri let out a sigh of relief and gently set her arm around her shoulders for support.

“But did I die?” she lightly scoffed.

“Part of me thinks you’re only alive for the ramen.”

“Damn right.”

[celestinaruns]

The river valley exacted its revenge--and it was definitely angry

At 4 am on Sunday morning, the sun was already rising in Edmonton. I had kept my curtains open, partly not expecting the light to be streaming in so soon, partly hoping for it because I thought I would sleep in. Silly, really, because I was tossing and turning all night.

I had packed everything I needed the night before. Correction: everything I thought I would need to take on the 50 km course at the Canadian River Valley Revenge, Summer Edition. I had done some research, fully expecting a 50 km trail race to be a whole other monster in comparison to the road marathons I was used to. This wouldn’t be some marked course I could breeze through, after all, and that extra 7.8 km was going to hit me hard.

Of course, even with my own nerves, I hardly knew what I was in for.

The race debrief at RVR was friendly and realistic. It actually calmed me down to hear the race directors tell us that, honestly, this course was no joke. It would be tough--but we would be fine. My favourite part of the debrief was when they discussed how much they wanted their race to be as sustainable and environmentally friendly as possible. No plastic markers on the course--just ground spray and sparing use of ribbon markers in the trees. No cups at aid stations. No single-use material. After spending the last month thinking on how to make my hobby of running less impactful on the environment, it almost felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. But that’s a topic for another blog post. (Spoiler alert?)

Just standing at the start line, I could tell that this was a race unlike any other I had run before. Fellow runners were friendly and conversational, despite the fact that it was 6 am and this was a race. It was very clear to me before we even started running that there was a sense of humility you can’t quite find at big city road races.

And then we were off.

The course started out fine. It was hilly and narrow and very technical, but I was feeling good. And even when I hit my first massive hill and found myself breathless, I reached the top and just stopped for a moment. The sun was still rising and there was a fog settling on the water. After that, with every view I got to see and every step I took, I started to care less and less about my time and my pace. I was having fun, despite the burning in every muscle in my body.

The fog, of course, came to bite me in the ass later in the day. The moisture turned a very narrow cliffside trail into something like a slanted wall of mud that I had to scale, stretching for 2 miles. That alone took me 50 minutes. By the time I got to the end, though, I stopped again, looked out onto the water and down at myself, covered in mud from my thighs down, with a realization finally setting in.

Today wouldn’t be about speed and pace records and other road race jargon. It was about surviving the adventurous trails of the river valley and enjoying my surroundings.

The course didn’t suddenly get easy just because I had decided to run for myself and not for anyone else, of course, but it did become a lot more enjoyable. For those that have never experienced the Edmonton river valley, it’s something else. Almost entirely undeveloped, the terrain is anything but kind. The trails have been shaped by adventurous mountain bikers, trail runners, and cross-country skiers that came before, and a lot of them have their own little quirks. I found myself smiling as I was ducking and leaping over logs, and I didn’t hesitate to use my hands whenever I reached a hill that was so steep it may as well have been vertical.

I paid big time, physically speaking. Aside from the muddy wetness in my shoes and socks, I also had splinters all over my palms and cuts on my legs and arms. I ran out of water a couple of miles before the first aid station, underestimating the heat and the exhaustion my body was enduring. But I made it there, I chugged back some cola like I had never tasted it before in my life, and I took a breather.

I hadn’t opted to drop off a box of extra things at the aid station the day before because... well, I had underestimated the course, despite all of my planning. “Just 50 km, why would I need a change of anything?” had been my thought process. As I stood under that tent, though, my wet socks squelching under my weight, I resolved that I wouldn’t be making that mistake at my next ultra.

Just over halfway through, and there it was! Already, the words “my next ultra” were passing through my mind. I must’ve been going crazy.

As I left the aid station, I realized that I felt... really good. In pain, yes, but I wasn’t nauseous or anything--and that was a big deal. Nausea while running intensely has been a huge issue for me in the past, but something about that race sat well with me. Maybe it was the solid food, or maybe it was the perfect combination of sugar, caffeine, and carbonation from the cola that settled my stomach. Either way, I was bouncing happily along Old Tramp on my way to get a poker chip to prove that I had been to the mysterious trampoline in the middle of Edmonton’s river valley. 

I loved that, too. Not the trampoline, specifically, but the hidden gems of Edmonton trail running, which includes the trampoline-- as well as Golfball Alley, with its audience of golf balls spectating your run, and Six Shooter, with its hidden plastic revolver that I have yet to find (one day). All trash, in anyone else’s eyes, but quirks and traditions that remain untouched and unmoved by everyone that makes their way through the treacherous terrain.

It was when I doubled back on Old Tramp that I missed a marker that cost me an extra 4 km. Not something I gave much thought, though. In a road race, I would have been frustrated at myself for the time loss. I remember being delayed a couple of minutes at Red Deer and muttering angrily to myself for the next few kilometres. Now, though, I simply shrugged it off. “Just part of the adventure, we live, we learn,” I told myself easily.

The race hit a lot of exposed areas after that, just as the hot sun started shining its brightest. I had just gotten my second poker chip on the other side of the river when I found that my water was already starting to run quite low, and it would be a while until the next aid station. Next time, I would get the 2 L hydration bladder, I had resolved. Next time!

In a miraculous turn of events, an unmanned water station had been set up along the route passing EPCOR, by some of its employees. It had been at the perfect time, just when my water was completely out, and that was enough to get me to the next and final manned aid station.

In a moment of inspiration, I filled one of my bottles with half cola half water, and the other entirely with water. For whatever the reason, the cola had sat well with me once before, so I thought it would help me get through the rest of the day. Only another 12 km, after all. Hardly anything in comparison to what I had just run.

Once I had my fill of some fruit and got some of my more painful splinters out, I was off once more. Again, there was an unmanned aid station along the trail where I filled up on my cola and water. It was set up by a man and a woman living in the area, both of them ultra runners, both content with spending the day helping us out. The only other time I had seen something like that had been at Boston, but this was different. I felt like I had the time to stop, take a breather, and actually chat with them. The atmosphere wasn’t filled with the same frenzy and madness one finds at packed road races. I could hear the crickets in the tall grass and had a beautiful view of the river. 

That was easily one of my favourite stops, not only because of how kind the people had been, but also because my stomach and I discovered that rice, apparently, sits very well with me in the middle of a race.

After that, the route wasn’t quite as bad. It wasn’t until I finished the race that I found out I ran another extra 4 km by taking a loop that had been intended only for the 50 and 100 mile racers. It was a mistake that many of the 50 km runners had made, though, and in the moment of racing it hadn’t clicked in my mind at all--I just couldn’t understand why the last 12 km was definitely not 12 km.

The route was fine, though, and almost too easy--which should have been the dead giveaway. The last 2 miles of the course brought me into the deep woods once more, traversing creeks and roots and fallen logs with an ironic combination of carefulness and hurriedness. Every once in a while the trail would get closer to the city and I could hear the cheers from the finish line, and then it would dive back down into stubborn and aggressive ravine. My quads were starting to give out and my feet dragging. At this point, my knees were doing most of the work and I’m convinced it was that last kilometre that gave me most of my scratches.

A brutal last kilometre, one we had been warned about that morning. The fastest finish time for it had been 15 minutes. I had taken about 21 minutes, and that alone had actually made me very proud of myself. As soon as I realized that I was near the top, I was scrambling up and running as fast as I could to cross the finish line.

And then it was over, just like that. I received my medal and my free beer. I walked around aimlessly for a bit, too scared of sitting down in case I wouldn’t be able to stand up again. Honestly, I don’t even remember if I got my burger before or after I changed into dry clothes, but I did get it at one point. I also remember defending salt & vinegar chips as the best chip flavour to a skeptic across the table from me. The rest is a bit hazy.

Even at the end, the words at my next ultra were still running through my head. Yeah, I was destroyed. Still am. My legs and arms are covered in scratches. My ankles are bruised. My fingers are still sore from the splinters that were stuck in there for hours. I have a tan line that I’m 99% sure could be turned into a meme, and so much chafing that I had to resort to wiping my body with wet wipes instead of having a full shower. But it was fun.

In the end, my wrong turns cost me an extra 8.2 km. I finished my 58.2 km in 9:21:23 on a course that was intended to be 50 km with a 10 hour time limit. I was far from speedy and definitely nowhere near the top, but I hadn’t trained on most of that terrain. I hadn’t even thought that it could get that intense, so I had mostly, and naively, kept to well-groomed trails. Once during my training, I reached a somewhat scary trail and simply turned around, thinking that it couldn’t be that bad. That trail ended up being one of the easiest singletracks on the whole course. I hadn’t known what to expect in terms of my nutrition and hydration needs. I hadn’t thought to leave changes of clothes and shoes at the aid stations. There was simply so much I wouldn’t have considered until actually running the race.

Despite the fact that I was far from my usual speedy, confident self that people see in a road race, and despite everything I hadn’t thought to do, I still just felt so happy to be there and to have been able to accomplish this amazing, insane feat. My body had done that. And yeah, my time needs work--but then I thought about how slow I had been when I first started running cross country in high school. Really slow. I didn’t quit, though, and simply just kept running whenever I could. Each step made me a little better, and the same thing applies to ultra trail races.

I feel like I’m on the cusp of a new chapter of my life, but not quite ready to leave the last one. I still want to make it to Boston in 2021 and I still have that need for speed that only road races can really satisfy. At the same time, though, I have found something I never knew I needed or wanted in ultra marathons and trail races--or adventure races, as the brutal terrain is affectionately dubbed. I think, for now, the one thing I truly want is to find a healthy, sustainable way to keep both of these in my life.

Most of all, though, I need a damn massage.

[sol1056]

This is a writing question, and you always have good insight. I struggle with writing fight scenes and have read through some of the posts you have reblogged on the subject. As an exercise I'm curious, how would you write the VLD S6/E5 Black Paladins/Winter Soldier fight sequence as a narrative? There's so much action and movement, and the setting is so complicated. Or maybe the answer is you don't? There's a limit to transforming visual media into prose? But probably I'm just unskilled. : /

There are certainly things that are easier to do with visual, but it’s also a rather stifling medium, too. In visual media, you’re controlling everything. If you try to do that on the page, you’re going to fail, especially if you have this idea you should be able to quiz readers after, and know they all agree immediately on the setting, the events, the characters. And truth is… they won’t. They never will. 

So, throw those details over your shoulder, let the reader’s own imagination fill in a lot of the blanks, and carry on into the fight. 

Because here’s the other thing: in visual media, viewer is observer, separated by that fourth wall. In textual media, the reader is the character. In the character’s head, with the immediacy of emotions and physical sensation. That’s where the powerful stuff happens – in the five senses + the heart – not in the technical details of who parried and punched. 

In this post, I’ll break the entire fight scene into its parts, using this edit as a guide for an unbroken version. This is even longer than usual since I did go ahead and write a few segments examples of how I might tackle some parts. 

In the next post I’ll talk about how the internal decision points built on each other, each one leading to Keith’s final decision, at the end of the scene. 

I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a fight, but even when you’re strong enough to hold your own… there’s something just overwhelming about emotion. If the average fight scene means the character’s dealing with someone who wants to hurt them, maybe even wants them dead, that’s one thing. Fights like VLD:BP or CA:WS are on another level: your opponent wants to kill you. Erase you, destroy you. Personal is one thing. Personal from someone you once thought close? There is little more brutally devastating than that. 

If you have to cut back on a fight’s length, cut down on the technical particulars. But do not skimp on the emotional, because without that, the fight won’t hurt. In any other fight, the character’s pain is the cost of victory. In a personal fight, the character’s victory is the source of emotional pain. No one’s gonna truly win this one.  

The other thing to remember about a fight is that it’s a scene like any other.

goal

conflict

disaster

reaction

dilemma

decision (new goal)

Same structure, with a twist. For truly intense scenes, cycle through spiraling inward until you get to the innermost heart of the conflict. You want a progression towards the final decision: goal, conflict, reaction, decision, next stage of conflict. It’s the emotional counterpoint of “I punched, you blocked, you knocked me down, I swept your legs out from under you.” Over and over, action and reaction. 

Alright, let’s break down the VLD fight. I’ve included the onscreen length for each section, to give you a concrete sense of the pacing. 

intro: 44 seconds

First, we get a long intro as Keith follows Shiro’s tracks. This gives us a rough idea of his environment, and like the visuals, the text should stay pretty tight on what’s immediately around Keith. It’s also working up to the first emotional punch of the scene: realizing where he is (all the clones in their little purple cylinders). That emotional reaction sets the tone, putting Keith on his back foot before Shiro’s even appeared. 

first cycle: 42 seconds

Keith states his goal right up front: that he wants it to be okay, and they’ll leave together. Shiro refuses, ergo conflict. Keith’s half of this stage is pure defense, including using his shield. His POV would be trying to dodge Shiro’s blows, get his feet under him, evade. It matches what he’s trying to do emotionally at this point, which is to de-escalate. When Keith is forced backwards, it’s a physical representation of how he’s losing ground in this first iteration of the conflict. 

Keith is forced to draw his sword at this point, but he’s using it only to parry. He’s still on this first conflict of go-vs-not-go. Shiro’s punch becomes the disaster; Shiro’s position has overpowered Keith’s. When Keith is thrown right off the platform, it’s making the metaphor literal of Keith’s reaction – losing his footing, foundation, certainty. 

His reaction is maybe a heartbeat – really short, concrete but simple, sentences here, to relay a lot of information fast. As Shiro follows, we enter the dilemma stage – Shiro’s not giving way. Keith’s now got only a few choices: he can let himself get killed, or he can somehow escape and leave Shiro, but getting them both out is looking less likely by the second. 

second cycle: 36 seconds

When Shiro throws Keith down the stairs and Keith draws his sword again, that’s another decision point, which is simultaneously Keith’s new goal. My guess is that Keith has re-affirmed that third choice (get both out safely) but he’s changing tactics. He’s no longer pure defense; he’s holding his own, but he’s not truly on the offense, either. 

It’s still a losing argument for Keith, illustrated by how Shiro keeps shoving him back. There’s no need for dialogue, at this point. The fight itself is a metaphor for the emotional conflict: it’s no longer only ‘get Shiro out of here’ but ‘keep Shiro from killing me and get him out of here’ – and Keith is losing ground on that, now, too. 

This is where the damage adds to the metaphor. That’s not just a punch, that’s a move that pins Keith for a second, long enough for Shiro to tear away at Keith’s defenses (the helmet). Shiro goes full-body contact at that point, throwing them both off the platform. Again, Shiro’s unmoving as the obstacle, and that fall is the outcome. 

Here’s the point where visual media leaves it to us to fill in the blanks, but text lets you see flickers of Keith’s mental processes. His reaction (to the off-the-platform disaster in the cycle) is to grab the wire, and again, dilemma of whether to keep defending, run, or attack. 

third cycle: 29 seconds

That’s why the camera follows Shiro, to create the surprise of Keith’s decision point. (This kind of rapid but seamless POV shift – and then back again – is one thing that’s much harder to do in text.) This is the first point in the fight where Keith’s not just fighting back, he’s outright attacking. 

Keith’s actions show his emotions (in text version); his goal has gone from ‘de-escalate’ to more like ‘if I have to beat his head in and drag him out of here so help me I will’. Visually, we get flickers of Keith being Galra/animalistic, which in text I’d show by making the narration be Keith’s own internal orders, possibly down to one- or two-word sentences. Keith’s on the verge of achieving this goal when he backs Shiro up, to the point of pinning Shiro down. 

Turning the narration into a telegraphic choppiness conveys Keith’s no longer thinking, only acting/attacking. He’s non-verbal, so Shiro’s counterattack is verbal, instead: “That’s the Keith I remember.” (I’ll come back in a bit to why this line is important.) That breaks the stalemate and now Keith’s on the defensive again. 

fourth cycle: 27 seconds

At this point, Keith’s defended and lost, he’s attacked, and lost. His reaction to having the support beams cut away a split-second after he moves is to recognize that dilemma (he can neither beat Shiro, nor let himself be beaten). When he starts talking, that signals his new goal: talk Shiro down. 

This is the mid-point breather. This is where Keith can see a little more of what’s around him. But his dialogue also follows directly from Shiro’s last line; since Shiro brought up remembering Keith, Keith wants to get Shiro to remember even more (and come ‘back’ that way). Keith states his next objective: he’s not leaving without Shiro. His goal is narrowing down to a finer point each time. 

Shiro’s half of the conflict – “neither of us are leaving” – is followed by this section’s disaster: the station’s power overloading, a signal it’s about to blow. 

interlude/exposition: 16 seconds

It might seem odd to have this pocket in the middle, where the camera pulls away to show the bigger picture of the station. In text, it’d be about a paragraph, maybe two, and it’s a chance for the reader to breathe. This is the last chance for enough description of what’s around. This is where you’d pull back enough for the character to realize they’re hanging out over a steep drop, or the train’s coming down the track, or some other external threat that raises the stakes even higher. 

It’s also where Shiro has some kind of power backlash, and we get Keith’s reaction – that despite everything, he still calls out Shiro’s name. With that, we’re back into this mini-scene in the fight. 

fifth cycle: 88 seconds

This is where the pacing gets really truncated, because the conflict’s at a stalemate. Shiro’s not going along, full stop. Now the only conflict that remains is the dilemma created by Keith’s reaction – that is, that he still sees Shiro as Shiro, yet saving Shiro has become secondary to not getting killed by Shiro. 

This emotional dilemma is represented by the next set of maneuvers. Keith is going through reaction-dilemma-decision at split-second timing, and each one ends in literal disaster. In text, Keith’s internal dialogue would be narrowed down to perhaps a short choice/order, with immediate outcome. Ahhh, something like: 

Keith landed hard on his knees, gasping as he scrambled to his feet. The ramp ended up ahead. Stairs led up. Away. He ran for it.   

The ramp’s supports exploded, sliced apart by the white-purple beam. The ramp tilted, dropping out from under Keith. He slid, grabbing frantically, unable to get purchase. The metal had sheared up at the end, creating a small ledge. Keith landed on it, hard, and the ramp shuddered under him. 

Far above, Shiro took aim and fired again. 

The platform swayed, metal groaning. Canisters tumbled down. 

Keith leapt out into the air, arms flailing. Another platform lay below, at a diagonal. His jetpacks fired, sparked, and went out. He could see the arc of his fall. He wasn’t going to make it. 

Keith lunged, stretching. His fingers caught the platform’s edge, jolting his body violently. Agony lanced through him and Keith screamed, suspended over an endless drop. 

The metal cut into his gloves, scoring his palms. Keith kicked his legs, once, and hauled himself upwards. He squinted, pain blurring his vision. His sword waited about twenty feet away. 

Keith rolled over, pushing himself up onto his elbows.  

(Go easy on me, it was a long day and I can’t do fight scenes impromptu very well.) 

If you look at the duration of each section, the parts were getting shorter and shorter – until this last one. It consists entirely of Keith dodging, fleeing, running. He’s not fighting back anymore, he’s just trying to survive. 

Think about the pacing. If every second visually is about 10 words of text, then the introductory exposition was about a page and a quarter of a paperback book. The first section was roughly the same. The third, a page. The fourth, about three-quarters of a page. That interlude to show the wider destruction was a half-page at most.��

And the readers would need that breather, because it’s followed by two and a half pages of Keith basically at a dead run. By the time Keith collapses onto the platform, this works, because the reader would be just as out of breath.   

sixth cycle: 45 seconds

In this new stage, Shiro absolutely has the upper hand. His goal (as shown by his actions) is on the verge of winning; Keith’s last-minute reaction of self-defense is Keith’s turn to be the obstacle. The energy-sword against the Marmora blade is the physical counterpart to the emotional weight of that exchange: Keith trying to reach Shiro, Shiro telling Keith to let go. 

The key in this part is the tension. The sentences would get slightly longer; keep the focus extremely tight, but incorporate all the senses. Everything is else is stripped away, narrowed down to only the essential – but those extra details prolong the tension. It’s sort of the textual version of that one big punch in visual media getting taken down to slow-motion. It’s not just bringing everything into sharp focus; it also makes the outcome feel like an inevitability.   

Keith’s final decisive act, if you wanted to be extra-dramatic, would get its own line. There’s nothing wrong with letting white space around the words double the strength of the words. (Note also that this is where the overly flashy foreshadowing of Keith’s ambidextrous use of the black bayard back in S3 finally gets a payoff; we don’t need to see anything but the bayard extend into a sword and we can figure out the rest.)

uhhhh maybe something like:

The agony cut into his jaw, skin sizzling as Shiro pushed the edge closer. Keith howled, twisting his head away. Sweat dripped into his eyes, nostrils full with the reek of burning flesh. Shiro’s full weight bore down on him, energy-blade sparking against Keith’s sword. Keith tasted blood, braced himself, and called forth the black bayard. 

It snapped into life and Keith swung. 

One stroke upwards, slicing through Shiro’s upper arm. Enough to throw Shiro off-balance and backwards. Keith climbed to his feet, bayard in one hand, sword in the other.       

Where the previous section was a reaction-decision-reaction cycle, this section gives the conflict, and uses Keith’s actions to demonstrate his reaction, dilemma, and decision, all in one movement. That visual of Keith standing – or, in text, the last line above – implies Keith’s final act, wrapped up in a decision. He will strike back, but it will not be lethal. 

Like the other decision points in this scene, there’s a close-up of Keith’s face, of about 6 seconds (or a paragraph). In a way, this is Keith’s own reaction to the disaster he just delivered. In text, this moment would depend on the characterization. Either they’d acknowledge what they’ve done, or they’d simply observe; in the latter, you’d need to find words whose connotations reflect the character’s state of mind.

seventh cycle: 120+ seconds

The sixth cycle ends the conflict between Keith and Shiro. Now the conflict turns external: human-vs-environment. The big-picture view of the station collapsing is almost thirty seconds (little over three-quarters of a page), and it’s both a breather (Shiro is defeated) and a huge escalation of the stakes (everything is on the verge of coming down). The question is whether Keith can get himself and an unconscious Shiro to safety. The failing station has won the conflict of ‘how to get out of here’, and the outcome is: ‘you aren’t’. 

Here, in text, I would do a kind of blurred jump-cut that echoes what you get in visual media. Short, incomplete sentences – no more than a paragraph’s worth – that don’t resolve into a visual until the white space. 

The central control unit smashed into the suspension wires. The circular platform under Keith’s feet pitched up with a metallic shudder. 

Keith fell, catching Shiro’s wrist. A quick thrust of his blade into the platform, anchoring them. Metal groaned, a guywire snapped. The platform tipped onto its side. Keith clung to the knife’s hilt, grip tight on Shiro’s wrist. 

They hung, suspended over the lower atmosphere. 

The Marmora blade sliced the metal sheeting. They slid another foot and stopped. Above, the station’s collapsing sections crashed together and exploded. Nothing below them except the planet’s waiting surface, too far down.     

Another dilemma; we get a test of each option. They can’t stay there, and Keith’s attempt to pull Shiro upwards only forces them to slide down further. If Keith were alone – if he let go of Shiro – he probably could pull himself up, and somehow maneuver through the falling wreckage to safety. (We’ve seen him do it in S4E1, when the rigged ship exploded.) When his knife starts to give way, it’s escalating the stakes, because holding onto Shiro will drag Keith down.  

That’s Keith’s final dilemma: he cannot save both Shiro and himself. 

As the most important dilemma of this entire multi-section scene, it gets more time than any other, almost 30 seconds (another three or four paragraphs). I’d take my time with this section, because the more Keith struggles against his final decision, the more power the final moment will have: at least a page and a half, maybe a bit more. (And with consistent reminders of what’s above and below, to keep the stakes high.) 

That’s when we get the flashback. In text, I’d do it as Keith’s internal narration to remind Shiro, and himself, how they met. The nuance I’d be trying to achieve is that at the very ending, Keith thinks back to the beginning. 

It doesn’t need to be a great deal, only a sentence for each snapshot image; a paragraph at most. Maybe a series of single incomplete lines. The key is layering emotions on these descriptions, which in text do the work that visual media does with a close-up on Keith’s eyes halfway through the series of images. 

We then get the last pieces of the station giving way; Keith and Shiro free-fall together. But Keith still hasn’t made a choice, and that decision is what’s required for him to move forward. Emotionally, he’s still at the point of dilemma. 

There’s a moment when he sees Shiro’s face and he looks startled; that’s the emotional pivot that text would need to call out, because that’s when Keith closes his eyes and intentionally remembers. Let the reader do the work of realizing what’s going on here. I’m not sure this example really gets it, but it’s enough that I hope you get the idea.  

Keith’s hair whipped in his face, obscuring his vision, but he wouldn’t let go. They fell, arcing downwards and out of the satellite’s shadow. The nearby white dwarf cast silver-white beams, sweeping up Shiro’s upturned face. The light reached Keith, blinding him. Unbidden, another memory came. 

Keith closed his eyes, remembering. 

Another schoolyard fight, cooling his heels again outside the commander’s office. Shiro’s footsteps approach. Keith braces for the sting of Shiro’s disapproval. 

“Look, I know I messed up.” No point fighting it. “Just send me back to the home already. This place isn’t for me.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, gentle, firm. “You can do this. I will never give up on you.”

The thin air whistled past Keith’s ears. His lungs ached, starved of oxygen. And still Shiro’s voice reverberated across the years, as loud as a heartbeat. 

More importantly, you can’t give up on yourself. 

Keith opened his eyes. 

Don’t just end the scene there; end the chapter. This last bit would probably get a lot of revision to get it just right, but this would be my aim: let the turning of the page give space for the reader to interpret for themselves Keith’s final decision. 

The only unambiguous fact is that Keith’s decided with his eyes open. 

next post: digging into what really got decided in this fight.  

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

I’m in Charge

Summary: You and Bucky are fooling around outside when things get a little, *coughs* heated. 

Warnings: Grinding, kissing, teasing, just fun really.

Author’s Note: First time that I’m posting smut, so please be forgiving! :) Most likely there will be a part two, but this is all I have right now. Hope you like it!

Words: 1,106

His cold metal finger gently travels up my neck, then tilts my head up a little. Leaning forward a little more, he presses his lips to mine. I smile against his lips as we instinctively move with one another. After his lips touch mine he pulls just out of my reach, making me lean forward after him to try and reclaim them. He chuckles when I can no longer lean towards him anymore. Instead of stopping, I move my legs from his lap and put them on either side of his hips. Sitting on his lap gives me all the access I could possibly want, but that’s dangerous. Too bad I don’t care. I make myself comfortable by sitting completely on him. Instead of being on my knees, I unfold my legs and let them relax around Bucky’s hips. When I look back at James his eyes are brighter than before and seem to be burning with an internal fire. Like I said, dangerous. He sucks in his bottom lip and runs his teeth over it sexily. I put my hands around his shoulders and cradle his head with my hands, my fingers just barely being tickled by his short hair. We’re so close we’re sharing breaths, but I wouldn’t mind being closer. His hands on my hips just barely squeeze, telling me he agrees.

“You know…” I press my forehead to his and stare into his killer blue eyes. “the whole biting your lip thing? That’s supposed to be my job.” I tease him. Tenderly, he moves my shirt up just enough so that his fingers are against my bare skin. Without thinking about it, my legs constrict around him and make his hands squeeze my hips harder in the best possible way. Something else is hard against me and it takes all my strength not to start dry humping the hell out of him.

“Well? What’s stopping you?” He breathes. I grin and move my hands to his shoulders to push him backwards. Slowly, he lowers himself backwards until his back is on the grass. Before I even lean down to kiss him I slide my hands under the edge of his shirt and slip it off over his head. Tenderly, I run my finger over the scar tissue where the metal fuses with his skin as he watches me affectionately. Now, I lean down over him so I’m horizontal as well. James’s hands make my shirt inch up even more, his fingers splaying out on my bare back. Finally, I come close enough to kiss him. But I don’t. I just take his bottom lip between my teeth as gently as possible and pull until it snaps back into place. James’s hands are hard on my skin and are pushing me down on his crotch. I’m surprised he hasn’t started gyrating yet. Breaking away from his beautiful eyes, I move my head to the side so my lips are beside his ear. I kiss it and he groans loudly, getting me smile. I run my teeth down his ear and nip at his earlobe, making him push me even harder against his growing member.

“You liking this, Bucky?” I ask teasingly. I’m answered with another loud grown that almost makes me blush from the eroticism.

“I would like it better if you moved.” He growls as his hands dig into my skin deliciously. A laugh makes its way out of my throat at that, but dies the second he moves under me. God, he’s so hard. I think he hears the sudden hitch in my breath because I hear him smile and he moves the same way again. A small moan slips out of my lips and my eyes close involuntarily. “How do you like this?” He murmurs seductively, continuing to gyrate his hips into mine. I make myself sit straight up and take off my shirt. He pauses to appreciate the view and I get a moment’s breather.

“I think I like it better when I’m in charge.” I leave him lying there and stand above him. I take off my pants, but leave on my undergarments. I leave his jeans on him too. I lower myself back down and his hands instantly return themselves to my, now scantily clad, hips. He tugs down hard on me, but I manage to keep my head. I move my hips forward and backward over him, adoring how hard he is under me. “Now,” I say, almost breathless from lust and euphoria. “I’m going to get you off just like this. Then, if you behave, I’ll let you fuck me one day.” I tell him. His eyes burn with wicked intensity at my words, but he doesn’t say anything. I lean back down over him as I keep grinding into him with more and more force. At last, I press my lips to his. I press down as hard as I want to, not having to worry about hurting him. He presses back harder, leaving my lips bruised but wanting more. Suddenly his hips start bucking up and I have to break away from him to drag more air in through my lips. As soon as I take a deep breath I move my lips to the sweet spot just under his chiseled jaw. I kiss the skin there, then nip at it lightly.

“God, Y/N.” are the only words he’s able to say and that’s just how I want it. When I start to move faster over him he grinds into me harder, on the verge of his climax. My mouth moves back beside his ear.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum screaming my name.” I whisper and almost instantly he cums, most likely soiling his pants with a huge load. Grinning wildly, I dismount him and get dressed. As soon as his breathing is relatively normal, he hops up too.

“I hope you know what you’re in for later, Y/N. Don’t think I won’t have you screaming my name too.” He assures me. I smile and wink at him.

“I look forward to it.”