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yourlocalsmutwriter · 1 year ago

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A dramatic overture - Bada Lee x reader

You were a bit of an unusual ballet dancer. To put it plainly, you were a bit of a fuckup sometimes. But wasn't everyone? Apparently not, according to your overbearing mother. And your choreographer, the infamous Bada Lee. How you landed in her troupe was a mystery.

Not only was she an insanely talented leader, she had been a phenomenal dancer beforehand. Other girls like Lusher and Tater flourished under her guidance. You, on the other hand still needed some work.

And that is exactly what you did. Day and night you practiced tirelessly. After all, ballet was an art, and weren't all the greats tortured and starving? You were eating still, the only pleasure you allowed yourself. The rest was wake up, go to dance, go home, and then repeat the cycle again and again. But your efforts paid off in the end.

And you had perfected your routine just in time for your audition. You were doing Swan Lake, a staple in the community for dancers and the audience as well. And of course, Bada wanted to put her twist on it. So at the end of the season there would be a special ''modern'' retelling of the plot, with all original choreography from her. You were excited. As stereotypical it was, you loved Swan Lake. It was the ballet that made you want to be a dancer in the first place. And Odile was your dream role ever since you were a child. So you tried to brush off your insecurity and worked for it.

You had been to the studio at such late hours that your parents started to suspect you had a boyfriend. You didn't have the heart to tell them that a boyfriend was the last thing they would ever have to worry about it. So you brushed it off and insted went in during your allocated dinner hours. And since you absolutely hated breakfast and really anthing early in the morning, you were down to one meal a day. It's not like you planned it and it wasn't affecting you that badly. At least thats what you thought at first. But by hour 4 of practice, you were exausted. You did a turn and felt your body go limp. You tried to break your fall in, but you still slammed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Your fall must have been serious because Bada rushed in. You didn't even know she was in the studio then. You prepared fora lecture and her berating you on your stupidity and carelesness. But instead she let you lean on her and get to her office. There, you sat on a comfortable plush chair as she brought you a sports drink and an icepack. You were too tired to think about where her personal fridge was located and just how big it was. As your pain got lighter, you could focus more on what she was saying.

''And please, be careful. I see you work hard. But don't neglect yourself too much. The most important thing to focus on is your health. And as for the role, don't worry, there's plenty of roles, plenty of other shows.''

While she was right, you were stubborn. But you did not have a death wish, so you scaled back your practices by only 15 minutes, but it's the thought that counts. And also you started packing sandwiches. And little by little, it came time for auditions. Surprisingly, Odile was still popular, so you were up against the stars of your group. Still, they relied on their already existing talent and hadn't really bothered to memorize new techniques. And you had worked hard, building a completely new persona for your dancing. And that did not go unnoticed by Bada. So her decision was easy. Almost as easy as the way you cried tears of joy upon seeing the cast list. You had it. The role was yours. The pain was over.

Little did you know, the pain was just beginning. Now it was just a lot. while Odile was a background character most of the time, there was still her solo. And you dreaded it. Not only the dancing but also dancing with a man. It's not like you had anything against men. In fact, you were on good terms with most of the male members of the troupe. You just couldn't feel the necessary passion and attraction needed to dance with them. And you couldn't fake that love, even on stage for just a few minutes. But you managed. Bada had some minor critiques, which you corrected. And so the first cour of your performances began. Your choreographer had you do a limited summer run with the original production. Then, in the quieter ballet months you'd train again for her version of Swan Lake.

You were excited to play Odile twice. But little did you know, in Bada's version the cast would be all female. And you found out that last.

While you were on your last regular performance, she pulled you aside and told you there would be some changes to the cast list. She watched your face pale for a few seconds before adding that your spot would not change. And you swore she added a wink at the end, just to torment you.

Maybe it was worry. Maybe it was a stomach bug from all the supermarket sandwiches. But you were too sick to make it to rehearsal. You called your choreographer and almost tearfully apologized over and over again. Yet, Bada reassured you. Your role was not in the first acts anyway, so she'd focus on them now. But little did you know, she was simultaneously holding auditions. And she made sure to take down the new cast list before you return.

It was worth the hassle and the looks of bewilderment from the other dancers. Because she essentially saw you go through every stage of gay panic in the span of 5 minutes.

You walked in the studio, seeing her. She queued up the pas de deux music and walked over to the oposite side of the room. She stood on the blocking of your partner's position and motioned for you to take your place. When you were still frozen on your spot, she began explaining.

''We're in Bada's version now. And seeing how abysmall your chemistry was with the male leads, I made some changes.'' she said.

''If I was so bad, why didn't you say something. Why didn't you recast me.'' you questioned.

''You're a good dancer. And besides, it was just Swan Lake. I cannot be revolutional, I don't want to claim I can rewrite the story better. But making my cast all female of my own show, that's another thing. A modern retelling of a classic. With a strong message on how love isn't dictated by the gender binary. These tickets will sell like fresh bread.'' she explained

''And you're coming out of retirement to do this.'' you added, getting it now.

''Jackpot.''

''So you're doing this to get money.''

''I'm doing this for art. And to keep your fees from raising. Costume, set decor, rent on the studio, I'm guessing you don't want to pay that. Unless you do, then get in position.''

Her movements were so fluid. Additionally, she could lift you with ease. The thing is, every time she touched you, it felt like electricity was running through you. So you couldn't really focus and fumbled. Bada was a bit annoyed, but then she started over. Still, you were rattled. Why did this make you feel this way? Bada was attractive. But why would her appearance affect you so much? And now? So you continued to dance, pushing away the thoughts for some time. And it worked for a bit. You two managed to complete the routine. And did it again a few times again, to solidify it.

And then you did it perfectly. You would never use that word lightly, but it was true. It was a million times better than with your male partners. So you were confident that you would nail it.

''Okay, you have the energy now. Let's start learning the routine.'' Bada said.

You were confused. You knew your choreography, and you were wondering if there was a light misstep on your part. And then, Bada started a completely new dance. You wondered when she had the time to choreograph this. It was a completely different way of moving, looking more like a street style. You had never danced like this. But clearly, Bada had. She was so good, even better than with ballet. Was this on purpose? Or was it just her trying to showcase a skill? But why throw you under the bus? You could talk to her about it. Ask her to pull back on some moves, but still add that Bada flare. But you didn't do that. You just tried to copy her moves. You were a professional, so you could pick it up. And it's not like you picked up ballet in one go.

So you tried again. And again. And again. At first, Bada was guiding you very closely, being next to you, correcting your posture with her hands. After a few hours of that, she gets tired of this and sits down, just giving you oral feedback. That frustrated you. And the fact that she kept forcing you to practice over and over again. And at the end of the day, you were just tired and ended up just going home, with no progress on your end. The thing is, you tried again and again. You ended up having a sleepless night in order to get something done. And even though you were dancing like there was no tomorrow, there was little progress.

But you just kept at it. Rehearsing. Going home and dancing there. By the time you went to sleep, it was time to get up again. On days when you weren't training you'd just sleep and eat, calling it a day. You were becoming slovenly. Makeup and brushing your hair were becoming luxuries and so were laundry and showers. And the worst part is, you weren't improving. Street dancing was just not your thing. But it was everyone else's thing. Bada and the whole group could do it. Except you. You were the outcast again. And for no reason. It's not like you were bad at performing in your signature style. What pissed you off the most was surprisingly Bada. She was the incompetent one, not you. She couldn't lead you properly. You hoped she would help and you were called to her office at the end of the day. But instead, you got chewed up. Midway through her rant, someone stormed in, talking to her about a defaced poster and how it was going viral, but not in a good way. She excused herself and promised she'd be back soon. But 5 minutes past. Then 10. Then 15. And the whole time Bada's phone was buzzing with notifications. It was driving you insane. So you reached out to put it on silent mode. But something caught your eye. All the notifs were from a groupchat called TEAM BEBE and the picture was that of the troupe. So you looked at the messages and everyone was talking about you. Lusher, Tatter, even Cheche, they were all bad mouthing you. Making fun of you for the things, that were beyond your control. You had had enough so you just stormed out of there.

So you did the only thing you could think of. You dressed for revenge. First, you went to a salon to reverse the damage to your hair. Then you actually took time and booked a morning makeup session at the MAC counter, making sure to add a striking red lip. To top it all off, you decided to get some new clothes for the rehearsals. A few sexy and black pieces later, you had wiped out your salary. But none of that mattered.

While your transformation was already almost unbelievable, you knew it wasn't enough to shine to dazzle your so-called teammates. But the first person with a target on their back was Bada herself. After all, she was the one that got you into this mess in the first place. So you knew just how to make her regret it. But your plan wasn't exactly foolproof. And you were about to find that out.

First, you joined Bada in your usual practice room. It was surreal to see yourself reflected in so many mirrors while looking like this. You brushed it off. You began the routine and messed up horrendously, this time on purpose. You kept butchering it again and again until Bada stood up begrudgingly to help you. As soon as she got close enough, you pushed her back, watching her topple to the ground, her spine contorting into a graceful, sweeping curve. She was beautiful, even when falling. You wasted no time in straddling her waist, fully prepared to fight her. By then, she was fighting back too, trying to knee you, making you enclose your legs against her thigh. Bada pushes you back, but her hands meet your chest. And you fucking moan. She just raises an eyebrow and looks at you. Then she moves her hands to your hips, making you rock back and forth.

''If a good fuck is all you need to dance correctly, I'll give it to you princess,'' she said. You were about to protest, but she flexed her thigh and you were a goner. You let her take control completely. Bada made you grind your hips on her, to hump her leg like a horny pet. She snapped off the buttons of your leotard, so your bare pussy was rubbing against her. Your wetness was all over her black pants.

''Bada, I'm going to cum.'' with that your mentor bounced her leg up and down. You leaned towards her and kissed her as your orgasm took over you. She helped you ride it out and watched as you rolled over on the floor, panting and tired. Bada watched you for a minute and then said.

''Oh, my darling, I'm just getting started with you, so you better get up.''

Taglist: @withoctober

#street woman fighter 2 #swf2 #bada x reader #bada lee #bada lee x reader #swf2 x reader #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x y/n #bada lee x oc #bada lee smut #black swan #thigh riding

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callsign-joyride · 1 year ago

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For some reason the link to request won’t work on my phone :( . Can I please request a Fall Fluff for Jake for prompt 15 where the reader is the one who is sick ?

Chicken Noodle Soup | Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Jake worries that you're having second thoughts about the relationship, only to find that the reason you haven't been responding is because you've been sick all day.

Content warnings: Fanboy being a menace, mentions of an illness/virus (NOT COVID-19), fluff

Prompt: 15. Sender lies next to the receiver (who is recovering from injuries or illness) and spoons them while staying awake to make sure their health doesn’t deteriorate overnight.

This was written for my Fluffy Fall Fantasy event. Feel free to send in requests!

Jake was stressed. You hadn’t been dating for very long, and you weren’t technically official, but it was Hard Deck night and you hadn’t responded to his text messages since last night. He was tempted to call you to check in and see if everything was okay, but he didn’t want to seem clingy and obsessive while it was totally possible that you forgot to plug your phone in the night before, or that you left it at home while you were getting ready for work.

“Honestly, man, I was thinking she’d ghost you a lot sooner than this,” Fanboy said as they were getting their things to leave. Jake didn’t even have the energy to react.

“You’re good at relationships, Rooster. Would it be weird if I drove by her house on my way home?”

“I don’t know, man. None of us have ever met her but maybe she’d be okay with it based on what you’ve said about her in passing.”

“Or maybe she doesn’t exist and he wanted to hide the fact that he’s not getting laid.”

“Dude, too far,” Payback said to Fanboy. Jake just shrugged it off and grabbed his bag before heading out to his truck and finding your address in his phone. You lived pretty close to base so it wasn’t a very bad drive at all. Right as he turned down your street, his phone started ringing and your name was on the screen.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you but I think I’ve got the flu or a common cold or something.”

“Do you want me to bring you medicine? I’m like five minutes from a CVS.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s Hard Deck night. You should be out with your friends. I can go another time. I think I’ll make some soup and go back to sleep.”

“Hard Deck night is a weekly thing and Coyote’s deployed so I kind of don’t want to go anyways. I’d have more fun staying in with you. Plus I’ve got a family recipe of chicken noodle soup and it’ll probably be the best chicken noodle soup you’ll ever have.”

After a moment, you sniffled and said that he could come over and that you’d leave your door unlocked. He walked into your house about an hour after he got off the phone with you with reusable bags on his arms. You were laying on the couch under a blanket while an 80’s movie played on the TV.

“I brought medicine,” he said as he unloaded everything in the kitchen. You peered over the couch and smiled before taking a sip of your Gatorade that was on the coffee table. He came over to sit next to you after getting everything put away. It was almost unbelievable how sick you were, considering that you felt completely fine the day before. Your fever broke earlier in the day but you had been sleeping for most of it, living off of Gatorade and nearly stale crackers that you found in the back of your pantry. You changed the channel to something that you knew he’d like before nuzzling into the pillow that you brought from your bedroom.

“Poor thing. I’m gonna get your soup started. It should take about half an hour, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded your head and scrolled through social media before going back to sleep for a little bit. The smell of the soup was what woke you up a little bit later, as Jake walked over and placed your bowl on the table in front of you. He made enough to last you a whole week, and he even offered to send you the recipe if you liked it. He was right, it was the best chicken noodle soup you’d ever had. Ten o’clock rolled around and even though it was considered early for you, you grabbed your pillow and blanket and started heading up the stairs. You were surprised when Jake followed you, considering that you had spent the few hours since you ate barely talking to each other.

“I need to shower,” you said as you got your pajamas out.

“Okay. I’ll wait here.”

He had sent a few texts to the Dagger Squad group chat while you were in the shower, saying that he’d see everyone in the morning but that he had to take care of you. You took a big sip of water before crawling under the covers, Jake following suit.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he wrapped an arm around your middle.

“Staying with you, if that’s okay.”

“What if I get you sick?”

“I’ll take time off. Mav loves me so it’ll be fine. I don’t want anything to happen to you through the night.”

“Oh. Okay. Then yeah, you can stay. But don’t come crying to me if you get the man flu.”

“Trust me, I won’t. My dad taught me and my brothers better than to be dramatic so that a woman will take care of us.”

“That’s good,” you said with a chuckle.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @atarmychick007 @3sriracha @genius2050 @halstead-severide-fan @withakindheartx @Lolliepops2501

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#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #x reader #top gun maverick #reader insert #top gun #hangman fluff #callsign joyride's fluffy fall fantasy

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piedpiperart · 2 years ago

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Phantom of Gotham 15

Chapter 14

When the five of them met back in the kitchen, they were all wearing swim trunks with t-shirts and towels around their shoulders or under their arm. Danny took the chance to look around the manor as they made their way to the pool. The place was huge, and he couldn’t help but think Sam would have loved it. His core ached at the reminder, but he was soon pulled into the group’s teasing with ease.

“I can’t believe neither of you knew there was a pool here,”Tim was saying.

“It’s not like you knew it existed either Timberly,”Jason scoffed. Dick made some guestures Danny assumed meant he agreed with Jason. Tim rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but you guys were here a lot longer than anyone else,”Tim pointed out.

“You are all just ashamed that the person who discovered it was the last one to move into the manor,”Damian sniffed.

“Yeah right,”Jason protested and attempted to put Damian into a headlock, but the kid swiftly darted to the side to avoid him.

“Hey look, we’re here!” Dick chimed in before things could get more violent. The five of them, minus Damian, crowded around the door to get a good look. “Huh, guess we do have a pool.”

“Duh,”Tim muttered, and Danny nudged him, masking the fact that he took Tim’s new coffee cup and phased it into the wall while everyone was looking at the pool.

“Alright! I think there’s some floaties in the locker room,”Dick said, throwing the door open. The other four trailed after him like ducklings, taking in the frankly ginormous pool and small hot tub in the corner. Near the windows were a few sets of tables and lawn chairs, which Jason quickly commandeered, sitting down with a book Danny didn’t realize he had before.

After helping Dick take out some ridiculous floaties, a giant duck, a unicorn, a dinosaur, a donut, and a flamingo, they brought out some pool toys consisting of rubber balls and some frisbees. They spent ten minutes blowing up the floaties, Dick making it into a competition so the first one who blew up the floatie got to choose which one they wanted first. Damian won, much to Tim’s displeasure. Danny was pretty sure it was only because the others, including himself, were too busy distracting each other or purposefully letting air out of each others floaties.

“Don’t leave your shoes around,”Dick reminded them, and they went to the locker to put their shoes and shirts into cubbies before coming out and jumping into the pool. Or in Tim;s case, pushed into the pool by Dick. He’d complain if he hadn’t seen Dick also push Damian in after him.

“Betrayal!” Damian was sputtering, when Tim noticed someone missing.

“Jason, aren’t you coming?” Dick called, but Jason waved him off, not taking his attention off his book.

“Where’s Danny?” Tim called, and the other two in the pool glanced around before shrugging. Tim bit his lip, wondering if he was okay. Did Danny not know how to swim? He suddenly felt bad for not asking what his friend wanted to do. Maybe Danny was afraid of water, or he had some aversion to water because he’s a halfa. Tim shook his head before he started catastrophizing and started moving to the side of the pool.

“I’ll get him,”Jason called, sitting up and making his way to the locker room.

“You sure?” Tim asked, nervous. He felt like a bad friend staying in the pool while his friend was having trouble.

“Yeah, just give him a minute,”Jason waved them off, before disappearing into the locker room.

“Danny? You in here?” Jason called. He took a few steps in after no response, only to see Danny sitting on a bench, clenching the bottom of his shirt nervously. Frowning, Jason came over and sat next to him. “You alright kiddo?” “...Yeah,”Danny murmured, still tense. “I just.. Have a lot of.. Scars.”

Ah. Jason could understand that. He himself still had an autopsy scar from when he’d died. Sure, the lazarus pits healed most of his wounds and scars, but the Y was so deep it still left a pretty mark on him even now. It’s why he was sitting on the side reading. He figured the scar would bring down the mood, and he knew Dick would want to talk about feelings afterwards. Jason wanted to avoid that, because f Dick wanted to talk about feelings, then Bruce wasn’t far behind.

“Listen, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,”Jason offered. “We’re all pretty used to scars around here. Hell, mines worse than anything you got, I promise.”

“Is that why you’re not swimming either?” Danny asked, glancing at Jason’s own maroon shirt.

“Yeah, you caught me. But I promise those guys out there will be fine with your scars,”Jason said. “Mine are just… kinda gruesome and bring back some bad memories.”

“Your scars can’t be that bad,”Danny sighed. “I… I don’t like looking at them. My scars, I mean. I don’t think anyone does.”

“Kid, none of us are gonna judge you on your scars,”Jason comforted, trying to not feel like a hypocrite.

“But they judge you for yours?” Danny raised an eyebrow. Point taken, Jason supposed.

“No, they..”Jason sighed. Maybe this kid just needed some self esteem. Whatever, he could deal with Dick’s feelings for one day for this. Then he clapped his hands together. “Alright, if I go out there without my shirt you have to too, alright?”

“I don’t know, you don’t really want to see this,”Danny gestured to his shirt. Jason snorted.

“Trust me, nothing you got is worse than mine,”Jason smirked.

“Wanna bet?” Danny retorted, but Jason could see the stiffness in his shoulders, and the way he gripped the hem of his shirt.

“I’ll take that bet,”Jason said, and without fanfare, he shrugged his shirt off. There was a pause in the room, and Jason turned to see Danny with wide eyes. Jason wasn’t sure the kid was even breathing as he stared at the Y on Jason’s chest.

“See?’ Jason laughed without humor. “Told you…” Jason trailed off when Danny threw his shirt off to reveal a matching, if not worse autopsy scar on Danny’s own chest.

“You-” Jason started. How had this kid- why, Jason wondered. He wished that he’d asked more questions about halfas when they’d met with Phantom. Looking closer, Jason could track what looked like faint lichtenberg scars spreading out from Danny’s heart, across his shoulders, but barely reaching his neck.

“Guess we both win that bet,”Danny joked quietly. Jason swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “Were you… awake? When it uh..” Danny mumbled, still looking at Jason’s scar, and that snapped Jason out of his thoughts.

“No, I…”Jason responded, only to realize why he’d asked the question. “You were-?” Jason cut himself off. Whoever did this to the kid was definitely going to die, Jason promised. No kid deserved to be vivisected, even if they were a meta. “Who?” He asked, a bit more harshly than he wanted.

“My uh..”Danny started, looking down at his feet and fidgeting with his shirt. “It’s kinda why I ran away to Gotham,”Danny shrugged. “I-it’s fine now, I’m fine.” He reassured, despite it doing the opposite to Jason. It was then that Jason remembered that the kids parents were ghost hunters, and that the kid had run away from home not even a year ago.

Which meant the kid’s scars were new. Or newer than Jasons, for sure. He took a breath, then stood up, offering a hand to Danny. Reluctantly, Danny took his hand and was pulled to his feet.

“Listen, you can put your shirt back on if you want, but I’ll go with you either way,”Jason offered. Danny glanced between their scars for a moment, then apparently steeled his nerves.

“Sure, let’s go,”Danny said determinedly, but Jason could see the tension in his shoulders and the waver in his voice. Damn, this kid is brave, Jason thought.

“There they are!” Dick cheered when not only Danny but Jason came out of the locker room with their swim trunks on. Tim squinted, doing a double take when he realized-

Letting out a shout, Jason suddenly leaped into a cannon ball into the pool, splashing everyone in the face before they could say anything. Tim sputtered, only to be hit by another, seemingly colder wave when Danny jumped in behind him. Resurfacing, Jason had pulled Danny and Damian into a splash war that had them all smiling.

Tim shared a look with Dick, and he saw Dick’s expression of concern and abject horror on his face. Dick seemed to want to talk to Jason, but before the man could get close, Jason splashed him in the face. Message received, Tim thought. As unsettling as it was, he figured Jason was a good fit to take the lead on this one. Bringing up their scars wouldn’t be very cool if Danny’s still self-conscious about it. Tim made a note to ask Phantom more about halfas before he was promptly sprayed in the face by Danny. Tim spluttered, looking to the playful smirk on Danny’s face that was obviously hiding nervousness and grinned, splashing back.

That was how the afternoon was spent, with Jason or Danny splashing anyone who seemed like they were about to bring up the scars until they all got the message to not mention it. Much to Tim’s amusement, Damian and Dick were splashed the most out of them all. Tim was happy to say he got to splash Damian a few times in warning too, even if it resulted in mild bruising.

Overall, They had a blast. Each of them had their own giant floatie, and raced along the pool a bunch of times until it developed into more of a pirate boat situation, with each other trying to pull the others into the water. A few of them ended up popped, so they’d switched to pool volleyball and frisbee before Alfred came in to call them for a late lunch.

Getting out of the pool, Tim refrained from mentioning the scars, but he could tell Dick and Damian were just moments away from bringing it up. Dick just had a look reminiscent of a kicked puppy, and Damian was scowling every time he caught sight of Danny’s autopsy scar. While Danny and Tim were chatting, he caught sight of Dick and Jason talking in the corner before he turned back to Danny.

Danny seemed… happy. Or as happy as he’d been so far. Tim could see he was grateful for the distraction. It had been a while since he’d seen Danny truly relaxed when he wasn’t sleeping in class. It was nice. He hoped they’d be able to keep Danny safe from the GIW so he’d stay like this.

Tim assumed Dick had taken Damian aside to explain somethings, because during lunch Damian didn’t even change expressions when glancing towards Danny’s now covered chest. On Danny’s part, he just seemed grateful no one was bringing it up.

After lunch, however, Dick and Jason left for ‘work’ purposes, leaving Tim, Danny and Damian to hole up in the game room for a mario kart tournament. Though, not long after they’d started, Danny’d fallen asleep on the couch, resting his head softly on Tim’s shoulder.

It took Tim by surprise for a moment, but he found it didn’t bother him. Damian on the other hand, was frowning at the two of them from his chair. “What?” Tim whispered.

“Are you aware of how Danny acquired his.. Scar?” Damian asked quietly. Tim glanced down to Danny, still finding him breathing softly.

“I can guess,”Tim nodded. “What did Dick say?”

Damian pursed his lips, looking to Danny before saying,”His parents. They had attempted to vivisect him before he managed to escape to Gotham.” Damian scowled, and Tim’s heart dropped. He was sure his parents had something to do with it but.. Vivisection was cruel.

“We will not allow any such experiments to happen further,”Damian stated, staring down Tim as if he didn’t want the same thing.

“Yeah,”Tim whispered. “He’s gonna be okay, Dami.”

Damian scoffed. “Of course he will. He’s with us now.”

Tim fought back a smile at the statement. He was not that successful given the way Damian scowled and then got up to leave the room. He was on his way out when a sudden soft rumbling filled the room. Damian froze, turning back to Tim with narrowed eyes.

“I was unaware that Alfred the cat was in here,”Damian stated, eyes darting to likely hiding places, and Tim fought a laugh.

“Uh,”Tim started, suddenly afraid to move. “It’s not Alfred.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed further. “What do you mean?”

“I mean uh, Danny’s sort of.. Purring?” Tim whispered exasperatedly. He exchanged bewildered glances with Damian where he was sitting, trying to stay still despite the weight on his shoulder that vibrated like a cat. “I didn’t know he could do that. Phantom didn’t say he purred,”Tim said. He looked over to Damian, who looked like he was fighting back a smile.

Having a great idea, Tim took out his phone with the hand not connected to the shoulder Danny was laying on and pulled up the sibling group chat with Dick, Jason and Damian. Damian had sat back into his chair, staring at where Danny was purring in his sleep while Tim pressed record.

He resisted the urge to coo as Danny purred loud enough to be picked up on the camera, and Tim dutifully sent it to the group chat to watch the chaos unfold.

AcroBat: Oh my god is he purring??

DeadorAlive: Did we know he could do that?

AcroBat: That is the cutest thing ever! He’s like a cat ;u;

Dameown: He started purring when he fell asleep on Timothy.

DeadorAlive: I wonder if Phantom purrs

AcroBat: Do all ghosts purr??

Timtam: Assuming halfas purr, I’m pretty sure most or all ghosts purr as well. Phantom mentioned a core, and from what I can tell that’s probably where the noise is coming from.

AcroBat: Have you tried petting him?!

Timtam: No??

DeadorAlive: He is a human boy Dickhead

Dameown: Petting him may make him feel more relaxed. If he is purring he must be comfortable around you.

Timtam: I am not petting Danny

AcroBat: You’re in the game room? I’ll pet him

Timtam: You better not

Dameown: If you wake him I will kill you

Tim sighed, already done with his siblings. Part of him was curious though, but he didn’t want to risk waking Danny up. He’d already been having a hard time sleeping from what they’d observed. Tim figured he must be tired after the emotional talk with Jason and the mess of games they played in the pool. He had to admit, it had been fun, and sitting with Danny was… nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much positive contact with someone.

Not even an hour later Tim found himself lulled to sleep by the pleasant rumbling. And if Damian happened to cover them with blankets, well, no one needed to know.

Chapter 16

#Phantom of Gotham #dcxdp #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom

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you-know-honey · 1 year ago

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The L rule

Part 2/2

Sodo/Dewdrop x f!reader

Summary: You know what they say about short boys...

Word Count:3017

Note: bad english, the L rule is something that until now I have only heard in Latin America but if you are from other countries and have heard it, comment :).

"Ahg, why don't you just shut your mouth already!" Sodo shouted as he rolled over on her bed for the umpteenth time. He had been trying to sleep but the loud laughter, excited screams, and occasional music coming from Aurora's room had prevented him in each of his attempts.

He hated sleeping in total darkness so he could see himself reflected in the mirror at the foot of his bed thanks to the small lamp on the nightstand next to his digital clock, soon it would be 2 in the morning, he kicked a little between his sheets before sitting down and running his hands over his face, trying to relieve his stress.

He looked pitiful, her hair was tangled, her dark circles had turned red, her brain that hurt and he felt his body heavy like bad marriage. He didn't understand why he felt this way, but really wanted to close her eyes and sleep for at least 15 minutes.

He knew that Y/N had some sleeping pills in her room, she was always the last to be able to sleep and he knew it, he had seen her many times lying on the couch in the living room looking at the ceiling, when he got up for water. She had not seen him any of those times and it was better that way, she made him feel stupid with each of their interactions. Whenever they had to interact he could feel a huge wall between them and then she would just escape from it. She knew she had a difficult temperament, but not so difficult that they would run away from it.

Although in the rituals he loved to give Y/N the flowers that the fans threw for him so that he could be close enough to hear her voice and see the euphoria on her face at the screams of the fans, he did not have the courage to get on the his stage and playing alongside her as if Swiss and Phantom were doing it. After all, she always escaped from him outside of the rituals and her coexistence was almost non-existent in the ministry. So he didn't know how confidently she could go and wake her up to ask for a couple of sleeping pills.

He left his room dragging his feet down the hallway, the music outside was a little louder and there were no other sounds, only music, he didn't understand how the others could sleep. The hallway was completely dark and it was obvious that fresh air had not passed through there for quite some time. It's not like he needed light to really see where he was going. The closer he got to Aurora's room the music became louder, it was a long list of Pop songs that Aurora had made with the other girls, he knew it because he had heard Y/N and Cumulus talking about it after the rituals. In general it was not a musical genre that he liked, much less at 2 am.

The knock on the door brought you out of your reverie, at first like a light distant touch and then like a nearby hammering. You tried to go back to sleep covering your face with a sheet but it was completely imprisoned by Swiss, in fact you were too. Aurora hugged you by her torso on the right side and on the left side you found Swiss open like a starfish, Cumulus and Cirrus had been more sensible and was sleeping comfortably in bed. You rubbed your eyes as you pulled Aurora's arms from your torso, dodged the popcorn on the floor and collided with the small table next to the door, holding in a scream of pain for the sake of your sleepover companions.

You opened the door enough to just stick your head out, as your eyes adjusted to being open again. The cold and darkness of the hallway welcomed you along with a silhouette that you knew very well.

"Sodo?" You asked and the silhouette raised its head. His blonde hair cascaded to the side of his face, his eyes were red from lack of sleep so his gaze was icy and even more intense than normal, he hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, so he was just wearing sweatpants. You didn't expect to see him behind the door, much less like that.

“Y/N?” He asked, his tone seemed surprised the same as yours. "What are you doing here?" he asked immediately.

You thought a little about the answer, perhaps because your brain was still a little sleepy. "A sleepover," you answered after opening the door, showing the rest asleep. You allowed him to pass.

"What a mess…" he whispered as he walked in and something crunched under his feet, praying it wasn't a gummy or something sticky, he took it in his hands. It was a leaf, the same one that Swiss had used to count the 'famous' L rule. That alerted all your senses, you wanted to rip the leaf out of his hands and eat it to make the evidence disappear. "What is this?" He asked as he opened the paper sheet. When he looked at the contents he exhaled a mocking smile and turned to you. "Satan, what were you doing at this sleepover?"

You clearly understood what he wanted to imply and you snatched the page from his hands. "Nothing." You crumpled it again and threw it near Swiss, now you wished he had never explained that silly rule to you and you regretted taking that test.

Sodo kept the smile on his face, 'it suits him' you thought when he saw him smile, it's a shame his reason was mockery. Your look revealed that you were not comfortable with the situation, you knew Sodo and you knew that he would not allow you to forget that moment, you did not have the courage to take him out of the room so you took a long breath and after thinking about it a little, to speak but he went ahead.

"Can you turn off the music?" He asked you as he massaged his temples, he seemed a little sore. "I can't stand that sound anymore"

You rushed to unplug Aurora's mini rainbow speaker, which seemed to relax him a little but not for long. He walked to the door ready to return to her room and held his breath for a moment before letting her go completely, it was a more serious pain than usual. You were afraid to ask if something was wrong with him, because maybe it wasn't your business to know, even so letting him be in that state wouldn't be a good idea. The ministry hated that the ghouls were up late 'mistreating' their earthly bodies.

"Are you okey?" You asked, a silly question, yes. But the best way to handle fire demon.

Sodo sighed as if gaining the courage to ignore his pain and say a word.

"My head hurts and I haven't slept at all. I'll drink water and see what happens" I sigh again, I was really having a hard time but I was convinced that everything would really change with a tasteless glass of water.

You looked at your sleeping friends and closed the door behind you, just you and Sodo in the empty hallway. He seemed surprised by your actions and he watched your every move.

"I have some sleeping pills. Do you want some?" You answered as you walked towards your room. Sodo wasn't surprised by your kindness, that's just how you were. But he was surprised that you did not hesitate to help him, even if his relationship was only cordial. He went after you like a little dog in the hallway.

"Thank you…" He whisper.

"Because?" You asked, grateful that you didn't have him in front of you and that so far your nerves were more than controlled.

"To help me, I know you don't like me but-" you laughed and tried to cover yourself with your hand "Why are you laughing?" Sodo asked seriously. His walk stopped as did yours.

"Who said I don't like you?" You said as if he had mentioned that the earth was flat.

"Maybe you," Sodo replied, crossing his arms.

"Impossible, I would never say that. Of course I like you" you responded with great confidence in your words.

His eyes seemed to create bright sparks in the darkness, a hint of illusion.

"Then why do you always stay away from me? This is the first time we've talked like that." A checkmate for you.

You remained silent, you couldn't say that wasn't true, your way of running away and concluding conversations quickly had made it impossible to carry on a normal conversation with Sodo.

You clicked your tongue and continued walking, although you couldn't see it you knew that Sodo had a victorious smile on his face. You continued walking to the door of your room, listening to his footsteps behind you, you had some ideas of answers to give him, but none seemed right at this point.

“Come in,” you offered as you opened the door.

The floral smell filled Sodo's nostrils the instant the door opened, he was hit by a welcoming sensation. The moon illuminated almost every corner of the room. He walked cautiously, looking at every detail of the place.

"It's nice" Sodo said looking at some details of the room.

"Thank you, I'll go get your pills" You opened your closet and searching through your small medicine box.

You could hear his bare feet wandering around the room, the sound of the bed sinking, and the heavy breath of exhaustion coming from his nostrils. The lack of light inside your small closet delayed the search, your hands moved nervously between pills. You were beginning to feel the atmosphere was beginning to become heavier for both of you, especially for you.

"Are those my flowers?" you heard him say, you turned quickly to see him point to the numerous bouquets of flowers framed above the headboard of your bed. The question left his lips with quite a bit of joy.

You left the search "Yes" and sat next to him on the bed.

"I thought you threw them away when they dried." He seemed so surprised.

"Why would I? They're gifts and…I love flowers." You responded with a smile. After every show where Sodo had given you flowers, you framed them with great care so as not to drop a single petal, that kind act always melted your heart.

"I thought they meant nothing to you," he shrugged.

"Why? Because they came from you? You act like hates you" you laughed again.

"And it is not like that?"

"No! How many times do I have to say it? I would never hate you." You sighed “I thought I was a bother to you, you always seemed tired around me.”

"No, I don't-" he stopped and took your hands in his as if on impulse. "Yes, I tend to be tired. But not of you, I could never get tired of you." Sodo was nervous to say something like that.

You were more than surprised by his actions, he seemed like a different Sodo than the one you saw every day, for the first time in a long time you managed to look him in the eyes and maintain contact, still as a statue. You didn't know what to do with this version of him. The moon made his hair shine and his expressions were soft and clear.

You cleared your throat and averted your gaze, resuming the conversation. "Eh, yes I…keep each of the bouquets. They are a nice gift…" you said although not very convinced that it was the best way to continue the talk.

Sodo's mouth opened, wanting to complain for taking the focus of your gaze away from you, he was an impulsive boy and he made it known when his warm hand slid through the air until it landed on your cheek and made you look at him again. You seemed so surprised, so unaccustomed.

"Why don't you look at me?" He asked in a whisper, looking into your eyes, you could feel your insides shake and your breathing stop.

“I…don’t…I…don’t know…” you said, the words swallowed up by the whirlwind of emotion in your head, leaving each sentence incomplete. "Your look is very strong…"

Sodo smiled showing his fangs, he was a beautiful sight, he caressed your cheek warmly and walked closer to you. "Does he intimidate you? Does it bother you to look at me?"

"Well… you usually have a 'special' temperament and sometimes it's-" You tried to say it as gently as possible. You had very rarely seen him fight with the other members, Swiss always intervened and was the only one who could control the little gremlin, the nuns did not want to go through the hallway if Sodo was there, there was something dark about that fire demon.

"Spooky? You think I'm spooky?" There seemed to be a hint of sadness, he moved his hand away from your face, as if it would hurt your touch, as if he didn't expect you to think that way.

“Sometimes” you confessed, assuming that would break the mood.

Sodo sighed, now he could understand why you never approached him, he never seemed to have the doors open for a chat and getting in the middle of his tantrums was something only a crazy person like Swiss would do.

"I'm sorry, I was always the problem apparently…" he said.

"Well…" you responded "We're talking more tonight than we have in recent years, that's a start isn't it?" You laid down on the bed, with your legs falling over the edge of the bed, making yourself more comfortable, inviting him to do the same.

"Yes, I suppose so," he took your invitation eagerly and laid down on the bed next to you, staring at the ceiling together, their hands inches apart. "Can I ask you something?"

"Forward." You assured, turning your head to look at him.

"Why were they investigating the L rule?" He asked, he clearly knew what it meant and wouldn't be surprised if it was talked about at a boys' sleepover but why would girls look for that? He didn't think Swiss had influenced them. Your face turned a light pink and you babbled nonsense that made him laugh. At this point his headache didn't matter. "Tell the truth"

"Well… The girls, Swiss and I were doing a silly test you know, the kind that predicts the love of your life" you took a sigh before continuing "So we did one about the band"

"What was the results?" Sodo asked curiously.

"The result of Cumulus was Mountain" Sodo made an O with his mouth, in his mind he was beginning to plot some small pranks to annoy his tall and shy friend. "Cirrus's result was herself" did not surprise him, Cirrus' self-love was infinite "Aurora's result was Swiss and Swiss's result was Aurora, it was fun to see their faces" you laughed remembering the scene and Sodo laughed with you, he could imagine Swiss having a brain block from being paired with her best friend.

"And what was your result?" You dreaded the arrival of that question.

"You," you said, turning your gaze to the ceiling, as if it were the most interesting thing you've ever seen.

"Me what?" Sodo thought maybe there was, that wasn't possible.

"You were my result Sodo" you told him as you exhaled nervously.

He lifted his torso like a spring, he was very surprised and turned to look at you, you felt so stupid. You were immediately going to apologize but he interrupted you.

"Wow, I didn't expect that" he laughed with pride and excitement.

"The test said something like: 'all good girls want a bad boy'. He also mentioned the L rule about short boys" you excused yourself, completely blushing, covering your face with the back of your arm.

"Do you know what the L rule means?" he asked with a double meaning tone and a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

"Swiss explained it to us" You responded and felt the bed sink next to you, Sodo had gone back to bed.

"Oh then…" he took a few seconds "So what do you think of the result?" he asked you again, he seemed so curious or morbid about your answer. For a second he could imagine you thinking about him in that sexual way and a knot inside him tightened with pride.

"It's just a silly test, it doesn't really matter" You finished saying.

"I'm not your type?" He turned to look at you, you still covered your face and bit your lower lip, trying not to say anything else. Sodo longed to see your eyes and discover the true answer in your gaze.

"It's not that…" you spat that phrase from your gut, maybe you were trying your luck, there was nothing to lose.

He leaned on one of his arms admiring you with an amazed face. His hand slowly approached your arm, took it and imprisoned it on the bed above your head, your eyes took a while to get used to the darkness again and they opened wide when they saw him almost on top of you, his hair fell on yours, his eyes they were completely enveloped in you, traveling from your eyes to your lips with shameless frequency.

"Sodo, what are you doing?" you asked, hoping it was just you misunderstanding the situation. But there was a dark gleam in her gaze, as if a beast was screaming after the angelic beauty of her face.

"I'll become your type." You shuddered under her words, a shiver running through your body and hovering in the pit of your stomach. He smiled.

I know what's coming and so do you, someone help me write smut, I can't believe I've been writing fanfics for years and I'm still embarrassed to do it 😫

#sodo ghoul x reader #sodo x reader #per sodomizer eriksson #sodomizer ghoul #nameless ghost #swiss ghoul #aurora ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #the band ghost #ghost #namelessghoulettes #pijamada #girls night #fanfiction #soft boy #soft sodo

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physalian · 1 year ago

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Timeskips (A Deceptively Tricky Trope)

Anyone remember when we all went to the theaters to see Endgame and the trailers actually fooled us into thinking all the action happened immediately after Infinity War? Then 15 minutes into the movie, the Thanos we grew to love/hate dies and the bomb drops: “Five…Years…Later”

It’s a shame that the movie didn’t properly explore the worldly consequences of losing half the population in favor of a Marvel victory lap through all its greatest hits. That our heroes could do absolutely nothing for five whole years, opening on a shot of a cold and dark cityscape — that was the best use and execution of a timeskip I’ve seen in recent memory, even if the rest of the movie didn’t follow through with it.

Timeskips are an effective way to age up characters or age past the end of an era of peace, or the healing after a tragedy (or the lifeless aftermath of one). Usually, your established heroes do their heroic thing, and anywhere from a couple weeks to a couple months to a couple years pass before the story picks back up again. Some may have died along the way, the political climate has changed, couples have had children, or babies have grown into their own characters, relationships have grown, begun, or fallen apart.

These damnable plot devices are a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the author gets to skip sometimes decades of meandering plot and development to tell almost an entirely new story in the same universe, sometimes not even with the same characters who are now too old, too dead, or retired.

However, timeskips can also cause some massive confusion, missed opportunities, and fandom wars over whether or not the jaded and grizzled and depressed heroes we see on screen are, in fact, a realistic evolution from the last time we saw them (looking at you, Star Wars).

Sometimes, they’re used in a single episode, thrusting a present character into the depressing dystopian future so they can prevent whatever causes said future before disaster strikes (Teen Titans "How Long Is Forever?"), and all returns to normal by the time the credits roll. Sometimes, the author really wanted the drama and angst of a pregnancy, then got stuck with a baby that needs constant attention from its parents who can no longer go do Plot Things until the baby can take care of themselves (The Originals).

Sometimes it’s the jump between two eras of a series, where our heroes have had a couple years of practice and now we can make the tone a little darker and the action a little more visceral. Or, it’s expected of a multi-book saga that regularly jumps a year ahead with each edition, leading up to the big prophecy (Percy Jackson, Harry Potter).

The Fundamentals of a Good Timeskip

As requested by Anonymous!

Telltale signs of a dubious skip:

Audience is expected to care more about an undeveloped newcomer than the pre-existing cast, because the current cast does without explanation

Audience is “told” to accept Catastrophic Event without being “shown” how and why it happened

Characters die, break-up, disappear, marry, change teams, or change entire personalities for ~drama~ and no other reason

The Book You Never Wrote was way more interesting than the future you brought us to

The new plot depends on Events Unwritten, but never shows or explains Events Unwritten

Timeskip only exists because the author is unable to make the leaps in logic themselves and hopes you won’t notice

The legacy of past heroes is trashed completely for More Story

Signs of a successful skip:

Characters we know and love are still themselves, just a little older and wiser

Characters that do change do so logically, within reason, and could have been extrapolated from the last publication

Radical changes and the new hellscape you threw your heroes into is given ample screen time to show “How tf we got here”

The new world doesn’t disregard or ignore the legacy and victory of past heroes

Absolutely nothing of import or unexpected happened in the interim, except time

Anyone who dies off-screen won the story by dying of old age, or some other respectful avenue (popular with aging mentors and old masters, usually when their actor also passes)

Whether your timeskip succeeds or fails depends entirely on, in my humble opinion, how much story you skip and sacrifice to make the jump, and how radical the changes are from the past to the future. And, to what degree the skip serves as a means to an end or the centerpiece of the new story.

Meaning that since you leave weeks, months, years, or decades unwritten, how interesting was the Book You Never Wrote, and how badly would audiences need to read it to understand the jump from A to B?

If I’m writing a ten-year skip and half my heroes have died, half have ended wonderful relationships, two kids have been born, a known hero has become a villain, and an entire city’s been destroyed… that is a *very* interesting story I wish I had the opportunity to read, because it sounds like every character I fell in love with is about to become unrecognizable and very frustrating to follow now that I don’t understand why they make the choices they do — *if* I’m never shown evidence to support the leaps in logic.

If I’m writing a ten-year skip and all that happens in the interim is a minor child character is now a tween with a pretty average life, or my super-powered heroes have had only mediocre rogues to battle, or a character who began in the mail room is now a middle manager at their boring job, then, yeah, we can skip all that jazz and get to the good stuff. This is usually the setup for your “next generation” skip for any genre.

Good timeskips also depend on how readily the characters accept and acknowledge the changes that have happened off-page, and how much the future story now depends on the information the audience never received. If your plot and your characters constantly reference and argue over the Book You Never Wrote, your audience won’t be pleased to not have read said book.

I’m going to use specific media here because the nature of a timeskip concerns entire plots and my usual vague examples don’t suffice. How you write and implement one is entirely up to you and each of these have their staunch defenders, I just don’t like them and I’m here to explain why. Hopefully if you’ve seen at least one of them, you can use them as a shining example of what (or what not) to do in your own work.

The fandoms in question:

The 100

Star Wars

Percy Jackson

Last Airbender/Legend of Korra

How to Train Your Dragon

The Little Mermaid

—

The 100

The timeskips in question are between seasons 2 and 3, and between seasons 4 and 5. The first timeskip is a couple months between seasons 2 and 3. After a huge conflict (and easily the best season of the show by a country mile), shifting alliances, enemy-of-my-enemy, the best couple-that-never-was, the season ends with protagonist Clark unable to let herself enjoy the spoils of war because of the crimes she committed to make it happen. She leaves behind all her friends to go be a hermit, including deuteragonist Bellamy, who is Not Happy about this decision.

The problem: In between seasons, Clark hasn’t changed much, but Bellamy sure has. He gets a girlfriend, develops an entire relationship, only for this girl to get fridged within the first 50 minutes or so of season 3. He takes her death super hard and, with Clark not there, spirals into a bit of a blind-faith fascist turning on all his friends and becoming nigh unrecognizable. Without seeing the growing relationship with the fodder girlfriend, without seeing how hard life has been for him without Clarke, all his choices, all his beliefs, all his pontificating sound completely foreign and out of character and he does not recover until it’s almost too late. As he’s the deuteragonist of the show, you can only take yelling at your TV for all his stupid and OOC decisions for so long, when it could have been done so much better.

The second damning timeskip is five whole years between seasons 4 and 5. Bellamy develops another unseen romance up in space, his sister becomes a bloodthirsty underground queen, and Clark devotes her entire life to raising a little girl she finds.

The problem: Clark cares a lot more about protecting the little girl than anything else, a choice audiences can’t empathize with because we’re still siding with the characters we’ve watched grow and suffer for four seasons, making Clarke an incredibly frustrating character to watch.

Five-year timeskips are fine. I think I’m in the minority in hating this decision by the writers. However, when your characters’ motivations change so radically without you being able to follow that development, making their new choices seem incredibly inconsistent with who they’re supposed to be, the disconnect is super strong. We’re being told at this point to care about these strangers over the existing cast without ever having been shown why.

Star Wars

Timeskip in question: Return of the Jedi to The Force Awakens. Enough time for Rey to look like a 20-something and, I believe, the exact same gap between the movies in the real world. The argument over Luke’s character has been beaten to death by now. We end Return of the Jedi with the promise of a galaxy in peace after decades of civil war between the Rebels and the Empire and the ultimate sacrifice from Anakin.

The problem: We open Force Awakens like the war never ended. There’s still stormtroopers, there’s still the Empire (though, now it’s called the First Order), there’s still Rebels rebelling. The happily ever after one would expect between Han and Leia is shattered because their kid went Dark Side. Their kid went Dark Side because… well, one side, the other side, and the unrevealed truth.

It’s less “Luke would never make these choices” and more “How do you expect audiences to believe Luke made these choices without seeing the pain and trauma inflicted on him to end up like this”. The casual fan only watches the episodic films. Luke ended one movie as a semi-optimistic war hero. He began the very next film jaded and traumatized enough to debate, and nearly go through with, murdering his nephew because of what he *might* do someday.

That anyone expected that to go over well was deluding themselves, but everyone knows these movies are a mess.

There’s also the disappointment in realizing all that Anakin lived and died for fell apart in less than 30 years. Who are these people calling themselves the First Order? Where did they get the funds, the resources, the platform to become as big a threat as they are? How did the Rebels fail so spectacularly at building a functioning government? How do they not have the funds, platform, and resources to buy better ships and equipment? How did no one realize they were hollowing out an entire planet to build another Death Star?

The Sequel Trilogy lost audiences when it refused to provide any explanations at all for *why* these changes happened. The movies don’t care about *how* Ben became Kylo, they just need you to accept that it happened. They don’t care *how* the First Order rose, just don’t look too closely or it all falls apart.

The skip between Empire Strikes Back to Return of the Jedi is also a bit sketchy, because Luke has done all his Jedi training off-screen and can just pull abilities out of nowhere, but the plot of Return of the Jedi doesn’t depend on having seen Luke grow.

Percy Jackson

I feel bad putting this here because it’s not nearly as egregious as the previous two, but because the original series was so good, these choices are that much more baffling. The timeskips in question: Sea of Monsters (2) to Titan’s Curse (3) and Last Olympian (5) to Lost Hero (6).

The books focus on a singular week or two per year, so Percy can age from 12 to 16 in time for the Great Prophecy by the end of the series. This series is filled with timeskips and unseen content, but the jump between books 2 and 3 is the most jarring. I just did a retrospective for both of them so if you happened to read that, I’m repeating myself a little.

The problem: At the end of SoM there is a huge shakeup in the realm of who will actually be the chosen one — a discarded chess piece has been revived and brought back onto the board. In the missing months, Percy has built an entire friendship and rapport with his would-be rival, and so many reunions were left unwritten between Thalia and the friends she left behind. It’s the depth of the missing content that really feels like they forgot to print a chapter in either book, particularly when she’s so important to the story.

Percy references quite a few times how good friends he and Thalia have become. Fantastic, on what page might I read that development, when the author spent quite a bit of time building up the presumption that you two would hate each other?

The other timeskip is the complete opposite. Last Olympian to Lost Hero is, I believe, only a month. Once again, we have a presumed happy ending and ultimate sacrifice completely torched for the sake of More Story. The original five-book saga culminates with the tragic death of a villain we’d watched for five whole books. His argument was the thesis of the first series.

The problem: As with Star Wars, everything that character died for is rendered mostly moot. There is evidence that his death meant something, in the positive changes seen in the lives of those that survived him, but he died preventing armageddon… and a month later Bigger Badder armageddon is on the rise.

I almost wish the timeskip here had been longer. A couple years, at the expense of aging up the heroes to their twenties. His legacy on the story is virtually nonexistent. When you look back at the horrible tragedy that was this kid’s life, all it amounted to, everything he fought for, everything he believed in and died for and lost friends for… bought only a month of peace.

The Last Airbender and The Legend of Korra

Obviously, the timeskip in question is between these two series, about, what, sixty years? Last Airbender ends with, once again, the world at peace, ish, with lots of cleaning up to do, reparations to make, and governments to reshape. In the gap between series, almost everyone we knew has passed away, or aged out of being useful to the plot. Aang, of course, had to die so Korra could be born.

In the first season, because I’m reasonably confident all they planned was one season, the 60 year interim sees a lot of radical changes. Fan favorites die, the old ways are lost, the status quo is nothing like it used to be. So how do they get away with it?

Firstly, the show doesn’t begin with the main villains having already conquered Republic City and trashing everything the heroes fought for. The entire season is a crawl, then a plunge, toward disaster. They let you enjoy the fruits of the old characters’ labor, see the world that they built, before the new threat attempts to burn it down.

Secondly, because almost the entire original cast is dead or absent, there are no relationships sorely missing context, and there’s no *subversive* twists to what the audience could extrapolate from the ending of the old show.

LoK did make some radical changes to the world, but, crucially, it didn’t change the surviving core characters — we still have a known point of reference through which to view all the other changes. Katara is still Katara, she’s just older. Zuko is still Zuko, he’s just older. Katara didn’t become a persnickety, bitter bat and Zuko didn’t launch the Fire Nation Invasion II and return to his angsty ponytail-era.

It also helps that Korra is, like us, an outsider to this strange new world, a perfect vector through which the audience can ask questions and get answers on how, why, and when everything changed. LoK, unlike Star Wars, cared and thought about the *how* and the *why*.

If you’re going to write a story about the next generation without compromising the legacy of the old guard, Legend of Korra is a solid example of how to do it convincingly, respectfully, and entertainingly, even if it did drop the ball on some characters *cough*Sokka and Suki*cough*

How to Train your Dragon

But an even better example? How to Train Your Dragon to How to Train your Dragon 2. It’s been five years, a massive risk for your children’s animated fantasy series, but it’s also been almost five years of real-world time. Those who were Hiccup’s age when the first movie premiered are still Hiccup’s age when they head back to theaters. Not to mention the optional Netflix shows to help fill in the gaps.

Once again, there’s no *subversive* choices made with the relationships. Hiccup is still with Astrid and they’ve grown out of their awkward teenage phase. Their personalities haven’t radically changed either, only matured, the main group of heroes have had time to foster deeper bonds.

There’s no surprise children, no important characters who got killed off screen, and the changes to their homeland seem reasonable and logical given the time frame. A place that once feared dragons is now dedicated entirely to their preservation and conservation.

This is a timeskip that took advantage of every benefit of skipping time. The audience can very easily fill in the missing years with their imagination, because the jump from A to B makes perfect sense.

Frozen and Frozen II relied on the same mechanic of the audience growing with the characters with that one musical number. I’m not a fan of the execution of either of these movies, see this post about Frozen’s convolutions, but the execution of the skip itself is well done. All that’s happened in the interim is Elsa getting a little more comfortable being a person, and time has passed.

The Little Mermaid

The gap between Little Mermaid and Little Mermaid 2: Return to the Sea double-skips. First, it skips ahead to Ariel and Eric having an infant Melody, then about twelve years later to Melody being a tween and the new protagonist of the story.

Why it works: Melody is remarkably like her mother and rides the line between endearing and annoying very well and the plot depends on the skip happening at all – twelve years removed from the ocean and Melody has no idea her mother was a mermaid. Ariel and Eric (and Flounder) have grown to become wizened and worrisome parents and absolutely nothing remarkable happened unseen between the credits of the first movie and the second skip in the second movie. They get twelve years of peace, respecting the first movie’s legacy, and it’s through the actions of characters we see on screen that start jeopardizing everything.

—

Another feature I didn’t touch on earlier is that, by virtue of being a musical, the opening song to the Little Mermaid sequel efficiently catches audiences up on all the necessary exposition, all the old familiar faces, and where everyone is now in about 4 minutes. Frozen II does the same.

The Percy Jackson books also give a “previously on Percy Jackson” exposition speedrun at the start of books 2-5 and notes any important details that occurred in the missing months (save the glaring omissions detailed above).

If your time skip is just a plot device to get from A to Y, a well-handled exposition speedrun to catch everyone up won’t offend anyone, so long as you do it tastefully. If your skip is the centerpiece of the plot and the “how did we get here” is the big mystery, jarring your audience with the unexpected future on the opening pages is the point.

Do your best to avoid awkwardly having your characters state “X years have passed,” in dialogue because it’s always obvious and you can do better. Have somebody reference their upcoming birthday so audiences can do the math, or an anniversary. “X years have passed” cracks the immersion, as your characters don’t know or care that a time skip has occurred.

Or, if you’ve written a narrating style that talks directly to the audience, the narrator can just say “X months ago we did Y in the last book, reader, you remember how fun that was?”

—

TL;DR, terrible timeskips happen, in my opinion, when the writers are disinterested with the interim and want to get to the good stuff without providing a logical jump to get there. Or, they happen when the time the story skips to jeopardizes where it came from without explanation. Whether that’s undermining the legacy of the original hero, ruining relationships and killing fan favorites for *subversion points* and *drama*, or creating a world so far removed from what audiences expected that they’re left confused watching their heroes make baffling decisions based on development they’re promised did happen, but is never shown. It’s one thing if you take your wide-eyed hero and toss him into a bleak future where everyone’s shocked by his pessimistic outlook, it’s completely different tossing your hero into a bleak future and none of his friends seem to care.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #exposition

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yellow-faerie · 11 months ago

Note

Could you talk about one of those Doctor Who aus?

Hello! Thank you anon for the ask :) I have a few AUs that I'm currently rotating in my head but my favourite at the moment is the one I just call The Modern AU - it's official name is The Doctor Project but that's not what I call it. This took me a hot minute to write up because it is a lot.

(Also if you wanted to hear about any of my other AUs, I put some brief descriptions in the tags :D)

The basic premise is that the Doctors are all human and a team that worked together for their variety of expertise during the early 2000s to repel an alien invasion and the effect it has on each of them and their general lives. Also the Tardis is there as the only sensible one of the lot.

Some doctors do have more story fleshed out than others, mostly due to the fact that I'm still quite new to a lot of the eu stuff like Big Finish and the books and certain Doctors I would feel better about having engaged with some more of it before getting some proper stories fledged out (mostly because I hope it will give me some more inspiration lol)

I'll put some more general outline below the cut for anyone interested :)

[Warnings: mentions of abuse, discussions of war and the aftermath, complicated relationships to disability, implied torture ]

First Doctor

So the First Doctor is the oldest of the bunch, a retired surgeon and medical doctor (he used to work at Royal Hope Hospital) who was brought into the Doctor project for his research into medicine.

He spent most of the War in London due to his old age making it difficult to run around cities infested with alien invaders but he does get sent out periodically (mostly when one of the others gets too injured to be moved from their current location which happens a few times).

He had a daughter, Gillian, when he was quite young but he and his wife split up, and his daughter spent most of her time with her mother instead. However, he was the one to gain custody of his daughter's daughter (Susan) when Gillian died as his ex-wife had also died.

When the Doctor was conscripted, Susan was about 15 and stayed with their neighbour Steven over the course of the war, and Vicki and Dodo, two girls he fostered as well while their parents were off fighting.

Due to the secure nature of the work that the Doctor Project was doing, she and her grandfather only exchanged a few letters over the course of each year, and they were always heavily edited, and she found herself finding a lot of the emotional support she was lacking from her two teachers at Cole Hill, Barbara and Ian.

When she left Cole Hill Sixth Form, a year before the war ended, she moved back into her grandfather's house but kept in contact with Barbara and Ian who helped her with finding a job and advice on living alone, etc. This would break GDPR and a host of other protection laws these days but it's the middle of an alien invasion, let's pretend that doesn't exist. They didn't know the Doctor at all until after the war when he returns and it's a bit weird for everyone.

Especially since Ian is completely furious at him for leaving his granddaughter alone, mostly because people meet Susan and get the immediate urge to protect her; they do mostly get over that particular hurdle though as more comes out about how the war ended, although the Doctor doesn't help matters much by being his usual grouchy self.

His usual grouchy self made worse by the fact that everything has changed a lot since he had left home. Susan is in training to be a nurse and has these faux-parental figures she trusts so implicitly, and is decidedly more wary around him; he has also been fundamentally changed by living four years in various bunkers while working against an invisible clock to defeat a foe more technologically advanced that they are.

Eventually things do settle down: Ian and the Doctor apologise to each other, Susan and the Doctor have enough heart-to-hearts that it clears the air between them, that sort of thing.

There's not a whole lot of plot to any of the First Doctor's stuff but the vibes and the setting are pretty much in place.

Second Doctor

The second doctor is probably about forty when he's conscripted and he was a physics lecturer at St. Andrews university, specialising in sound and acoustics and waves, that sort of thing. He invented several new versions of sound systems which is what got him noticed for the Project.

St. Andrews is where he meets Jamie, actually, who was working as a guard; they bonded over a mutual love of music, Jamie in particular on the bagpipes, and then over other mutual interests.

I'm imagining they got married before the war (as this is an alternate history anyway, I'm making gay marriage legal earlier because no-one can stop me) when Jamie went on to fight in the army and the Doctor got conscripted into the project. Both of them being in different deployments so regularly meant letter writing was even more difficult.

After the war, the Doctor gives up the whole lecturing thing, as the project had left him with a bad taste in his mouth over the work he had been doing. Instead, he takes his knowledge of music and goes into conducting an orchestra, as well as giving music lessons on the side.

In like...any instrument; he's not even very good at playing a lot of them but he has the technical know-how to make someone else very good at playing them, if they can get past his eccentricities.

Zoe is the first violin in the orchestra who he gives personal tutoring too in a vague attempt to get her to put some feeling into her music. She's technically very brilliant and knows her way around most string instruments with almost military precision, but she was taught in a very wooden way and the Doctor is attempting to bring that out of her.

Victoria, on the other hand, takes piano lessons from him except she's around like four times a week and barely ever actually plays the piano and they always give her supper because her home life is...not the greatest. Her father's very absent and her mother's dead. It's all a bit iffy.

Eventually, Jamie probably calls Social Services who are overstretched in the aftermath of the war as it is, but she manages to find herself to a very nice foster family (the Harris') who make sure she keeps having her piano lessons. Although they continue not to really be piano lessons.

[I feel that I should put a note on Ben and Polly here; they are sort of known to both One and Two as Polly is Barbara's niece (and quite close to her aunt) and Ben is Two's half brother (but not that close all things considered) - they are the sort of people who come around for birthdays and Christmas and the one off weekend, and give you very thoughtful advice and presents, but that's sort of the limit of your relationship with them.]

Third Doctor

The Third Doctor studied chemistry at university, trying out multiple different branches, and had managed to get noticed for a variety of things such as creating a few new medications, discovering the compounds of some rarer chemicals, that sort of thing (I will admit, I don't know what makes a chemist famous).

Sarah Jane is his younger sister by about twenty years: when she was younger, she had a bit of a hero worship of him going on but nowadays she's much more sensible.

He worked at Cambridge with Liz before the war, and a lot of the breakthroughs they made together; they (and by they I mean the Doctor has while Liz is facepalming in the background) have a bitter rivalry with the Oxford researcher Emil Masters (the Delgado Master).

They are married but they keep that out of their professional rivalries.

After the war, however, the Doctor stays with UNIT. He's the only one of the doctors to do this and it's mostly because he doesn't trust that unit won't make terrible decisions with the research the Doctor Project produced, so he stays as a Scientific Advisor and pokes his nose into everyone's business to keep his conscience clean.

Jo is his assistant as per canon, only now she is being invited around for supper four times a week at his house and is probably inheriting everything that both the Master and the Doctor own when they eventually die.

They turn up to her wedding to Cliff when her parents don't.

Once again, this is incredibly vibes based rather than very much plot; there's probably going to be something to do with Jo falling out with her family, but that's about as far as I got with it. It's mostly fluff at this point lol.

[Also a note about the incarnations of the Master: while the doctors aren't actually related, the incarnations of the Master are because I find that entertaining, and also there are less of them]

Fourth Doctor

The Fourth Doctor is an environmental activist before the war! He got a PhD in ecology and then proceeded to throw away a promising career in academia (his parents' words) to gallivant around the planet doomsday prophesying.

What he's actually doing is blackmailing people into implementing climate saving machines, etc. so that he isn't Doomsday prophesying; he actually meets Sarah doing this because they both get thrown in prison for getting nosy around a nuclear power plant and thus is the start of a beautiful friendship/relationship, it's really unclear to everyone else.

He has two sisters; Winifred (although everyone calls her Fred) who is Romana I, and Romana who is Romana II. Romana turns 18 just before the war and Fred turns 25 around the same time, while the Doctor is 30ish.

Romana immediately joins MI6 (she had always wanted to be in the secret service) and the Doctor gets roped into the Doctor project, which means that when Fred dies during the war, neither of them get informed for months due to the lack of proper communication channels.

This is something they both feel very guilty about, especially considering the fact that they have two nephews who got immediately lost in the overworked system without any other relative around who could look after them.

Anyway, also during the war, the Doctor gets captured by the aliens, and held for a good few months; he barely ever acknowledges that this ever happened to anyone, even when he is literally hospitalised after rescue. He just...pretends that everything is fine and dandy actually.

His doctor is actually Harry who then gets roped into the whole Very Secret Doctor Project thing for like a month until the Doctor was determined to no longer need constant observation etc and then he's just sent back to his ship.

However, Harry has better communication with home than the Doctor, and also shore leave, so he's sent to basically tell Sarah Jane that the Doctor is alive and alright - they immediately hit it off and so after the war, Harry and she hang out a lot until he's also living in the house with her, the Doctor and their gaggle of foster children (their are a lot of orphans after the war and so the three of them foster).

The actual content of their relationship is debateable - they could be a throuple, it could be that two of them are a couple and the other is third wheeling like a boss, it could be that none of them are romantically involved at all - but they do care for each other a lot.

Also the children are Luke and Sky from SJA and Leela, who's probably about 16. They have a dog, too, called K9 because the Doctor has called every dog he has ever owned since he wasa child K9, and just added a MK on the end; currently they're on Mk IV.

After the war, they just sort of settle back into what they were doing before; Sarah Jane writes for her newspapers and magazines, Harry takes up a civilian doctor's position again at New Hope and the Doctor returns to blackmailing people into Doing Better, only none of them are all that alright after the war and hiding it affects how well they are with other people.

There are some arguments had, mostly with the Doctor and Sarah Jane as Harry is much more mild mannered - with each other, with various siblings, with annoying work colleagues - until they at least admit that something is wrong, and then they go from there.

Fifth Doctor

The Fifth Doctor is the computer guy. He studied computer science at university and as well as developing quite a lot of high level software, he also developed cheaper hardware storage stuff.

With a lack of people I wanted to make him related to, I made him a Cranleigh - I think this was so he could go to boarding school and hate literally everything about it apart from cricket. His notes say that he cuts most communication with his family after going to university so they're not that important to the story.

During the war, he gets caught under a collapsing building at one point which causes nerve damage to his spine which affects the communication between his legs and his brain, periodically causing the connection to short out and his legs to collapse; the collapsed building also means that he can get quite a lot of pain in his legs, and should really be using crutches (only he forgets to bring them with him a lot).

Before the war, he works for some sort of big tech company who fund a lot of his research but after the war he doesn't particularly want to do research any more - nor work for a big tech company - and goes on to lead the IT department at Royal Hope. Which consists of Turlough (who is there because he needs a job after school and he heard that IT jobs were really easy actually) and possibly a few other characters (I've heard of some that exist in audio format, so when I get there, I may edit this).

He also fosters two kids in the aftermath of the war: Adric, who's mother was Fred and who's older brother died in the time that they were lost in the foster system, and Nyssa, who's father Tremas Masters (the Ainley Master) got imprisoned for murdering both of his wives and very sweetly asked his old university roommate if he might very kindly look after her for him.

Tegan is Nyssa's girlfriend and is subsequently always around at their house, to the point that the Doctor just gave her a key and makes supper expecting that she'll be there.

As for Peri, she and the Doctor meet at the local garden centre, and now she comes around to help look after his garden because her apartment is too small for a proper one (she and Six keep saying that they're saving up for an actual house but that might be a commitment too far).

There are the inklings of an actual plot idea I had here? In my head, somehow the Master escapes prison and intends on escaping the country with his daughter, only the Doctor is like no??? You can't do that to Nyssa??? And someone gets hospitalised.

[A note about Royal Hope, and also Cole Hill, and other reoccurring places: occasionally, the characters coincidentally working at these places is an actual coincidence, but the rest of the time it's because the Tardis has a lot of sway with people and she is always pushing the doctors and their friends to work in similar places so that they actually talk to each other again.

Or something like that. Honestly it's just plot contrivance because I like putting them in the same working environment, it makes it easier for me]

Sixth Doctor

The Sixth Doctor studies law and philosophy, being a lawyer both before and after the war. He's a really good one too, just really obnoxious.

I don't have a lot for the Sixth Doctor yet because I know he has a few audios that I want to listen to for some ideas, but I am very fond of the two seasons we got of him so here's what I have:

Peri meets the Doctor because he represents her in court when she's fighting her stepfather over something; after the court case (which they win) they go out for a few dates, and even though he's obnoxious and incredibly big-headed, he's also weirdly sweet and gentlemanly and so they get together officially.

Then the war starts and the idle talk they had of getting married/getting a house gets pushed aside while the Doctor joins the project and Peri helps with farm work by using her botany to develop crop something or other.

The war really did affect the Doctor. When he was younger, he suffered from Bipolar Depression but got it under control with medication and therapy, but the war and it's aftermath dragged that out of the depths which definitely put an extra strain on his and Peri's relationship.

When it's really bad, he did try to strangle her (like in the show) which did cause her to leave; but she does come back eventually, after the Doctor calls to apologise, and he does get it back under control.

At some points, it's really not the healthiest relationship, but it doesn't stay like that forever; it's something I really want to get into with my writing and I have the outlines of a fic over the period that he and Peri spend sort of separated.

On a lighter note, some of the other characters of the era! The Master keeps appearing on his doorstep after escaping prison looking for help and the Doctor keeps refusing to give it because he did try to kill Five; he once is a prosecutor against the Rani for unethical experimentation and she straight up sends a hit out against him; the Valeyard is his coworker who hates the Doctor a lot more than the Doctor hates him; and Mel is straight up just his personal trainer at the gym who got WAY too invested in his life.

Seventh Doctor

The seventh doctor is a high level tactician for the MOD before the war, and is actually one of the ones to help collect the other doctors together. He actually continues to do his MOD job while doing the Doctor Project which means he's the only doctor to really have a good understanding of what's happening around the world in real time.

However, he doesn't really have anyone to write home about. He grew up in foster care and it took a lot of effort to get to where he was at the outbreak of war, and so he didn't exactly have that many friends about.

The exception to that is Mel who he grew up with in part and so he does send her the odd letter.

After the war, he gets made redundant by the MOD and goes on to become a PE teacher at Cole Hill; he always dresses like he might be lecturing on politics or history, and stands on the sidelines while watching the students. Or he actually lectures on history or politics; honestly the amount of PE that's done is reliant on the mood.

He also ends up living with Ace; officially, she's his foster daughter, but she's so fiercely independent that she insists that they're roommates and he was willing to accept that.

I wish I did have more for him but I'm hoping that as I get through the Audios and books and such like, I'll get a better understanding of his era and the characters around it to make something a bit more developed.

Eighth Doctor

I'm only eight or so audios into this doctor's travels with Charley, and I have yet to read the Eighth Doctor Adventures (although I am looking to) so this isn't at all a complete section.

The Doctor is an expert in psychiatry and neuroscience, specifically in memory, mostly due to his own issues with memory throughout his childhood.

I'm still debating what the actual cause of the memory issues are, but I'm thinking that it might be because he had epilepsy as a child that was believed to have gone as he grew into adolescence but returned due to one (or multiple) head injuries during the war. I know there are certain types of epilepsy that can really affect the memory.

Either way, the Doctor also seems to be a bit of a romantic and very easily swept up in someone else's life; I see him, before the war, having a disastrous marriage to Grace Holloway which breaks down over four years of not seeing each other and ends in divorce as Grace returns to the states.

After the war, I think that he rents out the rooms in his house which is how he meets Charley, but that's about as far as I can really go with other relationships in his life because I haven't seen anything else of his stuff.

Ninth Doctor

The Ninth Doctor is an expert in mechanical engineering and is the one who does the main body of creating the Moment (the thing that takes out the alien invader's mothership).

He is the son of the War Doctor who's the General who Seven went to with his idea of creating a project to end the war, and the one who officially leads them. He mostly raised the Doctor single-handedly but was not exactly the most caring man in the universe.

The Doctor has a lot of very complicated feelings about his father which don't really get resolved because he (the War Doctor) sacrifices himself to set off the Moment.

Anyway, the Doctor never really wanted to get into Academics and become some sort of fantastic mechanical engineer but his father really pushed it (especially when it became clear the Doctor would never join the army); so after the war, he becomes a sort of freelance mechanic and works with Mickey.

Which is where he meets Rose. Rose often comes to visit Mickey at the end of his shifts because they're friends and live close together, and so she and the Doctor meet regularly there until they are both like...want to go travelling?

Rose was 19 when the war started, and runs the Bad Wolf magazine which she basically created at the beginning as a sort fo morale booster and also because she didn't like how the newspapers were reporting and wanted to make something that wasn't filtered through a hundred government filters; Sarah Jane actually writes for it during the war and on occasion afterwards, and is quite a good friend of Rose's for all that they don't see each other face-to-face all that often.

Still, after the war, sales of Bad Wolf kinda drops off a bit but Rose really loves the magazine and so wants to try something different: she wants to travel so she can see the world, and show people how people are rebuilding and getting their lives back in the aftermath (and help out where she can). She tells the Doctor this and then he offers her his van, and they start travelling together.

They live out the back of his van for years and they're quite happy to do it; they get married in Paris, periodically come back to visit Jackie (who is naturally rather displeased about this life choice they've made - although it's fine because they paid for her to come to Paris for the wedding), and just generally having a good time. They're like van lifers except not obnoxious about it, and when they eventually have Mia, they move back to the UK somewhat permanently (they still travel on holidays) so that she is living somewhere steady and permanent in her upbringing.

We also can't forget about Jack - he was a pilot during the war who also wrote for Bad Wolf, usually entertaining and slightly flirty pieces, and after the war, Rose and the Doctor invited him to travel with them after a few years. When they settle down in London, he moves to Cardiff for a bit on a 'journey of self discovery' where he meets the various Torchwood team (I have to admit I haven't got around to watching Torchwood yet).

He is Mia's godfather (so is Mickey, and Shareen is her godmother) and he dotes on her like no-one's business.

Tenth Doctor

The Tenth Doctor is an expert in anthropology and archaeology. He's Donna's little brother although there isn't much of an age difference between the two of them.

Of all the doctors, he's probably the one I've had the hardest time with.

I know he has a wife who died during the war (I'm thinking that this might be Astrid, for lack of someone better), and that Donna's boyfriend Lee died during the war as well - a lot of people did, during bombings and attacks and that sort of thing - and that with his wife he had a daughter (Jenny) (although I'm also playing around with the idea that he also had a younger daughter, that being Sally - as in Sally from Blink).

In the aftermath of the war, then, he and Donna move in together to help each other out, and eventually their mother and grandfather join them as old age arrives.

Donna meets Shawn in the aftermath and they get on well, and have a very healthy relationship and marriage. On the other hand, we have the Doctor who has the worst situationship ever with Martha.

In the aftermath of his wife's death, he meets Martha who got her medical licence during the war and has been working at Royal Hope since then, and I know that they probably hook up a few times in what is absolutely not recommended.

This is where I get a bit stuck on how things develop from here. I've been getting fonder and fonder of Tenmartha as I think on it more (although Martha does not deserve him) but I do quite like the idea of the two of them coming out of trying to force a relationship and being like...oh we're much better and healthier as friends.

Also, although that epilogue for them came out of nowhere, I do think that Mickey and Martha have a lot of potential as a couple.

There's a lot more I would like to develop here but I shall see what happens as I start writing some more of this.

Eleventh Doctor

The Eleventh Doctor was chosen for his mathematical skill. He's also the youngest of all of them, having just finished his PhD at age 20 as the war broke out.

He's the adopted son of Brian, so Rory's younger brother by a few years, and used to follow him and Amy around like a duckling that had imprinted on the closest moving thing. He did end up going to university quite young (honestly like most of the rest of the doctors) and it's there that he met Strax, Vastra and Jenny who took him under their wing as they were older students.

The war happens before he can really start a job and after the war, he struggles for a bit to find his place, but eventually ends up working with his old university friends in the Paternoster Detective Agency.

Amy and Rory get married after the war - Rory is a nurse at Royal Hope, which he was training for before the war, and Amy is a painter. She always intended on being a model or something like a fashion reporter, but during the war she found painting brought her (and others) the joy that could sometimes be very lacking in such a desperate time.

Her favourite artist is Vincent van Gogh.

They have Melody, although her birth is rife with complications, and so they decide to settle very happily with just the one daughter. She is doted on so completely by everyone, especially her uncle; there's a period when she's like four or five when she is convinced that the Doctor is a secret agent of some sort and gets really into all the spy sort of things.

She makes him play dress up with her and she calls herself River Song because it sounds cool and secret-agenty and the Doctor is her quirky sidekick.

[I debated with putting River Song in as a separate character but I wasn't quite sure what I would do with her? There's potential there for an AU of sorts where she is there, but I unfortunately never quite vibed fully enough with River for her to be a major player in the Main AU]

He lives with the Ponds for a bit after the war, and then moves in with Craig, but when Craig moves out with Sophie, he mopes about it and moves back in with the Ponds.

It's around this time that he meets Clara; she's an English teacher at Cole Hill and her mother went missing nearly five years ago. After trying to get the police to do anything at all, and then saving up the money, she hires the Paternoster gang to find out what happened.

What actually happened is still a bit of a mystery, but she definitely isn't still alive, which the Doctor is the one to tell her the news.

I don't think I'm going to do anything romantic with them but I do think they're quite cute together, so I might dabble. But also I quite like the Doctor being aro and I can see him just living with the Ponds and never leaving.

Twelfth Doctor

The Twelfth Doctor is an astrophysicist. He's spent a lot of his life developing telescopes and astral bodies, but after the war, he mostly just lectures. He's such a longstanding part of St Luke's university that they probably couldn't fire him for anything short of murder.

He's married to Missy quite young, actually, although they never had children; she has spent like half of their marriage in prison though, and now spends most of her time hanging around the Doctor's office being annoying to all his students.

During the war, he did get blinded. It's something he has a complicated relationship with, and does not like it when people mention it around him. He uses a cane when he moves around and wears sunglasses because it hides that his eyes aren't necessarily looking at the person he's talking to.

Again, he has a complicated relationship with it.

Nardole is his teaching assistant, only he's massively overbearing about every aspect of the Doctor's life (only he just manages to be endearing enough that the Doctor doesn't just fire him on the spot).

Bill is, like in canon, someone the Doctor tutors, only now instead of getting to see the galaxy, she has he, Missy and Nardole giving her wildly different yet equally terrible dating advice, which somehow works to get her with Heather.

As for Clara, I genuinely don't know what to do with her; she's such a big part of the Twelfth Doctor's story that I do really want to have her be an important character, but I don't know how. If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them!

Thirteenth Doctor

The Thirteenth Doctor is an expert in microbiology. She's a government researcher into disease for the few years before the war, but after the war, she becomes an A&E nurse. She found that she preferred chaos and wanted something that was less science based but still within her interests.

She's fostered by Graham as a child, which is how she knows him, and subsequently how she comes to know Ryan and Grace, when Graham meets them. Her mother was Tecteun who she was taken away from when she was twelve due to the fact that Tecteun was a piece of shit (as in canon).

She wrote a lot to all of them during the war; out of all the Doctors, she probably spent the most writing letters (apart from maybe Six who wrote to Peri...so much, he spent so much time agonising over writing letters to her).

She knew Yaz from school and they both moved to London after the war - they met up again when they both returned from the war, and they decided that a change of scenery from the place they grew up might do them good.

London was one of the main targets during the war so there was a lot of practical work and training to do in both the police force and in nursing (which is what the Doctor wants to go into); they stay in shared accomodation and volunteer to help with the rebuilding effort in some of their free time.

When the rebuilding is mostly finished and everything has started to even out again, they stay in London; the Doctor has a job at Royal Hope and Yaz has found her footing in the local police force. They visit Sheffield a lot though, and invite Ryan to stay with them a lot, so he can get away from all the Old People.

Fourteenth Doctor

The Fourteenth Doctor technically doesn't exist. The Doylist reasoning for this is because there was far too little that separated the Fourteenth Doctor out to make him his own character in a modern AU; the Watsonian is because there was meant to be a Fourteenth member of the Doctor Project but he died in transit to the first meeting. Out of respect, the rest skip over the number that was meant to be his.

I've played around with the idea that the Fourteenth and the Tenth Doctor were siblings/related/possibly twins but I think this might be more of an AU sort of thing.

Fifteenth Doctor

Obviously we haven't had the Fifteenth Doctor's actual first season yet or much of anything for him (very excited for it though) so this is very much a work in progress - I'll make more decisions about his story after the season has come out and I've watched it; from vibes alone though, I think he'd be possibly an expert in sociology, and after the war he would own a club or something similar, where Ruby would get herself a job.

Notes and Stuff

Congratulations for getting this far lol! This AU is very precious to me and gets bigger every time I watch a new episode/listen to a new drama/rewatch/relisten/etc.

There are a few general things I'd probably note: all the Doctors have like...actual names (mostly John or a variation there of) but I refer to them all as the Doctor because that's what rolls off the tongue more easily.

Another thing is Idris/the Tardis - on one hand, the original idea was that she would die and her funeral would be the thing to get the Doctors back together so to say, but the more I think about it, the more I would like her to live.

I'm planning on writing some fic for this AU and posting it to AO3 - there's a Sixperi fic I really want to write, and I'm a sucker for some family fluff with various Doctors - and I might draw some stuff, so stick around if you're interested :)

I've only been really into Doctor who for four or five months, and with such an expansive EU (and frankly, such a lot of main content), there's a lot I don't know (although I very much intend to know it one day). If you got this far, I would honestly love to hear your general thoughts and ideas on the AU, a lot of the Eleventh Doctor stuff I worked out was developed from conversation I had with a friend!

Anyway, thank you for getting this far! And thank you for the ask to let me ramble, it took me a while to get all the rambling together but now I've finished, I'm really pleased I got here.

#Doctor Who #First Doctor #Second Doctor #Third Doctor #Fourth Doctor #Fifth Doctor #Sixth Doctor #Seventh Doctor #Eighth Doctor #Ninth Doctor #Tenth Doctor #Eleventh Doctor #Twelfth Doctor #Thirteenth Doctor #Fourteenth Doctor #Fifteenth Doctor #Doctor Who Modern AU #Time Petals #Sixperi #Thoschei #also if you are interested in hearing about any of my other AUs #I can elaborate on those too #I have a Bad Wolf sort of fic where Rose ends up travelling with each of the Doctors in turn #(because I'm a Rose girlie at heart)#I also had an idea for an Eleventh Doctor fic where he actually did come back when Amy was still seven #And another where Mel is a Time Anomaly (don't ask me where that idea came from lol)#Also one where Romana stays with the Doctor and the two of them spend the rest of eternity giving the Time Lords the middle finger #I am about to listen to the first season of the Gallifrey audios but I just think Romana should get to hang out in the TARDIS being iconic #for the rest of time #I also have another modern AU where the Doctor is multiple people

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weissaddams · 2 years ago

Text

are you ready for it?

Chapter 1 - paper rings

Why Wednesday said yes to the forsaken reunion was beyond her.

Not really.

Enid asked her, practically begged her to come, with the promise of rare Lycan books from the Sinclair family library if she did.

After the initial shock of learning that werewolves did, in fact, have libraries, Wednesday quickly said yes to the reunion.

She still thinks it was pointless because Enid met up with their friends every month. Wednesday rarely joined, sure, but she didn’t require periodic in-person updates about their lives when Enid was literally a wall away. The blonde was more than happy to give her unprompted updates regarding their little group’s lives every now and then.

They were both accepted at Columbia. It was truly fortunate that it was a 6-hour drive from San Francisco. No pesky werewolves dropping in unannounced.

No arms even had to be twisted because despite their rather questionable extra-curricular activities in Jericho, Wednesday and Enid had pristine academic records. Enid was even toe-to-toe with Bianca for a handful of their classes before Wednesday came along.

Bianca and Eugene got into Harvard. Yoko and Divina were in Yale. Ajax and Kent went to NYU. They were all relatively close to each other.

Since the two applied to the same university, Wednesday and Enid thought it would be stupid if not impractical not to keep living together. They’d already gotten used to each other’s quirks and schedules. Why change anything?

Since Columbia was where Fester had gone for Uni, the Addams already owned a little Victorian house 10 minutes away from campus. They moved in two weeks before classes started.

Enid’s mother wasn’t too keen about looking like her daughter was mooching off the Addams wealth, so she’d allowed Enid to stay with Wednesday on the condition that their utility bills would be footed by the Sinclair pack. It was a small price to pay, if it was a price at all in order to stay together.

The Sinclair pack hadn’t even bothered to drive Enid to the Addams manor for the last half of summer or help her move into campus. No, they just sent her a new credit card and all the things in her room. Enid was pretty sure said room would be a pile of boxes if she ever decided to visit her so-called home.

The moment Wednesday’s mother found out, the older seer took her girls shopping in a district Enid didn’t even know existed. She'd spent so many summers with Wednesday family and she still wasn't used to how generous they were. Who buys their daughter's best friend a brand new wardrobe?

Morticia didn't think Esther Sinclair could disappoint her any further. How could any parent not want to spoil and cherish someone as bright and colorful as Enid? She would adopt Enid if it didn’t somehow complicate things for Wednesday.

Gomez, never really one to be bested, obtained a matte black, hybrid Range Rover for them. Obtained being the operative word, Gomez would not settle for any vehicle that wasn’t bullet proof. Not in this country. He also had to take into account that Wednesday would likely prefer to drive a manual instead of an automatic. Enid was about the opposite.

Though, both girls usually walked to class. It was only 15 minutes away by foot, after all. They named the Rover Edgar Allan but Enid started calling him Eddie as a nickname.

A few days after they moved in, Enid had ordered them Thai food for dinner since they were busy putting away the last boxes of their things. She’d opened her wallet to get cash to tip the delivery person when she spotted a glint of black that she was sure wasn’t there the last time she used her wallet.

Enid rarely used her wallet because Wednesday insisted on paying every time they ate at restaurants or went to cafes. She usually kept cash in it for tips because the raven usually only brought the card ever since she learned how convenient it was. So, she is very much surprised to find a shiny black credit card in one of the slots with her name on it.

She quickly puts down their dinner and walks to the living room where Wednesday and Thing are trying to pry open one of her ridiculously taped boxes from San Francisco.

“Wednesday? Why do I have a black credit card that looks just like yours in my wallet?”

Wednesday curses whoever taped Enid’s parcel with such passion. It even broke the scissors Thing brought her.

“We won’t have the same schedule like Nevermore, so father and I thought it best to get you yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours. We’ll still use mine but if you’re ever without me, you can use yours.”

Hers? Could she even afford to to have one of these black cards? She wasn’t that clueless when it came to the Addams wealth. She was pretty sure Wednesday’s card didn’t even have a credit limit. Now, she apparently had her own card with no limit? Her brain was going bonkers.

“No need to worry about what you use it on. It’s connected to the family account but Lurch is the one who makes sure to diligently pay the dues every month. Mother and Father won’t be privy to whatever you wish to spend on.”

The conversation they had after that was considerably complex. Enid never did think she’d have to explain to Wednesday how there was no need for her own black card. Generous as it was.

Her pack was more than capable of giving her an allowance. They’d already been doing it for her brothers and they were even paying for their boarding. Enid was living with Wednesday for nearly no cost at all!

Though Wednesday was confused at first, they’d come to a compromise in the end. Enid would use the card whenever they went out together and for emergencies. Like if she suddenly needed cash to bail Wednesday out of jail or buy tickets to the upcoming Seventeen concert.

Emergencies. Yes.

Their house was like a miniature version of the manor. Two adjacent bedrooms. One bathroom on each floor. Balcony connecting to an office space. Open floor plan for the kitchen and living room. Library/music room next to the pantry. Veranda overlooking a small garden. It was quaint and more than enough for both of them and Thing whenever Fester wasn't making use of his services.

It was an adjustment to sleep in separate rooms at first, but they’d gotten the hang of it after a couple of weeks. It didn’t help that for the first few nights they’d fall asleep huddled together in front of the fireplace while Wednesday read and Enid facetimed with their friends.

Nothing was official between them, but nothing was unofficial, either.

Thing would sometimes say they were like an old, married couple but Enid would only tell him off for calling them old and Wednesday would ignore him.

Everything was dreadfully peaceful until six months later when Enid decided they should have a reunion at their little house. It could be the housewarming party they never got to have!

Wednesday sighed. It was going to be a long weekend.

are you ready for it? master post

The chapter titles might be a stretch so if you think of Taylor Swift song that fits this chapter more, please tell me!

Not sure how many chapters this one will be. It’s just really fun to build a world around them so this chapter ended up really long. They work in just about any AU or with any headcanon. This is mostly inspired by TS songs like Wenclair Fic Idea No. 1. which I promise to somehow write into this.

Lol let me know what you think!

#wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #addams #sinclair #morticia #gomez #thing #wenlair college au #wenclair uni au #canon divergence #maybe #wenclair fluff #wenclair fanfic #wenclair fanfiction

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milk-crafting · 2 years ago

Note

How about 34. — mint? 👀

Sorry for the wait and sorry this is so long and mostly uneventful but I have a second part started already heheh It was originally going to be a little red riding hood au thing but it's only barely that now? It's fine, it's fine, it's just fluff

Herbal Remedies Ship: Ulbrig Olesk x Aldis (AU) Tags: Fluff, a little spooky stuff, very slow burn (nothing really happens yet but it's fine) Words: 1563

The path ahead of Aldis is clear and maintained, the dirt road edged with cloudberries, mint, lichen and moss covered boulders, and the tracks of little animals that have made their way through the woods before her and who’ll come scurrying back after her. Birdsong punctuates the pleasant breeze that sweeps through the trees, the air is crisp and clear, and puffy white clouds roll lazily across the bright blue sky through the pines overhead.

Aldis leans down on the side of the path, bending at the waist to pluck handfuls of mint growing wildly on the side of the road. Good for anxiety, stomach aches, insomnia, she thinks, cool blue eyes looking over the other herbs growing nearby, just further off the road. She tucks the fistfuls of mint into a wicker basket hanging lazily in the crook of her arm, the leaves and broken stems staining the white cloth inside slightly. It doesn’t bother her. She follows the wild herbs, foraging through them. Ground ivy for colds, wood nettle for allergies and teas, linden blossoms and hawthorn and juniper and wild garlic and flowers and roots and sweet cloudberries all make their way into her basket, ready to be used in tinctures and teas and poultices. It’s not magic, not really, but it’s all useful in its own way–especially when made with love and care.

She turns, starts to head back towards the path. It’s only when she’s been walking for a good 15 minutes that she realizes she’s lost. She doesn’t think that she’d wandered off the path that far, surely she just needs to retrace her steps, make her way back to the last landmark she remembers–but what landmarks are there really in a swath of wild herbs? She sees a patch of mint that’s been picked over already, did she do that? She takes a different direction from there this time. She still can’t find the road. She stops then, looking around, turning in place. The trees all look the same, maybe denser now, darker, brambles twisting and twining at their bases and catching on the hem of her dress as she turns. Had there been brambles before? She doesn’t remember seeing them, at least.

The air feels colder here, on the bitter end of crisp, she pulls her cloak up tighter around her neck and pulls her hood over her head, fitting her horns carefully through holes in the fabric. The soft mint-green fabric hangs in folds around her head and shoulders and billows out behind her in a sudden gust of wind that manages to make its way through the trees. She should have brought a guard with her. She can manage on her own usually, and usually Freyr insists that she bring someone with her when she goes on these little walks, but she’d managed to slip out on her own without an escort today. She’s a witch–even if Freyr doesn’t know that little fact about her–and she can handle herself just fine.

She feels the tips of her fingers tingle with frost as she prepares a spell. She doesn’t feel like she’s alone anymore. She knows this feeling. She turns again, brambles clinging and tearing at her dress, and sees a wall of white fog behind her. Shapes move in the fog, looming, massive but almost fluid in the grace with which they seem to phase in and out of existence in the thick fog. She hears a dry rattling sound, like dry sticks clacking against each other. The world around her starts to swim, and she feels like she might pass out, the corners of her vision starting to go black. A shape starts to emerge from the fog, tall and lean, an elk–

She turns and runs. Her dress and cloak snag and tear on the brambles around her, branches whipping at her face and arms and chest as she sprints through the woods away from it. She knows what it is, she owes everything to it, but she doesn’t want to face it. She runs until her lungs burn and her legs grow nearly too weak to stand, and when she finally collapses it’s nearing dark and she’s even more lost than she was before. Dark, quiet voices whisper in the trees, and the fog she’d so desperately been trying to outrun starts to filter into the clearing she lies in, and her heart races still even if she can’t even muster up the strength to drag herself away from all of it.

Aldis manages to prop herself up slightly with her back against the stump of a fallen tree, every breath dragging itself out of her lungs like knives against flesh and her vision begins to swim again. She squeezes her eyes shut, fear overtaking her and resigning her to flee in the only way she can now–by just not seeing what the beast will do to her.

The voices stop abruptly, and a warmth seeps into her chilled body. Birdsong returns to the woods (she hadn’t really noticed its absence until now). When she opens her eyes, a man is there, crouched in front of her, a hand outstretched and nearly brushing her cheek. She flinches back, thwacking the back of her head against the stump. Apparently, she does it with enough force to knock herself out cold.

When Aldis wakes up, it’s somewhere warm and comfortable–a bed that practically swallows her up, lined with furs and heavy quilts and plush pillows and more than a few large feathers. She sits up slowly, a hand coming up to caress the back of her head where a dull throbbing pain radiates out. The smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread fills the air, along with something unplaceable but distinctly masculine.

The room is comfortable, small with walls of cobbled stone and wood, a high arching ceiling with exposed beams above her, a large window in the roof letting in natural light–from a sunset. Or a sunrise, she can’t tell, but either would mean that she’s been here for far too long. Aldis sits up fully, swinging her legs out off the side of the bed, in time for the wooden front door to swing open and a hulking figure to enter.

Aldis tenses on the bed where she sits, blue eyes growing wide at the sight of the imposing man as he enters, his frame filling the doorway and his head tilting down just slightly to clear the top of it. When he straightens up inside and notices her awake, he smiles warmly.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you like that,” he says sheepishly, warm, slightly gruff voice filling the space between them.

“You didn’t,” she starts, noting the pitying look he casts at her. “I mean you did, but I was frightened already.”

He sets a bundle of firewood down by the hearth and approaches her. “What frightened you then?” There’s a hint of relief in his voice, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly with a small smile.

Aldis stares up at him for a moment, then releases a breath. “Ijiraq,” she explains. “I ran into one years ago and it’s never very far away now it seems.”

His smile fades almost instantly. “So you’ve been cursed then,” he says, voice low and serious now, all warmth gone from it.

“Something like that. If you could point me in the direction of the road though, I can be out of your hair–you won’t have to deal with my curse at all, I assure you.”

He waves a hand, turning and crossing the room to a shelf lined with little trinkets. “Nonsense,” he says, large hands grasping a small wooden effigy. He spits on it, then rubs his saliva into the wood with the hem of his shirt. “This should help just fine.”

Aldis takes the effigy between two fingers, holding it out away from herself slightly. “Oh! Is this… Is this magic?” She asks, feigning curiosity. She’s familiar enough with ‘folk magic’, and more palatable kinds of magic like that. She always claims to partake in that, not in the witchcraft actually practices. Better to be safe than burned at the stake, after all.

“Nah, not exactly,” he replies, cheeks flushing slightly. “But it’s better than magic anyway. I can walk you back to the path too, if you’d like,” he offers, extending a hand out towards her. “Ulbrig Olesk.”

Aldis takes his hand gently, about to let him kiss it–like most men would–but instead he gives it a firm shake that requires movement from her entire arm.

“Aldis Monstad,” she replies, smiling broadly up at him. He helps her to her feet, and leads her towards the door.

“Well, miss Monstad, let’s get you home.”

The walk back to the path is uneventful, and the walk back to civilization is even more boring once Aldis is alone again. She’d invited Ulbrig to town with her, she’d like to treat him to a warm dinner at the inn at least, but he declines.

She carries the effigy tucked in a pocket on her dress, fingers prodding at it lightly as she walks. It’s useless, apart from reminding her of the gentle mountain of a man who took her in and saved her–but in that way, it’s priceless to her. After all, how hard would it be to get lost again?

#wotr #my ocs #ulbrig olesk #my writing #aldis posting

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lab-trash · 9 months ago

Text

Today is mother's day and I got my dad a present. Multiple actually.

For background, my mom doesn't live with us. She moved out in 2021 and she moved back in with her parents just a couple months ago. She was neglectful when she did live here and I can't remember a single promise she ever kept.

My dad took over her (tiny amount of) responsibilities when she left and I think it made me appreciate him more. My dad wasn't there a ton when I was a kid, but that was because he had a job that required a 45 minute commute, and it's not like he was gonna get anything better to support our 8-member family. My dad has always tried his best.

(Fun fact: The day I bought a #1 Dad Mug at a thrift shop that matched my mom's very unique #1 Mom Mug was the same day my mom's mug broke. Talk about symbolism.)

In October he took in a homeless trans kid that my sister's partner was friends with. Both that kid and my sisters partner are going to be in our family pictures this coming Thursday.

At Walmart, I saw a pillow that said "mama bear" on it. And immediately I was like, I have to get this for my dad. For context, my dad is a bigger man with a big beard and long hair. He's a bear. He's also greygender and pretty much only uses his agab terms because, well, he's 45 and it doesn't really matter to him.

After seeing that pillow, I decided I didn't want to just do that. I got him a cuticle remover (he was talking about how he enjoyed it), some new hair things and hair clips (again, long hair), some oatmeal cookies that I know he likes, dark chocolate peanutbutter doves, and some liquid death, which we'd recently had a laugh over the existence of before promptly realising its actually really good. Lastly, a peanuts card that I picked up last minute.

I had to fit everything into a box from work so he wouldn't see anything and I brought it home under the pretense that my coworker had given me some miscellaneous items while decluttering. I brought it into my room, set everything up and put it behind my door.

I went around and had everyone sign it, only barely managing to get my sister before she left for work (unfortunately her partner left earlier than we anticipated, so I couldn't get them to sign the card) and I put everything into this tall bag with a unicorn on it. It was one of the only bags that was big enough to fit everything, and I just thought it was so perfect.

I was also planning on giving him a painting I did in middle school of the northern lights— I have all of my paintings from middle school tucked away on my bookshelf— but I couldn't find it.

I had to go to the store with him when he picked up my sister, so I couldn't just wait for him to get home. I had to wait til he went out to the van, sprint upstairs, grab this bag that's easily 15 pounds because of the liquid death, rush back downstairs, hide it between our couches, rush out to the van, then rush back inside when we got home and set it up on a couch for him to open.

It went over really well, which was something i was worried about right at the end there, since he'd asked me and my sister if we told our mom happy mothers day. I hadn't, but my sister had. They were talking about it when they entered and I beckoned dad into the living room for his mother's day gift.

Overall, I spent about $60 on the gift. And I don't regret it. One of the biggest things of note with my mom was that whenever we celebrated mother's day, I would always try to put effort into it to make her happy. And it was never... really appreciated. I remember one year I got this sort of clear trophy-wine glass thingy and put some chocolate in it, and I had all of her kids sign the lid. She didn't take it when she left. It was sitting in our kitchen (with half of our deadnames on it, might I add) until a few months ago. If she'd left it in dad's room, I think it'd be less hurtful, but she left it on the microwave cart where we all saw it every day. Mocking us both with our deadnames and our failure of a gift.

Buying for my dad wasn't like that. I know even if I fucked up one of the items, he'd enjoy even the existence of it at all. I could've just bought the card or just the pillow and he would've been happy. But I didn't, almost because of that fact. My dad would be happy with less, so he deserved more.

#happy mothers day #my dad #long post sorry #ill probably post this on reddit once i get my laptop in order #but i wanted to post it on mothers day #so here it is

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the-robot-bracket · 2 years ago

Note

You said i could submit more propaganda so here you go.

Steam powered giraffe propaganda time because i can so:

They are a band of steampunk robots. And a couple of months ago they celebrated their 15-year anniversary. They do a lot of different genres with their songs. For example, honeybee is slow and rips your heart out whenever you listen to it. Then you have fart patrol which is goofy and you can't help but smile. And there's the band lore.

A guy called Peter A Walter built them in 1896 to impress this girl called Delilah Morreo

Who then died then got brought back as a vampire by the other guy trying to impress her

Then she killed the other guy and found a way to fix her being a vampire and became a wraith.

(It is worth also mentioning that she is canonically a lesbian)

Other lore facts include

They are canonically war veterans and pretty much all of them have fought in multiple wars

The Beatles opened for them at one point

The robots run on QWERTY "The first truly intelligent computing device for the home of 1999"

Ok time for character facts

First up Rabbit (Played by Isabella Bunny Bennett)

She changes her appearance so much that it is hard to keep track sometimes

Was in love with a toaster her name was Jenny (Jenny got dropped 8 minutes after she was bought and Rabbit didn't have the warranty)

In a couple of the iterations of her costume, she has worn up to 6 belts

Next The Spine (Played by David Michael Bennett) (Probably worth noting that Isabella and David are twins)

He has a titanium alloy spine that's his backstory

He can detach his spine from his chassis

He loves the wild west and cowboys

He has the brain cell (always)

Zer0 (Played by Bryan Barbarin)

Zer0 was built out of three incomplete systems

He was left in a basement for nearly 100 years

Has his own cereal brand called ZER-0'S

Hachworth (Played by Sam Luke)

He has a moustache (That's all you need to know about him)

The Jon (Played by Jonathan Sprague)

The Jon is powered by crystal pepsi

He apparently has no brain, and inside his chassis is a void in which several hot dogs and a koi fish float around.

He has a cowboy mode

And last but not least Upgrade (Played by Erin Burke)

She has not received an upgrade since 1996

She left the band in 2011 to become a princess

Her existence was erased from the lore when she left the band then she got retconned back into the lore (I don't know when exactly but around the time of the band's 10th anniversary)

I would do things with the albums but that would take waaayyy too long. Thanks for letting me ramble they are all i have been able to think of for months. Yea so if you get a minute listen to their music and i hope I've convinced you to vote for them.

#robot bracket #robot poll #propaganda #steam powered giraffe

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sauriansolutions · 9 months ago

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God dammit God damnit

Tw... bad irl stuff, dead animal/dead pet tw's, severe depression/abuse/suicide tw's. Please I beg you to just scroll past this if you think you don't have the spoons to handle seeing it. Trust me I get it, if it wasn't my stuff I wouldn't want to know about it either.

Fuck I'm really not doing okay.

I just got back from my typical overnight shift, then went grocery shopping for the the 5 things I could afford, and finally came home to find

MY FROG DIED.

She was a little, underweight, green tree frog I got at one of the horrible chain pet stores because they had "boring, normal" tree frogs on sale, and this poor girl was underweight and had only one eye. (I called her Odinna.)

I had her for almost two years. I brought her with me, as one of my few possessions I wasn't forced to just abandon due to lack of space, when I moved cross-country after I couldn't afford to stay as a resident of the state I used to live in anymore.

I found her dead body while receiving a string of texts from my boss chewing me out for apparently stocking a product incorrectly. Some highlights:

"Don't ever (do task I previously claimed I entrusted to you) again!"

"All of (task) has to be redone because you fucked up!"

"If my boss would have seen this. Or his boss. Holy hell."

*also, photos of the hours of work I did last night being angrily undone, just to push the point home?*

I *put a product on the shelf wrong.* (I was never told the correct way.) Call the fucking firing squad, I guess.

It's not even these specific things, it's.

I don't have anybody I feel like I can safely talk about things like this with, otherwise I wouldn't be dumping this on the blog I tried to make for happy escapism.

I've been in so many long-term abusive relationships, I guess I don't know how to NOT be treated like shit. I've been trying though? I'm worried I might be too autistic and cptsd to even recognize what is a toxic relationship versus, I don't know, a normal snag between folks?

Pretty sure my boss and my roommate have been treating me like shit for awhile though. And I'm so dumb, I'm only just starting to recognize the patterns. Again. AGAIN. The same ones that--

Oh but, idk, maybe it's just me though? Maybe I am in fact so annoying, I deserve to have eyes rolled at me, to be cut off every time I try to talk, to be spoken to in this clipped, exasperated tone. Spoken *at*, more like.

But?? I don't think literally everything I say is stupid. I don't think literally everything I do deserves to be ignored if done well; and don't think I deserve to be excessively, humiliatingly berated if I make, (what seem to me at least? it's entirely possible I am the idiot?) really small, ultimately unimportant, and understandable mistakes??

Maybe I'm also insane to think this, but oh no I'm going to go THERE. Yeah so um... I feel like maybe I should be making a living wage? Hey, that would be cool. Maybe I should get at least like, ONE 15-20 minute food break on my "8 hour" overnight shifts? Maybe I should be getting healthcare (and maybe like what, 401k? Other kinds?) of benefits too, (what other kinds of benefits even exist? Dental? Vision?? Who the fuck has ever had their employer buy them glasses that sounds crazy!), esp considering I'm continuing to work my ass off while raw dogging it through venlafaxine withdrawals (lost my health insurance so fuck me I guess!!) and basically destroying my mental health, working anytime, all the time, full-time, with mandatory overtime--

That's only the tip of the goddamned iceberg, but enough, enough, I'm depressing myself too much to go on even just writing this.

Writing this is an exercise in acknowledging that it's all stuff that happened, not some nightmare. And had an effect on me. I had gotten so good at drugging and drinking myself to sleep, and ignoring, and ignoring,

I feel so trapped. I've been trying to like myself more, and there's a certain point that means you have to actually act on things like this, or else you... don't really like yourself that much, do you?

So, even though it is the most anxiety inducing thing ever, I have dipped my toes into "acting on it." To the extent that, recently, for the first time in my life, I've been willingly leaving jobs, friendships, and romantic relationships--if they feel like, if I told my therapist (who exists in my head, I can't afford one) about how they treat me, I can easily imagine them being like, "Wow okay so first of all, red flags all over the place!"

I've been doing this to my own detriment. I'm alone and stuck, unable to afford solo housing, or appropriate medication, or even food and other basic life necessities some of the time.

And here's the kicker.

I really, really don't want to die. In that sense, I'm not suicidal! But, I don't know how I'm supposed to keep existing like this without imploding or exploding in some way, though.

The worst part is just having no time, space, or resources to even start trying to heal. Nobody to even talk to safely... or, imo, ethically. I don't want to inflict this sadness and hopeless on some innocent bystander.

I'm sorry if you are the person reading this right now.

#don't read this #it's a hazard #personal #trigger warning #venlafaxine #effexor #major depressive disorder #mental health

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chalkrevelations · 1 year ago

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So, second week of 15 Minutes with KPTS, which is about the time Ep 1 takes to pull back and begin showing us the families of our titular protagonists, notably their main drivers/motivators, aka Korn re: Kinn and Chay debt Chay re: Porsche.

I went a little past 15 minutes last week, and arguably, that extra minute and a half could also slot in here, as it mainly includes the Bodyguard Farm rolling up to rescue Kinn from a gas-station parking lot in the middle of Plebtown – which is our first look at Ken, Arm, Pol and Blurry Pete – and that’s kind of Kinn’s home environment, if you wanted to stretch it. (The bodyguards rolling up in fancy cars, not a gas-station parking lot in the middle of Plebtown. More’s the pity. It would probably be good for him, given the way he enjoys the wilderness in Ep 6.) We actually already saw a bit of this, as Kinn’s walking out of the family compound to the car when the ep opens, which is only just now hitting me – we get introduced to both Kinn and Porsche “on the job” before moving to home/family in the first half hour, and the fact that home is also technically “on the job” for Kinn tells us something about how he always has to have work face on – there’s no real private space for him to escape to, he lives in the family compound, where the family does business, which means that everything, at some level, is business, and he's never NOT the Heir To The Theerapanyakul (Mafia) Empire. That boundary blurring has not and will not serve him well.

So, we technically get Kinn’s home/family environment as the first one we have exposure to, and it’s pretty cold and emotionally off-putting, if glammed up (poor little rich boy?). But from here, we cut to Porsche on his motorcycle, rolling up to his slightly shabby home lit up in warm and inviting tones of yellow, with fairy lights in the trees and a swing in the yard and candles burning in the house, and where we’re introduced to more plot points than we realize at the time: Pictures of Namphueng and Red-Shirt McKittisawasd, along with Chay and Porsche; “Uncle” Arthee, after going a few rounds with someone who’s a better fighter than he is; debt debt debt; and discussion of “Chai,” who came around to collect the rent. Meanwhile, Chay’s trying to patch up Arthee, and apparently it’s a good thing Uncle was around, or they might have hurt Chay instead, and I’m left wondering once again about the actual extent of Bee Pongsate’s imprint on this script, two weeks after watching high-school student Sailom on Dangerous Romance get the shit kicked out of him over payment on a debt while his older working brother/caretaker wasn’t home.

Anyway, we’re immediately given a front-row seat to how overly parentalized Porsche is. The parental figures in the happy family photo are nowhere to be seen and in fact have their portraits set on a mantle between two lighted candles in a display reminiscent of a shrine. Porsche is in charge of family finances (prioritizing Chay’s tuition over the rent), and spends part of this time reassuring his baby brother when Chay apologizes for … existing and going to school. “Uncle” Arthee has (supposedly) lost all his money investing in crypto, looks to Porsche for answers and can’t even feed himself, apparently. Porsche tells Arthee and Chay to eat the dinner he brought home, saying he already ate, which is a blatant lie, and such a Mom poverty thing to do I could scream into a pillow. We’re also going to additionally learn later in this segment that the fighting skills we’ve seen Porsche display in his rescue of Kinn are mainly put to use underground street-fighting, when we smash-cut to a fighting pit that looks like an empty abandoned swimming pool, where guys are kicking the shit out of each other for the amusement of a lot of people in designer clothes who are busy dancing and literally waving around fistfuls of cash in between bouts of guys getting their teeth knocked out. We meet both Jom and the phoenix tattoo at the fighting pit. Apo literally struts around with Porsche’s chest literally pushed out like it’s a literal cockfight. We get our first badly integrated product placement. We get feral Porsche, tongue between his teeth, probably appreciating having somebody to take out his aggression and frustration on. We get Porsche getting kicked in the face, clotheslined and crawling to his feet before finally taking out his final opponent because the promoter told him to draw it out, and then getting shorted his fee because he didn’t draw it out long enough. ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

I mean, yes – yes, I am, and I’m going to miss street-fighting Porsche when this plot thread just gets dropped later, but I’m also going to point out that there’s a significant single-mom-to-sex-work pipeline and say that the fighting pit is, maybe, another look at Porsche as hustler, particularly the way he’s supposed to fix his bout by extending it. We’ve seen him sell himself as sex appeal in his job at the bar, and he’s selling his body here just as much as if he was selling it for sex, and no less than he’ll be selling it to the Theerapanyakuls in order to help pay off debt and Chay’s tuition by working as a bodyguard + whatever kind of extra relationship Korn was envisioning with Kinn. Korn will buy Porsche as a companion for Kinn, just as surely as Kinn pays for the time and services of those very tasteful escorts we see him with, and I will remember all of this, every single bit of it, when we learn certain things later about Korn Theerapanyakul.

Anyway, back to the scenes with Chay and Arthee, and speaking of hindsight during a re-watch, I was very interested in watching Arthee’s face when he looks at the watch that Porsche brought home. When you know his background, you can realize he recognizes it, and it’s one reason he’s so apprehensive when he asks if Porsche stole it. He supposedly takes it and pawns it, but I have my doubts whether that actually happens or if he just shows up at the servants’ entrance of Chez Theerapanyakul with it in hand to return to Korn and gets given some money to make his story seem plausible. There’s also a point here when he apologizes to Porsche and says that he’s supposed to be helping them but he’s only making things worse. With re-watch hindsight, I have a moment to wonder how many levels he means this on, before I then suddenly wonder if this sadsack motherfucker is actually Vegas Theerapanyakul levels of manipulative and is using the truth to garner sympathy.

We spend less time with Kinn in this 15-minute segment, and the scene in Chez Theerapanyakul begins with Chan showing up typically stone-faced to report to Korn on the extent of Big’s gunshot wound and expected recuperation time, which is apparently months. Which is interesting, because as disposable as the bodyguards seem to be at other times, I’m a little surprised they’re willing to keep a winged one around for months of light duty – does he have to take a cut in pay? Or is Big special somehow? On hearing this, Korn looks around and asks “So, are you happy now?” in a “See how you fucked up?” tone of voice, and we pull back to see that Kinn is in attendance on his father, standing behind Korn and his potter’s wheel, where Korn is badly forming some kind of vessel and metaphor out of clay, attempting to mold it to his wishes (:coff coff:).

I suddenly realize that this is the first thing we ever hear Korn say to his son: “Are you happy now (that you have made a mess of things)?” Well, that’s going to set a trend. Also, if Porsche is overly parentalized in this segment, then by contrast, Kinn gets treated a lot like a recalcitrant child, an impression that isn't helped by his acting like one. He’s got his head down as Korn scolds him, telling him that, in this business, he needs to know his place (OH, REALLY, Puppetmaster?) and talking about how, when Korn was starting out, he had be be respectful and bring gifts. Kinn’s had his head down this whole time, but this is the point when we get a shit-eating grin as he reassures Korn that he sent Don an apology gift – a pile of goons literally tied up in red ribbon, we see. Kinn’s clearly amused with himself. Chan’s still stone-faced. Korn leaves, and Kinn looks at a computer tablet, which we eventually see has security camera footage from the alley of Porsche saving his ass from machete killers. (Oh, shit. Does that mean somebody’s got footage of every time Porsche fucked a customer, plus the VP meeting from Ep 13?)

Kinn wants to know if Chan's found Jom, yet.

Because that’s what Porsche said his name was.

:facepalm:

Gets us to 29:20 for this week.

#porsche pachara #kinn theerapanyakul #korn theerapanyakul #theerapanyakul a++ parenting #kinnporsche #kp 15m #kp 15m ep 1

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 2 years ago

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20k Leagues under the sea, Jules Verne

part 2, chapter 14-15

CHAPTER XIV THE SOUTH POLE

I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs—a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was dimly seen on our northern horizon.

“Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, with a beating heart.

“I do not know,” he replied. “At noon I will take our bearings.”

“But will the sun show himself through this fog?” said I, looking at the leaden sky.

“However little it shows, it will be enough,” replied the Captain.

About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury’s theory. The ingenious American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a vast cap, the circumference of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But the Nautilus, for fear of running aground, had stopped about three cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments, Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the South Pole. A few strokes of the oar brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on to the land, when I held him back.

“Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first setting foot on this land.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Captain, “and if I do not hesitate to tread this South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace there.”

Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in this ecstasy, he turned to us.

“When you like, sir.”

I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies, animating the waters on the skirts of the shore.

There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds, deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture, but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting them but to put a wick in.

“A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with wicks!”

About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs’ nests, a sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass, were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath, with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy. Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow.

“Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the Nautilus amid these atmospheric disturbances.

The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this violent storm. The Nautilus did not remain motionless, but skirted the coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March, the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large troops of sea-mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice, many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were provisions there for hundreds of vessels.

“Sir,” said Conseil, “will you tell me the names of these creatures?”

“They are seals and morses.”

It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else, forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins, forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their element—the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close skin and webbed feet—they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions, and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called, which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move as we approached.

“These creatures are not dangerous?” asked Conseil.

“No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the fishing-boats to pieces.”

“They are quite right,” said Conseil.

“I do not say they are not.”

Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce.

“Good!” said Conseil; “a concert of bulls!”

“No; a concert of morses.”

“They are fighting!”

“They are either fighting or playing.”

We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles, and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not stumble, and helped me up, saying:

“If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would preserve your equilibrium better.”

Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger.

As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint, approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him, and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the equinox; the sun would disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo.

“You are right, M. Aronnax,” said he; “if to-morrow I cannot take the altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March, my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun.”

“Why, Captain?”

“Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave errors may be made with instruments.”

“What will you do then?”

“I shall only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “If to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction, is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South Pole.”

“Just so,” said I. “But this statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.”

“Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do not want more. Till to-morrow, then!”

Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there.

“The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.”

That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me. But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The Nautilus had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds.

At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the Nautilus like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself.

“Twelve!” I exclaimed.

“The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon.

I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his hand on my shoulder, said:

“I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.”

“In whose name, Captain?”

“In my own, sir!”

Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed:

“Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!”

CHAPTER XV ACCIDENT OR INCIDENT?

The next day, the 22nd of March, at six in the morning, preparations for departure were begun. The last gleams of twilight were melting into night. The cold was great, the constellations shone with wonderful intensity. In the zenith glittered that wondrous Southern Cross—the polar bear of Antarctic regions. The thermometer showed 120 below zero, and when the wind freshened it was most biting. Flakes of ice increased on the open water. The sea seemed everywhere alike. Numerous blackish patches spread on the surface, showing the formation of fresh ice. Evidently the southern basin, frozen during the six winter months, was absolutely inaccessible. What became of the whales in that time? Doubtless they went beneath the icebergs, seeking more practicable seas. As to the seals and morses, accustomed to live in a hard climate, they remained on these icy shores. These creatures have the instinct to break holes in the ice-field and to keep them open. To these holes they come for breath; when the birds, driven away by the cold, have emigrated to the north, these sea mammals remain sole masters of the polar continent. But the reservoirs were filling with water, and the Nautilus was slowly descending. At 1,000 feet deep it stopped; its screw beat the waves, and it advanced straight towards the north at a speed of fifteen miles an hour. Towards night it was already floating under the immense body of the iceberg. At three in the morning I was awakened by a violent shock. I sat up in my bed and listened in the darkness, when I was thrown into the middle of the room. The Nautilus, after having struck, had rebounded violently. I groped along the partition, and by the staircase to the saloon, which was lit by the luminous ceiling. The furniture was upset. Fortunately the windows were firmly set, and had held fast. The pictures on the starboard side, from being no longer vertical, were clinging to the paper, whilst those of the port side were hanging at least a foot from the wall. The Nautilus was lying on its starboard side perfectly motionless. I heard footsteps, and a confusion of voices; but Captain Nemo did not appear. As I was leaving the saloon, Ned Land and Conseil entered.

“What is the matter?” said I, at once.

“I came to ask you, sir,” replied Conseil.

“Confound it!” exclaimed the Canadian, “I know well enough! The Nautilus has struck; and, judging by the way she lies, I do not think she will right herself as she did the first time in Torres Straits.”

“But,” I asked, “has she at least come to the surface of the sea?”

“We do not know,” said Conseil.

“It is easy to decide,” I answered. I consulted the manometer. To my great surprise, it showed a depth of more than 180 fathoms. “What does that mean?” I exclaimed.

“We must ask Captain Nemo,” said Conseil.

“But where shall we find him?” said Ned Land.

“Follow me,” said I, to my companions.

We left the saloon. There was no one in the library. At the centre staircase, by the berths of the ship’s crew, there was no one. I thought that Captain Nemo must be in the pilot’s cage. It was best to wait. We all returned to the saloon. For twenty minutes we remained thus, trying to hear the slightest noise which might be made on board the Nautilus, when Captain Nemo entered. He seemed not to see us; his face, generally so impassive, showed signs of uneasiness. He watched the compass silently, then the manometer; and, going to the planisphere, placed his finger on a spot representing the southern seas. I would not interrupt him; but, some minutes later, when he turned towards me, I said, using one of his own expressions in the Torres Straits:

“An incident, Captain?”

“No, sir; an accident this time.”

“Serious?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is the danger immediate?”

“No.”

“The Nautilus has stranded?”

“Yes.”

“And this has happened—how?”

“From a caprice of nature, not from the ignorance of man. Not a mistake has been made in the working. But we cannot prevent equilibrium from producing its effects. We may brave human laws, but we cannot resist natural ones.”

Captain Nemo had chosen a strange moment for uttering this philosophical reflection. On the whole, his answer helped me little.

“May I ask, sir, the cause of this accident?”

“An enormous block of ice, a whole mountain, has turned over,” he replied. “When icebergs are undermined at their base by warmer water or reiterated shocks their centre of gravity rises, and the whole thing turns over. This is what has happened; one of these blocks, as it fell, struck the Nautilus, then, gliding under its hull, raised it with irresistible force, bringing it into beds which are not so thick, where it is lying on its side.”

“But can we not get the Nautilus off by emptying its reservoirs, that it might regain its equilibrium?”

“That, sir, is being done at this moment. You can hear the pump working. Look at the needle of the manometer; it shows that the Nautilus is rising, but the block of ice is floating with it; and, until some obstacle stops its ascending motion, our position cannot be altered.”

Indeed, the Nautilus still held the same position to starboard; doubtless it would right itself when the block stopped. But at this moment who knows if we may not be frightfully crushed between the two glassy surfaces? I reflected on all the consequences of our position. Captain Nemo never took his eyes off the manometer. Since the fall of the iceberg, the Nautilus had risen about a hundred and fifty feet, but it still made the same angle with the perpendicular. Suddenly a slight movement was felt in the hold. Evidently it was righting a little. Things hanging in the saloon were sensibly returning to their normal position. The partitions were nearing the upright. No one spoke. With beating hearts we watched and felt the straightening. The boards became horizontal under our feet. Ten minutes passed.

“At last we have righted!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Captain Nemo, going to the door of the saloon.

“But are we floating?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he replied; “since the reservoirs are not empty; and, when empty, the Nautilus must rise to the surface of the sea.”

We were in open sea; but at a distance of about ten yards, on either side of the Nautilus, rose a dazzling wall of ice. Above and beneath the same wall. Above, because the lower surface of the iceberg stretched over us like an immense ceiling. Beneath, because the overturned block, having slid by degrees, had found a resting-place on the lateral walls, which kept it in that position. The Nautilus was really imprisoned in a perfect tunnel of ice more than twenty yards in breadth, filled with quiet water. It was easy to get out of it by going either forward or backward, and then make a free passage under the iceberg, some hundreds of yards deeper. The luminous ceiling had been extinguished, but the saloon was still resplendent with intense light. It was the powerful reflection from the glass partition sent violently back to the sheets of the lantern. I cannot describe the effect of the voltaic rays upon the great blocks so capriciously cut; upon every angle, every ridge, every facet was thrown a different light, according to the nature of the veins running through the ice; a dazzling mine of gems, particularly of sapphires, their blue rays crossing with the green of the emerald. Here and there were opal shades of wonderful softness, running through bright spots like diamonds of fire, the brilliancy of which the eye could not bear. The power of the lantern seemed increased a hundredfold, like a lamp through the lenticular plates of a first-class lighthouse.

“How beautiful! how beautiful!” cried Conseil.

“Yes,” I said, “it is a wonderful sight. Is it not, Ned?”

“Yes, confound it! Yes,” answered Ned Land, “it is superb! I am mad at being obliged to admit it. No one has ever seen anything like it; but the sight may cost us dear. And, if I must say all, I think we are seeing here things which God never intended man to see.”

Ned was right, it was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made me turn.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shut your eyes, sir! Do not look, sir!” Saying which, Conseil clapped his hands over his eyes.

“But what is the matter, my boy?”

“I am dazzled, blinded.”

My eyes turned involuntarily towards the glass, but I could not stand the fire which seemed to devour them. I understood what had happened. The Nautilus had put on full speed. All the quiet lustre of the ice-walls was at once changed into flashes of lightning. The fire from these myriads of diamonds was blinding. It required some time to calm our troubled looks. At last the hands were taken down.

“Faith, I should never have believed it,” said Conseil.

It was then five in the morning; and at that moment a shock was felt at the bows of the Nautilus. I knew that its spur had struck a block of ice. It must have been a false manœuvre, for this submarine tunnel, obstructed by blocks, was not very easy navigation. I thought that Captain Nemo, by changing his course, would either turn these obstacles or else follow the windings of the tunnel. In any case, the road before us could not be entirely blocked. But, contrary to my expectations, the Nautilus took a decided retrograde motion.

“We are going backwards?” said Conseil.

“Yes,” I replied. “This end of the tunnel can have no egress.”

“And then?”

“Then,” said I, “the working is easy. We must go back again, and go out at the southern opening. That is all.”

In speaking thus, I wished to appear more confident than I really was. But the retrograde motion of the Nautilus was increasing; and, reversing the screw, it carried us at great speed.

“It will be a hindrance,” said Ned.

“What does it matter, some hours more or less, provided we get out at last?”

“Yes,” repeated Ned Land, “provided we do get out at last!”

For a short time I walked from the saloon to the library. My companions were silent. I soon threw myself on an ottoman, and took a book, which my eyes overran mechanically. A quarter of an hour after, Conseil, approaching me, said, “Is what you are reading very interesting, sir?”

“Very interesting!” I replied.

“I should think so, sir. It is your own book you are reading.”

“My book?”

And indeed I was holding in my hand the work on the Great Submarine Depths. I did not even dream of it. I closed the book and returned to my walk. Ned and Conseil rose to go.

“Stay here, my friends,” said I, detaining them. “Let us remain together until we are out of this block.”

“As you please, sir,” Conseil replied.

Some hours passed. I often looked at the instruments hanging from the partition. The manometer showed that the Nautilus kept at a constant depth of more than three hundred yards; the compass still pointed to south; the log indicated a speed of twenty miles an hour, which, in such a cramped space, was very great. But Captain Nemo knew that he could not hasten too much, and that minutes were worth ages to us. At twenty-five minutes past eight a second shock took place, this time from behind. I turned pale. My companions were close by my side. I seized Conseil’s hand. Our looks expressed our feelings better than words. At this moment the Captain entered the saloon. I went up to him.

“Our course is barred southward?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. The iceberg has shifted and closed every outlet.”

“We are blocked up then?”

“Yes.”

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #jules verne #books

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

Text

REEEEEEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYY OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗🥰🥰🥰😘😘😘😘. Like???? LIKE????? I am 💳💥UNWORTHY *BOWS*

I FINALLY got to finish this! I didn't wanna write a review if I 1/2 read it.

Very understandable!! Thank you for reviewing in general!! I'm still absolutely blown away!!!

The world building was so damn cool! The way you told about all the creatures of that world and how humans interact with them. The conversations the things have in that bar..👀

THANK YOU!!!!!! I'm really proud of the world building!!!! Its all actually based on real world supernatural creatures, and their personalities and drinks are based off their real world origins locations.

The conversations in that bar indeed!

The way the ENTIRE bar changes when Yoongi walks in,

The man is important and all creatures of the night know that.

the fact that Sal gave zero shits about that, and he paid the price.. read the room SOB

THIS SCENE BROUGHT ME LIFEEEEE. I love that he's now nothing more than scuffs on the floor.

😂 I wonder how Tae was hired to work alongside the only human at the bar🤔

He loves being able to playfully mess with her using his powers. He finds her cute in a "oh cute little human" way, but has also grown really fond of her too.

The fact that she saw kindness and patience in this man, who is the most violent and terrifying creature on any plain of existence to kill something without mercy or hesitation. The KING of torment. That's some soulmate shit right there.

ISNT IT. And the way that he lets her, he cant help it. Mans is so gone for her and I sob every time I think about it.

I love the banter between her and Tae. I hope they'll be friends for a long time. Are her other friends all humans? Did they go to a human club for her birthday?

I do too. They're such shit disturbers for one another and yes! All of her other friends are humans. They went to a human bar for her birthday because she wouldn't dare risk her friends lives at a "Night" bar.

The pent up feelings, then seeing him ON her birthday.. how did he know where she and her friends were?

RIGHT. Him seeing her on HER birthday and then her seeing him on DEVILS NIGHT. LIKE??? helloooooo timing.

and there are some things Yoongi just *knows* (and he asked Tae)

How long was he watching her?

15 minutes prior to her friends noticing. So 45 minutes? He loved how much fun she was having with her friends and didn't want to disturb her. Only wanted her to come to him if she wanted to.

The fact that just went... It's My Birthday, I'm getting that man. He is mine now fuck it, was hilarious ! I dunno how she didn't pass out from all that he did to her😦 he walking around with 3 legs!

I LOVE that she just went with it. No regrets. She'd had enough and let herself have what she's wanted for so long. Like girl, good for you for going and getting what YOU want.

And bro literally same. Readers a trooooooper.

The way she snarks at him at the end, nobody wants to think about their parents after sex marathon or otherwise 😂

The way I laughed my ass off when she said that. I literally went "yep. thats the last line. his response. I will not be able to continue on or make a better ending than that." and kept it.

Honestly, this was amazing what a great Halloween treat. I would genuinely read so much more about them.

THATS SUCH A HUGE COMPLIMENT THANK YOU????!!! And I'll definitely have to consider maybe doing some drabbles for them in the future because you're not the first to say that!!

Thank you Orchid!!!

No, thank YOU Remmy <<<<33333333

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word.

Intimate. That would be a better choice.

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering.

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony.

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy.

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts.

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go.

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between.

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company.

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight.

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off.

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges.

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter.

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot.

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are.

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back.

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses.

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up.

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.”

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is.

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck.

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself.

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.”

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, is ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night.

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung!

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing.

You just lost all your tips for the night.

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it.

Fuck.

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet.

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know.

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it.

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass.

No one serves him but you.

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you.

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year.

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath.

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,” he responded.

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased.

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you.

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it.

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink.

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself.

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.”

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.”

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.”

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation.

No one calls the Devil by his first name.

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to.

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives.

No one except you.

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is.

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that.

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night.

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker…

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up.

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath.

The King of Hell.

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end.

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon.

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging.

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully.

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive.

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again.

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well.

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while.

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was.

And maybe he is.

But not to you.

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow.

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him.

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world.

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you.

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find.

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos.

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside.

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor.

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding.

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system.

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth.

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing.

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer.

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target.

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own.

Yoongi.

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself.

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real.

And he looks like sin incarnate.

Fitting.

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you.

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on.

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved.

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you.

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises.

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night.

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse.

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him.

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body.

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.”

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now.

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening.

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you.

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant.

Beautiful.

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says.

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you.

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers.

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you.

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring.

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait—

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse.

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’.

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him.

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides.

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it.

You’ve decided.

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power.

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years.

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back.

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club.

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait.

And apparently neither does Yoongi.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate.

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil.

You trust Yoongi.

“That's a good girl.”

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft.

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people?

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on.

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get.

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight.

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent.

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea.

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh.

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off.

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?”

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs.

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you.

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.”

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge.

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look.

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded.

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter.

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip.

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue.

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.”

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get.

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it.

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt.

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines.

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before.

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it.

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.”

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures.

You’re the most powerful person here.

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible.

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know.

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact.

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace.

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them.

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you.

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else.

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal.

Perfect in every single way.

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too.

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back.

Not yet.

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling.

Ever.

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more.

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence.

There was only you.

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He existed only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows.

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming.

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance.

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white.

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need.

It’s yours.

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze.

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented.

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?”

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before.

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.”

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him.

You just know it.

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless.

You never expected anything like that.

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years.

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better.

Because of you.

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that.

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly.

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell.

He was yours now.

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

#FINALLY GOT TO IT SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG #Short term memory loss did it's thing BUT IT'S HERE NOW #reviews #TDWV reviews #REMMY!!#remmykinsff

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