#showing groups that they can flourish outside of their old companies!

[shiningwonho]

happy 1st anniversary to an industry-changing album!

[lullabyalikpoptarot]

Stray Kids as Husbands

Okay, this was requested a while ago, so I will start this series with this group. Let's see what they show me.

Bang Chan (Pisces/3 of Cups/3 of Pentacles/Judgment)

I did hear husband material at first and these cards kind of show that, which is nice. I see him being very emotionally connected and affectionate with his partner. He will be very attuned to his partner where he may struggle to distinguish himself from his partner. I can see him being very idealistic and may not see the reality of a situation as well. I can see him being a husband that will still want to maintain friendships. I can see him wanting big parties or gathering with friends every so often, along with his partner's friends as well and them getting along. I can see him wanting to get along with his partner's friends. I see him wanting to be a support system for his partner, but he also would want that for himself or have a strong support system around himself and his partner. I don't see him wanting them to solely depend on each other, but have a community around them, which is interesting that he is stressing this. I see him wanting them to grow old together and also grow together on a personal level. I see him wanting the relationship to flourish and to nurture the bond as long as it last.

Lee Know (House 12/The Star/The Devil/4 of Cups)

I see there will be a lot of healing and lessons he will need to learn in Marriage. It will be something he can grow on a spiritual level from. I feel like Marriage and him being a husband will be a big lesson for him in this lifetime. This could stem from a past lifetime and being a husband is a lesson to learn and grow from in this lifetime. I see him needing to release old patterns and learn to let go. He will need to learn the art of forgiveness, to himself and to his future spouse. He may struggle to forgive, and this Marriage can be a lesson for him to learn that. He will need to work on opening his heart and to learn to be more vulnerable and to stop hiding these aspects of himself or guard it. I am getting it is hard for him to open up, as a husband he will need to learn to do so to heal in this lifetime. He may struggle to stay in the relationship emotionally and could get quite bored quickly and need some new excitement. I can see him disconnecting eventually and wanting something new. So, I see being a husband will be a challenge for him.

Changbin (Venus/3 of Wands/Wheel of Fortune/Ace of Pentacles)

He is cute! He will be all about giving and receiving love. He will have a strong connection and attraction to his spouse. I think of the Lovers card when I see this Venus card. He wants someone he can connect and vibe with. I can see him enjoying the company of his spouse and wanting to try and do things together. He could be madly in love with his future spouse. I can see him being a passionate husband. He will want to travel with them and do fun things, to step outside and try new things, to go on adventures together. He will want things to be fun and exciting. He will be someone who enjoys progress and taking steps forward. He is not about the past, and he doesn't like dwelling on it. He prefers to look ahead. He wants a stable footnote and to build a strong secure unit with his partner. I can see money being a thing and him wanting to make money. I see him being steady, stable and calm as a husband. He isn't the type to get overly emotional or unstable. He will be a solid source as a husband. I can also see him being realistic about things in Marriage. I can see him not having this la la land mindset as a husband. I see him keeping it real. And he knows what is needed to make a good solid marriage work. Man, I want him now reading this lol I love his energy.

Hyunjin (House 8/The Hermit/Sacral Chakra/8 of Swords)

Oh my dear Hyunjin *sighs.* Why am I getting the message he is a broken soul, did I not get that in his perspective reading? Interesting. Umm, there is some karmic ties he will need to release as a husband. I do hope he isn't in a karmic bond within this marriage, because those relationships are not the greatest. This card is about death and rebirth and facing one's fear, so he may need to do this as a husband. I sense he will need his time alone, or he will spend a lot of time alone to search for himself through this Marriage. It can also help him find himself as well. Sexual intimacy could be important to him, or that is something he may need to work on healing. But the sacral chakra is about creative energy, his desires, vulnerability, so he may struggle with that as a husband, but he may also, if comfortable enough, can express this energy very well as a husband. He may struggle to see the light at the end of the tunnel. He can feel lost and hopeless and feel he can't do things. He's got to work on opening himself up to the possibilities and release the restrictions he may put on himself. There is a need for him to take the blinders off.

Han (Chiron/6 of Wands/The Hanged Man/The World)

So, as a husband he may have some wounds he will need to work on healing as well. This energy is rough that needs to be healed and worked through, and he will need to accept this challenge in his life, through that he can heal and move past it. Not sure why Marriage and him being a husband will be a triggering experience for him, but it is a lesson for his personal growth to figure out. He can be a husband that can give a boost to his partner. To be their biggest ally, but he would have to learn to gain belief and confidence in himself, if he can do that, he can inspire and lift his spouse up. I see him having a lot of pride for his spouse. He should work on not resisting things in the Marriage, observe and let things be and to accept things as it is. This is all a lesson for him. I can see him being passive about things and struggling to take action as well, just letting things be, now there is a time and place for that and he will need to do that, but he should also show passion and fight for things that he feels he should, so the passive approach won't always work in his favor. So, if he just allows things to slowly fall into place, he will find wholeness and peace within himself. He will need to work on stop fighting certain things, there is a time and place for that, but it shouldn't be constant. It seems he can always be on fight mode. I am referring to flight or fight mode. The 6 of wands can also refer to him needing or having a desire to win all the time, or be on top, so he will need to work on letting go and giving his spouse a chance to take a win every so often.

Felix (Cancer/The Emperor/The High Priestess/4 of Pentacles)

I see him as a husband that likes to have control and take the lead when it comes to his Marriage. He is all about the family and building a stable and comfortable home for the family. I can see him wanting to be the provider. I can also see him as a husband who is very protective of his spouse and family. I can see him being pretty private about it. I don't see him being to open about his family life. He would like to keep things behind closed doors. To keep things a mystery. I see him being a husband of action, planning out things. I can see him being a good listener as well. I don't particularly see him being that open with his partner or showing much emotion or vulnerability. I see him more so being more logical and wanting to be a strong stable force for his spouse. But he does have that Cancer energy, which is very sensitive and soft energy, so he does have that, but may not reveal it too much. He can be very loving and warm, but he may repress that to keep the home as stable as it can be and not to show too much vulnerability as he may think things will crack is he does so. His need to control things and keep things together can block him from showing a more loving and carefree energy that is in him, so he would need to work on opening himself up more to be a more loving doting husband, rather than a control freak that may piss of his fs and make things harder for their relationship to thrive.

Seungmin (Yin/3 of Swords/4 of Wands/9 of Cups)

I see him having some strong feminine energy as a husband. Someone who is calmer, still, patient, intuitive and more receptive to his partner. He may want them to take more of the lead. He may also be someone who can keep things to himself to keep the peace. He is also a husband that trust and just let's things be, so he can be a bit passive and nonchalant and lack initiative as well. It seems like he will struggle to communicate his struggles, hurt and needs and will do his best to keep it to himself, which may make him feel alone and isolated, because of the lack of communication skills he has. He would like things to be jovial and happy and would want a happy home for his spouse. He would provide joy and warmth to his spouse. Marriage and meeting his fs will be a dream come true for him, but I also see him really wanting to make his spouse happy, so he may disregard his needs to please his spouse. He would want Marriage to be a happy occasion, so he will do his best to bring happiness to his spouse as a husband.

I.N (Aries/2 of Pentacles/The Hanged Man/2 of Cups)

I can see him having an aggressive energy as a husband. Kind of dominating, but would like a challenge, or a spouse to challenge him. He will have lots of passion and fire as a husband. Someone who is the initiator and would like to take the lead, but he would want his spouse to do so as well. We got two two's here, so balance is necessary for him. As a husband he is good at juggling things multi-tasking, so all his priorities may not be on his spouse. I can see this as him wanting them both to bring something to the table in the marriage. He brings something and they bring another thing. He would want them to be a good mix. He wouldn't want to put in all the effort as a husband. He would like them to share duties. Although, he can be the initiator. He does also take a passive approach and likes to observe his spouse and learn from them. I can see him being very aware of what his spouse does, so I would say he is observant. But I can see him open to new ideas and perspectives, so he can learn from his spouse as a husband, so I don't see him stuck on an idea, or being too stubborn. He would like a strong spiritual and emotional connection between the two. Two people coming together as a whole, so he will be a loving husband. I see him open to love and to receive it. I see him being tough, but also has a soft side.

Okay, this was fun, probably my favorite reading to do of them. I will do this for the other groups I normally do too as well.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 8 - Probably should read ch1 first

Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

Soft.

The word echoes in Gun’s mind. He has been described as many things, but never as ‘soft’.

It unsettles him.

.

.

This evening, you sit on the edge of your seat, bowl of udon in hand and making the most of Gun’s home cinema setup; the food you prepared having evolved to occasional meals together.

He lounges, legs crossed and arm over the back of the sofa watching you more than whatever is on the screen.

“Can we watch the next episode?”

Gun says yes to you before he even registers any words. It doesn’t matter anyway.

You can have whatever you want.

.

.

Maybe soft isn’t so bad. Not when it’s with you.

Being in one another’s company. Picking up on each other’s little habits. It’s nice. The feeling of contentment that warms you from the inside out.

.

.

“Come check this out!” You’re practically vibrating with excitement as soon as he opens his door.

Gun follows you, obedient and quiet as you lead him over to your place.

The plant, so close to death is now thriving.

Flourishing and emerald green.

“Do you want it back?”

No. Gun doesn’t want it back.

Why would he when you look after it so well?

.

.

“Do you have a preference?”

Gun looks at the ramen options held in your hand and picks the left. You throw a multipack of his choice into the shopping cart.

“What’s your preference?” He realises he doesn’t know and the question bursts out.

“I dunno,” you crouch down to examine the sauces on the bottom shelf, “I’m happy to just eat whatever I make for you.”

Oh.

He reads between the lines. That you make for him. No longer leftovers. 

.

.

That won’t do, Gun later thinks as he lies in bed. He needs to find out all about you. 

.

.

You acquire a new shadow. 

If shadows could be menacing and intimidating and disgustingly hot.

Being in the proximity of Gun almost daily means you have gotten used to him. Somewhat.

The general public, especially that group of giggling girls over there, have not. The guy who held the door open for you previously, also used it as an excuse to openly ogle at him.

You would shake your head disapprovingly if you didn’t recognise that expression on your face one too many times too.

Sneaking a glance at Gun walking besides you, you really can’t blame them. Suited and booted with his sunglasses on, hair slicked back, holding an umbrella to shield you both.

Sigh. He even looks like a gentleman.

You study the hand gripping the umbrella, littered with scars old and new. His tattoo peeking out from under the sleeves. The angle of his jawline, the shape of his lips. 

Remember how much you wanted to kiss them that day when he invited you in. That feeling never went away. Just tampered down and allowed to grow into an entirely different beast.

Gun, feeling your eyes on him, turns to you and smirks.

Even as you blush, you can’t help but smile back.

.

.

“What do you do for fun?” you return Gun’s earlier question.

He’s not surprised that when he asked about your hobbies and interests, you gave him all the typical responses for people your age, already having mentioned things here and there in your previous conversations.

You, upon recalling his home gym, also told him you have never trained, zero martial art experience. Nada. That goes without saying, Gun could tell from one look at you, but it would have been nice to be surprised.

At the phrasing of your question though, Gun gives you a look.

You replay it back in your head and your cheeks burn.

“I could show you what I do for fun, if you’d like.”

��I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

(Liar! The voice in your brain screams)

Gun looks at you for a beat more, the air charged and crackling, then it passes. 

He tells you about him.

He works, he trains, smokes, drinks, occasionally reads. Barely has time for anything else outside of that. 

You dismiss it all with ‘boring’. What about music? films? TV? Games?

At your last word, Gun tells you to open up the TV console and you do - finding his array of gaming stations.

“So what’s your favourite game?”

You kick Gun’s ass. Absolutely destroy him. Your little electronic avatar unleashing KO after KO. 

He never even stood a chance.

��I thought you said this game is your favourite?” You grin, basking in your victory.

“...”

“Do you actually play it?”

“...Yes.”

“Then why are you so shit?”

Gun kicks you out shortly after that.

.

.

Except for your phone number, Gun doesn’t find out much more about you.

Though he does find out three things about himself.

One - He really likes when he has your full attention. The thrill of finding your eyes on him when he least expects matches that of the best fight.

Two - That his heart races in sync with the fluttering in his stomach when you smile at him.

Three - That some scars may be on his body. But your small touches, the grazes and casual contact, it crawls under his skin. 

Especially that time you shared a meal together. 

Last Thursday. 7:53pm. Gun remembers every little thing about that moment.

You looked up from your plate, spotted something and giggled. 

Hand moved towards his face, thinking nothing of such intimacy and affection, as if it's a normal occurrence because it is starting to be between you both. Thumb swiping the corner of his lips, cleaning up a stray splatter of sauce and then you-

You brought it to your own lips, taking the tip into your mouth and sucked it clean. Tongue swiping out after, quick as anything, blink and you'll miss it.

You continued your conversation as if nothing had happened.

As if that wasn't the sexiest thing in the history of everything ever.

Gun could feel his ears turning crimson, his eyes widening at that small action. What should be insignificant but completely clears his mind of any coherent thought.

He can't recall anything else that happened that night.

He thinks about it all the time.

.

.

And tonight-

Tonight is another kind of special.

Picking up a conversation from weeks ago, you had shoved a film in his face and demanded to watch it after dinner. Said it was a classic. One of your favourites. How could he not have seen it.

He feels your eyes drifting to him during every supposedly poignant moment. Expects the climax to cause his eyes to well up just as much as yours have. To also clap his hands in glee as the credits start to roll.

“I didn’t know you have such poor taste,” was Gun’s single cutting remark at the end.

“What?!” You throw your arms out in anger, “Well what do you like!”

“It’s getting late.”

“That’s a shit excuse!”

As it turns out, Gun is completely right. It is getting late. 

Your eyes are drooping and body swaying not even ten minutes in to his film choice.

“You’re tired.”

Eyes snapping open, “Mm not.”

A push and pull for the next twenty minutes. Gun antagonising you, and you defensive and trying to stave off sleep.

At the halfway point, your head gently drops onto his shoulder and your body leans against his.

“Mm not tired,” you mumble, eyes closed and breaths lengthening.

Gun doesn’t say anything.

The fight scene continues unfolding. He watches the rest of the film on his own, arm around you and the heat of your body searing into him.

.

.

Sunlight breaks over the horizon. Chasing away the shadows in the living room, saturating everything in gold.

You wake up with a crick in your neck, the slow beating of a heart against your ears and Gun still holding you.

Ah. Right. You remember Gun disparaging your movie choice, then him being completely right when he said it was too late to watch anything else.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to stay mad because waking up like this feels like a dream.

Shuffling around and careful not to disturb him, you rearrange yourself to get a view of his face.

Hair dishevelled and a faint five o'clock shadow. Long black lashes resting against the top of his cheek bones. The curve of his top lip, the prominent cupid's bow.

Like someone picked out the most striking features and arranged it into a devastatingly handsome portrait.

If you didn’t like him so much you would be jealous at how unfairly attractive he is.

And it’s really with how closely you’re admiring him that you’re able to see the tiniest curve of his lips.

Eyes still closed and voice gravelly from disuse, “Morning.”

“Morning,” you squeak back, embarrassed at having been caught in the act.

Gun tightens his arm around you, pulling you back onto his chest.

Initially your body tenses. With each passing second, it slowly unwinds and uncoils until you're snuggling into him.

It's a pretty good consolation, all things considered.

[yurabe]

yura has always had a problem taking 'no' for an answer - giving it, not so much. on the eve of officially receiving a rejection notice from her latest audition, there's a bit of a switch that flicks, and yura finds herself (more) than a little offended that she wasn't even given feedback from the audition - despite having relatively no clue how entertainment companies in this country operate outside of what she's been assigned to research for potential stories.

and in classic yura fashion, she changes her mind about auditioning with yejun and hangyeol and joins them, dutifully filling out the form with skilled flourishes and pretty signatures that she's practiced since she could write, and eyeing everyone as potential competition, categorizing them by level of threat as phase two of the auditions for next generation befall them, and they're waiting to be grouped for showcasing.

it's a lot like the auditions she used to attend, the crowding, the slightly anxious atmosphere filled with varying degrees of professionalism and skill, and the mish-mash of perfumes, aftershaves, and colognes alike, leading to an amalgam of disorientation- and unironically, putting yura's headspace right back into the days she considered these things fun.

so when it's her turn to showcase 60 seconds of talent and she notices a distinct lack of female rappers, she's able to pivot somewhat quickly, dropping a few bars from the latest popular kpop boy group (because girls can do it too, and better), with a cocky, confident smile and a hair flip to boot. she may be a little rusty, but where there's rust, there's a shine underneath, and yura is more than wiling to dust off her skills just to prove a point to a company that couldn't have cared less to call her back.

the questions come easily, and they're really not all too unlike what she's experienced before, though in recent years she's been the one asking them instead.

What can you bring to the table that we won’t see in any other contestant?

"good, home-grown, genuine talent." she responds cheekily, with a side glance at hangyeol and yejun, who are probably realizing all over again what a competitive monster yura can be. "i'm not soft, and i come to win, and to achieve what i set my mind to. always."

What was the first thing you thought about when you woke up this morning?

"what shoes to wear," yura answers with ease, as it's the truth. "and whether it would match my jacket." as if to prove her point, yura steps back a few steps, showing off the combination that she settled on, the gentle pops of color in her sneakers a near perfect match to the color of the light jacket she elected to continue wearing throughout this whole process.

Which company would you want to receive an offer from and why?

without missing a beat, she blurts, almost challenging, "delta studio. why? because they didn't cast me once, and i want them to know it was a mistake." yura grins, tilting her head in a way that almost seems devilishly playful, as if she knows it's a rather tongue-in-cheek comment to make, and she does.

and for her special talent, never being one to be outdone and constantly overprepared, yura quickly retrieves her old twirling batons from her backpack, gesturing for her fellow auditioners to scoot back just a bit, because 'i'm about to heat things up," which, in hindsight, is probably more frightening than endearing, as yura chose to light the ends of her batons as she twirled them, effortlessly throwing them with just the right amount of force so that they flew gracefully in the low-ceiling studio room, rather than catching the whole place on fire. it's only a quick few seconds, some artful kicks and twists that she hasnt done in quite a while, but it's just the kind of plucky personality pick that yura knows will make sure she's not easily forgotten or ignored.

[amiah425]

                   CHAPTER 2 HITOSHI'S POV

 “Toshii~! Where are you?” a smooth, almost flirtatious voice called out. Hitoshi groaned in annoyance.

“Leave me alone you stupid eel.” His vision was blocked suddenly by a vibrant yellow and gold glow, Hitoshi jerked his head back so he wouldn’t bump into the annoying ‘creature’. The the delicate patterns of black zig-zags outlined with a deep blue-ish color on the individual’s stomach became clearer to him.

“Ugh! So mean! I just wanted to say ‘hi. And the name’s Denki, by the way.” The Eel-mer huffed, crossing his yellow scaled arms with a pout.

“Never asked, I'm sure you could've lived without bothering me. Now leave me be.” Hitoshi made a sharp turn away from the smaller mer, his lilac colored fins flowed gracefully behind him despite his sour attitude.  

Denki's eyes sparkled mischievously, he quickly swam up to the other's side and nudged his elbow with his.

“What’s got you so busy that you don’t have time to talk to yours truly?” He flourished his webbed hand at the last part, his yellow hair sparked with electricity.

“None of your business.” Hitoshi coldly answered, he turned the corner of the colorful reef.

“Okay fine.” Denki started to grumble under his breath about how rude the violet colored boy was. They two passed through a group of small guppies (little mer) and older met having a deep conversation.

Some of the Mothers with their children quickly took a hold of their children to lead them away when the two young mer swam past. Even some of the nine foot Mers that protected the pod moved out of the way.

“Damn, what’s up with mer today? The guppies love me!” Denki pouted as he whispered this to Hitoshi.

“Can’t say the same about me. You should just leave me alone, otherwise your name and character will be tainted.” Hitoshi mumbled icily, he kept his head down to avoid eye contact and start trouble.

“What? Why? What did you do?” The yellow eel swam past the young merman to face him more.

“I was born I guess.” Hitoshi shrugged, swimming past the eel to the edge of the village, careful as to not brush against him, otherwise that would be an invitation for a friendship he didn’t want to risk.

Denki stayed in the same spot of a few seconds then swiftly turned to catch up with the other.

“That’s just sad.”

“I guess. I don’t mind being alone.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

“No. I have my father figure and adopted little sister to keep me company.”

“Do you have anyone your age to talk to?”

“No.”

“Do you want a friend your age?”

“No.”

“Great! I’ll gladly be your friend!” Denki smiled brightly and did an underwater flip, his entire body sparked with gold sparks.

“I said ‘no'.” Hitoshi rolled his eyes as he dipped down to the deeper water towards the single caves where families would live outside the pod.

“Yay!” Denki practically buzzed, is tail brushing up against Hitoshi's as he head-butted the larger boy's shoulder affectionately, an old ritual showing that they were happy to make a bond of friendship.

Hitoshi continued to swim and trying to ignore the warm glow around his and the eel’s body.

“Quick, accept the friendship before the glow disappears. Otherwise I’ll have to smother you with happiness!” Denki grinned.

The merman groaned and curled a bit to head butt Denki’s temple to spare himself for later unnecessary affection for another ritual.

“This is ridiculous.” He muttered as a deep purple and gold ring appeared on his wrist. Deep down, he felt a genuine happiness that someone would goes as far as make a bond with a mer like him.

“Haha, now I can be your bestie forever! We will have so much fun!” Denki released happy trills that echoed in the water.

“Oh joy.” The lavender head rolled his eyes as he entered into his cave that was made especially made for him by his father figure, Shota. His muscular and lyth body slipping gracefully into a large hole to a hidden cavern.

Denki slowed to a stop watching his new friend disappear slowly and politely waited for an invitation inside the den. It was considered very rude and even against the mer laws to go inside someones personal nest without permission.

Hitoshi turned and looked up to see that the eel boy did not follow. He had to admit he was kinda surprised since he seemed to to lack the sense of personal space. He slowly swam up and poked his head out to look at the blonde, who in turn, blinked back. A small smile on his lips.

“Can come in if you want I guess. Just don’t touch anything.” Hitoshi dipped down again.

Denki nodded and smoothly slid down the large hole as well. He was expecting a dark and depressing cave that was just cold and plain. But what he saw was completely different. The eel-mer gasped at how beautiful the den was. There were tunnels at the sides and a wide open area in front of him, it glowed a beautiful blue and the kelp, seaweed, and moss made it look even lively.

“Wow! This place is awesome!” Denki’s tail swished and sparked as he swam up to a particular flower that he had never seen before. He poked a petal lightly.

“What’s this? I’ve never seen this before.”

“I thought I told you not to touch anything.” Hitoshi swam up to see what the other mer was talking about, he really didn’t mind if he touched stuff. He was just afraid he'd electrocute something and damage it.

“Oh, that’s just something I made when I was bored.” The larger mer disappeared quickly into a tunnel and brought out a pouch and went up to the exit.

“Wait, what?” You made that!? Toshi, it’s so pretty!”

“Bye.” Was the deadpan response was slightly far since the merman was halfway out the den.

“Huh? Woah, hold up, you’re just gonna leave me here?” Denki whined childishly when he caught up to his “friend”.

“Mm.”

“Oh, by the way, can I have that flower you made? Flowers are really hard to come by and it would make my den look so pretty!”

“No.”

“Aw, how come?”

“It takes effort.”

“Soo, you’re sayimg you’re lazy?”

“Wha- NO! I just don’t feel like it.” Hitoshi approached a huge cave opening, the edges had sharp but pretty black stones, near the sides you could see little glowing handprints all around. The neon colors of pinks, greens, yellows and blues stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Looks like Eri had fun..” The mer chuckled, scaring Denki for a moment.

“Hey!” The lilac haired boy yelled at the cave, there was no answer.

“Oh Well, guess I’ll have to keep this all to myself.” Hitoshi smirked and pressed the small pouch to his chest tighter, drifting away a few feet, slowly letting his long tail move with the drift of the ocean.

Denki looked at him with a confused smile.

“Who in the world is he talking to?” Out of all the things he thought Hitoshi was, he certainly didn’t think the rude mer to be crazy.

“No! No! Come back, lemme see please!” A small voice squeaked, a white blur swam by Denki to Hitoshi, almost slamming into him. She was still a pup, it was normal for a young mer to be a rather clumsy swimmer.

“Lemme see!” The little mer had long white hair and vibrant red eyes, her tall looked as if it was made of pearls with the way they shone. She pulled gently at the parcel the older met was holding.

“Okay, okay. Be careful.” Hitoshi gave in and handed the package to the mer he called Eri. She quickly grasped the wrapped gift and opened it, what was revealed made Denki huff with slight jealousy.

In the girl's tiny webbed hands was a glowing flower with layers of petals, the middle of it was crimson that fades to pink and white. Eri squealed with delight, letting the flower float as she spun around and caught it gently again.

“Thank you Toshi! It’s so pretty, I will put it in my nest. Or should I put it at the entrance?” Eri looked around and thought to herself with concentration, completely ignoring the eel. Though she probably didn’t notice him.

“Why, do I hear high pitches? I swear If anyone hurt Eri I will-” Denki jumped at the deep voice that rumbled from the cave, he swam quickly behind Hitoshi as sparks nervously flashed on his tail.

When he looked at the den he swore he had a mini stroke. There, a huge figure hovered near the cave mouth, a long black tail glistened from the light of the bioluminescent plants and the faint light from the sun. The figure’s long black hair and tail gracefully swayed lazily.

“That must be where Toshi picked up that habit. Is this his ‘father figure’? He’s huge, like, eleven feet! He looks so much like Toshi here, are they sure they aren’t related somehow? ”

“Daddy, look! Toshi made a pretty flower for me!” Eri swam up and practically shoved the beautiful item in his face to show him.

“I see, very pretty.” The older mer looked up to meet Hitoshi’s eye, giving him indirect praise.

Denki smirked when he saw the lilac haired merman puff up his chest with pride, even though he tried to hide it.

The black scaled mer’s eyes sparkled with amusement when they suddenly went cold, they shifted to glare at the eel. He stiffened.

“Who's this?” Denki backed up a few inches when the large mer swam up to him. The eel-mer's golden eyes quickly darted to Hitoshi for help. This guy was scary!

“This is- um, I forgot his name. My bad.” Hitoshi gave Denki and sly smile while he shivered in fear.

“Wha?! I told you my name the other day! My name is Denki, pleasure to meet you sir.” Denki bowed slightly with respect. The older huffed.

“Hm, Shota. You can call me Aizawa though.” Aizawa turned and swam quickly to his ‘son’, he noticed the gold and purple ring on his wrist.

“You made a bond friend. Good job, pup.” The dark haired mer ruffled Hitoshi's wavy locks.

“I didn’t bond with him. Not willingly anyway.”

“Don’t listen to him! We are besties!” Denki flashed a wide grin.

“Uh-huh.” Aizawa looked at the eel skeptically, then slowly made his way to the den.

“Are you going to stay or-?”

“Well I-’’

“We're gonna hang out today.” Denki interrupted Hitoshi’s sentence, sending a smirk his way.

Revenge.

“Wha- no. When did we-?” Hitoshi whipped his body around to face his ‘friend'. 

“Mm, I see. Enjoy your day, I guess.” The dark haired mer played along, though his bored tone sounded a bit disappointed.

“We will! Bye!” Denki grabbed the other boy's arm and pulled him away.

“Byee!” Eri waved and ducked into the den with her new treasure.

“Don’t get into trouble! Salacia (Ocean deity) knows I don’t want to deal with that-“ Aizawa grumbled the last part tiredly. He needed a nap.

“We'll try not to!” Denki continued to drag the poor mer away from the den.

“Where are we even going?” Hitoshi tried to yank his arm away after a few minutes of just floating behind the eel-mer.

“The surface.”

“Whut.. Why?! We aren’t supposed to go there!” The lilac scaled boy pulled away and glared at Denki. 

“Oh relax! It’s fine, fun, and no one will know.” His golden eyes flashed a bright yellow, making Hitoshi nervous.

“No, there are walkers and land swimmers. I don’t want to get caught.”

“We won’t get caught! C'mon, we're gonna have some fun, I've gone up plenty of times and I’ve never been caught. I haven’t even had a close call.”

Hitoshi looked at the eel skeptically, his eyes narrowing. After a few seconds of pure silence he gave in and sighed.

“Fine, I guess we could go. But not for too long! I don’t wanna get in trouble because of you, if I do, you’re dead.” The larger mer swam past the happy little mer with a bored expression, though deep down he was nervous. He knew he didn’t have to go, but he didn’t want to seem like a kleptopus (ocean version of a scaredy-cat) so he wanted to prove that wrong.

“Yay! Okay! Let’s go towards the shore, we can see a lot of walkers there and they have a lot of cool stuff!”

Hitoshi grumbled while he followed Denki in the warm waters, he had a feeling he was going to regret this.

~Time skip~

 

“Denki, this doesn’t feel right.” The lilac haired mer peeked over a deck platform to watch a few fisherman converse in their strange language that he could understand well enough due to his excellent knowledge that Aizawa made him study, the older mer said something along the lines of,

“You might need it in the future, you should be prepared and grateful that I know what to teach you, pup.”

 Looks like the grump was right after all…

“What do you mean? We haven't even done anything fun yet. Come here, look in the sand under the floating planks (deck), there are these little round things that have walker faces on them, they seem kinda valuable to the land mer.”

Denki dived down to the sand, sifting the sand in his webbed hand carefully.

“See! Found one already!” The eel held up a nickel proudly.

“Uh-huh.” Hitoshi wasn’t all that impressed, he looked back up to the crack in the deck, he watched the men talk a little bit more when he heard a large splash behind him.

He whipped around to look at Denki who was facing away from him.

“Denki.” The other hissed.

“What was that?!”

“I- I’m not sure. Maybe they are heading out on their floating thing. They catch fish buy the hundreds that way.”

Hitoshi scoffed, doubting that a walker could catch that many at a time without actually being able swim as gracefully as a mer.

“Don’t believe me? Come on, I’ll show ya.” Denki smirked and swam under the shadow of a large boat, waving Hitoshi over.

“Are you sure it’s safe to go under this? It won’t sink?” The merman ducked down under the boat hesitantly.

“Yes, now hurry up before walkers see you!” Denki pulled Hitoshi roughly, accidentally touching his sensitive gills on his neck. The mer growled at the eel while rubbing his glands gently, making sure they weren’t damaged so he didn’t have a problem breathing.

“Sorry!” Denki flinched at Hitoshi's death glare.

“Oh, it’s moving. Watch and see.”

After watching the large met go up and down from the boat to the water in utter fascination, the two mer boys got quite bored of the net going up and down and heard the fishermen say that they were done for the day. Though it was quite thrilling.

“There, now do you think I’m lying?” Denki smugly questioned, an annoying smile on his face.

“Yeah, I guess. We should be heading back though, it’s been a while and I don’t want to make my dad and sister worry.”

“Aww, it’s not even that late!”

Denki followed Hitoshi slowly, a pout on his face. Then a shadow was cast over them.

“Eel, move!” The lavender colored mer shoved Denki to the side harshly, pushing him several feet away. Hitoshi was about to swim away when the net flowed down around him in startling speed. This net was weighted,  causing it to reach the mer faster than he expected.

“Argh! What the-!”

“Hitoshi!”

Denki reached forward while the said mer struggled to get free. The net kept getting caught under his scales and fins, painfully tugging and cutting through the weaker scales into his flesh.

“D-Denki! Get out, get- help!”

Hitoshi's words cut when he was being pulled up towards the surface. Denki got a hold of the net and yanked it deeper in the water, his sensitive ears picked up on the walkers yelling and grunting to pull the net up.

“Can’t you cut the net?!”

“No, my hands are caught!” Denki could also hear the panic in the other mers voice.

The voices of the fishermen got closer as they neared the surface.

“Pull! We got a lot this time!”

“Hitoshi-.” Was all Denki could say as the net was yanked out of his grip, his bonding ring throbbed painfully, glowing with how much emotion the two mer felt.

“We got ‘em boys!”

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 4 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Chapter summary: Cute work things (sorry im very hungover and i can't remember what i actually wrote)

Warnings: maybe a bit of second-hand embarrassment, masturbation

W/C: 1.5K

Part 1 Part 5

Monday night, Frankie arrived before you. The day cook, a grizzled old woman named Annette, gave him a toothy grin.

“Evenin’ hotshot,” she said. “You here to make all my dreams come true?”

“Only for a night, darlin’,” Frankie said.

“All you men are the same,” Annette laughed and handed Frankie the spatula. She gave him a to-do list, which was significantly shorter than the one on Friday night had been, bid him goodnight and hightailed it out of there, saying something about dinner with her husband.

Frankie watched the window out of the corner of his eye, waiting for you to arrive. There weren’t many orders up, so he could manage the task of cooking and having his head whip up every time he heard the tinkle of the chimes above the door.

It was almost forty-five minutes after he arrived before you came in, red faced and breathing heavily.

“I’m-I’m so sorry, Riss,” you panted. Marissa shrugged and patted you on the cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, sweet, I had some good company,” she winked at Frankie. “Have a good night, guys, don’t get into too much trouble!”

Frankie watched as you leant over the counter and caught your breath. “Do you want some water?”

You nodded wordlessly, straightening up. Frankie handed you a glass, a shock of electricity surging through him as your fingers briefly touched.

Fuck. He had it bad.

“I had to run here,” you said when you had your breath back. Frankie nodded, waiting for you to continue. “I found a kitten behind a dumpster, all wet and shivering and crying, so I had to take her to the vet.”

“What kind of kitten?” Frankie asked, having a soft spot for cats. He had had one, until he and Portia broke up and she took the cat with her. He didn’t hold it against her: Anthony the Great was technically hers.

“A black one. I’m not good with breeds,” you said.

The conversation was broken up by a pair of old men calling out your name. Your genuine smile was back as you greeted them. Frankie adjusted his cap and smiled to himself.

Occasionally he would glance up at you while he worked, catching the occasional glimpse of your side profile or the back of your head. You seemed a little lighter today, like you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. It was nearing 1 in the morning before he decided to attempt a conversation with you.

“So, how was your weekend?” He kept his tone light, nonchalant. You shrugged, pouring him a cup of coffee.

“It was okay, nothing special.” You stirred in the sugar as you spoke, avoiding his gaze. “My boyfriend has his stupid friends over so I spent most of my Sunday cleaning up after them.” Frankie deflated just a bit. Of course you had a boyfriend. Of course. Someone as beautiful as you . . . he’d be more surprised if you were single.

“But uh, I saw Manny on Sunday,” you continued, oblivious to Frankie’s disappointment. “You remember Manny, right? He was the night cook before you, you met him I think.”

“Yeah, I did. Nice guy.”

“Uh, yeah, so I saw Manny for lunch on Sunday and he suggested making a night shift lunch group.” You wiped down menus, deftly avoiding Frankie’s gaze. “And um, well, if you wanted to come this coming Sunday, that’d be cool.”

“You’re inviting me to lunch?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah,” you said, finally looking up at him. You flushed slightly. “If you’re interested, that is. You don’t have to, obviously, but Manny and I thought it would be nice. We could all get to know each other outside of this place. Make friends, you know?”

Frankie smiled, happy at least with the prospect of a friendship with you. “That sounds great. What time?”

“Midday, if you want you can give me your number later and I’ll text you the place?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Oh, and it’s just us three. So don’t invite the weekend crew, or your wife or anything.”

“I’m not married, so no problem there,” Frankie grinned at you. You nodded quickly, turning away before you could see the smile you were trying so desperately to fight off.

~*~

You didn’t know why it excited you so much that Frankie had said yes to Sunday lunch. Maybe it was because he wasn’t married, not that it made a difference.

Still, it gave you a slight thrill that Frankie had said yes.

You worked with a renewed vigor for the rest of the night. You weren’t sure any amount of rude customers or spilled drinks or broken plates that could bring you down. At one point you found yourself humming along to the radio, some song you hadn’t heard in years by an artist you couldn’t place. You knew it would bug you until you figured it out

“You like Prince?” Frankie asked, making you blush furiously at being caught with your guard down.

“I-uh-I-yeah. Yeah a bit,” you said, “actually, I haven’t listened to him in years. But I like a few of his songs.”

Frankie grinned and began to sing along in a terrible falsetto, making you snort with laughter. You danced along, allowing yourself this moment of freeing yourself of any embarrassment. After all, if Frankie was willing to put on the falsetto, it wouldn’t kill you to dance. The entire thing was ridiculous, but you were having a better time than you had had in months.

Frankie ended the song with a kick and a flourish, taking off his cap to bow dramatically.

“Have you ever thought of auditioning for one of those talent shows?” You grinned at him, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Actually, I’ve won several of them,” Frankie winked, “I just work jobs like this when I’m not on sold out world tours.” You laughed again at his joke, almost shocked at how easy it was to laugh with someone. How freeing it was to dance like a fool and not feel embarrassed or like you were in on the joke and not the butt of it.

The rest of the shift passed quickly, the night peppered with jokes between you and Frankie. At the end of the night, instead of rushing out the door as soon as your relief was there, you waited around a few minutes.

Your phone was mercifully free of messages from Kurt, pushing your mood even higher.

Frankie met you outside by the back door, and looked shocked to see you still there. You held up your phone as a way of explanation. “I still gotta get your number.” You handed your phone to Frankie, already open to the new contact screen. Frankie punched it in quickly and handed it back to you.

“What’s with the emojis?” you asked, squinting at them.

“It’s my nickname, Catfish. My buddies and I all had callsigns in the military and that was mine. Except for Benny. He was just Benny.”

“Catfish,” you repeated. “Well, I’ll see you tonight, Catfish.”

“Yeah, see you tonight.”

~*~

You couldn’t sleep. You were too busy thinking. About him. Frankie. His dark, warm eyes that when you looked into them you felt like you could melt. The way his soft looking curls stuck out under his ever present cap. His smile that felt like safety. His hooked nose that led to lips you could only imagine kissing. His hands. You felt yourself warm as you imagined what you wanted his hands to do to you. You let yourself imagine what the rest of his body might look like.

Before you could overthink it and stop yourself, your fingers slipped between your folds and began to rub. You were wetter than you could remember yourself being. You moaned softly as you thought about him doing things to you that you didn’t even realise you wanted. Within minutes you were to your climax, legs stiffening and back arching. Sweat dotted your brow and your heart slammed into your ribcage. You hadn’t orgasmed in almost a year, always too exhausted to masturbate, and it wasn’t like Kurt gave a shit about you finishing when he fucked you.

The thought of Kurt immediately turned you sour. The burning feeling of betrayal knotted itself in your stomach. Kurt didn’t even let you have a vibrator. He had huffed and become scornful when you tentatively brought up the subject a few years back. He didn’t want anyone or anything but him to make you cum. It was a man's job to keep his woman satisfied, even if he struggled with the whole keeping you satisfied part.. You knew Kurt would practically have an aneurysm if he knew you were touching yourself to the thought of another man. But the thought of Frankie touching you gave you a thrill you hadn’t felt in years. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel truly guilty for it. Surely that was some kind of sign.

Eventually, you fell asleep a few hours before your alarm was supposed to go off. Normally, you dreamt of being in your own private space station, as far away from the apartment as possible. That night, you dreamt of Frankie.

Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 let me know if you'd like to be added <3

[leonawriter]

Second half of what was going to be just one post but I wanted to make each point stand out on its own-

I think that the Port Mafia is going through a character development arc throughout the manga, just the same as the ADA is, and by the time the series ends will be almost unrecognisable from the mafia we started out with.

Funnily enough, the first person who springs to my mind when I think of this is actually Kouyou. Though I will touch on others later on.

Kouyou is certainly not the first PM member we meet. Strictly speaking, that’d be Dazai, or Higuchi, or Akutagawa. But I feel like her change is the most indicative of the route the mafia is taking, and the difference between the pre-manga PM, and the PM after the manga started, and after several arcs. In fact, this is also something I tend to try and think about when writing her in fics, because it is highly relevant.

Chronologically, we know that her timeline is thus; she was part of the mafia in the time before Mori took over, and under the old boss she wanted to run away, likely encouraged by an older man who she may have had feelings for, romantic or not. That man died, and left her feeling that no matter what, she would be unable to escape the darkness. At some time after that, Mori took over the mafia. A year later, she was one of his trusted subordinates, and she is tasked with taking a young Chuuya - previously an enemy of the mafia, and someone who had no idea how to talk to the mafia’s business partners - under her wing. She would go on to become an executive, and at some time before the manga began, found and took in Kyouka. She would then go on to be murderously protective of her young ward, much like a mother or older sister, and encourage her to believe as she had - that she would never be able to live in the light.

So what we see from this is that Kouyou up until this point is a woman with a dark past and a dark heart who is full of grief, and I think that a lot of people overlook this because she’s beautiful and because the way she is later is more popular, but... she is just as guilty of perpetuating the cycle of abuse as Mori, Dazai, and Akutagawa. She was imparting to Kyouka the same “life lessons” that she had learned herself, in much the same way that Atsushi’s headmaster had. Both of those people had suffered, and so both of them taught their charge in a way that they saw as somewhat more forgiving than what they had gone through, in a way that to them would ready the child for the outside world and their future, but was ultimately doing more harm than good.

So, what changes?

I’d say that to answer “Dazai” is to over-simplify things.

The situation had become such that it was no longer viable. Kyouka refused to go back to the mafia. Kouyou was afraid for her, that she would lose herself in some way, and despite her previous words to Atsushi, she did want Kyouka to succeed; or at the very least, saw how a failure would break her, as we see it does while she’s in the jail plane, chained up in midair. Their organisations are not just at odds, but as an executive she’d have to be seeing that neither of them are in a safe position.

Kouyou was already in the perfect place to accept Dazai’s suggestions before he came to her with them (and, admittedly, he may have predicted that things would get to this point, may have used the situation to his advantage).

So, what changes the way that she sees things?

Dazai is one aspect. A rather large one, considering how he himself puts that he managed to get out of the mafia, and is someone with his sort of past (and personality) who not only made it out, but has been staying out, and succeeding. He also points out that with him present in the ADA, he’s able to ensure that Kyouka can flourish in the way that she deserves to.

Atsushi is another aspect, I’d say, because he was the one who was willing to suggest that their organisations work together.

Even just staying with the ADA and not being treated with anything other than respect (and yes, that includes “respect for how dangerous she can be”) would work towards this.

In summary, Kouyou before the Three Company Conflict arc is a grief-ridden woman filled with despair, who sees herself as someone only capable of showing her true potential in the darkness. She comes out of said arc as someone who appears happy with where she is, and who chooses to be where she is, yet who is also happy to help Kyouka from the shadows.

This is just focusing on the one I feel is the best representation of this phenomenon of PM members coming out better. 

Another would have to be Chuuya, which is something that many people have written about, myself included, on how before the manga starts he’s bitter over Dazai’s defection, seeing that trust in his partner as having been shattered. Yet over the course of their first reunion, he is forced to see that his partnership with Dazai need not be over simply because Dazai is now a traitor to the mafia, and that Dazai, well, missed him. As a person. That the connection is still there. And later, during the Lovecraft battle, they work together fluidly again, just like old times and reminding them that just because they’re older, doesn’t mean they’re too much different to still be partners. You can really see it in Dead Apple, where his acceptance of Dazai is less in how willingly he trusts in him and activates Corruption, and more in how comfortable he is after he’s woken up again both in the movie when he sees Akutagawa, and in the promo images where he’s still next to Dazai, and they’re smiling.

Akutagawa needs almost no explanation, given how his arc is still ongoing, and he’s already gone from being the rabid dog of the mafia who kills before he thinks to someone who goes out of his way to leave people alive, and who because of that, is learning to see things from another point of view, just as Dazai wanted of him.

Yet, it’s not just these obvious ones; Higuchi has to work with the ADA on several occasions, tempering down on her novice’s pride in her organisation that she had on her introduction, and is also coming into her own as well. Kajii may well have taken something from his encounter with Yosano, and we see how he’s more than just a mad lemon scientist when he says how much he respects Mori (and I wonder if anything else is going to happen with that). Hirotsu is now able to talk with Dazai again and it isn’t something that he would have to worry about being seen as treasonous. 

And last but not least, Mori himself - when it’s said during his match against Fukuzawa that they’ve both got more to protect now, that’s not just cheap words; Mori protects his people. He shows grief when his people die and it was out of his control. He accepts that an alliance with the ADA is the best and most optimal course when it’s put on the table, even with the understanding that it’ll put them at a disadvantage in the short term. He is forced to begin to come to terms with things about his past that he had been trying to rationalise, and ignore, such as how his actions led to Dazai’s defection, and I sincerely believe that although he does not regret what he did, he does regret how it ended, and what it cost him. 

Mori, the leader of the mafia, is being forced in the current arc  to come face to face with the realisation that the mafia can’t live as an island, merely taking from the ADA what they need and giving nothing in return. It is Mori’s lack of action that led to things becoming as bad as they are now, and because of that, his own people are suffering. I’ve said this before to personal friends, but I do think that this is indicative of the mafia’s growth as a group - Mori needs to learn that the alliance with the ADA has to be an equal one.

What’s more, the ADA is learning through their own growth in general that they have to be able to trust the PM in return.

What does this say to me? 

Other than that the characters of the mafia have been influenced positively by the plot, into becoming better versions of themselves, and the development is still in progress because the series isn’t over? That you can’t write them the way they are now, into a fic set years before the series starts?

That the themes of BSD are such that the PM represent the underside of society, a cruel and callous way of thinking that we often don’t wish people to see, or that we cover up. That even the ADA, on the twilight of the law, is still more often than not too proud to accept the help of criminals who are less ashamed and more forward about the way that they do things being criminal. That both sides are slowly moving down the path of being able to accept one another better, and in doing so, they’ll better be able to accept themselves.

We already see this with Kouyou and Akutagawa and Chuuya especially. We see this with Dazai, and to a degree with Kyouka. I believe that the longer the series goes in this direction, the more other ADA characters will accept themselves; such as Tanizaki, with his ability to use his ability in ways that Hirotsu notes are “perfect for assassination,” and with Ranpo, who hides the fact that he has insecurities and is also fully willing to make a demon of himself in order to protect his own - which is far more of a mafia attitude than an ADA one, even if, just like with Chuuya, I’m not sure I can imagine him in the other organisation.

The ADA will always be the ADA, and the PM will always be the PM, but together they can be better than they were before on their own. Currently they seem to be on a tentative truce of sorts, uncertain about doing things together and constantly in a state of tension. If they can get to a point where they trust each other more implicitly, that’s where the real strength is going to come from - something that Mori saw himself, when sending Chuuya out to help Dazai - and yet it won’t just be in the sense of power and how well they perform in their casework and missions, but strength of character, in who they are as people.

[untitledtheunknown]

Psychofans & Mediacorps

(Backstory and lore on some psychofan encounters and the attempted kidnapping of Kerry Eurodyne along with some related events with Johnny Silverhand. Written as a Screamsheet because I was bored, and this all isn’t 100% since actual events aren’t always fully disclosed. Word count: 2976. Sources at the end.)

Being a world famous Rockerboy is really all it’s chalked up to be, doesn’t mean there isn’t its fair share of snags along the way. Fame and glory comes with a heavy price tag many don’t realize as they’re building their way to the top. Blinded by having your name in the lights, seeing hundreds of thousands of fans all eagerly waiting to just get a glimpse of you. Night City Legend Kerry Eurodyne commented, “It’s scary. I mean, to think that one hundred thousand people are selling their souls to see you, and you’ve got them hanging on your every word.” The very fans that would kill for a chance to see their idols live, are the very same that would put them on Trauma. 

Not just the fans either. Corporate is everywhere, in everything. Fight the system through lyrics while making them richer all the same. Media giants like N54 and DMS buying up the whole show to beat on their chest about who has the most control. The issue comes with their greed for it, keeping those who give them wealth on short leashes. Best offers, benefits, prestige of having a higher name attached to yours. But when friendship runs deeper than the quick climb to fame, other options of “persuasion” may occur. Aggressive strategies to keep themselves on top, because the company always come first.

We’re going to start this article off on arguably a lighter topic, that being the psychofans. I say arguably because they can do just as much damage as the corporations, but it's usually a bit more controlled. We'll hit on that later. There’s the usual rush security, jump fences, steal an axe, the almost seemingly normal chaotic fan behavior you can expect at most high profile gigs. Don’t lie, there’s always one in the audience. 

The sudden rise to fame with Samurai also helped play a part in this erratic behavior, Eurodyne had previously stated, “One minute we’re chugging through our old numbers in some small, no name club to the same crowd; the next we’ve sold out Wembley Stadium and there are a hundred thousand killing each other to get a look at us.” This wasn’t much of an overstatement either. Samurai’s rapid rise to fame took a mere three weeks after signing to Universal Music to reach the number one spot on EuroRadio charts. Everyone wanted a piece of Samurai then, and following the break up in late 2007 that craving didn’t soon die out. 

A number of incidents have happened, being on world tours is a crazy place. Never really know how fans are going to act until you’re in the thick of it. Most these incidents happen backstage, after gigs, or just by random chance coming across someone on the streets, in the open. One particular incident was documented in 2020 in the following of Trauma Team’s Rich “Meatball” Cramer M.D., Lifeline Trauma Inc., Night City Branch #23. 

Broken card call, 15:55, to the Grand Illusion Dance Hall and Bar. Patient being none other than one Rockerboy, Kerry Eurodyne. Compared to the rest of the logs of the night this was a breath of fresh air for the Lifeline agents, not so much for Mr. Eurodyne who was being assaulted by a gang of young female fans. Teargas was dispensed and our Rocker was extracted from the scene. Kerry was in good health at time of extraction, footing the bill of the call to the studio as well as a new set of clothes. Lawsuits were never charged as the fans left enjoying the chaos. 

Another lesser known act back in 2043-44, while performing in Memphis TN an assailant got backstage and put a knife to Kerry’s throat. Intentions of the attack are unknown. Could have been a psychofan making demands of an idol, or someone who knew the net wealth of the name Kerry Eurodyne at the time? Either way the incident ended without bloodshed, Kerry was able to talk the assailant down and promptly knock him out with a stiff pour of that high life tequila. The rest was handled by the venue’s security. Unfortunately events like these are almost common for the stardom lifestyle. 

Lives are kept under public scrutiny 24/7. “Be prepared to have your private life open to the world,” Rockerboy, Johnny Silverhand, had mentioned in a column from Advice From the Pros. Name in the lights simply means just that, private life is on show as well and nothing can truly be kept secret forever. Kerry Eurodyne had added, “Cover your ass on your social life, the mediacorps are capable of setting you up bigtime in compromising situations… Make sure you know who you’re hanging out with, and something about their friends.” Not just fans and so called friends you need to watch out for, but the very people you sign yourself away with. 

Rockers Kerry Eurodyne and Johnny Silverhand are no stranger to this cold truth. Even mediacorps you don’t sign with will have motives, and often resources, to try and gain a signature. Corporations will often go after the output/input or family of the Talent instead of the Talent itself. However, big companies like DMS, the rival to N54 News, also have other methods to “persuade” a contract breach and change. Both Kerry and Johnny were targeted by this particular company, though this time it was Eurodyne dragging Silverhand into trouble. 

After the time Samurai had broken up for good, late 2007 early 2008 Kerry was looking for a decent solo deal. This was a gamble for most Labels at the time, Johnny was the frontman of Samurai, Kerry’s true talent had yet to really flourish into the Legend we know today. At this stage in their careers they were just some new-boy artists, that had a couple songs and albums that made it big. A lot of bands will have their handfuls of top sellers and then disappear into a faded memory. However, media giant DMS saw promise in Kerry, and they quickly came out with an offer for the young Rockerboy that would put him right back on the road to stardom. 

Kerry was going to take the offer until Universal came up with an offer that wouldn’t just set him up but Johnny as well. The two decided that the offer Universal had was too good to pass up, and with good reason. Universal not only was packaging the two Rockerboys together as independent solo artists, they were offering a better deal as a whole. Since Universal already knew them from Samurai, and knew what the two could produce, formalities of signing a new band was skipped. Re-signing with Universal gave them guaranteed concessions normally only offered to major bands or superstars. 

DMS didn’t come back with a counter offer, they came back with threats. Eurodyne, and those close to him, started to receive threats from the mediacorp, these quickly escalated to hired thugs harassing and assaulting everyone in the Rocker’s inner circle, as well as himself. A common tactic for many corporations to get what they want. However, Kerry wasn’t folding to their pressure, sticking with his decision with Johnny to sign to Universal. At this point the signatures were received and Kerry’s talent was the official property of Universal Music once again. This only made the situation worse, and turned into a rather rare occurrence for the music scene. 

Major corporations have a number of outlets that they have at full disposal to get what and whom they want, when they want. DMS is not unique in this fact, but they do have one of the more unique techniques. DMS is creative, deadly, and, for a corporation its size, dangerously agile. They are known for their aggressive and ruthless recruiting tactics, and they do not take “no” with grace. 

Eurodyne’s fate, to DMS, was sealed the moment they selected him, no matter his choice. DMS starts with a fair offer, most of it coming with the prestige of having their name backing you and their benefits package. In the case of Eurodyne, where this was not enough, DMS will call on their Special Recruiting Division, which is devoted solely to recruiting and converting people who are reluctant to sign to DMS. A fancy way of saying they send in their black ops section to perform extractions on those who are bound by contract or reluctant to leave their current company. 

Extractions are illegal, but the government is in the pocket of these corporate giants. Though they hardly ever send their own people, so even if the extraction does fail the proof of finding out who sponsored the extraction is normally too timely, over looked, or asking corpses. Most these companies hire Solos to get the job done, a number of groups exist in this profession alone. Extractions are unsettling common in the corpo world that counter extractions are budgeted into company spending plans. As well many big companies have jealousy protection, and pre-planned countermeasures to prevent extraction attempts of their employees or Talents.

Now, you may be asking yourself, “If they didn’t want to work for them before, what would kidnapping them do?” Well, DMS and other companies thought about this issue as well. How do you force someone to work for you? Blackmail is the obvious answer, to the Talent, to their friends, their family, etc. It's a simple fix that will get a result, but can’t guarantee the product. Its proven effective though, reputation is everything- threats to destroy that are not taken lightly. For a company like DMS, they have a one up on this if they can't get the Talent to see eye to eye with their terms. “Talent Indoctrination”, TI for short, otherwise known as brainwashing to the common choom. It's a program used for winning over people who express resistance to “joining the DMS family” even after extraction. 

TI is only a rumor outside of the highest levels of the corporation, and those who have been subjected to it. Luckily, TI section failures are rare, unluckily survival of TI section failures is even rarer. DMS, however, is willing to risk TI only on targets with a high enough revenue generation potential. Executives are more at risk than artists, given artists are seen as disposable and the average commercial shelf-life of a DMS Music artist is only a couple years. Most only making it an average of two before they’re dropped back to performing at clubs and bars for the same hundred fans, if that. 

This was the threat Kerry was under, one that became very real one fateful day when the Rockerboy was abducted by a group of hired muscle from the corporation. While Kerry was successfully kidnapped and relocated, the extraction itself failed due to intervention of Legendary Solo, Morgan Blackhand. Blackhand was able to capture all five kidnappers, alone, and turned them over to the Federal Authorities. Beaten, battered, and bruised but all five were alive when they were handed over. This act alone humiliated DMS, who was only found later on in investigation to have been the group’s sponsor. Its not unheard of extractions being foiled, but for a company like DMS it was a shot to their pride since Kerry would know it was them that called it. The real humiliation of it comes from the fact Blackhand snagged them all alive, allowing the truth to be exposed to the public, tarnishing that royal reputation of theirs, though no legal action would be taken.

Embarrassing a huge company like that puts a major target on your back. Legality they could care less about, but reputation is not something any corporation wants to gamble with. Morgan Blackhand would become a target for a later date, DMS wasn’t done with Kerry Eurodyne yet. Now, though, their attention was brought to one of the key elements for why Kerry declined their original offer; Johnny Silverhand. 

“They were threatening Johnny and I with things like government investigations and stuff. By the time that threat was made, we’d already signed with Universal…” Eurodyne recalled during an interview. It was true, DMS had dug not only into Kerry’s past life but Johnny’s as well. They were at the stage of “If we can’t have you, no one will.” While Eurodyne’s rap sheet was arguably cleaner, DMS was preparing to go full out, and all in to find anything they could. What they had as their ace was Silverhand’s military past, and they knew they could find the same information about Eurodyne as well or paint him for it. Both Rockers had served during the 2000’s Central American Conflict, Johnny’s desertion was all they needed to start the fire.

DMS was preparing to take this knowledge to the government, and at that point they could say and paint anything on Kerry as well. Their careers were about to end before they even began. Short on time, they did the only thing they could do, they went to Universal Music. With the counter threat of exposure of DMS’s corruption and abusive power over their Talents, Universal made their position clear. This was a PR move, DMS could go to their pocket government agents to have the Rockerboy’s locked away for life, but Universal was going for their public appearance. The ends didn't justify the means, DMS backed down.

Lawsuits were dropped, threats ceased, no more extraction attempts were made on either rockstar. They were given freedom to produce their albums and do tours under the protection of Universal. It wouldn’t be for another several years down the line when DMS would rear its ugly head back into their lives. Well, only in passing.

Denny, the former drummer of Samurai, had a new band called Mastermind that was being recorded by DMS Music. “She knows how I feel about them, but the contract they’ve got is suitable for her, so I’m not going to interfere as long as she is happy.” Kerry had stated on the matter back in late 2013, “Even now you won’t find Johnny or I saying anything remotely positive about DMS… I’m just glad no one was listening when I made certain comments or some of my fans might have taken those rash words to heart and we might have had some serious problems.” A tongue in cheek response to the 13 April 2013 Arasaka Riots led by Johnny Silverhand, under the old band's name of Samurai. Rioters killed 18 and wounded 51 on that night, gutting the Arasaka complex. An event that would only deepen the wedge between the two Rockerboys, yet redefine them entirely.

Silverhand, however, would be blackmailed again later on in 2009 by EBS Records to leave Universal and sign a solo contract with them. EBS had found out that Johnny was an AWOL U.S. Marine who had deserted during the Second Conflict. The blackmail attempt was quickly dropped as Johnny came clean himself, revealing all his secrets and shining light on the plight of veterans of the covert war, with his now famous album Sins of Your Brother. 

One thing the Rocker was known for was starting changes with his music, back in late 2012 Silverhand had an assassination attempt on his life believed to be sourced from Biotechnica do to their belief of controversal opinions to their practices heard on his album Clone Wars. Being forced to take several months of seclusion to let the heat die down before going on tour himself.

Given all of this, and much more, they had been relatively lucky. Maybe not with the fans, Eurodyne still faces the masses though in some more creative ways now. Having his biometric data copyrighted, and agreements with NCPD to monitor CCTVs for any unauthorized replications. Hasn't stopped some from trying, going as far as faking nudes that broke headlines awhile back only to have frisky imaginations shot down by his management. As far as Johnny goes, I don't think anything beats the rumor that was circulating sometime after the events of Arasaka Tower back in 2023. The idea some obsessive fan sneaked past security of the city to dig through the rubble, locating his body to put on ice and keep like some kind of memorabilia? It sounds crazy, but everyone in Night City knew what kind of fans Samurai, and more importantly, Johnny Silverhand had. Made it completely possible and people didn't really doubt that it could be true.

With corporations though, the two Rockerboys dodged a bullet. Multiples if you were keeping count. Others haven't been so lucky. A number of stories of Talents being threatened and giving into demands, multiple assassination attempts to end someone's career, Talents being kidnapped and tortured, so far as one account of a musicians hands being crushed to prevent preformances. From the outside being a Rockerboy looks like a party scene, and a lot of it is, but as the longest living in the scene will tell you, keep a Solo and a Netrunner you trust close on personal pay.

Events come full circle, once you make it to the big time stardom, the public eye notices everything, hangs onto every word. Talents like Silverhand and Eurodyne control the masses in the same way the corporations do. The audiences look to them for guidance, though in some cases the lessons are lost in translation. With everything from greedy labels making backdoor deals behind their Talent’s backs, something Kerry Eurodyne and Us Cracks went through this year, to psychofans making their own demands, to corporate reputation wars. Being a Rockerboy never gets easier, but few have hardly ever survived the test of time as Kerry has. An uphill battle from his earliest beginnings, to sitting on the Rockerboy throne of Night City, well into 2077 and still holding the title of "God of Rock" without a fault. 

Sources and Quotes:

Rockerboy Source Book

Backstage with Kerry Eurodyne page 7-9

Extortion. Bribery. Kidnapping. Brainwashing. And Other Nasty Tricks. Page 44-45

Cyberpunk 2.0.2.0. The Second Edition

Silverhand Update: Clone Tour Begins page 225

One Night with the TRAUMA TEAM page 231 

Live & Direct 

Diverse Media Systems “Technotainment” page 81-82

Solo of Fortune Vol II Source Book

American Angels: One of Europe’s Best Rates the Top U.S. Pros. page 63

Cyberpunk Red

Welcome to the Dark Future page 239

Cyberpunk 2077

Spector Melee Vendor Westbrook

Gig: Psychofans Gaston Slayton's computer

Shard Glam Now! - The Mag For Those Who Love This For Themselves

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[whenimaunicorn]

Holiday Party from Hell

Bobo Del Rey x Reader

Words: 1775 Rating: T Summary: You and Bobo are both full of surprises tonight. The first one: that this revenant would even show up to your corporate holiday party. No content warnings.

Oh no. No no no, this cannot be happening right now.

You shudder as you hear that oh-so-familiar rasping voice cutting through the soft chatter of your company’s holiday party. “The punch is just delightful! Judith, did you make this?”

You knew they were inviting clients this year. The past three quarters had shown record profits and so your company had rented out the most expensive venue around for a little thank-you soiree. You just...it had slipped your mind that a certain construction firm owned by a certain Mr. Del Rey was one of those clients.

You try to duck out of the main party room while his fur-coated back is turned, but you end up right in his line of sight as his head swivels at the exact worst moment, almost preternaturally fast, into your direction. “Y/N!” he exclaims, loud and thick with razor-sharp cheer, “I was hoping I’d see you here!”

And to make matters so much worse, your direct supervisor just happens to be standing right next to you as Bobo Del Rey approaches with a brimming cup of punch in each hand. “Mr. Del Rey,” Justin greets him warmly. “I didn’t think you had been working with Y/N at all. How did she get involved on your contract?”

“She didn’t,” Bobo says, thrusting one cup at you as your boss looks expectantly between the two of you. No chance you can get away with being rude, now. You accept the cup but remind yourself not to drink from it. “Ms. Y/L/N and I have . . . other entanglements.” His fingers flutter against the edge of his cup.

If there had been punch in your mouth, you probably would have spit it. What was he trying to make it sound like? “We’re in the same darts league,” you say, thinking fast.

The truth is, you’re kind of a consultant for Wynonna Earp and the cops. Your NDA prevents you from giving them anything dirty on Bobo’s business entanglements, but you also happen to have a knowledge base of a more occult variety that has helped them out on a number of their other cases already. And also run you afoul of the head honcho of the local hell squad. More than once. You’re probably the only person in this room that knows the real threat that “Mr. Del Rey” poses.

“Darts, huh?” Justin says, continuing the conversation while you and Bobo stare each other down through the twinkling lights and safe, festive music. “You do that in bars, right?” He shakes his head. “You’ve got to watch out in those kinds of places, Y/N. All kinds of unsavory types.”

“Oh, she knows.” Bobo inches his hip in a little closer to yours. “I think that’s why she keeps coming around. Likes that little taste of danger.”

Ugh. He’s going to run his mouth until he gets you in trouble, isn’t he. Your boss is backing away slowly, a rictus smile plastered across his uncomfortable face. Although, it is just a little satisfying to watch someone make that patronizing bastard be the one to feel self-conscious for a change. “We all gotta do something that’ll make us feel alive, right?” you say, not exactly looking at either one of them. “Blow off some steam at the end of the rat race.”

Justin gives you an incredulous look. “Think I’ll stick to my bridge club, thanks.” He pretends to see someone waving at him across the room. A quick check shows you no one is looking even remotely in his direction. “Excuse me.”

Bobo sidles in even closer. “Bet that felt good,” he intones.

You release your sudden deep breath in a burst. “Kind of.”

“You know, if you’ve been needing to blow off a little steam—"

You dodge as it feels like he’s trying to put his arm around you. “Seriously?”

Bobo peers at you from under heavy brows, undeterred in the slightest by your rejection. “I’m always serious.”

The moment is broken by another coworker, shouting your name across the room. “It’s time,” the office manager, Judith, calls. “Get over here!”

Oh no. When you’d agreed to rehearse the cute little line dance set to “Jingle Bell Rock” with the crew from your half of the office building, it was only because you figured no one embarrassing would be here to witness it.

Bobo’s head cocks. “Time for what?” He can’t have any idea what’s coming, but he’s grinning anyway. Maybe he can sense your instant discomfort.

“Nothing,” you bark. “Maybe you want to go outside for a smoke or something?”

He looms in a little closer, with a shit-eating grin. “My dear Y/N, are you trying to take me someplace more private right now?”

“What? No. I’ve got to go do this thing over here, now. Bye, Bobo.”

The ambient fairy lights draped around the room glitter off his rings as he wiggles his finger in farewell.

No luck on getting Bobo distracted enough to prowl away while you go line up next to your office friends and wait for the hired DJ to cue up the track. As that distinctive guitar riff signals the start of the song, and all the little colored spotlights point at your group, you see the revenant standing right at the edge of the dancefloor, front and center in the crowd of spectators. He ducks his head and says something to Martha, the adorable old lady who works as your main receptionist, something that makes her smile and nod and pat his arm.

Creepy.

And then the beat kicks in and there’s nothing to do but step and wiggle and wave your arms in the choreographed little movements that had seemed so cute in after-hours rehearsal, now turned completely mortifying under the gaze of the enemy.

Your stubborn streak flares up, though, and you resolve to dance the hell out of the whole number. The only thing more embarrassing than doing a cheesy dance in front of everyone is doing that cheesy dance half-heartedly in front of everyone. So you skip and you swivel and give it the best jazz hands of your life.

You can’t help the grin that stretches across your face by the finale. Everyone in the office cheers and applauds at the end of it, so you all must have done alright with it. You high five a few of your fellow dancers before heading toward the edge of the dancefloor as a swing rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming To Town” begins. It’s got a pretty great retro vibe, and you find your limbs loosening a little to the beat.

“We have to start planning for next year!” your friend calls behind you, and you turn back to nod at her with an enthusiastic smile.

When you look back in the direction you’re walking, you just about crash into Bobo.

Although, “crash” isn’t really the right word. He’s timed it just right, scooping you up with one hand catching yours while the other snakes around your back and turns your momentum into a little spin.

Is Bobo…dancing with you right now? Your feet follow along before your mind can quite catch up. One hand at the small of your back, holding you in close, but not too close to interrupt the footwork, the other holding your arm up and out, Bobo is definitely pulling you along in the classic steps of a swing dance.

Maybe you’re crazy, but you don’t pull away. It’s probably just because of the rush of that little performance, or maybe because your stubbornness has yet to fade away. Your feet find the steps and you realize, maybe, just maybe, it’s because Bobo Del Rey is actually a really good dancer.

He leads effortlessly, precisely on the quick beat, guiding you into turns and twirls almost before you realize you’re starting them. And if every time his hand returns to your waist, he might be tucking you in a little closer, what of it? Guys that know how to do any of the ballroom dances are so few and far between. Might as well forget who he really is and just enjoy yourself for a while.

All you have to do is look anywhere but his face. Because if you look at his face, this will get too weird, too real, and so you focus on his shoulder and pretend you’re being swept around the dancefloor by some other tall man with a penchant for furs.

“You’re really quite good,” he murmurs, at the step that brings his mouth closest to your ear.

He spins you away, and you tell yourself that’s the only reason your heart starts to race. “So are you,” you say politely when he catches you back up.

“I think we work well together.”

You shake your head at the very idea.

Bobo laughs under his breath. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

You set your teeth and fix him with a frown. “I know what kind of creature you really are. I’d never do anything on your side of the line.”

Bobo just clucks his tongue. “Don’t sell yourself short. Life has a way of…complicating things.”

He spins you out, fast and aggressive, so there’s not chance to give him another icy retort. When he pulls you back in, you’re up against his chest and you’re both breathing heavy.

Your eyes lock. You hope the look you’re giving him is a glare, and not anything that betrays the way his command of your body in this dance is…affecting you. Because, it kind of really is.

Thankfully, the song is almost over. Bobo breaks your staring contest first, eyes flitting around the dance floor. He starts guiding you backwards; maybe he’s found the right hole in the crowd for some final, flashy move. Your feet fly in front of him, and you realize you’re looking forward to it.

He doesn’t spin you, doesn’t attempt any kind of lift or twist. Instead, the two of you twirl toward the corner. And in the final trumpeting flourish of the track, your bodies rotate and he dips you. Deeply. His strong arm supports your back until you’re almost horizontal.

And he keeps you there, his wicked face looming over your own as the track shifts into the next song. He almost looks like he’s waiting for something. “What?” You try to make it sound like an aggravated snarl.

Bobo’s eyebrows jump, and he nods his head toward the ceiling.

You let your eyes focus past his face.

Fucking. Mistletoe.

You’re going to have to tell H.R. about this in the morning.

Link to my other Bobo works

Taglist:  @allsharingonebreath, @demoncrypt1066​, @writingfromasgard​, @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​, @peachieowl @savismith​ @ceridwenofwales @equalstrashflavoredtrash​ @ivarinleatherpants​ @localfloorgoblin​

[themoomoorn]

Jeralt Eisner Stinky

Related to my previous reblog, feel free to parouse as to why I agree that Jeralt is a bad dad, and the fact that the devs’ lack of a continuity checker made him look worse than the director likely intended him to.

Let’s count the ways:

- Went a very melodramatic 180 regarding Rhea when Byleth - who was resuscitated from friggin’ death - wasn’t behaving like a “normal baby.”  Now to be fair, Rhea was too mum for her own good and a baby that’s not very reactive to stimuli is very concerning in real life, but real life ties lose some of their weight due to Byleth’s wonky parentage and the reason for her lack of heartbeat.  Jeralt is also generally perturbed by Byleth not being “normal” for quite a while, which is pretty shitty of him anyway.  

- As a response to the above, it’s implied that he was the one who set the monastery on fire when absconding with Byleth in the night, a fire that was reported to have caused some serious damage and destroyed a lot of books.

- There’s also the fact that he was aware that Sitri herself suffered from a flat affect and struggled to emote more expressively at first, and he himself is pretty emotionally constipated.  It’d be more shocking if Byleth grew up suddenly acting like Alois. 

- He loved Sitri for basically being a cute little innocent nun, likely seeing her as ideal housewife material.  I know I’m using the term “housewife” in a damning fashion, but he loves her for some seriously basic, surface-level reasons.  Plus the whole “getting her to emote and smile more” bit?  Granted, Claude’s relationship with Byleth grows in a somewhat similar fashion, but Claude also easily adheres the least to 3H’s “avatar worship” and he doesn’t just become fond of Byleth due to her smiling and getting cuter because of that.  You can’t say the same of Jeralt and Sitri.

- While one can’t entirely damn someone for raising a child in the mercenary lifestyle due to the setting - We got a Lord and his sister being raised under similar circumstances - The sheer ignorance that Jeralt raised Byleth with is pretty damning if the gameplay/narrative element (Byleth being ignorant for the sake of player projection and exposition) is taken away.  It’s one thing to not necessarily be aware of the ins and outs of the major religion of an entire continent, but Byleth doesn’t even have much basic knowledge of Fodlan’s three countries, or any country outside of it, although most of Fodlan doesn’t either. There is also more damning text, including how Jeralt handled all of their job logistics and didn’t bother to put in any incentive to have Byleth possibly learn to inherit or learn the ins and outs of the company.  The quest where you get Jeralt’s old tactics primer also reveals that he didn’t bother to teach Byleth basic battle tactics either. 

- Where the heck was Byleth when Jeralt was in Sauin Village???  Not even Byleth herself remembers.  And while it’s heartwarming to see that Jeralt still cares for Leonie after reuniting with her (With people who bash Leonie for her fixation on him naturally ignoring this), he seems to put more effort in bonding with her than his own child.  She’s also the one who winds up inheriting his company, although that can also be attributed to Byleth being presumed dead when she does.

- He doesn’t really say much when it comes to Byleth’s “Ashen Demon” title, which is notably one of the very few things that genuinely upsets Byleth prior to her becoming more emotive.  And while it’s hinted that Byleth herself didn’t express interest in interacting with other people casually, Jeralt wasn’t exactly helping matters in that department either, exacerbating their isolation from others.  Heroes has the default Female Byleth note that she can’t tell a friend from an ally due to how she grew up.

- The man’s a raging alcoholic who performed some pretty stupid, deadly shit, including a trick that had a high chance of beheading Alois.  His treatment of Alois is also pretty deplorable, as is the fact that he has a slew of unpaid bar tabs that get shouldered by Alois and then forced onto Leonie.  

- Going back to meta and tying to how a lack of continuity checking affected 3H, Jeralt spent a lot of time fretting over Byleth being even remotely exposed to the church when there’s plenty of folks who, while aware of the faith, do not actively practice at all, pay lip service at best, or even show some disdain like the three Lords do.  Exploring lore also hampers the idea that the church is omnipotent and omnipresent: The Empire’s church branch was flat-out gutted for well over a century with practically no faith-based services available (this is a crux for Dorothea’s hatred of the faith and also cited with Mercedes’ history; she and her mother had to go to the Kingdom to find any kind of religious sanctuary after getting kicked out of House Bartels), the Alliance’s church branch has no political sway specifically because of how said Alliance is governed, and the Kingdom’s church branch has its own problems due to the zealotry, radicalism, differences in opinions of the faith, and eventual manipulation by the Agarthans that led it crossing blades with the Central branch.  

Plus, you know, Rhea never bothered to pursue Jeralt after he ran away.  And Alois’ contingent of knights appearing in Remire that fateful evening was pure happenstance, plus how Jeralt doesn’t even operate his company under a pseudonym or anything practical like that.  So with these in mind, it’s actually pretty reasonable to consider that Byleth can at least be somewhat unaware of the Seiros faith without Jeralt’s input.

- While it’s unrelated to Jeralt being Stinky, I find it irksome that a lot of folks will jump right on Jeralt hating Rhea and the church in wake of the man himself acknowledging that taking Byleth away from the monastery (or at least not giving them a stable place to grow up) was probably a huge mistake upon seeing them flourish as a teacher.  He also gets gutted for ultimately putting two and two together and realizing that the Empire may be involved with the group that’s been terrorizing the monastery during all of the 1180 school year, and tells off the Flame Emperor when they claim they’re not culpable for the Remire Massacre.  It’s hard to tell whether or not the man would side with Edelgard with enough persuasion or propaganda, or how he’d react to Byleth becoming one with Sothis and taking on their position as a major figure within the church for three out of four routes with some degree of fanfare and acceptance (which players naturally ignore to warp into Byleth being a shrieking harpy church-basher, or a church victim that El-chan or Claude has to ~save~ her from, naturally).  But it’s proof that people can’t really read - the guy wasn’t having the FE’s excuses, plain and simple.

- The above also ties to how Leonie is derailed in Crimson Flower, as she’s one of the few who unambiguously knows that the Fork Emperor is working with the same group that had Jeralt killed, in addition to all of the hell they caused therein.  Naturally, her excuse if recruited on Flower is - wait for it - Jeralt was pissy at Rhea for reasons Leonie never finds out about, but since Byleth-chan is siding with El-chan, it’s all well and good now.

- There’s also the profoundly depressing meta that if Byleth were allowed to be their own character, a continuity person was maybe in place, and Jeralt wasn’t a glorified plot device, then he had all the makings to be a great deconstruction of Greil from FE9.  The parallels are all there, but naturally they’re not put to good use, or blithely ignored outside of Supports.  This also ties to just how heavily players project onto Byleth, possibly even more so than Robin or Corrin.  Since they really project onto Byleth as Kusakihara and his goons intended, Jeralt is naturally tied to players’ real life father figures by osmosis, despite the fact that Jeralt himself definitely isn’t a good father figure. 

While having a consistent continuity checker wouldn’t be a fix-all to 3H’s problems (Kusakihara’s dismissive attitude towards having one and consistency in general is pretty damning in itself), it likely would’ve at least tightened the worldbuilding that the devs prided themselves on and offered some more consistency, even if the price is showing unpleasant truths such as Jeralt being stinky.

[mierinette]

day 20 - fairytale

no-one to tell us no or where to go, or say we're only dreaming.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

PRINCE Adrien does not want to marry.

Or, well, he does— but not to some princess he doesn't know; not for the sake of politics and prevention of war; and especially not for a woman who would only marry him for his stature and family.

As corny as it is, Adrien wants to marry for love.

But it's not that easy to find someone to love when you're not even allowed to step outside the palace gates.

As if on cue, his father enters his bedroom.

"I assume you've accepted my proposition, Adrien?"

His low voice echoes through the otherwise empty chamber, the tone devoid of almost any love and care a father should have for his own child.

The younger boy only looks down, barely getting up from his bed.

Suddenly, the silks and expensive pillows that he lay on felt so stiff.

Cold, even.

"Adrien," his father repeats. "I asked you a question."

He sighs, deciding to try and confront him. Maybe this time, he'd actually listen.

"Please, father, reconsider. I don't understand why I must marry so soon. And to someone I've never met…"

"We have already discussed this. You must wed Princess Chloé; your marriage will unite our kingdoms and bring prosperity to our family. I'd have thought you'd be over being so stubborn about this."

"I'm not being stubborn! Marrying someone I've never met; and all the more to someone I don't love… didn't you love mother when you married her?"

The look in his father's eyes makes Adrien want to take a step back.

"Do not bring your mother into this."

But why not? Ever since she's disappeared, you've stopped talking about her, and shut yourself completely… you've become so cold, even to your own son.

Instead, Adrien quiets down.

"I'm sorry."

"Then it's settled. I shall send the Bourgeois Kingdom a letter accepting their proposal for marriage." The king stares at him, as if daring him to speak up. "Do you understand, Adrien?"

"Yes, father."

.

.

As soon as his father leaves, Adrien dons on a black cloak— his mother's, from way back when, and carefully starts packing a bag of necessities.

A black panther with stunning green eyes nuzzles close to him.

Don't leave, Adrien.

He sighs, before hugging the creature close to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Plagg. But I can't continue to live like this. I love my kingdom, and father, even, but I want to be free. There are things I want to experience in this world, and being trapped by my father will never let me do that."

Plagg growls, evidently conflicted, but carefully steps away.

"I'll come back one day, okay?" Adrien smiles softly. "I promise."

.

.

Adrien is stealing. Apparently.

He doesn't really understand how currency or paymentworks, having spent his whole life being pampered by life in the palace.

(Well, he's learned about it from his private tutors; but those largely had to do with managing the treasury and ensuring the gold stays within the family. He's never actually had any issues with wealth.)

So when a shopkeeper threatens to chop off his hand as retribution for giving a child an apple, of all things— Adrien realizes two things:

That economic conditions were actually so poor in his kingdom— a stark contrast from the apparent lie the palace advisers had told him, and;

That he was truly too sheltered by his father, not knowing anything at all.

It's when a strange woman suddenly grabs his hand and pulls him away that Adrien's knocked out of his reverie.

She's telling him something around the lines of, come with me if you want to keep that hand of yours, but he barely notices.

Instead he notices the deep bluebell of her eyes, the rosy pink dusted on her cheeks, and her vibrant red cape flowing as they duck into alleyways and abandoned street corners.

Adrien hasn't met many women outside of those in the palace, but he assumes that it's common knowledge that whoever this is— she is absolutely beautiful.

She takes him to the highest floor of a run-down old building, barely standing from apparent years of abuse and neglect.

The girl notices him staring in wonder.

"Sorry it's not great," she starts, carefully patting the block next to her. "Things haven't been great for some time now."

"I don't understand," he starts, trying to find the words. "Last time I was here, the kingdom was flourishing. And now, people starving, buildings on the verge of collapse, and violent men…"

She laughs. "Now how long has it been since you were last here? And you can't really blame the shopkeeper, you did just take his apple without paying for it. What kind of land did you come from to think that was normal?"

Adrien has the decency to look almost sheepish.

"Let's just say I've been gone awhile," he says instead. "But to think it's changed this much… I have truly missed a lot."

"Well, it wasn't always that bad," she sighs, pulling her legs up to sit down. "You know the king, right? Ever since Queen Emilie died, he just… stopped caring about us. All wealth they kept to their inner circle, leaving us to fend for ourselves." Her eyes narrow. "The people over there don't care about us, and would leave us to die."

That's a cruel wake-up call.

"That's not true!" Adrien suddenly blurts, earning a confused glance from her. "What about the prince?"

She scoffs. "The prince? Nobody's seen him here in years. He's probably just some entitled brat, living in leisure in the palace while we all suffer here. He's no different."

He wants to protest.

But how could he?

If Adrien were in her position, he'd feel no differently from her.

"Is that why you steal?"

"It's hard to make an honest living here," she smiles bitterly. "I've tried selling bread… but it never worked. People will step over everyone else to survive." She looks downward. "I know some orphan kids… scattered around. I've seen them pass out from exhaustion, ignored by everyone here. I know it's wrong to steal, but I— they're children. They shouldn't have to suffer like this!"

The pit in Adrien's stomach grows ever-larger.

How could he have lived so easily, without knowing any of this?

He feels disgust— with his father, with the greedy men from the palace, and even with himself. How could someone who would one day rule over the kingdom not know anything about the realities of the people who lived in it?

"Anyway," she finally sighs. "That's old news. So what's your story, stranger?"

Adrien shrugs. "I ran away. I was just feeling so… trapped, at home. I needed to be free." He pauses, taking in his surroundings— and the mysterious girl sitting next to him. "But I guess freedom wasn't anything like I expected."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. It's hard to come across anything good these days." She says, a far-off look in her eyes. "But one day, I'll get out of here. Travel the world, maybe. Somewhere I can actually live my life, without fearing for it everyday."

"...

Would you mind some company?"

She looks up at him, her face completely caught off-guard by the sudden question. He looks nervous, and scratches his head. "I mean, I've got nowhere to go either. And maybe I can help out! I don't know how to bake bread, but I could learn, and—"

"I'd love that."

Adrien looks at her, visibly surprised. "Really?"

She smiles. "It would be nice to not be alone for a change. So, you got a name?"

He smiles back. "... you first."

"Around here, they call me—"

"LADYBUG."

They both whip their heads up at the sudden intrusion, as a group of soldiers come bursting through the room. The floors shake as they flood the area. "I finally found you."

Adrien belatedly recognizes the voice as Madame Sancoeur's— his father's Royal Vizier and consequently, Captain of the Guard.

The stranger— Ladybug— stands, grasping his hand tightly.

She doesn't back down.

"I didn't think you'd show up yourself. A special occasion?"

Sancoeur flinches.

Ladybug raises a curious eyebrow. "Oh, so it is. What happened? The King throw another tantrum? Does he want more money? Because like I said, I'm completely broke. Like everyone else in this damned kingdom is."

"Do nottalk about King Gabriel like that. He is a good king, and you would be smart to watch your mouth when biting the hand that feeds you."

"Feed me? I have to fightjust to have a morsel of food on my plate. I don't live as the rest of you do, bathing in wealth while we barely survive. Now go back to your king and your prince and leave me alone."

Both Adrien and Sancoeur freeze at the mention of the prince.

"Oh. So something happened to your prince, then?"

Adrien's never seen his father's vizier look so angry. "What did you do to him?"

Ladybug rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Like I'd want anything to do with someone as entitled as him." Suddenly, she squeezes his hand. "Besides, I already have one partner to keep me company."

"Ah, another pest to take care of." Sancoeur only sighs, before snapping her fingers. "Well, that shouldn't be an issue. I've brought a whole army this time. You won't get away."

At that, Ladybug is suddenly grabbed by a burly soldier, holding her so she can't escape. Two others hold Adrien back, separating them.

"I don't need the boy," she only says, turning back toward the exit. "King Agreste only wants Ladybug. But throw him into prison. Anyone who works with her is surely a menace to society."

"She's not a menace!"

Sancoeur looks back, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, so the alleycat can talk. Do you even know what she's done? That this woman has been stealing not only her fellow townspeople, but from the soldiers as well? The very people who are protecting you?"

"She's only stealing things to provide for those who can't. There are children, and they're starving. Dying— and she's only trying to save them." He struggles against the arms holding him captive. "If you would only listen, Nathalie!"

The vizier pauses. Then: "Let him go."

Almost reluctantly, they do.

Then, Sancoeur walks forward, with terrifying speed and precision, before whipping the hood off his head. "Prince Adrien," she finally says, eyes widening with shock. "So it's true? Ladybug really did take you?"

"No!"

He shakes his head. "Ladybug has done nothing. So let her go, now. As the Prince, I order you…"

She only ignores him, then snaps her fingers.

Two pairs of arms come to grab his own, again.

"Nathalie, what are you doing?"

She turns back, then sighs. "I'm sorry, Adrien. You gave me no choice." Sancoeur gives the two soldiers a brief glance, her eyes almost flashing with concern— but disappearing so quickly it's almost like he had imagined it. "Return the Prince to his chambers. I will deal with him later." Then, she turns to Ladybug; who had been eerily quiet since the exchange.

"Ladybug comes with me."

"Wait!" He starts, struggling to find the words. "Ladybug… I—"

The look she gives him is almost unreadable. Ladybug doesn't fight back; doesn't even struggle. She doesn't even turn back to him, not even for a glance, and walks away.

.

.

"Let's make an agreement. I'll give you all the riches you desire, enough to start a new life outside of this kingdom, if you do me one small favor."

"What do you want?"

"A simple thing. There's a cave, not so far from here. I've gotten old, and can't get it for myself but… I need a lamp."

"A lamp…?"

"Isn't it so simple? Retrieve this single item for me, and I will let you go. Is it agreed? Do we have a deal?"

Ladybug looks up at King Agreste, quiet.

Then:

"Where do I go?"

[azure-steel]

@mercyxkilling​ said: “can i kiss you?” other crew members be damned, she didn’t care. let them have their show if they wanted to watch. Send "Can I kiss you?" to see how my muse responds - No Longer Accepting

Pls accept and enjoy this lil ficlet about these babs. Because of you my adoration for this franchise has be revived TENFOLD and I just can’t get enough of these two being so disgustingly adorable together.

I adore you and your amazing muse so much, and I should tell you more   (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

It All Happens In The Mess Hall~Cloud x Mercy a Mass Effect Story.

It was possibly the one place aboard Mercy’s ship where Cloud spent the majority of his time, that and this was where his relationships with the rest of the crew members began to gain any real traction. A neutral ground where it became so very apparent that almost every member of this ragtag group was here for the same reason. To earn a few credits and perhaps sate a thirst for a little adventure. 

And they all loved their captain with every fibre of their being. 

Cloud had spent the initial weeks of his time amongst the crew largely by himself, but this was nothing really new; naturally coy the task of attempting to relate to others was laborious at best. Even as a member of T’Loak’s court had he been a man one on his own, not that there was any love lost there whatsoever. It had never truly been a problem, not when alcohol and red sand was in copious supply and enough of an escape from the arduous day to day life living amongst the rest of the filth occupying the Omega station. Moreover this environment was so wholly different, wholesome almost, to a fault, and the longer he spent on the outside of this tight-knit collective, the longing to be included began to eat away at him. Often would he remove himself from the hall when the crew would filter in, sensing all those eye puncturing the flesh between otherwise broad shoulders. They didn’t trust him, and they had every reason to be wary.

Shotgun - a battle worn Krogan mercenary - was the first to approach him here in the mess hall, though it was after Cloud had all but shit himself believing this guy was about to pop his head like a zit (Listen... this bastard is BIG and looks very angry almost always, can’t blame a guy for feeling just a tad intimidated beneath his shadow) that he came to realise Shotgun was very interested in the firearm he was servicing at that time. 

A rather worn and very well loved M-300 Claymore - A Krogan weapon. 

A common ground was established in that moment, taking root and from that grew an unlikely friendship between them, and for a time the pair were seemingly inseparable. It was the first time in a long while in which Cloud was reduced to fits of laughter at the Krogan’s many stories, and, boy, did he have a lot of those. Maybe some were a little far fetched and embellished, but it really didn’t matter. The guy was hilarious, and Strife very much enjoyed his company, even if the guy liked to overshare on occasion. Discovering that male Krogan have four testicles dangling between their legs was enough nightmare fuel to keep the blond awake for two nights straight after the fact. And needless to say maintaining eye contact with Shotgun had been a little more difficult than usual for a few days until Strife had eventually gotten over himself. At least he knew where the term ‘QUADS’ originated now... 

No wonder Krogan were so pissed about the Genophage, all things considered of course; these guys were clearly breeding machines as well as living breathing tanks, evolved over millennia for the very purpose of brutal warfare, civil or otherwise. It seemed the Salarians and the Turians had a lot to answer for.  

Still, oversharing and absurd knowledge about alien reproductive organs aside, the mess hall, and Shotgun’s kinship was the beginning of Cloud’s gradual unification with the rest of the team. As far as he was concerned, Mercy had very little to do with that aspect, though he knew very little of the woman and what gears she was working behind the scenes. He was, unfortunately not privy to the private smiles she kept hidden in the shadows when she would spy his social development amongst the men she cared so deeply for; he had no true reason at that point to believe she even cared about it. Though Cloud had every reason to figure that simply having him onboard, despite the toxic levels of contention his presence here initially - and unsurprisingly - wrought, was enough for her men to decide that he was, at the very least, useful; a first for him really. 

But Shotgun had done well to push open the door left ajar by their comrades and gave Cloud a golden opportunity to further still this usefulness he’d never been able to appreciate before now. He would help Vinnie during meal prep even if Cloud was only the busboy for the most part, setting tables, clearing them, washing dishes; all part and parcel of mucking in as it were and it seemed the older guy appreciated the aid. And the Turian Brothers - Adavixus and Artisius - would sometimes invite him to play in their tournaments of Numerfictil whenever Cloud was present in the mess; a game very similar to dominoes where decorative tiles with strange symbols were used to beat those already placed upon the board. It took a while for Strife to learn what each symbol meant, but the brother’s persevered with the highest level of patience. Other crew mates would join on occasion, bringing to the table cloudy bottles of homebrewed lager fermented from alien fruits beneath one of many heating vents on the ship; often pungent, almost always violently potent in which contests between the humans were born to see who could stomach the most ‘poison’ in one sitting. 

Cloud almost always lost those bets and would suffer greatly for them the following day. Though never would he complain, even when the hangover rendered him practically useless and crumpled agonisingly deep in the darkest recesses of the communal shower block. To be gathered amongst comrades around the smallest table in the mess, to be shunted playfully via the shoulders and included in the guffaws and jests from the mouths of men hailing from all walks of life and the far reaches of the galaxy, he’d be stupid to trade it in for anything else. They’d dubbed him Strifey - and he liked that more than he cared to mention. To be included, to form meaningful bonds, for all of his sorry life, that was all he’d ever wanted and it had taken him until now to even realise it.  

He was beginning to like it here, along with all the colourful people surrounding him. How strange it felt to begin associating a star-fairing ship as home. 

The trust was building, and for the first time for as long as he could even dare to recall, Cloud was being greeted with welcoming nods, hard slaps to the shoulder and raised hands on his commute to the days tasks either in the mess or the engine room where Darius resided, a rather strapping Italian-American man honing a booming voice but with the patience of a doting father teaching his son how to maintain the family vehicle. He was beginning to enjoy the eyewatering stink of engine oil and general man stink, and Darius was all about teaching his new protégé everything he could about ‘Nova’s’ inner workings and how to maintain her. 

Even his relationship with the previously emotionally elusive captain had begun to flourish. In the beginning Cloud was under no illusion that his biotic abilities were of some great interest to her. She honed similar attributes even if her gift was granted to her under very different circumstances. Yet Mercy would pick at him, complain about the state of his armour - as shoddy as it was but fit like an old favourite slipper hence his reluctance to do anything about it - though with an air of comedic affection laced from an otherwise viciously sharp tongue. On occasion she would reprimand him when his performance was lacklustre, when his actions or lack thereof became detriment to the collective of her crew. He didn’t like those days, to be reminded of his flaws and failings, and yet, from those instances began what could be considered a strange flurry of respect for a woman deemed hostile from anyone on the outside looking in. Because never in those instances did she beat him down, but drove into him how she didn’t believe he was better than what he was giving, but that she knew it to be true. Another instance where, for the first time, he was given food for thought, something to chew and improve on. 

Some hard lessons were learned this way, and her methods were brutal often resulting in volatile spats the whole ship could hear, yet somehow Mercy seemed to know that a firm hand was needed to keep the newest member of her team grounded, and no mistake was ever repeated twice. Yet after all of that, apologies for her hard hitting words would be delivered mostly without fail, once again, in the comfort of the mess hall. Cloud, of course, would take them with the upmost humility. She was the captain after all, her word aboard her ship, was as good as the word of any God. 

Despite all of this, with every mission Strife would be on the front lines with her, standing down heavy fire from the enemy and teaming up with this formidable and outrageously powerful woman to deliver precise and deadly attacks. And it was the culmination of that power, coupled with the harsh demands to be better where a whole new problem began to develop deep in the recesses of his cluttered head. Cloud didn’t recognise it at first, all he knew for certain was he was frustrated, and Mercy’s presence seemed to aggravate that issue exponentially. It wasn’t until she invited a stranger into her cabin some weeks after that the penny finally dropped. 

He was falling for her. And the sight of her bringing that man into her intimate space was a pain like no other, so much so that it fractured something inside of him he wasn’t sure he could even fix.

White-hot jealousy began to override his good senses, unable to shake the notion that it wasn’t him occupying the spaces in her bed, and throwing himself into work was doing so very little to alleviate the devastation of - once again - being on the outside looking inward. Wishing to be a part of something so very far out of his reach. 

But what could he do? Cloud knew of other crew members trying their luck and getting knocked back. He didn’t think he could handle that level of humiliation, and so he settled into a foul gloomy limbo of wanting her and never being able to have her. Residing to live vicariously through his own sexual fantasies and fucking his pillow whenever he was alone. Pathetic didn’t even come close to how he viewed his own behaviour, when he was reserved and snippy with her, yet utterly miserable was much closer to the truth than he truly wanted to admit, even to himself. Strife had even tried Mercy’s methods of attempting to deal with his predicament, inviting attractive tail onto her ship with the intent of getting his end away in a bid to alleviate the intolerable pressure building in his loins. A failed attempt at best when all he was able to talk about was his disdain for his captain and how she made him feel so damn desperate. Needless to say that instance was a flop at its very finest. 

It was Mercy he wanted, not some loose broad dragged in from a club. No one else's interest could even come close to what he wanted from her. 

Though it wasn’t long after that instance that things began to change; where he would catch her watching him only for her quickly turn away when their gazes locked. Where she would begin to make excuses to touch him, softly, so tenderly, be that with fingers through his hair in the guise of innocent curiosity, or the slow sensual dances illuminated by the strobe lights of every bar and club they’d visit. Where hands roamed over broad planes of covered flesh and set his soul on fire. Where times spent simply talking in the observation deck had drawn them closer, noses bumping together while he’d begin to drown in the warm honey of her eyes, swept away on the winds of every exhale, unable to fight against the gravity of her, and relishing how his heart pounded against the walls of his chest in eager anticipation of that very first kiss. 

Cloud was so fucking ready to fall in love with her, to plummet beyond that point of no return only encouraged by her imploring hands and those heavy lust filled hues. To kiss her, touch her, make sweet love to her and make her his. Even if they were interrupted each and every time by convenient obstacles in the form of Benny and Vinnie. 

It all came to a head during one of their many sparring sessions, tensions released as they fucked like animals on the cold floor of the training room, where she’d cried his name and nothing in the galaxy had ever sounded so sweet, where the sharp grazes running across his shoulders had never hurt so good, marked to claim him as hers together with the sensual rocking of hips and desperate pleading moans. And there on after Cloud was common presence in those spaces in her bed, peeling away the layers, touching her in her most intimate places, securing hot wet kisses against scorched flesh while she straddled his waist and rode him beyond that sheer edge of rapture itself. No amount of booze nor substances could compare to this addiction, just her hands on him was enough to make him hard, just her lips moaning his name hotly against the shell his ear enough to make him cum, for her and only her over, and over, and over again. 

Wild and untameable was she, and he wouldn’t change her for all the credits in all of Citadel Space; no finer feeling had he ever experienced to know that she, this apparition of everything Cloud knew to be beautiful, inside and out, had chosen him in the end.  

Keeping their relationship from the rest of the crew was impossible, they were too obvious with how they merely looked at one another, the way they had started to protect one another in battle, how they were caught so many times locking lips within the shadows of corridors. Yet even then, everyone knew, if the knowledge of their relationship wasn’t widely accepted as being out in the open, it was still very much common knowledge. And for her men at least, harbouring that information was insufferable. 

Until one day, in the usual place where the crew gathered, where she would muscle Shotgun out of his seat next to Cloud to claim it as her own, and she looks at him from beneath those long dark lashes and the words “Can I kiss you?” oozed from her lips like the finest syrup. Cloud gazes back, baby blue’s dropping to her mouth before flickering upwards once more to meet with those gorgeous honey glazed eyes. He doesn’t offer an answer, least not a verbal one, choosing instead to close that distance, his mouth enclosing those glorious luscious lips with the softest of coquettish sighs. 

And much to the gleeful appreciation of the crew sat amongst them, jeering and whooping in a sort of celebration for this affection they’d found in the most unexpected of circumstances. 

Because like everything here aboard the Nova, it all happens in the mess hall. 

[girlgrouptrash101]

Irene (Red Velvet) as Your Girlfriend

Request: “Hi can i request rv irene as girlfriend or snsd yoona. Thank youu”

A/N: I wish SM would be nice to his girl groups and package Red Velvet’s albums they way he does with like NCT for example they’d be so much nicer 🗿

- C

Cold as ice on the outside, but a massive softie once you manage to break down her walls and see the real Bae Joohyun

it takes a lot for Joohyun to finally trust you, but as soon as she does then she completely changes

Being a leader, Irene doesn’t have anyone to share her problems with, so when she found you, it was like the weight of the world was lifted off her shoulders

whenever she’s wrapped up in your tight embrace with the night lights shining through the slats in your blinds, she tends to pour her heart out right for you

it’s the perfect time for her, because she can your physical support when your arms are wrapped around her small frame, listening to her every word and offering consolation when needed

When things are a little more lighthearted!!! Y’all are one hot couple lbr

Most of your days are spent accidentally getting distracted by how beautiful your girlfriend is uwu

Irene gets called pretty and beautiful at least x1828282 a day, it always feels different when it comes from you

You’re the only one who can bring the butterflies to her stomach; the only one who can make her feel like a schoolgirl with a flourishing crush again.

You always tease her and call her an old grandma to which she always retaliates by poking you or tickling you until there’s tears of laughter running down your cheeks

A world class kisser

When Irene really gets into it, her kiss can leave you dumbfounded and addicted to her lips, forever wanting more

Irene really likes things that smell nice, and that’s always her excuse when you ask her why she’s wearing your clothes

(really its just because she misses you and want to always be as close to you as possible but she’ll never tell you that)

Sometimes when Irene comes home really stressed out and can’t seem to find a way to voice her problems to you, you always take it upon yourself to calm her down as much as possible

you just turn on some of her favourite slow songs, pull her into your arms and sway around your living room with her

Irene always finds her problems melting away, soon replaced by thoughts of the one she loved so much

your girlfriend always believed you had a talent for making her feel so at ease and she appreciated it to no end.

Likes to take you on dinner dates so she knows you’re fed well

and she loves the way your eyes light up when you get served with your favourite things, it just makes her heart beat way too fast

You always like to plan more adventurous dates that are outside Irene’s comfort zone, because you claim it’s the best way to make memories that you won’t forget

Irene is always hesitant but ends up loving the experience, she always says that you keep her young lmao grandma

PDA is kept to a minimum, she just holds your hand or links your arm at most in public

when you’re at home though, she can have her clingy moments where all she wants to do is be held by you for the evening

Going on road trips and singing obnoxiously loud until Irene finally joins in and sings even obnoxiously louder

taking x28382829 pictures wherever you go because you want to capture Irene’s beauty

speaking of pictures, whenever Irene takes one she always does it in that mom pose, like where she puts her whole body into it and squints at the camerato get the perfect angle lmao

Whenever you come to see her perform, she’s super confident on stage, blowing kisses and winking every time she takes the centre

but as soon as she hops off stage and you congratulate her, she gets super shy - she appreciates you coming to support her in her career so much though, she’s just not the best at expressing it

the rest of the girls and all her friends in SM and under other companies knows you’re dating, they all think you’re perfect for one another

and they gush over you both so much whenever you come to awards shows or just come and visit your girlfriend in the SM building

some other idols (or other people in general) don’t know though and try to flirt with you, and Irene is so quick to shit them down; you’re hers and no one elses.

Irene will love and protect you so much, and you do the same. You know it’s a relationship that’s going to last, there’s just too much of a connection for you to ever give up on one another 💕

NSFW From Here:

Definitely a top for sure

she’s used to leading and taking control, and it’s no different in the bedroom

Shy Irene goes out the window when she’s turned on, her desire gets the best of her and she has no room to be embarrassed or hesitant

When she asks you for a show, you’d better give her one she won’t forget.

You often get texts when you’re waiting for Irene to come home, they usually consist of her telling you to be dressed in your pretty lingerie or underwear she bought you for when she finally gets back

into trying new things, but will only continue them if they’re enjoyed by both parties

her possessive side often comes out during sex, she never forgets to mention how you’re hers in that moment

she’ll have you pinned to the mattress, taking a dominant stance above you and asking you who you belong to

If looks could kill,,, oh buddy you’d be long gone

Her gaze sends chills down your spine, but it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen

Big fan of your butt tho lmao wbk

Will not hesitate to mess with you in public if you’re being a brat or if she just feels like it

she’ll have that smug ass look on her face as she plays with you under the table while you struggle to keep quiet

confident in her skills and so she should be, she’s damn good

Irene is convinced that there’s no sight in the world that’s hotter than when you come just for hera

After sex Irene is a little bit cuddlier than usual, and she can either be really cocky or quite shy

she always remembers to clean you up and make sure you know how well you did for her, watching you go to sleep with a smile on her face

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

The Hunter Who Loved Me (Part 1)

Series Page

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline, Dean x OFC

Series Summary: Part Three of Some Sunny Day. Dean's trying to balance his new relationship with Julie and his need to hunt. How long can he keep it from her? And can Julie keep her curiosity at bay?

Section Word Count: 6300

Section Content: language, fluff, dirty talk, smut, Domestic!Dean, Slight Dom!Dean

How did I get so lucky? That this was turning into just another day in her life with Dean Winchester made her shake her head. This has to be what it feels like to win the lottery.

Julie sprayed the top of the sliding glass door with a window cleaner. She took time to enjoy all the sexiness on the other side of the glass, the view of Dean in her backyard, while attending to her household chore. A few final touches and Dean would be done with the assembly. Crouched down and bent at the knees, Dean added some utensil hooks to the side of the grill. Unknowing, he was giving her all of that gorgeous, serious profile of his to study. Sunshine streaked through his hair and flamed the fiery orange-red tips incognito most of the time. She wiped away the cleaner slipping over her view. 

The grill had been an impromptu purchase on her end the weekend before. She and Dean had gone to, of all places, a home improvement store together. He had noticed a couple things around her house that needed fixing. But he wanted to run the ideas past her and some options before he went ahead and did anything. It was very domestic and thoughtful of him. It brought a huge grin to her face. 

He’d snuck a peck on her cheek when they were alone in the garden and patio center, talking about the drop in price of some seasonal stuff. His eyes lit up at a behemoth gas grill. He whistled and spouted off the stats: three burners, one on the side, plus a sear station burner to boot. The sucker could deliver 60,000 BTUs, which according to Dean, was awesome. Those meaty, handy fingers of his glided over the stainless steel top. Julie heated up.

It was decided that since Julie was throwing Brigida a surprise birthday party that following weekend and the October weather was pleasant enough, why not buy a grill and make it an outdoor affair. Most of the guests would end up outside anyway. Would Dean be keen on manning the meat for her? Julie tossed the unintentional innuendo out and had the six foot plus Adonis blushing in the middle of the display floor.

Satisfied with the streak free glass, Julie went out to check on Dean’s status. He leaned up from his work position and smiled. “All good. She’s ready for action. Just lit her up.”

Julie nodded, sighing in relief. “Cutting it close.” A couple hours from now the guests would arrive. And Brigida would definitely be on time, if not earlier, an hour after that.

“Yeah. But, it only took me threatening three store clerks at nine am this morning. Pulled a working igniter out of the floor model to get this baby up and running.” He waved both hands in the air with a flourish. “Now, we’re golden. No more nose crinkles. The meat’s marinating in your fridge.” He cocked a thumb over to Wes and Samuel’s house. “They’ve got the booze covered and some side dishes.”

“You need me to dash out for anything else before I finish up my food and the cookies to go along with the ice cream cake?”

He shook his head and drew her in by the waist, their bodies snug. “You trust me with all that fire power?”

Her hand rubbed over his vintage AC/DC t-shirt right under the collar. Sweat stippled his brow from the running around and grill tweaking. The mix of it with his sharp, clean soap scent got her warm and tingly. God, how does he make sexy so effortless? “You can handle it. I’m no Prometheus. You should worry more about my mom trying to take over the grill once she gets here.”

“Hey, it’s her birthday. If she wants the tongs and spatula, I’ll hand them over and be her sous chef.”

Julie smiled. “She’d probably love that.”

He grinned and bent down to dust her bottom lip with his mouth. “How many we gotta feed again?”

She rattled off the memorized total. “Twenty-two, not including us. Fifteen adults, three kids, two teenagers, and two dogs.”

Dean tipped his head. “Piece of cake.”

Julie smirked. “Not pie?”

His fingers flirted over the denim covering her ass. “Saving your pie for later.” He leaned down again for a deeper kiss.

Julie’s backyard had never seen such activity. Lawn chairs scattered over the freshly mowed lawn. Stacey and Carl’s two older children, Evan, 10, and Rory, 7, played cornhole in the driveway. Brigida had latched onto their youngest boy, two year old Dylan, right after everyone had given her a Happy Birthday surprise welcome. Karen’s boyfriend, Carter, the New York Mergers and Acquisitions lawyer, Wes, and Carl kept Dean company by the grill. He seared chicken, flipped hot dogs, checked and rechecked the pork ribs, sipped his beer, and took doneness requests for the beef burgers. 

Samuel chatted under the covered patio with Karen, Stacey, Cat and her partner Sheila, along with the handful of Brigida’s Little Italy neighbors that had made the short trek out of the city to celebrate. Karen’s teenage boys hid most of the time, busy on their phones under the shade of the carport. Julie attempted to involve Karen’s oldest, Khaleel - a sullen 16 who more than likely wanted to be anywhere else - asking if he would man the playlist blaring out of the portable bluetooth speaker. The younger by two years, Kevin, emerged from his cocoon to explain TikTok to Dean. The explanation only furrowed the cook’s brow even more.

Julie caught Dean’s this-is-for-the-guests smile settle into the I’m-actually-kinda-glad-to-see-you version when Cas and Jack finally showed up. Cas had picked up some weekend shifts to make ends meet. Jack was still working his side job as much as he could, balancing school, to save up for his trip to Texas over Winter Break. He was going to MIRL with this fantasy girl if it was the last thing he ever did. At least, that was the confession he had told Julie as the four hung out for a movie and pizza over Dean’s a month back.

Cas took his usual post at Dean’s right side by the grill. Julie glanced over every so often at the comical duo. Somewhere between Abbott and Costello and Martin and Lewis. Dean monitored his friend’s interactions with the new group of men. If Cas needed to pull back on the conversation a bit or shift to another topic, Dean cued him with a slight shake of a head or cough. Cas held his beer in a fierce grip and mimicked Dean when he took a sip. God, there is so much codependency there. What they hell did they go through together? Dean gave Jack a pair of tongs and had him man the second round of dogs. Jack smiled from ear to ear like a teenager getting the keys to the car after passing his driver’s license. And, he’s like a second dad to that kid.    

As was always the case in hosting, and determined to not have her mom lift a finger, Julie barely had time to relax or eat for the first hour of the party. She made sure the other food got served when Dean plattered and presented grilled meats. The two of them used a lot of hand gestures and miming to coordinate everything. Dean would every so often switch things up and make Julie blush with a few obscene ones.   

Once Dean had been schooled by Cat on Salt and Pepa’s breeds - a Samoyed and Belgian Sheepdog, respectively - he had them eating out of and drooling into his hands for scraps. Cas and Jack procured a frisbee from the outdoor toys and tossed it back and forth with the kids. The dogs played monkey in the middle.

Dean called out to Julie once everyone else was situated and eating. “Jules! Got a medium-well burger with your name on it, ready in a minute.” He winked over. She set the last of the latest round of drinks in front of guests and gave him a thumbs up.

Stacey cooed. “Knows just how you like your meat, does he?”

The old college friends did their share of giggling and cackling. Julie pointed a finger from Samuel to Stacey. “No more of your red wine for this one.” 

Carl tapped his wife’s knee. “Take it easy, sweetie.” Stacey gave her husband a slobbery raspberry on the cheek.

“That is a sweet ride.” Carter pointed to Baby in Dean’s driveway as her owner snuck behind Julie. He presented a cheeseburger on a perfectly toasted bun. Julie smiled at the lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles - all her favorites - already on top. The charred meat and fixings smelled divine. Her stomach grumbled. A side glance noted her mom’s own smiling face. Brigida stared over at the both of them while talking to the two older couples.

“Well, you can take a look under the hood later if you want, Carter. Rebuilt her more times than I can count.” He whispered in Julie’s ear. “Eat something before you pass out.”

She grinned, wanting to tease that he sounded like Brigida, but thought better of it. Stacey and the crew were watching their interactions like hungry vultures, ready to pounce on anything too tasty to tease about.

“So, Dean, if the ladies have another girls’ night, maybe we can get us a poker game over at my house.” Carl interjected.

Sheila chimed in, “Only if I can join.”

Julie overheard Cas whisper to Dean in confusion. “Wouldn’t Sheila be a part of girls’ night?”

Dean muttered back, “Not if she has better taste in music than the rest of them.”

Carter shook his head. “Oh, God, you wiped me out last time we played poker Sheila.”

Dean cocked a brow and gave Sheila a lopsided grin. “Some actual competition. Sounds like we gotta make that happen soon.”

Sheila tipped her beer to Dean and gave his frame a thorough inspection.

“My poker skills would benefit from someone new to play with, as well.” Cas nodded to Sheila. “I know all of Dean’s tells at this point. It’s getting rather boring.”

Sheila patted the empty seat next to her. “You might be my new best friend, then, Cas.”

Cas smiled and puffed out his chest.

Dean whispered to Julie, “Should I break the news that he hasn’t a shot in hell?”

Karen helped Julie with some of the kitchen cleanup before dessert. It was really a ruse for alone time and girl talk.

“How was it?” Karen asked in a hushed tone, in case anyone snuck in. She’d known about Julie going on birth control again. Had actually been the one to give her the idea in the first place.

“Which time?” Julie smiled. “We’ve been at it every night since the middle of this week when I surprised him.” She added. “Sometimes two or three times.”

“Jesus. Two or three? Carter’s five years younger than me and two times in one night has never… never happened. Three?” Karen fanned herself over the sink and running water. “How are you handling all that man, Jules?” Her brown eyes widened while she rinsed plates to drop in the dishwasher. 

Julie answered by holding her hands apart to approximate Dean’s length.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Karen’s voice raised. She slapped a palm over her mouth at the outburst. Water and suds flew everywhere.

Julie crossed a finger over her chest, blinking at the water that splashed her face. “When have I lied under oath?” 

“Be careful or you’re going to get a UTI.” She added in a whisper, “From all that fucking.”

Julie laughed. “I booked a follow up with my gyno as soon as I got the prescription. I see her next week.” She whispered back. “Kar, it was amazing, mind blowing before this. But now, it’s like…” Julie trailed off, daydreaming about her lover in the backyard. Her insides sore, throbbing with the memory of him; a deep and beautiful stoking she couldn’t wait to experience again. 

“I think Carter and Carl have crushes on him.” Karen shook her head. “Carter might come in his pants if he gets that car tour.”

“Don’t tell Cat, but I think Sheila might be crushing, too.” Julie giggled.

“We heard that!” Stacey and Cat screamed in unison. Karen and Julie screamed back in shock. Cat, a bit tipsy herself this afternoon, sported a toothy grin. From Julie’s vantage, she was lighter than usual, airy even. One of her arms draped over Stacey’s shoulders as the duo sashayed into the kitchen.

“Only speaking the truth.” Karen raised a hand as the other still clutched her chest at the friendly fright.

Stacey waved a hand. “I get dibs on Dean when Jules is done with him.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Not planning on it anytime soon, Stace.”

Cat opened her mouth. Her eyes caught the threat Julie’s eyes beamed with an intentional telepathy. Cat snapped her jaw shut before the other ladies noticed.

“Not fair to keep all the juicy details to yourself.” Stacey whined, sliding out from Cat’s grip and into one of the kitchen chairs. She slumped over the table, elbow propped, cradling her chin in a manicured hand. “Some of us have needs.” She sighed.

Cat leaned against a counter, eyes glazed behind her glasses. “I think Brigida’s had one too many.”

Julie was happy for the segway but not pleased with the content. She settled her own glasses against the bridge of her nose in a nervous tick. “Really? A saw her with a glass of wine. But, she usually only has a little.”

“I think Wes and Samuel made her a special birthday cocktail.”

“Ugh.” She wiped both hands down across her face. “Love ‘em but those men and their alcohol.”

Stacey did her best pigeon impression again. “Do you love ‘em as much as Dean?”

A very deep throat clearing had all four ladies turn their head to the hallway. Dean stood there carrying a huge empty platter covered in meat bits and juices. “Am I interrupting something?” Julie blushed at the proud grin on his face. He skimmed past Stacey’s seated frame. Stacey was eye level with the denim hugging his ass and licked her lips. He excused himself again and slid around Cat, lifting the platter over Julie’s head winding past, to end up near Karen by the sink. “This is a nasty one. Let me take care of this, Karen.” He offered.

She shook her head. “Hand it over. Least we can do after you did such a stellar job at the grill. You got Kevin to eat a burger that doesn’t come in a fast food bag.”

“That is high praise. Thanks.” He smiled and gave Julie a once over before asking, “Anything else have to go out?”

“You think I should grab the ice cream cake out of the basement fridge?”

“It might be a good idea soon.” Dean shrugged. “Everyone’s either winding down or is pretty hammered.” He glanced over at Stacey.

Julie nodded and pointed at the counter behind him. “Would you take that tray out with the dessert plates and all the other necessities? Pretty please?”

He winked. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Stacey groaned. “Ugh. Could you two reel in the cuteness?”

Julie ignored the request. “Thank you. Cat.” She turned to ask her friend. “Wanna help me with the cake?” 

“Um, sure.” Cat hesitated.

When they got down to the basement, Julie listened to ensure Dean’s heavy steps had made their way out the sliding door and Stacey and Karen were busy talking in the kitchen.

“I’m not the best person to ask to carry a cake upstairs.” Cat mumbled.

“You can spot me.” Her hand rested on the fridge handle. “Speaking of looking out for me…”

“I know. I haven’t reached out much since that last conversation we had.” Cat shrugged. “You sounded happy that night, with him. I figured I should mind my own business for once and stop investigating.”

“Thank you, Cat.” Julie smiled.

“He seems decent, Julie. A good guy, even. Simple. Easy.” Cat waved a hand. “I don’t mean either of those things as a negative.”

Julie laughed. “I know. But, trust me, he’s anything but simple or easy to figure out.” She tilted her head. “I’ve been thinking... would you send me over a couple of those books you found?”

Cat pursed her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

It was ten o’clock by the time Dean and Julie finished with a majority of the clean up from the party. The last dishwasher load had been started, all the guests had gone home, and Brigida was fussing in the kitchen. Dean looked like a very uncomfortable giant next to the birthday lady.

“I don’t need-ah to stay.” Brigida insisted. “Dean-ah can take me home.” Her Italian accent was a lot heavier laced with alcohol.

“No, Dean can’t. None of us should be driving, Ma. We’ve all had a bit too much to drink. You have your extra meds here in your room. You’re going to take them, drink lots of water, and go to bed.”

She waved her hands. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Julie rolled her eyes and sighed.

“Brigida, we just threw a party for you. How could you think you’re in the way?” Dean asked with true sincerity in his voice.

“Dean-ah.” She clutched his forearm. “I don’t want-ah you to run home. And, I know-ah this one won’t leave me in the house alone-ah. Thinkin’ I won’t be able to walk twenty steps without falling over and knocking myself out-ah.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, I’m pretty tired. Long day.”  

“Ma, Dean can stay over if he wants to.” Julie widened her eyes to encourage Dean to play along.

“Ye-yeah. Sure. We’re both exhausted.” He faked a long yawn and stretched out an arm. “Sooo tired. Gonna conk out as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

Brigida grinned. “You are a bad liar.” She tapped his tummy. “Fine. I’ll get myself ready for bed.” She raised both arms at Julie. “Appy?”

“Very happy.” Julie smiled. “Need me to help you with anything?”

“No.” Brigida motioned for Dean to bend down. She gave him a very long mama bear hug and then squeezed a cheek. “Thank you.”

Julie’s heart warmed at the interaction.

His facial features squirmed under Brigida’s vice grip. “Welcome.”

When she retracted her fingers, she announced, “I’ll be up early cleanin’ and makin’ breakfast.” She shuffled out of the kitchen. Her loud voice rang out in the hallway. “Don’t come down here naked in the morning, Dean-ah. Not-ah unless you got plans for me.”

Dean snorted as Julie yelled. “Ma!” 

Dean shook his head. “She’s even more of a pistol drunk.” He wrapped arms around Julie when they were alone. “I’ll hang out until she’s in her room and sleeping. I don’t think it’ll take long. Help you clean up some more. Then, I’ll duck out.” His kiss was soft and warm.

Julie hummed. “You heard her. She’s making you breakfast.” She shrugged. “You can stay.”

Dean smiled. “Sweetheart, if I stay, we won’t be sleeping.”

“Good.”

They took turns in the upstairs bathroom. Dean first, as usual, since Julie took longer with her nighttime skin routine. Cleanser, applied to her face in gentle circular motions, wiped away the makeup and sweat from the day. Cool water splashed against her skin. Splashes of moments from the party entered her mind. Her mom’s absolute shock and then subsequent soft crying at the surprise. Stacey wrangled the girl power squad together for a group selfie. It would post onto the social medias before Stacey got well and fully sloshed. Cas pulled her to the side to give her a genuine, heartfelt thank you for the invitation. Jack assisted with the dish clearing without even having to be asked. Mom’s ancient, pudgy neighbor, Lydia, who didn’t move once from her seat under the patio, tugged at Julie’s wrist to tell her she needed to do a better job holding onto this man than the last one. 

She patted away most of the wetness with a face towel. This man. She opened the medicine cabinet to put away some items and grab the moisturizer. Everything she disliked about her face on bright display under the bathroom lighting. The pads of her fingers danced over the circles under her eyes and some of the wrinkles forming around her mouth. All those old Italian women and their snarky little comments. Wondering what Dean’s doing with me. Even with all of his secrets and all that she still didn’t know, she still felt that tug of insecurity. Not being good enough. His imperfections, the cracks appearing over the months of infatuation and obsession with this man, were making themselves known. But they were all things she could handle and cast aside at the end of the day. Because all it took was that one second of his eyes locking with hers in that way. That very Dean way. Craving it in that moment, she hurried and worked the cream into her skin.

She entered the dark bedroom. The only illumination was from the television, the volume low and muffled. White light from the screen flashed like lightning over Dean, laid out on the still made bed. 

He had slipped on the grey and blue plaid pajama bottoms Julie bought him. She picked them up as an afterthought one Sunday shopping when he’d started staying over a couple times a week. He came across them, folded and waiting, on the unspoken but understood side of Julie’s bed that was now his. A lopsided grin had been given as thanks.

There was a reason I didn’t buy him a shirt. A remote in hand rested on his tummy and that luscious bare chest. He cradled his head atop two pillows with his other palm; his biceps curled, primed, and ready for action. Legs crossed at the ankles and his foot swayed with an ancy rhythm. The image of him stretched out imprinted in her brain under the bright pops of light as if someone were taking lots of polaroids of this magnificent specimen.  

He turned to her, smiled, then whispered, “Wanna watch something?” The remote was used as a pointing device toward the floor. “I can’t tell if that’s a chainsaw or your mom snoring.”

Julie nodded. “I told you, you can hear everything in this house.”

“Maybe soundproofing needs to be another project.” He frowned. “This is going to be torture.”

She giggled low and soft, hands on her hips, cinching in her oversized nightshirt. “Why?”

His fingers skirted over the comforter creeping in her direction. “Cause I want to make you moan like the other night.” 

That very Dean way. The sexy stare made her smile drop. “Thought you were tired.”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He gave her a chin nod.

Julie sighed and eased onto the bed, aware of every creak and squeak. “Karen was right.”

“‘Bout what?” He opened an arm. His embrace clutched her to his warm chest.

She snuggled in. “You’re going to give me blushing bride syndrome.”

“A blushing what now?”

His lips pressed to hers cut off an immediate response. She nibbled on his chin when he released. “Too much sex. You know, can cause issues down there.”

He pulled back to study her face. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you.”

“Not asking you to.” She pressed into him.

Mischief lined his lips. “Maybe I should take it easy on you. Give you a break. Since we have to be quiet and all.” He flashed the all-knowing, hot shit grin that stopped her heart. “I mean, we know you can’t keep that dirty little mouth of yours shut when mine’s all over you... or inside you.” His voice was husky and gritty, breathing near her ear. 

“Oh, really?” She whispered her retort. “Who was the one panting and groaning last night about how hard he was going to come?”

Dean latched onto one of her knees. The pull dragged a thigh to rest over his hip. His warm hand traveled and danced along her skin. It snuck under the night shirt; pushed it high up past her waist. Fingers clutched at the top of her bare ass and kneaded. He shifted into her more and wedged their bodies tight. “Nah. You couldn’t have heard that. You were too busy screaming my name over and over.”

A jarring motor-like sound drifted up from Brigida’s bedroom for only a second. They froze in place. Dean chuckled. Tangled together, Julie rested a finger on his mouth. “Shhh.” She pressed into the softness of his perfect pout with more force and threw in a nose crinkle for good measure.

“I wasn’t going to say anything…” His lips struggled to release the words under her finger. Julie had learned early on upon their meeting that Dean enjoyed teasing out a variety of reactions from her.

She sighed and relented the tiny attempt at restraint. “What?”

“When you were in the bathroom earlier and I got a good listen of it all. Actually had something to compare it to.” He paused. “You snore like your mom.” His grin spread slow and wide, lips pursed tight.

Julie’s eyes widened on defense. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” He nodded, still grinning, lifting his brow for emphasis. “Get so loud.” A slight, controlled circling of those strong hips began. The motion matched the sensual rhythm of his verbal descriptions. “You start off so nice and quiet. Then it’s up. And up. And up. Like a freight train in here some nights, sweetheart.”

A few more seconds of silence followed. “Shit.” That was the only admission Julie would allow, listening to his description of her inherited sleeping habits while succumbing to the wondrous feel of his body lighting her up. “Don’t compare me to my mother while doing that, Dean.”

Dean laughed and gave her another chin nod in victory. “Still. Proves my point. Can’t help yourself. Way louder and noisier than I could ever be.” 

Julie nuzzled close, finding the tunnel under his arm. Firm strokes down the slope of his back relished in the heat vibrating through his body. She ran a thumb back and forth over that plump pillow of a bottom lip. “You were the one that almost broke my headboard. Remember? Talk about noise.” And talk about fucking hot. “White knuckling it to get some leverage, slamming it into the wall.” His mouth parted and a hunger filled his gaze. She grinned at the erection hardening more in the pajamas against her patch of curls. “While you were slamming into me.”

He caught her thumb with a clench of teeth. His tongue flirted along the pad before he sucked at it with a low moan. His lips released it when he whispered back. “That was a memorable fuck, sweetheart. You under me. Letting me ride you so hard. Wish I could pound you like that for days. Wreck us both.”

“Jesus, Dean.” Julie moaned, rocking soft against his clothed cock.  “There wouldn’t be anything left of me.”

The hand left her ass, skirted under the shirt. Those meaty fingers landed on the curve of her breast and massaged into bliss. “But what a way to go.” He groaned, then peeled away enough to dip down and mouth a nipple through the shirt. “Shit, got me so hard.” He spoke between licks and sucks. “I wanna fuck you. All. The. Time.” The warmth and wet of his mouth soaked through to the taut nub. “All I could think about today was getting you alone. Here. Like this.” He nudged at the material with his nose to expose the dark, pebbly flesh to the air and his mouth. “Sliding inside you again. Nothin’ but me and you.” He suckled at her tit. When he came up for air and met her gaze, he whispered in that smoke and honey tone. “It feels like home inside you, Jules.”

Dean’s eyes lit up with another flash from the television. Glassy, eager and laser focused with intent. He always downplayed his ability to convey and verbalize feelings. But that confession, those six words - It feels like home inside you - made her whole body shiver. Like the night they’d first had sex. You feel so safe. It had been four little words back then. Not THOSE three little words. But it was pretty damn close.

“I think we should give ourselves a challenge.” The seriousness faded from his face, replaced with that impish grin. “A quiet, well contained, controlled fucking.”

Julie giggled, her body still buzzing from his actions and words. Her hands answered, pulling the pajamas down past his ass. He lifted up from the mattress an inch to assist with the disrobing. The fabric bunched around his knees.

He groaned when she tugged at his cock, free and rigid. She curled toes and peeled the material down far enough so he could shake his feet out the rest of the way. “Turn around, baby.” His voice held an authoritative tone. “Everything. Off.”

In the process of her slow and quiet one-eighty flip she rid herself of the nightshirt. The cool air in the room prickled at hot skin. He moaned at the sight. “That’s not being quiet.” She tisked.

He lassoed her in with a bear hug, onto her side, this time her back sealed along his chest. A haphazard pull at the band released the ponytail. His fingers brushed away strands. Searing lips attacked the exposed flesh of her neck. “Are you gonna be good for me?”

She stifled a moan and nodded.

“Hm.” Fingers slid into the folds, finding the wetness. “Very good so far.” He pushed farther in and searched. Circled her entrance. “All this for me already?” He groaned in her ear. “Goddamn, I wanna get my mouth on that. But we know you really can’t contain yourself when my face is between your legs.” Those fingers ended up at his mouth. She could smell her excitement, inches away. The sound of his lips sucking and his moans stoked her need. “Maybe a challenge for the morning.” He thought aloud.

His body, large and eclipsing, leaned up, shifting. His cock slid between the cheeks of Julie’s ass like a heat seeking missile. She let out a pitiful whine and bit her lip. They hadn’t even talked about that as an option. But every time his cock got tantalizingly close the thought had crossed her mind. She’d never wanted to try, not even with Steve. But Dean. Dean made her want to experience everything.

The sex with Dean had been many things over the past months: fun, playful, sweet, luxuriating, romantic, fast, rough, hard, naughty, and tons of dirty talk. Yet, none of that fifty shades stuff or roleplaying she had anticipated. Almost vanilla sex in comparison from what her mind could conjure up. 

Almost, but never vanilla. Not with Dean. It was that French Vanilla ice cream that you’d get at a family owned creamery worth a two hour drive. One made by an artisan, churned by hand. One bursting with flecks of vanilla bean hitting all the taste buds. It was rich, creamy, indulgent, velvety, cool, lolling about on your tongue, savoring the flavor in the moment, crystalizing a memory for wonderful recollections.  

Still, there was a palpable restraint by Dean, holding back, in terms of physical limits even if never in vocal declarations. Sometimes she thought she could feel the inner shift in Dean. It could be an imperceptible tell if their bodies weren’t so connected; a retraction of his muscles under that worn skin and the myriad of scars she would cling to in mounting desperation of the most amazing kind. He never out and out stated it. Dean never would. But she felt like the pilot in this jet when it came down to it. He was her trusty co-pilot, offering suggestions but always adhering to the final decision, charting her course, making sure she stayed on track, allowing her control. Allowing her safety. 

“No one’s gonna be quiet if we give that a try tonight.” Dean read her mind, again keeping her on track with the original plan. He scooted down, cupping her figure with his. “Any other night, sweetheart, you let me know.” He dotted her back with kisses and wedged a knee between her legs. The motion splayed her bottom half, spreading her. His palm crooked under her knee, bent it just so. “But, this way.” The cock tip pressed at the entrance. “I think we can both get what we need and not wake sleeping beauty.” He licked little patches along her shoulder blade. “What’s that thing you always say?”

Jesus, why is he teasing me now? “When?” She huffed out.

“When you come over and decide to clean up my kitchen.”

“No muss, no fuss?”

He rumbled into her back and began the slide. Inside. “Yeah. That’s it. No Muss. No Fuss.” His large palm grabbed at her breast, latched onto it, thumbed the nipple. She could feel the strength of his hips guiding the wondrous length and girth of his cock. He bottomed into her and stopped. She wanted to feel how tight his ass was clenched in that moment. Sought it out with a hand and squeezed. “Hm.” He approved of the action. “How does that feel, sweetheart?” His voice, low, deep.

“You feel so good inside me Dean. You feel good everywhere.” She moaned when the controlled pistoning switched on. 

“Hm. So, the quiet part is gonna be impossible for you, huh?”

She moaned again, softer, she thought. “This is me being quiet.”

“Baby?” He moaned out the question.

“Yeah?”

“Would you be alright if I helped keep you quiet?”

A fire lit up in her belly. “Yeah.”

He groaned. An arm threaded between her rocking body and the mattress. His hand slid up her chest, over her neck, her jaw. Settled over her mouth. “If it’s too much.” He panted. “If I get too carried away, you tap. Okay?”

She tapped his ass cheek to confirm she understood. Listened to his inhales and exhales. His thumb wedged between her upper lip and the underside of her nose. Two massive fingers clamped over her mouth. The other two had a firm grip under her chin, ensuring her lips stayed closed. All while he pumped in and out of her from behind, slow and purposeful.

“Feel so fucking good.” He whispered. His mouth pecked at her back, shoulder, her side, her arm, anywhere it could reach. “Four nights into your ‘I’m on the pill’ surprise.” He panted out his confession. “I’m sure I’m going to come down eventually, Jules. If that gives you some hope. About this blushing bride thing.” A soft growl left his mouth. “I mean, I’m no Superman.” She moaned into his hand when his pace and thrusts picked up. He was still very much in control and not rocking the bed like she knew he could. “But, I am Batman.” His chuckle vibrated into her back.

He shifted, circled, found that spot in her and focused all his energy. More muffled moans erupted from Julie.

“Shhh, sweetheart.” He used more of his palm against her mouth now, pressed harder against the flesh. “Be good for me.”

The subtle restraint was electric, increasing her pleasure tenfold. The sounds of her slick and his rutting inside her only made her more wet.

“I gotta feel you cum.” He begged. His other hand glided over the top of her thigh, rested against the mattress and palmed her pussy. “I’m gonna work you quick, baby. Okay?”

She nodded as much as she could with the hold of his hand.

He parted the folds, found her swollen clit and took no mercy. It was hard, fast. Explosions of light began popping into her brain. Her body jerked with slight tremors. It wouldn’t be long. “Yeah, that’s it. I love it when you come undone. Cum all over my cock.” Dean whispered.

His voice tipped her into the orgasm. She moaned, tightened, while he continued to pump.

“Yeah, right behind you, Julie. Yeah. Fuck.” And, he was, chasing her with his own orgasm. The pulsing of his cock, the spilling of him inside, warm, mingling with her wet he’d produced. His pants and groans against her back. His weight on her body, hand still cupping her mouth. “Man. I give us an A for effort. But, I wasn’t much better than you in the sound department. I might need a damn muzzle.”

Julie smiled into his palm.

“Sorry, baby.” He removed his hand from her mouth. “Should have tapped me. You okay?”

She nodded into the comforter. “Oh, yeah.” Eased onto her back. “Definitely. Can we do more of that?”

He laughed, staring with those beautiful eyes, crinkles extending the gleeful expression on his face. That very Dean way. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Just maybe not tonight?” He kissed her lips, then flashed her an exhausted smile. “I really am pretty beat. Been one helluva long day.”

Julie nodded. “Me too.” She tapped his forearm. “Bathroom again for me and then sleep.”

“Don’t be long.” He collapsed onto his back and closed his eyes.

She smiled, closing the bathroom door. He’d be asleep by the time she slipped back into bed. The sounds of his snores would cover a variety of animals from a grunting pig to a snarling lion. But she wouldn’t tease him in the morning about it. She promised to give him a pass.

Part 2

Series Page

[thanksjro]

The Persistence of Loss: More Ghosts Teaching Robots Life Lessons

This is a story written by Mark Stevenson, but it takes place in the Eugenesis continuity. Fun fact: when everything’s fanfic, that means everything’s equally canon! TMUK took advantage of this nodule of wisdom very frequently.

This is running on Microsoft Word in compatibility mode, by the way. No PDFs here.

It’s after the events the Epilogue of Eugenesis, and there’s a thing called “the List” hanging up in the new Autobase. You know, the one that was set up in the fucking concentration camp.

The worst part of this is how many questions are stirred up by the fact this is on printer paper. Where did the paper come from? Does this mean Cybertron has some sort of plant life that could be pulped down and made into paper? Did they bring some from Earth on the Ark?

What the List is isn’t directly stated, but considering the events of Eugenesis, it isn’t hard to guess.

Meanwhile, Bombshell, everyone’s favorite mind-controller and giant bug, is messing around with the Quintesson corpses, utterly fascinated by the way they’re built.

I never covered this in my breakdown, but the little dudes who were flying the Tridents? All those nameless nobodies? They’re hardwired into their controls. There’s no transition from steering to hand or seat to ass, it’s all one and the same.

Swindle is, of course, disgusted by Bombshell’s little distraction, but there’s not much point arguing with a guy like that, especially now that the tentative peace in the wake of the Quintesson invasion is about to be bashed in with a hammer, since Galvatron’s going to be back on Cybertron in the next few hours. Flattop cuts in, saying they’ve got company inbound.

Over at the remains of Delphi, Scourge has decided to have a little alone time, just thinking his thoughts. It’s nice and quiet, the sunset is positively lovely, and he’s honestly probably overdue for some sort of interruption.

Welp, looks like he wasn’t dead after all. I guess he just decided he was going to sit the entirety of the genocide out.

Though maybe he just didn’t realize it was happening, because this Cyclonus really is just stupid as shit. He laughs at a comment Scourge makes, completely forgetting that they’re in the Sonic Canyons, and nearly kills the both of them. Once the danger’s passed, Cyclonus finally asks Scourge what’s bothering him. What a good friend.

Back at Autobase, Rodimus Prime is sad. He’s always sad, but he’s particularly sad right now. We’re still only a couple of days beyond him having woken up, so he probably stopped self-isolating over Kup’s death roughly twenty minutes ago.

He’s currently reflecting on Emyrissus, the Micromaster he sent to assassinate Galvatron, whose death was as awful as it was predictable, or so Rodimus likes to think. He knew Emyrissus was going to die.

You see, this is why Rodimus is a better leader than Optimus is, at least in terms of empathy. He understands that he’s in a position of power, one that can make or break a person’s very life, and that scares the shit out of him. Regardless of Eugenesis Optimus being one from prior the horrendously long war, he was still enough of a figurehead to at least entertain the thought of his being put on a pedestal by those around him.

But no. Instead everyone deserved to die.

Thanks, space dad.

Stevenson, you are playing a dangerous game here-

Mirage and his friends are being ambushed by a group of Decepticons. He’s currently rocking around with Ramhorn and Kick-Off, and they’re currently barricading themselves behind a wall. Ramhorn, being a wildcard, runs out of cover and decides to just go for it. Mirage silently wonders if this is why the Transformers as a race can’t function outside of making war. That thought doesn’t get to the self-reflection stage, however, as he basically says “fuck it” and vaults over the wall himself, though he at least has the bright idea to go invisible beforehand.

Getting back to Scourge’s angst, it would seem that Nightbeat was right on the money about not having hit him with the mind wipe device. Scourge remembered everything, and it's tortured him for the last 27 years- even more if you think too hard about all the time travel. He was fully convinced that after he went through the wormhole, that was it- the Transformers lost, and he had his very own countdown. THAT would be why he blew himself up in Liars, A-to-D.

Now that it looks like everything’s going to be about as okay as it gets on Cybertron, he’s really not sure what to do with his life anymore.

These two fucking idiots have a great big laugh together, to the point where the nearby homeless population wonder if the Quintessons came back. They eventually calm down, and Scourge asks Cyclonus what I’ve been wondering for months: what he did in the Eugenesis Wars.

Over with Rodimus, Kup is at the door.

Alright, let’s see where this goes. I’m betting on hallucination.

Kup enters, closing the door behind him at Rodimus’ request, and comments on the state of the office. It’s positively dreary, and that’s with the inclusion of the window.

Kup seems to be a sort of manifestation of Rodimus’ self-loathing. He should probably see a therapist, but last I heard Rung was over with the Decepticons, and he’s probably the only mental health specialist on the entire planet.

Which makes me wonder why Galvatron hasn’t killed him yet. Guy’s not exactly a fan of therapy.

Kup’s tough love comes from a good place- he can see Rodimus is deep in the rut that is Depression™, and he needs a swift kick in the ass to help him get back on track. I don’t quite think that’s how this works, but something’s got to give, I suppose.

Because you see, Kup’s seen the future, and it ain’t pretty- Star Saber isn’t someone to be trusted, and his whole gang is going to be coming down on Cybertron like sharks smelling blood.

Then again, Kup’s not real, so what does he know?

Rodimus asks what this is all actually about, seeing as Kup always had a reason for showing up for anything. Kup admits that he wants to talk about Emyrissus.

The problem is that things are only going to get harder from here on, as the lines between good and evil are blurred, as the Autobots sink deeper into the dredges of war to try and win this thing. Emyrissus is just the most glaring example at present. Kup opens the door, and Rodimus worries that the Micromaster is going to pop out to join the conversation, but Kup just says that he doesn’t have enough memories of the guy to build him in his head like he can Kup.

Kup tells Rodimus that he needs to learn to let go, and stop blaming himself for everything that’s gone wrong with this war. Then he’s gone.

Rodimus goes to join the troops.

Over with Mirage, things aren’t going so hot. He’s been shot. HIs team members are either too busy to help, or completely AWOL. He scrabbles for his gun- very reminiscent of Liars A-to-D here- only to have someone else’s gun put to his head. It’s Bombshell. Look at the scenes coming together all nice-like!

Bombshell threatens to shoot him, and Mirage is very okay with this plan. He’s hit his nihilism barrier and broken clean through it- what’s the point? All they do is fight, all they do is kill, and one day there won’t be anything left, and all will be lost to time. There’s nothing worth living for anymore.

The postpartum depression is hitting Mirage very hard.

Bombshell recalls the Quintesson soldier, and orders his team to stand down. They won’t be killing anyone today. He promises Mirage that when the war is over, they’ll have a chat, then leaves.

Mirage is, understandably, confused by this.

Back at Autobase, Rodimus is being followed by a smattering of groupies, as he makes his way to the List. By the time he gets there, nearly fifty folks have joined the throng. He figures now is as good a time as any to speak to his troops, and he hops up on a toolbox so everyone can see him.

First and foremost, he tells them that he’s proud of them. Then thanks them for being here with him.

Then he addresses the elephant in the room.

Then Nightbeat pushes through the crowd towards the Prime. He’s fresh off the presses, and he knows what Rodimus was about to do to the List. He knows, and he encourages it.

With a flourish, Rodimus Prime rips the List off of the wall, and everyone bursts into applause.

Finally getting back to Cyclonus’ deal, it turns out he was buried under Darkmount the whole time. Bit anticlimactic, that. With the Mystery of the Missing Cyclonus solved, the two decide to go get plastered at Maccadam’s, and also maybe stab a few people. Good times.

Meanwhile, off-world, Great Shot enters the office of Star Saber, and they join in the long-standing tradition of talking shit about Old Cybertron. Star Saber is less than impressed with the Autobots, and how they got their asses kicked by a bunch of guys that look like flying eggs. Still, helping them out gives him something to do, and that something is rebuilding Old Cybertron into the gleaming, perfect image of New Cybertron.

And then there’s a quote directly ripped from Hitler himself, to really sell you on the fact that Star Saber is a Bad Fucking Dude.

The end!

This will most likely be the only non-Roberts Eugenesis-related work I’ll be looking at. There are others, but they’ve been lost to time. Also, they’re not really why I’m doing this, so… yeah.

Up next…

Huh.

Guess I’ll start on the professional stuff.