#the artists can hate us but they still have to give us air time to do it

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

I don’t mind taylor swift (although my mom’s convinced she’s a satanic worshiper, well according to her all the secular musicians/actors are so at least she’s consistent)

I actually liked some of the songs on TTPD but I wasn’t comfortable with the religious imagery she uses, at times it felt mocking

LOL, consistency is all I ask!

What a person is comfortable with is what they're comfortable with, and I'm certainly not advocating FOR Christians to listen to Taylor Swift--I think that's a matter of individual conviction. I'm not much of a TSwift listener for a variety of reasons not limited to her terrible worldview and frequent strong language. Nor do I think Christians should be naive when it comes to the secular, which hates God and His people.

That said, I want to invite everyone into my world of music. When I was a teenager, I created a playlist called Sense of the Divine, a phrase which I borrowed from a talk given by Vic Mignogna, but which refers to a concept I was raised from infancy to hold close: Humans are made to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, and every human knows this.

My Sense of the Divine playlist included artists such as OneRepublic, Tonight Alive, Bastille, Bear's Den, and Panic! At The Disco, with lyrics such as:

and

and

(This is one of my favorite lines of all time.)

But eventually, I stopped adding to that playlist, because 80% of all music I now listen to contains some kind of religious language, imagery, allusions, illustrations, allegories, etc. Any time I am listening to music, I am thinking on spiritual realities: how are God and man conceptualized correctly and incorrectly in this song and by the artist? How have I encountered those misconceptions in my own life? My own heart? Where do they come from? How do they affect us? How can they be defeated? Oftentimes, I'm asking, "How can I recontextualize this line in a way that is theologically correct?"; "How does this correspond with the themes of X Story?"; "How does this correspond with the themes in my WIP?"

If this sounds tedious to you, it's just second nature to me, like breathing. From childhood, my parents always asked us spiritual & worldview questions after any secular movie we watched or book we read, and yes, many songs we heard. I guess I've always assumed all Christians engage with media this way out of necessity, the only other option being to disengage with all media not written or distributed by Angel Studios.

Am I saying all Christians are equipped to regularly take in theologically questionable or downright incorrect content? No, certainly not. The discernment we receive from Scripture is a prerequisite, and I do draw the line for myself in some instances. But I feel it would be a safe bet that what most Christians miss in overtly religious poesy, they make up for tenfold in the covert philosophical assumptions (materialism, existentialism, nihilism, gnosticism, mysticism, scientism, etc.) found everywhere else, and which are arguably much more damaging to our relationship with God.

[my5hiningstars]

.

[steakout-05]

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

[swordsandholly]

Live in Five

Reporter Reader x Cameraman Kyle Garrick | Ao3

MDNI | NSFW | cw: sexism, almost car wreck, driving in blizzard, PiV sex, fingering, afab reader, consent checks, unprotected sex, barely edited

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: After your boss sends you and your cameraman out into a blizzard you find yourselves stuck in the snow in your news van. With no signal and no way to get the van out, the two of you have nowhere to go for the night. You have to entertain yourselves one way or another.

A/N: Y'all thank @mareiasereia for sending this ask that reminded me of this idea.

You sigh, looking down at your feet for the time being. As long as you can until you’re forced to stare into the sun behind the silhouetted camera. Cold wind bites at your cheeks, nearly seeping through the thick wool of your trench coat. You hate these winter outdoor broadcasts - can’t ever quite get used to the weather despite doing them for years now. It takes all your concentration to keep your teeth from chattering while you speak.

“How’s my hair?” You ask, squinting as you try to meet Kyle’s eye where he works on setting up his camera.

“Just perf- oh!” He jogs forward, gently tucking what you assume to be a stray piece back. “Perfect. As always.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warming. He always manages to get you flustered, even after years of working together. You’d think you’d get used to it - the way his dark eyes focus in and the slight grit to his voice. Instead it infects you - pools at the base of your spine and gnaws at your concentration.

Kyle whistles at you, holding up a three.

You nod, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat.

Two.

One.

“Thanks, John.” You grin, meeting the camera’s ‘eye’. “The downtown winter festival is well underway. Everyone seems to be enjoying the festivities-”

You go through the normal song and dance. Kyle follows as you move closer to the wooden, painted entrance to the park for the vent. It’s nice this year, actually. The city sprung for a real artist to craft something interesting. Though, nothing will top that one time they let the local elementary school decorate it. It isn’t anything special, this story. Just the usual yearly coverage of the usual winter activities. You’ve done the festival for the past three winters - the first just after the station hired you. If it weren’t for the icy air on your cheeks you might enjoy it more.

Kyle cuts, lowering his camera and you sigh in relief. Even after all this time your cheeks still hurt from smiling for so many minutes straight while talking. At least you didn’t stutter at all. Or slip. You almost wiped out last year. That clip became more popular among the highschoolers than you might have liked.

“Great job, luv.” Kyle grins, giving you a supportive thumbs up.

You snort. “Thanks.”

“It’s so cold.” Kyle sighs as he packs up his camera carefully into it’s case. His hands are always so delicate. “I’m thinkin’ a coffee stop on the way back?”

You hum and glance at your watch. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Always so serious.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Think you’re mixin’ me up with Johnny, luv.”

“Oh, right.” You snicker.

The station you work for is small. Local. Buried in the back woods, covering a single populated town and the surrounding rural counties. Most of the news pertains to weather for the sake of farming, or livestock related accidents. The occasional violence makes its way onto the main, evening segment but generally it isn’t anything that can’t be covered in an article. That’s the other half of your job - updating articles and writing short columns about recent events. It’s not glamourous, but it’s still journalism. Plus, picking up the extra work boosts your pay and vacation time enough to make the job a little more worth it.

You watch from the side while John and Kate prepare for the serious evening news. The big, main anchors of the station. They might as well walk on water around here. Not that they act like it. They’re actually quite kind. Kate’s suits are always smart and often brightly colored. Her hair is always quaffed and you pray that your skin looks that good at her age. John… well, everybody loves John. Hard not to with that warm smile and those wide set shoulders.

“Can you drop these at my desk, sweetheart?” Philip pulls you from your daze. He smirks down at you in that twisted, snake-like way while holding out a file. “Since you’re headed that way.”

You frown. “I’m not your-”

“Thanks a lot.” He drops the papers, the last of your coffee sloshing as you just manage to catch them. Philip is easily the most insufferable asshole in this place. You curse the day you volunteered to move cubicles because it would put you closer to the tech guys. To Kyle. Now you’re sharing a wall with the human embodiment of liquid shit.

It’s not just him, really. Most of the men here don’t see you as anything important. Too young, too new to hold any weight around the station. The pretty, soft girl that does feel good, soft stories. A petting zoo. Some fluffy little thing for them to caress and coo at. You glance back at Kate. The men don’t mess with Kate. What does she do so differently?

It’s not that you mind doing fluff stories. Those are fine. You enjoy them, even. You’d rather spend your time talking about kids selling lemonade to fund their future college (still dystopian) or some dog that managed to save it’s owners life (still cool as hell.) You just wish they took you seriously. That you weren’t treated as lesser for it. Lesser for not wanting to be subjected to violent accidents and crimes that make your gut churn.

So, you do what you usually do when you want to slam your head through a wall, disappear into the tech room. After messily throwing the file on Philip’s desk, of course.

“Alright, darlin’?” Kyle leans back in his chair as you push through the door into the designated ‘bat cave.’

You nod silently, glaring at your feet as you flop down into the open editing bay. It’s nice in here. Calm. Separated from the main office. You feel like you can actually breathe in here.

“There’s my bonnie lass!” Johnny appears from the supply closet with his usual ear to ear grin. You don’t miss the extra pinkness of his lips - or the way Simon follows him out.

You glance over at Kyle who has turned back to his editing. You watch his hands as they move, his eyes locked in on the screen before him. Are you the only person in the world that follows rules? That does as they’re told? How come everyone else gets to break them?

It’s Friday. A massive blizzard blew in seemingly out of nowhere halfway through the work day. Your meteorologist practically scrambled to figure out what to report on and how long it might last. Roach, they call him, on account of that time he survived getting picked up and thrown by a tornado. Most people mutter about leaving early, some preemptively grabbing their coats. A few snuck out the back nearly an hour ago when the weather first started. You opted to hunker down and get some work done, considering the universe blessed you with a lack of Philip for the day.

The harsh utterance of your name has you snapping up, back straight and eyes wide. “Mr. Shepherd! Uh, how can I help you?”

The station owner steps into your cubicle, face as taught and stern as ever. He isn’t the one that hired you but part of your onboarding included a brief meeting with him. You hated every second - an inexplicable pressure building in your chest the entire fifteen minutes. It’s back now.

“There was a massive wreck on the highway. Fifteen cars, apparently.” Shepherd says. “I want you at the hospital giving updates for the site. Take your camera man, too.”

You blink up at him dumbly for a moment. “Sir, I don’t- In this weather? It’s a blizzard out there! We’d just be in the way-”

“It’s not a request.” Shepherd snaps, staring down at you with that bored, icy gaze that makes you desperately wish he had hair you could rip out. You know you have to, though. You’ve seen him fire people more important than you over lesser infractions.

“O-okay.” You murmur, hands balled into fists. Partially from anger, partially to keep them from visibly shaking. It isn’t right. It isn’t right that he’s putting you in this kind of unnecessary danger. Kyle, either. Oh, Kyle…

You drag your feet as you head to the tech room, heart dropping into your gut as you see him packing up and pulling on his thick bomber coat. Probably assumed you’d get to leave early, too. You should get to leave early. You should have ducked out an hour ago like the others. Why do you always follow the fucking rules?

“Hey, angel.” Kyle grins, smile dropping as soon as his eye meets yours. “What’s up?”

“Shepherd wants us to go to the hospital.” You swallow roughly to keep your voice from cracking. “Wants us to cover some big car wreck from there.”

“Tha’s so far from here!” Johnny gasps from his perch at the editing bay. “He cannae expect ye tae go out like this.”

“He can, apparently.” You mutter, staring at your feet. You want to say no. You want to give him an earful - to really lay into him about his sexist, careless attitude. Y’know, girlboss stuff or whatever. Whatever Kate would probably do. She wouldn’t take this laying down, belly up. Instead your hands shake and your eyes sting with frustrated tears. You can’t breathe right. It’s wrong. This is wrong. It’s wrong and you can’t do anything about it without losing your job at the only station in town.

“Hey.” You jump as Kyle’s hand strokes down your arm - gentle and warm. Grounding. “It’s alright. The vans got chains on the tires. We’ll take a backroad and see how far we can get. If we have to turn back, I’ll take the heat.”

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. “Kyle-”

“It’s fine.” He smiles reassuringly. “C’mon, go get your coat.”

“O-okay…”

You stay quiet at you load into the van. Guilt gnaws at your chest while you do the same to your inner cheek. The idea that you’ve put Kyle in danger just because you’re too weak to argue with your boss makes you feel weak. Pathetic. You’re pathetic. Neither of you talk much as you drive, opting to keep the radio low so Kyle can concentrate on the road. It’s just as bad as it seemed. You can barely see to the end of the headlights - the sun having already nearly set - everything else pitch black while the snow glints in the light. It’s falling sideways. You can feel the truck sway every so often from a massive gust of wind. At least no one else is on the road.

You wish you didn’t feel like crying so badly.

There’s a loud cracking sound somewhere. You can’t tell from what direction - unsure if it was even real. You can’t hear much of anything over the howling wind and snow beating against the van.

“Did you-” You’re cut off as a massive trunk appears in front of you, crashing down onto the street.

Kyle gasps. You screech, the van whipping off road and he redirects away. A strong arm braces itself over your chest to keep you steady as you careen off the road. You screw your eyes shut tightly, bracing for a likely impact. Between the snow and the darkness you can’t tell what direction you’re facing when the van finally lurches to a stop in the icy mud. A loud grunt escapes you as your seatbelt locks against your sternum.

Several beats of quiet pass between you. Both of you panting, trying to clear your heads and take in what just happened. The moment breaks when Kyle drops his arm, hand resting on your thigh. You don’t think anything of it past a comforting gesture - there isn’t any room in your brain for anything else as you blink slow. It feels good, though. Grounding. It slows your heart and evens your breathing.

“Scary, huh?” Kyle chuckles nervously, still staring forward out the windshield.

You can’t help but giggle back, nervous energy making your hands shake. “Uh-huh. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He finally turns to look at you. “You?”

You nod quietly.

“Alright.” He grunts. “Let’s see about getting out of here.”

The moment he hits the gas to reverse you both know you’re in trouble. The tires spin, whirring loudly along to the wind outside. The van doesn’t budge an inch. You’re stuck on the side of a random backroad, in the middle of a blizzard, with a felled tree in your path, all alone.

Kyle pulls out his phone, tapping around. He sighs loudly, resting his head back on the car seat headrest. “No signal out here. Fuckin’ hell.”

You’re well and truly stranded.

Your shoulders start shaking and you bend forward, curling in on yourself. You bury your face in your hands, hot tears swelling in your eyes. “Kyle, I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, angel-”

“I could’ve gotten you killed! I could’ve - all because I couldn’t - It’d be all my fault!” You sob.

Kyle’s hand comes to rest on your upper back, rubbing in gentle circles. “Love- it’s okay. We’re okay. Hey, look at me.”

You shake your head. How could you? How fucking could you? Pathetic.

He takes your wrist, peeling your hands away from your face. “Look. At. Me.”

You sit up slowly, still hiccupping, though no longer sobbing like before. Something about his touch, his hands on you, just feels right. The world feels right. Grounded.

“It’s not your fault. Shepherd’s an arse. He shouldn’t have put us in this position. He knew you couldn’t say no. That’s the only reason he asked.” There’s a snarl at the edges of his voice. Something bitter - wrong sounding in his sweet voice. He glances over at the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas. The battery is basically new. We’ll be fine for the night. Roach said it should be over by morning and they’ll figure out we didn’t make it back.”

You sniffle, nodding weakly and undoing your seat belt to breathe properly. Your chest still hurts. “I’m sorry…”

“Here.” After rooting around in the glove box, Kyle comes up with a small pack of tissues. You reach for it, but he makes no move to hand them over. Instead, he takes one out. Cupping your jaw in one hand and slowly, gently, patting around your eyes to fix up the mess you made. Like he always does.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“No more sorries.” He shakes his head.

Kyle shuts the high beams off, leaving the regular lights on just in case someone drives by. Not that anyone will. This road is underpopulated even during the best summer days. Neither of you speak for a long while. You keep glancing over at Kyle out of the corner of your eye. He’s thinking about something - you can tell by the pinch in his brow and the pull in the corner of his mouth. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. The contours of his face softened by the low light, eyes nearly pitch black besides a pinprick of light.

“How are your moms?” You blurt.

He chuckles. “Good. Think they’re on a cruise right now.”

“I’m jealous.” You snort, looking out the window at the ice.

“Facts.”

You lapse back into quiet, emotionally and physically drained - he probably feels the same. Neither of you quite able to muster your usual, easy banter. A slimy little part of you is glad that Kyle came with you - even if is did put him in unnecessary danger. You don’t think you would have handled this situation well on your own. Adrenaline makes your hands shake, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Want t’ fuck?” Kyle breaks the silence suddenly, head leaned on his hand and elbow on the window seal.

You sputter out an awkward laugh. He’s joking right? He’s just fucking with you because he’s bored. “Don’t mess with me, it’s not nice.”

“Not messin’.”

You slowly meet his eye. Even in the dark with only the moonlight and the glow of the electric buttons in the back of the van you can see the seriousness of his expression. The unwavering way his eyes rake over you. He means it.

You shrink away, bashful now. “Kyle-”

“You can’t deny that there’s something here.” He gestures between you. “I know you feel it. That night at the pub-”

“We were drunk.”

“We were honest.” He shrugs. “Besides, what better way to pass the time and keep warm?”

You stare at him, eyes searching his face for some other meaning. Some secondary, malicious intent. It’s not there, of course. Kyle simply isn’t like that. Those dark eyes meet yours honestly. You glance down at his hand laying on the arm rest. It’s been so long since you've been held; touched. You’re coworkers, though. Close knit professionals. A team. What if moving forward ruins your dynamic? What if you lose him? It would be wrong, wouldn’t it? A total HR violation.

Then again… why should you always follow the rules?

Fuck it. “Okay.”

“C’mere.” Kyle smiles and reaches over to pull you by your waist and you follow.

It’s too easy, almost, to let yourself go over the armrests and right across his lap. It takes a moment with your wide hips and thick thighs to get comfortable straddling him. At least the van seats are big. You hover over him slightly, leaning your weight on the hand holding the armrest.

He clicks his tongue, the hands on your waist pressing down. “On me, love. Want t’ feel you.”

How could you ever deny that? You sigh softly, letting your weight fall into his thighs. Kyle hums appreciatively. The hands on your waist begin to knead down over your hips. You aren’t quite sure what to do - what the social protocol is for this situation. Your hands find a resting point on his shoulders, so strong and firm under your touch.

You don’t have to worry for long. Not when he leans up to you, the hands on your hips arching you into him, “Kiss me?”

You nod, for some reason, before pressing your lips to his. It remains chaste, at first. Little pecks and presses as you feel each other out. His lips are soft, moving so naturally against yours you nearly miss when his tongue swipes across your lower lip. You gasp, giving him just enough room to make his move forward. Suddenly, you’re collapsing into each other. He tastes like his usual morning coffee - sharply sweet caramel. Your hand finds it’s way to the back of his head, one of the hands on your hip scrapes down to grip your thigh.

The moment only breaks when he leans you back too far, sounding off the van horn into the empty night. You both stop, looking at each other for a beat before giggling.

You gasp as the hand on your thigh suddenly disappears under your skirt - your laugh breaking off into a gasp as he cups your pussy through your tights and underwear. His nail catches on the thin fabric. A promise if what’s to come.

“You and these fuckin’ skirts…even in the middle of winter…” Kyle murmurs, breath warm against your ear. “D’you have any idea how good you look? Prancing around for my camera, huh?”

“Kyle…” A shiver runs down your spine.

“It’s just for me, isn’t it?” He chuckles, big hands running up your thighs to the bend of your hips. “I’ve seen you with the other guys. Not nearly as excited. Lackin’ that little pep in your step.”

He lightly smacks your ass for emphasis. You squeak - face so hot you almost want to get out of the van and bury it in the snow. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit and you can’t help but whine quietly. His other hand travels up, pushing at your sweater. His hand catches your bralette as he moves, hiking both up over your chest. A gasp rattles in your throat as he catches a nipple between his teeth, your hands tightly fisting his shirt while you let him explore.

A tearing sound echoes through the van. You can’t complain - it’s not like these were your nice tights anyway. Kyle drags his finger along your lips through your underwear. He’s teasing, eyes locked on your face as he waits for you to react. You just sigh each time his fingers glide over your clit ever so slightly until they stop, catching the hem of your underwear and pushing them to the side.

Kyle pauses, looking up at you. “May I?”

You huff. “You better.”

He grins up at you from ear to ear, pressing his lips to yours once again as he drags his fingers between your folds. A low, gravelly hum rumbles in his chest. “So wet already… all this for me?”

The reply gets caught in your throat - cutting off into a moan as he circles your clit with the pads of his fingers. His middle finger circles your entrance, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reaction. You’re sure you look ridiculous - face hot and utter disheveled. He seems to like it, though, quietly moaning with you as he presses one digit inside. You tip your head to the side, matching his slow pace until he adds another. They reach so much deeper than yours ever can, lightly prodding until he finds what he was looking for.

“Fuck-!” You gasp, whole body shuddering.

“There she is.” Kyle murmurs, almost to himself more than you.

“Kyyy-!” You whine, rocking back and forth on his hand, desperate for any friction on your clit.

“Thassit, take what y’need, babygirl.” He sighs, catching your nipple between his teeth. “Be good and cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take much. A few more bounces of your hips just as his fingers curl even further into that spot that leaves you seeing stars. You keen loudly, face buried in the crook of his neck as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You slow to a stop, breathing heavy. Your skin feels electric, body practically humming happily. A pathetic sigh pushes past your lips as Kyle removes his hand.

He slowly brings his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he licks them clean. “Taste just as pretty as you look, love.”

You whine back dumbly, mind and body still coming down from your first orgasm in a long, long time. Well, with a partner at least. Fuck, if Kyle doesn’t know what he’s doing. Your find yourself clumsily pawing at his shirt, suddenly desperate to get to see him properly. He just chuckles, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward the passenger seat.

Kyle leans the seat back. It doesn’t go far, just enough to give you some extra room to maneuver. Your hands drag over corded muscle just under a layer of soft. You run your fingers through the light dusting of hair on his chest. He lets you take your time, lets you feel him out until you’re satisfied and leaning down for another kiss.

“Y’want to keep going?” He murmurs against your lips. “No pressure.”

You nod vigorously, the hands you braced on his chest gliding down toward his belt. “Do you?”

“Fuck yes.” He sighs, hips bucking up into your hand - telling you to get a move on.

You don’t, brain to cottony to care much as you take your time with his leather belt. His breath hitches when you palm him through his trousers - the size of him registering somewhere in the back of your mind. You clumsily undo his trousers, hands shaking in anticipation. He lifts his hips just enough to help you pull his pants and boxers partially down his thighs.

Kyle sighs as his cock springs free, eyes still fixed on you as you take him in. Your eyes widen - raking over the length of hum to the perfectly groomed curls at the base. He’s what you imagine an artist would carve - curve and veins too perfect. Another shiver runs down your spine.

“Pretty…” The word falls from your lips before you can stop it. You cover your mouth, embarrassment forcing you to look away. Kyle just laughs, reaching up to pulls your face back to him.

“I know.”

You suck your teeth. “Arrogant man, you are.”

“Just self aware.” He shrugs, smirking up at you.

You roll your eyes, raising your hand to lick a long, wet stripe over your palm and fingers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Kyle groans, hips bucking up into your touch. You wish you could reach down to wrap your lips around it - let him rest warm and heavy on your tongue. Another time, perhaps.

You meet his gaze as you position yourself over him. A brief moment to let either of you end it here. To stay on this side of the boundary. To leave things as they were - for the most part, at least. Neither of you take it.

The hands on your hips help guide you down. Slowly, an inch at a time. Without any extra lube there’s a slight burn to the stretch just on this side of too much. You moan, low and quiet as you finally rest at the base of his cock. He sighs out a moan as you lean your weight on him again - fully sheathed inside you. You peek your eyes open to look down at him. His dark eyes have locked onto where you’re connected, the hands on your hips grip so tight you wonder if they’ll leave bruises. Kyle’s jaw is set as he breathes long and deep.

“A-alright?” You gasp out.

“Feel so fuckin’ good around me, doll.” He grunts through grit teeth. “Christ.”

You tilt your head to watch his reaction while you tentatively roll your hips. Those pretty lashes flutter and Kyle tips his head back, groaning.

A newfound confidence overtakes you. “Feels that good, huh?”

He nods with another low groan as you begin to roll your hips at a rhythm. A slow grind down onto each other. Lazy. You’re both tired after that adrenaline spike earlier, and your legs still feel loose and jelly after already cumming once. He fills you so perfectly, though. His warm hands drag over your skin, leaving an electric feel in their path. His teeth nips at your neck, mouthing along your jaw. He’s everywhere - all consuming.

“Kyle-” You whine, cheek pressing to his temple.

“Yeah, baby?” He moans back. “C’mon - shite -say my name again.”

“Please, Kyle, f-fu-” Your words trail off into nothing. Just unintelligible chants that you think are supposed to be his name. You can’t tell anymore, to enraptured in the feeling of your bodies moving against each other.

Kyle’s hand drifts up your back to cup the base of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads press together. Your eyes may be screwed shut, but you can feel his on you - boring through to the very core of you. He shifts under you, just slightly, suddenly forcing a startled, keening sound out of you as he thrusts up into you with his newfound footing. The pace becomes desperate as you both careen toward the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You whine, nails biting into his shoulder and the fabric to the seat beside his head.

“Gonna cum again?” He pants against your lips. “I can feel it - pretty little cunt’s clenching around me like a fuckin’ vice.”

You nod sloppily, only managing a choked, “Y-yea-”

“Together?”

“Mmhmm!”

You cling to each other, eyes screwed shut. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling the high pitched whine that tears through your throat as you climax. Kyle moans in your ear, hands digging into your skin so hard they’ll surely leave bruises in their wake as he spills inside you. You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath - his cum dripping from you as he slips out. You sigh, far too content to just stay here with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm and comfortable. It feels right - laying in his arms.

“Hey.” Kyle pats your hip, pointing behind you. “We did the Titanic thing.”

You glance at the fogged up windows and laugh.

[peachesofteal]

Oh god - I’m still stuck on this.

18+ MDNI / explicit sex, dark and twisted themes

I've been thinking a lot about Simon Riley who doesn't want the divorce.

Simon who never wanted to be separated, who hates living apart. Simon, who would drag you to a tattoo artist to get your ring permanently inked to your skin so you could never be rid of him, if he could. He’s been actively avoiding the stack of papers that are waiting for his signature, staying on longer Ops, picking up extra work.

Can’t be divorced if there’s no signature.

Simon, who unbeknownst to you, still comes home. Still pushes open the back door in the dead of night, keeping his steps silent so he doesn't wake you. Simon, who stands in the doorway of your bedroom, his old bedroom, and watches you sleep on his side of the bed in those little, ratty shorts with your ass perked up in the air like you're waiting for him. Like you’re ripe, and ready.

Simon, who checks your birth control every night. Who’s pleased when he realizes this month’s pack hasn’t even been opened, every color coded pill still in place, foil glinting at him in the low light of the vanity.

Good girl, he thinks to himself, shutting your medicine cabinet with a silent click. Getting yourself all ready for him.

Simon, who agrees to meet you for dinner.

"Let's just sign and get it over with. We can catch up, too. Talk about what we want to do with the house."

"Alright, love. Whatever you want."

You're a bundle of nerves when he shows up, seated at a little table in the back, glass of wine already half gone.

Normally, he'd try to soothe you. You've always been naturally anxious, a little dependent, and in a social setting, a little high strung. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch.

But this time, he doesn't bother. He sits there with his arms crossed, watching you nervously chatter away, one hand flat on a manilla envelope. He stays quiet, letting you go on, watching your hands seek something to do, fingers finding your wine glass over and over.

You drink two glasses of wine before the entrees are served, dangerously close to your usual self imposed "three drink" limit.

One thing bleeds into another. You start to lean a little, in your chair. He nurses a bourbon, you order a shot after the meal.

"Want one?" Your tongue follows the seam of the lime wedge, dabbing along the spongy, white fibers before your teeth sink into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

“You know I don’t like tequila, but you go on.”

You’re a bit sloppy by the time he gets you home, but still sweet like honey, like you used to be years ago. Before everything changed. Before you asked him to move out.

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the kitchen table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He cooed, relishing in the way you moaned with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Don’t worry, I’m gon’ take care of you and this neglected little pussy.”

“You have to pull out.” You slurred, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold.

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you wanted years ago, the thing that made you cry alone in the middle of the night whenever he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key.

His phone dings with a text, two days later.

“Still mad at you… Can we please meet up about these signatures?”

This became a full fic here.

[urhoneycombwitch]

foreword: just a lil roommate!eddie x reader blurb loosely based on this anon. lead up to phone sex, +18 mdni as always

wc: 600

___

The plastic of your landline phone has warmed to the temperature of your cheek, and your limbs feel heavy under the weight of your quilt. On the other end of the line, Eddie sighs in similar repose, six states away.

“Gareth still snores, for the record. Not even the van’s engine can drown him out.” He’s lamenting over missing you as a roommate, telling you all the worst parts of sharing small vehicle spaces and shitty motel rooms with a bunch of boys.

Corroded Coffin still has four more stops on their tour, and Eddie’s finding the traveling life of an independent artist nigh unbearable.

You hum, mock sympathetic. “Poor you. Would hate to be drowning in a pool of groupies and drinking myself blind every night.”

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, goodnaturedly. There’s a rustling on the other end, as if he’s lying down to get more comfortable. “You know you’re my only groupie. And besides, the boys went out in their cups tonight, not me. I’m by my lonesome in the room right now.”

You can picture him clearly in your mind’s eye, stretched face-up on the mattress, band tee riding up to reveal the dark happy trail you’ve caught glimpses of before. Saliva pools in your mouth; you have to swallow before responding. “Wow. Refused a wild night on the town just to call me?”

“Sweetheart, don’t act like you don’t know you’re my favorite person to spend time with.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you squirm. Feeling suddenly too hot and restless underneath the covers, you shove them down past your hips for some air flow. “I’m flattered. Bet you say that to all the fans, just to get in their pants.”

“Nah. Just you. And besides, it’s working, isn’t it?” Eddie’s voice gets gravelly. There’s the distinct sound of jeans getting unzipped, then faded rustling. A sharp, quick inhale, then- “What are you wearing?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, humorous even while you scold, “Perv.” Your fingers toy with the lace band of your underwear, giving it a snap you hope is audible. “You really need sex that bad, you’re calling it in?”

“S’different with you.”

Eddie’s fucking up the routine. It’s supposed to go like this, when he’s gone- he waits a few days to call, then when he does, you both keep up the pretense of regularity with the usual bickering. And then it devolves into phone sex.

He’s not supposed to bring up how much he misses you, and he’s certainly not supposed to say, out loud, that you’re different than the rest.

Your fingers are frozen on the soft plane of your stomach, heart thumping wildly in your throat.

Eddie must realize his mistake, the ice where he’s skated out past undefined boundaries spiderwebbing cracks. He retracts, lies flat again, a smooth recovery in the form of an appeasing sigh before saying, “Sorry. Just miss you. Gonna tell me what you’re wearing or am I gonna have to use my imagination?”

“God forbid.” Relief floods your system, fingers gliding easily underneath the line of your panties with the safety of familiarity. “You’ve probably got me in fishnets and heels. Hate to burst your skeevy bubble, but I haven’t done laundry in a week. I’m in an old t-shirt and plain Jane undies.”

Eddie makes a soft, seeking noise that makes the heartbeat between your legs pulse. “For the record, I was imagining you naked, but this works, too.”

“Y’gonna come back soon and do my laundry?” It’s getting harder to speak, breathy little whines intermixed, pad of your finger collecting the arousal seeping from your core to drag it upwards. “Always do it better’n me.”

“Oh, yeah.” In answer to your own noises, there’s the wet sound of Eddie’s fist around his cock, moving in steady rhythm. “Next week and I’m yours, babe. I’ll use the good stuff. Fabric softener. You name it-”

“Fuck.” It’s searingly domestic dirty talk. You’ll be coming undone in minutes and he goddamn knows it. Your finger swirls, breath catching again, and Eddie coos encouragement down the line.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re all I wanna hear.”

[teeth-cable]

I need more people to talk about how just like the POC designs, the writing is terrible at clueing the audience what race and ethnicity the characters are.

Beside stereotypes, the racial coding in the writing is little to non-existence. The characters don’t have mannerisms from their cultures, speak in slangs or idioms relating to their group from their time periods, or make cultural references.

Without having to rely on outside sources (Livestreams, looking up VAs, leaked audition sheets, etc), the only characters I would successfully guess would be Vicky, Val, and Velvette, and even then, it doesn’t mean the racial coding is good.

Vicky is the only one from this list whose racial coding isn’t atrocious. I can tell she’s Latino because she curses in Spanish, but that’s it. This is admittedly nick-picky , but I wish when cursing she would have used Salvadoreño specific slang and curse phases to signal she’s Salvadoreña.

Val, I can tell is Latino too, because of his accent and him cursing in Spanish, but it’s egregious. The accent fluctuates so much, it’s strong, then weak, then strong again. Not sure if the VA was struggling or if this was an intentional direction given to him, though the fact, I and other people were confused, at the direction, speaks for itself. Another issue with his accent is how it’s sexualized, contributing to the Latin Lover stereotype of his character.

Velvette, I won’t sugarcoat it. I wouldn’t even guess she was supposed to be black though the writing or the majority of her designs until the finale. The finale, the last episode of the season and the only time she has textured hair with her screen time being around two minutes and sixteen seconds in total.

Visual designs isn’t where race coding ends. This is important to remember because it ignores the good coded characters (King Dice from Cuphead, Darwin from TAWG, the Funk trolls from Dreamwork’s Trolls) and how Viv failed and could have done the racial coding better.

For Viv, she has to rely on other coding methods too because there are characters who aren’t humanoid enough, or even humanoid at all, for visual coding to work. There really isn’t anything I can say to explain why the race coding sucks beside Viv doesn’t care about representing POCs.

I wanted to create this post to highlight how Viv fails at coding in every aspect. The fandoms and critics shouldn’t praised her for giving Velvette textured hair or darkening Sera’s skin from her leaked audition sheet. We need to stop praising creators, especially white ones, for doing less than the bare minimum (The bare minimum being making POC characters look POC) when creating POC characters, or worse, justify it. I’ve seen people tried to justify the terrible POC designs by using one of Carmilla’s daughters as an example, as if one decent POC design in a sea of ashy and euro-centric or erased features for the majority of the POC cast suddenly invalidates the criticisms.

I’m also getting tired of the fandom making posts questioning why people have and still draw the POC characters as white, as well as people harassing artists for accidental whitewashing. I’m hate the whitewashing too but in this case, it’s different because this is Viv’s own fault due to her poor racial coding. Not every fan will have the same intense knowledge you do or even should, to know what a character’s race or ethnicity is, that’s Viv’s responsibilities as the creator.

Mind you, these were the human designs we had before the show aired. Alastor being mixed creole and Niffty being Japanese yet they look white as hell here.

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 3

Hello! If you haven't seen it yet, I've got a set schedule for what story posts on what days now (as seen here) and this one as well as Well Met By Moonlight, Batshit Soulmates, and Never Hold Back Your Step... will still be posting just on rotation until I can finish some of my WIPs. (I may be stretching myself a bit thin having six going at the same time.)

In this one we have the concert. Eddie stumbles on something big and doesn't know how to deal with it all. And Uncle Wayne is bestest as always.

@emly03 @redfreckledwolf @itsall-taken @rozzieroos @mira-jadeamethyst

Part 1 Part 2

****

The day of the concert dawned abhorrently cheerful and bright. Not a cloud in the sky or any accidents that would prevent Eddie from having to take Dustin to this event. He wouldn’t deign to call it a concert. He had heard the album and seen their posters, but he refused to wander over to YouTube and watch videos of their concerts, interviews, their music videos.

He didn’t want to be even more disappointed that they were all flash and no substance then he was sure he was going to be for the next two hours.

Dustin rolled his eyes when Eddie parked in the huge concert parking lot.

“You’re just salty because I like them as much as I like Corroded Coffin,” he huffed getting out the car. “You have to concede that Abaddon’s vocals are killer.”

Eddie scoffed. “Do not. I haven’t heard them live. Way too many artists use autotune too much these days.”

“You sound like that meme,” he sneered, “‘Old Man Yells at Cloud’.”

Eddie swatted at him playfully. “Am not.” Dustin raised his eyebrow skeptically and he threw his arms in the air. “I’m not. I am a very serious musician, Dusty. The last thing metal needs is some band that can’t write or even play their own instruments. This isn’t pop.”

“You are such an asshole,” he said and turned toward the entrance, leaving Eddie to jog to catch up with him.

Eddie sighed and put his arm around Dustin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am being an asshole. I turned into the person I swore I would never be. Those shit for brains critics that hated Corroded Coffin when we first got on the scene. And that was wrong of me.”

Dustin sighed, too. “I just want you to like them too. They are so good if you’d just give them a chance.”

Eddie breathed out through his nose. “Yeah. I can at least give them that.”

They got to their seats and Eddie was a little impressed at Claudia Henderson’s Ticket Master foo. They weren’t front row, but they were only a couple of rows back so you could actually see the stage without having to strain their necks and smack dab in the center of the row.

Dustin would have the best time. And now it was up to Eddie not ruin it for the kid. Because yes, he was still a kid as far as Eddie was concerned. Twenty-one was so fucking young. That was how old most of the band was when they got their record deal, after all. They weren’t prepared for what came next, that’s for sure.

They got settled into their seats and Eddie watched as the rest of the crowd shuffled in. They were all about Dustin’s age with very few exceptions in either direction.

There seemed to be a color theme going on with the girls in the audience though. They were grouped in clumps of red, black, blue, or white. Which made sense if each band member stuck to a certain color palette.

Well he was about to find out, he supposed.

The lights dimmed. The crowd quieted down. The spotlight lit up the drumkit first. And Eddie knew that Gareth would be drooling over it. It was all black with black metal fittings. The kit seemed to collect light almost like a blackhole.

Then from the ceiling, a man dressed all in black being lowered onto the stage with large black raven wings on his back. He wore a black hooded coat over what, Eddie couldn’t tell. It was all black. The shirt, the pants, the boots. Even his mask was all black with even the eyes appearing closed. His feet touched the ground and the crowd went wild.

“Azrael!” the announcer called out.

Azrael settled on the throne and picked up black drum sticks.He counted time above his head and played a wicked solo to the adoring crowd’s absolute delight.

Dustin jumped up and down, screaming.

The spotlight moved to the right side of stage and the next band member descended from the ceiling. Large bat wings adorned his back and he was dressed in red leather fetish gear. Complete with tight leather pants that looked painted on and a matching harness highlighting his bare chest, peeking out from the red leather hooded coat.

His guitar was fucking gorgeous, though. A Warlock, much like Eddie’s own. It was custom painted red with black flames licking up the neck.

Eddie rolled his eyes, but it seemed he was the only one who thought the whole thing was over the top judging from the screams from the girls in the audience.

He didn’t just land gently on the stage like the drummer did, oh no. He fucking stomped onto the stage with a howl.

His wings, like the drummer’s ascended back into the rafters as the announcer shouted, “Asmodeus!”

And then Eddie really did roll his eyes. The demon of lust. Of course he was.

But seconds later Eddie’s jaw dropped to the floor as the man wailed on his guitar driving the crowd further into the frenzy.

Once he finished his solo the crowd quieted again and he could see why. Because just then, descending on gossamer wings that shimmered like starlight, was their bassist.

Everything about him was midnight blue and shimmering like the night. His mask was the face of the moon. He had his own hooded coat, but it was like the night sky, with some kind of crystal or gem sewn in to make the coat glimmer like stars.

His bass was something that Brian would have sold his own mother for and they were as thick as thieves. Eddie didn’t know much about basses considering his sweetheart was an electric guitar, but he could tell it wasn’t expensive but was perfect for his style. A style he showed off with gusto to the audience’s obvious delight.

“Astraeus!” the announcer cried.

Eddie decided that this one was his favorite. It played up the whole mysterious thing without the over the top flash of the guitarist or the sheer void of the drummer.

The audience hushed as the three members of the band began to play what was clearly the lead singer’s entrance music.

And holy fuck was Eddie screwed. This man was descending like a fucking angel sent from God, Jesus pose and all.

He was all in white with an opaque lace mask that had his mouth and chin cut out for him to sing. That surprised Eddie somewhat. He figured that the guy would have his whole face covered like everyone else in the band and that he could lip sync.

But nope. Apparently no one in this band did anything by halves.

The lead singer was wearing a sheer mesh crop top under the hooded floor length coats the whole band was wearing. Only his was white with a silk powder blue lining.

Eddie winced in sympathy. They must get boiling under the lights with those things on.

A few feet from the stage floor there was an explosive pop! And the feathers from his wings flew out into the crowd who was now screaming as if their life depended on the sheer volume coming out them. He looked over at Dustin who was no different.

When Eddie could see the stage again, this angel’s wings were now skeletal and gothic.

He landed in front of microphone whose stand had been decorated with a scarf in each of of the band members’ signature colors.

“Abbadon!” the announcer yelled for the final time.

And Eddie was in love. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Dustin must have seen his expression because he was suddenly tugging on Eddie’s arm and screaming, “I told you!!”

“Indy!” Abbadon growled, grabbing the mic. “Thank you so much for having us! Let’s get this started.”

Then he began to sing and yeah, Eddie knew that the guy had charm, but this was a whole new level of epic. He was enthralled.

He didn’t utter a fucking word for several songs. But then it happened. Eddie couldn’t believe it. He hurried to snap a picture to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

But there it was it in living color. He turned to Dustin to see if he saw it too, but the kid was too busy screaming and jumping up and down.

Eddie’s jaw fell.

That couldn’t be right, couldn’t it? That Dustin didn’t know? Eddie looked back up on stage and a lot of the puzzle pieces started slotting in place. His heart sank a little.

He shook his head to clear it of dark thoughts. He didn’t know the reason for any of this and leaping to conclusions would only get a shit ton of people hurt. Especially the boy next to him.

Eddie let the music wash over him. Let the magic of metal soothe his soul. Soon he was jumping up and down and headbanging with the rest of the crowd. Right hand flashing the devil’s horns, left hand out to steady himself he let himself enjoy the band’s stage presence.

****

To say that Eddie’s mind was fucking blown would be an understatement. He pestered Dustin all the way home with rapid fire questions. Where did the band tour last time? What was their schedule this time? Was it a six month tour or an eighteen month tour last time?

Dustin answered each question with growing excitement, thinking that Eddie had finally grown to love this band as much as he had.

Eddie on the other hand felt a growing sense of dread. Well... maybe dread was the wrong word. It was certainly a sinking feeling. One he really had to exam closely.

At least he could honestly say that he fell in love with the music before he found out his little secret.

And fuck what a secret it was.

He dropped Dustin off at home and drove out to the ranch that he had gifted to Wayne when Corroded Coffin first made it big. It was a beautiful, sprawled out home surrounded by acres of land and Eddie loved it even more than Wayne did.

Eddie stumbled through the door and was surprised to see Wayne drinking hot chocolate and reading a sports magazine in his expensive recliner. And yet, at the same time, not really that surprised.

“You do realize I’m no longer that fucked up kid with anger issues,” Eddie huffed on his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, “that were almost as bad as the troubles with the law, right?”

Wayne chuckled. “Maybe so. But you’re still my boy and I’ll keep worrying about you until the day I die.”

Eddie popped open the can of beer and sat down on the sofa. He leaned his head back on the back cushion with a heavy sigh.

Wayne raised an eyebrow. “What’s stewing around in that head of yours?”

Eddie slowly raised his head. “What would you do if you accidentally found out something about a friend that they were keeping from everyone they knew?”

Wayne set down his magazine. “That would depend on the secret. Is it hurting anyone?”

“Is what hurting anyone?” Eddie asked. “The secret?” Wayne nodded and Eddie frowned, really thinking about it.

“Maybe some feelings,” he said after a moment. “But it’s not dangerous like they committed a crime or anything. It’s not even about their sexuality.”

Wayne hummed thoughtfully. “And is it a big secret or a little one?”

Again Eddie was forced to think hard about what that meant. “I guess it depends on the person, but in my eyes it’s pretty big.”

The elder Munson nodded. “Do you feel hurt by this secret?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.” He bowed his head and let out a shuddering breath.

“Is there a reason you think he wouldn’t have told you?” Wayne pressed.

“Of course no–” Eddie stopped as his brain caught up to his mouth. “Shit.”

Wayne raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Eddie admitted shyly. “There’s a pretty good reason why he wouldn’t have told me. And now I feel like the shit friend.”

Wayne stood up and pulled Eddie into a big hug. “Maybe so, but you have the time to course correct and show this friend that you are worthy of his secret.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks, Uncle Wayne,” he mumbled into Wayne’s neck.

“I’m just glad I could help.”

****

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @danili666 @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @goodolefashionedloverboi @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @yikes-a-bee @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @y4r3luv @cryptid-system @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

[ebodebo]

Chasing The Mask

—red hood is on the hunt for the director and his accomplice, blueprint, gotham's most notourious art theives.

—red hood x art thief "blueprint!" reader

—2.5k+

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A heavy dew settles over the city, along with a light fall of freezing rain. It would almost be calming if you didn't know it was Gotham. One of the most crime-ridden cities in the world. Full of crooks and villains alike. 

Among the haze of rain and sleet, a vigilante sits perched on the top of one of the city's most renowned museums, The Metropolitan. The Red Hood, so he calls himself. While most nights he goes out into the night by himself, to his dismay, tonight he is accompanied by his heroine brother, Nightwing.

The Metropolitan is filled with some of the most exquisite pieces of art made by some highly famed artists, from Van Gogh to Basquiet. It is home to a most priceless collection, indeed. 

Of course, with such valuable pieces, the museum has been the target of numerous theft attempts, and tonight is no exception. 

"You didn't have to come," Red Hood snarkily says as he leans against the red brick encasing the rooftop exit door. 

"Just trynna' help out." The honesty in his voice makes Red Hood roll his eyes. He doesn't necessarily hate Nightwing but he thinks he's too smug for his own good. An entitled, know-it-all. But they are brothers, after all. So, there is a sense of undeniable care there. 

"I've got it taken care of." Red Hood counters, crossing his arms. His tone is almost defensive. Does Nightwing believe he can't catch a simple art thief? Like he's some kind of amateur?

"Is that right?" Nightwing questions, crossing his arms, too.

"Yes." Defensive, again. 

"Because, last time I checked, The Director and Blueprint are still running around Gotham." Nightwing accused. 

"Way to state the obvious, Dick." Red Hood enunciated his name. Dick was used to Hood using his name as a homonym, often. 

"I'm waiting." Hood finally answered his question after the insult. Nightwing let out a light laugh. "For what exactly?" He pushes, uncrossing his arms and walking over to the brick wall Hood was leaning on. 

"An opportunity," Hood stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Jesus Christ, Jason." Nightwing pulled his hand up to wipe across his face, which was covered by a simple black domino mask. 

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to come, Dick." Hood sighed deeply. "Talk too much." He finished, uncrossing his arms.

"Sorry, I have-" Nightwing started, but Hood quickly interrupted.

"Wait, shut up," Hood stated, putting his pointer finger in the air.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Nightwing exhales, anger simmering off his body. 

"Dick, I'm serious," Hood says, turning his head to look around the roof. "You hear that?" He questions.

"Hear wha-?"

"Boys." Hood and Nightwing quickly turn to see Blueprint emerging behind the bricked rooftop door they were leaning on. 

"Blueprint," they simultaneously say. "What are you two doing here?" you ask, tilting your head. Nightwing is quick to respond. "We could ask you the same thing."

"A woman never reveals her secrets." You chirp, pointing your finger at both of them. You walk closer to them, smiling. "It's actually good to see you both." 

"Wish we could say the same." Hood finally speaks. His words are gruff and gray. You rapidly turn your head towards him. It felt weird seeing him like this. Not even thirty minutes ago, you were lying in the sanctity of his warm, cozy bed in a post-orgasmic haze. It wasn't like you and him were dating, but you shared a specific intimacy that wasn't common to either of you. 

Normally, you wouldn’t give boys like him the time of day. But, what can you say? He’s a great lay.

You did like him, sure, but this was strictly business. There should be no feelings involved in business.

"Blue?" Hood questioned, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

You shake your head, absolving you of your thoughts. "Would love to stay and chat, boys, but I have some paintings to tend to." Thanks to The Director, you swivel on your heel to head toward the rooftop exit door that's been propped open. 

"That won't be happening today," Nightwing spoke, pulling out his slick-black Escrima Sticks. 

You let out a smug laugh. "And I suppose you two are going to stop me?" You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head. 

"That's the plan," Hood said, pulling out his weaponry, which was tucked nicely in his jacket. 

You gave a nice, wide smile before pressing the button on the small metal capsule of a lead-lined smoke grenade that had been concealed in your hand, throwing it in front of them, unleashing a cloud of smoke that covered your being as you made your getaway.

"Bye-bye, batboys." You yelled to them as you sprinted to the ajar exit door and entered the museum's stairwell.

"Fuck." Hood says through coughs as the smoke forces its way deep into his lungs. Even with smoke filling his lungs, he's still quick to spring into action, following you inside the museum, with Nightwing following hot on his trail, coughing as well.

You flew down the steps. Skipping three, even four, steps at of time. When you turned around after you got inside, they weren't even behind you, still coughing and heaving on the smoke. It was a damn shame Jason was so tall because once you scaled the second staircase, you turned to see Jason beginning the second one. Your eyes widened under your mask at how swift he was. You turned and continued sprinting as fast as your legs could go.

You could faintly hear Hood and Nightwing yell at you to stop, but you pursued down the flights downstairs, reaching the last set of stairs. 

You scrambled up as Hood came unexpectedly close and almost grabbed your arm, but you managed to escape his grasp, holding the handle of the main door and slipping inside, slamming it in his face. You breathed a sigh of relief as your legs carried you over to where The Director AKA your dad was standing, holding an authentic Da Vinci portrait. 

"Nice job, Blue." Your dad remarked, referring to the diversion you created with the bats so he could slyly take the precious art without them interfering. Though slamming the door did make an excellent barrier, you had forgotten to arm the system back, so Hood and Nightwing forcefully pushed the door open. 

"You didn't arm the door system back?" Your dad hissed, looking down at you.

"I-shit." You cursed, turning to see Hood and Nightwing standing only a few feet from where you and your dad stood. 

"You really think you're going to get away with this?" Nightwing cockily questions, stretching his arms down with his sticks in each hand. 

The Director let out a deep, guttural laugh, causing you to spin your head to face him. "Don't you see? I already have," he declared, showing the painting in his hand.

"We could still take you out." Hood points out, his eyes on The Director, as his hand slides to reach for a gadget on his signature utility belt. Though, he couldn't feel anything. Did he seriously forget to bring it?

"How are you going to do that, Hood?" The Director challenged. "Don't have that shiny belt on, do you?" He questioned, gesturing to his waist.

Hood glanced at Nightwing. "You forgot your belt?" Nightwing questioned, disbelief coating his voice.

"I could have sworn-" Hood says before shaking the rest of the sentence off. "Whatever. I don't need it." He assures, assuming a fighting position.

It was honestly true. Hood was an incredible fighter. Watching him fight was astonishing. He could move his body in ways you didn't even know were humanly possible. But, you did not want to fight him. You just wanted to appease your father by helping obtain the painting, so you could all get the hell out of there.

"Get them." Your father demanded, looking down at you. You hesitated, looking up at your father. "Did you hear me? Get them." His words came out harsher than the first, showing his agitation. 

"Come on, Blue, we won't go that hard on you." Hood snarkily remarked, and you reached for his belt wrapped around your waist. You felt a weird sense of guilt as you covertly pulled out a Batarang.

"You just gonna stand there or-" Hood starts but is interrupted by the Batarang swinging right near the side of his head. 

"I actually think I'd like to play, Red." You mischievously say, running towards Nightwing, catching him a little off guard, and extending your leg to kick him in the stomach, pushing him back, as he holds his stomach.

"Come on, Red. I won't bite." You say, making your way over to him while Nightwing is still down. You let out a powerful punch, but he's quick to move his head to the side, dodging it. 

"Actually, I think you might." He says, grabbing your extended arm and twisting it so your body turns in the other direction. 

Nightwing makes his way up. "Well, that was easier than expected." He said, wiping his hands together.

"Because I did all of the work." Hood chimed, still with your arm twisted behind your back. Their banter made for a good distraction so that you could reach into the utility belt Jason mistakenly left at your house and grabbed a stun gun. 

You turned quickly, letting go of contact with him, as Hood talked, and pressed the tazer to his forearm. Although clothed, the powerful current still hit his skin, making him drop to the floor, convulsing.

"Wanna have some fun, Grayson?" You sarcastically ask as you step closer to him. He swings his sticks in front of him in a criss-crossed pattern. 

You take his silence as an answer. "I knew you were always the boring one." You sigh, holding up the stun gun.

"That's a bat-belt." Nightwing states casually, looking over at Hood, whose body is hunched over on the ground, still convulsing. 

"Aren't you just a genius? You sneered, carefully watching him. 

"How the hell did you get bat-belt?" Nightwing gruffly questions, eyeing your hand with the stun gun. You narrow your eyes at him. "Like I said before, a woman never reveals her secrets." You quickly move towards him, though he's not so off guard. Not like Hood was. 

However, unlike a taser, a stun gun does not shoot any projectiles, and it has to be held against a body or skin to do any damage. Nightwing was standing a few feet from you so the stun gun would do you no good. 

But, you don't even get a chance to use it because he's quick to knock the stun gun out of your hand and uses his stick to hit across the museum, a ways from any of you. 

"Ah, I get it," Nightwing says, letting his sticks rest on his side. You tilt your head to the side. "Get what?" You shouldn't be indulging him. You should be kicking his ass, but with Hood down, Nightwing wasn't going to be so much work. Plus, in between fighting them, your dad had slipped away, leaving you to do the damage control. 

"You got it from Jason, right? Well, stole." He dragged out the last word. 

"It's not really stealing if he leaves it in my apartment. Is it?" You retort smugly.

"Of course he did." As he finishes his sentence, you realize you two have been talking for a while. Well, in hindsight, in normal conversation, no, but this is supposed to be a fight, not a catch-up. Wait, I haven't heard Hood? Upon this epiphany, you turn to see an empty spot where Hood laid.

"Where-where did he go?" You stutter, deciphering when he could have left and how you didn't hear him.

"Oh, Jason?" Nightwing starts. "He left a while ago—once you turned around, actually." He coolly says this, sliding his sticks back on through the straps on the back of his suit.

This was a diversion, and you were stupid enough to fall for it. Shit, your dad is going to be so pis-

"Got em'," You hear Hood's voice echo off the walls as he walks in with your father, ropes tied around his hands and ankles, painting in hand. He handed him off to Nightwing as he placed the art back in its place.

You and Hood watched as Nightwing dragged him through the exit door you all came in through.

"So, heard you stole from me?" Hood tuts, shifting closer to you. 

"Like I said to your brother, it's not stealing if you leave it in my apartment." You retaliate, your throat drying as he moves closer.

"It's still mine." He's now standing right in front of you. You feel flustered at the proximity but cannot let it show. He would never let you live it down. 

"And I want it back," he casually says, his hands ghosting over your waist, housing the belt in question.

You look straight up at him. "Take it then." You swear you could hear him inhale deeply at your suggestive words, but you don't ask. 

His hands wander to the belt, hanging a little low on you. You swear he holds his fingers on the front part just to tease you, and if that was the goal, fuck, did he succeed. But you wouldn't tell him that. His ego is already huge. His fingers leave the front portion of the belt and continue dragging slowly along the sides until he reaches the back to unclasp it, and pull it off of you.

Once he steps back, you release a breath you didn't even know you were holding. "I would leave now." He suggests, wrapping the belt around his own waist. "You know, before the police get here."

"Okay." You felt like he had just put you under a spell. You are willingly agreeing with him. He can sense this, too, and smirks under his mask at your cooperation. 

"Night, Blue." He says as he turns to the rooftop top exit door, pushing it slightly.

"Goodnight, Red." You say, releasing a sigh of relief once he steps outside the door.

"Oh my God." You say to yourself. "That was-" You pause, taking a deep breath. "Do I like Red Hood?" You question, thinking. "No. Definitely not. It was nothing." You lie to yourself. You had only ever slept with the guy, so it just had to be the undeniable sexual tension between you two. That’s all. Right?

You thank God when you push open the rooftop door that Hood isn't hovering behind the door, listening to you essentially try to deny, and fail, expressing your feelings for him.

It is so nice for Hood that stairwells offer a safe place during storms, but they also offer space for a secret spot, just like the one Hood implemented into the walls of The Metropoliton some years ago.

He used to hide from criminals chasing him through the museum, which happened quite frequently, but now he was using it to simply make sure you left okay. But who knew it would double as a way to hear about your secret love confession? Certainly not him. 

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[annmarcus63]

It's a pleasant night. His belly is full, his feet throbbing after dancing all over the tavern like he was the eighteen-year-old bard he used to be. He's no longer that foolish child, not after everything. The only thing left from the eighteen-year-old Jaskier is Geralt. Jaskier smiles at the thought. Speaking of a certain witcher, he's sitting on the chair by the window, the light from the fire coloring his side with an auspicious orange hue. He’s so handsome. 

It's been a while since the last time he traveled with Geralt, quite a while since the last time they were traveling to a big town, Oxenfurt specifically. That's the reason he feels so content, lightheaded in the best of ways and a little bit excited. You see, he's received a letter from the university. He will be named Artist of the Decade in a major award (obviously) as part of the Oxenfurt Music and Arts festival. Artist of the decade, him, Jaskier. Valdo Marx shited in his pants when the results were published, Jaskier imagined.

"I hope he'll be there! I want to see his cherry plump face when I'm called to the stage. ‘Vulgar art’ he said, he called me untalented, the bastard" The bard is beginning to remove his clothes before going to bed, he's undoing the laces of his boots while talking like eighteen-year-old Jaskier used to. "I'm sure he'll be there. That snake. There was a time he told everyone at the music guild that the lyrics of my song were false, that you weren't even my friend!” 

"Most of the lyrics aren’t exactly true" says Geralt in the background, Jaskier ignores him. 

"Oh oh oh I want to see his face when he sees you there"

“Jaskier” Geralt calls

"Take that mister 'i'm better than you' "

“Jaskier” Geralt calls 

"Yes, darling?" Answers Jaskier with fond exasperation. He's having a big monologue here and that's the moment Geralt decides he wants to add to the conversation. He's been quiet lately. 

"I'm not going" Jaskier feels a bold blow on the center of his chest. His heart hunching on itself at registering those words. He understands perfectly well but decides to play dumb anyway. "Where, darling?" and apparently Geralt wants to play dumb too because he stays silent. 

"Can I ask why?" Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest, already defensive and Geralt is there, still sitting, with a somber expression. This is going to end in an argument, both of them can tell.

"I can't" 

"Alright..." Geralt hates being prompted to talk when the conversation is tense, but Jaskier can help it, and doesn't want to help him.

"I'm sorry" at least here he looks remorseful. 

"No, no, Geralt. You promised!" 

"I'm sorry, something has come up..." Jaskier takes two steps forward and Geralt stands raising his hands in a placating manner. 

"What has come up...?" And then Jaskier remembers, the black speck against the window in the middle of the night a week ago. "Does this have something to do with that raven?" Geralt growls, sometimes he forgets his bard used to be a Redanian spy. “Is it because of Yennefer?”

"I'm sorry" Geralt nods, giving the truth. "Is important" 

"This is important too!" 

And now the bard is shouting at Geralt, he hates doing that, but the witcher is not helping either.

“It’s an award, you have plenty” 

“It’s NOT an award, is THE award” 

They are standing in front of the other, speaking to the other’s face, up this close Jaskier can see the pattern of tiny scars all over Geralt's face. The bard takes a couple of calming breaths, trying to keep his temper. He hates arguing with the witcher. "Can't she wait?" he asks, but Geralt only denies with his head, already so sure "What is it about?" the witcher doesn't reply "You don't even know!" There goes Jaskier temper again, the bard throws his arms in the air, exasperated and frustrated. This is important to him, and Geralt knew it and it pains him to realize that the witcher would so easily push him aside. A if Jaskier achievements aren't a thing to cherish and celebrate, as if... he's not important. "She didn't tell, she said It's important" Says Geralt followed by a heavy sigh indicating that he thinks  Jaskier is being childish.

"This is important to me, Geralt - "

" - I know..."

" I asked you to come last year, remember? I told you that I might win the award and you promised you’ll come! I know you don't like big cities but..."

“-I’m sorry” And that's it. Jaskier can feel his heart turning into dust and falling heavily to the pit of his stomach. It's not the same as the mountain, but it feels similar in a way. Jaskier is realizing just how much he means to Geralt. Again. Jaskier holds Geralt's eyes from below, at least the witcher looks ashamed. 

And then after a long, resigned sigh the bard murmurs "Whatever" It keeps happening, repeatedly, suddenly and inexplicably he keeps getting hurt with by his own naivety by thinking that someday Geralt would choose him, not over Yennefer, Ciri or the other witchers. Just choose him because he wants to. Because it's fair, because Jaskier wants him to be there. 

He likes Yennefer now, he even catches himself thinking of her with love. The kind of love you have for the one that makes your true love happy. But he also knows that she can fend for herself and that it is possible for Geralt to wait at least a day before responding to her siren song. She gets to have him forever, why does Jaskier can't have him only for a fucking day? And now he's being pitiful, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

Maybe he's overreacting, maybe it's not that important… but it is! He wants Geralt to be there, to share the award with him. But at the end it's not Geralt's fault, he'll not resent the witcher for having priorities, a family to take care of which includes Yennefer and the others but not him. Maybe it's time for Jaskier to find his own. He has already spent enough effort in becoming part of Geralt. Jaskier goes to search his travel bag for his notebook, he needs to rework on his acceptance speech. 

"I'll gather we'll be parting ways at the crossroads tomorrow?" Jaskier turns around briefly, wanting to see the witcher’s expression, to be suddenly confronted with an uncomfortable and unexpected feeling at reading on Geralt's face, a lot more than surely the witcher wants to convey. Shame, uncertainty, fear of not knowing what went wrong and how to prevent it from getting worse. And Jaskier feels sympathy, despite everything that has happened, what is happening, Geralt tries, on his own, albeit slow way.

"Yeah" 

"Good"

Geralt starts fidgeting on the same spot from before, when Jaskier decides he has had enough and turns. The witcher hasn't moved an inch, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, the bard can tell. But it won’t come to that. Not anymore. Enough of this, enough of scraps. 

"I'm going out, don't wait for me" Jaskier murmurs  when he's at the door. Geralt calls for him, but Jaskier pretends to have not heard. 

In the morning Geralt arrives at the stables to find Jaskier already waiting for him by Roach. They travel side by side all morning, Jaskier holding his notebook in front of his face, he seems to be reading and rereading the speech, which is weird because he said he's already memorized it. They haven't spoken much, and Geralt hates it. He should be saying something, anything! Something along the lines of "I'll go with you" but Yenn... what if? 

Jaskier stops and turns around to face him from below, one hand scratching Roach's neck. They are at the crossroads; it's almost noon and Geralt doesn't know what to say. Their gazes lock for a long time, the wind singing softly around them, the leaves of the trees falling like orange rain. It's so calm. "Take care, Geralt"  Jaskier says in the softest of voices and turns right. Geralt watches marching away, wondering why it feels like a goodbye.

It's funny how loneliness comes in the strangest of forms. Surrounded by dozens of people shouting his name from the square in front of the stage. Wasn't this what you wanted? his mind supplies unhelpfully. Yes, he did want this, the love and admiration of the masses. He is, after all, the artist of the decade. But, well, in retrospect he was young with little knowledge of life. It's only natural that your aspirations may change through the years. Don't get him wrong, older Jaskier wants the same as younger Jaskier, but now, he understands that the love of the masses can't fill the void of being unloved and unwanted by people close to him, or people he thought were close to him. So, he accepts the award with the biggest smile on his repertoire, mocks Valdo Marx and goes to the tavern with a bunch of scholars like him. He drinks, he laughs, he sings a lot of his songs, flirts and plays gwent.  And with every sip of wine and ale he peels a little bit of his sorrow, his wounded self-esteem, his beaten heart, and self-pity. He wished Geralt was here, with him, but he's not here, so be it. Enough of wanting, enough of this ever-present loneliness. He's resolute. He'll find a place to call home, and he won't resent Geralt. Ok maybe a little. 

The celebration has reached the part where everyone is drunk enough to dance and sing at the top of their lungs. Jaskier is standing on top of a table surrounded by the taverns, he's leading the song. He's sweating all over, his hair a brown wet mess. He's happy. When the front door swings open, it's Geralt. The witcher removes his hood and instantly locks eyes with the bard. Like a hunter finding his prey. Jaskier stops singing, right there and then, hopefully no one notices because the song continues its course. 

No, no, it's too late. Jaskier thinks. I've already made up my mind. The bard climbs down from the table and pushes through the crowd. His mind it's a volatile compass, pointing at his resolution and to Geralt. It tries to decide how to proceed. It tries to decide which path will hurt more or less. 

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier is proud of his steady voice. Not even the ale could break him.

"I thought I'd make it on time, ''Geralt replies , his eyes trying to find Jaskier's, but the bard is looking at a spot on the witcher's shoulder. 

"You're late" In that moment the blue eyes look up to meet yellow ones, defying Geralt to name the issue. To name the hurt on Jaskier’s eyes the night before. To name the emotion that is now on the bard's eyes.

They both know this isn't about the ceremony, not anymore.

"I'm here now" Geralt says heavily and Jaskier laughs cause it's funny really. i'm here now so it must be enough. 

And this is the thing, he forgave Geralt many times thanks to sporadic care and attention that would be forgotten later. His heart is screaming within his chest, the poor thing wants to take Geralt back. But no, Jaskier won't listen to it anymore. 

"And you are late" 

A girl walks past them holding a tray of beers, Jaskier takes one and drinks half of it in one go.

Geralt watches him, anxiety sewing itself on his veins. He can feel that is it. He fucked up, again, but this time for good.

"I thought Yen’s message was important" Jaskier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing internally, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He sounds bitter and resentful. He hates it.

"It is, but this is too" and oh the witcher is trying but instead of being charmed Jaskier gets angry.

"Oh, now it's important, I see. Well, maybe if you have arrived on time for the actual ceremony..."

“…I tried”

"Maybe it wouldn't be too fucking late" A young couple turn to look at them. Feeling embarrassed, Jaskier lowers his voice and continues. "I appreciate the effort, Geralt, but it is an unnecessary one. I’m sorry my friend” says Jaskier, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s muscular arm, trying to convey comradery, an olive branch if you will, for Geralt to take and be gone without blame. If Jaskier dared to look at Geralt's face one more time, he would find sadness, grief, shame, and fear. Every emotion that the witcher always tried to conceal from everyone, especially Jaskier.  “There's an open bar, enjoy the celebration. Rest. I'm going to sleep" In that instant Jaskier's heart broke even more. Oh, how he wanted this man, how he longs for him, decades on end. Even in his resolution he still wants him. 

He needs to rest too. He's not young anymore, his feet hurt, and his thighs are trembling from the exertion. So, he turns around up the stairs to his room, closes the door behind and with clothes and all, he gets into bed and sleeps like death.

---

I'm posting this fic again because I just realized that I never posted the ending. I'm stupid. I'm sorry.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Ooo ooo!! What about Champion Lance?

In Lance we trust. One Lance Headcannon ramble COMING UP! Lance is surprisingly hard to write for but i think i got something plausible.

No warnings unless mentioning a punch is one?

Lance | General Headcannons

Lance will be straightforward and honest with everyone. You want the truth, ask Lance and he will spell it out to you in the most brutally honest way. 

He is sharp minded and incredibly strong-willed. This man can bounce back from anything thrown at him, and can silence anyone with a single comment if he wants. He has made challengers feel as if they are an ant compared to him, if they’re getting too cocky with him that is.

If he finds someone mistreating their Pokemon, he reacts in one of two ways. Depending on what's happening. If the trainer is new and is simply overworking their Pokemon without actually realising: Lance will berate them for this and then teach them carefully on how to actually care for they’re Pokemon.

Lance is a surprisingly good teacher.

However, if what they're doing is physical and genuinely meaningful in how they are hammering their pokemon, he will not back away from using violence. He Hyper beamed a petty thief! Lance will throw a punch in himself if need be.

A LOG when sleeping. And I don't mean he's a sound sleeper, a lot can wake him up. I mean literally a log, stiff as a board. A statue if you will. 

Clair once thought he was unconscious, he was so still, resulting in her pouring ice cold water on him, followed by Lance jumping up so far you honestly thought he could cling to the ceiling. One of the few times he let his guard down and now he's cold and needs new clothes.

Yes, Clair got it all on camera. And yes all of the Elite and gym leaders have the video saved.

Lance is an incredibly serious person, and will not tolerate any form of disrespect from anyone. Although sometimes he can be a bit too serious. Laughter is so rare from this guy that even a simple chuckle gets people staring at him.

It takes him an hour to get his hair like that. Lance’s naturally hair is spiky don’t get me wrong but to get those perfect spikes takes time darlings.

Private person. Period

Lance cares way too much about other people and they’re pokemon than he reasonably should. I repeat he has Hyper beamed a thief for stealing a random woman's pokeball.  This tends to get him in situations he can’t get himself out of. Whilst he doesn’t like asking for help, he will if he knows it's the only option left.

Before he became champion, he would constantly be going around the other Elite members and testing they’re strength making sure they are alway at their best. When he became champion he did this a lot less, instead focusing on his own pokemon and the might of the gym leaders. 

He can’t swim all that well. Lance spends so much time in the air that swimming is almost foreign to him. Although he can swim, it's not too graceful and you would mistake his wild flailing for drowning.

For this reason, he definitely has a Pokemon that knows Surf he doesn’t use on his main team. 

Man has a soft spot for food. Wanna get on his good side? Give him anything to do with Spicy food and he is all ears. The other elite members used to carry Spicy curry pots on them whenever they needed Lance to do something he would normally say no to.

Quite the artist and also has decent music talent. He once tried Pottery, he made a somewhat functional bowl on his first attempt. Charcoal is his specialty, he has a hidden sketchbook full of pokemon he has seen over his travels.

Hates travelling overseas for tournaments and HAS turned them down before. It has to be a massive oversea event for him to willingly go instead of Red or Falkner dragging him there.

Lance has a soft spot for kids. He is much more protective over them than the adults watching them. Always helping any kid without a second thought, the adult in his mind comes second. 

He throws a vicious right hook. Lance has knocked a team rocket grunt out and once put a hole in a wall. It’s no Raihan punch, that man bent a Cement wall. But he will put you on your ass. 

This man has a secret stash of hair dye in his house. If his hair starts greying he will be READY! And yes that is not his natural hair colour.

Does NOT like his shoulders touched. I think it's the cloak, but if someone touches him on the shoulder, he will death glare at them. Hands, arms, back all fine. Shoulders, no. Same thing with his legs. Falkner once tapped him on the leg when he was napping and it resulted in Falkner getting a kick to the face. He was fine but now he warns people not to touch Lance when he sleeps.

Speaking of Falkner, these two definitely roomed together for a while. Falkner is the only person Lance trusts enough to handle his pokemon. If for Any reason Lance has to part with Dragonite, Falkner is who he turns to. Even the pokemon centre can’t handle his precious pokemon. Arceus forbade him to let Clair handle them.

He loves and respects Clair so much don’t get him wrong. But when they were younger, Clair was quite the trouble maker and accidentally hurt Lance’s Dratini. He never fully trusted her again with his pokemon. No ill will between them though, They have dinner together at least once a week. 

Though in Clair's defence, Lance did provoke her first. He got that spit fire personality somewhere.

Won’t eat any kind of fish or Tail food. Sushi is his enemy. Not team rocket, not Team Galactic, not even team Magma. Nope. Sushi. 

Remember the curry thing from earlier? If that doesn’t work to persuade him somehow, just tie some sushi to a stick and follow him around, he’ll give in eventually. Don’t let his Dragonite eat it though because it will try and it is funny to watch.

[my-brain-soup]

I've Never Seen Luka, But Jon Kent Has

Basically I've never watched Luka but I read a fanfic where Jon gets the teen titans to watch it (parallels are drawn between Luca and Alberto and Jon and Damian) so now I will be watching it and writing the thoughts I have during it

No I will not give context and spoiler warning ig

Love the music during the studio logos

We love a superstitious king, I mean, I have a feeling he has a point

IF THEY HIT HIM IMMA BE SO PISSED

Awww, he's such a polite little guy

Luca is a farm boy!!! I love my little Jon Kent varient :)

I, too, would risk my life for shiny object

I, too, do the murder

OMG THEIR SO JON AND DAMIAN BUT LIKE BEING HUMAN IS BEING A VIGILANTE AND ITS THE SAME AS THEIR START BASICALLY I LOVE THEM

HE EVEN HAS THE SUPERMAN CURL

Dami would say he invented walking

And pretend he's not proud of Jon

THEYRE SO CUTESY

Bruno? Or Bruce...o... you get the idea

Sorry, they have Luca grab Alberto like that and expect me not to see them as the most adorable little guy love story? Their so crushing on each other

"You're so lucky your dad lets you do what you want," cue Superman's comment about Bruce getting hit on the head all the time

NO WAY THEIR SENDING HIM TO (basically) BOARDING SCHOOL TO KEEP HIM AWAY FROM THE "bad influence" THAT IS ALBERTO

Yes! Grandma, my queen!

"We can do anything" I love this movie

MY FRIEND SMELLS AMAZING

God I don't know her name yet but I love her

JULIA OR HOWEVER YOU SAY IT

We're not telling you our secrets! Tells secrets immediately.

FROM EVERYTHING YOU LOVE?????

I love Alberto so muchhhhhh

I love Mr dad human

Oh they know SOO many fish

No way everyone, including an adult, just saw that bitch rob some kids and didn't do shit

He is a sad little catfish

Why are his parents actually crazy

Aww, Alberto doesn't want to lose his friend

Noooooooo

Luca just wants to learn, and Alberto just wants to feel loved :(

How is the gayest looking dude there being homophobic?

When your new father figue wants to kill your entire species

Alberto got mad when Julia touched Luca's hand...

Why does Luca's hair looks like a croissant

NO LUCA WTF

I WAS ALMOST ON YOUR SIDE

GOD WHAT THE HELL

YES, MR DAD HUMAN, I LOVE YOU PLEASE DONT KILL YOUR NEW SON

FUCK.

IM NOT CRYING.

Nooooo

Their fort :(

BESTIE NO

NO ALBERTO MY BABY NO

STOP PUSHING PEOPLE AWAY SO YOU DONT GET HURT. IT'S NOT GONNA WORK

God the organizer adult lady us such a bitch

Why is no one concerned that the scuba kid isn't coming up for air?

Aww, his little clap self tap in

It's totally about to rain

Well shit. Sometimes I hate when I'm right

WAIT WAS THAT ALBERTO

I TAKE IT BACK I LOVE WHEN IM RIGHT

FUCK

NO I TAKE IT BACK AGAIN

I love them so much!!!!

MR DAD HUMAN NO

MR DAD HUMAN YES

YAYYYY

KING

Is the mom the same person that voiced Aunt Cass in big hero 6?

YES LOVE ME THE OLD LADIES

I decided it is a metaphor for older lgbtq people, feeling able to come out after younger generations have proved that times have changed, I love them

(They're sisters, so they're not together, but they can still be gay!)

BRO ITS SO ABOUT BEING GAY I LOVE THIS MOVIE

BRO ALBERTO

THOSE LITTLE LOOKS

YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE

JULIA 100% KNOWS

About his crush, not just Luca going to school

AHHHH HES SO SWEET

YES, MR DAD HUMAN, YOU NEED EACH OTHER

Their in love, your honor

THEIR LITTLE HAND HOLDING THING I CANT

IM SO MENTALLY ILL FOR GAY FISH

IM CRYING AGAIN

AHHH, THEY RIGHT EACH OTHER LETTERS

ALBERTO LOOKS SO SMITTEN WHEN THEY'RE ON THE PHONE

ALBERTO GETS HIS KNIFE

DOES HE BECOME A LIFEGAURD???

I love this movie

So much

DAMIAN ALSO HAS A CAT AND JON ALSO HAS A DOG

Also, here is my formal apology, her name is spelled Giulia, my b

Alberto learns to carve wood, awww

Also, does Luca EVER get shoes?

I've decided I need an Alberto to become a tattoo artist future au, at least like on the side or for fun or sm

The dedication is adorable

Yes, I just watched all of the credits. What about it?

I was rewarded with an after credits scene, so fuck you.

I'm gonna watch all the deleted scenes now, I'm not gonna specify which one so have fun guessing

Haha, they called Alberto and Luca the main relationship

BOO STOP TRYING TO GIVE LUCA A CRUSH ON GIULIA

YES ALBERTO CHEER ON THE KRAKEN AGAINST THE HUNTER

YES! CONFORMED LUCA A GIULIA ONLY PLATONIC

Also, she was almost a photographer, like TIM DRAKE?!?!?

Don't worry, Luca, I'll ride in a barrel lit on fire down a hill with you

Awww, they were raised by a lobsterrr

BRING BACK CANNED SEA MONSTER FACTORY

OH SEA MONSTER CAN PASS BUT IF THEIR FOUND OUT THE CONSEQUENCES MIGHT BE REALKY DIRE??? SOUNDS KINDA GAY TO ME.

Oh, Jon is extremely charming

I love how they used different animation styles (in how they had the characters move) on land and in the water

PH THE TRANSFORMATION ISN'T CELEBRATED IN LUCAS FAMILY AND HE MAKES IT A CONSIOUS DEASITION TO CHANGE HIS THINKING FROM I SHOULDNT DO THIS TO I SHOULD EMBRASE THIS? SOUNDS KINDA GAY TO ME

Bro, not the first version where Alberto outs Luca to Giulia, eek

And finally, Ciao Alberto!

Aww, Luca wants to see to Portorosso!

THE GAY OLD LADY SISTERS ARE DEFINITELY CLOSE WITH ALBERTO, AND I LOVE IT FOR ALL OF THEM

He finally has people who care about him!!!

AWW ALBERTO JUST WANTS MR DAD HUMAN TO BE PROUD OF HIM

Alberto, you do NOT got this

DONT LIGHT THE BOAT ON FIRE

OH SHIT

Noooo!!! Don't leave!!!

YOU'RE NOT HIS EMPLOYEE, YOU'RE HIS SON

HE CALLED HIM DAD!!!

YAY HUGS

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

MY HEART

I CANT

I love Alberto being an artist (a bad one, for now, but still and artist)

Okay, that's it, Ciao :)

[number1mingyustan]

Expiration Date (1/2) ☾✹

artist!joshua x model!fem!reader

Genre: smut, hurt, angst

Warnings: cursing, arguing, crying, mentions of pregnancy/miscarriage, mentions of suicide and eating disorders, mentions of depression and cheating, there's an injury, explicit smut, oral (f.), orgasm denial, scratching, unprotected sex, creampie, like a whole lot happens

Summary: In a matter of hours, it all went to shit

Word Count: 3.8k

_______________________________________________

(a/n: inspired by the movie malcom and marie)

part 2

It's cold in the city tonight. It's January in New York, reasonably so. Yet with the frigid air outside, nothing feels colder than the inside of your home. Joshua steps into your shared penthouse first, not even bothering to turn around and look at you when he holds the door open for you.

You trail behind silently.

Everything right now is eerily silent. The floorboards creaking are the only sounds to be heard in your home. There's a thick tension filling the air and it's nauseating.

Joshua darts toward the thermostat, turning up the heat in the frigid house.You're still standing at the door when he turns around and faces you.

"Are you finally going to tell me what I did to piss you off?" he asks.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," you lie, folding your arms together.

He lets out a sigh of exhaustion. "Y/n, midway through the showing tonight you started icing me out. You've been giving me death glares and didn't say a word to me the entire cab ride home. Clearly I've done something to upset you."

You ignore him, intentionally making contact with your shoulder when you brush past him. You walk toward your shared bedroom. "I don't want to fight tonight, I'd rather we just save it until tomorrow."

He lets out another sigh of annoyance before following after you. "It won't have to be a fight unless you make it one Y/n. Just tell me what's pissing you off."

You walk through the halls of the spacious penthouse with Joshua trailing behind. "I promise you right now this won't be a productive conversation and it will turn into a fight. It's after 1 in the morning and I'm tired 'Shua, Just drop it, okay?"

"You know I hate going to bed angry, and you're angry. Just tell me now," he urges.

You stop in front of the door with a sigh before turning to face him. "Not once did you thank me tonight," you say before entering the bedroom and closing the door in his face.

Joshua stands outside the door in shock. What? That's what you've been pissy about half the evening? You drank a bit tonight, and he can only hope it's the alcohol that's making you react this way.

"Y/n," he sighs again. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me the first time!" you call from behind the door. "You thanked the whole fucking world tonight and managed to forget about me!"

He can hear faint rustling through the wooden door. You don’t respond for a bit and the rustling is the only thing he can hear. What the hell are you doing?

"I mean," you scoff. "If you wanted to save face for this relationship you could have at least tried."

"The hell do you mean 'save face'?" he asks, tone full of offense.

The doorknob rattles and you appear with a blanket in hand. All your makeup has been wiped off and you’ve changed into some pyjamas.

"At least making it look like we're happy and this relationship is still going well," you rant, unfolding the blanket and spreading it across the couch.

"I wasn't aware that this was an unhappy relationship for us," he grits his jaw.

"Oh save it',' you roll your eyes. "You know you gave up on us a long time ago."

"I haven't given up on anything!" he shouts. "I can't believe you're accusing me of all this stuff because I didn't say thank you! It was one small mistake tonight!"

You stomp toward him, waving a finger in his face. "It wasn't a small mistake Joshua! It was a big one, and the fact that you can't even realize it is so upsetting! This is about so much more than your mistake tonight too, it's about everything Joshua. It's about the fact it's been nearly six years and I still haven't gotten a ring or half your attention anymore."

He tips his head back and massages his temples annoyedly. "How many times do we have to talk about this? We both agreed we weren't going to get married until–"

"–Until things settled with your career," you cut him off rudely. "I know, but you've been saying that for two years and it feels like you have given up." Your voice breaks as you finish your sentence.

A beat.

Silence fills the room. There are tears welling in your eyes and your jaw is locked as you to hold back your tears.

Truth be told, you were beginning to feel like your biggest fear had come true. That Joshua didn't love you anymore.

You and Joshua first met six years prior at an art event. It was the first time one of his pieces were showcased in an actual gallery. He thought having his art there was going to be what changed his life, but truthfully it was you walking through the door.

You were not supposed to be there, you stumbled into the gallery very drunkenly and nearly knocked over his painting. To this day neither of you know how you ended up there, but you both believe it was fate.

You sniffle quickly. "Whatever, It's almost two, I'm going to sleep. I'm sleeping on the couch, you can take the bed."

You turn around quickly, walking back toward the couch where you cover yourself with the blanket.

Joshua sighs, rubbing his hands on his face as he paces in circles around the penthouse. You hear his footsteps start to grow distant as he walks into the bedroom. When you hear the door close, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

A few minutes later, the door reopens and he comes back into the living room. You sit up, pushing the blanket off your body.

He stands in front of you, now changed into a plain white t-shirt and sweats. “I don’t want to go to bed like this.”

You frown. “I really don’t want to do this with you right now.”

“Well I do,” he states firmly.

You lift yourself off the couch and make your way into the kitchen. "I need a drink," you mumble. He turns around, eyes following you as you bend over and search through the cabinets.

Your head appears again, a bottle of vodka in hand. "Would you like a drink 'Shua?" you ask, purposely not acknowledging his previous statement.

He leans against the couch cushion. "I just told you I'd rather talk, besides I think you've had enough to drink tonight."

You take a glass out of another cabinet, placing it onto the counter and ignoring him deliberately. "I didn't say we won't talk, I just wanted to know if you wanted a drink."

You begin pouring yourself a glass. You glare at him, making intense eye contact as you down the drink. It burns your throat, but it numbs the pain.

He lifts himself off the couch and walks over to you. He stands in front of you, dangerously close. He wraps his hand around the glass in your hand, refusing to break eye contact.

"You thanked everyone but me," your voice cracks again. "Am I really that far out of your mind? You couldn't even say my name? It's like you don't even see me anymore. You spend so much time kissing up to agents and other artists and the whole fucking world for that matter. You know, you thanked Angel 4 times tonight. I counted, four time Joshua. And I couldn't get a single thank you when my face and body are plastered around the whole fucking exhibit! You can't even see me anymore. It's like I'm invisible."

"It's not that baby..." he chews the inside of his cheek. "It was an honest mistake."

"How could you forget about me when I was standing right there? If I'm the quote 'inspiration for all your art? Your muse? Remember that Joshie? How I’m supposed to be the inspiration for everything you do?”

His muse. His inspiration. The apple of his eye.

You were the center of his career.

"I-"

"I mean, I have literally pointed out my issue and haven't gotten so much as an apology yet."

Your grip on the glass tightens. He can feel the tension growing in your hand. You're not angry, you're hurt. He tries to pull the glass our of your grip, but instead it falls to the ground and shatters upon impact.

Shards of glass cover the kitchen floor, but one rather large shard is wedged into your foot. You react immediately, crying out in pain as the glass digs into your flesh.

"Fuck," he curses. "I'm sorry."

He helps you back to the couch, careful not to let anything touch your foot. He bends down in front of you, examining your would. You're gripping the couch, head tilted back and wincing in pain.

He darts out of the living room, grabbing the first aid kit from the bathroom before making his return to you. He kneels before you with a pair of tweezers.

"Alright baby," he coos. "I got you."

He uses the tweezers to remove the glass shard, wincing as you cry out in pain. If he didn't feel bad already, he definitely does now. Once he ensures the glass is no longer in your foot, he cleans your would and wraps it with a bandage.

The penthouse has fallen silent again. You look down at him with tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes. He bites his tongue, knowing that if he speaks it'll only make things worse.

"You know....you didn't even tell me you loved me back when you hung up to phone yesterday."

"What?"

A beat.

"After I called you yesterday while you were at the gallery doing finishing touches for tonight... I told you that I loved you before I said bye... and you know what you said? Nothing."

"I was just busy Y/n," he frowns. "You know I love you. I swear I was just stressed about everything with the showing tonight and it slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

"I just don't understand how it's possible I've been slipping your mind lately. It's like you don't see me anymore 'Shua. You-You look at me but you don't see me, not anymore."

"Stop that," he lifts his body up, seating himself on the couch next to you. "That's not true, I do see you. I see everything about you and I love you for it. You know that. I've been a shitty boyfriend lately and I'm sorry. I-I've been an idiot but you know you're my reason for everything."

His thumb wipes away the fresh tears staining your cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so so so–mmph"

His apology is suddenly cut off when you kiss him. He doesn't take long to react, melting into your touch and allowing his eyes to fall shut. He cups your cheek with his hand, moving his lips in perfect sync with yours.

You climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. You pull away from the kiss every so slightly, keeping your lips only mere centimeters from his. "That's all I wanted to hear."

He smiles. "So we're fine? Done fighting?

You nod before kissing him again. This time, it grows heated, allowing a new tension to fill the room. His hands fall to your hips, guiding you as you grind your hips against him. He moans into the kiss before pulling away slightly. "Come back to bed," he whispers.

You nod again before reconnecting your lips. He lifts your body up and carries you through the penthouse and into the bedroom. He doesn't bother to close the door, simply dropping you on your bed.

Your nightclothes typically consist of an oversized t-shirt and a thong, providing him easy access. Your shirt has already ridden up, revealing the lacy black thong separating you and him. He kisses down your body, your jaw, your neck, your stomach, your inner thighs.

He drags your underwear down, leaving it pooled at your ankle before burying his head between your thighs. You let out a breathy moan at first contact. His tongue laps your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Joshua knew your body like the back of his hand. While he may not always be on his A game within the scope of your relationship, he would make it up to you in bed.

He always knew how to touch you just right. He'd have you falling apart within a matter of minutes. Time and time again he never failed to disappoint.

It was a shame he worked so much. It's been over a month since the two of you were last intimate. You try your best to put it out of your mind, you have him now and that's all that should really matter.

You're gripping his hair as his tongue circles your clit. You're soaking his face, growing more and more aroused as he goes down on you. He's so good with his tongue, providing you with everything you need and more.

You can already start to feel your orgasm approaching. The knot in your stomach is tightening and the pleasure builds in your lower region. You're panting an moaning above him, relishing in how good he's making you feel.

You're so close to the edge, fingers gripping his hair tightly. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow. He's holding your legs open with his arms, tightening his grip.

You're on the brink of an orgasm when he suddenly stops. You whine, holding tightening around nothing as disappointment washes over your body. He lifts his head from between your thighs, a wide smirk is plastered across his face.

"You're always such a tease Joshua," you pout.

"Yeah," he licks his lips. "But you love it."

He presses a quick kiss on your lips before sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head. He rids himself of his sweats and boxers, revealing his rock hard cock to your line of sight.

You're practically drooling, the thought of him being inside of you leaving you dripping on the bed beneath you. He hovers over you, dragging the length of his cock along your folds. Your lips are parted as you pant, waiting desperately for him to fuck you.

He manages a soft 'I love you' before slipping his cock inside of you. You both moan out in unison. He stretches you out perfectly, nestling his cock inside of you comfortably.

You wrap your arms around his frame, pulling his body closer to you as he fucks you. His thrusts start slow, gradually picking up in pace. The air is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, low grunts and groans slipping from Joshua's lips, and your desperate whines and moans. The bed shifts with every thrust, making a soft thud as the frame hits the wall.

"Shit," he curses. "You feel so good-fuck."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck. " 'S been too long since I- since I fucked you. Fuck baby."

You moan out in agreement. Your nails are digging into his back, sure to leave scratch marks. He doesn't mind, he's too caught up in how you're dripping him to really even notice.

"So good 'Shua," you cry out.

He looks down at where the two of you are connected, trailing his hand down to rub circles on your clit with his thumb. You tighten around him at initial contact, causing him to groan rather loudly.

You're on the brink of cumming again. Joshua can feel it, the way you're clenching around him and pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. Your moans turn to whines and your nails are really digging into his back.

When your orgasm finally hits, it hits hard. You needed this. Your pink vibrator can only provide you with so much, and it's nothing nearly as good as this. He watches you from above as you fall apart around his cock.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering as you enter a state of bliss. He falls apart only moments after you. You started begging him to cum inside of you and hearing you so desperate was more than enough to have him finishing inside.

You let out a relieved moan as he pumps his cum inside of you. His hips still before he pulls out and falls onto the bed beside you. Both of your chests rise and fall, breathing heavily as you come down from your highs.

The room falls quiet. You're laying on his chest with his arm wrapped around you. You can still feel the heat radiating off of his sweaty body.

"You were right when you said it's been too long since we've done that," your fingers play with his.

He nods in agreement. "I know. I've just been so busy with my art and the few times I'm not, you're doing your shoots and talking with agents."

"Yeah," you blink. "Just would've figured you'd take advantage of it more you know, considering I can't get pregnant or anything."

A beat.

Joshua can't believe his ears. He scoffs, not bothering to look at you before he's rolling out of the bed and redressing himself.

"Where are you going?" you ask.

He doesn't answer you, shutting the bedroom door behind him and leaving you by yourself. He goes back into the living room, settling himself on the couch.

You pull your shirt back over your head before trailing behind. You stand in the living room, leaning against the wall. "What's your problem now?"

"Honestly Y/n, fuck you," he says simply.

You roll your eyes. 'Why are you being so pissy? I said we were done fighting."

"You know, you walked into this house giving me the cold shoulder and placing the blame on me for everything, but you know what Y/n? You're the fucking problem," he scoffs. "I may not be perfect, but you're just a bitch. I have done so much for you and you had the motherfucking audacity to act like I haven't done shit and painted me as the bad guy."

"Fuck you!" you shout.

"No Y/n, fuck you," he spits. "You may be my muse, but if I hadn't started painting you, none of those modeling agencies would have signed you. You would still be a lowlife dropout with nowhere to go. You act like I've treated you like shit even though I have done nothing but care for you over these past six years."

You turn your head away. His words sting and you hate that he's right.

"You had the fucking audacity to say that back in the bedroom like I didn't have to pay for you to be hospitalized after we lost that fucking baby. Like I wasn't there for you when you were depressed and refusing to eat for weeks after it happened. I went to therapy sessions with you and comforted you. I called 911 when you decided to swallow a whole bottle of pills because you couldn't live with yourself after losing the baby."

Tears are brimming the corners of your eyes. Your lips quiver as you try to maintain a straight face. His truthful words are like a stab in the heart.

"I forgave you after you fucked somebody else. Remember that Y/n? Two days after it happened when you disappeared in the middle of the night to go fuck a stranger? You weren't the only one who was fucking hurting. I lost the baby too, and I nearly lost you. That shit did damage, but I put my own hurt aside to care for you. And now you have the audacity to tell me I don't see you? Fuck you."

You stay silent.

"This was a big night for me. I put so much into that fucking showcase, and I'm sorry I didn't thank you. But the least you could do is be happy for me and not do any more damage to this relationship. I know I fucked up, but I was happy tonight and all I wanted to do was come home and celebrate with my girl," he sighs. "You claim that I gave up on this relationship but you started sabotaging it two years ago."

"I never sabotaged us," your voice breaks.

"You did and you know it," he grits. "I get it, you were depressed and going through hell and back. But you tried to push me away. You created a gap between us and it has only gotten bigger since. You say you're upset about the ring, but truthfully do you even want it? Do you actually think you can recite any wedding vows and mean it? To be bound for life and promise to love me forever?"

"I'm going back to bed," you say.

Joshua gets up, grabbing you by the arm. "You started this Y/n. Don't just walk away. You've already got one foot out the door on this relationship!"

"Shut up," you mumble.

"I'm serious. You want that ring so fucking badly, you can have it. But I don't think you really want it. I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life with me knowing you won't ever be able to have my kids."

"Shut up," you say louder.

"I think you've wanted me gone ever since the doctors said it wasn't going to happen. And it kills you that we can't have the family you've always wanted."

"SHUT UP!" you finally shout.

Tears are flowing down your face nonstop. You're a sobbing mess, pushing him off of you. "SHUTUP SHUTUP SHUTUP!"

"All I wanted was a thank you," you cry. "You made me feel forgettable and I am entitled to my own feelings. I felt hurt tonight."

"Yeah? I felt pretty fucking hurt when you cheated on me. I felt hurt when you gave up on us," he bites back.

"I haven't given up on anything," you sniffle.

"You have! You gave up a long time ago. And yeah, maybe I did forget to tell you I loved you and to thank you. But the only reason you're so hurt is because you know how I've felt for the past two years. To feel the other person slipping away. You can say I've given up all you want, but you did it first."

Eerily silence fills the room once again. The tensions has grown even thicker and it's sickening. It feels like your entire world has come crashing down.

"I'm going back to bed," you say quietly.

He stares at you before mumbling an 'ok.' You turn around taking a few steps in the direction of the bedroom before he stops you.

"Y/n," he calls.

You turn around.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," you reply.

Your quiet footsteps grow quieter as you make your way to the bedroom. The house feels cold again and there's something tugging at your heart. It's painful and constricting.

You are physically and emotionally drained, and you know he is too. The bed feels so much bigger without Joshua sleeping by your side. You have a hard time falling asleep, as does he.

Everything feels wrong and you can only await when the morning comes.

_______________________________________________

this is part 1 of 2 !!

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[asgardian--angels]

just rewatched steven universe future (and the movie) and I just gotta say.

I still have no idea why fandom was so upset about the show, why opinion turned against it, or anything. I didn't understand it then, I don't understand it now. I've enjoyed every single minute of that show, start to finish, all iterations. A show hasn't left me sobbing like that in a hell of a long time. It handles heavy, dark emotional topics with incredible finesse and heart in a way that all of us could learn from. It remains one of the most aesthetically beautiful animated series I've ever seen, and the soundtrack is so incredibly moving. I'll never get why shows with the most hopeful themes, like this one, end up with the nastiest 'fans' that harass creators and artists for making something that encourages us to be kind to each other. like, insert good omens meme i guess, yknow? but I will always love this series (the OG, the film, and Future). I'm glad I was never really involved with the fandom back when it was airing so I didn't have to hear any of the shit that people were tossing around. But knowing that this series basically got thrown to the wind after it was done airing - like, no one even talks about it anymore, as if there were some Game of Thrones effect WHEN THERE WASN'T - breaks my heart. It was so incredibly influential, for animation, for queer representation, for creativity in art, and for helping a lot of people feel seen and teaching us a better way to be towards our fellow human beings. I don't know who the fuck can be angry about this show, but whoever they are, I feel sorry for them that they have nothing better in their lives than to be senselessly cruel to people who are trying to make the world a kinder place.

anyone out there who hasn't watched Steven Universe before, and maybe was intimidated or put off by how it's talked about on here, please don't listen to that. It's one of the best made series, animated or not, in the modern age. It touches people of all ages. It inspires hope, and forgiveness, and working towards a better world. It has incredible character development, intergenerational trauma, dismantling colonialism, the horrors and fallout of war, xenobiology, troubled families, damaged people trying to grow and find new meaning, building community, nature vs nurture, perfectly done slow-burn plot arcs and reveals, and an art style that's so gorgeous you'll mourn the current state of the industry that stifles creativity like this. And it does all of this so profoundly and intelligently that it defies summary. Give it a try.

That's all I'll say. I never post about the show anymore bc I'm not a part of the fandom and I don't know how active it is on here anymore. But I've always cared deeply for Steven Universe and I always will. I hope outside of the insular bubble of toxic online fandom that it continues to have a steady mainstream following. Rebecca Sugar deserves accolades and a big thank you for bringing this show into the world. I'm sure she did not get a fraction of the praise she should have, and instead had to endure endless vitriol. The bar's always too high for some people who want something to be mad at, who want to blame and hate instead of supporting the few brave artists out there trying to make queer shows and pave the way for the future. The enemy of queer rep is so often queer fandom spaces themselves. Let's not let this life-changing show fade into obscurity if we can. It was groundbreaking in so many ways. It brought joy and hope to so many. I hope new people will continue to watch it and be uplifted by it, as I have all these years.

[minisugakoobies]

Into the Rush - Part One | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut, crack, Best Friend's Brother!AU, Dodgeball!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, mentions of feeling rejected and unlovable, a little angsty but you know me, pansexual!Taehyung in the house, side VMin, Wooga Squad alert, Himbo NamKook alert, dance leader Hobi is reimagined here as a dodgeball team captain, implied sex, the smut is to come (heh) in part two

Word Count: 7.3K for part one; total wc tbd

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary:  When your best friend Taehyung tells you he has the perfect thing to help you get over a broken heart, you’re surprised to learn he means dodgeball, the beloved game of sociopathic gym teachers everywhere. But even more surprising is the way you find comfort in the game, and so much more, as you fall into the rush with the help of another teammate - his brother, Seokjin.

A/N: Happy belated birthday, Jin! This was written as part of the Catch of the Century collab, hosted by MVPs @raplinesmoon @joheunsaram and @kithtaehyung!

Sooooo this underwent a few rewrites and then my life blew up as the December deadline got closer and then I decided to do Kinkmas because I'm just a gal who can't say no. I knew I could either rush to get this done, be upset at how shoddily written it is, and then hate myself for putting out something I wasn't proud of just to meet the deadline, orrrrr I could be kind to myself and recognize that I am a human and not a machine and sometimes despite my best efforts I fall short, and release it as a two-parter. Et voilà! Here is part one.

Unbeta'd as usual.

Please don't be a silent reader 🥺 I'd love to know what you think! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 Part Two

“Dodgeball. You want to play dodgeball?” 

You stare at your roommate incredulously. Taehyung nods. 

“Dodgeball. The kids game? The beloved sport of sociopathic PE teachers everywhere? That dodgeball?” 

He can’t be serious. Neither you nor he are the athletic type. But from the solemn look on his face as you continue to sputter in surprise, you know he’s not joking. Taehyung is many things - an artist, a daydreamer, the kindest soul you’ve ever met and your best friend of five years and counting - but he’s not a liar. 

Still, when he’d walked into your room five minutes ago, yanked back the curtains to let the late-morning light in, and told you to get up because he had an idea, you’d assumed he’d wanted you to go with him down to the coffee shop on the corner so he could covertly admire his latest crush, the cute barista with the pink hair. Dodgeball was nowhere near the possibilities your mind conjured up. 

Taehyung sighs. “Yes. Dodgeball. There’s an adult league that plays at the rec center on Saturdays and I want to join. And I want you to join, too.” He flops down on your bed, nudging you over so he can lie next to you, ignoring your grumbles as you make room. “I think it would be good for you to get out a little. Get some fresh air.”

“I have plenty of fresh air,” you inform him, gesturing to your bedroom window, which is currently cracked about an inch. It might be spring, but the chill that clings in the air still feels like winter. 

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. But out of curiosity, when’s the last time you actually left the apartment, besides for work?”

“Um.” He’s got you there. Casting your mind back, you can’t even remember the last time you left the safety of your home to do anything other than clock in at the bartending job where you both work. “Does going to the mailbox count?”

It doesn’t, and he doesn’t even need to respond, just gives you his signature exasperated look, but the warmth in his brown eyes shimmers just beneath as always. “Pumpkin,” he begins, using one of the many silly nicknames he loves to address you by, knowing how much you hate cutesy stuff like that, “you can’t hide in here forever.” 

An instant rebuttal floats through your mind. You absolutely can hide in your room for the rest of your life, if you so choose. The internet brings the world to your fingertips. Everything can be delivered these days. Okay, true, you’ll still need to leave for work, but that’s only until you finish your novel and net yourself a publishing deal. Then you can quit your crappy bartending job, build yourself the perfect blanket nest, and become the hermit you were always meant to be. 

Joining a dodgeball team doesn’t fit into that plan. It’s going to require you to go outside. Outside is dangerous. 

Outside is where he is. 

At the sharp pang that stabs your gut, you turn to your roommate with a grimace. “I don’t know. I’m not really a… sports…person - and neither are you, frankly. And it’s a team sport, which means others will be relying on you. You really think this is something you can commit to? I mean, remember the gym?”

Last year, the two of you had joined a gym together at his suggestion, which you both had visited a grand total of one time. He later confessed he’d only signed up because a hot customer at the bar had convinced him to after a long evening of flirting. That short-lived commitment ended the moment Taehyung arrived at the gym and discovered that the hot patron’s promise to give Tae a full-body workout was not, to Tae’s disappointment, a euphemism, but only a sales pitch.

Again, Taehyung doesn’t respond to your question. Instead, he uses the one weapon in his arsenal that destroys you every time the two of you argue over what to do.

With a tilt of his head, Taehyung flashes you his big sad puppy dog eyes.

You sigh. “Goddamn it. Fine. Fine. Let’s play dodgeball.” 

Immediately, Taehyung’s countenance changes, a brilliant, boxy smile crossing his face as he grins at your caving. “Great! Sign-ups are actually this afternoon, sooooo… up and at ‘em, cupcake! Let’s get moving.” He jumps up, holding out his hands, and you begrudgingly let him pull you out of bed. “You’re definitely going to need a shower before we meet the other players.” 

“Have I ever told you how annoying you are?” you mutter as you follow him down the hallway towards your tiny kitchen to brew some coffee, knowing you’ll need the caffeine if you’re going to be socializing with strangers this afternoon. 

He beams again, tossing his dark bangs out of his eyes. “All the time.”

The rec center is only a few blocks from your apartment, but you’d never stepped foot inside before Taehyung drags you down there to sign up for the league. Still, there’s a familiar scent when you walk into the building, the smell of rubber mats and sweat mingling together, stirring up memories of PE classes from grade school. The flashbacks make you shudder. 

Taehyung shakes you out of your memories as he steers you towards a folding table that’s been set up in the lobby. “Come on, we check in here.” A friendly woman in a purple tracksuit sitting at the table waves you over. 

“Hiya! Are you team leaders or free agents?” She laughs at your blank stares. “Okay, I’ll take that to mean you’re not here to sign up an existing team, but you’re free agents in search of a team to join!” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s us,” Taehyung nods sagely, as if he knew that. 

“Great! If you’ll just fill out these forms…” she hands you both a sheet of paper, “I will process your fees, and then I can point you in the direction of some teams looking to add some new players!” 

Forms? Fees? This is more complicated than you’d expected. You’d figured you’d just walk in and play, like joining a pick-up game of basketball or something similar that people who like sports might do. “So, um, how does this work?” 

The smile never leaves her face as Ms. Purple Tracksuit explains that you’ll be joining a team for the next ten weeks to play against other teams in a tournament ending in a championship match between the two best teams. “And the fee covers your uniform!” 

“A uniform?”

She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Don’t get too excited. It’s just a t-shirt.” 

After you hand in your form and make Taehyung pay your fee, Ms. Purple Tracksuit tells you to head into the main gymnasium, where the team leaders looking for new recruits are waiting. There’s another dose of déjà vu as you enter the room to find several clusters of players standing around, sizing you up as you walk in. It reminds you of being a kid, waiting on the sidelines while the other kids whisper to one another about who to pick.

“Uh, this is a little intense,” you whisper to Taehyung, clinging to his elbow as he blithely strolls between the groups. “I feel like I’m being judged.” 

“Nah, this is a numbers thing,” he says. According to Ms. Purple Tracksuit, teams consist of six to ten players, so there’s a good chance you’ll be able to find a team together. If you’re picked at all, that is. “Whatever team needs two players will take us, I’m sure.” 

Your roommate just wanders through life with a natural confidence that you’ve rarely seen in others. You suppose it makes sense, given how handsome and talented he is. Still irks you a bit. 

“And what makes you say that?” You scan the room, taking in the other players. There are several others who wear similar expressions to your own, looking a little overwhelmed. It strangely gives you hope that you won’t be the only one here who doesn’t know what she’s doing. 

And then there are those who look like they live, eat, and breathe dodgeball, like the two tall, muscle-bound gods to your left, both wearing a shirt that says “Rock the Balls.” Team leaders, you assume. 

“Uh-huh, sure,” Taehyung replies distractedly, and you frown, following his gaze to see what caught his attention, since he’s clearly not listening, only to spy pink hair and a gorgeous smile that you recognize from your favorite coffee shop.

Grabbing his arm, you force your roommate to look at you as you hiss his name. “Taehyung. Tell me we’re not here because of that barista!” 

“Hmm?” Tae’s starry-eyed expression is all the answer you need. Of course. Of course he dragged you here so he could flirt with his crush. How did you not see this coming? “What? Noooo, I told you, I want to play dodgeball! But isn’t it a nice coincidence that Jimin is here?” 

“Right. Coincidence. You’re unbelievable.” With an exasperated sigh, you give him a push. “Well, go talk to your man. See if his team needs two new players.” 

Taehyung doesn’t need telling twice, happily bouncing towards the barista. And now you’re alone in a gymnasium full of strangers, feeling left out again. As you slowly revolve in place, looking for somewhere to hide and wait for Taehyung to return, one of the muscle-bound gods approaches. 

“Hey,” he says, giving you a little head nod. “You looking for a team?” 

Technically, you suppose you are, but you should probably see if Taehyung will be dragging you on to Jimin’s team with him first. But as you glance at the god, with his wavy dark hair and silver lip ring nestled in the corner of a pair of rather pink lips, you’ve the urge to say yes. He and his buddy are mind-meltingly hot. 

“I’m not sure. I’m here with a friend,” you finally respond. Super glad Taehyung forced you to shower today.

The god nods, eyes dragging over your frame. If you touched your cheeks right now, you’re pretty sure they’d be blazing hot under his gaze. “That’s cool. I’m Jungkook, by the way, and this is Namjoon.” He nods to the other god, whose lips quirk in a cool half-smile. 

“Sup,” he rumbles, jerking his chin in your direction. He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, fingers scratching over the lines buzzed into the sides. “We run Rock the Balls. And we’re looking for two new members.”

“Actually, that’s gonna be three new members,” a familiar voice declares behind you. Your eyes widen before you spin to find yet another handsome man behind you. But this one you know well.

“Jin-ah!” Throwing your arms around his neck, you attack Seokjin with a hug, grinning as his squeaky laugh echoes through the gymnasium. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve seen Taehyung’s older brother, but he looks mostly the same - the same warm brown eyes surrounded by ever-deepening laugh lines, the same perfect cupid’s bow twitching as he smiles as you. The only difference is that his hair is a little shaggier now, a fluffy brown cloud that bounces when you finally release him. 

“I could get used to a hello like that,” Seokjin grins.

“When did you get home?” you ask, vaguely aware that the gods have drifted away. “And what are you doing here?”

“Got in two days ago. I would’ve stopped by to see you and Tae-yah, but I needed to get my land legs back first.” Seokjin probably means that pretty literally, since he’s spent the last year on a research station in the middle of the ocean. As a marine biologist, he works at a local lab run by a federal agency, studying the effects of ocean pollution on various species of fish. Occasionally, he has to do field work, but this last round was his longest stint yet, taking him away from home for nearly twelve full months. “When I texted him this morning, he mentioned that he was joining a dodgeball team, and I… well, I had to check that out for myself.” You both laugh. “So I thought I’d surprise you.”

“You definitely did that!” you confirm. “I want to hear all about your research trip. Did you find anything interesting? Discover any new species?” You lean in excitedly. “Did you finally find some mermaids??”

Seokjin tuts. “Aish, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not a deep sea diver, I’m just a guy pulling water samples off a dock?” 

“Yeah, whatever, Jin Cousteau.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I was really hoping that that nickname would’ve died out in the last year.” 

“Oh no, that one’s for life. And listen, you can downplay your job all you want, but I know the deal. You just can’t tell me anything because the government forces you to keep those secrets locked down. But I’ll get the truth out of you someday.” 

“Oh?” Seokjin cocks an eyebrow. “And just how d-”

“Hyung!!” 

“Oof!” Seokjin grunts as your roommate launches himself at his brother, tackling him in a bear hug. When the affectionate embrace becomes a wrestling match in the middle of the gym, you feel a presence at your side, and turn to find Jimin and another man watching the melee with a surprised look on their faces. 

“Don’t worry,” you reassure them, “they’re always like this.” 

“Uh, okay,” the barista chuckles. “Um, I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Hoseok. Hoseok-ah, this is YN, Taehyung-ah’s roommate.” 

“Hey.” The other man grins a smile that can only be described as a beam of pure sunshine, and you wonder if this dodgeball league is for models only, because you’re basically surrounded by nothing but gorgeous people.  

“Hi. Um, and that is Seokjin, Tae-yah’s brother,” you gesture to the skirmish. 

“Mmmice to meet eww!” Seokjin’s response is a little muffled by Taehyung’s armpit, but he manages to wave. 

“Hyung, why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here?” Taehyung whines.

“Anted oo urprise!” Seokjin finally untangles himself from his brother’s headlock. “Wanted to surprise you,” he says again, more clearly. 

“We’re starting a new team, and we could use three players, if you’d all like to join us?” Hoseok asks. 

“Are you sure you want this on your team?” you reply, gesturing to Taehyung and Seokjin.

“I think we can handle them,” Jimin grins, and Taehyung’s smile turns blinding. “Besides, we could use that energy on the court!” 

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. “Also, we’re a brand new team, so we’re desperate!” 

“That’s my favorite word.” Seokjin’s shoulders shake as he cracks himself up. “We’re in!”

Hoseok smiles. “Fantastic. Welcome to the Seven Slamurai!”

Once you’ve finished signing up for Hoseok’s team, you, Taehyung, and Seokjin decide to grab some dinner together. Another thing about Seokjin that hasn’t changed during his time away is his voracious appetite, so you take him to an all-you-can-eat bbq restaurant not far from the rec center. 

As the soju starts flowing and the plates start piling up, Seokjin tells you about his year on the ocean. He starts out with a disclaimer, warning you that his research isn’t interesting, and he’s not entirely wrong. Most of it goes over your head, since it’s been years since you last took a biology course. But it’s not really what he’s talking about that keeps you focused on him, it’s how he talks about it that holds your attention. You’re fascinated by his passion for his work. His dedication to studying ocean life in order to preserve and protect it. It makes you wish you had a cause of your own to defend.

And then, of course, as the liquor catches up with him, he tells you all the gossip about the other crew members on his station - the hookups, the fights, all the little scandals that brought the drama to the high seas. Seokjin’s always been a good storyteller, knowing just what to say to keep you and Taehyung laughing.

“But what about you?” you ask when Seokjin pauses to stuff some pork belly in his face. “Did you have any flings with any of the other scientists? Hmmm? Dip your fishing rod in company waters?” 

“Gross,” Taehyung mumbles around a mouthful of beef bulgogi.

Seokjin shakes his head. “Nah. I didn’t click with anyone there like that. Honestly, we spent so much time together each day that by the end of it, I was dying to get away from most of them, which was really hard to do since we were basically stranded together in the middle of nowhere! So I spent a lot of my downtime hiding in my bunk, reading old research papers that I found in the station’s library.” 

“You read research papers for fun?” Taehyung looks horrified. 

Downing another shot of soju, you lean towards Seokjin, licking the peach-flavored drops from your lips. “Come on. You’re telling me you went an entire year without hooking up with anyone? Not even a little making out?” 

“Nope.” Seokjin pops the ‘p.’ At your incredulous look, he laughs, lifting his shoulders. “What? A year’s not that long! I made it just fine.” 

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, “it’s not that long. Besides, he was probably jerking off nonstop.” 

Soju flies out of Seokjin’s nose as you and Taehyung burst into raucous laughter. Seokjin scolds his brother, who argues back as he always does, telling the elder to loosen up, while you sit quietly, chin in hand, smiling to yourself as you watch the fireworks, realizing how nice it is to have Seokjin home again. 

He and Taehyung are pretty much a package deal. You’d met Taehyung first during your senior year of college. At the time, Seokjin was finishing up his graduate program at the same school, and his plans to move out of his and Taehyung’s apartment upon graduation and roll right into some field work had Taehyung feeling like he was being left high and dry. You’d ended up becoming Taehyung’s new roommate that summer, and then it had turned out that Taehyung’s worries were all for naught, because Seokjin still spent most of his free time hanging out at his (now your) place, anyway. 

You didn’t mind then and you don’t mind now. Seokjin’s a good balance to all of Taehyung’s extremes. Where Taehyung has his head in the clouds, Seokjin’s feet are firmly planted in the ground. Taehyung can be mercurial, even flaky sometimes, but Seokjin’s rock-steady.  They’re not complete opposites in everything, though. Just like his brother, Seokjin has a big heart. 

Once Seokjin runs out of steam, Taehyung shrugs. “I’m just saying, being with someone isn’t the only way to be satisfied. Just look at me. I’m single and I’m happy.” 

He looks almost smug as he states this, and something inside you snaps. The last thing you want to hear from Taehyung is another speech about loving yourself. You’ve heard plenty of those over the last few weeks. You do love yourself. 

You just wanted someone else to love you, too.

Pointing your chopsticks at him, you frown. “Oh, please don’t start! One, you were just dating a guy last month, so it’s not like you’ve gone an entire year without being with someone, and two, you literally just dragged me onto a freaking dodgeball team so you could start dating another! So I don’t want to hear any platitudes about embracing your singleness or anything like that.” 

Taehyung is silent for a moment after your outburst. “Sorry,” he finally says, poking at the remains of the kimchi on his plate. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Seokjin’s gaze bounces between the two of you. “I feel like I’m missing something.” 

Taehyung sees you nibbling on your bottom lip and he turns to his brother. “I can explain. Buttercup here-”

“Buttercup can speak for herself,” you interject, “and don’t call me that.” With a sigh, you slug back another shot of soju and look at Seokjin. He’s waiting patiently to hear what you have to say. “I was… kinda seeing someone a few months ago. And I thought that I had something with them, and it turned out that I was wrong. They didn’t feel the same way I did, so…” You trail off, not sure how to say ‘so I spent the last few months crying in my room over a broken heart.’

Luckily, Seokjin spares you this confession, nodding sympathetically. “I gotcha,” he says simply, and you nod back, stuffing some rice into your mouth so you don’t cry at the warmth in his expression. 

“I don’t know why you’re being so cryptic about who it was,” Taehyung frowns. “She’s talking about Yoongi.”

Something passes over Seokjin’s face quickly, so fast you almost miss it as you smack your roommate on his arm. He yelps in shock.

“What? He was going to find out eventually, they’re best friends!” 

You know this, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. Seokjin is actually the one who introduced the two of you, at the party he threw before he left for his research trip. You remember that night very clearly, can close your eyes and picture Yoongi standing there, with silver hair and silver hoops in his ears, dark cat eyes shimmering as Seokjin gave him your name, and you feel that same swoop in your stomach as you did then. Only now it comes with a painful twist of your heart as well. 

Falling for Yoongi happened so quickly. You’d immediately bonded over a shared love of hip-hop and whisky, spending the party huddled together on the couch, snarking over Seokjin’s music collection and liquor selection, talking until the sun came up and Seokjin started throwing everyone out. As you left, you’d asked Seokjin for Yoongi’s number. But before you even entered it into your phone, a text appeared from Yoongi himself. He confessed he’d asked Seokjin for your number as well.

“I haven’t talked to Yoongi-yah in a while.” Seokjin glances at you. “You know how hard it was for me to keep in touch. There’s no cell phone reception in the middle of the ocean, and the internet seemed to come and go at will. At least I heard from you two occasionally, but I didn’t hear from Yoongs except on my birthday, and we didn’t… you didn’t come up.” He looks apologetic as he says those last words, and your heart pangs again.

“It’s okay, why would I have?” you snort. “Like I said, it turned out to be a big bunch of nothing between us.” Despite what you thought. What you felt.

A server appears at the table to drop off the bill, and you welcome the interruption, wanting to go home and crawl into the safety of your bed again, feeling like it was a mistake to leave in the first place. Taehyung and Seokjin fight over who is going to pay, with Taehyung winning, practically throwing his card at the server, but you’re too distracted by your thoughts to enjoy the scene. 

Texting with Yoongi had turned into late night conversations. Going to concerts and bars to check out new musicians, doing whisky tastings and visiting distilleries. It felt like you were glued at the hip for a few months, and the more you got to know him, the harder you fell. Like the way you fell into his bed, over and over.

But nothing sticks out in your memory more than that last night, the last time you saw him, when you finally found the courage to tell him how you felt. You’ll never forget the sad look on his face. It told you everything you needed to know before he even spoke.

“Buttercup?” Taehyung’s voice pulls you from your reverie. “You ready to go?” He and Seokjin are staring at you, both on their feet already, waiting to leave. 

With a nod, you rise, and follow them out into the night. 

Despite the name, the Seven Slamurai consists of nine players. (When you asked why, Jimin rolled his eyes and said he’d tried to argue with Hoseok over the moniker, but Hoseok was insistent that the name stay true to his favorite movie.) In addition to Hoseok, Jimin, Seokjin, Taehyung, and yourself, there are four others at your first practice session on Monday night at the rec center - Wooshik, Sunghwan, Seojoon, and Hyungsik. You exchange a few quick greetings with your new teammates before Hoseok gestures for you all to sit on the bleachers. 

“Welcome everyone to our first team practice!” Hoseok smiles, clapping, and you lightly clap along until you realize no one else is. “Before we do some warm-ups, I thought I’d take a minute to explain the rules of the game, for those of you who haven’t played before.” 

He launches into an overview of the sport. Most of it is familiar from your school days, but there are a few things that are new, like something about a rush, and a neutral zone, and a burden ball? You glance around to see if anyone else looks confused. Most of the new guys wear bored expressions. It’s safe to assume they’re experienced players. To your left, Taehyung is whispering something to Jimin, completely ignoring Hoseok’s spiel. 

At least Seokjin, on your right, seems slightly dazed by the long list of rules that Hoseok’s rattling off. Now that you think of it, you’ve never seen Seokjin in any athletic context. As far as you know, he doesn’t play any sports, just like you and Taehyung, and he’s not a gym rat. So you have no idea what to expect from him on the court. Maybe he’ll be just as awkward as you’re expecting to be. 

“Any questions?” Hoseok finishes up. There’s a moment of silence from the group, and then he claps his hands. “Okay! Then let’s warm up a little.”

You move from the bleachers to a mat on the floor and Hoseok leads everyone through a series of stretches. It’s been a long time since you’ve done any, so you’re not surprised when your toes remain fully out of your reach. Jimin, on the other hand, has folded himself in half, forehead practically touching the ground as he holds on to both feet. Turning to Seokjin to make a comment, you’re surprised to find him in a similar position.

He catches you looking. “Yoga,” he explains with a wink. 

“Damn. Maybe I should start,” you grunt, giving up. 

“The games are played with teams of five, which means we’ll have four alternates for each match,” Hoseok explains once everyone’s limbered up. “For today, I’d like us to run through a practice game, four on each side. I’m going to stay out and watch, to help me get a feel for who might be a starter and who might be an alt.” 

The group splits in half, with you, Taehyung, Seokjin, and Jimin on one side, and the rest on the other. Hoseok stands at one end of the line in the middle of the court, where six balls lie waiting. 

“Okay, ready, set!” And with a sharp blast of the whistle hanging from his neck, Hoseok brings the game to a start. 

Immediately, Jimin and Taehyung run forward towards the center line, reaching for a ball each, while the other team mirrors their actions, rushing forward. But you? You freeze in the scramble, hands automatically coming up to shield your head. And as the first balls fly towards your side, you scream. 

And so does Seokjin.

“Shit!” you curse as one of the rubber balls bounces off your arm. That’s definitely going to leave a mark. 

“Fuck!” Seokjin yelps as he’s smacked in the shoulder by another ball. 

Tweet!

The action stops as Hoseok blows his whistle. His sunny smile is gone, replaced by an intense look, eyebrows furrowed, mouth turned down. It’s intimidating, especially since it’s aimed directly at you.

“That was… not bad,” he says slowly through gritted teeth, speaking as though the words hurt him. “But maybe this time, you two should try joining the opening rush? Remember, no one can throw a ball at you as long as you’re in the neutral zone, so you’ll have time to grab and get back out of the line of fire.” 

He glances from you to Seokjin, who nods as you grin in embarrasment. Great, you’ve already been identified as a weak player. You were hoping you could at least pretend to know what you were doing for a little while. Fly under the radar.

Taehyung wraps an arm around your waist. “Come on, ladybug, it’s not that scary. You just gotta jump in. Don’t think, just go.” 

You shake him off with a scoff. Easy for him to say. You saw the way he was running around the court a minute ago, taking to the chaos like a duck to water. Should’ve known he’d turn out to be a natural athlete on top of all his other annoyingly amazing traits. 

The game restarts, and this time you make an attempt to run towards the center line, but still hesitate, flashbacks of being pelted with balls running through your brain. Why did you agree to this? You always hated dodgeball in school! 

Seokjin, on the other hand, joins Jimin and Taehyung at the line, and scoops up a ball before dashing back to where you’re frozen. The balls start flying again, and once again you’re out before anyone else. After a few more minutes, Hoseok ends the play. 

“That was better!” he nods. “But let’s try it again, and this time maybe you can make it all the way forward, huh, YN?” His tone is encouraging, but his smile seems strained. 

As you shuffle back towards the end of the court, you nudge Jimin. “Is Hoseok okay? He looks a little stressed.” 

Jimin shoots you a lopsided smile. “He’s trying not to be as… intense… as he usually gets. We got kicked off our last team because he went a little overboard with his, uh, enthusiasm during the practice matches.” 

The whistle blows before you’re ready, and you decide to take Taehyung’s advice, so you bolt forward without thinking, snatch up a ball, and then back away, not wanting to turn your back to the men behind you. In doing so, you catch Wooshik’s eye, and he grins coldly, winding up. 

“Shit!” you yell, jumping out of the way in time. Taehyung dives in to catch it, sending Wooshik out of the game. But you’re not safe, as Seojoon takes aim next. Seokjin is next to you, trying to decide where to throw the ball in his hand, so you duck behind him, mimicking his movements. Eventually, he realizes he has a shadow.

“Are you using me as a human shield?” He bobs to the left. You follow.

“It’s not my fault you’re so broad!”

Seokjin honks a noisy mix of delighted laughter and insulted exclamation. Seojoon tires of waiting for you to emerge from behind Seokjin, so he pitches the ball forward, a low toss heading for Seokjin’s legs. Seokjin bends gracefully to catch the difficult throw, taking Seojoon out of the game, and as Seokjin doubles over, you snap the ball in your hands towards Hyungsik, hitting him directly in the side. Another ball rolls towards your feet, so you scoop it up and nail Sunghwan dead center of his chest.

And with that triple play, your side wins, with all four players still in.

There’s no whistle to end the game, as Hoseok’s mouth falls open, gawking wide-eyed at you. “She’s a sniper,” he whispers in an awed voice. Everyone turns to stare at you. 

“What?” you ask, looking around. “What did I do now?” 

According to Jimin, it’s tradition for the dodgeball teams to go out for drinks after practices and matches, so after hitting the locker room, the nine of you meet up at the Pied Piper, a quiet bar around the corner from the rec center. Thank god Taehyung convinced you to bring a change of clothes. You’d foolishly assumed you wouldn’t break a sweat, but you sure as fuck had.

Since the rec center isn’t that big, the practice schedules are staggered out, with only two other teams meeting on Wednesday nights - the Dodging Divas and Rock the Balls. By the time your team arrives at the bar, the others have already claimed most of the tables. As Taehyung and the others push the remaining tables together, Hoseok, Seokjin, and you sidle up to the bar to start ordering drinks. 

Once the bartender drifts away to start pulling drafts, Hoseok turns to you with a bright smile. “Congrats, the two of you are definitely going to be starters.” 

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement. 

“Me? Really?” you squeak, glancing at Seokjin, who also appears dumbfounded. “Why?” 

Hoseok leans against the bartop. “Look, I’ve been playing this game for long enough to know a strong arm when I see it,” he declares solemnly, tapping your bicep with two fingers. “I think with my help, you could be one of the best snipers out there. As for you,” he nods at Seokjin, “I think your flexibility is going to come in handy, like it does for Jimin. Also, I saw the way you two were working together on the court. If we can hone your skills, you’ll be an unstoppable duo for sure.” He grins. “The rest of the league won’t know what hit them, when the Seven Slamurai come through.” 

The bartender returns with the first three beers of your order, and Hoseok carries them away with another nod, leaving you and Seokjin staring at each other in silence. 

Then you both burst into laughter. 

“Is he for real?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows raised. The bartender sets more glasses in front of you, and he grabs one, taking a long sip. 

“I think so. I got the idea from Jimin that dodgeball means a lot to him, but wow. What he said is absolutely ridiculous, and yet… I do feel oddly inspired.”

“I know what you mean.” Seokjin grins. “Should we correct him, though?”

“About what?”

“Us working as a team. We weren’t working together so much as you were hiding behind me.” 

His grin turns teasing, and a retort builds itself on your tongue. But before you can fire it off, a figure at the other end of the bar catches your eye. One of the Rock the Balls gods. Namjoon, maybe? He nods at you, dimple popping as his lips curl into a slight smirk. You blink, then raise one of the glasses of beer in his direction.

Seokjin follows your gaze. “Friend of yours?” 

“Not really. One of the other teams’ leaders. We met at the sign up.” 

Seokjin hums, giving Namjoon a second look. He taps the bartop while you help yourself to one of the pints. “Hey, so what you were talking about at dinner the other night… about Yoongi? I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You should’ve known the subject would come back up. With a little shrug, you attempt a grin, but only succeed in a grimace. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I know. But I’ve also been where you are, having feelings for someone that go unreciprocated, so… I’m sorry. I know it hurts.” He pauses, gaze locked on the glass in his hand. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a total idiot.” 

“I’m not going to argue there,” you quip, letting out an airy laugh. "But I'm the one who imagined the whole thing, so really, I'm not any smarter."

He looks at you then, a sober expression on his face. “I mean it. He’s the idiot. Not you. So just - just don’t let his stupidity have any bearing on how you might think about yourself, okay?”

You blink, wondering if you’ve suddenly gone completely transparent, because he’s seeing right through you. How are you not supposed to take Yoongi’s rejection as proof that you’re unlovable? If you were lovable, then wouldn’t he love you?

“I… okay.” Nodding, you reach for the glasses that have been sitting in front of you for a few minutes. “Um. We should probably get these to the rest of the team before they get antsy.” 

Taehyung pats the seat next to him when you return to the group, and Seokjin takes the empty seat on your other side. “Hoseok just told us the good news,” he informs you, happily grabbing one of the beers in your hand. 

“What, that Jinnie and I are gonna be starters?” 

“That we are gonna be starters! You, me, hyung, Jimin-ah, and Hoseok-ssi.” Taehyung beams brightly as Jimin leans across him at the mention of his name. “He said we’ll work on our teamwork next practice, so we’re ready for our first match next weekend!”  

“Oh! Well, damn, look at us go!” You lift your glass and everyone else does the same. “Cheers!” 

“To teamwork!” Seokjin adds, eyes crinkling as he clinks his glass against yours. You grin back before taking a big sip. Maybe you’ll survive this season after all.

You’re not going to survive this season. 

“Come on! Faster!”

A shrill whistle blast sounds as you hit the wall, spinning around before running back towards the center line. It’s Thursday night, so you’re at practice again. Your team has been running drills for only ten minutes now, but you’re pretty sure you’re going to die, panting terribly as your toe hits the crosses the line.

“Pick it up!” Hoseok yells as you spin again, heading back for the end of the court. As your fingertips reach the wall, he blows the whistle again, and you flatten your palms, pressing your forehead against the cold cement. 

“I did not sign up for this,” Seokjin huffs next to you. “I signed up to dodge balls. This is not dodging balls!” 

“Are you two okay?” Taehyung is neither panting nor huffing as he eyes you both with concern.

“How are you not dying like us?! You don’t work out!” Yelling takes up too much of your oxygen, and you sink to the ground, legs folding underneath you. 

Taehyung shrugs. “It was only a few running drills. Nothing to get worked up over.” 

Unable to respond, you settle for giving him the evil eye. You jump as Hoseok’s whistle sounds again.

“If he doesn’t stop it with that thing, I’m gonna make him eat it,” you mutter under your breath. Seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he reaches out a hand to pull you to your feet. 

Hoseok’s inner drill instructor doesn’t take a break when the practice game starts, alternates on one side, starters on the other. Somehow, he manages to run, catch, throw, and yell instructions the entire time, like a demented multihyphenate. It would be impressive if it weren’t irritating. 

You play a total of three rounds against the alternates. The first round is awkward, filled mostly with Hoseok’s manic shouting. At one point, he tells you to cover the right and Taehyung to flank the left, and as the two of you run to switch sides, you run smack into each other. The alternates win.

In the second round, things go better. There are no collisions, but there’s also not much cohesion, either. You try to repeat last practice’s winning move, ducking behind Seokjin, but he’s too unpredictable, jumping all over the place to try to catch throws, and you’re not able to keep from getting hit. Your team loses again.

When the whistle signals the end of the round, you head for the bleachers, where you’ve stashed a bottle of water and a towel, having realized last practice that both items were desperately needed. The rest of your team follows. 

“Well, this isn’t working,” Hoseok sighs, fanning himself with his shirt. “They’re kicking our asses.”

“Maybe - and just hear me out - yelling isn’t the way to motivate us?” Jimin suggests, tossing his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. You can practically see little hearts dancing in Taehyung’s eyes as he watches the motion.

Hoseok’s head twists towards his friend, but instead of swearing at him like you expect, he just stares. “I’m. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

Jimin claps him lightly on the shoulder. “Yep.” 

Hoseok stares for a few more seconds, and you’re on the verge of asking if he’s okay when he finally speaks. “Okay, new plan. Let’s just go out there and, ugh, have fun, okay?” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he leads Jimin and Taehyung back out onto the court.

Seokjin leans over. “If we lose, ten bucks says he snaps and eats that whistle himself.” 

You laugh, gently pushing Seokjin back onto the court. 

“Hey. Should we try that shield thing again?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I mean, I was trying last round, but you were kinda all over the place.” 

“I’ll try to be more obvious with my moves. Or I guess you can guide me? Just tell me which way to go.” 

You nod, and then you’re off, running for the center line as the round starts. Without Hoseok barking orders at the group, there’s a definite shift in the atmosphere. As you stoop to sweep up a ball, quickly diving behind Seokjin’s tall frame, scoping out your next target, it hits you - not a ball, but a thought.

You’re having fun.

Grinning wildly, you hiss “Left!” Seokjin immediately darts left, and you line up behind him, ready and waiting. A throw from the other team goes high, and Seokjin leaps towards it, snagging the ball out of the air. As soon as you peek out from around his side, you hit Wooshik, ball bouncing off his thigh with a satisfyingly loud “thock!”

“Yes!” Seokjin throws his hand out for a high five. You slap it quickly, ducking another toss. On your other side, Hoseok and Jimin make tandem catches, and the match ends with your team victorious.

“That was so much better! I really feel like we’re an actual team now,” Hoseok beams, looking genuinely happy again. “One more week of practice and then it’s match time!”

The others drift towards the locker rooms as Seokjin nudges you with his hip. “Did that work better for you this time?” 

“Yeah, it did. I guess that’s how it should always work, huh - me giving you orders and you following them blindly?” You wrap your towel around your neck, flashing him a cheeky grin.

Seokjin laughs, running his hand through his fluffy hair, which has gotten curly in the humidity from the game. Rather than spout off a snarky retort, he tugs on the ends of your towel, pulling you towards him. His deep brown eyes trail over your face, landing on your mouth, before his gaze snaps back to yours.

“That works for me,” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his plush lips. “Just say the word and I’ll follow.” 

And then he walks away. 

You stare at the locker room doorway that he disappears into for a good minute after he’s gone, mind racing. That’s not the first time the two of you have been that close - both Seokjin and his brother are very cuddly people, and you’ve always been comfortable with showing them affection in the form of warm hugs or snuggles on the couch.  

But whatever just happened was not that. The moment between you felt charged. Full of something like… possibility. 

With a sigh, you shake off the confusing thoughts and gather your things to head for the locker room, desperately needing a shower. And a drink.

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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[srorgana1]

Honoring the Past

Rock Star Kylo Ren/Reader

Warnings: physical and mental abuse of a child, alcoholism, mentions of homophobia, and lots of complex emotions

Huge thanks to my amazing friend and Beta @mrs-zimmerman ❤️

A cackle of laughter hits Kylo’s ears as he enters D’Kar Studios. He smirks, settling his helmet on his hip as he sees Taylor "Trax" Johnson, DeeDee and the front desk clerk Amelia laughing jovially at something on Trax’s phone. It still amazes him how different it is here compared to First Order Records. He remembers how stuffy and by the book it was. There was no joy, no smiles, just cut-throat business practices and the music that fueled in. He thanks the deities above for letting him finally see the light and detach himself from that toxic black hole of a company.

DeeDee turns to him, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Hey Kylo” she says through giggles “you all are set up in Room #3 today.” He nods at them, and heads down the hallway. He turns left at the intersection and takes in the various awards and accolades adorning the walls. He sees their platinum award proudly displayed under a shadow box along with a vinyl sized picture of the front of the Trials and Errors album. It broke records in sales and downloads and won them multiple awards. It showed the industry that success could be done differently.

He scans the walls at the other awards from other artists proudly displayed alongside. It didn’t matter here if you were fresh off YouTube or one of the biggest names in the scene, you were treated equally with respect and kindness. You were part of the D’Kar family. Kylo can attest it’s a great fucking place to be.

He sees the record light lit above Room #3. Looking through the window his brows crinkle slightly in confusion. He was used to seeing you at the soundboard with your custom sparkly blue Bose headphones on. But no, you are in the studio room alongside D’Kar’s videographer Vincent recording Vic on your phone. Why is the record light on then if you're both in there? His hand squeezes the doorknob and twists, entering silently.

A wave of nostalgia hits him as the haunting melody of Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) floats on the cool air-conditioned air. His head snaps to the large window as Vic hits the strings of his acoustic guitar, transitioning into the well-known chorus.

It’s something unpredictable

But in the end, it’s right

I hope you had the time of your life

Kylo sets down his motorcycle helmet on the soundboard and leans on his hands, losing himself in a memory…

He is twelve years old, walking down the sun baked sidewalk. His worn and dirty Converse slap the concrete below, a size too small for his rapidly growing feet. The strap from his heavy book bag digs into his shoulder. He looks at the watch on his wrist. The cracked electronic screen blinking up the time. He cannot go home yet. His dad is still there.

The healing burns on his shoulder flares upon thinking about it. He shifts his bookbag away from them, hiding a wince. He got off easy this time and he knows it. He was dumb and thought he wouldn’t notice. He was wrong.

The sad thing is that it’s something he learned a long time ago through multiple bouts of blood, tears and broken bones. You cannot rely on or put your trust in others. It’s the only way for you not to get hurt.

So he continues on with no real destination. He could’ve stayed at school but it would have just raised more questions. He hated when they tried to pry. Just as much as the looks he got from the other kids, whispering snide comments on his height or his hair or his ratty clothes. He knew they would never truly understand. So he held it all in and walked, hoping someone or something would give him a sign that things would get better.

He stops under a shop awning to get a reprieve from the hot Arizona sun. He leans on the bricks, wiping his sweaty black hair out of his eyes. He watches the busy street, the cars and people heading here and there. The various shops bouldering the open air flea market across the street are buzzing with people. Maybe he could sneak in and grab a sandwich again. The nice lady who runs the arepas stand may turn a blind eye like she has before. His mind made up, he takes a step towards the flea market to be stopped in his tracks by the unique sound of music hitting his ears.

For some unknown reason, he turns and heads towards the music. It invades his senses, calling his soul forward. His dad never played music at home, only hateful talk radio. Said it reminded him of his good for nothing bitch of a mother. To be honest, Kylo doesn’t really remember her. She left when he was little. He totally gets why she left though. He just wishes she brought him with her. Anywhere had to be better than here.

He comes to a dingy little shop squished between the payday loan place and the barber shop. How has he missed it before when he has walked most of the streets on this side of town? Regardless, the music rings out the open door like a siren call. Kylo’s feet lead him closer. A small sign hangs overhead matching the peeling paint on the bay window. Corellia Records. The song changes to a more soulful tune, but still with as much power as the one before.

He stands at the threshold looking in cautiously. The space is small and dimly lit. Rickety shelves line the walls full of albums and other what he assumes is musical equipment. The back wall behind the glass counter has multiple instruments hanging. A portly greasy looking man in a stained gray t-shirt and an ill fitting fedora is standing by one of the tables, shuffling through a box while grumbling to himself.

Kylo shuffles in slowly, taking in more of the shop. The song ends as the man looks up at him. “What you need kid?” he says gruffly. Kylo immediately freezes and looks at his shoes, already able to feel this man’s agitation. “Um” he starts, suddenly wishing he had not entered. “Hey kid, it’s okay. What do you need?” the voice comes again. He can smell the man’s musty body odor as he takes a step towards him. He reactively flinches, pulling his book bag closer to himself.

He continues to stare at his shoes as the man sighs and shifts away from him, groaning as he sits on the stool behind the counter. It squeaks loudly under his weight. “You like music kid?” he asks, switching out the record on the record player and pulling a bag of Cheetos Puffs from below. The man opens the bag and shakes it towards him. The classic smell hits Kylo’s nose, making his mouth water almost instantly. “I can tell your hungry kid. Come and have some” he gruffs.

He eyes the man as he slowly walks up, placing his book bag on the floor and hopping up on the adjunct stool. The music is louder over here and seems to flow through him. He shuts his eyes as his body reacts to the emotion of the music. “You like Soundgarden kid? I feel this album is one of their best” the man says, placing the ripped open bag on the counter. Kylo grabs a couple and stuffs them in his mouth, moaning at the delicious taste of orange artificial cheese.

He takes a couple more before answering. “No, I don’t know who that is. I just, i don’t know… i just like it” he says in a small voice. The man hums to himself, taking a Cheeto for himself. “I feel ya there. Music has always spoken to me as well. Led me to some awesome places. Made me believe in the better of people.” Kylo looks up at him, strangely feeling a connection to this man. “I can tell by your eyes kid, you’re the same. My name’s Raf, what’s yours?”

Kylo sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He doesn’t notice you, Vic and Vincent watching him with concerned eyes. He’s too lost in his memories.

Raf became the pseudo-father figure Kylo needed. So much more than his drunk of a father could ever dream of being. He offered Kylo a job at the shop, saying he couldn’t pay him much but it was there if he wanted it. Kylo took him on his offer instantly. From only a couple of interactions, he found out that Raf had once been in a band, playing guitar and bass. Left the band years ago over creative differences and used the royalties to open the shop. He always said he felt he was meant to give back and help inspire the next generation.

He taught Kylo how to appreciate the classics. The Beatles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Patsy Cline, Queen, Chuck Berry, The Stones, The Eagles, ACDC, Led Zeppelin, Kiss, Tom Petty, The Cure, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Leadbelly. Showed him how musical influences never really change, they just meld and flow into the next generation. Just like the notes on the wind.

They figured out a schedule, with Kylo working the four days his father worked the late shift. He would race there after school, working the counter and unpacking boxes as Raf quizzed him on music history. He then started teaching Kylo how to play keyboard and then eventually guitar, saying learning both would instill the notes in faster. He was gruff but fair in his style of teaching but never cruel, allowing Kylo to make the necessary mistakes without judgment.

As the years went on, his home life got worse. There were multiple times he would come in battered and bruised. Raf would fix him up and then would let him stay in the back, popping open a cold Jarritos for him. He would give him a pained look before leaving Kylo to the boxes.

At fourteen, Raf recommended Kylo to play at the local Cantina’s open mic night. Said it would be good for him to try it out and to test out his skills in front of others. Kylo will never forget that night for as long as he lived. He stood backstage at Los Nopales, his body wracked with nerves. He remembers shaking and his sweaty hand almost staining the wooden neck of his borrowed guitar.

His name was called followed by some random applause. He took a shuddering breath and walked out under the spotlight, sitting on the stool and attempting to fix the microphone to his height. It squeaked and slid all the way down, hitting the guitar with a thud. A couple people laughed and shook their heads. He fixed it quickly, his cheeks burning hot. He looked up and saw Raf by the bar, his rotund self settled on a bar stool. He nodded at him with kind eyes, silently saying you can do this.

He nodded back and focused on the feeling of the guitar in his hands. The sound of bottles clicking and the low murmur from the crowd. It’s oddly centering. He shuts his eyes and lets himself be enveloped by the energy. He strummed the opening chords, letting himself get lost in the notes. Letting the music carry him away. His rendition of Wanted Dead or Alive by Bon Jovi brought the crowd to their feet. He left the stage with a smile on his face and his heart full to see Raf’s face full of pride among the others.

He played there off and on, often on weekends. He would sneak out after his Dad passed out or left for the bar, hopping on the bicycle Raf gave him. Raf was almost always there when he performed, a glass of cold beer in front of him and a big grin on his face. It was something that struck Kylo to the core. How good it felt to have someone believe in him.

But life decided to remind Kylo of his reality. One weekend afternoon when Kylo thought his old man was out cold, he left and headed to the shop. The hot dry air hit his face as he petaled down the street, excited for his shift.

He recently had gotten into a couple newer bands: Foo Fighters, Green Day and Linkin Park. Raf had laughed and rolled his eyes when he caught Kylo rocking out in the back to them, saying how much he could hear Depeche Mode and Rage against the Machine in their sounds. Regardless, he let Kylo order some along with some other bands and they were due to be delivered today.

Kylo parked his bike and chained it up, concerned with the yelling from inside the shop. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the sound of a familiar voice. Please no, he prayed as he slowly walked out of the alley and to the front door. His heart sank in his chest to see his wreck of father cornering Raf by the counter, a threatening finger in his face. Raf stared down the irate man, his large face stoic. His eyes catch Kylo behind him, worry flashing in his dark brown irises.

“I knew you were coming here boy” his father snarled, turning from Raf to him. His feral anger emanated from him as he cracked his neck. “When I heard from Pedro that he saw you playing at the Cantina, I knew this is where you were sneaking off to you little shit” Kylo gulped and watched him in fear as he began to pace. It was a sign of bad things to come.

“C’mon man, he’s just a kid” Raf said, pushing himself off the counter. “DON’T TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY BOY!” his father roars, knocking a box of vinyls to the floor. Kylo winced at the sound of them smashing to pieces. “You come here now” he snarled. Kylo took a breath, knowing he cannot get out of this. If he fights it’ll be ten times worse. He walked up to his father slowly, yelping when his hair was grabbed roughly. “You will never come back here” he voice getting louder “you will never play at that Cantina again and you will never see this fat fucking faggot ever again. Do you understand me!?”

As much as Kylo was scared, he couldn’t take his eyes off Raf. The pain in his eyes mirrored his. He suddenly knew why Raf had been so nice to him at the beginning. He had experienced this. He had his own abuser and was reliving it with Kylo.

It gave Kylo the strength to do what he needed to do. He pulled away, hissing through the pain of his hair being ripped out at the root. He shut his eyes and swung, colliding with his father’s jaw. A shot of pain shoots through his hand and up his arm. He groaned through ragged breaths, holding his arm to his chest. “Ky” a gruff voice said. The voice of his anchor through all this fucking bullshit.

He opened his eyes to see Raf’s eyes wet with tears and his father out cold on the floor. His arm throbbed hotly. “I’m calling the cops Ky, this needs to end” Raf said as he rounded the counter, heading for the back. It was then that Kylo noticed a silvery scar under the tattoo on Raf’s neck, so similar in shape and size to ones he had on his shoulder. “How’d you get out Raf?” Kylo grits out through the stabbing pain. “Music my boy, and I suggest you do the same,'' he responded softly. Kylo nodded as he watched Raf’s wide body disappear behind the wall.

The cops came quickly, escorting both Kylo and his father to the hospital. They set Kylo’s broken hand and arm and questioned him about what happened. He told them everything. They wrote down everything, giving him that pitied look. He hated it. They escorted him home so he could get his meager belongings and was thankfully sent to stay with Raf until the trial.

During that time he recommended Kylo to file for emancipation. He was plenty old enough to and met the qualifications with a job to support himself and had a place to stay. Why not, Raf had said, you’re more of a man now then your father ever was. It was a better option than getting sent to some shitty foster care setup until he aged out.

The courts took their time, but ultimately granted Kylo his emancipation and his father a prison sentence. He continued to play at open mics and work odd jobs along with the shop. He was happy for once. He was doing what he loved and had someone who believed in him.

The day after his sixteenth birthday, Raf told him of an opportunity of a lifetime. It was a job at Raf’s cousin’s restaurant in Los Angeles which came with a small studio apartment and a promise he could perform at every open mic night there. Raf knew it was Kylo’s dream to have his name in lights, to play his guitar for the masses. LA is where music and dreams are made and Kylo deserved to get his shot. He graciously accepted, crying into Raf’s shoulder. He helped Kylo prepare, all the while giving random snippets of advice and pointers on the music industry there.

On a hot April morning, Raf drove Kylo to the bus depot. They sat side by side on the bench until his bus was called. He told Kylo to wait a moment as he huffed and puffed back to his car. Kylo stood there confused with his small tattered duffle bag and second-hand suitcase. As Raf turned back, he saw a familiar leather case. He knew inside was Raf’s vintage Fender, the same one he learned to play on.

Kylo tried to decline but Raf refused to take no for an answer, saying it was his now and to make him proud with it. He hugged him and thanked him, promising he would do his fucking best. He hopped on the bus with teary eyes, and watched his guardian angel fade as the bus pulled away.

He never saw Raf again. He passed away two years later from heart failure. By that time Kylo was in deep working for First Order, working himself to the bone to show he was worthy. He only found out when he and the guys went for drinks at the old cantina he used to work at to celebrate their work on the StarKiller album.

Sergio, Raf’s nephew who was now the manager, let Kylo drink on the house after telling him the news. As much as the other guys tried to lift his spirits, he wallowed miserably in tequila and whiskey. Truly in mourning of his first true friend and mentor. The only one who knew the whole story at the time was Vic so he lifted a glass, toasting the man. Speaking the words Kylo held in his heart but couldn't put into words.

The memories fade as the weight of arms wrapped around his shoulders along with a pair of soft lips kissed his cheek. "Ky, baby what's wrong?" your soft voice says, full of concern. He shakes his head, finally feeling the wetness on his cheeks. "Just memories baby girl, don't worry about it" he says, turning in your arms and tucking his head in your shoulder. He feels your nails scratch at his scalp in an attempt to calm him. He knows you know the story. He told you everything. He takes a shuddering breath, attempting to compose himself.

"Kylo, I am so sorry man. I know how much that song means to you. We thought we would’ve been done by the time you got here…" Vic says coming up to them, his blue eyes full of emotion. Kylo looks up at him, giving him a warm smile through teary eyes. He knows Vic is telling the truth. He should’ve been more prepared than he was. It was known he was playing that song today, with it being one of the most requested songs on their social media poll. But like always, it hit him right in the heart and sucked him in.

"I know Vic" he says releasing you, wiping one of his red rimmed eyes with his hand. "It's on me, not you. But I can definitely say your performance was moving." Vic gives him a sad smile, finally taking a seat on the couch as you stand by his side. "How about we break for lunch and then you can do yours Ky. I can have Rae move up our order" you say, clicking a couple keys on the sound board.

His mind still swims with visions of the past: of Raf's happy tear filled eyes when he performed for the first time, of his gruff laugh and affinity for odd but comforting snacks, the last hug they shared at the bus depot. He looks over at his guitar sitting in its case next to Vincent on the couch. Obviously more worn but still the same. His only memento of the man who changed his life for the better.

"No, no I have to do this" he says, kissing the top of your head and turning to grab the guitar case. He sees you nod as you take a seat at the soundboard, your hands fidgeting with your headphones. "You want me to record it for you?” Vic asks, shaking his phone in his hand. Kylo nods as he heads into the studio. He hears Vic and Vincent follow him in. He looks over to see you blow him a kiss through the glass. He catches it and puts it on his chest with a soft smile.

He scans the studio room, deciding to sit on a tall metal stool that was discarded in the corner. He grabs it and moves it to the front of Vincent, setting himself atop it. He feels he’s right back in that dim music shop, learning his chords alongside Raf. He tunes his guitar, almost able to feel his spirit with him.

His fingers stop, his mind offering a silent thank you. He looks up and nods to you. He sees Vic and Vincent start recording as the record light goes on. "Hey all this is Kylo from the Knights of Ren, thanks for joining us for our newest segment of Classic Covers. I would like to thank each and every single one of you for your continued support of the band and we hope you like and subscribe to the channels below." He has to tell himself not to roll his eyes when Vic cracks a wry smile at him for once following the approved script.

"This next one is really special to me for a lot of reasons and I would like to dedicate it to Rafael Hernandez Corellia and his family. He meant more to me than I could ever express in words. So in memory of him, this is Fell on Black Days by Soundgarden." His calloused fingers hit the strings, starting into a song that lives in a part of his heart. His version is gritty and passionate, so much like Raf. He feels tears prick his eyes as reaches the end, barely noticing the growing group of people in the ajoining room. All amazed at the outpouring of emotion from him.

He strums the final notes, giving the camera a tearful smile and wave. Vic stops recording and immediately rushs over to give him a hug. He grunts as Vic’s body hits him, pushing the guitar into his gut. He ignores the discomfort and wraps an arm around him, holding his friend close.

A series of applause and cheers come through the speakers when they release. He looks up to see over half the staff and a couple other artists all giving him a standing ovation. You are standing in the middle with tears streaming down your face.

His eyes hold yours and can feel your love emanating from them. He can barely hear you whisper I love you over the crowd but it’s there. He lets the tears finally flow. He has honored Raf in the best way he knew how. He has you and his band mates and his friends. He has D'Kar. He has honestly and truly made his dreams come true.

soooo...yeah that happened. How ya all doing?! Lemme know what you think here or on A03 ❤️

You can find the whole collection here including the original story: