#it's not even the main point of this chapter/story/whatever

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Ways I can think of that “DanDaDan” differs from other shonen series:

* Female MC is as important as male MC

* Canon romance gets consistent development through the series. I think that’s part of the reason why the MC ships with the rivals (Aira, Jiji) aren’t as popular with the fandom for once. The main ship is actually getting good development, so the fanbase doesn’t have to make up headcanons to fill in the space.

* Flips the found family trope on its head by having the main group despise new people whenever they show up and they even actively try to kick them out. The new people only end up staying because they keep lingering around to the point that the main group just gives up and lets them stay.

* The rivals aren’t emo or angst-ridden. Aira is a delusional tryhard popular girl while Jiji is a himbo drama queen. I’d even go as far to say that the MCs are the ones who are emo and angst-ridden.

* Supporting cast is more than just important, they become integral to the story. I’d say that the further you read into DanDaDan, the more it becomes an ensemble cast where everyone is a protagonist in their own right.

* World-building is all over the place, but in a good way. Most other shonen are pretty consistent with what kind of world their characters live in. MHA is superhero-based, Naruto is ninjas and magic, Bleach is spirits, and so on. DanDaDan feels like the author just throws whatever cool shit they can think of into the story. That’s actually the reason why I wrote in a different post that DanDaDan reminds me more of Marvel/DC than any other shonen series, it manages to capture the catch-all insanity of those comics.

* Doesn’t rely on hidden power-ups. The main characters either have to outsmart the villains or they have to train to get better with the powers they already have.

* The pervert comic relief guy is actually endearing for once. Not because of his pervert tendencies, but because he’s so oblivious to how socially inept he is that it’s kind of funny. This is gonna sound strange, but he sorta reminds me of Thor in Thor Ragnarok. Full of himself and oblivious to how dumb he can be. He’s Thor without the good looks lol.

* Flips the “nerdy outcast loser somehow gets a harem” trope. Instead of making Okarun cooler than how he actually is, the story emphasizes that the women who fall for Okarun are as weird as him. Momo is a weird outcast, Aira has main character syndrome, Vamola doesn’t understand how to human because she’s literally not one, Rin thought Okarun was a vampire (and wanted him to be).

* Flips the “elderly figure in charge of the teenagers” trope. I don’t really get motherly figure vibes from Seiko Ayase, I get more “cool wine aunt who is stuck with her niece” vibes. In fact, there was the arc where Okarun showed up to her in spirit mode to get her help with fighting off the alien invasion and Seiko’s response was, “Well, I’m not in the area and I have other shit to do, so you kids figure it out.”

* The series takes the piss out of the trope of mystical/magical items that the group acquired to get their powers. I mean…the main mystical MacGuffin in the series are Okarun’s balls.

* Okarun was about to go into an “I’m weak / I wish I was stronger / I want to get stronger for my friends” breakdown, but Turbo Granny told him to shut up and keep fighting.

* Not afraid to put the “cool girl” in as many funny situations as possible. Off the top of my head, the series built up Momo as this cool, tough girl who doesn’t take shit from anyone…then several chapters later, Okarun found out she got a job at a maid cafe.

(Feel free to add to the list!)

[cerealmonster15]

ALSO god kalim's thing with jamil about only eating food made by him always pops back up in ways that confuse and vex me when i'm trying to write fanfic. somehow i always run into that issue and i have to spend forever trying to bend around it lol.

kalim promised jamil he wont eat anything that jamil didnt make because once jamil got poisoned when testing for him and was sick for a long time and it worried kalim, and i specifically remember a few times it's come up

kalim's lab coat story where he and ruggie end up making food together for a party that they wanted to throw that jamil told them not to, and they ALSO had to use the loophole of kalim cooking with magic because i think jamil told kalim he's not allowed to use knives or something lol

either kalim or riddle's generic uniform story - i think it was kalim's? when he and riddle are at sam's shop, riddle mentions that he'll have trey make a tart so he can bring it to kalim's party and kalim's like NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is the point that vexes me the most lol. kalim blease why cant you eat food from your friend

another generic uniform story- i thiiiink jamils? maybe leonas? the one where jamil kalim leona and ruggie are having lunch together or something for some reason and i think the reason kalim is able to eat in the cafeteria that day is specifically because it's a buffet day [i might be mixing up my sources but i know they do say the buffet thing at least once and i have borrowed that for several fics when i couldnt think of anything else lol 😭]

but then im CONFUSED!!!! on instances where it DOESNT apply, like kalim said no to riddle and trey bringing a tart to his party, but then one of the main activities of pop music club with kalim, cater, and lilia, is like, bringing and sharing snacks for the three of them to all share and try together............

so whenever im writing fic im like ok... is this food situation believable for kalim... is anyone going to think about it this hard.... im thinking about it Very Hard.................. am i even remembering the tart thing correctly god i better not be misremembering it

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[pyrepostings]

Prodigal Son

Free Birds and Fiddlers

cw: referenced past events of the story, including character death and abuse. Polite discussion of Christianity (specifically the story referenced by this chapter's title), mild implied homophobia that gets checked

~~~

Kevin settled himself on the starboard side deck, bringing his knees as close to his chin as he could without losing his balance to the waves, and holding his staff in hand for further aid in not tipping over. He tugged at his hair with his free hand.

The others were port side as far as he knew, likely going below now they were surrounded by water, and would be for some time. While he had agreed to come back to Paradis, he wasn't going to voluntarily be be brought below deck again for anything.

It wasn't long before Julian came around the corner, with two bowls of food in hand. Kevin smirked slightly as the otherwise very dignified man had not quite the sea legs of a sailor, at least Kevin had an excuse for poor balance.

"Do you mind if I join you? I brought lunch."

Kevin nodded, forcing out a "yeah" and re-positioned himself so he could wedge his staff between himself and the wall and took the offered bowl.

Lunch was some kind of cured ham, sauced and seasoned, with bread on the side. They ate in silence, washing it down with a thermos-full of tea. It was an uncomfortable silence, Kevin knowing there was much that still needed to be said, and knowing there was much Julian wanted to say but was afraid of Kevin reacting poorly so soon after the tentative peace was struck.

Kevin figured there were things for him to say too, sooner or later, and so broke it himself.

"I want you to know, Julian, that I'm sorry for hurting you. I shouldn't have. I just... I just didn't know what else to do at the time."

Kevin didn't look at the other man, but he felt him shift to look at him.

"I also want you to know. When we get back, I'll accept whatever punishment you decide for me. Just. Please don't tie me up again. Please." Kevin hid his head in his arms, breathing heavier than he was expecting to at that confession.

Julian was silent for a moment. "I meant what I said, when I told you there wouldn't be a punishment. You have to follow the terms of parole you agreed to, but I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

"I know that's what you said but you couldn't have meant it. I know you were just saying that so I wouldn't hurt you more."

"Kevin, I meant it completely. All you have to do is ask to come back and you would be welcomed back with open arms. And you have asked. And so you will be welcomed back. I don't punish for the sake of punishment."

"But I hurt you. I killed Minstrel."

"And I really wish you hadn't. But- you've been punished enough. You weren't in your right mind. Hurting you more wouldn't bring him back, and you choosing to come back is like reviving you from the dead anyhow. I just want you to feel safe again. Why would I push you away now?"

Kevin stared off at the waves before replying. "Is everyone else going to feel that way?"

"I specifically ordered him not to go after you. Both times, in fact. But it was his choice to defy them. And you had made your intentions clear to him after the first. I won't say you were in the right either, but he knew what you were prepared to do, and he went of his own free will anyway. That is the truth, and that is what I will say to anyone who gives you trouble."

"Are you going to make me swear loyalty to you, commander?"

"Mm, I would like it if you did. But I can hardly force you. Either way you would be under my protection. Besides, you already swore loyalty to Elsa all those years ago. No one could argue you haven't served at least a few good years to us. Earned the right to still wear our crest, if you chose to."

"hm. And technically I swore first to Ezran anyway. I renewed my vows to Elsa."

"Exactly, see? You're one of the old guard."

Kevin did feel relaxed by his words, if only slightly. He seemed sincere. He leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes against the sun.

"But I've been gone for so long. Will anyone actually remember that? Or just the crimes I've done?"

"I'll make sure to remind them if they ever forget."

"Thank you, Julian."

The time and silence stretched between them, gently rocked by the waves until Julian spoke again.

"There's something I wanted to ask you, if it's alright?"

"What is it?"

Julian pulled out a file of papers. "I'm sure you know, but part of the agreement to have you released back to us included giving me a copy of your file. Every conversation you had in custody, every note of your actions and whereabouts, of the trial."

"Alright?"

"Would it be ok with you if I read it?"

Kevin huffed. "As if anything in there is a secret?"

"I know, I just wanted to be clear with you. If you don't want me to read it, or any specific part, I won't. I'll throw the whole file overboard right now if you sincerely ask me to."

Kevin arched an eyebrow. "I don't think you'd actually do that. But if you wish to read it, and would truly follow my wishes, you may. I just want you to know... a lot of that- I'm not proud of what you'll find in there."

"I know. That's why I asked."

A particularly turbulent wave sent Kevin off balance, forcing him to extend a hand, and sending a slight shock of pain from where he instinctively extended and put pressure on his wounded leg. He felt a touch at his shoulder which quickly retreated.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Thanks."

Kevin adjusted slightly, not wishing to fall off balance again but also trying to wrap himself against the cold sea wind as much as possible without the thick woolen cloak he had stubbornly refused. He could feel Julian's eyes on him.

"What?"

"It's just- do you want help?"

Was there an air of smug amusement in that voice?

"No I'm fine."

"You look cold, is all. We can go below deck to get out of the wind-"

"No! No. I'm fine, I don't need to go below deck." Even as he spoke, he could feel the chill setting into his bones in a way he knew he would soon regret not finding a way to ward off the wind.

Julian hummed, clearly not convinced but also having learned his lesson about pressing Kevin about things that weren't an immediate danger to his life. Kevin did notice how Julian let his own cloak open. An invite? It was clearly intentional, from the way he shifted to allow more of the fabric to the side where Kevin sat. He wasn't being slick at all.

Kevin rolled his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"You know, we have these lovely cloaks, handcrafted and specifically designed to protect against the cold which comes with being outside, and not up to much strenuous activity."

Kevin suppressed a smirk, suddenly enjoying the game they were now playing. "I know, I used to wear one. Yours seems to have fallen, right- ah right there."

"Hm, so it has. I barely noticed. That probably means I don't really need it right now. Would you like to borrow it?"

Oh, he thinks he's so cool. Unfortunately Kevin had already decided he wasn't going to wear one of those anymore. "I don't need the whole thing, just a corner, I think." He slid a bit closer to Julian, letting their shoulders touch. "If that's ok."

Julian nodded. "I didn't think you'd want to be this close to me."

"Don't get me wrong. We're not there yet. But- I do miss you. I miss what we used to have. And I am cold."

"Mhm. Alright." Julian threw the side of the cloak over Kevin's opposite shoulder as he snuggled in, pressing his entire side of his body up to Julian's, and tucked a few fingers under his flight harness for security against the rolling waves. He felt Julian shift in a way that seemed to be checking to make sure Kevin wasn't snatching anything off of said harness, but then relaxed back into him.

He was warm. And the way Julian stroked his hair, like he used to, sent a different kind of shiver down his spine.

It was comfortable. Sans the hard wooden floor, and the rocking of the boat, and the gulls cawing-

Kevin pressed his face into Julian's shoulder and neck, just above the collarbone. Why did he ever leave? He could have had this the whole time.

With Julian's hand in his hair, and his own fingers entwined in the other man's harness, mooring him in place, he let himself drift off.

~

Julian couldn't be 100% sure Kevin wasn't trying to play him, but if he really did still hate him for what happened, he never had to agree to come back.

Kevin had a long way to go. It was true many of his old comrades turned against him when he had initially lashed out, and most of the rest when news was brought that Minstrel was dead by his hands. And that wasn't to speak of Kevin's personal journey in his own head. Julian knew by now what false peace looks like, how quickly a riptide can pull one under.

But he was hanging on, now. He would have more people than just Julian looking out for him specifically, a whole net this time. People that Kevin helped many years ago. People who were hurt in very similar ways, and maybe that would help more than Julian ever could have done the first try.

For now he smiled at the barely audible snores that started from Kevin. He opened the file still on his lap.

~

Eventually, Quinn came around the corner.

"Oh, sorry, I don't mean to intrude. I just wanted some air."

"It's fine. I was just doing some reading." Julian was suddenly very aware of his hand still in Kevin's hair at his shoulder. Aware because Quinn made no secret with the way he looked at him that was what he was referring to.

"He was cold."

"It's warmer, and dryer, inside you know."

"And stuffier, so you've mentioned."

"Eh, true." Quinn leaned against the guardrail. "I guess I just didn't realize, how involved you two were."

Julian quirked an eyebrow. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Nothing! Just that you didn't let on. You've been awfully reserved with that information, before last night I never would have suspected-"

"Allow me to interject, officer. Neither you, nor your crown, is entitled to know every last detail of our relationship. I will state plainly that I plan to uphold the deal I made with your government for his relative freedom, and any involvement with him will not hinder that.

"In addition, while you are coming along to keep his parole, the laws of Paradis are slightly different to those of your home. Not everything outlawed there is outlawed here. Not everything you know to be a sin is considered as such here."

His tone was hard, but diplomatic.

"Right, right, I'm sorry. Commander, I didn't mean it like that."

"Mhm, of course."

Kevin stirred beside him but made no indication he heard anything. Julian rubbed his head softly to coax him back to sleep.

"I guess I just didn't realize until now why you intervened for him."

"I didn't pull him out of a life of incarceration because I'm romantically involved with him, if that's the point you're trying to make."

"So why did you? You broke the policy of isolationism to fight the courts for extradition. For one man."

Julian watched Kevin's face as he rubbed his thumb gently along his scalp. "I've never been Christian, but a long time ago, he taught me some of the stories from the bible. I imagine you're Anglican?"

"Yes, why?"

"Do the stories change much between denominations?"

"Depends. Exact wordings change depending on the exact translation, but the overall stories and messages should stay the same between, say, the king James version and the catholic one."

"Then you should know the one about the son who goes off into the world, squandering all of his father's money. When the famine comes and the son has nowhere to go lest he starve and perish to the elements, he returns home, groveling to his father's feet, not believing he would ever be worthy of forgiveness.

"Instead, he is immediately forgiven. A feast is held in his honor. The father is just glad his son came home.

"Are there truly no obvious parallels here? He asked for help, to return to my side, so of course I would fight for him."

"Well I suppose, when you put it like that."

And at Julian's side, Kevin curled almost imperceptibly closer.

Masterlist

[pixiesnooze]

i dislike stories that seem inconclusive ??? like idk how to put it but like when stuff is constantly happening to the main characters with no break like we have barely resolved one conflict and we are onto the next like conflict 16 through to 67 are unresolved and you just introduced conflict 69 like lay it to rest im bored now im not even entertained anymore

[midnighvtm4ss]

Rosemary

Summary: Arthur is smacked right in the face with the consequences of his actions as the fate of your relationship is hanging by a thin thread. part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

AO3 link (a better rewritten version of this fic on ao3)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Content: suggestive, angst, hurt/no comfort (for now) probs grammar errors :/

wc: little under 3k

A/n: before any of you come after me, blame the angst on the bad weather not on me !! (plus we both know you love it <3) anyways reader absolutely eats arthur alive in this chapter so grab your popcorns and tissues !! Next chapter is gonna be the last so it’s gonna take a bit of time to write sorry :(( as always let me know if you like this chapter thank you all for the amazing support you’ve showed for Rosemary <33 gif from pinterest.

The sight of Clemens Point camp emerging from the thick woods surrounding its path, felt strangely like the sight of heaven to Arthur, his muscles aching and screaming at him from the tiring day. Between his visit to Rhodes with Mary and all the manual work Uncle put him under in the morning, the only things he longed for were the softness of his bed and you engulfing him in one of your warm embrace. 

Spending three hours chopping wood and gathering whatever material Uncle needed for his mysterious project that supposedly ‘would help a great deal everyone in camp’, proved to be a tiring job even for the camp’s main enforcer, his strength dulled by the biting cold of October and the constant ache of his heart. Each swing of the axe in the air helped Arthur think, his mind consumed by you, trying to figure out what the hell happened for you to act so cold and distant towards him. The image of his darling’s sweet face contorted in an expression of hurt and disappointment at the sole sight of him from this morning hunting his mind, making each swing harsher than the other. 

When Uncle decided to call it a day, Arthur internally thanked the maker above as he felt his patience wearing thin every time he called Uncle out for not lifting a finger to help him while the older man comfortably sat under the shade of one of the tall trees near the outskirts of camp complaining about his ‘lumbago’. His relief, though, was short lived as the memory of Mary’s letter flashed in his mind.

Mary had been writing to him almost every two weeks, since her late husband died she had been writing to Arthur asking for help, him being the only male left she knew, after her abusive father went mad, gambling all their possessions away and his brother ran off. 

The first letter he received a few months prior left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. He was tempted to just throw it in the bin and forget about it. After years of nothing she found the guts to write to him again, asking to save her little brother from a strange cult that apparently worshiped turtles, as Arthur understood. That first letter woke inside him an anger he thought died down. He needed to confront her. So a few days after receiving the first letter, Arthur rode to Valentine, his mind fixed on refusing to help her, yet after hearing her story out he didn’t find it in him to tell her no.

It’ll be just a one time thing, after this he’ll never see her again. He reassured himself. 

But then another letter came and then another, and he felt like a fool for helping her every time. Worse yet, he felt like an absolute bastard lying to you each time he went to help Mary out, always finding an excuse as to why he was out late. His conscience shouting at him to tell you the truth each time he looked into your hypnotizing eyes as you both layed naked in the comfort of your tent, but how could he explain it all to you ?

Mary, on the other hand, knew about you, having heard of you once from Arthur when you first joined the gang, but now she knew about your relationship with him. He told her from their first encounter, quick to not let her think he had any other intentions.

He’d help, sure, but only for old time’s sake.

Although Arthur sensed she wasn’t particularly excited about his newfound love, she respected your relationship, often asking him for updates and lending him some advice. It felt strange talking about you to his ex fiancè but she’d ask and he’d talk, never shying away from an opportunity to talk about his darling girl. 

Finally free of Uncle’s relentless job, he jumped on his horse, riding into town to meet with Mary. 

The town of Rhodes was particularly busy when Arthur arrived, the usually calm town buzzing with life and chatter. Men and women dressed in all kinds of fancy dresses and tall hats adorned with feathers and ribbons, strolled around town. From what Arthur heard from a couple near the saloon, a famous singer from Saint Denis was doing a show in town.

Suddenly conscious about his rugged and worn out attire he quickly made his way toward the general store, where Mary told him to meet her. Something about buying some plumbing tools, she said. Their evening went smoothly, they chatted away as Arthur helped with her shopping advising her which tools to buy and which ones to avoid. As the moon came high in the sky he escorted her to her accommodation before finally riding back to camp.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

“Who goes there!” the shout of Bill’s voice followed by the cock of his shotgun thundering in the night from his usual lookout position.

“It’s Arthur, you moron.” 

As the faint chattering of camp filled Arthur’s ears, images of you began to cloud his mind. He needed to find out what was bothering you. He needed to make it right by you, whatever it’ll cost. He hitched his horse, patting his mane a few times whispering sweet praises that made the horse sway its tail before walking towards your shared tent. 

The camp was almost empty, being close to midnight the only people up were Javier who sat near the campfire, tuning the guitar in his lap as Reverend Swanson chatted animatedly about his past life experiences with a tired Mister Pearson who looked worse than one of his stews, and then there was Abigail who was chatting with you at the entrance of your shared tent. The both of you dressed in your best dresses, the sight of your body wrapped in the soft cotton and laces of your dress making Arthur’s heart race.

You were one of God’s angels, his sweetest and most beautiful creation, he was sure of it.

As you noticed his presence coming towards you, you hurriedly whispered something to Abigail, making the brunette widen her eyes, before entering your tent, leaving Abigail outside, her eyes finding Arthur’s as he came to an alt before the opening of your shared tent, her expression resembling the ones she had after a fight with John. Anger and care blended together.

After casting a quick confused glance at Abigail, Arthur ducked through the entrance, his broad stature making his action look quite awkward. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light that shone from the oil lamp on the bedside table, he cautiously sat down his hat, his expression a mix of confusion and wariness as his eyes found your figure, sitting at the edge of your small cot. The skirt of your dress puffy around you making you look like a doll, your head bowed making it impossible to him to read your face and shoulders stiff, toying with something in your hands. You looked up at him, red eyes filled to the brim with tears that threatened to spill once again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was going to be a long night. 

"Darlin’," Arthur began, his voice soft as if not to scare a small deer away. 

“Don’t you ‘darling’ me,” you slurred a little. He could smell the faint scent of whiskey on your breath, a sign you’d been hanging out with your girl friends.

“Where were you tonight Arthur ?”

He felt his throat tighten at your question. “I jus’ came back from a job,” he unsteadily replied.

"Right, back from your ‘job’ mhh?" you echoed, your voice tight trying with all your might to keep yourself together. You stood up your wobbly legs almost letting you fall, stepping forward, holding out one of the letters as if it were a weapon. "Or back from meeting her?".

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion, and then realization dawned. His stomach dropped as he recognized what you were holding, the sight of you holding one of Mary’s letters felt like a punch to his face. 

"Darlin’, it ain’t what you think," he started, his voice filled with urgency.

"Then, please, tell me what the hell it is!" you raised your voice, making it crack under all the weight of your emotions. You didn’t care if you were yelling, if you were to wake everyone in camp. You were tired of all the bullshit.

"I found them, Arthur. A whole fucking drawer full of letters from Mary. I might not be the brightest at reading, but I know her damned name when I see it.” despite all your best efforts to remain strong your eyes betrayed you as fresh warm tears run down the path that your previous ones left.

Arthur moved closer trying to take one of your hands in his, you took a step back, shaking your head. "Don't," you whispered, voice breaking.

“I went to Rhodes today with the girls, ya’know to clear my mind a bit from all your bullshit, and guess who I found having the time of their lives together ? Laughing and what not.”

He paused, his hand hovering in the air between the both of you. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to dry your tears and comfort you, to explain, but he knew you needed to hear the truth first. "Please darlin’, you’ve got to believe me. Mary’s just, she's just- I’m just helpin’ her out. Her husband died, and she’s got no one else,"

You let out a harsh, humorless laugh at his poor explanation. Did he really take you for this big of a fool ? Was this really what he thought of you ? Tears poured down even more from your eyes at the realization. "And you, what? You swoop in to save her like some kind of hero? What are you mh, tell me Arthur, are you her bitch ready to bark if she told you to ?”

The venom spilling from your words hit Arthur hard, making him physically flinch as your words hit him right into his face. His heart shattering at your sight, you were physically and mentally distraught. All because he didn’t have the courage to tell you everything from the start.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you? Gosh, all this time, Arthur, all this damn time I’ve just been, what? A distraction? Something to pass the time until you could get her back? Poor silly me, thinking I mattered something to you !" Now you definitely woke someone up, your throat burned as you shouted your whole heart out at Arthur, you felt disgusted, dirty even. The alcohol you previously drowned your sorrows into making you nauseous.

You were ready to give your heart to Arthur, you gave him everything. If he asked you the moon you’d give it to him.

And here you were, the biggest fool in the West, thinking you could have a space in Arthur’s heart.

"What, no!" Arthur’s shout was raw, it definitely hurt his throat, you never heard him shout this way, you never heard him shout at you at all. His voice filled with a mix of frustration and fear. He took another step toward you, stretching his hands out in search of your trembling ones, but you stumbled back, almost tripping over the edge of the cot.

"Darlin’, you’ve got to believe me, I'm beggin’ ya” 

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks, Arthur. For weeks you’ve been kissing me, lying in bed with me, you’ve been telling me that you love me while lying to me, for god’s sake ! How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?"

"Because I’m tellin’ you the truth!" Arthur pleaded, his voice thick, cracking with emotion. He could sense your heart getting further and further away from his. He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away seeing the way your shoulders shook with the force of your sobs. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into one of his bear hugs you always loved and make you believe him, but the distance between the both of you felt like a chasm too wide to cross anymore. The only bridge between you deteriorating before his very own eyes.

"Sweetheart, I love you. I always loved you, you’re the only one I care about."

But you shook your head, circling away from him before hitting the cold canvas of the tent wall.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your sobs. "Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that after everything you’ve done to me… after all these lies."

"Darlin’, please…" Arthur broke down, his voice saturated with panic as he saw you back towards the exit of your tent, his eyes desperate as he looked at you. "I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping this from you. I thought- I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would be over before you ever had to know. But I see now I see how big of a moron I was, how fucking wrong I was."

You looked at him, your face twisted in pain, your heart painfully torn between the love you still felt for him and the harsh betrayal you couldn’t shake away. "I can’t do this, Arthur," you meekly said, your voice trembling. "I can’t…I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. Who lies straight to my face as if nothing."

Arthur’s heart shattered at your words. He couldn’t believe this was happening, not again. He was not losing the love of his life again. But unfortunately he could see the resolve slowly hardening in your eyes, the way you were getting yourself ready to walk away. Every cell of his body was screaming at him to find a way to keep you.  "Don’t leave me, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything… I’ll tell you everything, from now on. I’ll never see Mary again, just don’t go. Don’t leave me alone." he finished his sentence, his tone slowly going down to a mere whisper. His eyes filling with tears.

But you were already pulling away, turning your back on him as you moved toward the tent flap. Slightly hesitating with your hand on the thick canvas, your body trembling with the force of the decision you were about to make. If you did this there was no turning back. But this wasn’t your fault.

"I need to think," you said emotionless, your voice hollow as your sobs died down, leaving you with a hole in your heart, "I need…I need some time for myself."

"No, please don’t…" Arthur’s voice was choked with tears he wouldn’t let fall from his eyes. But it was too late.

You slipped out of the tent into the cold harsh night, leaving Arthur motionless at the center of the cold emptiness of your shared tent, feeling the walls closing in around him. The crushing realization that he might have just lost the one person who truly meant everything to him came down on him at once making his head spin.

Alone in the darkness, Arthur finally let the tears fall, each one a silent plea for a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

––––– ✧ ✦ ✧ –––––

You needed to get away from him, to get away from everything right now. You felt that if you were just a second more inside that tent you’d take him into your arms, begging him to never let you go. But you couldn’t.

He lied to you, you didn’t care about Mary, about his secret rendezvous with her. He lied to you. That’s all you could think of.

Realizing that Arthur could easily follow you in camp you decided to completely get out of camp. You needed space, from him, from everyone. You just wanted to be alone.

Venturing into the woods at night wasn’t the smartest choice you’ve made per se, but a small ounce of alcohol was running through your veins still and you decided to blame it for your poor choice.

The moonlight shone brightly, illuminating faintly your surroundings, the harsh chill of the midnight weather biting your exposed hands as you once again forgot your gloves.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as more tears threatened to spill from your tired eyes, you were near the clearing you and Arthur found out a few weeks ago, in need of some privacy when your mouths were chasing each other and his hands, warm and calloused, explored your exposed back, your touches burning with raw desire.

The memory of that night burned in your heart when suddenly you heard a twig snap. You turned towards the direction of the sound fear taking over you, shaking every cell in your body. You were physically and emotionally drained, you didn't have a gun with you, not even a knife. The only thing left to do was pray it was just a fox wandering around.

And then you felt it, a sharp burning pain in the back of your head, kicking the air out of your lungs.

The last thing you saw was the forest floor.

Before darkness took over you.

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 5.

"But about your mom, could you tell me about her? She sounds like a really nice lady." Is what you asked.

Because you couldn't help but be a little curious. This is so alien to you that the idea of Deuce loving his mother in a completely wholesome way sounds so outlandish in a world of obsessive love is so hard to comprehend that you can't help but be interested.

Deuce's eyes light up like fireworks at your question. Sure, you might be endearing yourself to him more like this, but still, your pickings on information in this world are kind of slim, so you'll take whatever you can get.

Especially considering the bad ending of this misadventure ends with you sending the rest of your life as someone’s possession.

"Y-You want to hear about her?" Deuce's eyes light up at you, wanting to talk about his mother.

"If you want to." You repeat with the same enthusiasm.

"W-well, she's amazing. She works really hard and...." Deuce's speaks enthusiastically about his mom and all the fond childhood memories he has of her. All the way back to Sam's shop to get another carton of eggs, and all the way back to Main Street. It's shockingly normal, the stories he tells about her, and it has to be one of the sweetest of things you've witnessed thus far.

Until you remember the fact that means Deuce had a relatively normal mother-son relationship, meaning his yandere behavior was caused by something else or, even worse, is intertwined in his very being.

Back on your world, usually, people who became obsessed with someone to the point of doing horrible acts to keep someone to themselves had some sort of trauma or past relationship that pushed them into doing such horrible things.

But so far, everyone that you met was moderately normal. They acted in a way that was completely normal or had some quirks that were somewhat normal in your world. Like Cater's social media addiction, for example.

If they are normal, does that mean that they, no, does that mean that everyone here was just born this way? And they just accepted this behavior was normal? There has to be something more to it, right?

You're struck with a thought as Deuce is talking. He hasn't told you about his dad yet. That's not to say that it's wrong that he doesn't have a dad. It's just for a world that romanisticises a love life and marriage that never ends even when one side of it really, really wants to, it's odd that Deuce's mom is a single mother. Did her darling pass away or something?

Well, it's a question you'd like answered. Because maybe it will answer your other question. The death of a parent is deeply traumatic for a child and can maybe a way to explain the growing madness of the world you're in. So, there is no time like the present to ask.

"Uh, hey, Deuce," you say, and he’s quiet, ready to hear whatever you have to say. You swallow roughly, you hope that this won't go wrong,"... I know that this might be a difficult topic, but....how do you feel about your dad?"

The small smile on Deuce's face sours immediately. You can see anger in his eyes, as if the very reminder of his father's existence is capable of working him up into a fury. Ok, so that was a sore subject.

You quickly backtrack, "I'm sorry if that was a sore subject-"

He shakes his head, but the silent rage that you'd seen before is back as he explains, "I never met him, and he should be grateful I never did."

Shit, were you right in thinking that Deuce's dad was a darling. Had he run away, and Deuce hated him for breaking his mother's heart!?

"You must hate him a lot, huh?" You say uneasily. Given Deuce's delinquent days, he probably would have no qualms killing his father if he got the chance.

"More than anything. After how much he hurt my mom..." he trails off, voice deep with anger.

"How does that work? I thought darlings were the powerless ones, how did he hurt your mom?" Now Deuce is the confused one, he gives you a funny look.

"Prefect, I think you're confused."

"What? But I thought-"

"_____, my mom's a darling...."

Wait, that's possible!? "B-but I thought -" You had thought that darlings basically had no say in how their lives went once in captivity. So wait, if Deuce's mom is a darling, then his dad is...."Oh. Oh! So you hate your dad because of what he did to your mom?"

When Deuce nods, you can feel a rush of relief. So a life in captivity isn't the end all of all darlings and it is possible, and more importantly legal, to escape yanderes. Thank the Seven for that one, and apologies to Deuce's mom for the misunderstanding.

Now, all you have to do is figure the escaping part out before you're saddled with a child. If things get that bad, at least.

"So, wait, how does that work? I thought darlings had to stay with their yanderes?"

Deuce shakes his head, "We're from the Queendom of Roses, and they're pretty strict about that stuff so.....wait, is it not the same in your world?"

"What? No, why?" You say almost automatically. Your world has to be the farthest thing from this one.

"It's just -" He trails off before changing his words,"I've been wondering if your world is anything like ours... But do you not have darling laws in your world?"

"Well...." How can you put this in a way that can't be misunderstood? Your world doesn't believe in whatever psychotic idea this world bases their love lives on. So how can you say it that won't make you sound like a darling.

Maybe you could be honest. Or at least, sort of.

"Well, to be honest, my world doesn't really like the whole darling thing. They think it's abusive."

Deuce looks completely flabbergasted, as if you told him something incredulous. "But that’s not true!"

"But they think it is, besides in a way I kind of get it."

Now he looks confused. "What do you mean?"

"Deuce, would you do anything that your dad did to your mom to your future darling?"

"No." He says, completely serious. "I never would."

Well, it's time to crush that idea. "But what if you did it on accident? Maybe you might think that you're protecting them or loving them, but you’re actually hurting them unintentionally.....Do you really want to risk that?"

His serious look on his face falters, and you don't let up. "B-Back in my world, all the stuff you learn about Darlings is illegal. So we're not allowed to do anything to get them no matter how much we want to. It's because everyone thought our treatment of them was too harsh, so they made it illegal."

"But that's not fair," He argues, "what about-"

You aren't going to let him talk about how bad it is for the kidnappers and abusers, maybe a change in perspective will help your argument. "It's not really fair, but I get it. I wouldn't want to be stolen from my family and be forced to love someone else. Would you?"

The look he gives you is conflicted. He's, at the very least, considering what you said.

Is there a chance?

The slightest chance that he can be persuaded out of his yandere ways? Does he care about his future darling want to even risk making her unhappy?

"Prefect?"

"Yes, Deuce?"

"If I-" His eyes avoid yours as he rephrases, "If you were my darling, would you hate me for doing that to you? Taking you away from your friends and family?"

That was- that was one hell of a hypothetical.

Did he know about your status, or is he just using you as an example? Either way...."Would you hate me if I did that to you and your mom?" You dodge the question. You were always going to dodge that question. You were no darling, no matter how much this world says otherwise.

"But pre- _____," Deuce pushes you for a response, as if he needs one to live the rest of his life, "Would you hate me?"

"I would." You say point-blank. And it's the truth. He turns away from you, not wanting to meet your eyes. Still, you're prepared to rub salt into that wound. You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze. If he feels guilty, then good. Feel guilty. If he was considering it. Then now he probably won't. And he turns back to you "But you wouldn't do that to me, would you? After all, you're my friend Deuce."

He doesn't reply. Out of guilt, or contemplation. You don't care. And if it fixes him, then you need to be mean about it.

"C'mon, Ace is probably wondering where we are." He nods, still silent.

Maybe there's a chance that you can fix them, just maybe.....

....you weren't cut out to be a baker.

After another grueling hour of making and topping that gargantuan tart, your arms hurt so badly that they felt like falling off. A whole day of exercise is going to make you real sore tomorrow.

How Trey did this for his dorm without pay, you don't understand. Because you didn't even want to do this and you don't even get to eat this delicious looking tart. Thanks again, Ace...

"Finished!" The victory cheer that Ace and Grim let out is the polar opposite of Deuce's.

"Fin..ished." You can't tell if this depressed cheer is because of all the hard work you've had to do, or because of that conversation you had on the way here.

"Did something happen to him while you were shopping?"

"He's still in shock." Oh, probably because he had his whole world being being flipped. But since he clearly loves his mother, you were a little surprised that he was this upset from it. The truth hurts, but it's probably for the best that you let that stab wound scab with a extra helping of salt. "Better let him work through this one himself."

"For sixteen years, I was so sure...." And for sixteen years, you were lied to. If that's what he was talking about.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm pretty beat. Making tarts sure takes it outta you."

"Yes, and now we can just give this to Riddle, and this headache is over." And it'll probably won't, cause life is such a dick.

"Hey fam!" And you were right. Another headache comes into the kitchen. Yay! "You look wrecked. Are the tarts done?"

"Ooh, those look sooo cute. Lemme snap a quick pic for Magicam!"

"Wa-" You don't even have a chance to move out of the frame before the bright flash goes off. Again.

"What, NOW you decide to show up?"

"I just came to see how hard my little newbs were working." Or to reap the rewards of all your hard work. But out of everything this could be much worse.

"It's tough work if you're not used to it. But there's no better cure for the ails of fatigue than something sweet from the oven!"

"Ooh finally!" You cheer, clapping your hands. Out of everything you went through in one day, something good will finally come all this BS.

"Pretty funny how you managed to show right when it was ready to eat, Cater." Free food means you don't are about Cater's shenanigans. Unless he takes too much then you're going to be mad.

"Mmm...That smells so good!" For what feels like the first time today you actually agree with Grim.

You take your first bite, and you feel like you've been set on cloud nine. It's delicious. Light, creamy, sugary and nutty. If this world's priorities weren't ass backwards you would consider staying just to try all the desserts it had to offer. You can't help the little jumps you make as you take your second bite.

"Rich in flavour, yet not too sweet...It's like chestnuts are dancing across my tongue!"

"Is that...a good thing?"

"Of course, it is! What I've give to eat these forever!" You say, dreamily. No wonder Riddle threw Ace out. You would've if they ate one of your tarts and they tasted like this.

"Oh, Trey! You gotta do the thing." Wait, what was Cater talking about?

"What thing?" You ask mid-chew.

"Oh...that thing." Ok, now you're spooked. What thing?

"Uh, Wanna fill me in here?"

"What's everyone's favorite food?" Kay. Weird thing to say after a mystery thing enters the chat. Wait now Cater's got you doing it, damn it.

Ace, Deuce and Grim all list off their favorite foods, "What about you, _____?" You respond in turn, with your favorite food, still what does that have to do with-

" All right, you've got it.....Let's 'Paint the Roses'!" A spark of magic goes off, but otherwise does nothing.

Regardless, you hit with another wave of deja vu. A set of clubs, and specifically, the three of clubs had been painting the roses red in your dream. So why was your dream connecting with real life?

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"Take another bite of your tart and see." You, hesitantly, take a small bite of your tart. But you don't taste the chestnuts, or the cream, or the even the sugar.

You taste home. You taste the birthdays you had with this on the menu. The sad nights where this was the only thing that could cheer you up. That one restaurant that made it perfectly and the nights you tried and failed to recreate it in your kitchen. It's so perfect it brings tears to your eyes.

The taste reminds you of home. A home you can't go back to. That has your friends and family waiting for you. Oh seven, are they looking for you? Are they worried? Are they panicking because you're gone? Even if they saw you leave, who the hell would believe a magic carriage poofed a kid out of the known universe?!

"_____? You're crying..." You instinctively reach up and wipe it away, you really were crying.

"S-Sorry, it really is my favorite food and....and it tastes like home." You say with a sad smile. "H-How did you do that?"

"It's my signature spell. Technically, it's 'overwriting characteristics'. I can change taste, color, smell and whatever. It only lasts for a little while." Well that's both cool and dangerous. Cool, because you can change so many things for a short time. And dangerous, because that whatever is carrying a ton. Does that mean he can change the characteristics of a person? Or a completely erase something from reality for a while? Curiouser and curiouser. "But it is kinda like covering up the real thing hence, 'painting'."

"If I had magic like that, I could be eatin' canned tuna every meal of every day!"

"You would do that, wouldn't you, Grim?"

"That's way better than Riddle's stupid collar magic."

"You love tempting fate, don't you Grim. The last thing we need right now is him popping outta nowhere again." You scratch your fingers through his fur, with a chuckle.

Trey doesn't seem to agree with Grim's compliment, "Oh, Riddle's magic's in a whole other league. His signature spell is a weapon. Mine's just a childish prestidigitation."

Is he insecure about it, or something? His magic is pretty cool, and the only reason you're really afraid of it is because of the fact that changing characteristics is pretty broad.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. Yours is cool in your own way. His is just a little.....dictator-y."

Trey smiles at you, "Thanks, _____." Well, isn't that great. Now all we have to do is-

"Speaking of Riddle-it's too late to give him these now. Let's call it a day and do it tomorrow." Spoke too soon. Great, just great. You think the compliment would have buttered him up a little. Well, at least you just have to barricade your door.

"Don't forget that tomorrow's the unbirthday party. You don't want to be late."

Yeah you're have to go. Mr. Stickler-for-the-Rules Rosehearts wants you to attend so that he can keep an eye on you. Also you should probably go to make sure Ace doesn't fuck it up and get permanently kicked out.

Still, you aren’t looking forward to seeing that red tyrant in all his glory. But when the price to pay is having Ace living in your dorm until you graduate, you have to do it regardless.

"Yu, can I crash with you again? It doesn’t look like I'll be allowed in my own dorm tonight."

"It's not really like I can say no..." You murmur, which is true because you're afraid if angering him, but Deuce and Grim actually come to your aid.

"It isn't right to keep mooching off of ______, Ace."

"Yeah, it ain't! If you wanna stay tonight, you gotta pay for the privilege! Ten cans of tuna!"

"What? Guess I'm sleeping outside, then." That's all it took? Really?

"Why don't you go and stay at Yu's dorm," Well, that was a given. Thanks Trey, you didn't expect him to open his big fat mouth, especially after all the kindness he spared you and you in turn, thought you at least buttered him up," -too, Deuce, so you can keep an eye on him?" What.

Great, now you have two people. Two unwanted guests in your dorm, fan-fucking-tastic. That's two people wondering your dorms halls, and sneaking around.

"What fun for you. Ooh, maybe I'll come too!" Aw fuck no. Two was already overcrowding, three was way too many. "What do you say, Yu?" How about, fuck no Cater. You already going have two loose cannons roaming in your dorm, you don't need third.

Trey says what you can't for you much too your relief. "No pass for you." Thank you Trey, even if he did unintentionally, or intentionally since you don't know his motivations, hang you out to dry, that kept on liability to your freedom off your back. "Sorry to dump them all on you, _____. At least it's just for tonight."

"It's no problem." It's very much a problem, but you can't do anything about it. "See you tomorrow."

Till tomorrow, just a little longer it seems.

Just a little longer.

You were exhausted as soon as you went back to Ramshackle.

Having two yanderes in your house was two way too many, but with the day's exhaustion staring you directly in to the face. Half a night of sleep mixed with too much exercise, too much work, too much spent adrenaline, and too many emotions running high is a exhausting combination. And when it finally set in, you could barely keep you eyes open long enough to walk back to Ramshackle. So you were scooped up by Deuce, after a three minute argument between Ace and Deuce, and carried the rest of the way.

The way back to Ramshackle is uneventful, save for Grim's 'demands' for what he wanted for dinner now that the extra tart from earlier was well buried in his belly.

After feeding Grim like the cat he wasn't, you barely had the energy and strength to keep your eyes home as you made dinner. Thank the seven that instant noodles exist here. You didn't really want to cook for your two unexpected guests, but you just want to go to bed. The sooner, the better.

You also tuned out whatever conversation Ace and Deuce were having as you all ate in the lounge, way too tired to actively listen to it. If they asked you anything, you couldn't really remember what they said, you'll worry about that tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, Ace and Deuce hopefully wouldn't bother you tonight, everyone's tired because of today so all you can hope for is that you had a peaceful night tonight.

But that didn't happen, because it's happened again.

Or it's better to say that that strange dream is happening again.

You remember drifting off in the warmth of your scratchy sheets, exhausted from the days events. Only to wake up just like you did last night. With that floaty feeling, making you feel like you were flying in the air and swimming in mud at the same time.

Unnerved, you throw off the covers to escape that uncomfortable feeling. But when you reach out to feel the blankets, you don't feel the scratchy fabric against your palm. Or the lumps of the old springs in the mattress or the warmth of Grim's sleeping body.

You place a hand of his fur but reel back in confusion when you don’t feel the softness of fur or the warmth of the flames on his ears.

"This is....it's a dream, right?" You ask to no one in particular. You get only silence in reply.

But like last time, the mirror glows its pale white light. It calls to you, it beckons you.

So are your dreams trying to show you something, like last time. It had told you about the painting the roses, and you did meet the three of clovers today. So maybe it's trying to warn you of something, something destined to happen tomorrow.

Well, the only way you'll be able to find out is if you try the mirror.

"Do you want me to go through?" You ask, and surprisingly, the mirror ripples in response.

Hesitant, you place your palm on the front of the mirror and, much more gently this time, it pulls you through.

Like last time, you're blinded by a too bright white light, and then you're on soft grass.

The world looks like a more animated version of Heartslabyul now, and you're stuck in what has to be the center of the rose maze.

You turn around, and the mirror that transported you is half buried among the surrounding hedges, showing your bedroom on the other side, just like last time.

But unlike last time, there's no one here.

The greyscale hedge maze is full of half and fully red roses, but there is no one here. Strange.

There are no card soldiers, no Alice and no Queen of Hearts, just en empty wonderland-

You freeze as you feel something hit your foot. You look down and-

He's tiny. That's not even an insult. The little guy is so tiny that you could have stepped on him if you weren't paying attention. He's dressed in a red cloak and has a proportionally tiny crown. And he's desperate pulling on your pants leg to drag you back to otherside of your mirror.

"You're the King of Hearts..." You realise, and the tiny king lets go of you, eyes widening at your recognition.

And then he goes back to yanking you back with all his force. Which isn't much, and he falls over twice in his attempts.

"Hey, wait a second. Why are you pulling me back." Is he trying to make you leave, but the mirror wanted to you come back here for something so could you even leave?

The Red King mimes something rapidly in panic, but he doesn’t say a word. Is he mute?

"Calm down." You object, reaching out to do.....whatever was needed to soothe him. Sure, he's small enough to pick up in your hand, but it's obvious that he's concerned about you. Maybe this has to-

You're cut off mid thought as soon as you wrap your hand around him, another light burst out even more blinding than the first, and you feel the tiny body and fabric in your grasp grow so rapidly, it's almost likely it was magic.

Which is because this is a dream.

You wipe the blinding light lingering in your eyes away with a groan, just as a pair of hands, this time normal sized, grab you by your wrists and pull you in the direction of the mirror.

<You need to leave!> The person sounds so desperate as he pulls you, <If she finds you, she's going to cut off your head! I'm just trying to help you!> You lurch forward as you struggle to blink away the remnants of the flash in your eyes.

You're thrown forward against something. It's hard, cold, and smooth to the touch. You try to pull away from the hard surface, but as soon as you rear back two hands on your back, push you forward. And then your vision finally clears.

<B-But I just saw you- I-It was fine a minute ago.>

What you landed upon is the mirror leading back to your room. From here, you can see Grim dozing away in your bed. The mirror had hardened as if stopping you from leaving till you've accomplished what it sent you to do.

But from this angle, a glare of stray light also hits the cold glass. Because in that's reflection, you can see a face that's all to familiar and at the same time not at all.

The person pushing you is dressed in a royal grabe, colored red, black, and gold, and it's covered with heart motifs. From his shirt to the crimson red jacket on his shoulders, from his buttons to the choker on his neck, tiny red hearts cover his clothing. He's still wearing a red cloak, but now it hangs as a cape rather than serving as his whole outfit. He's a little on the shorter side, about Riddle’s height but slightly taller.

And he looks panicked. No, panicked is an understatement. He looks like he's going to have anxiety attack followed by a mental breakdown.

He's stepped back to think ,or rather grasp helplessly at his ginger hair in abject horror. He's close the actually pulling it out, too. Surprisingly, the crown on his head has managed to stay put despite his frenzied pulling.

He's spiraling into a dark abyss of frenzied muttering. <What am I going to do!? She's going to cut off her head, and then the guards' heads and then my head, and everyone's heads!> Is that what you sound like when you're spiraling? Because he looks and sounds like he's on his last nerve and that nerve is fraying very fast.

Wait.

"Hey.....hey!" You manage to intervene somewhere between his ramblings of heads, and he shuts up as soon as you raise your voice.

<Y-Y-Yes?> He looks at you in fear, as if expecting you to be angry. If your theory is right, then, you can't help but feel sorry for him.

"You are the King of Hearts, darling of the Queen of Hearts?"

You hate the way your stomach sinks when he nods.

[v-anrouge]

Verryyy long ranting under this about vil and how this fandom treats him for absolutely no reason pls excuse any mistakes and feel free to correct me with any accidental misinfo i passed <3

Mentions of racism, fatphobia, eating disorders, elitism & ableism and also SPOILERS for Vil's character story (eng only)

Ever since this game started getting super famous in tiktok and twitter it seems that people just love to butcher literally every character in Twst and sometimes it's genuinely baffling how wrong some of the takes are, it really does make me wonder if some people just don't read the story and just skip every character who isn't their fave, and if they really do that, what makes them think they know enough about the rest of the cast to post in the character's main tag the most rancid read on a character, often accompanied by some accusations of literal crimes of bigotry that really should be taken more seriously instead of being terms thrown around.

I'm gonna be talking about Vil specifically but characters like Leona, Jamil, Sebek and a few others have it exceptionally bad as well (especially Leo and Jamil who's haters can even be quite racist)

I've been playing for a very long time (in eng) i remember being there to watch the Heartslabyul final release and the release of Savanaclaw's chapter and through these years ive seen the most horrific takes on Vil's characters, ranging from the accusations of racism (which have been debunked again and again especially by JP players) to accusations of supporting eds, fatphobia, elitism and ableism. The funny thing is that even with a very quick read of any of Vil's story you'll find out there is no support for any of such claims. They like to use the incident with Epel's accent when for years JP players have pointed out how this was strictly an error of localization since they couldn't find a situation similar to the one that is portrayed in the original game to put in eng twst, they went with the one we have where Vil asks Epel to "hide his accent" (he really doesn't he was talking about the way Epel is rude and disrespectful which would definitely end with him being beat up and then expelled bringing a bad fame to Pomefiore and also making Vil look bad for not properly guiding his dorm students) which is a terrible choice but alas it seems people prefer to ignore facts to stick with their claim that Vil is some sort of monster when this man is literally a teen. He's 18 years old and has to constantly look out for his image in and out of school since he grew up in front of the cameras.

Vil's character is all about beauty and self care and self acceptance yet for some people this seems to translate to "starve yourself if you don't want to be a disgusting fat pig" which is very weird to say the least considering all mentions Vil makes about diets he is talking about keeping a balanced diet to nurture your body and even has a voice line pointing out the importance of eating. Vil himself may be coded to have an ED in his overblot and Lab vignette but he has never and would never encourage one, he literally goes out of his way to annoy students to take care of themselves what makes anyone think he'd encourage them anyways? It's such a weird thing to assume of a character.

A lot of people seem to think that Vil is also the "beauty standart" king which doesn't even make sense considering vil is a gnc man, he already doesn't follow beauty standards and would definitely be against it, Vil's vision of beauty for himself may be twisted due to his traumas and troubles yet his vision of beauty for others is always exclusively on the person being their best version, this includes dressing how they want to and feel comfortable in, using whatever makeup they want (or just not using it at all) etc.

The way Vil speaks is often misunderstood as he tends to be strict and can be read as mean (I've already shared my theory on what may have caused this behavior here before so i won't be getting into too many details) but Vil is a famous and respected housewarden because if you actually stop and think about his advice the end result is always an effort to make the person's desires come true. (a good example is how Vil made Epel clean the windows and although Epel was displeased with the hard labor in the end he notices how the task may help with muscle growth and gets happy)

Vil's way of caring for others is often misunderstood and obviously that's understandable, not everybody may get his "rougher" way of handling advice, but also it's a bit weird how people react to it when in game all of the characters seem to be okay with it, Pomefiore has a lot of students and if they considered Vil to be a bad leader he would've been voted out a long time ago, no? And if i remember correctly wasn't it said in game they had very few transfers? (as in characters moving out of Pomefiore and into other dorms) That wouldn't make sense if Vil was really the cruel leader some people make him out to be. The truth is Vil is a nice caring person and his students recognize that which is why he is respected all across the school and not simply on his dorm (because ive seen people say Vil has brainwashed the Pomefiore students into thinking he is a good housewarden 💀)

Vil surely has issues he needs to work through, after all this game is literally about that, dealing with troubled teenagers and their internal struggles and the importance of asking for help (omg friendship is magic...) but Vil is also a teenager, and he is one of the characters that show the most desire to get better, immediately showing regret and apologizing to Yuu and his classmates for the danger he put them in, that is because Vil genuinely does care for them.

Another accusation people make is ableism, i remember seeing many posts saying Vil wouldn't respect disabled people and/or mentally ill people which is 1- extremely fucking rude to say? 2- absolutely wrong. Again just a quick read on Vil's character will tell you everything you need to know about how he'd feel about disabled people, he'd treat them like everyone else, and would adjust his handling accordingly to their needs, i really don't get where this claim comes from but it's quite ironic because a lot of Vil haters tend to be ableist themselves by claiming that Vil is a bad person mentioning traits that are often caused by mental illness and the effect of traumas, failing to analyze how their treatment of a character that displays common mental illness symptoms may affect people in real life who displays the same symptoms, and often being ableist themselves by judging these actions irredeemable and inherently evil/heartless, once again dehumanizing people with mental illness in real life who deal with the same symptoms.

Another common thing is the constant invalidation of Vil's trauma. A lot of people seem to read book 5 with their eyes closed and take away from the story that the reason Vil "got pissy and almost killed a guy" (wording of a terrible post i saw a few days ago<333) is because he's a "spoiled brat who couldn't handle getting the paper he wanted in a movie boo hoo" which is kind of funny with how terribly wrong it is, i really don't know what your thought process has to be to get his backstory this wrong but sure, let's start; The start of Vil's problems with being cast as a villain starts from when he was very very young, he was just a child when after being cast as a villain for a movie he was almost beat up by a group of boys for being an "evil guy" and by his reaction it wouldn't be impossible that this wasn't his first time dealing with that kind of thing. Vil also tells jack (who scared away the group) that he had trained so he would be able to deal with them on his own which again, could be a hint that this wasn't that uncommon in his life. In Vil's overblot dialogue is all we really need to know to debunk this claim.

What Vil wanted wasn't just to be a hero in a movie, he wanted to be seen, to be heard and cherished, he wanted to be more than a pretty prop they could put on the front to get attention only to be taken out of stage when he was no longer necessary in the next scene, do you get it? He wanted to be able to see his hard work pay off, to see his efforts of years being rewarded, to for once not be exchangeable for someone more favorable. Vil wanted to feel like all his pain was worth it in the end because finally he could shine in the stage, being himself instead of just another persona to attract people. In his overblot it's shown clearer than ever that Vil does not have a stable view of his own image unlike what he has trained himself to show, even calling himself ugly and begging them to not look at him. I don't think Vil is used to be being vulnerable, which would explain why he was so freaked out when the overblot happened, and why he cried when his beauty (the one thing about himself that was always recognized by others and therefore the thing he'd always been the most desperate to nurture) was taken away by aging in book 6 (note; the fact Vil sacrificed it for his classmates also just debunks the people saying he only cares for himself, if he did he wouldn't be who he is.)

I said i wouldn't give my thoughts again but i will, just briefly, i believe an easy explanation to Vil's behavior (the tough love he gives and his strictness) might be because of the industries he grew up in, we can't know for sure how similar twst's version of the movie and modeling industry is when compared to the real life one but considering the way Vil is, my guess it's that it's pretty similar, especially in the regard of their treatment towards children, in Vil's overblot he hears two staff members talking about how he'd never be able to pull off a relatable role because he is too perfect, and sure those may not look like insults, but to Vil who's only dream his entire life was to be seen in good light, those words stuck to him so deeply they'd come back to him during his overblot. (note; i have not seen a jp translation of the overblot scenes so i don't know if they also suffered from localization issues, if anyone has a link to one i could see id really like to see what the staff said to Vil)

The general point of Vil's overblot was how his efforts and hard work were always overlooked and ignored in favor of someone else, this happens with quite a lot of characters and happens as well with another overblot (Leona, who happens to be quite similar to Vil in many ways) and although i don't expect anyone to read it and think of analysing it more deeply even with a shallow vision of his overblot it's still incredibly insensitive to call it a "non-problem" especially considering the fact this is Vil's ENTIRE life, he's been working hard and failing for years again and again and that does get to you. I remember when i posted my first rant on Vil quite a lot of people who reported to be skilled at something (say for example music or dancing) as a child that any failures absolutely destroyed you inside, and that people who haven't passed through the same tend to call them dramatic and say they're overreacting to situations that can be classified as trauma depending on how much it mentally impacted said child. (and in Vil's case it's clear it had a massive one, after all he wouldn't have overblotted if he didn't have issues that had been bottled up until they finally exploded)

Mentioning Leona again, he and Vil share the same sentiment of anguish for being discarded and having their hard work be thrown away, the difference in them is the way they reacted to it, while Leona ended up not seeing any value in attempting to do anything because he assumes the outcome is always going to be the same, Vil overworks himself and forces himself to do things he might hate clinging to the hope that this time it'll work out.

Since we're talking about trauma ill already answer some things that may or may not come with this post (because in my first one i got this response a lot) "Vil's a fictional character it doesn't matter" and sure if you think like that cool, personally, when im talking about a fictional character that tackles real life traumas and issues, i talk about it as if referring to a real person because the character has been written with one (or multiple) in mind.

Twst may have issues but the character writing is undeniably about real life traumas and experiences, and the characters are quite accurate and good representation of the issues they tackle, so when you invalidate them, you are by result invalidating real life issues. Of course this won't stop anyone and i know that a few people will probably scoff at this and brush it off as being too sensitive but personally if you wouldn't dare invalidate say for example Riddle's traumas because you know it's a representation of mommy issues, which is a very real problem, to not go against your own morals you should also respect the issues of all the other characters, even if you personally think some are more "serious" than the other.

[byoldervine]

How To Always Have Writing Ideas…

For A New Story:

1. Keep a list. Any time you have one of those sudden bursts of inspiration in the middle of writing a separate story, don’t quit your current WIP or pretend you’ll ‘just remember it’, put it into a separate list. You can always go back to this later on

2. Writing prompts. Look them up, use random word generators, pick a random object you can see, whatever helps you come up with any idea at all. Write a few paragraphs. Can it evolve from there?

3. People watch. Go to a public place and make up backstories for the strangers you come across. That man in the hat is using it to hide his elf ears. That woman with the bright pink hair didn’t dye it, she’s secretly the main character of an anime trying to dodge all the tropes and cliches. That toddler is actually a guardian angel reincarnated to watch over their new baby sibling. What brings them to this place? Where did they come from? Where are they going next?

To Continue An Existing Story:

1. Act it out. Say the words aloud, act out what your characters are doing, get props or people to act off of if you need to. See what feels like the most natural progression of the moment

2. Coffee shop AU, or other substitutional one-shot. Good for establishing dynamics between two or more characters, or even just working out a lone character’s day-to-day. Just write a few paragraphs about your characters entering a coffee shop or similar appropriate establishment/ordinary location. What do they do? What do they order to eat/drink? What do they say to each other? How do they treat the staff and other customers? If all else fails, write what they do after they leave, as if it were an ordinary day for them

3. Rubber duck it. This is something programmers use to work out where they went wrong in their code, but I’ve found it can work for figuring out story stuff as well. What you do is get a rubber duck, or any other object of focus, and start explaining your problem to it out loud. In this case you can read your chapter to the duck, or even give it the full run-down of the plot so far. Warning; side effects may include getting frustrated that the problem was right in front of you and subsequently throwing the duck

For Both:

1. Writing graveyards. I talked a bit about them in a previous post, but writing graveyards are basically just the folder you store your deleted scenes in instead of yeeting them into the void. Reread those, see if they have anything you can recontextualise or repurpose

2. Combine ideas. My WIP Byoldervine is a combination of two separate plots I had that I realised I’d be able to combine - twice. I first realised I could put together my ‘angel and demon heroes protecting humans from a war between heaven and hell’ story and my ‘quest through the fantasy realm to find the ingredients to a cure for a dying god’ story into the same universe as two sides of the same story as a duology. Then I realised I could just remove a few characters, tweak a few plot points and mash them completely together into one book. Combining them works wonders and minimises worldbuilding

3. Go out with friends or family. I guarantee that the one time you’ll be flooded with inspiration is when you don’t have an opportunity to write it down

[topazadine]

Things that immediately turn me off a fiction book

I'm pretty picky with what I read, because the time I spend reading is time that I could spend writing. I generally know if I will like a book within the first chapter, and I feel no shame in giving up if I'm not vibing with it.

And no, I don't believe in the "oooh read further it warms up" because does it? Does it really? Do I want to waste time finding out?

Frankly, at this point in life, I read more nonfiction than fiction because there's just so. many. bad. books. that are getting published. Worse than fanfictions.

Anyway, here are the things that make me give up. Maybe hearing this will help you as you write your own masterpiece.

Too Many Proper Nouns

Three characters maximum in the first chapter or two. Do not throw dozens of people at me. I will get confused and give up. Let me get to know the main character, by themself or with a few of their closest companions, before you make me remember everyone else. And go deep with those characters! I want someone to stick with!

You can reference other characters, to create a sense of a deeper world, but do not go all-in on them. Make it clear that they are just there to provide a bit of context, and we don't have to remember them yet. We should only be meeting three characters maximum.

Throwing Us Immediately Into a Dramatic Action Point

This is controversial I know, but I hate when something immediately starts with a battle. I don't care if any of these people live or die. I don't know them. I haven't grown attached to any of them.

Even just a page or two to get to know them first will help. You can have them gearing up for a battle, thinking about what's going to happen, maybe talking to their friends, maybe checking their armor, whatever feels natural for them. But do not just start with stabbing people! I don't care about them yet!

Too Many Details

Many this is just me, but I simply do not care about every piece of armor your character is wearing. I don't need to hear a play-by-play of every single color of every single thing because I don't care. Pick out a few specific things for me to focus on and that's it. Stop overloading me with colors and patterns and armor styles.

Yes, yes, you've done your research on historically accurate gear. That's great. It would be good for a movie. But if I have to look up different armor pieces every five seconds, I am glossing over it and moving on. I don't care. I'm here for the story. If I wanted an infodump about medieval armor, I would simply pick up a nonfiction book (and maybe I will).

White Space Syndrome

Tell me what the overall scene looks like instead of all these hyperspecific details of certain objects, like carts or emblems or whatever. I want to know where I am!!

Don't just say "a forest." Tell me what kind of forest. Tell me if it's a young forest or an old snarly forest or a swampy forest or a cold alpine forest.

Don't just say "a castle." Tell me if it's a bustling castle or a gloomy castle or a rundown castle.

Don't just say "on the sea." Cold sea? Tropical sea? Far far away from land or is land in sight? These are the things I want!

Too Much Backstory

For the love of god do not explain the entire history of this culture in the first chapter. The first chapter is for getting to know the characters we're going to be following. You can introduce those things slowly and carefully as the story unfolds.

I get that fiction writers are delighted by all the worldbuilding (or research, in historical fiction) they have done. But the reader does not care right away. They need to get invested before all those little specifics matter at all. My eyes glaze over and I give up because I don't want to have to remember all of that all at once. It's like you just threw a college textbook at my face.

Plus, if you're doing third-person limited, you have to remember that the character is not going to be thinking all of that! They won't say all of that either! Because they know all of that!

Even a general on the brink of a major battle is not going to go "yes, this all dates back to when we took Iuanfutila back in 181, when the brave Iuanfutilans protested the rule of our Yawwbaawnwhryr leaders ...." They are focused on the present moment, and they may discuss the backstory later. Tell us what we need to know now because that is what the character would be thinking too.

"Oh, but Topazadine, how will the readers understand the context if I don't tell them??"

There's a battle. Two groups are at war. Or something was stolen. Or two people are fighting. Whatever. We understand those things. We can get the basic gist of how things are going to play out by just showing us these things happening. Then, as we have gotten a feel for the characters, you can tell us more about the context.

If you walk into a store that's being held up by an armed robber, do you give a shit about his backstory, or do you only care once that person has been arrested and you have to testify? I think we know the answer. You're not going "ohhh why is he doing this??" at first. You're going "HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GUN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW???" and then you'll care about the other stuff later.

Too Much Play-by-Play

I also do not need a play by play of a fight scene. I need to know the general movements, and then the overall atmosphere. I want to feel what the character feels rather than feel like I'm watching a football game.

Your reader will fill in the gaps if you give them enough information, but when you overload them with every single action, they're now trying to keep track of what went where instead of how this moment is supposed to feel. And now the action and drama has gone out of the writing because it's become a manual of fighting techniques.

Pointless Dumb Conversations

"Oh, could you turn around for me? I want privacy."

"Sure, of course, I'm a respectable man." Manfred knew that a lady-in-waiting would be unsettled by the presence of a strange man, so he wanted to be respectful.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Oh my god no one cares!!! No one!! We don't need this exchange. Cut it. This is stupid. Unless something is actually happening or something is meaningful about them saying this, shut up.

How to Not Write a Horrible First Chapter That Makes People Ragequit

Can you tell I'm mad today? I started and stopped three different books because they were all so bad.

Three characters max in the first chapter, with deep discussion of each. (One or two is better.) General appearance, demeanor, profession, whatever.

Restrain the urge to infodump! Dribble it out over the chapter!

Give the setting more attention than random little details that ultimately do not matter. I don't need to know the pattern of the curtains on the horsecart that's about to be burnt. Don't care.

Do not give a play by play of every single action that a character takes because it's boring and no one cares.

In media res is great but do NOT start with a big climactic intense battle or fight or whatever because we don't know these characters and don't know who to root for (or why we should care).

Your character is not going to give us a history lesson in why this conflict is happening. Do not do it yourself either. Give us just enough to get intrigued and no more. Think how your characters would think and what they would prioritize in discussions.

If a conversation is just pleasantries and has no purpose, drop it, we don't care.

[gilverrwrites]

I don't fall, I fly.

⇐⇐⇐ Chapter [2/?] ⇒⇒⇒

Circus playboy [AU], Dick Grayson/Reader, 6.7K words AN: SMUT, WHOLE LOTTA SMUT! This took longer than I'd hoped, but I hope ya'll enjoy it regardless ♥︎ Anon Joey, I promise I forgot I named a character Joey in this story I swear this was not meant to be any kind of representation of you lmao Warnings: Swearing | teasing | pre-mature ejaculation | lying and manipulation | denial 

Joey is a sturdy-looking guy with a skinhead and a stubbly beard. When you tell him you’re there ‘for Dick’ he licks his lips and flits his eyes between you and your bestie with a suggestive wiggle to his brows.

“You?” He grunts, pointing from behind the plexiglass. “Or them?”

“Um, me?” You’re not sure exactly what he’s asking but you presume you are the right answer.

He tears your tickets off the reel, but when you reach into the opening to take them from him, he grasps your hand in his meaty one and scrawls ‘DG’ on the back of it in black sharpie before letting you go with the orange slips.

“Shows at 6.30. You wanna head straight up that way, turn right at the main entrance, Marty will let you through the second entry. There's plenty of food carts on the way if you’re hungry but you gotta pay for 'em.” He gestures each direction with two fingers before sending you off with a wink. “Have a good night, peeps.”

“D-G? Are you like, officially a groupie now?” Your friend questions you jokingly over mouthfuls of shared candyfloss moments later. Since inviting them along you’d filled them in on the events of Tuesday afternoon.

“I guess.” You shrug, looking at the lights, breathing in the smell of popcorn, listening to the thrum of the crowd. You hadn’t been to a circus in years, so this is like a nostalgia trip. You’re enjoying yourself to much to really care about being branded with a marker. It was weird, no doubt, but a small price to pay for what would hopefully be a good show. “Hope it’s worth it.”

You’re too lost in conversation to realise it straight away but the further you walk, the smaller the crowd grows until eventually the only people around seem to be cast and crew.

“Maybe we missed it?” Your friend suggests when you finally notice.

You’re about to turn tail when you hear a familiar voice call out over the distant buzz of spectators. “Hey, it’s you!”

“Oh, hi!” Warmth immediately graces your cheeks as you watch Dick approach with long strides and open arms. 

“You made it, awesome.” He grins, his hands are already on you, fingers snaking down your back to settle snuggly on your hip. He looks starkly different, but just as captivating as when you’d first met. His tight blue leotard is partly covered by an open hoodie that still shows off his shapely pecks. His hair is slicked back, and he literally sparkles under the string lights that line the big top. You’re so focused on the glitter that adorns his skin that you almost forget where you are until he prompts; “Whose your friend?”

“Oh-“ You follow his gaze, eyes strolling over his broad shoulders, along his other arm which is conveniently hanging over your bestie's shoulder. You’re almost envious as they take over introducing themselves. 

Your time with Dick before the show is understandably short, but sweet. You hadn’t taken a wrong turn, as made apparent when he walks the two of you to the performer's entrance, bypassing Marty and telling you how to find your seats.

“When the lights go up, and Haly leaves the ring, come back this way and I’ll show you around backstage.” Dick tells you with a wink, dipping out before you can even consider declining his offer.

“He’s gonna show you his mini me.” Your friend laughs, wiggling their finger as you climb the steps to your seats. “Lil Dick, ya know.”

“Shut up.” You reply with a grin you can’t shake. Unable to deny that they’re probably right, and if he does, you’re most certainly not going to stop him.

“Whatever.” They continue. “Thanks for the ticket, but I’m not hanging around while you get dicked down, you good getting home alone?”

The lights come down as they ask their question, and your eyes excitedly lock onto the ring as you whisper back. “Sure, but don’t you wanna see the backstage stuff?”

“No, I don’t want to third wheel the pretence of your hookup.” They answer deadpan and though you’re a little disappointed for them, you’re mostly relieved that should anything happen between you a Dick, you won’t have to worry about ditching your bestie.

Had you actually paid to watch the show, you’d say it was worth every penny. The Ringmaster, Haly really knows how to build a show, the clowns aren’t too scary, and the whole thing is jam-packed with ‘spectacular acts’ as promised by the flyers. The firebreather in particular was memorising. The true showstopper, however, was The Flying Grayson. He sails and twists through the air, shining under the spotlights as he performs death-defying after death-defying stunt. It’s easy to see why he’s the headliner. Towards the end of his performance, Dick waves at the crowd, showboating and encouraging them to cheer louder, and finally blowing a kiss before swinging out on the trapeze.

Your friend fake swoons when they notice how you’ve leaned forward in awe to watch, and the teasing persists right up until you’re saying your goodbyes after the show.

You feel like such a rebel as you slink through the crowd, sneaking away to the performer's entrance once more, looking over your shoulders periodically until your eyes finally lock onto Dick. He doesn’t spot you straight away, eyes pensively focused on something off in the distance while he kicks his feet, and brushes the gel from his hair with his fingers, but eventually, he turns to see you and it’s like flicking on a light switch, the way his face shifts into that sunny smile. His arm easily drapes over your shoulder once more as you approach, and you just as easily melt into his side, allowing him to drag you off to God knows where.

Dick likes this bit, even the cager girls unknowingly become a little more malleable, a little star-struck after watching his routine, and you’re no exception. It’s too easy to fall under his spell, and you’re all too aware of it. No matter what wonders he shows you, or who he introduces to you, your eyes rarely leave his form, and he basks in the attention.

“This is cute.” He mentions, pulling at your skirt and stepping close enough that you can smell his sweat beneath his rich, sweet cologne.

“Thanks.” You feel flushed immediately under his roaming gaze. He’s clearly using it as a guise to get closer to you, but you have some spunk in you yet. “I like this.”

You snap the taut strap of his leotard, he fakes a yelp and a pout.

“Ouch.” His nose brushes yours, stray hairs tickling your forehead as he leans down. “You might need to kiss that better.”

You run your finger under the strap once more, pulling it aside and baring his toned muscles. You playfully hum in consideration before pulling the sleeve back into place and looking him in the eye. “Maybe later. If its bruised.”

“Later?” He quirks a brow as you step back, content to make him work a little more for it.

“Later.” You confirm. “After the tour.”

He stares you down with his deep blue eyes, and you think you might break until he finally sighs, yielding to your demands with a complacent grin.

It’s not until he’s holding your hand as he guides you through a myriad of caravans that you finally think to ask; “By the way, what is this?”

You wriggle your hand out of his to show him the Sharpie mark you’re hoping you can scrub out in the shower before your shift tomorrow morning.

“Oh, that.” He takes your hand once more, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of it, looking very nonchalant. “If I wasn’t there, it’s just to show Marty that you’re on my guest list.”

You’re not convinced. “Can’t you just have Joey write it on the tickets of something?”

“Nah.” He shrugs, but there’s a hint of mirth in his tone that has you doubting him. “Were not supposed to save seats or let people in though the performer's entrance. When you leave, you take the evidence with you.”

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

What he neglected to mention is that, of course, the entertainers’ are allowed guests and reserved seating, it’s only Dick who's on a tight lead because he does it too often.

Before you can voice your doubts, however, Dick stops in his tracks, tapping his free hand on the trailer beside him and turning his whole body to you with a coy look. “Last stop, home sweet home.”

Home sweet home is strangely whimsical for an average sized mobile home. It has lights around the roof and painting, old and new decaled onto the metal exterior. One piece in particular grabs your attention. 

“The Flying Graysons? Theres more of you?” You ask earnestly and Dick steps beside you to follow your eyeline, dropping your hand in favour of stretching his arm across your shoulder and leading you to lean into his chest.

“There was.” He answers quietly, eyes remaining focused on the image even when you angle your head to watch him. “My parents. Kind of a family business, you know?”

“They must be proud of you. You’re amazing.”

He smiles as he looks down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I hope so.” He sounds glum. Clearly, you’re not privy to something and it isn’t your place to pry so you decide not to push the subject when he moves it along. “Do you want to come inside?” 

“Yes!” You’d known the invitation was coming, but you don’t think to mask your enthusiasm at all, happily following him inside, taking your shoes and socks off at the door as requested, and allowing him to hang up your jacket. “I can’t stay though, I have a shift early in the morning.”

“That’s fine.” Dick hates when they stay over anyway. “We rehearse pretty early too.”

Inside, you notice an array of protein powers along his kitchen counter, and a stack of old records piled up beside an even older-looking couch. That’s the entire extent of any interior features you have time to examine before his lips are on yours.

You gasp when you first feel his soft lips on yours. You’d expected forwardness, but damn he moves fast; almost enrapturing you with his minty-sweet lips and feather-light touches until you feel your back hit what is presumably the door to his bedroom.

“Ahhh.” You can’t help stuttering as you pull away, captivated briefly by the sensually blissed-out look on his face as he chases your lips, settling for sucking and nipping at your throat when you turn your face away from him. “Fast!”

He stops at your objection, his whole body freezing but for his fingertips which have already crept beneath the waist of your skirt to teasingly massage your lower back. “Do you want stop?” He sounds confused.

“No.” You answer decisively, shivering when you feel his breath deliberately brushing against the sweet spot in the crook of your neck, fanning the fire that’s currently simmering between your thighs. You were into it, his speed had just caught you off guard and you need a moment to collect yourself. “Just, slow down a bit. Show me around first?”

“You know this is a one-night thing, right?” He scolds himself internally for snapping, it’s not an unreasonable request. There's just something about the sweet smell of your perfume, the taste of your lips, and that damn skirt. He’s been dying to get you here all night, and you’re so close. But now you’re pouting and narrowing your eyes and while he’d love to fuck the admittedly adorable petulance out of you, he knows his chances are rapidly depleting.

“Sorry, sorry.” He lets go of you, throwing his hands up in surrender and turning on his best, most charmingly sheepish smile. “I just haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met the other day. I’m getting too excited.”

His shoulders sag. Scratching the back of his head as he steps further into his living space. He knows he’s winning you over because your expression softens.

“That’s the kitchen, and this is the living room.” He gestures to the two sides of the open space.

“That room back there was my bedroom when I was a kid, but now it’s just storage. Old suits, photos, stuff I don’t want to get rid of.” He points to the door at the other end of the trailer before turning back to the door you’re currently still resting against. “Bed and bath are through there.”

You chew your lips as you turn to look at it, fingers tracing the hard plastic until you find the handle and gently open it. Dick leads the way, stepping around you and into the small space. He fiddles with the switches on the wall until the room lights up and it is very much what you’d imagined. Mostly it’s an extension of the outside, the light source is yet another sting of lights despite the bulb that hangs from the ceiling. Posters, photos, and souvenirs from all over the world line the walls.

“I’m sorry there isn’t more to see.” He offers as you follow him in, unconsciously wrapping your arms around his waist and melting into him as you approach. There isn’t much space for the both of you to stand, almost all of it is taken up by the dresser and the bed which is lined with blue sheets, and literal notches in the wooden headboard.

“I think there’s plenty to see.” You comment, nodding at his abused bedframe and he laughs but doesn’t deny the implication.

“It’s getting late.” He points out, and you know what he’s really getting at. There’s no more to show you, it’s now or never.

Feeling bold you slide two fingers under his sleeve once more, slowly brushing it from his shoulder to expose his unblemished skin. He watches every move half-lidded and unshakingly as you press your lips to the spot you’d snapped earlier until his fingers splay across the back of your head, tilting you to face him once you’re done kissing his non-existent wound so he can draw you back to his mouth.

As if he’d taken your prior hesitations to heart, he kisses you slowly this time. Cupping you with warm hands as he tenderly works his plump lips against your own in a series of deep, ardent kisses that you hadn’t expected from him. It’s you who takes things further, quickly getting lost in his embrace. You part your lips, only half fighting for dominance before you concede and allow his tongue to explore unimpeached until he starts to paw at your hips, pulling you close to him so he can grind his compressed arousal against you.

Teasingly slow, you dust your fingers across his chest, dragging your fingertips downward along his spandex suit until he firmly takes your wrist in his hand. You pull back from the kiss to take in his heated expression. You have no idea what you’re doing to him with your blown-out eyes and open mouth. Impatiently, he directs you half a step back, until your knees give against his mattress, and you drop down. Exactly where he wants you, he releases your hand, and you continue your slow veneration of his body until you settle your hand on his bulge. Your touch sends a shockwave through his body that has him bucking his hips in an instant.

He definitely made a good choice picking you, he thinks as he takes a moment to admire your form. You’re so fucking pretty, looking up at him from the edge of his bed, biting your spit-glossed lips while he grinds against your eager hand. He’s pressing hard enough that you have to make an effort to keep your hand in place, partly from desperation, partly because the pressure is needed to be felt through his dance belt.

Not content with the current state of things, Dick is quick to start undressing. His clothes are barely around his ankles before you wrap your hand around his shaft. You’re not sure what you’d been expecting but you’re pleasantly surprised by his uncut cock and intentional hairlessness. There's already a drop of precum on his tip and your mouth practically waters as you lean forward to taste him only to feel long fingers curling into your hair.

“No no no, not yet.” Dick pleads beneath his breath, holding you still by your roots and watching you with fire in his eyes. He bites the corner of his lip, tilting his head as he thrusts languidly into your open hand. “Use your hands for a bit longer.”

This is his favourite part. The fucking is always good, and he’s hungry to find the position that will make you call his name over and over again, begging for an encore, but there’s something so erotic about this bit that drives him crazy. Doesn’t matter how many girls he brings back here, he’ll never get enough of seeing them work his cock in their marked hands. Right now, you’re already claimed by his initials, by the trail of swollen little bitemarks he’s traced down your neck, but by the time he’s done with you, you’ll be completely ruined. Inside and out, totally smothered by him.

You’re not exactly sure what’s going on in his head but damn he’s hot you think as you watch him from below. He hadn’t kept the body glitter to his just his arms. Under the warm light of his bedroom, his whole body shimmers, extenuating his toned, lean muscles. Stray pieces of dark hair fall to frame his fevered expression. His deep blue eyes are squinted intensely and he’s biting down on his tongue as he watches you work your hand along his length.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” You can’t help but speak your mind, and he looks down at you puzzled for a moment, clearly not expecting your compliment, but eventually smiling genuinely at you in response, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

No matter how much praise Dick hears, he’ll never get enough. God, and you mean it too, he can tell by your wide eyes, by that little smile you can't bite back, by how you’re watching him religiously. Fuck. He’s gonna need 5 more of you.

Another, sizable bead of precum spills from his head, it drips from his length, trickling down your arm and before either of you can process it, you dip down, not once breaking eye contact as you soak up every drop, slowly lick it up from your hand, working your way up his cock.

Neither of you see it coming, but your little show of debauched worship has Dick's whole body twitching. He tries so hard to hold it back, but as soon as your lips part over his crown to drink up any remnants of pre, he instantly starts shooting the real thing into your open mouth. Cursing through his climax, suddenly grabbing your head and holding you in place as ropes of hot, sticky cum hit your tongue.

“Shit, shit shitshitshit.” He mutters, averting his gaze when your brows raise at him in surprise. “Shit, never happened before. I’m sorry.”

His knees buckle at the intensity of his climax, causing him to lurch forward. The last of his cum dribbling directly into the back of your throat before he stops altogether. Drops of the fluid spill back out of your mouth when he wrenches back from you, the speed at which causing your body to sting with rejection as he hurries from the room, locking himself in what must be the bathroom.

“Diik- wouate.” You try to call after him, mouth still dripping with his cum. Before following you rapidly search the room for a box of tissues or a waste bin to spit into, when you find nothing, you bite the bullet and swallow, cringing at the taste and the metallicness it leaves on your tastebuds before you head over and knock on the door, once, then once again but he doesn’t answer. You can hear him moving around, hear his hushed voice presumably talking to himself. “Dick, are you okay?”

When he still doesn’t reply you continue, choosing your words carefully. “It- it’s okay. It’s normal. Could happen to anyone really.”

It’s not okay. It could happen to anyone, but not him, he’s not anyone.

“It kinda makes me feel good about myself actually.” You’re not sure if this is going to help or make things worse. “You know? Hand job so good I made you pop before… yeah.”

Your awkward laugh falls on deaf ears. Good for you, he thinks bitterly. Thankful when he hears your footsteps retract, he listens intently as you slowly make your way through his trailer. Relieved when you stop in his cramped kitchen space. He’s not ready to face you just yet, but he’s certainly not done with you either.

He’s not sure how long he spends in front of the mirror, trying to ease his embarrassment, to pep talk his cock into getting hard again, but seemingly it’s long enough that you get tired of waiting. God, this is a disaster. He has to turn this around he decides as you knock once more and announce that you’re leaving. Now, or live knowing that you’re the one who got away. If he can’t fuck you tonight, then he has to ensure you’ll come back before the show moves to its next location so he can prove himself.

“Don’t go yet.” He says as he finally opens the door, displeased to see your sock and jacket have made a return. If anybody asked, the shrillness of his voice was intentional, part of his plea to make you stay a bit longer. “We can still do other things.”

You’re sceptical, it’s evident from the frown on your face and the way your eyes flick between him and the door. Dick does not like that at all.

“Come on, girly.” He urges, turning the charm back up as he leans in closer, gathering the fabric of your top in his fist and using it to tug you the last few inches until you’re chest to chest. Already your skin is starting to tingle again, excitement curling in your guts as he brushes his cheek against yours, pressing fresh kisses to your skin as he works his way to your lips.

Deep blue eyes bore into yours, begging you for permission and you easily crack under his gaze, stretching up on your toes to initiate a kiss so heated it’s like you’d never stopped. How he turns it on and off so easily should be studied, you swear. He doesn’t tease this time, only pulling away from your lips long enough to pull your top and coat off. He unclips your bra with a speed you only possess on your best days before lifting you by your ass and hauling you the 4 feet to his bed.

Once your back hits the mattress he leans back to look at you, his hands clutching onto your thighs, causing your skirt to ride up and giving him a spectacular view of your damp panties. Instinctively your hand darts down to cover up, but he latches onto your wrist, guiding it to his mouth where he plants chaste kisses to your knuckles as he looks you up and down, over and over.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He repeats your earlier reverence, taking a few more seconds to admire your body before letting you go and dipping down to trail more kisses up your stomach, his calloused fingers cupping your breasts, squeezing as he draws closer. “We should make you the main event.”

“What a fucking line.” You quip, but the look of adoration on his face never wavers and you start to grow bashful under it. Averting your gaze until you feel his tongue on your chest.

“I mean it.” His speech is slurred as he draws circles on your bosom with his spit, you’re on edge as he grows closer and closer to your nipple but never hits the target. If that wasn’t enough to make you lightheaded, Dick pushes the weight of his thigh between your legs, eyes still trained on every little movement you make as his knee shimmies against your heat. “You’re gonna be the prettiest notch on my bedpost.”  

He's so smooth, even the glib reminder that this is just casual sex makes you feel flushed. 

“W… ” Your response to him is hampered when he finally fixes his mouth over one of your nipples, his hard fingers pinching down on the other until you arch your back, pressing yourself deeper into him.  The inadvertent pressure on your clothed cunt making you moan aloud.

“You gonna say something, pretty girl?” He gently holds your nip between his teeth as he talks, blowing his hot breath against the sensitive bud.

“Fu- fuck you’re good at this.” You breathe, eyes rolling back as he starts to bounce his legs, eyes narrowing smugly at your praise. “W-was gonna ask where you got that sharp tongue fr-from?”

Dick smiles around your bud once more before drawing it in for once last, torturing suck and releasing it when a wet pop.

“Oh, you like it, do you?” He drags the tongue in question between the crevice of your breasts before working it leisurely up your throat and into your open mouth where you weakly knead it with your own, too focused on the way Dick has worked his knee up onto your clothed groin, pulling your panties taut between your folds in the process. It hurts, but in a way that has you desperate for more. You almost don’t notice when he retracts his mouth to murmur in your ear. “You’re already shuddering and we’re not even at the best part yet.”

“Will we get there soon?” You roll your hips, meeting the tweaking of his leg and he grins at your enthusiasm. You’d thought your skin ablaze until Dick rakes his nails down your torso, igniting more fervour in his wake until he finds the waistband of your skirt and panties.

“Oh yes.” As he speaks, he sits back on his knees, taking your clothes with him. He can’t help the way his jaw relaxes at the sight of your exposed pussy, wishing he was hard enough to plunge right into your dripping hole. But watching you, as beautifully depraved as you are, come apart even more from his hands and mouth is a more than satisfactory consolidation prize. And if he sticks the landing, he’s sure he can win you back here for a second performance. “Just stay still and lovely like you are, an’ let me make you feel real good.”

He runs his pointer finger between your folds, brushing your clit gently before delving straight for your entrance. He slips right in, down to the knuckle with no friction at all and your cover your face, mortified by the wet squelching noise your pussy makes as he twists and turns his finger inside you, tightening the coil in your centre. When he withdraws you peek through your hands, watching the wicked grin on his face as he examines the string of wetness that follows, snapping a few inches above your sex. 

“You’re so messy, baby.” He purrs, dipping back in to spread your wetness around, rubbing two fingers against your clit until you start to moan aloud. “I love it.”

Gradually he teases the two fingers into your entrance, the added digit causing more stretch than the last time. You can’t help clenching and whining, especially when he uses his other hand to caress your clit once more. “Oh fuck, Dick. I think I’m gonna…”

“Already? That was easy. I haven’t even tasted you yet.” Despite his teasing, your quiet neediness is making him fucking feral on the inside. Hurrying your orgasm along, he drives a third finger into you, biting his lip, grunting and goading as he watches you come undone. “Go on then. Cum on my fingers baby, make an even bigger mess.”

As if on command you do exactly that. Dick can barely decide where to look; your preciously scrunched-up face, your chest which is jutted out and shaking due to your arched back and heavy breathing, or your greedy little pussy as its walls clasp around his digits, sucking him in as you spill onto his palm.

As soon as he’s certain he’s ridden you through your climax, he pulls his fingers from you and your whole body jolts at the resistance. He checks that you’re watching him through your foggy, post-nut daze as he proceeds to lick and suck his hand clean.

You moan at the way his loud, pornographic enjoyment of your juices revives your libido. It’s really not fair that you should be ready to go again so soon, while he’s unable. You can only imagine how good it would feel to have his cock buried inside you right now, but you don’t want to press the sore subject. Instead, you move your trembling body, enjoying the perplexed but amused look on Dicks face as you climb closer to him.

“Want to kiss you.” You inform him, startled by your own breathlessness.

“You’re cute.” Dick patronises, finishing licking up his middle finger before reaching out and clasping his moist hand around your neck. “Come kiss me then.”

He squeezes just tight enough to send a chill down your spine as he pulls you closer, locking you into a short but heated kiss, eagerly sharing the taste of your bittersweet ejaculation. When you pull back to breathe, he pushes on your chest and you fall back against his sheets once more, your eyes zeroing in on the vintage stickers that lace his ceiling as you try to calm your sudden headrush.

At the same time, Dick drops off the bed, kneeling on the floor. Just when you’re coming to, he grips your hips, pulling you to the mattress's edge until you’re close enough to feel his breath in your sensitive core. 

“Not done with you yet.” He laughs, the extra air on your folds making your toes curl. “Still gotta give this sharp tongue a firsthand taste.”

Before you can protest, not that you really would if you could, Dick practically dives, mouth first into your folds. The moment his hot tongue grazes your already tender clit you jerk, bucking your lower body away from the salacious intrusion but Dick swiftly follows, not letting up for a second as his arms loop over your stomach, fingers digging into your hips and forcing you back down. 

“Don’t fight it, you’re gonna feel so good.” He murmurs, tongue still working between your twitching folds, mouth twisted into a wickedly obscene version of a smile before he latches his lips around your bud. Moaning loudly and closing his eyes as he savours the taste of your slit. He’d called you messy, but within a few minutes of working you with his tongue, his chin and neck are drenched with saliva. He can’t help it, you taste so deliciously bittersweet, he can’t get enough, and the cherries on top are the beautiful, sinful little sounds you can’t choke back.  

Overwhelmed and shaking, you reach down and hook your fingers in his thick dark hair, pulling it tight in an attempt to ground yourself but it does nothing to dampen the waves of pleasure that pulsate through your body. Very quickly the pull of your hips increases tenfold, your face squeezing tight, and Dick knows you’re about to cum again.

The only thing sweeter than your needy little pussy is the tortured wail you release as he shimmies down your folds, leaving your clit unstimulated in favour of stuffing his tongue into your tight hole just before you topple over the edge. At the intrusion, your walls convulse around him, forcefully throbbing around him despite the betrayed, wet-eyed look you’re giving him. Oh, you are so coming back, and he is going enjoy fucking that sullen look off your face while you milk his cock for all its worth.

“What’s that look for?” Dick asks, taking his tongue out of your folds and nuzzling into your inner thigh, intent to prologue his teasing just a little longer. You gasp when you see the collection of slick on his face, shocked and aroused by the muddle of fluids. Between that and your hopeless need for him to finish what he’d started, you can barely comprehend him speaking to you. “Do you want something, baby?”

“Please…” You start, barely able to string your words together. Feeling more and more frustrated as Dick shakes his head at you, grazing your folds with his cheek as he does so.

“Please what? Come on, you can do better than that.” His encouragement only vexes you more. 

“Please let me cum, Dick! I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” The look that overwhelms his handsome features should put fear into your heart, but all it really does is make you ache for his touch even more. “Will you come back here on Saturday night and let me use this pretty pussy all night long?”

“Yes!” You don’t even hesitate, anything to feel his mouth on you again. Your lack of inhibitions works though. Dick immediately compensates you by twisting his tongue into your slit again, lapping and sucking at your sweet spot, fervid and hungry. Intense blue eyes locked closely on your every move as he swiftly falls into a rhythm that has you right on the edge in no time, the denial only having heightened your sensitivity. 

His grip on you remains steadfast, supporting your wild movements as your legs buckle and wrap tight around his neck, squeezing him as you wither and reel against him. He swallows every drop of your release, gulping it down, his groans of appreciation loud and explicit enough to rival your own. Goddamn. You can’t recall a time anybody ate you out with as much shameless passion and he keeps going until your body falls heavy and slack.

“How’s that for taming your pussy?” He remarks, ego pouring from every syllable but you’re too out of it to care. Body completely jellified, head empty, unable to think of a witty comeback. You lay still but for the rapid rise and fall of your chest as Dick crawl up your body, goading you once more. “Too effective?”

Again, you’re too preoccupied to care as he leans in to brush his lips along your nose. You’re vaguely aware of his arm moving beside the bed, but you’ve no thought or motivation to care as you soak in his attention, chasing him until your lips find his, joining into an equally smiley kiss that is laced in your juices.

“Here,” he says as he ends the kiss, pulling a handtowel from somewhere? And dropping it on your chest. Presumably, that’s what he’d been fiddling for. “You remember how to clean yourself, right?”

“Oh, shut up, Dick-head.” At last, you find your voice, Dick having egged you a bit too much. Playful you throw the towel back at him as he makes to stand, but he easily catches it and drops it between your legs.

“Okay, okay.” To emphasise his surrender, Dick holds his palms into the air as he backs away, you’re not expecting him to leave the room entirely however until he’s gone.

Unsure how to respond, you sit up and grab the towel, cleaning off. He isn’t gone for long though, returning a moment later with a glass of water, grabbing your discarded clothes from the floor and tossing them toward you as he approached.

“It’s getting cold out, probably.” He comments, placing the cup down beside you and beginning to rummage around in his drawers. He finds and pulls on a pair of joggers as you too begin to redress. “You wanna borrow a thicker jacket? Swap them back on Saturday?”

“Oh, about that.” His head snaps to you, brows creased. Bar the concentration on his face as he’d sailed through the air during his performance earlier, this is the closest you’ve seen him to looking serious and even though he’d clearly been trying to get rid of you only seconds ago, you feel bad for what you’re about say. “I can’t come on Saturday.”

His annoyance is evident, face falling even more as he stares at you. 

“I can do tomorrow though?” You offer, but that’s no good to him. Fridays are the big night, Haly likes him to schmooze the VIPs, and he can manage that while he’s thinking about bouncing you on his cock, but it if you’re actually there the temptation to sneak off and make good on his fantasies would be too great. “Saturday night I have a thing.”

“A ‘thing’? Like a date?” Oft. Dick can hear how he sounds, totally pissed, maybe even a little jealous. He’s not. He can sympathise with the fact that you got caught up in the height of the moment, only God knows how many promises he’d made in the throes of lovemaking that he’d never intended on keeping but he was so sure he’d hooked you around his finger. He needed you to be. Need you to come back so he can finish the job.

“No, nothing like that. It’s a family thing.” Your attempt to consol might have seemed more genuine were your skirt not hiked up around your stomach. You’d redressed completely but for your underwear which you were now fruitlessly searching for.

“What time does it start?” Dick sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out across the small space to grab your hand and pull you closer.

“5.30” You answer, allowing him to pull you to him. You straddle his lap, instinctively draping your arms over his shoulders. When you’re face to face, he cracks a smile, you’re starting to recognise this specific grin, with its sparkly teeth and crinkled eye. It’s the smile he’d given you when you’d first crossed paths, and later when he’d invited you to his show. This is the smile he gives you when he wants something.

“Come to the matinee then.” He instructs, angling his knees up until you fall further into him, allowing him access to ghost soft little kisses to your already well-marked jawline, breath tickling your skin when he speaks. “Show finishes at 3.30.”

“And what time will you be finished with me?” Your voice notches up a pitch as you try to speak through your retrained giggling. Dick hums into the crook of your neck, making a show out of thinking up an answer. You’re not expecting it when he suddenly grips your rear, and it makes you yelp. He uses the globe of your ass to support your weight as he stands, carrying you through his trailer until you’re at his door.

It's decided then, it would seem. You’re leaving now and coming back on Saturday.

When he despots you onto the floor, you bend over to slip back into your shoes, swaying your butt around as Dick pulls down your skirt and presses up behind you, impishly grinding on you even as you stand up straight once more.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You remind him when he nestling his nose into the crook of your neck, sniffing your sweet, sweaty smell before you stop moving and prompt him once more. “Dick?” 

“Hm?” He hums dreamily before letting out a dramatic sigh and spinning you around to face him as he finally answers. “If you’re late to your ‘thing’ because you can’t resist my charms that’s on you, pussycat.” 

“Ick!” You protest to the awful nickname, both of you laughing as Dick opens his door and slowly but surely leads you out of it.

Dick rattles off a list of directions, advising you on how to get back to the main gate. He offers to walk with you, but you decline.

“Goodnight, kitten.” He jests in farewell.

“Goodnight, dick.” You reply.

He was right, it is cold. A gust of wind blows against you, reaching between your legs to your still damp centre and reminding you that you’d never found your panties, but Dick has already closed and locked the door behind you. Returning to his bedroom, he retrieves your missing underwear from where he’d kicked them under the bed and props it over the corner of his headboard for later.

If you're reading this, I wan't you to know that you are beautiful and I love you!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Jimin

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Cream] 2/2

You're just so sweet, he can't help himself.

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past trauma, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though, just hybrid things (scenting, grooming, biting, licking, scruffing, and more), hurt & comfort

Length: 1.7k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: I hate this chapter so much.

-> Masterlist

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When you come out of the shower, you don't bother with clothes- even the towel around you feels too much, any fabric covering you suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. And it's not like you've got something to hide either- he's gonna see you naked at some point anyways. 

So you simply throw yourself back into bed, hair still dry since you only wanted to really rinse off the sweat from the night's fever- making Jungkook playfully smack your leg. "Don't throw yourself around like that." He scolds, but you just roll over and sigh, rolling your eyes. 

"Did you have fun?" He asks, and you know he can probably still smell your pathetic attempt at trying to release some of the tension building up for you. 

It failed- you've passed the threshold, you're no longer able to really.. get off yourself anymore. And it's frustrating. 

"No.." you mumble, as he gets up presumably to shower too. He's not leaving you- you trust in that, and from the sounds of it in the bathroom, you're right too- he's just cleaning up, he's still gonna stay. 

What you don't expect however is for him to emerge from the bathroom fully nude. 

He's entirely unbothered by it, sitting down comfortably on the bed while you're short-circuiting. "We don't have to do anything, you know that, right?" He offers, and you nod after a moment. 

"I just feel like.. I don't know." You huff, throwing yourself onto your back in frustration. "It's.. too fast." You explain. "It's.. all the.. thrill will be gone." 

"You're worried I won't be interested in you after this?" He wonders, and you shrug, before nodding towards the ceiling. "That's bullshit." He says. 

"You say that now cause you're horny." You huff, crossing your arms, cat tail swishing over the bed. 

"Nop, still flaccid." He jokes boldly, making you sit up in a scandalized manner, causing him to laugh loudly, eyes sparkling in their crescent shape, cheeks round. "Listen.. things simply work differently for you and me." He explains. "We're not human. We're not Jimin or Yoongi." He offers, and you look down at his knees to not accidentally stare at his junk. "And I'm not like whatever you think I'll be like." 

"Prove it then." You challenge, making him smile boyishly. "I'm not joking!" You scold, and he laughs, nodding. 

"I know." He agrees. "And that makes me happy." He tells you, making you smile warmly as well. 

Because he's right. He's already not what you thought he'd be like. 

And it causes your confidence to rise enough for you to move, shed your towel to present yourself bare as well, simply to offer him the same as he offers you. 

Yourself. Unfiltered. 

And despite the fact that right now, he could do anything he wants with you- 

He just reaches out to hug you, and hold you. 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

It's funny how he adapts to your rather.. unconventional heat. 

He's not interested in sex, because you're not either- you're more so needy for physical comfort, having him close, nesting with him, and occasionally playing around, his hand catching your fluffy tail but never too hard to hurt. 

Jimin and Yoongi probably think you're currently soiling the sheets with sweat, and you are- the dog hybrid gently caring for you whenever your body falls into a fever from the confused hormones inside you raging wildly. He'll hold you, open the window so you can cool off a bit, and helps you wash as soon as your temperature regulates again. 

And it's clear to you now that, while he's not gaining any sexual gratification from this, he's still satisfying a need of his own. 

Because you want him. You like him. You trust him. 

You don't fear him, no matter what he does. 

He can growl, he can be loud, he can be wild, manhandle you around or playfight over who gets more blanket- you don't ever become scared of him. There's not a single second where you jump back from him, no instinct in your bones to shy back away from him at any point.  

You're currently purring, rolling around in nothing but a shirt and panties, while he wears even less, only his underwear covering his most private parts. 

Right now, even though you're not actually actively trying to mate, Jungkook would not let neither his owner, nor Jimin anywhere near you. You need to be protected right now, and that's his job- one he takes very seriously. 

Especially now that you're both no longer talking at all, no words needed as he runs his hands over your skin, simply offering romantic affection with no underlying goals in mind. And you clearly enjoy it, holding onto his hand as it runs over your cheek, nuzzling into his touch as he moves to hold you again.  

He worries, a little. Your waves of fever have become worse and worse every time they happen- and he wonders if he might have to go against his instincts after all, and get help from the other two humans in the neighbouring house. 

He doesn't want you to suffer- and if he can't help you, he needs to find someone who can. 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

You’re shed your shirt you wore earlier, leaving him will full access to your bare body- the only thing the two of you are wearing being standard underwear.  

He was definitely right about you owning the probably most cute and yet arousing underwear he could’ve imagined- lace rimmed panties decorated by a little bow and sparkling little charm in the middle. And he also has to admit that your bed is extremely comfortable- already making him a little excited about how to ruin the sheets one day if you’re up for that at any point in the future.  

But right now, none of his or your touch has any sexual intentions at all. There’s no heat in your affections- just the need to be close, just the desire to be offered something physical.  

You’re slowly easing out of your panicked state too, body apparently deciding that he’s no longer any kind of threat or danger- in fact, you’re actively seeking him now, clinging to him, hands kneading on his body occasionally, while he himself has become a little more bold as well, moving to pull you closer to him, face hiding in the crook of your neck where your scent is strongest. “How’re you feeling?” He asks quietly, and you instantly start to purr at the sound of his voice alone, causing him to laugh.  

“I don’t.. Want this to end yet..” You mumble, pulling his arm over your waist to hold you- something he happily does, hand on the small of your pack feeling your soft skin.  

“Doesn’t have to.” He shrugs, opening his eyes to look at you. “We can cuddle like this whenever you want.” He offers, and at that, your tail curls, legs caging his in.  

“Whenever I want?” You ask, and he smiles, nodding. “What if I always want to?” You wonder. “As soon as you come home from work.. Or when we go to bed.. What if I wanna sleep in the same bed every night?” You demand, and he can’t help but laugh.  

“I guess we can swap around every now and then.” He offers. “You can sleep in my bed over at Yoongi’s with me.. And I can sleep here in your bed with you from time to time..” He explains, and you nod.  

“But you need more pillows.” You instantly argue. “You almost have none.” You huff, rolling a little onto your back now, his hand reaching out to squeeze one of your tits playfully, making you laugh and turn over entirely to hide from him.  

But that’s not how it works for him, as he instantly takes the invitation to sit up and pull you back towards him, playfully biting at your neck, making you laugh loudly as you try and wiggle out of his grip. But he’s got a good hold on you-  

And you also don’t really want to get away from him either.  

“How about we take a nice long bath now?” He wonders into your neck. “Put the sheets in the wash, put on some clothes. I bet you Jimin is probably worried about you by now.” He tells you, and you shrug.  

“He’s got Yoongi.” You huff. “And I got you now.” You turn to look over your shoulder at him. “And you’ll only need me, right?” You ask, and he smiles.  

“Of course.” He agrees. “What else could I need other than a true princess?” 

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

“There you are!” Jimin beams, instantly hugging you- making you cringe slightly, though you don’t actively pull away from him. “Everything okay now? Are you sure?” He rambles, while Yoongi puts a hand on his partner’s shoulder to calm him down.  

“She’s fine, a little drowsy.” Jungkook teases, making your tail swipe from side to side. It’s clear to everyone that you’ve bonded over the almost week you’ve spent together- something having clicked into place it seems like, as you jump towards the kitchen with Jungkook in tow closing the fridge just to scold you playfully for ‘acting like you own the place’.  

“She’s.. Really happy.” Jimin hums almost to himself, Yoongi patting his back gently. 

“Not a bad thing.” He shrugs. “Get used to it. After all, looks like we’ll have to adjust the housing situation soon.” 

“Why?” Jimin asks, almost offended.  

“I mean-” Yoongi says, before looking towards the kitchen where you’re currently busy jumping behind Jungkook with your hands on his shoulders while he puts a pot on the stove. “-I personally would like to not accidentally listen in on whatever they’re up to in the future.” He laughs, making Jimin blush a deep red, never having thought about that.  

“Oh.” He simply says- 

Feeling a bit odd at the realization of slowly having to let you go. ♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥ 

[ineffable-suffering]

Why Aziraphale is an unreliable narrator

Part 2: The Story of wee Morag

This is Part 2 of 3 total metas. Here are:

Part 1, in case you want to read about my analysis of the Story of Job first

and Part 3, in case you're impatient and want to jump ahead.

Fair warning though, for the sake of understanding some of the references, you're probably better off reading this chaptered meta chronologically. However, every part should work just as well as a standalone! I'll do my very best to make it so.

Alright, off or on you go beyond the cutty cut!

I'll start this second part off with a very brief summary of the main take aways and points from Part 1, which go as such:

Memory, as opposed to a third party's narration, is not a factual, objective retelling of a story or event. It's mingled and mangled with emotions, imaginations and exaggerations, projecting both the feelings and impressions you had back then as well as those you might have now in the present time back on whatever it is you are remembering. (Which is why we need to put everything that Aziraphale is remembering into the context of what he might have felt in the past, as well as what he's feeling right now.)

While this doesn't mean his (or anyone's) memories are lies, it does mean they're a very subjective and sometimes factually distorted representation of what actually happened, which, in our case, gives us a lot of subtext and a lot of not-there furniture to figure out and look at.

So, let's continue with S2E3 and the Story of wee Morag. We start our flashback with a scene of Aziraphale writing his diary entry on the 10th of November, 1827. Immediately, it's firmly established that this is once again not an outside-point-of-view narration, but rather what Aziraphale remembers and wrote down.

One thing that immediately stuck out to me here, is how helpful and kind Crowley is to Elspeth, pretty much from the very beginning when they meet her in the graveyard. Not only does he take on a Scottish accent so she won't perceive him as English (as she does with Aziraphale), but he also helps her drag the barrel that has the fresh body in it and, in the end, even pulls it all by himself while Elspeth simply follows behind them. Here's a rather poor-quality picture, for reference:

Now, we know that despite not showing it very often, Crowley has always been very fond of the humans and never really put himself on a pedestal simply because he's an immortal being himself. He likes humans, just like Aziraphale does. But, just like this story will tell us, Crowley knows that on top of liking humans, you can't just put them into boxes of good and evil and expect them to always do what is supposedly the "right" or "divinely good" thing to do. (Which is what differentiates him from Aziraphale in the way he understands and treats them, as we're shown in this minisode).

Him immediately and unspokenly helping Elspeth with dragging the barrel therefore might also be a first sign of a tiny projection from present day Aziraphale, as opposed to what Crowley might have actually done (probably just walked beside her, like Aziraphale) because he has the knowledge that Crowley really was so very kind to her in the end, wasn't he? And that he's kind to humans in general. ("Not kind! Off my head on Laudanum!" Sure, babe.)

Most of this minisode, in my opinion, is actually there to establish how Aziraphale's view of morality and good vs. evil used to be quite flawed and elitist –– and how Crowley has always been there to gently nudge him towards questioning his black and white view of heavenly right and hellishly wrong. That's why I think there's not as many hints in this minisode about Aziraphale's memories not being an accurate portrayal of what happened, as there are in the Story of Job or the magic show in 1941. (And, fear not, the latter will definitely be the most hint-heavy one). Alas, there's still a few bits and bobs in the Story of wee Morag that stuck out to me, that make a brief yet good case of the whole unreliable narration thing.

First of all: The way Aziraphale describes all of it in his diary is so different from the way we see him actually remembering it. It's almost like he tried to write this entry (and possibly all of his diary) as a bit of a thrilling short story, with himself as the main character. Which makes sense, given the fact that he adores books and would certainly be keen on dabbling in the art of capital-w Writing himself. It's yet again hinting at the fact that sometimes people (and angels) try to polish and bedazzle stories (and memories) to make them seem more exciting and adventurous, often to distract from the not-so-fun parts of it.

Like when Aziraphale's diary narrates:

"It was with heavy heart we arrived at Elspeth's destination. I was determined to thwart her monstrous plan!"

... and yet we see Crowley and Elspeth casually walking down the alleyway, very obviously not heavy-hearted in the slightest, while Aziraphale nervously scurries on behind them, very obviously not determined to thwart. (Timestamp-wise, it's around 17:38 in S2E3, in case you want to see for yourself.)

We get another cinematographic/auditory hint at the fact that Aziraphale's memory is heavily influenced by what he's feeling that very moment, when Dr. Mister Dalrymple –– FRCSE, thank you very much –– shows him the tumor he removed from the seven year old boy. You can see the shock and horror on Aziraphale's face once he learns of this child's cruel fate. We then proceed to hear Mr. Dalrymple's voice grow sort of echo-y and far away as the sad music swells up and drowns out his voice almost completely. It's awfully similar to what it feels like when really horrible news are broken to you and you dissociate and drift into a state of shock. Here's the clip of it, so you may listen for yourself:

It's clear that this is a very subjective portrayal of what Aziraphale is going through during this part of the memory. He's deeply horrified and saddened about the little boy having passed away so early in life – and we hear and feel this shock with him. Through him, because this is his memory. Whatever it is he's feeling and thinking, we're feeling and thinking it too because we're seeing it through his lense.

Another (less sad) hint at a possible exaggeration is the abnormally deep hole Crowley makes the two graveyard watch keepers fall into. I'm pretty sure he's very much in charge of his miracles, making this random slip-up seem a little silly – which is why I'm also pretty sure the "Might have slightly overdone it on that hole" is a wee bit of a meta hint at this just being another one of Aziraphale's dramatic bedazzlements of this story. For the *flings feather boa around neck* drama!

You know what else might be exaggerated? Hm, I dunno, maybe Crowley growing into the size of a tree for no apparent reason. Sure, yes, he's pretty high on Laudanum which is making him a bit loopy. But apart from that, it does seem an awfully big cinematographic euphemism for him being the metaphorical (and, once again, for the drama of it) literal bigger person in this scenario. He's the one who ends up saving Elspeth and who manages to secure a safe life without poverty and grave robbing for her. While Aziraphale was so tangled up in his own moral journey and main character-ism, missing that wee Morag was seconds away from death already, Crowley is the one who actually ends up growing stepping up for the human in need and saving them for good (pun intended).

In a way, it might just be Aziraphale's view of/feelings for Crowley in this very moment. Watching the demon outgrow what, according to Aziraphale's heavenly logic, is supposed to be a foul fiend, bestowing evil upon humanity – and growing into someone who does the exact opposite and saves Elspeth instead. Another larger-than-life character development, in Aziraphale's eyes. Literally.

Let's switch back to the topic of the diary entry one last time, so I can make my final point of the this minisode's unreliable and a smidge over-dramatic narration of Dr. McFell. If you pay close attention, Aziraphale starts the entry we're all getting to experience with: "Last month, Crowley and I both happened to be in Edinburgh." Which means it didn't actually happen on the 10th of November, but rather at some point in October, 1827. Once we see Crowley get hydro-pumped back to Hell after rescuing Elspeth, the minisode ends with, presumably, the last sentence of Aziraphale's diary entry: "And that was the last I would see of Crowley for quite some time."

Take my hand and let's look at where the furniture isn't: This very clearly means that Crowley couldn't have been gone for more than a month, at best. Read again: "It happened last month and that was the last I would see of him for quite some time." This, albeit indirectly, clearly implies that when Aziraphale had sat down to write the diary entry, he had already run into Crowley again. Otherwise his phrasing would have probably been more along the lines of "... and I haven't seen Crowley since" or "... and Crowley has yet to return from wherever it is Hell's currently keeping him".

What's the point I'm trying to make? Good question. I guess my main point of storyteller Aziraphale being a bit over-dramatic in his narration is simply backed up by this, since A Single Month would barely pass as "quite some time" for an immortal being like him. And yet that's how he puts it, in his little Confidential Journals of A.Z. Fell, Vol. 603.

And another point that has absolutely nothing to do with the topic of this meta (but I'm still gonna make it 'cause this is my memory post): The meeting at St. Jame's Park in 1862 that so many, post-S2, took to be their first run-in after the Story of wee Morag, actually wasn't that at all. They saw each other at least once only a month later, as Aziraphale's diary lets us know. Which explains why he wasn't very surprised or concerned when he met Crowley in London, 1862. If there really had been 35 years in between those two events, the first one ending with Crowley being sucked back Downstairs to receive more than three decades worth of hellish punishment, wouldn't Aziraphale have been at least a tiny bit worried or more interested than:

Just saying.

Alright, let's string this inflated hot air balloon of a post back together so we can outline some invisible furniture. This time with only two humble points:

Crowley through Aziraphale's lense Backed up by how we are introduced to Bildad the Shuhite in the Job minisode (suave, cheeky, smart, passionate in shoemaking and obstetrics), it's growing quite clear that Aziraphale's memories and impressions of Crowley are very fond and impressed ones. He sees him as someone who's not only witty, funny and cool, but also as someone who has figured out way sooner and faster than him that nothing's ever black and white. Not God's plans and not the human's choices either.

Aziraphale as a bit of an exaggerating adventure author With the direct parallel we get of inkslinger journalist!Aziraphale in the present day, it's quite apparent after this minisode that Aziraphale's memory is not only deeply influenced by his emotions, but that he also tends to have a bit of a dramatic touch to him. Although, you gotta give it to the guy: A month without seeing the love of your life, even if said life is eternal, can indeed seem like "quite some time".

Well, would you lookie here, we've reached the end of Part 2! What a journey it was. I hope you forgive me for the fact that I drifted off-course a few times. I just can't seem to reel in my silly little observations, even if they've got nothing to do with the point I'm trying to make. But hey, doesn't that just make me a little bit like Aziraphale's storytelling, in a way?

I'll let you be the judge of that.

See you in Part 3! And in case you haven't snuck a peak yet: here's Part 1 again.

Ta!

[thetriumphantpanda]

i don't really wanna fight, 'cause nobody's gonna win | javier peña

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary | A little slice of domesticity wasn't ever going to be enough to cover the stress of the story unfolding on your desk, but it was worth a shot right?

Chapter Warnings | Mentions of drugs and the drug trade, work frustrations, explicit smut, fingering, unprotected PiV smut, creampie, dirty talk, we ride this man like our LIFE depends on it and some ANGST (I'm sorry, it had to happen sometime.)

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | OOOOOF okay we're back with these two. Real life has been kicking my ass so I'm sorry this took so long - but we're moving into the tail end of this now so prepare yourselves for even more drama! Thank you for being so patient with me and waiting for this - I hope you enjoy it. If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi. 

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist

The words on the deed to the drug den in town are all forming into one - you’re not actually sure they’re in the English language anymore. You’ve been staring at the pages for what feels like a full week, even if you’d only spread them out for reading on your desk this morning. You don’t know what to do. There is, of course, the obvious option, of walking right up to their front door and asking what the hell is going on, but the more you dig, the more you think there’s something bigger going on here.

You pour over your notes, trying to make sense of it all. It was nothing to do with Tyler Johnson, but it had something to do with his family, that was for sure. There’s no way that this whole thing would have been brushed under the rug and dealt with by the police saying ‘oh well, we don’t know’ if there wasn’t something incriminating behind it all. You tried not to think about that possibly meaning your dad was implicated somewhere along the line.

Instead of sitting around and feeling useless, considering the words on the page weren’t leading you anywhere at all, you tidy up your desk, stick your head around your managers door to tell her you were heading out for the story, and you get in your car and drive.

They lead such dull lives, is all you can really think at this point. The sun is setting and it’s finally starting to cool a little. The thought process had been simple, if you weren’t going to catch them in the act on paper, you would have to catch them in the act for real - whatever that act might be.

You’d started with Tyler’s dad, following behind him as he went about mayoral business, driving from his office to some meeting in town and then back again. You’d waited an hour in the parking lot to see if he moved again, but gave up after a while. Deciding on following Tyler’s brother instead - but he’d been more of the same. You’d found him getting into his car at work once the day was done, driving to the grocery store and then going home. That was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Thinking about it, what would you even do if you did find them doing something? Tyler’s brother getting a package handed to him down a dark alley - there’s no way to get any proof, you don’t have a camera, and no-one’s going to believe you against them. The more you sit there, the more you think maybe you should have taken the story at face value, published it and moved on.

You suppose that these kinds of operations take time and patience - two things you were running seriously low on by now. You’re thinking of all the time’s Javi must have needed to do this - sitting around in a car waiting to catch someone doing something and wondered how he’d lasted so long. You weren’t made for this kind of work.

Sighing to yourself, you turn the key in the ignition and head home, trying not to let the frustration bubble over. You just had to wait. Bide your time. Surely somewhere along the line you’d catch someone doing something.

“You look stressed.”

You look at Javi through your eyelashes, taking a sip from the glass of wine in front of you on the counter. Your parents were taking their two week annual vacation - some place near the coast in Florida. You remember going when you were little, playing in the sand and swimming. They’d invited you this year but now you were older, it didn’t hold quite the same amount of charm as it used to, so you’d opted to stay at home.

The upside to not getting to lounge in the sun for two weeks was definitely this though. Javier Peña, hunched over the hob, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, cooking dinner for you. It was dangerous to think about how domestic it was, but you couldn’t deny how nice it felt. There was no-one to lie to about why you were late home from work for now, no need to rush through whatever it was that the two of you were doing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t need to be sorry,” He smiles at you, picking up his beer bottle to drink from, “You want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, “It’s alright, just stuff at work.”

“In all my years of working with journalists,” He speaks, stirring the pot of sauce in front of him, “I don’t think any of them were ever as stressed as you.”

“I just care about my work.”

“So did they,” He counters, picking a strand of spaghetti from the pot to test to see if it’s cooked, “Just trying to say there isn’t a story out there worth getting this worked up over.”

“I appreciate it,” You mumble, “But can we not talk about work?”

He holds his hands up in surrender, focusing his attention on dishing up the food - spaghetti with tomato sauce. It’s simple and you know it’s probably the limit of his cooking ability outside of being able to grill meat on fire, but it’s the thought that counts. You sit at the dining table and eat together, talking about nothing really, just enough to fill the silence. Even though he cooked, he insists on clearing up and packaging the leftovers for you to eat tomorrow.

You sit and watch TV on the couch and when it gets late enough and your head starts to rest on his shoulder, Javi asks if you want to go to bed.

“I do,” You answer, “But not to sleep.”

So he slowly leads you up the stairs and into your room, softly closing the door behind him. You settle yourself under your sheets, pushing them back on the other side for him as he takes off everything he’s wearing apart from his underwear and gets into bed with you. He shuffles you around so your back in pressed to his front, his big hands wandering from your hips up to your chest, where he gently cups one of your tits in his hands over the shirt you’re wearing.

You can feel his mouth trailing kissing up your shoulder until he reaches the delicate skin behind your ear, the tickle of his facial hair there making goosebumps rise on your skin, regardless of how warm it is under your sheets.

“What do you want?” He whispers softly, snaking his free arm under your neck so the side of your face is pillowed against it.

You don’t answer, you just take hold of his wrist, dragging his hand from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. You let his hand go then, feeling his big palm cup you through the material, “Like this?” He asks, teeth nipping at your ear lobe.

“No,” You shake your head, “Under.”

That big hand drags up just a little, fingers finding the waistband again, dipping below this time. He tuts into your ear when he finds you bare, having not bothered with underwear when you’d changed out of your work clothes.

His hand is warm against your skin as it envelops you again, fingers dipping ever so slightly between the folds of your pussy to find you already wet, it doesn’t take much at all when he’s around.

Fingers dragging through the slick, up to circle your clit, he speaks again, “Like this?” He asks, feather-light touches of his fingers making you gasp.

“Y-yeah,” You choke out, “Just like that.”

So that’s what he does - let’s you rest your head against his arm, lazily rolling his finger across that bundle of nerves like he has all the time in the world for making you feel good. It’s slow, the only punctuation to his fingers are the moans he lets out into your ear whenever he pushes his hips against the plush of your ass, his bulge prominent against the clothes that are separating you.

“I want you to come for me,” He whispers gently a little while later, teeth biting gently into the skin of your shoulder, “Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

You nod your head, unable to speak through the short, sharp gasps that the friction between your legs is drawing out from you. He speeds up a little, lets his finger add more pressure there. He lets you roll your hips, chasing at the high that is just there, coiling in your tummy. Your body starts to shake, thighs clamping down on his hands as he brings you over the edge.

“Fuck yeah,” He rasps into your ear, “So fucking pretty when you come for me, mi querida.”

Through the haze of pleasure, you can feel him rolling you over, pressing your back into the sheets. He’s settling between your thighs, pulling your shorts off altogether, but you don’t want it like this, so you press a palm to his warm chest to stop him.

“I want…” You trail off, “I think I want to be on top.”

You watch his eyebrows raise a little but he doesn’t protest, because of course he doesn’t, he simply lies himself back down on his side of the bed and waits for you. You let yourself straddle his thighs, marvelling just a little at the bulge of his underwear, before you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband to drag them just far enough down his thighs to let his cock spring free, resting on his lower stomach.

Shuffling up his thighs a little, you lower yourself, letting your soaked folds drag across his length whilst your mouth moves up to suckle at the skin of his neck. You can feel his hands on the globes of your ass, helping to drag you up and down his cock.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks as you moan when the head of his cock brushes against your still-sensitive clit.

You don’t have any words, so you press yourself up, palms against his chest as you lift your hips just enough for him to reach between you, base of his cock fisted in his hand, to nudge at the weeping hole of your cunt. He holds it there for you as you slowly start to sink down onto him, moaning with your head thrown back at the stretch of taking him inside. When you reach the bottom, feeling him sucked right into the depths of you, you stay still, rolling your hips a little, feeling him so deep inside you.

Javi brings his hands to your hips, looking up at you as he guides your movements, slow forwards movements matched with even slower movements backwards, until the two of you are panting together.

You push yourself back, letting your arms fall behind you onto his knees, which have come up to rest against your backside, slowly starting to lift off him until he’s almost all the way out of the tight heat of your cunt, then you slide back down onto him, finding a rhythm of bouncing up and down on his cock.

Javi moves one of his hands from your hips, letting the flat palm run up your stomach, through the valley of your tits to lightly grip at the base of your neck. He doesn’t add any pressure, just holds his hand there, but you can feel the effect it has on you, pussy clenching around his length as you continue to bounce up and down on him.

“Look so fucking pretty like this,” He manages to choke out between moans, “Like you were made to be right here bouncing on my cock.”

“I-I think I’m g-gonna come again.” You hiss, feeling that familiar tightening in your tummy.

“Yeah?” He goads, but not unkindly, “You gonna come around my cock for me?”

To help you get there, Javi starts to thrust up into you, hand still at the base of your neck, hitting into your perfectly on your downward motion to fill you right to your depths, making your orgasm hit you head on. You feel yourself tighten around him, body collapsing forward to rest against his chest as he fucks you through the aftershocks of your climax, gripping onto your ass to keep you spread so he can find his own high, thrusting a handful of times before he’s stilling inside you, spilling himself inside with moans right into your ear.

He slips out of you as he softens, shifting you so you’re led down, both catching your breath.

“Sorry, I should have asked about that.” He mumbles, and it takes you a minute to realise he’s talking about coming inside you.

“It’s okay,” You say, turning your head to smile at him, “Although it does mean I have to go to the bathroom now.”

You drag yourself up onto all fours onto your bed, dragging yourself to the door to cover yourself in your robe before you leave Javi in your room to head to the bathroom.

He doesn’t know why he does it. In hindsight, it was out of order, but when you close the door behind you, he can’t help himself. He stands up, pulls his underwear back up and puts the rest of his clothes back on. Then he sits down on your edge of the bed and gingerly opens the top drawer of your bedside table.

There’s nothing much of note in there, a few lip balms and an old notebook, but that’s it. He opens the bottom one next, which is much more full, mainly with notebooks and sheets of paper. He knows he shouldn’t, but he reaches in and picks the first up, flicking it open to a random page somewhere in the middle, running his thumb across a loose sheet of paper before his eyes circle in on what the paper actually is.

It’s a newspaper article, reporting on Escobar’s death. When Javi looks underneath the paper there are notes written in your handwriting, detailing parts of the story that are interesting. He flicks to another page, another article about Escobar dying, with more of your handwritten notes. He can feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to take hold of his throat.

He puts that notebook on the bed, reaches in and picks another up, flicking through to find more of the same - articles about the entire Escobar case, more handwritten notes - some written in red ink that only ever say his name with a question mark, like you’re asking yourself if he was responsible for the ill-reported heroics. Javi is too caught up in flicking through that he forgets about your return, letting you catch him red-handed when you come back through the door.

“What are you doing?” You ask, making him look up.

Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked to find him with your notebooks in his lap.

“What’s all this?” He asks, instead of answering your question.

You surge forward, grabbing the notebook from his lap, slapping it shut, picking up the other one and then shoving them back in the drawer, “Did you go through my things?” He can tell from your tone that you’re worked up.

“Why do you have all of that?” Javi asks, standing up from the bed to take some steps away from you.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Well then tell me what it is.” He’s getting more annoyed as the moments go past.

“It was for my degree,” You say, shifting from foot-to-foot, “I don’t understand what the problem is?”

“The problem is, it’s all fucking lies!” He runs a hand over his face, more annoyed at himself for shouting at you than anything else, “It’s all fucking lies and you believe it.”

He watches as your face drops, he can see the glassing over of your eyes, “I-” You try to speak, “I’m sorry?” It’s more of an offering, like you don’t know what else to do.

“All of that shit?” He asks, pointing to the now closed drawer, “Fucking propaganda for this country to seem like it had control, when all it fucking did was make everything worse.”

“Javi, please,” You beg now, taking a step towards him with your hands open in surrender, “Why don’t you sit down and take a breath?”

He can feel himself shaking his head, stepping backwards until he can feel the handle of your door, twisting it to open. He thinks he’s saying sorry, telling you that he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he has to get out of there and away from you, almost running from the house and into his truck.

It’s not until he’s halfway to home that he can feel that panic take over, pulling over on the side of the road, knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. He takes some deep breaths, trying to understand why his brain has gone from 0-100 so quickly, and all he can think of is that you’re just like everyone else in this damn town, thinking that he was a hero, that he’d played his part properly, correctly, in bringing that bastard down. I’d the wondering about what you’d think of him if you knew what he’d really done, the amount of blood actually on his hands, the fact he wasn’t here there when Murphy shot the bastard.

It’s that feeling of inadequacy that haunt him in bed that night, led against the pillows, other side cold and empty when all he wishes is that he’d stayed, let you curl into him so that he could get at least a few hours of rest. Even though he never stays the night, always leaving you with a press of lips to your head, the small hours of the morning where you’re sleeping against him are the most peaceful he thinks he’s ever had.

So, staring at his ceiling, red numbers from his clock staring him down as the hours pass, all he can think about it what the fuck he’s going to do, how he’s going to explain that this has nothing to do with you and what it had to do with your degree, and everything to do with the way he thinks if you knew exactly what had happened, outside of what the American press has told you, you’d probably hate him.

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .001

Note: Will use events from Mk9-11 + Aftermath. I am changing canon for some characters to fit the story. Changing canon in general for MK1, so at some point I will add in scenes not in the main story and probably will diverge from it in the end. Some character personality changes, not major, but enough to add depth. Slight character dynamic changes (Mostly Lin Kuei, so the trio feel slightly closer as a whole)

Also excuse the small exposition dump that happens through the chapter, it was needed to set up plot points in the future, so in the future we can get to those juicy character interactions easier!

LOVE INTERESTS: Liu Kang, Kung Lao, Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kenshi, Reptile, Scorpion (Kuai Liang), Sub Zero (Bi-Han), Smoke, Shang Tsung, Mileena, Kitana, Ashrah, Havik, Rain

Also on AO3: NEW ERA

part two

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO DOESN'T REMEMBER

Memories are fickle things. 

Awakening in the middle of a field, you heard the buzzing of bugs, and the grass beside you moved as a creature scurried past. Your head hurt, and a fog settled in your mind as if it were blocking something. You sat up slowly, noting the moonlight shining down on the area around you.

You looked down at your hands. It was odd, it felt like you were familiar with it, yet at the same time it felt all too foreign to you. You wiggled your toes, feeling the grass brush against them to remind you that they existed. 

Where were you?

Swallowing any dread you felt building up, you stood up wearily. Your body swayed as you got up, almost stumbling into the grass once more. The area around felt devoid of humans, undisturbed nature spreading far. It was beautiful and breathtaking, but it only soothed you for a moment before panic began to seep back in again.

Where were you?

In the distance was a soft light. A flame? Perhaps. You dragged your feet as you walked towards it. You’d rather go discover whatever that was then stick around being lost wherever you had woken up. 

Why were you there in the first place? 

Fear was crawling down your back at the inability to answer the nagging questions within your head. Shaking it off, you continued on. The closer you got, the better you could identify where the flame was from. 

A temple of sorts?

It had a dragon motif from what you could see, and it was constructed mainly from wood and stone. Red shingles, or at least you assumed it was…it was hard to see in the moonlight, lined the rooftops of the temple ahead. The tree leaves even seemed to be red. There were multiple buildings, one being a tall tower, and a few smaller buildings. The flame, which was quite large from what you could see, was lit in a pavilion of sorts.

Your mind throbbed as a vague memory of a temple floating in the sky appeared in your mind. But this wasn’t that same temple. Not at all. Why were you thinking of that?

Soon enough, you found yourself at the entrance of the area, marveling at the architecture and the beauty of the area up close. How wonderful. Eventually, you spotted two figures walking towards you. 

The first thing you noticed was their glowing blue eyes.

Not knowing what to do, you stood there. Although you felt a pit of dread build up in your stomach as they approached, you stood unwavering. You grimaced, not at the sight of them, but at how the figures coming closer seemed to intensify a dull throb that had been building up in the back of your head.

Silly as it was, were they the cause of your headache? Of the fog in your head that seemed to block out any memories you tried to pry from your mind? 

You watched as the two figures, that you could now identify as men, approached. You could read a vague sense of concern on one of their faces, and the other held a sense of shock on his. They walked over a bridge, stopping at the top as if to create a sense of height. You looked up at them, your will not wavering despite the dread that was building in your stomach.

Your headache, why was it hurting so much?

You watched as one of them held out his hands, forming one a fist connecting to his palm. He smiled at you. It felt warm. The other nodded his head in acknowledgement, but you could see the small smile he had as well. You stumbled as your headache turned into a sharp pain, as if someone had just stabbed your head. Gasping, you stumbled forward. 

The man who had been presenting his hands grabbed you to steady you, and you noted the strange sense of familiarity as he did so. His wrapped hands were firm as he helped you right yourself. You looked up into his eyes, and without thinking, a name popped into your head.

“Liu Kang?”

The dread you felt in your stomach turned into fear as the man’s eyes widened, and the vague shock that had been on his face before was now on full display. He glanced over to his companion who held the same look of shock before they both looked down at you, almost accusingly.

“How did you know that?”

That was years ago.

Shortly after the shock had worn off, you had been escorted into the fire temple. They gave you a place to rest for the night, but you could hear the whispers of Liu Kang and Geras as they walked away. What they were discussing, you weren’t certain.

You could hear the concerned tone in their voice loud and clear despite that.

The next morning in what was perhaps the politest interrogation ever, it was revealed that you had a lack of memories.

Kind of.

You had memories, or at least you thought so, but they were all jumbled up in your head. They felt wrong, and foreign and they didn’t match up with what you were seeing. After all, your mind was telling you the man who was interrogating you was Liu Kang…but it was not the same mortal man that popped into your mind. 

You also eventually recognized Geras, which seemed to alarm the two even more, even if they were subtle about it. Eventually, after long deliberation with each other, Liu Kang eventually came up to you and offered you a place to stay at the fire temple due to your lack of memory and residence.

You were relieved to have a place to rest and stay, even if you had a nagging feeling that the offer was a disguised excuse to keep a close eye on you.

You supposed that was fair.

Eventually, the memories you had came back slowly over the years, and you confided in Liu Kang about them. This led to an eventual friendship with the god as you unraveled the strange situation that you were in. The man, though cordial, had been wary at first of you. You thought that was reasonable. A random stranger showing up in rags and recognizing you without introduction?

That was suspicious for certain, you could not blame the fire god for his caution. Especially since he proclaimed himself to be the Protector of Earthrealm, you could have easily been a threat.

Thankfully, you were not. Or at least, he seemed to deem that you were not. Although you had a jumbled mess of mismatching memories, the two of you had concluded that the memories you did have were visions of sorts, of other realities, and that the memories you used to have were gone. 

Visions of other worlds traded for the memories of your past. That’s what he told you, anyways. You had a sinking feeling that wasn’t quite true, and that was the biggest secret you held from Liu Kang. After all, the more memories you regained, the less it felt that they were random visions. 

They felt like a past life…and maybe they were. You weren’t certain yet. You had a nagging feeling there were many memories left to unlock.

The guilt of hiding this doubt, this secret, was immense at first. Ignoring the fact that you were lying to a god, you were concealing doubts from a man who had offered you shelter and food.

Eventually the guilt died down into near nothingness, but there was still a twinge of guilt every time you lied about it.

Aside from that, you rediscovered abilities that you had not realized you had. 

Shapeshifting into animals. You could transform your whole body into creatures, or parts of them. It was a helpful power, you found. You also seemed to have some sort of muscle memory of fighting skills. Lord Liu Kang had once offered to train you, and to both of your surprise, you were quite skilled.

Rusty at first, but it was obvious your body knew how to fight. It was nothing that years, or in all honesty, months could not fix.

Another ability you realized after a few years was how your body did not seem to age. Or at least, not in the same way humans did. At first, the monks seemed to chalk it up to good genetics, complimenting on how you seemed to keep your youth. However, as more years passed, whispers of magic arose.

Concerned with the strange state of your body, you confided in the fire god. Liu Kang suggested that your body was one that lived longer, perhaps of one that was not native to Earth, or Earthrealm as he called it…an edenian, perhaps? He explained the realm of Outworld, and the existence of the realms in general. He had once explained it much before, along with some monks, but not to the historical extent he had given you at that time.

Through these explanations, you remembered Outworld much more clearly, but the memories of Outworld were once again inconsistent with the world he described.

The Outworld you knew had been run by a tyrant before it was passed to an heir that had been overthrown. It was war hungry, and not at all pretty as he described. Liu Kang offered that, perhaps, when the Mortal Kombat tournament rolled around in a few years, you could join him and the champions he would bring to Outworld.

You agreed, of course. Maybe that realm was key to unlocking more memories, and more explanations. Even though you cherished the Fire Temple, a place you had learned to call home, you now had a purpose going forward.

Go to Outworld to seek the rest of your memories.

And now, you were here, enjoying another peaceful morning in the Fire Temple.

Staring out from the pavilion, you inhaled deeply as you took in the sunrise. You could never tire of the beautiful view. Your ears picked up the soft sound of someone walking towards you, and you turned around, already familiar with who it was. 

“Hello, Liu Kang.” You greeted, a smile on your face as you nodded towards the fire god. The fire god sent you a soft smile in return as he walked up to be by your side. Due to your memories of a younger, mortal Liu Kang that had popped up so often at first, you had taken up a nasty habit of addressing him casually. You tried to fix this, but he had permitted you to address him casually in private.

It felt like a strange honor.

He greeted you, your name rolling off his tongue in a familiar way as his hands settled on the railing much like yours were. It was common for the two of you to meet up here at sunrise, to indulge in the simple yet breathtaking view. It was a tradition from years ago.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Liu Kang inquired, much like he did nearly every morning. He gazed at the horizon with a sense of serenity and peace before his glowing eyes landed on you. With a chuckle you turned your gaze to the horizon he had been staring at previously.

“It is, just like it is every morning.” You mused, watching as the sky lightened, the darkness making way for the pretty light blue hues as a pink and orange color settled over the horizon. Your fingers tapped the wood as you hummed, remembering that something special was happening today. “Today we’re going to the village of Fengjian, correct?” You inquired, a surge of excitement buzzing through you.

You had been around the world here and there over the years to accompany Liu Kang and sometimes even the Lin Kuei, but it had been a while since your last venture. 

“Correct, Madam Bo said two of her trainees were ready for the exam scenario, and today we're going to observe.” Liu Kang said, nodding as he confirmed the plans he had told you about two weeks ago. You noted how he kept his gaze intent on you, as if analyzing your reaction. You could not hold back the smile on your lips.

“Excellent, it’s been forever since I’ve had Madam Bo’s cooking.” You commented, remembering just how delicious the older woman’s cooking was. You were nearly drooling at the thought of it. Not only that, but Madam Bo was someone you valued as well.

Whenever you saw her, you were reminded of a fatherly figure who you hazily remembered who drunk a lot of alcohol. It was odd, but she too must have sensed the connection, as she took you in as if you were a child of her own ever since she met you. You wished you could go out to see her more.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you heard the faintest of footsteps. Reflexively, you transformed your ears into those of bats and craned them around to hone in on the sound. You tilted your head as you focused before you turned to look at Liu Kang, ears turning back to normal.

“I thought the Lin Kuei were to come later?” You inquired, revealing that you were now aware of their presence. You heard some muttering before the three assassins revealed themselves. Sub Zero, Scorpion, and Smoke. Three of the Lin Kuei you had grown closest to during your association with Liu Kang.

“That was the plan, but we decided to meet up earlier to discuss the plan as we shall leave earlier to get in position to observe.” Liu Kang explained. The two of you turned around to face the three. You smiled at the three. Smoke and Scorpion both bowed to the two of you. Sub Zero, notably, did not, but you did notice the slight nod of acknowledgement sent your way.

“Perceptive as always, and I thought we could finally sneak up on you.” Smoke greeted, addressing you as he spoke your name, a light playful tone to his voice. Smoke was always the friendliest of the three, it was a delight to talk to him. He was the most casual. You noted the slightly irritated glare from Sub Zero sent his way.

You surmised that Smoke had managed to convince the two others to also sneak in. You could not tell whether the irritation was from having to partake in such a silly endeavor, or if it was due to the fact that he blamed Smoke for giving the three of them away.

“Maybe another time, Tomas.” You chuckled, covering your mouth as you did so. Despite your words, you were competitive, and you weren’t planning on giving up in the ongoing game that you had both been playing for a while now. “Regardless, it is good to see you all, it’s been a while.” With that, you nodded towards Liu Kang, letting him go over the plan with the trio.

You observed silently as excitement coursed through your veins.

You had a feeling that tonight was going to be something special.

part two

[i-sneezed]

But my question is, how is Gwyn's presence in the bonus chapter *not* meant to be a red herring?

Az and Gwyn getting together would be a huge deviation from the setup Az has with Elain in the actual books. SJM isn't going to completely change the direction of the plot in a bonus chapter the majority of readers won't see. That simply doesn't make any sense.

Seriously, when has a bonus chapter ever had an effect on the direction of the plot? Their whole purpose is to fill in some gaps/give extra context/offer some fluff.

I would also like to point out the similarities between Nesta's thoughts/feelings towards Gwyn in SF and Azriel's in the bonus chapter.

"The priestess drew up to her full height, which was slightly taller than average for Fae females. A crackling sort of energy buzzed around her, and Nesta's power grumbled in answer." - ACOSF ch. 9

"Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer." - Az BC

"She honestly didn't know why she wished to see Gwyn." - ACOSF ch. 14

"A bell rang seven times somewhere nearby. (...) Gwyn sang, a faint glow seeming to radiate from her. (...) She'd never heard such music. Like a spell, a dream given form. (...) Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the others' hadn't. Like Gwyn was calling only to her, her voice full of sunshine and joy and unshakeable determination." - ACOSF ch. 52

"Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening. (...) Something sparked in Azriel's chest. (...) For whatever reason, he could see it." - Az BC

THIS is why so many Elriels think that the bonus chapter doesn't set up another couple, but instead gives more weight to the lightsinger theory.

There are too many similarities between how Nest and Azriel both react to Gwyn for this to be a coincidence.

And the fact that Azriel gets to the library at 7, which is when Gwyn sings (singing being the source of her power), it explains why he has these strong but seemingly inexplicable reactions. It's not a mating bond, it's Gwyn's lightsinging.

(However, I do want to add that I don't think this is being done purposefully on Gwyn's part.)

It makes way more sense narratively for the bonus chapter to make it look like Az may have another love interest when, in actuality, it's giving more evidence of another character's power, something already heavily hinted at in the main story.

You simply cannot convince me that there is any romantic tension between Az and Gwyn when the two don't even exchange any words until 80% of the way through ACOSF and she showed no interest in him romantically. And we are not going to see that tension for the first time in a bonus chapter that most people won't read.