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lorelune · 29 days ago

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O4O: part iii // PART 1

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega4omega w/ milfy jing yuan || wc: 17.6k of 37.3k || ao3 ||

You are on the precipice of your heat. Jing Yuan must cope and navigate his desires, both old and new.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

✨ O4O masterlist ✨ // part i — part ii — part iii -> PART 1 (here) & PART 2

🩷 extended author's note

❣️ please note! part iii of o4o is separated into two posts here on tumblr. part 2 can be found linked above and at the end of this post as well. part iii is up as a single chapter on ao3 additionally! ❣️

notes: oh my god. loves. we made it. through blood, sweat, tears, a move, an irl relationship coming and going, WE MADE IT!!! i'm so excited for y'all to read and enjoy :'^) this piece would not have been able to be completed without the help of beloved betas (no a/b/o pun intended) @ofmermaidstories, @aimfor-theheart & @harmonydove. truly could not have done it without the feedback and encouragment :'^) all that said, please note the disclaimer above, stick around for part 2!!

CW: omegaverse, omega reader, omega jing yuan, top jing yuan (in this part) milfy jing yuan, mommy kink (both explicit and implicit), cry baby reader, fisting, knotting toys, biting, hurt/comfort, sickfic, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing, author-created omegaverse lore

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 —

It’s sometime in the past, during a sizable gathering on a private veranda near the Artisanship Commission. The evening has whittled into night, the breeze temperate and only a bit balmy. The air teems with the scent of freshly-fried food, liquor, and company.

Casks of plum wine and amber mead sit scattered across the many tables poised across the pavilion. Even at this hour, the space is filled with lively folks, clustered into groups. Folks from across the six Commissions gather, energy rising into the late evening. Cups have already been filled, emptied, and then filled again, several times over.

Jing Yuan enjoys it. It’s reminiscent of bygone times, with enough newness to not feel chafing or make him overly melancholic.

The folks that mill around him and the other Charioteers are not his peers that he trained with as a young Cloud Knight, or his closest companions as a member of the High Cloud Quintet. They are mostly workers employed closely to the Charioteers. All of whom deserve a night out to destress. It’s ‘good for morale’— that’s what he had told Qingzu when he said the gathering would be held at the Seat of the Divine Foresight’s expense. She couldn’t find it in herself to scold him, as she more than likely knew that the General would secure her her own personal bottle of favored strawberry liquor as an unspoken, off-the-books bonus.

Qingzu is nowhere to be found now. Some of the guests have taken to roaming around the pavilion, spreading out amongst its ponds and large stone and crystal statues. They’re beautiful at night; Jing Yuan wanders this area often. He enjoys the stillness of it. The lushness of this particular garden lends itself to being quite private as well.

Not so much now, as Diviner Fu slaps her hands on the tabletop. Her scent mixes with the honeyed mix drink that she’s been nursing. She whinges at Yukong, something about budgeting and the maintenance of the Matrix, and how ‘having one Master Calibrator is hardly sufficient’, which Yukong doesn’t seem to be disagreeing with, but Yukong’s lack of total, enthusiastic validation seems to ruffle Fu Xuan sufficiently.

It’s cute to watch, Jing Yuan cannot lie.

He himself is fairly sober thankfully. With all of the scents swirling, it would likely be overwhelming if he were to add much alcohol into the mix. He has been sipping a small amount of wine, but nothing more. He’s a weepy drunk after all. And he would rather have that intimate knowledge remain safely with him, and not shared amongst the Commissions as a fresh piece of gossip.

(He plans to save his tears, if any, for his nest. Camaraderie tends to make him misty-eyed once it is over and he is alone again, naturally. The absence of companionship must be weathered accordingly and privately.)

As Jing Yuan opens his mouth to tease the imbibed Master Diviner, a firm hand lands on his shoulder.

”C’mon, it’s gettin’ late.” The hand pats him. “We gotta get you home, baby.”

There’s a moment of incredible stillness where the entire company of his table (the Charioteers, all of them—) stare at whoever is behind him, agape. It must look quite funny. Jing Yuan pauses with the warm contact. The scent of sunshine heat and the wood embers of low burning hearth surround him.

He turns and sees you.

Jing Yuan recognizes your face from the Sky Faring Commission’s roster, but can’t put a name to it. He does not know you which makes all of this more comical.

(You are not anyone to him, not yet.)

You are, however, quite cute. Jing Yuan finds himself a bit distracted and charmed by the shape of your lips, the wideness of your eyes. You stand, poised with an arm offered to him, wearing a look of abject horror.

The scents behind him begin to sour. This is… not just bold, but stupid. Judging by your expression and such casual language, the lackadaisical offering of your crooked arm was not intended for him. There’s a flush on your cheeks and a haze in your gaze; he assumes you’re as drunk as the rest of the party.

Jing Yuan smiles.

“I suppose it is about time I turn in for the evening.” He rises with a stretch and a yawn that’s at least half legitimate. “How kind of you to offer me a hand.”

You stall for a moment, visibly mentally stumbling as you stare up at him, scent sweetening, “I’m so sorry—“

”What’s there to be sorry about?” It’s a bit cruel to speak to you like this, he knows. All eyes of the party are on the two of you and this blunder, and Jing Yuan causing more mischief is not in great form. “I am happy to have an escort home. Shall we?”

He links his arm with your own.

The veranda is left behind, more than one of the Charioteers (and your companions?) squawking at you as you depart. You stay tense near his side until the sounds of the party fade into the night. When Jing Yuan sneaks glances at your face, you have the look of someone who swallowed something bitter and rotten. Your scent remains sharp, tart on the back of his tongue, even as you near quiet neighborhoods and his estate.

He stops you outside the gate and plies you with a sweet smile.

You immediately bow, bent fully at the waist, “G-General, I apologize— deeply apologize— I mistook you for someone else and h-have made quite the fool of myself. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

”None of that now, please. You’ve not been an inconvenience in the slightest. If anything, I should be thanking you as your interference allowed me to escape that party a few hours earlier than I was expected to be there for.”

”… I-I—“ You raise yourself up as Jing Yuan tilts his head down to you. Even at your full height, he’s still quite a bit taller than you. Wider in the shoulders and with a more honed, straight-spined posture. By comparison, you almost cower, hunched a bit as you look up at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “If you’re certain, General. I never meant to cause any trouble.”

”You did not cause any trouble— at least not for me. Though, I may suggest limiting your plum wine consumption when around your superiors.” He says with a cheeky smile.

There’s an indignant, watery look your eyes take on. You shift on your feet, and your scent ripens like summer fruit (an omega, clearly. Jing Yuan suspected as much.) The attention he gives you, though paltry, has you preening.

“I-I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, General. Thank you for being understanding, and I swear it won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure.” Jing Yuan chuckles. Given how you’re swaying on your feet, the hangover you’re sure to have the following morning will perhaps keep you from over-indulging for a while. “Would you like an escort home? It’s quite late.”

“General, t-that defeats the purpose of me walking you here, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but this was an accident, wasn’t it?” He hums. “Though I am grateful for a late-night companion, it wasn’t a necessary measure. You, however, may benefit more directly from a guide this evening?”

“No need, General.” You shake your head. Your scent goes bitter, just barely, the scent mingling with the blooming flowers of his garden just beyond the gate. “T-Though I am grateful for your kind offer, I’ll be fine getting home on my own.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t like your answer.

(It seems like a poor idea. A young omega, not wearing any scent patches or protective clothing, wandering in the night while a glass or two too deep in their cups. It feels foolish to let you go off alone.)

“Are you certain?” Jing Yuan implores you.

“More than.”

Your smile is transparently pathetic.

You walk away that night. You leave Jing Yuan outside the gate of his estate with only the wisps of your scent left, clinging to the well-trimmed bushes and vines that crawl the stone and metal walls of his estate. Jing Yuan swears he carries the smell of you with him that night as he enters the manor and readies for bed. As he flips through a book of poetry by candlelight, he feels almost certain your scent has come along with him. It rolls into his nest.

It is the first way you linger with him.

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 —

There is much planning to be done following your trip to the Alchemy Commission and the revelations that come with it.

Jing Yuan handles most of it. At the behest of his own gentle pressing, you allow him to do so. Despite the various supplements and tinctures you are given by Lei Huiling to control your current symptoms, you are still not in the greatest health. You maintain a low-grade fever and stay fatigued in the days that follow your visit. Keeping you rested (and preferably not stressed) for your impending heat is vital.

Jing Yuan sorts through the necessary clerical work. A few weeks of time off is secured for both of you. It is to be a ‘shared sabbatical’ on paper. He knows that this will only further the rumors that you are his taken mate, but he doesn’t exactly... mind that. The rumor mill has already been thoroughly fed and stirred with how often you two have been seen in public together lately. Jing Yuan thinks that you have been too out of it to notice the attention, more often than not. And when you do—

(You cling to him a bit more when you do notice many eyes on you. You find comfort in him so explicitly—)

Jing Yuan certainly won’t do anything to dissuade public opinion, not unless it becomes necessary. It’s something to mull over.

Fu Xuan gives him an earful about ‘taking good care of you’ and to call her if you need an ‘alpha of virtue and good standing’. Jing Yuan knows that won’t be needed, but teases the Master Diviner about her chivalry regardless. As thanks for her generous offer and penance for his impish behavior, he bestows on her the mantle of Acting Arbiter General in his absence. Fu Xuan seems plenty satisfied with this.

Yukong is agreeable and seems... quite pleased with the recent developments of your coupling. Her tail swishes happily as Jing Yuan relays to her via hologram that you will be out for a not-insignificant length of time for medical reasons. She congratulates him and then chides him in the next breath.

(“I better see you court them properly following this, General. If I catch them sporting any claim without a matching couple’s charm on your wrists’, you will be receiving the scolding of a lifetime.”)

Jing Yuan takes her threat seriously and writes himself a note to secure the necessary colored threads and blown glass beads to construct the courting bracelets. It may be a good post-heat activity to do together, he thinks initially. However, perhaps, he would prefer to keep your bracelet design from you until it is completed and it can be gifted to you properly. There’s a fair amount of decorum in courting that Jing Yuan has forgone, somewhat tactlessly, up until this point. It would do you both well for him to recall some of it and, as Yukong suggested, court you once this heat has passed.

(Jing Yuan likes the sound of it so, so much. Even if his own courting instincts are under-used and unearthed these days.)

In the meantime, Jing Yuan takes care to assist you in preparing for it.

The markets are abuzz when he returns several days in a row, purchasing and pocketing little bags of sweets and dried fruit. A few hard cheeses and seed mixes as well. Anything that he can find that he thinks you may enjoy and is easy to eat during the lulls of it. He takes a trip or two to the compounder in the Alchemy Commission to fetch the litany of medications and supplements Lei Huiling had prescribed. Each vial and bottle is labeled clearly with dosages, penned in his own hand.

Jing Yuan prepares a number of blankets, bed linens, and clothes for your nest as well. His own nest becomes overstuffed with them, but he hardly minds. He takes great care each evening to remove his usual adhesive scent-blocking patches and scrub the area free of any potentially sticky residue. It’s a diligence he rarely carries for the activity of washing that area, as it hasn’t been particularly relevant that his scent be so easy to spread. Now he finds himself washing and rinsing the skin at least twice. He massages the glands on his neck as well; Baiheng always had said that scent releases easier than way.

Jing Yuan’s nest has never smelt so much like… himself. The petrichor and charged air wrap around each linen, with the sweetness of honeysuckle just a touch behind it. Omega’s scents tend to be sweeter or spiced. Jing Yuan hadn’t fully realized that his leaned toward the former. Sleeping each night in a proper, scented nest of his own does feel lovely. Indulgent, even though Jing Yuan has a suspicion that this will become routine in time. He doesn’t mind procuring the wealth of blankets and pillows smothered with his scent, and equally wouldn’t mind having some drenched in your scent as well.

You have admitted that you are having trouble getting your own nest together, but Jing Yuan hopes that his offerings make it a bit easier. He thinks that they do. Your scent always brightens and goes gooey on the sides of his palette whenever you receive a bundle from him at your door.

You have not yet let him enter your home.

It makes sense. If an alpha’s home is their den, an omega’s home in its entirety is something of a nest, even beyond the bedroom that it usually is made in. You had seemed woefully uncomfortable when Lei Huiling had pointed out your dysregulated nesting behaviors. It can only be interpreted as something akin to shame to Jing Yuan. He knows you are preparing in your own ways, readying your space for someone to share it with you.

You tell him, explicitly, that you will handle the procurement of any necessary toys or lube. You say so with hot cheeks and can’t meet his eyes (even though you’ve shared a bed once before and he has had his tongue in your cunt. He finds the display endearing.) You also tell him that your little home, tucked away in a pleasant corner of the Luofu’s northern floral district, is also outfitted with scent locks on the doors and windows, so there shouldn’t be any leaking of heat smell.

Dutifully, you meet each day during lunch. You take the tapered dose of your suppressants and a regulating tincture with a full glass of water that Jing Yuan helps you drink (you do not need his help, but you like it. Jing Yuan likes giving it to you.) Your plate is always clean by the end of your lunches, though sometimes it takes an hour or two for you to get through the meal. Your appetite waxes and wanes.

By the time you reach your final, smallest dose of your suppressants, you can hardly make yourself eat. You look at Jing Yuan warily after swallowing down the pills, mincing and shifting on your knees beneath the latticed gazebo of the favored garden. Wisteria drips from frames nearby, casting petal-shaped shadows.

“I’m nervous, Jing Yuan,” You tell him softly. “Really nervous.”

“I know,” he tells you. He has known since the day you left the Alchemy Commission with a parcel of medicine. Your scent hasn’t lost its sour edge, never entirely. “Does it reassure you, knowing that I’ll be there?”

“... I think it scares me a little more, knowing that.” You swallow.

Jing Yuan tilts his head inquisitively and brushes hair away from your face. He leans down close, so your breath mingles, your scent in his mouth. The flavor and taste of it provide him such a wealth of information. You know this; it disarms you. You have nothing you can hide from him, just as he most enjoys.

“Will you tell me more? I intend to help ease your heat for you, not make it more stressful than it already is.”

“… Will you think less of me if I tell you?”

“No, not at all.” He assures you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You shiver with it and nod.

“I’ve... never shared a heat— my own heat before,” you confess and squeeze the hand of his that you hold. He assumed as much. “Never with an alpha, omega, or beta. I’ve always spent them alone with minimal relief. I’m not sure what it will be like to be so out of my mind and around another person. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I speak or act out of turn while I can’t make sense of anything other than... heat.”

Jing Yuan hums thoughtfully, “Do you remember how I acted, during my heat?”

“Of course.”

“And how was I?”

“... You were lovely, as you are now.”

“Thank you,” he steals a proper kiss from you and pulls away without allowing you to chase him. “Did you scorn me then, for not being fully lucid? Wouldn’t that have been cruel?”

You stumble mentally. Jing Yuan watches it in your eyes.

“I-I mean, I didn’t. Of course not. And yes, it would be cruel.” You frown at him. “But, I think mine are worse than that, Jing Yuan. I’m in pain more often than not, rather than aroused. Half of the time, I end up on the bathroom floor because I get so nauseous. And even if I don’t get so sick, and I am, um, yearning, let’s say— I’m not very experienced, even outside of my heat cycle. I’m very grateful for your help, but what if it’s all just... too much in the moment?”

Jing Yuan lets you finish before kissing you.

This kiss is slow, deep, and reverent. Consuming. He means it to be, he needs you to feel it. Words rarely fail him, but this is part of his strategy, to coax you into feeling and breathlessness in tandem with sweet words. You mewl beneath his touch when his tongue darts out to taste your lips.

He pulls away with a heavy breath.

“You are not too much,” Jing Yuan reminds you. “I am very capable of handling you, in whatever state that is, especially during your heat. Whether that is sickness or ‘yearning’, I will be there to ease you. I cannot offer you a knot, or the solace that comes with that type of coupling, but I will be there in all other ways.”

“... What if you get overwhelmed?”

“We will deal with that if such a thing occurs.”

“Okay.” You sniffle and concede, burying your face in his unmasked scent glands.

He hoists you closer and pets you. Contact like this has become commonplace over the past few weeks. It soothes both of you, calms the fractious omega in you, and the antsy, overbearing omega in him. It drenches you in each other’s scent.

“Dear?” He asks once you’ve calmed in his arms. “May I clarify a few things?”

“Mhm,” you pull away just enough to look at him in the eyes and cup his face in your two soft hands.

Jing Yuan already knows the answers to the questions he is poised to ask you. However, you need to know he knows. He needs to soothe the frayed nerves that will surely follow.

“You noted your own inexperience earlier, and that you’ve never shared a heat. Have you ever laid with anyone, heat-addled or otherwise?”

There’s a pause. You tense up, flushing and struggling to meet his gaze, “I-I haven’t— not other than you, during your heat.”

Something in him cracks, unfurls, and wants more of him. He feels glutinous.

“I am your first?”

“... Yes.”

“... When I touched you during my heat, were those your first times being intimate in those ways?”

“Y-Yeah, I hadn’t g-gone that far before.”

“I see.” Jing Yuan cannot help the coy smile that breaks over his face. You look ready to combust. “I’m honored to be your first. I’ll be sure to take good care of you, hm? As you deserve.”

You nod up and down, looking like you’re ready to squirm out of your skin, “... ‘Honored’? It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Actually, he’s elated. Ecstatic. He had a hunch, but he wasn’t entirely certain. The confirmation has his belly swooping, heating. He grins. “I will get to deflower my omega. I can imagine no greater privilege.”

His slip of the tongue is somewhat intentional. Maybe a little devilish, depending on your reaction.

‘My omega’.

It may be a step too far— in which case, he can do damage contro. Perhaps not backpedal, but clarify. However— that becomes clearly unnecessary as your gaze darkens. Your pupils widen. And for the first time since that awful day in his garden, your scent is fully sweet.

“‘My’ omega?” you say, softly, like if you speak too loudly the phrase and its meaning will disintegrate. “Your omega, Jing Yuan? Be sage with your words, please.”

He is being, perhaps, a little bit less sage than he should be. But he is being honest. And his honesty is something he covets giving to you.

“I am being truthful.” He nudges your cheek with his nose. “My omega, if you wish to be.”

Your expression shatters, revealing something that is only his to see. With scent blooming like honey and hearth fire, your eyes go wide, your lips tremble. It’s sweet, innocent even. Your gaze is so tender, it soothes something in his chest that he’s just beginning to name. He wants to hold you to his chest and keep you there. It’s hard to understand. But he wants you to be his.

You swallow, slow and audible.

“Only if you’re mine too.”

Oh, by Lan, he wants to be.

(And Jing Yuan hasn’t wanted to be anyone’s in so long.)

(His energy and vigor have belonged to the Luofu, so nothing like the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae or the events surrounding the dissolution of the High Cloud Quintet ever happens again or, if something so disastrous were to occur again, that it would not be so deeply mishandled. It’s paramount. He has a beloved apprentice to look after. He has the gardens he tends and his birds to feed, but there is a distance with all of it. It is parts of him doled out, not his whole. Jing Yuan has not been whole since he saw Yingxing’s eyes carved with Shuhu’s insignia and Dan Feng mutilated into a man that couldn’t be called wholly different or the same.)

And yet—

He wants to sink his teeth into your neck. Over your pulsing, inflamed, undertended scent gland. He wants you to bite him until he bleeds, so everyone knows that the Divine Foresight has someone to hold again, however potentially fleeting.

“I am yours,” he answers. The unhindered, airy quality of his own voice throws him off. He relishes it as yet another new thing that you’ve brought out in him to be shared.

You brighten and launch forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders so tightly. His arms find their way around your waist, squeezing in time with your sweetened laugh. The sound (that could make flowers bloom and dough rise) soothes the thing in him that is wanting. You kiss him like the sky kisses the sun at noontime. He bring you closer still, trying to sink in your skin.

Jing Yuan, for all of the preparations needed for your heat, is unafraid of its difficulties. You are his, and Jing Yuan must get you in a comfortable nest and assure that you are cared for. Your heat will boil over any day now, it’s only a matter of time.

And Jing Yuan is excited.

...

Your pre-heat symptoms rise on a thankfully brisk morning. Jing Yuan receives a text from you just as he awakens in his own nest:

[you]: could you come over? my fever is back.

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother responding; he hits the ‘call’ symbol next to your name on his jade abacus. Shifting upwards, the white linen covers he’d been under slides down, falling around his waist.

You pick up on the second ring. “Jing Yuan?”

”Hello,” he speaks warmly. “How are you feeling?”

”I’m okay. S-starting to feel kinda gross.” He can hear the grimace in your voice. You thump around on the other side of the call. “I-I think I have everything ready though. As ready as it can be. If y-you’d like to come over, you can.“

”I’ll be there as soon as I round up a few things myself.” He tells you. “Is there anything last minute that you would like me to fetch?”

”I-I can’t think of anything— I need to check my lists though.” There is more thudding through the speaker. “I—I— can I text you?”

Your bumbling is hopelessly endearing. Jing Yuan smiles, “Of course. I will see you soon regardless, hm?”

”Yeah, I‘ll see you then. And Jing Yuan?” you say. “T-thank you, so much.”

The warmth of your words fills his chest. His own scent blooms, soaking into his nest and the walls of his bedroom. He wants to hold you so, so badly.

”Of course.” His tone sounds rich in his own ears even as the call disconnects from your end.

…

It only takes Jing Yuan an hour or so to finish his own final preparations. The necessary bags are packed and hooked on his elbows as he makes his way toward the flower district. It’s early enough that there is little foot traffic to ogle the Divine Foresight playing pack mule, which he is grateful for. It would be an unwelcome distraction.

His fixation is on you.

Jing Yuan makes a single stop on the way (having not received any messages from you in the interim) to grab a box of treats that he thinks you will enjoy. He balances it in his hand, flat on his palm, and unlatches the little metal gate to your front yard.

Though Jing Yuan hasn’t been inside of your home, he has been outside of it several times during the past few weeks. Jing Yuan has dropped off a number of items for you to keep in advance of your heat— scented items, and his own clothes and toiletries that he would be remiss to not have during the throes of your heat but will more than likely forget the day of.

He’s glad he has had the foresight to be intensely... intentional about your heat.

It has steadied you, he knows. The days where you’ve simply sat, side-by-side or with you tucked into his lap, seem to soothe you more than any of the Alchemy Commission’s prescriptions have been able to. He knows you appreciate the space that those moments provide. He figured it would, and built the time to see you in that way into his schedule because he had a hunch that slowness was what you needed most (in opposition to the burn and speed that a heat necessitates.)

He’s been careful with you. Not that he’s treading too carefully around you, but he does treat you gingerly. Careful touches that he has learned that you don’t mind (a hand on your waist, his lips on your cheek), encouraging you to take the same from him if that’s what you wish. He always asks before initiating any further intimacy. Despite the fact that you’ve shared a bed and will do so again, he knows this helps you feel safer about the exchange.

It helps him too, really.

Heats, by their nature, tend to feel out of control. Even if one is medicated and informed and knowledgeable, they can still be so unpredictable. The phenomenon of heat cycles is, of course, something produced by biology and therefore affected by any number of other factors beyond the physical. Jing Yuan still isn’t sure what caused his own heat to trigger early. The lack of control doesn’t truly bother Jing Yuan— one cannot control everything even if they keep it within their gaze after all — however, the care and intentionality steadies him just as well.

From the way you’ve described your previous heats, they have always been chaotic things and painful to endure. Doing what he can to ease that, especially ahead of time, calms something in him.

He knocks on your door only once before you open it. His heart aches when he sees you.

You’re already sweating (poor, poor thing), pupils half-dilated despite the golden morning sun slanting toward you. Your scent curls around him, sweet more than sour, warm more than acidic, but something unpleasant wading underneath. He softens and smiles.

“Hello,” he says to you. You haven’t spoken yet, only blink at him owlishly.

“Hi,” you reply softly back. Cutely, you mince in place. “... Would you like to come in?”

“I would be very happy to.”

It’s the invitation Jing Yuan had been waiting for, truthfully. He doesn't want to crowd you, not now, not when things can progress at whatever pace you’re most comfortable with, safely.

(That may change. Jing Yuan has prepared for that and shall use his hand and force if necessary. Tenderly. For your own good.)

Jing Yuan follows you inside your little home and takes it in as you futz with a small, glowing panel mounted next to the door. A scent locking system; it’s one of the pricey ones based on the glance he takes at the interface. You tap around on it a few times and Jing Yuan watches.

“Dear?” he asks.

You startle and jump a few inches off the floor, hand on your chest, and turn back to him, “Uh-huh?”

“No need to be nervous,” he says gently. “I understand why, but there’s no need to hold onto those feelings. Would you be able to show me how to operate your scentlocking system? In case I need to.”

“Oh— okay. Yes. I can.” You shake your head from side to side.

Jing Yuan grabs your hand as you poke around the panel, “I-It’s really simple. This screen lets you lock individual windows and doors— I-I have a courtyard in the back that has a sliding door that needs to be locked too. This other screen—” you tap around more, the interface follows. “Lets you lock and unlock all of them at once. There’s also this button which will let you vent scent if it— it gets to be too much. I-I have a remote for it near my nest t-too.”

“That’s good to know.” It’s a useful feature. An expensive one. Briefly, Jing Yuan wonders how you can afford it with your salary at the Sky Faring Commission. “Though I don’t believe it will be necessary, it’s nice to know that the option is there.”

“It’s... nice to have, I suppose.” Your hand falls from the interface. There’s a trace of something festering and sad on your face, but you shake it off and tap your clammy cheeks. “S-sorry about that, I f-feel so weird about everything. Like I’m two seconds away from crying at all times. It’s awful.”

“Heats can be overwhelming.” Jing Yuan reaches for your hand and squeezes.

You squeeze back and nod, a bit solemn. “... Can I show you what I’ve prepared, and maybe, my nest?”

Jing Yuan can’t help but light up at the suggestion, nodding with a little more vigor than he expected himself to. “Absolutely. I’d love to see.”

You give him a proper tour, starting in your small foyer, and then to the living room. There’s a plush-looking, rounded chaise lounge in the corner piled with a few blankets that Jing Yuan recognizes. A round pillow rests among them, embroidered with a content-looking cat face. A basket sits on the ground next to it, stocked with a number of snacks, drinks, and adhesive heat pads among others.

Your kitchen is well-stocked too. At least a week's worth of meals and snacks are already prepared and packaged up in neat boxes, stacked in your fridge. This was Jing Yuan’s doing, mostly. There are services for this type of food preparation, specifically for heats and ruts. It was easy for him to place a quick, albeit indulgent order. Despite the abundance of sealed meal boxes, he can catch a glimpse of a few irregularly-shaped containers that must be filled with your own cooking.

You’ve always taken comfort in the familiar and your little treats. It’s endearing you’ve made an effort to have some personally prepared for the two of you as well.

The courtyard you mentioned is small. There’s enough room for a few petite garden boxes, one growing clusters of herbs and another with lush wind violets and poppies. Otherwise, there is only a low table and two sitting cushions. A gurgle trills in the distance, rushing water from one of the freshwater aqueducts that line this section of Luofu neighborhoods.

You quickly enter back inside, and dash to re-enable the scent locks. It’s a bit hard to watch. Your anxiety is palpable, in the way you move and regard him. There’s a tremor in your hands and in your tone as you sputter out a few nervous quips to him.

Jing Yuan would like to ease you; it’s his most central goal.

He slides behind you with a heavy sigh and wraps his arms around your waist. It’s a good fit, one that feels secure. You feel so lovely to him as he bumps your cheek with his nose.

“Dear,” he keeps his voice in a low purr. “May I kiss you?”

You swallow audibly and your stiffness drains out of you. Like a stopper has been uncorked and you sag against him.

“P-Please—”

And so, he does.

Turning you in his arms, he presses his lips to yours while cradling your jaw. Warm fingers stroke down your cheeks and trace the line of your jaw. Your hands, still shaking (poor thing), grip the fabric of his shirt with enough force to drag him closer.

It’s good. It’s sating. The sensation of closeness like this is something you both need, even if you’re still learning the steps of how to seek it with each other. The contact you’ve shared in the weeks leading up to your heat has been mostly chaste, meant to comfort more than to arouse, and it has served its purpose well. Physicality has gotten easier for you in some ways, he knows. He feels it in the way you stretch on your tiptoes to be closer to him and let out a soft sound against his lips with hardly any hesitation.

Jing Yuan relishes it.

Sliding his fingers down your cheeks, tracing your jaw, he kisses you in a way that denotes hunger but doesn’t entirely satiate. It’s a morsel of something larger, to be explored in pieces, lest you become overwhelmed and weathering your heat becomes even more unpleasant than you predict it will be. He pulls away and you gasp for a breath or two, tilting your forehead up to his with a whine.

“Jing Yuan—” It’s light and sweet, the way you speak. You steal another kiss and Jing Yuan laughs into it. His hands slide to the back of your neck and it’s only then that he feels your fever.

“Oh.” He presses his lips firmly into your forehead. You’re warm there too. Too warm. Poor thing. “Is it starting to hurt, dear?”

You preen under his attention but still look uncomfortable as he asks. You shift from foot to foot. “A-A little. Nothing too bad, but I know it’ll get worse.”

Certainly. He hums. “May we continue the tour, then? Afterward, we can focus on getting settled.”

You peek up at him shyly, “T-The last thing to see is my nest. D-do... you want to see it?”

“Of course, I would,” Jing Yuan assures you. “Would you show me?”

You nod, more enthusiastic and energetic than you have been in weeks. Clasping your hands together, you guide him past your living room and a half bathroom, to a door that he knows must be for your bedroom.

“Give me a moment.” You squeeze his hands. “I-I just want to make sure things are p-perfect.”

He squeezes yours back. Of course.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

A look of relief passes over you before you dart inside your bedroom and gently shut the door behind you. There’s an immediate rustling and assorted thumping, which Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle at. He knows the feeling, and he’s certain that you have probably been futzing with your nest almost constantly.

(A satisfactory nest is a very important thing to show a mate, after all.)

And even if Jing Yuan isn’t an alpha, and he cannot give you any of the things that an alpha would expressly be able to provide during a heat, your instincts will tell you to complete some of the same gestures. Showing him your nest, how well-prepared you are. Jing Yuan has no doubt that you’ll be rolling over to show him your soft belly once you are more comfortable and settled with his presence.

“Okay.” You stick your head out from the crack in the doorway. “I-It’s ready. Come see?”

You offer him your outstretched palm. His heart flutters as he takes it.

Your bedroom is... somewhat unexpected. Jing Yuan is not entirely certain what he expected from the space, something cozy, something homey, but there’s such a level of detail and diligence that Jing Yuan is surprised you managed the space all on your own.

(It makes his heart hurt, thinking of you like that.)

The windows are covered by thick-looking curtains, made lighter by a sheer inner curtain that hangs secondarily. They keep all the sun out of the space. Your bedroom seems intentionally low-lit, the only lighting sources being a few lamps and a strand of string lights around the corners of the room. A round, friendly-looking lamp sits on a bedside table, oscillating several colors in a slow, steady rhythm. A vanity is tucked in a corner, though its contents seem to be entirely packed away. The little bench that accompanies it is stacked with blankets, all in a well-folded pile.

Your nest itself is resplendent.

Your mattress is large— almost as big as his is, which he hadn’t expected. It’s piled with familiar-looking blankets and articles of clothing. There’s a central point to the nest, where pillows are stacked behind for comfortable lounging. A few doughy-looking plushies have made their home in your nest as well. One looks like a round, sugar-white cat. He recognizes it as a plushie made in his own likeness— like they sell in the markets. He can’t help but think it is overwhelmingly sweet for you to not only have one, but keep it in your nest.

At the end of your nest and bed is a chest, covered in a plush fabric. It looks soft to the touch. On the bedside table, you have stocked a basket with little snacks, electrolyte drinks, various medicines, lube— anything one could need for a heat.

You stand beside your nest, practically shaking as you bounce on your toes. You wring your hands as you watch him take in your space, little by little.

Jing Yuan takes ample time, examining your space, but not entering any further than the doorframe. He would not want to slight you or make you uncomfortable in a space that is so truly and deeply your own.

“S-So?” You ask softly, kicking the ground. Your house slippers have little cat paw patterns on the tips of the toes. “What do you think?”

Jing Yuan sighs your name with a smile that radiates all the way from the base of his spine, his sternum— somewhere deep and true and real. Your scent is so thick here, so intensely you. It’s not mixed with anything other than clean linen and the herbal soap you must use in the shower. It’s nearly pure. It’s indulgent for him to open his mouth and take your scent into the back of his throat.

He can only regard you with warmth, “It is a very lovely nest. You have done so well.”

You soften instantly. If you were capable of turning into a warm puddle, you probably would’ve. Jing Yuan can’t help but preen; he knows how to pick and choose his words well. It is one of his greatest skills.

Relief looks sweet on you as you all but collapse in the side of your nest, face first.

“Thank you,” you whine, muffled into the linens. “I tried very hard.”

“And it shows.” Jing Yuan barely restrains himself from bouncing on his toes. It’s so cute. You’re so cute. He needs you in his mouth. He holds himself back. These things must proceed gingerly, even now.

You whine once more. Your legs kick up and you cross your ankles. “You’re going to kill me, Jing Yuan.”

He gasps, something fake and theatrical. “I could never do such a thing,”

It feels like a part of him is shedding. It’s welcome.

Sweetly, you turn your face to look at him. You do look awful— really. It will only worsen from here, and Jing Yuan has every intention of tending to you properly.

“May I join you?” he asks.

You tense. Jing Yuan does not move.

Nests are the most intimate, vulnerable place for an omega. They are deeply personal spaces and are meant to be safe. Always safe. And Jing Yuan has put together, over the months and weeks of growing closer to you, that this type of closeness and space-sharing in your own nest is difficult.

As quickly as you entered his nest for his heat previously, you don’t share that enthusiasm about Jing Yuan entering your own.

He expected this much. It only stings a little. Not enough to bruise.

It takes you a few moments of inner turmoil before you truly look at him again. Soft and sad in your eyes. You bunch the linens of your nest in your fists and haul yourself up enough to sit. Tentatively, you pat the spot next to you.

“You may.”

Jing Yuan is so, so careful when he sits next to you. He moves slowly, keeping his posture softened. Your scent, under the heat-sick, swirls with anxiety and want in equal parts. It’s reassuring as much as it worries him.

You take one of his hands and bring it to your face. Gently, reverently, you hold his wrist to your jaw and scent him. Jing Yuan helps you a moment later, twisting the appendage so his scent is smeared on you.

“Thank you,” says Jing Yuan.

You scoot closer to him, wrapping yourself around his bicep. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

It’s enough. Something has cracked and Jing Yuan can’t help but indulge it as you both descend into the soft expanse of your nest. Your scent overtakes him, and Jing Yuan breathes it in through his mouth.

...

Several things require discussion before you lose your complete lucidity. One of which is sex.

This has been talked about before. Several times over the last few weeks, but you and Jing Yuan came to the conclusion to speak again on the day your proper pre-heat began in order to have both of your most current thoughts on the matter. As much as you’ve shared with him in the past (that you haven’t shared your heat before, that you are not at all experienced with sex, that you have specific preferences that, at the time you shared this, were too embarrassed to disclose to him, regardless of the privacy of Jing Yuan’s garden.)

You are clearly more open now. You lay between his legs, a hand intertwined with his.

“Can I show you my t-toys?”

“Of course, I’d like that very much.”

Jing Yuan won’t deny that he’s been curious about the more specific flavors of your preferences.

You shuffle on your knees to the end of the bed, leaning over the edge of your nest, to the chest below. Hastily, you place several silken sacks on the bed.

Jing Yuan shuffles along with you to examine them.

It’s not a large collection, notably. In the number of toys or the size of any of them. It’s maybe three dildos, a singular (albeit sturdy-looking) wand vibrator, and a set of pressure cuffs for the wrists and ankles, meant to stimulate your scent glands with friction. The box for those clearly hasn’t been opened. Overall, all of the collection looks fairly new.

Jing Yuan cradles one of the phallus-shaped toys in his hands. It's similar to the others in your collection— not huge, but not small either. And notably—

It isn’t knotted.

None of your toys are.

This concerns Jing Yuan instantly, though he doesn’t voice it overly.

Craving a knot is one of the most expected desires to manifest during a heat. Among nesting urges, cravings for safety, and safe company is the explicit want to be full. Stretched. The pop of an alpha’s knot into an omega’s hole during heat is a unique, singular type of ecstasy that most omegas deeply enjoy. A toy doesn’t produce quite the same intensity of sensation (it lacks body heat, blood, and the all-important personal, intimate connection, after all—), but it’s still sating enough. Enjoyable, in Jing Yuan’s experience, and certainly better than nothing.

Heats without knots are incredibly difficult to bear.

It’s already been established that your heats are difficult; Jing Yuan wonders if the lack of knotting toys is a cause of your difficult heats, or a symptom of them. It seems vital to surmise this in your case.

“Dear?” he asks, gentle and easy. “I’d like to change into something more comfortable. Is that alright with you?”

You nod, “O-Of course. I put your things in one of my drawers.”

You tell him this so easily like you don’t know how it makes his heart flutter so wildly.

True to your word, the clothes he has been stockpiling are folded neatly in the top drawer of your dresser. Jing Yuan pulls out some soft, breathable lounge clothes and a favored robe of his and sets them aside.

You clear your throat. “You can change here, if you want.”

“Hm?” Jing Yuan is surprised by your willingness. “How forward.”

“I-It’s not like I haven’t seen you bare before. I’ll be seeing you that way again soon.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to force yourself into sharing space when you’re not ready to,” Jing Yuan reminds you.

“I know that.” The bed creaks as you adjust within your nest. “What if I want to see you bare?”

“You do?” Jing Yuan makes himself sound a bit more incredulous than he actually feels. Exclusively to make you squirm. He indulges, just a little. As a treat.

“I— of course I do!” you exclaim. “A-and not just because I’m starting to feel my pre-heat. I t-think you’re very pretty, Jing Yuan.”

Jing Yuan has been called many things, over his centuries. Handsome, attractive, beautiful, gorgeous, stunning— but so rarely pretty. It implies things that don’t match his stature. He’s always been tall, especially for an omega. Broad, with muscles built from Jingliu’s rigorous training (even if these days, they are buried under a layer of soft, peacetime pudge that Jing Yuan finds himself very comfortable having). His skin bears the scars of a thousand battles, and nearly as many wars. His voice has always been deeper, more gravel than ichor.

Yet, you call him pretty. And tend to call him pretty, or beautiful, or all manner of compliments that imply him to be softer and more dainty than he, to his own eyes, is.

He finds it endlessly charming. Attractive of you, to view him in such a way and express it to him.

Jing Yuan can’t help but smile as he begins to pull away his everyday garments. “How sweet of you. I’m flattered.”

“It’s the truth,” you tell him with a whine.

It’s true, at least to you. He can feel your eyes boring holes into his back as he strips, trading his cloak and lion-headed pauldron for soft, nearly sheer loungewear. They match yours fairly well, in both weight and color. Though yours are soaked through, and already smell of sweat. Jing Yuan imagines you slept in them.

“Would you like to change as well?” He asks.

“... It’s not necessary—”

“What is necessary and what you would like do not need to be mutually exclusive,” Jing Yuan reminds you. You’ve discussed this previously, how your comfort and wants are paramount, as is communicating them effectively. “I will ask again, would you like to change?”

“I would— but,” you frown at Jing Yuan as he sits back into your nest again, pulling you into his lap without a second thought, “they’ll just get dirty again, really quick. I don’t know if it’s better than just toughing it out.”

“I don’t think toughing it out is worth it,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m sure, if necessary, a load or two of laundry can be done during your heat.”

“... I guess, yeah.” You sound more assured. You stretch to press a kiss to his jaw. Jing Yuan purrs with the contact, giving you a squeeze.

You let Jing Yuan pick out your outfit.

He does not have to cajole you to allow him this specific display of trust. Jing Yuan simply asks you and you nod, quietly eager in how you direct him to the specific drawer you keep your softest, comfiest house clothes in. The outfit he chooses is complimentary in color to his own, though the fabric is somehow softer than his. More worn, more loved. Older, surely. Something you’ve had for a long time. It’s, perhaps, not the prettiest or most chic set, but he imagines that it must be a favorite of yours.

With a little plying, you settle back into your nest, with Jing Yuan between your legs on his knees. He plays with the bottom hem of your shirt. Your skin is so hot where it brushes against his fingers. Pre-heat is descending on you quickly.

You keen below him, as to remind him.

“I have a few questions for you,” he asks. “Are you amicable to that?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod, running your tongue over your rapidly chapping lips. He imagines that you don’t have much true lucidity left. It’s best to take advantage of it while you still can. “I have some for you too.”

“Oh?”

“You start though.” Your words slur as you reach forward to squeeze his wrist, over the scent gland there. So tender with him.

“Alright.” Jing Yuan smiles, something sharp and cat-like. “Would you like me to fuck you?”

You freeze.

“... W-What?” Your cheeks grow hotter, eyes wide. It’s so damn cute.

“During your heat. Would you like me to fuck you?”

“L-Like— With the toys, right? That was the p-plan?”

“Not exactly.” He hums. He runs his fingertips just under your top in soothing little circles. “I meant myself, with my own anatomy.”

“Fucking me with your—”

“My cock, yes.” He laughs lightly. Your embarrassment is rich, and he is... perhaps being a little mean to present an earnest question in such a way. He is indulging, just a bit. He doesn’t think you mind as you cover your face and peek at him from between his fingers.

“I— I mean— Do you want to?” you squeak. “I f-figured that you wouldn’t be interested in that type of s-sex.”

“That’s a fair assumption to make.” He muses. Male omegas, in his experience, do tend to prefer being penetrated, rather than doing the penetrating themselves. This is the most common perception as well. “However, I would like to fuck you. If that’s not something you would enjoy, that is alright as well. I wanted to ensure that I offered it as an option to you.”

You stare at him.

“You... want to fuck me?”

“Badly, yes.”

“... Maybe this is rude but— Jing Yuan, have you f-fucked someone like that before?”

He has. Several times, though it has been a while. Though Yingxing had no proclivity or want to bottom, Dan Feng enjoyed it on occasion. Typically receiving from Jing Yuan, rather than Yingxing even. Yingxing had the sizable cock and fat knot of a virile alpha, and Dan Feng, as a Vidyadhara with no secondary gender, lacked the anatomy to take such girth easily or comfortably. Jing Yuan’s smaller, knotless, omegan cock was much more to Dan Feng’s preference.

Jing Yuan enjoyed the times they shared. It was a specific type of intimacy, different from being penetrated. There is, innately, some dynamic of power at play. Jing Yuan doesn’t mind being on the higher end of that if it’s you who he’d be with. After much thought, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like it very much.

“I have, though it has been quite some time. I may be out of practice, but I would very much like to.”

You stare at him. Really stare at him, before biting your lip. A sigh shakes from your chest.

“I... I would like that a lot, too. I-I think it would be really nice even.”

Jing Yuan feels the soft thing in his chest open its maw like it needs to eat you so lovingly. Hold you as he is now.

“I think it would be very nice as well.” Getting to fuck his Omega. He shudders at the thought, lewd as it is. It will be your first time experiencing penetration to his knowledge. He’ll make sure it is good for you, as you so deserve.

“I think so too.” Your scent goes spiced, warm, on the back of his tongue. Jing Yuan savors it.

“I cannot give you a knot.” He reminds you gently.

Jing Yuan knows you know this in your right mind. Even in pre-heat, you have the sense to know that he is an omega. The poking he’s doing now is mostly for his own benefit, something to approach delicately.

You stiffen below him, going tense in your shoulders. Jing Yuan expected this to some degree.

“That won’t be an issue.”

“Can you tell me more?”

“... Y-yeah, I can. I suppose it’s relevant.” You scrub a hand over your face. “I j-just don’t like knot. So, you not having one will be totally okay. Better, actually.”

“I thought as much,” he says gently, cupping your cheek with his hand. You lean into the touch. “I noticed that none of your toys have the ability to knot.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sure you know that will make your heat harder, right dear?”

“I-I know— I just—” You turn away from his hand. “I really don’t like it, or how it feels. Even during heat. I’m u-used to toughing them out without a knot, so it’ll be okay. Promise.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t believe you; he really, really doesn’t. There is more there that you aren’t saying. It feels cruel to pry in a moment so tender. He feels a bit guilty as he resolves to probe.

“As long as you are certain.” He says. “Can you tell me why you dislike it?”

You look at him warily.

He continues, “I want to know so I can help you the best I am able to while you’re in the worst of your heat. You don’t have to tell me, I would never make you. Though, I would be honored to know more about this preference of yours.”

“You’re— you’re so good at that.”

“At what?”

“Saying the right things. You’re too nice.”

“It’s easy to be kind to you.”

You whine and grab one of his hands, squeezing.

“I-I don’t like— how it feels to be stuck with something in me. Even with a toy, and n-not an actual alpha— I don’t like it. It feels bad. And it makes me so uncomfortable, I freak out most of the time. It’s not worth trying, especially during a heat.”

It makes something in him ache.

Jing Yuan dips down to hug you with his own squeeze.

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck and continue. “It feels worse to try and take a knot from a toy than it does to not have any knot at all. I’m used to it, so you don’t need to worry. I made sure all my toys don’t have a knot at all, so I can't get knotted by accident.”

“You are very diligent.”

“I have to be.”

You shouldn’t have to be. Even just speaking about this, Jing Yuan can tell it’s difficult. That it is tiring and painful to do, and yet you are. He appreciates it immensely, and the new insights you provide him are invaluable.

“Dear,” he says sweetly, pressing his lips to your forehead, and then sitting up once more, “Thank you for telling me.”

“O-of course.”

“It’s not so scary, telling me, is it?”

“N-no, it’s not. You’re not scary at all.”

He feels soothed. His fingers play with the seam of your lips, dipping just barely inside to chase the heat of your mouth.

“I’m very glad.” He withdraws his fingers and grabs the bottom hem of your shirt, returning to his original task. “May I?”

“Uh-huh. P-please.”

Good.

He peels your shirt off. It is, notably, sweat-soaked and a bit tacky to the touch. You’re bare underneath, your chest immediately spilling to the sides. You half-cover yourself superficially with your arms. It’s quite endearing, really.

He helps you slide on the new garment, this one with buttons in the front. He undoes each one reverently. You stay still and pliant under him. Your breathing evens out, and your scent is more warmly content than it has been in the entire last month. Your gaze is softened, gooey.

He says your name, honey-sweet on his tongue, “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” You say without hesitation.

Jing Yuan steels himself, coaxing his own scent into something more milky and kind.

“I may need to make calls of judgment during your heat while you’re not fully within yourself.” You’ve already spoken about this before, but he reiterates it now. As bluntly as he can manage, nursing the unbearably tender, soft, special thing that has begun to blossom between the two of you. “I will take good care of you, I swear.”

You look like you’re going to cry. “... Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Just— no knots.” You tell him once more. “And d-don’t be too far away for too long. It’ll make me sad.”

“Easily done.” Jing Yuan pauses. “Some of the decisions I may need to make may make you uncomfortable in the moment. I promise that I will only make these decisions if they’re entirely necessary.”

Your pleasure and comfort are the most important things, after all.

“I understand. I trust you, Jing Yuan.” And you kiss him.

It’s not chaste, this kiss. He can feel you shake as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning into and licking at his lips to taste him. The musk of your heat isn’t too overpowering yet; this is still you. Fully aware and present and wanting.

When you pull away, you look struck in the best way. Soft-jawed.

Jing Yuan can’t help but kiss you quickly a few more times. Over your nose and cheeks. You nearly shriek with laughter, and it makes something in his chest ache like a well-worked muscle. Satisfied and growing.

Jing Yuan pulls away, stroking over your face. “There is something I would like to ask of you.”

You blink at him. “O-Oh?”

Jing Yuan must choose his next words carefully, hovering his fingertips over the (still) inflamed scent glands at the hollow of your throat.

This is something that you haven’t discussed in all that much detail previously.

Your scent glands and their relatively consistent inflammation concern him.

Lei Huiling, during a few of the interim checkups that you had attended, commented on their poor state several times. It’s not normal for one's scent glands to be so flushed. You always seemed to brush this off.

However—

Jing Yuan would like to scent you properly. And you would, probably, like to scent him properly, which is very difficult to do with your scent glands puffed up and so painful.

”Would you be amicable to me massaging your scent glands?” He asks.

You still and frown.

”… Why?” You ask warily. “D-do I smell bad?”

”Not in the slightest.” To make you sure of this, Jing Yuan skillfully licks around your scent gland with a flat tongue.

Tasting you like this makes his head spin in the best way, but there’s still something acrid and unwell about your scent. You jolt in his arms and let out a cry.

“I’d like to be able to scent you properly during your heat, and in your current condition, that’s not possible without causing you pain.”

You swallow and frown more deeply. “Y-yeah, but massaging them would hurt really badly too.”

“Has anyone ever massaged your scent glands before?”

”N-No.”

That seems unlikely. Jing Yuan can’t help but press a bit. “Not even your mother or father?”

You grimace, your upper lip curling. “None. Never them, especially.”

(Interesting. You rarely mention your parents, but when you do it is always with a hint of disdain and bitterness. Something to prod at later, when there isn’t a more pertinent priority.)

Jing Yuan hums.

Truthfully, Jing Yuan’s own parents never showed him that type of specific care when he was a kit or cub. They were both betas, after all, and though they have their own scent glands and olfactory systems, betas don’t require the same type of tending that omegas and alphas do. They didn’t know what to do with Jing Yuan most of the time, especially after he presented.

He was very lucky that his Master and Baiheng so quickly took him under their wing in that way.

On more than one occasion, during or following a long campaign, Baiheng would need to press and massage out his stuffed-up scent glands. The common wisdom is that an excess of cortisol and adrenaline can cause them to become… clogged, for lack of a better word. Understimulation leads to festering inflammation. Baiheng always seemed to know when Jing Yuan would need a session of careful touch and would sit him in front of her lap, and roll out his scent glands one by one. Neck, wrists, and even inner thighs if his scent, by her nose, was sour enough to warrant it.

It did hurt, back then. It still does when Jing Yuan must massage his own out, though this is a rare occurrence these days.

As much as it hurts, the relief that follows is more than worth it. In this case, both immediately and in that you’ll be able to be scented properly. By him.

He can’t force this, he knows. But perhaps he will suggest heavily, lightly coerce. It is unlike him to be so heavy-handed but perhaps this issue warrants it.

(Truthfully— entirely truthfully, it has been bothering him for some time. You’re his omega, aren’t you? He can’t scent you fully, even if he wants to. Not without causing you enough pain to yelp or cry out, and it digs at something angry and soft that lives in his guts. It’s been something he has wanted— needed to address.)

His hands curl into fists, simmering.

“I’m sorry.” He kisses your forehead and lingers. “It will help. It will make this all easier.”

“B-But it will hurt.”

“It will. And then you will feel so much relief. It will be worth it.”

You don’t seem convinced as you huff out a sigh. “Everything already hurts enough— d-do I need to? I’ve been okay before.”

“You haven’t had a nestmate like this before,” he reminds you. “It hasn’t been problematic before, though no one has been attempting to scent you, don’t you think?”

You huff again but don’t reply. You bury your face in his neck with a grumble.

Jing Yuan doesn’t push, not for a moment or two. You stew in place.

“I guess.” You admit after a while with a sniffle.

It’s then that Jing Yuan has enough of an opening to maneuver you between his legs. In his lap where you so rightfully belong. His arms wrap around your middle and he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

Surrounded by your scent, even as off as it is, Jing Yuan still relishes burying himself in it.

“I know it is frightening.” He begins, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “And I know that you already are uncomfortable and in pain. I would not suggest putting you in a state of further discomfort if I didn’t think it would be to your benefit.”

“I k-know.” You sniffle once more and rub at your eyes.

“I will be gentle with you.” Jing Yuan speaks quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. Not even the finches and sparrows that teem in your courtyard bushes will catch his words. “I want to take care of you.”

(Please.)

That makes a sudden, strangled sound bubble up from you. Something between a sob and an unintelligible word. You lean back into him and nose at his jaw, the best scenting you are capable of doing.

“O-Okay,” you say into his skin, tasting the salt there. “Okay, okay, okay— y-you can. But, please be gentle. I— I know I need it but I know it’ll hurt and that’s so scary—”

He shushes you, plies you with sweet words and reassurances, and settles back into your bed further. Back against the headboard for stability, with you still braced over his chest. The soft garment he wears has fallen open over his chest and he can feel you seeking out his warmth there as you both settle and adjust into the best position.

Despite all of his confidence, he knows he may need to restrain you during this process. It isn’t pleasant, not with how under-tended you are.

(Jing Yuan knows that such touch can be pleasurable— so pleasurable and lovely. Once this pain has been exorcized, there is something beyond that to covet.)

Jing Yuan examines your right wrist first.

“Do you know how this works, dear?”

“... The massage?”

“Mhm,” he hums. Your scent gland is raised on your inner wrist. An outcrop of slightly bulbous skin, undoubtedly hardened and hot to the touch.

“Not really.” You hesitate. “... I did watch a porno or two when I was younger that had scenes of scent gland massage, but that’s the extent of my experience and education.”

Jing Yuan chuckles and kisses the back of your hand. “This will be quite different.”

“I know. The clips were all so horny. I don’t think that their scent glands actually hurt.”

“More than likely not.” Jing Yuan says gently. “May I tell you what I intend to do?”

“Y-You may.”

Jing Yuan has gamed out his next move at least a dozen times over the last month. By the Arbiter, he (somewhat guiltily) fantasized about rolling out your scent glands even during his heat. Even back then, they hadn’t been in great condition. Despite all of your trepidation and discomfort, he does know that this can feel good in the end. For both of you, if he proceeds thoughtfully.

“I’ll massage out each of your scent glands, one by one,” Jing Yuan explains. “I’ll start with your wrists, then your primaries at your neck, and lastly the scent glands on your inner thighs. I’ll allow you small breaks if you ask or I feel it is necessary, but it will be easier to do this in one go, rather than stopping and starting.”

“I understand.” You nod and gulp audibly. “... Are you okay with doing this?”

“More than.”

As much as Jing Yuan would like to bring you comfort and pleasure, this is necessary pain. Not a chore necessarily, but something unpleasant that serves a greater purpose. He is skilled in completing tasks like this if it means the future will be easier and better for dozing.

You nod and settle back into him. Craning your neck, you kiss his jaw.

...

It is more unpleasant for you than Jing Yuan expected it to be. And more unpleasant for him by proxy.

You are so, so sensitive. He did anticipate a low threshold for direct touch on your most precious parts, including your scent glands. However, you are still more sensitive than he originally surmised. He makes due despite this.

You are doing your best, in his lap. But even with the least sensitive ones on your wrists, you breathe through your teeth.

Jing Yuan has lathered the skin there with a soothing, cooling oil he procured himself from the Alchemy Commission. It is doing something, undoubtedly, but still. You are on edge, bowstring tense, and barely holding yourself still in his lap. He can tell from the forced way you inhale and exhale, and the subtle shake that it hurts.

Your scent has gone sour. So acrid it makes Jing Yuan’s eyes water.

The massage forces more of your scent out and into the room. It’s almost suffocating, as much as Jing Yuan finds comfort in your scent and preens to be surrounded by it— this is overwhelming. Manageable, but overwhelming. Jing Yuan makes a point to nose into the back of your head, whispering encouragement.

“You’re doing well.”

“Thank you—” Your voice sounds cracked and frayed already. “— Hurts.”

“I know.”

He kisses below your ear.

Jing Yuan only stops his attention there when the scent gland feels softer to the touch. Less angry and less stuffed up. There’s been some kind of release, though it seems you haven’t registered it yet. Or can’t feel it over the soreness.

You shake out your wrist with a sniffle.

The next one goes much the same way. Jing Yuan keeps his touch firm and steady. He can’t go too quickly, lest the contact lose effectiveness.

You writhe in his lap with a whine, “Ow.”

He lays his forehead on your nape and squeezes you. “It’s hard, I know.”

Your wrists will be the easiest, he knows. They are generally the least sensitive scent glands on most anyone. Their function is for the most casual scenting, like that between platonic packmates and family members. Perhaps scenting one’s home as well. The scent glands of your neck do the most work, so there’s a chance that they will hurt the most.

Jing Yuan’s current assumption is that the glands on your inner thighs will be the worst by a significant margin.

He finishes up your second wrist and presses a few apologetic kisses to your shoulders. Your skin tastes salty with sweat, far too hot.

“W-Water?” You ask.

Jing Yuan stretches to fetch you a bottle off the side table. The top of the bottle is a sip top, which you suck on with a darkened expression.

“I know that this is difficult.”

“It sucks, Jing Yuan.” You rub your eyes. “N-no breaks, you said, right?”

“No breaks.” He confirms. It’s for the best, but the way you look so crushed and pained is so hard to ignore. Jing Yuan, were he a weaker man, would have stopped then and there to bundle you up and tend to you in a way that is less painful. One that feels less violent.

He is not weak, though.

Your water bottle is set aside and Jing Yuan readjusts you in his lap. You’re slouched lower, so your head is pillowed against his sternum. Your legs are bracketed by his own on the outside, bent at the knee.

Jing Yuan lathers his hands with more oil. The herbal scent mingles with the scents of the room uncomfortably, but he pushes through it. He must. It’s that simple. He steels himself.

The primary glands on your neck nearly jut out from where they rest under your skin. They always have, to some degree. These scent glands are the most vital, the most precious and important. They’re the center of the olfactory system.

Technically, there are two glands there— a primary and a secondary. The primary produces your scent, a unique mix of pheromonal signatures that radiate both your mood and personhood. The secondary one serves a different function. It’s smaller, maybe the size of a peach pit. This gland exists exclusively for claiming bites. It sits just under the skin and rises even closer to the surface during a heat or rut. It becomes engorged, flushed with blood and plasma, perfect to be bitten.

Jing Yuan will admit that he is no expert of biology, but Jingliu did give him a rather forceful lesson on anatomy following his first heat. Baiheng gave a more nuanced, kindly-spoken one after, that was more beneficial for his omegan sensibilities. They gave him enough to get by, more than enough. It helped when Yingxing first wanted to claim him, and both he and Jing Yuan had to explain to secondary-sexless Dan Feng what ‘claiming’ was for someone of their biology.

Pheromones live in all bodily fluids— blood, semen, slick and spit. When one’s bite is laid on another's secondary gland, and teeth puncture the skin and bear into the gland itself, a claim occurs. The mixing of one’s pheromones with the core of another's pheromonal system. It alters the one who is bitten. Their scent changes and their body will respond to their mate on a deeply biological level. An innate sense of knowingness and comfort. It’s permanent.

(Well, somewhat. Xianzhou natives regenerate and persist in such a way that after a few centuries, claiming bites tend to disappear if not refreshed. It happened to his own. Though Jing Yuan swears his scent still hasn’t returned to whatever it was prior to being mated, though the half-moon scar that he once had has long since faded.)

Claiming bites can be exchanged in this way between alphas and omegas, omegas and alphas. Some betas, even, can receive a claiming bite and actually have it take. Alpha-to-alpha and omega-to-omega bites take, but differently.

To be bitten by someone of the same secondary gender is an indication of submission.

For alphas, it tends to be the manifestation of aggression within a pack. The physical mark of vying for control within a unit. For omegas, it’s still submission. Less based in aggression, and more in establishing a pecking order.

(In either case, it’s rare for alpha-to-alpha and omega-to-omega claims to occur. Packs function fine without such brazen displays of submission. It’s archaic for the Xianzhou, something left over from the world of myth that they left behind.)

Still, the concept exists. It’s a whole sub-category of immersia pornography. In the living world, Jing Yuan knows it happens occasionally regardless of fads and favor. Baiheng once told him that Foxian mothers claim-bite their kits and cubs, to make sure their scent is always on their young.

(Jing Yuan has to still himself when he remembers this, in this instant. Claim biting you like a mother would be—)

He is grateful the smell of your pain is strong enough to cover the flare of his own scent and the slick that he feels leak out of his cunt.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He rubs around your scent gland, smearing oil.

“Uh-huh.”

You don’t sound confident. Your throat bobs with a gulp.

He presses down over your right gland with his index and middle finger. Unyielding and resolute—

You jolt. A wretched sound tears from the back of your throat as you arch away from his touch, away from his chest, and squirm away. It’s involuntary, clearly.

Jing Yuan drags you back with the arm that’s still tucked over your belly. He rolls his fingers over the gland in small circles. It— it hurts you. He knew this. But it's worse now that you’re in his lap, gasping for breath as he continues his ministration.

Your legs kick out as he pushes harder.

“Jing Yuan—”

You grab his forearm with both hands. Your eyes water, your scent is— scrambled. Pained and sour and unpleasant on his tongue but it’s hard to parse all of its nuanced notes. It’s more than pure pain and for that reason, Jing Yuan knows that the pain you’re experiencing will be worth it. He hushes you as he pulls away, tending to the next one.

Your head thumps against his chest with a whine, “Wait— I— D-do you have to?”

Your begging tugs at something in him. He still shakes his head and nuzzles your temple.

“I do.”

Sounds tumble out of you as he presses, slicking the skin and digging it. The second gland on your neck is equally as tender. He tries to be gentle while applying the necessary pressure, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference for you.

You push at his hand, shaking your head.

“Hurts!” The word rips from you and you pitch forward, folding over yourself.

Jing Yuan hushes you, murmuring gentle apologies (“I know, I know.” — “I’m sorry, dear. Be still for me—”) that he is unsure if you fully hear.

You barely hold back tears as he circles the gland.

When he pulls away, you are a wreck in his lap. A soppy, shaking little thing that is both attempting to squirm away from him, and seek him out for comfort. You nose into his scent gland while shoving at his arm that still lays in a tight band over your ribs.

He leans into you, kissing over your cheeks where he can.

Intentionally, Jing Yuan left you without your pants. You’re only in a pair of cotton panties that, upon a brief look, don’t have any sort of wet stain on the gusset. Completely dry. This makes sense given your current pain and brewing heat sickness, but it still makes his insides twist.

(The kind of touch he’s giving you now can feel so, so good if given time, care, and future opportunity. He’d like to help you get there.)

Jing Yuan cajoles you as needed, even as you sputter and protest in his lap. To stop now would be dire, and there are just two more spots to go now. The two scent glands on your inner thighs. These ones he can’t see swelling under the skin. There’s enough flesh and pudge there to disguise any visible cues of your rough condition.

Jing Yuan smooths his palms over your inner thighs, avoiding your scent glands on the first pass—

“Wait—” You gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away. “W-wait, no, Jing Yuan—”

“Just a little more to go.” He attempts to placate you with a kiss on your shoulder.

It doesn’t work. You flinch as your breath shirks in a ragged inhale. “No, no, no— not there, no, no more—”

“Dear, it’s alright—”

“P-Please, those ones hurt the w-worst. Don’t—!”

Genuine, unrestrained distress bleeds into your tone as a sob shatters out of you. Jing Yuan aches, hurts down into his chest and heart and tummy because hearing you hurt is uniquely bad from just watching your discomforted facial expression and body language.

You knock your head back into him, skull thumping heavily against his sternum. Flailing for a moment, before you fully pitch forward and away from him.

You nearly manage to crawl away, but Jing Yuan is able to wrangle you by the waist before you can. In a swift motion, you are returned to your previous position against his chest. He twists his legs and ankles with yours and holds them open like that. The position is— straining. For both of you. But it’s secure and forces your tender glands to be fully exposed even as you stutter and shake your head.

“No, no, n-no,” you sob and shake your head. “No, no, please. I-I’ll do anything else, just n-not this. P-please—”

Jing Yuan takes a steady breath and squeezes you. Hard enough and close enough that he hopes you can feel the thundering of his heartbeat against your spine.

“I know it hurts.” He hushes you. “I know you don’t want to, but you have to, okay? You will feel so much better when it’s done.”

“I-I don’t care—!” You choke on your breath. “I-I don’t, I don’t— I don’t care if my heat is w-worse— I can’t—”

“You can.” He assures, resolutely keeping his voice firm. “You can, and you will. I know it is hard, and it hurts. You’ve done so well so far. You’re so close to being done. Can you keep being good for me, just a little while longer?”

You pause then. Ragged breathing is the only sound to disturb your dimly lit bedroom. It takes you a moment to collect yourself as you try so hard to catch your breath enough to speak while rubbing at your wet cheeks.

“I— I can be good— f-for you. J-Just for you, though, okay?”

For him.

“Good. Thank you, dear.” Jing Yuan coos, voice so soft and silken that he hardly recognizes the quality. (Good for him, you’re good for him, always so good and kind and soft and small—)

He places his hands gently over the glands. He feels their heat, then. It makes sense that these would hurt the worst, they’re more than likely the least most under-tended of the lot. Excess oil drips over the roundness of your innermost thigh as you shake. Still in tears, but calmer.

“I’m going to start now,” whispers Jing Yuan. “Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

You tense and brace yourself.

When Jing Yuan pushes down and circles, you bawl. It’s a violent sound. It shakes the gentle, soft atmosphere of your room as you immediately try to pry his hand away from the gland.

He snatches up both of your wrists with his free hand, gripping them together. The pressure he exerts there is almost too much, but he doesn’t falter. He can’t—

“Be good now.”

“S-Stop—!”

The word cracks with a sob.

It’s too much, he knows. You’re pouring sweat down your neck and back. You can’t close your mouth with how frantically you are breathing. Snot pours down from your nose. You beg, ceaselessly, regardless of the little praises and reassuring words that Jing Yuan gives you.

The last, deep pressure applied has you going rigid in his lap. Your teeth snap shut with an audible clack and you all but scream behind them. It’s too much, Jing Yuan knows this, he can feel and smell how this is too much for you, but he locks his jaw and keeps himself steady. He must.

By the time he pulls away from the gland on your right thigh, you’re all but collapsed. In on yourself, burning, tunneling to your core as you wheeze.

You shake. Like one of the delicate ginkgo leaves that litter the stone paths of his gardens. Like the wavering surface tension on the water of the stream that runs so close to your home. Like a fragile, little thing in his lap that has been so close to breaking for so long, and is too close to wholly shattering.

(Jing Yuan knows your heat will bring this for you. It’s a quiet knowledge. One he operates with at the core of his planning and strategizing, but doesn’t talk about with you openly. Not unless you asked. He is so deeply aware of how close you are to breaking and how much this scares you. He has already resolved to ease that burden however he can.)

“I’m sorry.” Jing Yuan can’t help apologizing. His own eyes— feel wet. His chest aches and he wants to squirrel you away into the depths of your nest and to his chest where he can quell your pain and lick your wounds for you. He wants to lick at you until you’re whole and well again.

“N-No.” You protest again. Weakly, you nudge the crown of your head into his chin. “You d-don’t gotta be. You said you h-have to, right?”

“I do.”

You nod, understanding. Speaking must be hard for you like this.

Jing Yuan gathers his resolve and bundles you, somehow, closer. You don’t fight him much anymore, only twitch and recoil as he wets the skin over your last scent gland with oil. It nearly shimmers in the low light.

You collapse against his chest, curling your fingers into his robe.

He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be as quick as I can be.”

You take a wobbling inhale and rub around your eyes, but nod all the same

(It’ll be over soon, then Jing Yuan can— do something. Something else that isn’t causing you such a great amount of pain—)

For your final scent gland, he begins by digging in with his knuckle, hard, into the center of the mass. You muffle a scream into his chest, hands beating against his sternum. It hurts him, he’ll probably be bruised, but he doesn’t truly care. He’s not even sure that you’re aware you’re striking him.

You mumble a stream of “make it stop, make it stop, make it stop—”s as he continues his touch, pressing more firmly and deeper into you. Your scent is— still muddled. Changing by the minute and it coats his throat like condensation. Suffocating. But he continues because he must and you’re so close.

Jing Yuan fully grabs your thigh, leveling his hand so that the heel of his palm is over your scent gland. With the strength of his arm behind his touch, he bears down and into you.

The sound that comes out of your mouth the next moment is inhuman. Wounded and pained and sharp, but there’s a gasp of breaking relief at the end. It’s a barely there wisp, but Jing Yuan hears it. You scramble, shaking so hard that he’s afraid you’ll truly break like a piece of porcelain.

He slows down his touch, easing off little by little until he’s rubbing over the scent gland with just enough pressure to be firm without bruising. You— you’re a mess. It’s endearing to see you in such a state as the pain of the massage fades away. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet, around your mouth and nose is shiny with spit and snot. Your legs still shake where they cross over his lap. You sniffle and rub at your face.

Jing Yuan takes his palm, cupping your cheek to hold you again his chest, over his heart and breast.

You relax.

So does Jing Yuan, bit by bit as the adrenaline wears off. You need a moment, he knows, to collect yourself, and come back into yourself. He’s happy to let you ground yourself on him. Your breathing becomes more even and your eyes regain some clarity.

You peer up at him.

“... Water?”

Jing Yuan fetches you the nearby bottle wordlessly. You down half of it in a single swallow, and nearly gulp down the rest of it before Jing Yuan gently reminds you to slow down. You comply simply, so soft and pliant like this.

You sniffle. “That was a-a lot.

“I know. You did very well.” Jing Yuan tells you with a squeeze. “I know it was not easy.”

“... It wasn’t.” You sound wilted as you speak. “W-Will you have to do that... again?”

“I will.” He’s honest with you. “But now that you’ve had them... expressed in such a way, it shouldn’t be painful going forward. Just sensitive.”

Gingerly, he thumbs over one of the scent glands on the side of your neck. You stiffen, gasp, and then half-moan with the contact. Your legs go rigid and stiff, and a moment later you’re blushing so heavily, that Jing Yuan is worried you’ll go light-headed.

You buried your face in his chest once more.

“How did that feel?” He asks.

“Sensitive, like you said.” You give a muffled reply. “But not bad. Kinda’ good.”

“Good.”

Jing Yuan sighs, letting out a tension that he didn’t even know he had been carrying. He squeezes you closer, relieved, and wrung out himself. A purr hums out of him, one which he doesn’t quiet or hide.

You chirp to it, nuzzling into the line of his throat. Not fully content, but much closer than you had been before.

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 —

In the weeks after the pavilion party, you only cross Jing Yuan’s mind a small number of times.

Though your encounter had been quite endearing, and you quite cute— you certainly aren’t the first person to embarrass themselves in front of him. As... comforting as your scent had been as it clung to him in the hours after, it is, ultimately, a fleeting thing.

Jing Yuan accepts this and moves on. It’s better that way. He meets many people, constantly, all the time, and rarely do they linger with him on a personal level. The connections he keeps are few, and he prefers it this way.

(Forgive him for guarding his heart.)

The next time he encounters you, it’s during business hours.

He has a meeting with Yukong, a standard check-in, and for once he decides to go to the Sky-Faring Commission in person, rather than one of his usual hologram meetings (if it’s to escape the paperwork grind for just a little longer, why not?)

It’s midday, and the Commission is bustling with activity as Yukong leads him to the center console. Things are routine, there are no disasters, and no peculiar deviations in data and activity. All anomalies and oddities are accounted for and are being monitored as needed. It’s a relief, even if Jing Yuan expects it.

What he doesn’t expect is to see you flitting from desk to desk around the Commission.

Across the wide control room, you have a tablet tucked into the crook of your arm. Your lips are pursed as you tap around it, making conversation with a coworker. You smile when you speak. It’s charming to watch. It’s mundane and he didn’t expect it. He didn’t expect to see you and be intensely reminded that you are quite the cute thing.

You jump when a different coworker, a foxian, slaps her hands on your shoulders. You turn around, clearly indignant. Though Jing Yuan is too far away to hear you clearly, he can imagine the tone. His chest feels warm as he watches.

“General?” Yukong asks him, tugging his attention back. “Would you be amicable to take a tour of the upgraded sections of the delve?”

“I’d be delighted,” he says smoothly. Yukong excuses herself to put together a few things, and Jing Yuan makes himself comfortable with his hands behind his back, surveying the Palace of Astrum—

His gaze is brought back to you. Your foxian coworker chatters with you, having gathered your hands in her own, rocking the two of you in an odd, but friendly dance. The foxian catches his attention. She has downturned ears, the kind that some from the Yaoqing have, where they blend into their hair. This foxian has snowy, loose curls that ring around her face and jaw, draping into a long style down her back.

This must’ve been who you mistook him for during the party. Jing Yuan laughs to himself with a shake of his head.

(It is an oddly poignant reminder that, for all the courtesy and kindness you showed him, you meant that closeness for someone else. Friend or otherwise. There’s a melancholy with this understanding, this truth.)

The foxian’s tale swishes and her head jerks toward him.

You turn around, gaze sweeping the room, and then clearly, it lands on him.

And oh. It’s sweet. He can see the embarrassment in your cheeks as the foxian attempts not to split her side from holding in laughter.

Despite your surprise, you wave at him. Good-natured albeit nervous.

It warms something in him.

He nods to you and waves back. Your smile sweetens like sun-warmed honey.

...

Jing Yuan notices you plenty after that. You’ve been in his orbit for quite a while, haven’t you? Nearby, flitting around the Sky-Faring Commission under Yukong’s watchful eye. You’re often by the foxian’s side while she conducts her most important business. A helpful, sweet-smelling shadow.

(She confides to Jing Yuan that you’re something of a pup to her. Your family isn’t on the Luofu. They aren’t from the Luofu. You came here, all by yourself, a decade or so ago. She took you under her wing and when she notices Jing Yuan’s subtle interest, she gives him a firm, but well-meaning talking to about his intentions.)

It’s odd, more than worrisome when he first hears this. It’s unusual for an unmated omega to move without a pack or family unit. It’s not an unheard-of occurrence, but it’s usually not advisable. It’s also odd that you never wear scent patches.

You’re a curious thing.

Jing Yuan develops a quiet, but certainly present fascination with you. He tries to not seem too obvious. Only Yukong really notes his interest in you, and that’s due to how protective she is of you. His interest in you does lead him to visit the Sky-Faring Commission in person more often if only to catch a glimpse. Observe.

(Decide if indulging his inkling feelings toward you is worth any of the potential disasters that could come with it. )

It’s a low-burning thing.

He hardly speaks to you when he visits the Sky-Faring Commission anyway.

This isn’t entirely on him; you tend to scamper off after exchanging just a line or two of pleasantries. Your voice trembles and you look up at him with a reasonable amount of trepidation and anxiety when you do speak with him.

It is all surface level.

(At least, at first, it is. Jing Yuan doesn’t push further, and neither do you. You don’t even notice that he is probing you at all if he is to guess.)

Something shifts, one early morning.

It’s long before most of the Sky-Faring Commission is in for the day. Jing Yuan prefers meetings during this time if he is to attend them in person rather than through a hologram. There tends to be less fuss about the Divine Foresight's presence in the Commission so casually this way.

Yukong is already there when he arrives. As are you. You’re the only two in the Palace of Astrum, he assesses.

The two of you are tucked away in a corner, away from what Jing Yuan has identified as your own desk. Instead, you are seated on a plush bench, while Yukong kneels in front of you. Some of the hologram saplings that sprout from the metal floor obscure his view as he slowly circles closer.

The massive looms outside the Palace hum. It’s the only sound other than muffled sniffling— your muffled sniffling.

You sob, Jing Yuan thinks, as you cover your face with both hands.

“I-I’m sorry—” You say, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s alright,” replies Yukong, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s a difficult time.”

“I should— I s-should be better than this, Madame Y-Yukong.”

She berates you for speaking lowly of yourself in her next breath, but her voice is gentle. Kind. The exact words are lost on Jing Yuan.

As you fully come into view, his breath catches.

You’re crying.

Big, round tears drip from your bloodshot eyes. They wet your jaw, darkening a spot on your outer garment where it lays over your thigh. You’re weeping, really, shaking in your shoulders as Yukong rests her hands on your knees, rubbing circles there.

Jing Yuan knows he’s intruding. He can’t stop himself from stealing a glimpse of the moment.

He feels... almost dirty about it. He’s captivated by your tears, your countenance, the way you grip the clothes over your chest and fight through a sob to tell the Helm Master “how foolish and daft and stupid you are”. It’s doing something to him.

(An awakening really.)

Affectionately, you’re a bit pathetic, and he wants— he wants you. Lucidly and fully.

Before the thought can consume him whole, he clears his throat.

The two of you jump. Yukong hastily rises and stands between you and himself. He can see your shadow, and how you have ducked to hide your face.

“General,” Yukong nods. “I apologize. I didn’t realize you had arrived.”

“I’m a bit early.” He shrugs, good-naturedly. “Is everything alright? It appears I’ve come at a bad time.”

Your scent clings to him again, this time sad and low, like the smell of embers as they hiss and lose their glow in late-evening mist.

Yukong speaks. “It’s alright, General.”

“I apologize—” You push yourself up and sway, daring to meet his eyes from around Yukong. You looked like a kicked puppy. And Jing Yuan has latent, though present instinct—

(He wants to take you away, somewhere safe—)

“No need,” he replies easily. “May I suggest rescheduling our meeting, Madame Yukong? My morning can be rearranged accordingly. I’m happy to procure a snack if you need some time.”

“I—”

Yukong cuts you off. “That would be much appreciated, General. Thank you. I should walk this one home, and then I’ll be available from then on, if that’s sufficient.”

“More than.” He looks at you when he speaks. “Whatever you need to do.”

You look like you intend to fight Yukong on this. But, Yukong deftly hooks her arm with yours and leads you from the Palace of Astrum with a slow, measured stride. She waves goodbye and urges you to too. You look back at him, still tear-stricken, ashamed, and crumbled, and wave.

“Goodbye, General. T-Thank you.”

He’s left alone then, with his thoughts and wisps of your unhappy scent swirling in the air.

Jing Yuan— well. He should get breakfast. A treat always does him well. First, though, he leans his forehead against a nearby pillar and runs a hand down his face.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

What are you doing to him? How are you doing this to him? He feels like a pervert. He— can’t decide if he wants you in his nest or his bosom. Both? It’s— a lot to sort through all at once. Something to ponder, truthfully, something to take his time with. He’s already been taking his time, and this is just another variable, another angle to account for.

He steadies himself (as he is so good at doing.)

This encounter solidifies the thing he has known but has had... trouble acknowledging.

He is enamored with you, at least a little. Perhaps a lot. At least, potentially a lot, in a way that makes him feel young and perverted and reminds him that he needs to continue to take his time. Step evenly toward you with small paces. He still can’t place if you like him, to be truthful. It’s another thing to suss out.

He gives himself time.

Perhaps he can obtain your phone number.

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 —

“Earlier,” says Jing Yuan, “you said you had questions for me?”

“Oh yeah. I did.”

You start to perk up from your cradle in his arms.

Following the scent gland massage, you had promptly fallen asleep on top of him, limbs tangled with his own. Jing Yuan can’t say that he minds, but the weight of you has him dozing off as well.

It’s good. And given that your pre-heat will surely be metastasizing into a full heat at any time, more than welcome. Any amount of rest he can secure for the two of you makes him feel more at ease. Your body clearly needs more time to settle, your scent still is muddled but slowly clearing up.

You sit up over his hips and brace yourself on his chest. Blinking, slow, like a sun-warmed cat showing an owner its trust and affection. Jing Yuan cups your cheek and you lean into it with an omegan chirp from the middle of your throat. You really aren’t all that different from a content cat.

“What did you want to ask?”

“It’s just one question, really… It might be kind of invasive.” You hide your face in his big palm. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’d still like to hear it still if you’ll tell me.”

You peek at him under your lashes and smother your lips against his hand. You collapse onto his chest and bury your face in his scent gland. It’s easy then, to lightly wrestle you to the side of him and get his arms around your waist. This position feels safest, the most secure.

You must feel the same as you nuzzle closer. Always so sweet with him, even if you are frightened.

“I... I wanted to ask about your old mate... mates,” you say so softly. “You don’t have a claim bite, but I read a few things that make it seem like you were mated at some point. You know that I haven’t really been with anyone other than you. And I guess I’m curious about what you’ve experienced... and what you’ve gone through.”

He hums.

Jing Yuan knows there have been rumors. Ancient, archival tabloid articles from the days of the High Cloud Quintet, speculating on the relationship status of “The High Elder of the Vidyadhara, Imbibitor Lunae”, “The Short-Life Furnace Master of the Luofu”, and “The Xianzhou’s most promising young Lieutenant strategist”.

They weren't so careful, hiding their affections back then. Yingxing didn’t care about his personal reputation, despite his known arrogance. Dan Feng welcomed contention from the preceptors and the public. And Jing Yuan had yet to learn all of restraint’s gentle dances. He knew some steps, but not enough to keep all of the throuple’s more... risque trysts from showing up in the next day’s forums and newsstands for an incredulous and gawking public, try as he might.

Despite all of the evidence, none of them ever addressed their mating in any official capacity. Privacy and all. Jing Yuan has parried the rumors now for years, even with the perception that he is an alpha. Given the... mostly detached way that he (publically) handled the exile of both of his once-mates, the whispers have fallen away in current times. More often, there will be a blurry photograph of him in a night market near an innocuous shadow with wild claims about him taking some mysterious partner.

It doesn’t bother him. It never has, really, but now he is laying in your nest and you ask him so gently, kindly, with a wrinkle between your brows, the conclusions you’ve drawn do give him a bit of anxiety.

“That’s a fair question to ask,” begins Jing Yuan. “I understand your curiosity.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” You nearly interrupt him. “Only what you’re comfortable with. It’s... not an easy topic, I imagine.”

“It’s not.”

You nose into his jaw, gooey. “Take your time.”

He does. It takes a moment for him to collect him and decide what to give you in this moment, if anything. He wants to, but his heart is still delicate in these deep, seldom-touched places.

“You are correct in that I was once mated.” He tells you, burying a hand in your hair. “Neither of them have any claim on me, and they haven’t for some time. My mating bite faded centuries ago.”

“‘They’?”

“Two,” he clarifies. “One alpha and one vidyadhara. I’ve rarely coupled after we parted, and when I have, it hasn’t been anything lasting.”

Nothing more than highly confidential hookups and heavy-petting sessions to scratch an itch that Jing Yuan struggles to reach himself. He rarely feels the need.

“... And they’re... gone?”

“Something like that.”

‘Gone’ is perhaps the most appropriate word for what happened to Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not broken up, not dead, just gone. Their Identities were replaced.

“... I’m sorry.” You squeeze him. “That’s so hard.”

“It’s alright.”

(It isn’t, not fully, but Jing Yuan made peace with the wounds the two of them left a long time ago. It does not rot anymore. Only aches on occasion.)

“It’s still hard.” You nose into his scent glands. “I can’t imagine experiencing the loss of a mate.”

“It’s not something I’d wish on anyone,” he replies honestly.

“They were your firsts?”

“First everything.”

“Oh.”

You nuzzle closer to him, your scent blooming and mingling with his own.

“No need to be sad on my account.” He squeezes your nape. “It happened a long time ago.”

“‘Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt anymore,” you remind him. You adjust to perch in his lap, cupping his cheeks. Your eyes are sad, still bloodshot from your tears earlier. “Thank you for trusting me to be close to you. It means a lot. And thank you for being close to me.”

His heart aches in the best way.

“Of course.”

Then, he kisses you. How could he not?

🎀💦 CONTINUED IN PART 2!! →

#lore writes #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #hsr x reader #WE DID!!! IT!!!!!#I'M getting up part 2 as we speak and i'll update links accordingly <3 #enjoy so so much

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a-bright-comet · 7 months ago

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Jade Shadows Thoughts

(NOTICE: I have edited this post after a few days and many lovely replies and tags giving me more insight and opinions, overall my view of this quest has gotten a lot more positive, thank you all <3) okaaayyyy I am utterly rattled rn lmao also made the mistake of looking at tumblr after doing the quest and as expected it seems to be a 50/50 of hating or loving it. so here are my personal thoughts, I am a little scared but talk seems to be civil thankfully. I can definitely agree on the sentiment that this quest needed more time, cause let's be honest the people hating this quest wouldn't be jumping to the things they're jumping to if Jade herself got more screen-time before the big drop, warframe's style has always been vague and never 100% straight-forward and I think that unfortunately hurt it a bit this time, as what they didn't show came off wrong to many people and while I sorta see why I disagree on some parts. I also feel like the quest kinda got a bit *too* hyped both by DE and the fanbase's theories, way too short, it deserved and needed to be a bit longer for it's special narrative. Jade kinda got a weird spot, both being the main focus alongside Stalker but also hardly explored. But let's be honest, most of the negativity is caused by this outside-circumstance alone. Now, what I absolutely disagree with is people insisting that DE was trying to say "bodily autonomy bad" or that Stalker didn't care about her and only the child, thing is I thought it was pretty fucking clear that she *wanted* the child in what little was shown and she was going to die no matter the outcome (thanks to the orokin to absolutely no one's surprise) and Stalker in his guilt for all she's done for him wanted to make sure that he at least kept this one promise to Her, cause She wanted it. she still had bodily autonomy in the fact She wanted this, she wanted the child no matter what. and she wanted stalker to protect her and the kid. And he did, like a true loving partner. DE has a long track record of being very autonomy-positive. A point they make time and time again is that ripping it away is *bad* and horrifying, the quest is a bittersweet tragedy, not a horror. Honestly there would be 0 issue if DE had given us a Jade-only quest before this one, I personally would've preferred it as well, she's cool as hell she deserves it. who knows maybe DE will see all of this and make prequel quests? we can only hope. I do not want to assume the worst of anyone or anything cause that's a miserable existence. Look I personally enjoyed the quest and get the feeling whoever wrote it did it out of some personal experience or sorrow, that's at least the vibe I got. It's a tragedy, but her choice was seen till the end, many women choose to still have a child despite knowing they won't make it, many also don't, that's why choice is important. and she did, she chose her child that she was having while likely forcibly infested and turned into a warframe. (also remember there are women on the team who likely looked at this.) there are some other iffy parts of the quest, (really should've been the drifter instead of the operator if they were gonna do that, but that's personal discomfort.) but overall I enjoyed it and open to explore the implications of a born-warframe-child and Stalker healing as they both grow together. These are my thoughts, and I can understand why people like or dislike this quest, but I think it's fine and just ended up in a very unfortunate spot due to outside circumstances beyond it's control. (sorry if any of this comes off as aggressive it is not my intention despite how riled I am by some folk online, I disagree with you but I do not hate you, I don't even know you.)

Her choice, His promise, Their light.

Thank you for reading my first ever text post about something I care about, not sure I'll be doing this again any time soon out of anxiety lol (Edit: and thanks to everyone responding to this post wonderfully, ya'll are great and have lessened my anxiety and have made me appreciate this quest more <3)

#warframe #jade shadows #jade shadows spoilers #this not meant to start discourse btw #just wanted to drop the weight off my mind before i explode #warframe encourages people to put pieces together and come up with things on their own so lets please be nice

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elitadream · 4 months ago

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Hi guys~! ⛅👋

Long time no see! Much longer than I ever intended, in fact. Truth be told, I wanted to make a public post sooner, but I've had a lot to catch up on in terms of notifications and messages since logging back in a few days ago. I've also made some changes that I will address shortly, but first of all I wanted to thank those of you who have reached out with so much care and understanding during my absence. Adjusting has been a slow and fragile process for me -still is-, and I sadly haven't responded directly to everyone yet because of it, but I wanted to say how much I appreciate your patience and support nonetheless. 🥹 🙏

Long story short, I was gone for five months due to a huge burnout, then progressively found my spark again somewhere along the way and have since mostly recovered. It was my wonderful friend @drones-of-innocence who reached out to me outside of Tumblr, and her sense of initiative is largely the reason why I managed to make this post in a somewhat reasonable delay. 😅💖 With that said however, I must also mention that I've deleted a lot of stuff from my page and have removed most of my work from the public eye as well. This may seem quite drastic and frankly a little unsettling, but I assure you that it was a thoroughly considered and reasoned decision! The thing is that I was still getting lots of notes on these drawings everyday and… To put it simply, I didn't want that anymore. 🙇‍♀️ Experiencing popularity was very detrimental to me in the long run and I needed to put an end to it for the sake of my own wellbeing; at least for now.

Which brings me to my next point.

After mulling it over for a while, I've decided that I would not be returning as an active creator in the Mario community this time around. 👐 Making fanart for this franchise (with such a high and continuously maintained degree of involvement) had a lot to do with my health's decline and I've come to realize that I wanted to direct my focus elsewhere going forward. For that reason, there are things which I know will never be repeated again in the future, both in regards to my art and online presence in general, but that's alright. Things change, as they do and should. I'm looking forward to reuniting with folks and would be very happy to stay in touch with those of you who wish to message me privately. Like my lovely pal @istadris said, what matters most about any fandom are the friends you make in it. ☺️

And speaking of which-

@ody-and-fanatu That's so sweet of you, thank you! 💗 I'm glad you've enjoyed my contribution to the fandom. It was fun while it lasted! 💫 My visual ideas may be gone from my page, but most of my written posts and replies are still there for anyone who wants to revisit those at least, so there's that! And I'd also like to answer some of the asks I still have in my inbox at some point. Knowing that you hold my art in such high regard makes really happy! 🥰 Unfortunately, the other account that I have is reserved for my professional work and I prefer to keep them separate from one other, but the good thing is that I intend to go back to this blog occasionally. Hoping to see you around! Cheers! 🥂

@heiressofdoodles Thanks, I appreciate that! ✨ I'm honestly doing much better than I was earlier this Spring. Back then, I was running on empty and on the verge of crashing without even knowing it. Being in constant physical pain was one thing, but feeling mentally and emotionally drained on a daily basis was another entirely, and something had to be done. It took me a moment to really figure out what was wrong, but thankfully I realized very quickly what was causing it and applied the breaks with all my might. One of my main priorities now is to be more alert and respect my own boundaries to make sure that this never happens again. 🥲

@keakruiser Thank you. 🙏💐 I'm just glad to have found my footing again. Feels good to be able to create freely.^^ Hope you're doing well too!

Special thanks also to @pianokantzart, @jelly-fish-wishes, @katlyntheartist, @triniji and @wahooitsamee for their kind words. 🫂 Your graciousness and consideration means a lot to me. 💝

As for all the nice people who sent me anon comments and well wishes, I tried to summarize my thoughts as best I could in this update, but if there's anything else you'd like to say or know, don't hesitate to ask me anytime! Now that I feel like myself again, I think I'm gonna hang out on Tumblr for a little bit. I'll be excited to see what you guys have been up to in the meantime! 🤗 Wishing you all a very good day and pleasant Fall. 🍂

-elita 🌸

#elitadream #update #personal message #community

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coopswhxre · 8 months ago

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Word's Mean Nothin'

Boyd Crowder x (Fem)Reader

Word Count: 3,224

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

Synopsis: Boyd confesses his feelings for you and things get a little heated.

This is my first time writing anything for tumblr, so please be nice XD

It had been three weeks since your sister Ava allowed Boyd Crowder to stay in the attic of the home you both shared. He had kept to himself, spending his days reading the Bible and listening to the radio. Frankly, you preferred it that way; seeing his smug face was the last thing you wanted after all the trouble he'd brought upon Ava.

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, you decided to enjoy your coffee on the porch, relishing the crisp air, only to be startled by Boyd sitting on the bench by the door, his expression one of deep thought.

With a sigh, you considered him for a moment before turning to go back inside.

"Y/N," his voice was low as he called out your name, his gaze fixed on the woods beyond your property. "Would you sit with me?"

You paused, your foot hovering over the threshold. "Why should I?"

"Please…" His eyes met yours—wide, hazel, and piercing. To your surprise, they seemed to shimmer with what looked like genuine remorse.

"You've got two minutes, Crowder," you conceded, walking over to take the rocking chair opposite him.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed defensively as you leaned back. "Well, I ain't got all night, Boyd."

"I've been thinkin' 'bout these past few weeks, what my daddy did to your sister… to you." He gestured towards your shoulder, where a bullet from his father, Bo, had grazed you, sending a chill of remembered pain through you. "I know I can't undo what happened or clear away the bad blood between us, but I need you to know, I'm sorry."

Your gaze hardened, not quite ready to accept his apology, yet you couldn't help but notice the earnestness in his tone—something you hadn't expected from Boyd Crowder. The silence lingered for a moment, punctuated only by the distant calls of evening birds and the soft creak of the rocking chair beneath you.

"Why now, Boyd?" you finally asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "What's changed?"

Boyd sighed, looking down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. "I've had a lot of time to think, up there in that attic. 'Bout my life, the choices I've made, the folks I've hurt." He paused, his voice faltering slightly. "I've realized if I keep goin' down this path, I'll end up all alone. I don't want that. Not anymore."

You watched him, trying to decipher if this was another one of his manipulations. Boyd was known for his silver tongue, and trust was not something easily given, especially to a man like him. Yet, there was something different this time, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before.

"And what 'bout Ava?" you pressed, the concern for your sister surfacing. "What assurances do I have that you won’t put her—or me—in danger again?"

Boyd nodded, understanding the weight of your question. "I can't give you guarantees, Y/N. All I can offer is my word to do better. I wanna protect Ava, not cause her more pain. I hope, in time, you'll see that."

You remained silent, mulling over his words. The evening chill began to seep through your clothes, reminding you of the fading light.

"Time'll tell, Boyd," you finally said, standing up from the rocking chair. "Words mean nothin' without action. You better prove yourself, or you're out."

As you lay in bed that night, the conversation with Boyd replayed endlessly in your mind. His voice, earnest and somber, seemed genuinely filled with regret—a side of him you hadn't seen before. But deep down, you suspected Ava was his true motivation. Boyd had always harbored a soft spot for her, even during her marriage to his brother.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the radio playing upstairs, its volume carrying through the quiet house. With a muttered curse, you threw off the covers and made your way to the attic to tell Boyd to turn it down.

Reaching the attic door, you knocked sharply before entering. The sight that greeted you made you gasp—Boyd, just out of the shower, clad only in a towel around his waist, his skin damp and his hair slicked back. For a moment, you faltered, taken aback by the stark contrast between his usual rugged demeanor and the vulnerability he now displayed.

"Boyd, the music—it’s too loud," you said, striving to keep your voice steady despite the distraction.

"Oh, sorry bout that," Boyd replied, his tone apologetic as he reached for the radio, turning it down immediately. "Didn’t realize it was carrying through the house."

You nodded, your eyes inadvertently scanning the sparse, dimly lit attic. It was clear he lived simply here, with just a few personal items. The vulnerability of his living situation, combined with the unexpected intimacy of the moment, softened your stance just slightly.

"Thanks," you added, pausing at the doorway. "And Boyd—about earlier… I’m thinking about what you said."

Boyd’s eyes met yours, hopeful yet cautious. "I appreciate that, Y/N. Really, I do."

You were already halfway out the door when Boyd's voice halted your steps. "Wait, Y/N," he called, his tone hesitant yet earnest. You paused, your hand on the door frame, and turned back to face him.

"I just… If you've got a minute, I'd like to say a bit more," he said, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. The soft light from the single bulb overhead cast shadows that played across his features.

You sighed, your initial irritation fading into a cautious curiosity. "Alright, Boyd. What is it?" you asked, leaning against the door frame.

He took a deep breath, searching for his words - eyes searching the dimly lit attic before settling back on you. The air was thick with tension, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something more tentative. "I know this ain't the time or place, and maybe it's not my place to say, but…" His voice trailed off as he took a cautious step closer, his expression earnest.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively. "Boyd, if you've got something to say, just say it."

He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on you. "It's just… these past weeks, being here, seeing how you handle everything… it’s made me realize a lot more than just my mistakes." He paused, swallowing hard. "I’ve come to… care for you, Y/N. More than I should, given everything."

The confession hung between you, startling in its sincerity. Boyd looked vulnerable, almost afraid of how you might respond. "I know I don't deserve a chance, not with my history… but if you'd ever think it possible—"

"Boyd, I—" You started, your mind racing with conflicting emotions.

He stepped forward, closing the gap slightly, his presence overwhelming. "I know it's a lot to ask. I don't even know what I’m asking for. Just… don’t shut me out. Please."

The intensity in his eyes, the raw honesty in his voice, it broke through your defenses in a way you hadn't anticipated. You were about to speak, to chastise him or perhaps to dismiss his words, when impulsively, Boyd leaned in, his hesitation melting away in the moment.

His lips met yours, and for a brief second, the world seemed to stop. The kiss was tentative at first, questioning, as if he was still seeking permission. But as you stood frozen, surprised by your own stillness, something shifted. Maybe it was the isolation of the attic, the soft hum of the now-quiet radio, or the genuine remorse he had shown earlier; whatever it was, you found yourself not pulling away.

The kiss deepened slightly, Boyd's lips firm yet cautious. His hand, tentative at first, found its way to the small of your back, pulling you slightly closer. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the cool air of the attic, and you could feel the dampness of his hair, the remnants of his shower, as his fingers gently brushed against your cheek.

The softness of the moment, the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, was disarming. It wasn't rushed or fraught with the intensity of passion often depicted in stories; rather, it was a slow burn, a flicker of something new.

As Boyd finally pulled away, the slight catch in his breath was audible in the quiet of the attic. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or rejection. What he found instead was confusion.

Boyd's gaze was unwavering, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was trying to read your thoughts.

"I… I'm sorry if that was too much," he whispered. "I just needed you to know, to really know, how I feel."

The weight of his confession, the unexpected intimacy of the kiss, left you silent for a moment. You were still processing, still trying to align this new Boyd with the one you had known, always calculating, always a step ahead.

His eyes held yours, searching for a sign of how you might react next. The tension was palpable, a mix of anticipation and fear. You took a moment, your own confusion swirling with the unexpected emotions stirred by the kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, you made your decision. Stepping forward, closing the gap Boyd had just created, you reached up to touch his face gently, the touch sent a shiver down your spine. Boyd looked at you, his eyes wide.

Without saying a word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his again. This time, there was a certainty in your movement, a decision made. Boyd responded almost immediately, his hands moving to your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, and you invited him further, parting your lips.

Boyd's response was immediate and intense. His tongue met yours, exploring softly, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence as you responded in kind. His fingers pressed into your waist, pulling you flush against his warm chest. The heat from his body enveloped you.

The world outside seemed to fade away as the kiss grew more passionate. You could feel Boyd's heart racing just as fast as yours, his breath mingling with yours, creating a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. The soft hum of the radio now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the sound of your joint breathing and the occasional creak of the attic floor beneath you.

As the kiss finally broke, you both stood there, forehead against forehead, trying to catch your breath. Boyd's hands remained on your waist, not willing to let go just yet, and you made no move to step back.

Boyd finally spoke, his voice husky and low. "Y/N, I—"

"Shh," you whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "Don't. We don’t need words right now."

As the tension in the room shifted from apprehensive to charged, you took Boyd's hand. The air in the attic felt thick, almost tangible with the turn of emotions. Leading him to his bed, you were acutely aware of every sound—the slight creak of the floorboards, the distant call of the night, and the rustle of the towel as it shifted against Boyd's form.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. The soft light from the single bulb cast shadows that danced on the walls, adding to the intimacy of the moment. You could see the outline of Boyd's form under the towel, the tension in his body, and the undeniable evidence of his desire.

Boyd stood before you, his breathing deep and uneven.

You reached up, your fingers gently touching the edge of the towel at his waist. Your eyes met, and there was a silent question in yours, a pause as you gave him a moment to decide.

Boyd's hand covered yours, his grip firm yet gentle. He nodded slightly, a wordless agreement, a surrender to the moment and to whatever it might bring. You pulled gently, and the towel fell away, leaving Boyd exposed.

You let out a soft gasp, your eyes widening in both surprise and desire as you took in the sight of him. His swollen tip, coated in glistening precum, called out to you and you couldn't resist. Your mouth watered with anticipation as you enveloped his length with your lips, savoring the velvety texture against your tongue. He groaned and grasped tightly onto your hair as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth, never taking his piercing gaze off of yours.

You moaned as his hand guided your movements, taking him in deeper and savoring the feeling of being completely filled by him. The sound of your moans vibrating around him was like a symphony to his ears until he suddenly let go, creating a soft popping noise as your lips released his member.

"Damn, Y/N," he gasped. "If you keep that up, I won't be able to return the favor." He laughed hoarsely, that toothy grin of his shining in the dim light before his expression turned dark. "Lie back, baby." The intense heat between your legs threatened to consume you at his words, and you couldn't help but melt at the way the word ‘baby’ rolled off his tongue.

You followed his instructions, shifting towards the head of the bed and easing yourself onto the soft pillows. He moved over you, taking in the sight of your body spread out beneath him, his arousal pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

His lips trailed down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers across your skin as he pressed himself against your thigh. You let out a gasp as he tugged at the neckline of your singlet, exposing one of your erect nipples. His tongue darted out to flick at the sensitive peak before taking it into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling.

"Boyd…" you moaned, overwhelmed. "please, more."

Sitting up on his knees between your open legs, Boyd’s fingers gripped the waistline of your shorts, slowly pulling them down. Your heart raced as you felt the cool air against your bare skin. He tossed you shorts aside, eyes filled with desire, as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt.

You clenched your hands in the sheets, your breath hitched as you eagerly awaited his next move. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Boyd leaned in closer, his face just above your quivering core. You felt his breath against your most sensitive spot, making you squirm. His finger traced your outer lips, teasing the entrance of your heat.

And then, finally, he slipped a finger inside, pushing gently against your tight walls. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire body that left you gasping for breath.

"Fuck, Y/N," His voice a mix of lust and awe. "You're so tight."

His fingers delved deeper into your core, twisting and curling to ignite a firestorm of sensations that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Your hips eagerly moved in rhythm with his movements, yearning for the release that felt so tantalizingly close.

As he worked his fingers, his lips met yours in a fiery kiss. His tongue matched the rhythm of his skilled digits inside of you.

Just when you thought you couldn't handle any more pleasure, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you longing for more.

He spat into his hand and slicked it over his pulsing member, preparing himself for you.

Your heart raced as he slowly positioned himself at your entrance, pausing to meet your eyes.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your body begging for the connection that was moments away. And then, with a single, powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely.

A gasp escaped your lips, and a wave of pleasure washed over you as you held onto him tightly. Your inner muscles contracted around his length, drawing him in deeper.

Boyd let out a loud grunt, his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as he adjusted to the tightness of your walls. His hands fisted the sheet on either side of your head as he paused for a moment, collecting himself.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a rhythm that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through both of you. You met his thrusts eagerly, your hips moving in tandem with his.

Your breaths became heavier, your bodies glistening with perspiration as the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the occasional curse from Boyd.

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging deeply into his skin as you pulled him closer. The friction was exquisite, and you could feel the aching need building within you.

Boyd's eyes were locked onto yours, his face a mask of raw emotion. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss as he thrust deeper. You moaned into his mouth, your body responding to his every move.

Your climax was building, the pressure growing with each thrust. You could feel it, the tightening coil of pleasure, threatening to unravel. You dug your nails into his back, arching your hips to meet his. The sensation was too much, and you cried out as you peaked, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

Boyd watched you in awe as he continued to thrust into you. The sight of you in the throes of orgasm was more than he could take, and he quickly joined you, his body shuddering as he released deep within you, ropes of hot cum painting your walls white.

Your legs shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm as you melted into the bed. Boyd's weight rested on top of you, his face buried in your neck as he caught his breath.

You ran your hands through his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. "That was…" you began, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Somethin’.” Boyd finished your sentence, his words muffled against your skin when a knock at the door made you both jump.

Boyd quickly rolled off you, grabbing the towel from the floor and wrapping it around his waist. You straightened yourself on the bed, pulling the sheets around you, heart still pounding.

Dear god, you'd forgotten all about your sister downstairs!

Boyd cracked open the door just enough to peek through, and Ava's voice floated in, laced with a hint of amusement. "Y'all planning on making that racket all night? Some of us have a busy day tomorrow," she teased, her tone light but carrying a knowing edge.

A sheepish grin spread across Boyd’s features. "Sorry, Ava," he called back through the slightly ajar door, his voice a mix of embarrassment and mirth. "We'll keep it down."

"Better," Ava replied, her voice now softened with laughter. "Just remember, thin walls in this old house."

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letteredlettered · 2 months ago

Note

Hey! I really enjoyed reading your comments on feedback and fanfic this week and would love to get your input on something similar-ish I’ve been struggling with. I’m recently back on Tumblr (lurking) and writing fanfic (secretly) after quite a few years away from fandom spaces. I’ve never posted my work on AO3 before but I’ve been considering pulling that trigger lately. I’d love to share my writing with anyone else who might enjoy it and admittedly I do dream of finding some community by putting myself out there like that. However, so intimidating to put myself out there like that. Do you have any advice for someone thinking of posting their fics for the first time? Anything you wish you knew before posting yours? Truly any perspective you can share would be very much appreciated :)

I posted my first fanfic probably about 24 years ago, so I don’t know if I’m the best person for these questions, but I’ll address what you’ve asked. At length, it seems.

1. I guess the first thing I’d say is search elsewhere than AO3 to fulfill your dream of finding community. As I said in this post, AO3 was built as an archive for community that already existed, and it doesn’t have robust community-building tools.

2. I’ve tried. I have literally posted fics partly to ask where the discord was, a question I have put in the A/N that was eventually answered but not without numerous follow-ups. I have often posted my tumblr handle in A/Ns, asking people to come scream with me about a fandom. While a flattering number of folks over the years have sent me asks and chats saying they really liked my fic, there have been striking few who have come to scream at me about the canon.

This is my fault, not theirs. I’m bad at starting conversations; I’m of an unsocial, taciturn disposition unwilling to speak unless to say something that will impress the whole room. But I am also a pretty popular writer, and I have made precious few connections this way; I think it should tell you something.

3. To fulfill your dream of finding community, as I said in the above-linked post, I don’t actually have great solutions. Since discord is basically hidden, the only way I know of to actually find community is to start cold-messaging people you vibe with through asks and chat on places like tumblr.

4. Re finding community through writing fic, @reads8hoursperday made an interesting addition to that above-linked post here, pointing out that in the journaling days of fandom, it was very common to write fics in the comments or even on your journal. They didn’t get archived and in that way were effectively ephemeral. While it’s nice to have a permanent archive, they were pointing out that the permanent nature of AO3 contributes to the feeling that there is some kind of status associated with fic.

One way to a) deal with nerves posting fic for the first time, b) shatter the feeling that your first fic must accrue beaucoup stats, would be to post on one of the other platforms first. If you post somewhere like discord, it feels less like a presentation and more just like part of a conversation you want to have: hey, what do you think about this fic? Is it good? Does it need work? Should I post to AO3? The folks there can help encourage and cheerlead you to post somewhere more intimidating, like AO3.

But okay, you also said you wanted to share your fics, and AO3 is an excellent place for that, and imo, the best, so here are some further ideas about how to post fic on AO3 without feeling like you might die of stage fright:

5. Title your fic something you would want to read. Write a summary for your fic that would make you want to click on it. Do not title your fic something you think the most people will click on. Do not write a summary you think will entice the most people. Giving your fic the title and summary that would attract you is setting up the expectation, for yourself, that this fic is for you, and maybe, a little bit, readers like you—instead of for a big audience that will accrue the most stats.

I say this as someone whose fic summaries have been endlessly mocked and derided. I’ve literally had people come into my comments angry at me because my summary wasn’t “eloquent” enough to let them know my fic was “good” and so they “missed out” on reading it for far “too long.” It’s a wild world out there, let me tell you.

But my summaries have also been complimented. They have been what made someone click. In the end I’m putting this out there for someone who likes what I do, and it’s been really liberating to say to myself, “You know what? I would read this. And the people who wouldn’t? Maybe they’re not the readers I’m interested in.”

6. I think setting both hopes and also setting expectations around that kind of audience—an audience who wants to hear what you have to say—rather than stats, is important. Ultimately, if you’re writing to be popular, or to attain a certain number of comments or kudos, you’re going to be disappointed. But if you’re sharing what you’ve written because you want to reach people who like what you have to say, if you don’t get comments and kudos, then the problem is that those people haven’t found you, not that what you have to say is worthless.

And I think bearing that in mind can soothe a lot of the heartache around posting a fic that doesn’t do well.

I posted a fic in a fandom that was new for me two years ago. It was the juggernaut pairing in a megafandom, the kind of fandom where even new authors get over a hundred kudos and a decent number of comments. But my fic was a little darker than what seemed to be the norm for the pairing on AO3; it didn’t have porn, and it didn’t have a very strong plot with an ending.

This fic tanked, stats-wise. But my conclusion is that the people who would’ve liked this fic didn’t see it, or even that the people who would’ve liked this fic aren’t even in the fandom, because they saw how much fluff there was on AO3, or the canon is too light-hearted for them. I didn’t conclude my writing sucked or that it was a bad story. Some people might think that! But what I told myself was I just didn’t find my audience.

You might say it’s easy for me to say that because I am a pretty popular author who does have an audience with most other things I write. I would agree I am a very confident writer, but I do think, even if you don’t have my kind of confidence, going into it knowing that not everyone’s going to love it can really help.

7. Relatedly, I think that loving what you’ve written, working on it and editing it and creating something that you care about and adore, something that is exactly what you want, can help with feeling proud no matter what. You might think that if, then, you don’t get a lot of comments and kudos also adoring it, it can feel demoralizing, and it can. It can definitely feel that way.

But there is something really liberating in creating a thing that makes you happy. And if you honest-to-god wrote something that you love, I guarantee someone else will love it. They might not find you on AO3, which can be really disappointing. But think of how many times you’ve loved something strange or unusual you thought no one had ever even thought about before, and then you read a book or saw a post or a video and realized there was a whole world out there that loved it too. There is a whole world out there, and they’re there for you. You’re sending a signal out there to the world. Maybe it can really touch someone.

8. Since I’m suggesting that the trick is really “finding your audience” some people conclude that what they really need to do is market their fic, really sell it to people, link it every chance they get, beg authors they like to read it, etc. I really recommend against this. People will think it looks gauche, but who gives a fuck what they think. What’s really detrimental about it is that if you go hawking your wares like that and you’re still not getting the attention and validation you’re craving, you’re going to be even more disappointed, and it’s going to feel really bad.

I’m not saying “let the universe do its work,” or anything mystic. Fic does require a certain amount of signal-boosting so people know what’s out there. Certainly, post a link to your fic on tumblr, mention it in discord, tweet it on bluesky, or wherever. My wife even tells me I have to reblog my fic posts on tumblr a few times so people don’t miss it in their feed. All of that is fine. But if you are giving your whole self to “finding your audience” and you don’t find it, it’s going to leave you raw and unwanted.

9. All right, so you’ve written the fic you love and you’ve prepped yourself for the idea that you’re just looking for readers to love what you love—and yet, somehow, you’re still concerned about stats. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Almost everyone is concerned about stats. It’s impossible not to fret over it in this economy environment.

People think I must never be concerned about getting a little kudos because I get a lot. I really think people think there’s some kind of popularity threshold where people must feel they have “arrived,” where they no longer care about being popular. I’m not sure where they are getting this idea. It’s just not true. Everyone wants praise and attention; they don’t stop because they get it.

So yes, I think about stats. I think about them a lot, and you probably do, too. That’s okay. Here are some more things you can do:

10. Set expectations around this too, and set them very, very low. One thing that people don’t understand about expectation-setting is that it requires some real time and imagination. Don’t just tell yourself, “I’m going to get two kudos” and that’s all. Imagine your timeline. Imagine looking at your fic’s stats. And imagine how you’re going to feel when you see that stat.

For instance, if I imagine two kudos is all the attention my fic will ever get, I don’t imagine that one minute after I post, I’ll see it got two kudos. I imagine that a week later, I will be looking at my fic, and I will see that it has two kudos. I check in with myself--how does it feel? A little disappointing, maybe. I thought more people would read it. What will I do next? Maybe I’ll go out for a fun coffee with my wife. Ah, it’s not that bad, really. It’s too bad only two people kudos’ed it—but in the end, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, imagine I set my expectations at two and I got three kudos—well, that feels spectacular! And if I get my two kudos, well, okay, maybe it feels a little worse than I imagined, but it’s still not that bad. But imagine if I was expecting five and only got two—I think I would be crushed.

11. I will make this a separate point because I think it’s important—really, imagine how your email will look. There’s a thing we do with our phones, where we get hopeful someone has messaged us, or we get hopeful that there will be something new for us, that someone will have paid attention to us in some way. Then we look at our phone and there’s nothing for us. It’s crushing. The chemicals in your body cause your whole being to plummet. And then the next time you look at your phone they cause you to anticipate, to get tense and stress again, and then when your phone has nothing for you, you’re that much more depleted.

You are putting your body through a roller coaster. Many people’s solution is not to look at their phone, but I don’t actually think this is a great idea for many people, because they will fail. They will fail, be crushed by whatever attention they didn’t receive on their phone, AND they will feel bad that they failed to stay away from their phone.

Meanwhile, if you say to yourself: what am I hoping to see when I look at my phone? What can I realistically expect from my phone at this moment? How will I feel when I see it? What will I do after that? Then you can manage these expectations much more easily.

12. Relatedly, I would suggest you have an activity planned that will start the moment after you post your fic—an activity that takes you away from your computer and, if possible, your phone for four to eight hours. Going to the cinema is a great idea for a few of those hours, because most people are really able to keep their phone off for the duration. I like to go out with friends after I post a fic, but I am not someone who really looks at her phone during social engagements.

I remember once I posted a fic and went directly to an anti-Dobbs protest; the friend who had informed me about the protest and met me there was a fandom friend. She said, “Did you really just post porn and then come to a demonstration about the right of a woman to choose?”

I said yes. This is the best way to do it. So here is my final advice: post on AO3 and then allow people with a uterus the right to choose.

#answer to an ask #long post #fic #fandom

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musings-of-a-rose · 5 months ago

Text

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 6

Pairing: Benny Miller x wife!reader nicknamed “Juni”

Word Count: 3500+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: This is it, folks! I had some little short story ideas for this fic. Maybe I’ll write them one day if people want. HUGE shoutout to @laurfilijames for listening to me babble about this fic. I hope you enjoy your husband Will! And also to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to my crazy messages about a world she’s not terribly familiar with. I hope you enjoy your guest spot! This is not beta’d - we yeet and post.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

I Don’t Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) series masterlist

My eyes blink, trying to focus as I will them to open, my head spinning and aching at the back from whatever hit me. I bring my hand to the back of my head and feel a knot, but no blood. Or at least it’s dried. I hope that’s a good thing.

The floor beneath me is hard and dirty, which isn’t out of the norm, but a memory stirs at the back of my mind, pulling at the edges of memory.

“And they said Raiders can’t be sneaky!”

My eyes finally focus and I try to sit up, my head lightly scraping against a hard surface. I feel above me a hard roof, my fingers scrambling to try and find an edge. But then my eyes land on the bars in front of me and I realize - I’m in a cage. On all fours, I move around and finally find the door, which of course is firmly locked. I grip the bars, squeezing them tight before I shake the door gently. It doesn’t budge.

Part of me wants to scream and yell, but I’ve seen enough of those old movies to know that it won’t do me any good. No one will let me out or I wouldn’t be in here to begin with. I take a look around the dingy, poorly-lit room and see no one. Just half broken furniture and some rusty shelves with various parts of metal, some canned foods, and…is that a board game? It’s not until I see the needle full of Jet (a drug) on the table that I know who took me for certain. My memory was not failing me.

Raiders.

I have no idea why they would take me, but I do know that I’m fucked. It does give me a little hope that they haven’t done anything yet. Maybe they’re waiting for me to wake up….

I quickly lay back down, curling into the same position I had woken from. I keep my eyes open, studying my prison for as long as I can. But when I hear the footsteps growing closer, I close them gently, hoping that I can still look like I’m asleep. Heavy footsteps shuffle in, 2 sets as far as I can hear. I don’t dare open my eyes.

“Still out?” a deep voice asks.

“Seems so.” The bars of my cage rattle as the second man shakes the cage. I don’t move. “Yeah. I’d say she is.”

The first man groans. “I wish she’d wake up. Maybe the boss would let us torture her a bit while we’re waiting on Nightshade.”

Benny. Of course. That’s why they took me. Benny missed several drop offs and he’d assumed they would think he was dead. Apparently, he thought wrong.

“Yeah but the boss said no touching. That we’re waitin’ on what’s owed us. And Nightshade won’t be nice if we hurt what’s his.”

Some more grumbling from the first man before something clanks on the floor next to the bars of my cage and they shuffle out. I wait a few minutes before moving, making sure no one else was coming. When nothing happens, I crack an eye open and scan the area. A can of Pork N’ Beans sits next to the cage, slightly open with what I’m assuming is a fork sticking out of it. Next to it is a bottle of questionable at best water. My throat is terribly dry and my stomach betrays me with a low grumble at the sight of the can. I doubt they’re going to poison me, as they could’ve killed me at any time. That’s the Raider way. Same goes for drugging. They could’ve put a line in my or anything while I was out but they didn’t. They need me alive.

I take a very small sip of water and nibble from the can, making sure to place them back where they had been left, just in case they return quickly. They would think I was still out. But no one comes back and as the time goes on to what may be night, I start to wonder if they’ll come back. Maybe I’ll be left to die in this crate. I decide to chance another couple nibbles and sips, gently placing the containers back.

A few hours later, I hear another set of footsteps coming closer. I get back in my fake sleeping position, listening to whomever was shuffling in. Definitely different than the first 2 people. These steps are more confident, like they know what they’re doing. I hear them stop by the cage door, standing there for several moments before heading over to the couch and slumping down on it.

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck. Well, no use pretending. I open my eyes and sit up as best as I can, staring at the man on the couch. He’s definitely a Raider, the patchy clothes and scars littering his shirtless body are a big indicator. As is the shoulder plate armor with giant spikes coming from it. He’s got a scar across his cheek and a tattoo of some kind of marking around his eyes. He scratches at the short mohawk on his head, plopping down another piece of armor from his body on the makeshift coffee table in front of him.

“I’m Draven. Who are you to Nightshade?”

Doesn’t even ask my name. Rude.

“Juni.”

“What’s a Juni?”

I scoff. “My name. Since you didn’t ask.”

He cocks his head slightly. “I’m shocked you told me. I thought you’d have told me to fuck off.”

I nod. “Thought about it.”

His eyebrows raise. “And?”

I shrug. “I figured it wouldn’t get me anywhere.”

He laughs. “Logical. I like that. And funny. No wonder Nightshade keeps you close. Well….most times anyway.”

I cross my arms, willing my nerves to calm down. “What do you want with him?”

“Ain’t you gonna ask me why you’re here?”

I gesture vaguely. “As a sort of bait or something from Nightshade, I assume.”

He nods. “Or something.” He glances down at the can and jar of water. “You can eat and drink. It’s not poisoned. Water might not be the cleanest but it’s what we got. We never got the parts to fix our purifier.”

I study him for a moment, his dark eyes looking more intense surrounded by the markings. I decide he’s telling the truth and reach for the bottle, taking several sips before setting it to the side and taking a few bites of the beans, my eyes never leaving Draven. He watches me finish eating before shifting on the couch to lay down, tossing his arm over his forehead.

“You don’t have to worry about my people hurtin’ you. I forbid it. As long as you’re cooperative.”

Is that supposed to be comforting? “How long am I going to be here?”

“Just waiting on your boss, hon.”

Boss? Keeps me close? It dawns on me that Draven must think I’m Nightshade’s property. He has no clue how deep Benny’s love for me is. He may not even think that Benny will come for me, but decided to take the chance.

Draven yawns loudly. “I figure I have nothing to lose. On one hand, if he shows, I’ll be able to get what’s ours. On the other, if he doesn’t think you’re worth it, I get a pretty girl to keep all to myself. Either way, I win.”

I feel the color drain from my face, even though I kind of figured that it wouldn’t end well for me if Benny didn’t show. Question is, how soon will he make it here? Will it be in time?

On the 3rd day in my cage, I’m wakened by various yells and whoops, Draven quickly sitting up on the couch. He looks over at me, a sickly sweet smile spreading across his face as the commotion grows louder.

“Bet that’s your boss.”

The door flies open and a Raider walks in, chest heaving from excitement. “It’s him. It’s The Nightshade!”

Before I can think, my cage door is ripped open and the Raider grips my ankle, dragging me across the cage floor. I try to kick out, but he pins me, Draven coming over to calmly tie my hands behind my back. I knew it wouldn’t work, trying to escape, but I had to give it a shot. Draven hauls me up, gripping the binds at my wrists as he leans in to my ear.

“Let’s go say hi.”

He grips the binds tight, the rope digging further into my skin as he pulls me along, pushing his way through a crowd of people all staring at something on the ground. We break through the crowd and I have to choke back a cry. On the ground is Benny, one Raider on either side of him hauling him up, his arms outstretched on either side. His lip is busted and he spits a glob of blood out on the ground, looking up at Draven.

“Nightshade. You’re alive.”

Benny pulls a little at each Raider but they hold strong. “I am.”

Draven chuckles, deep in his chest. “And here we thought you were dead. After all, you stopped deliverin’ what was agreed upon.”

“You think I’d go back on a deal?”

Draven watches him for a moment. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell your partner here where the load is, then.” Draven yanks me from behind him, pulling me around front and holding me to his body. My eyes find Benny’s and, even though we are not safe by any means, I take comfort from his gaze, a brief flicker of concern before rage sets in, that darkness enveloping his face.

“You let her go and we can talk.”

Draven does that chuckle again. “Now why would I let my insurance go? She’s my guarantee that you’ll do as I say.”

Benny’s jaw clenches. He hates this. I can’t say I’m too fond of it either.

“I’ll bring you what’s owed.”

“That you will,” Draven smiles down at him. “Maybe we’ll start with her. She has such smoothe skin.” He brushes the backside of a crooked finger down my cheek and I jerk my head away from him as his finger continues to trace a path down my neck.

It’s as if I’m watching things happen in slow motion. Benny jerks his arms once, no doubt the enhancements he’s received taking over as both Raiders go flying. He stands, pulling guns from each of the Raiders and aiming at the ones currently charging him. He always hits a mark, but there’s so many of them. They all rush him, the sound of clashing metal and gunfire deafening in the small circle. But then battle cries and screams sound from the opposite side and the Raiders scatter slightly as men clad in umpire gear and a familiar brown pointed hat come charging in. The Minutemen and Diamond City have arrived, the Raiders momentarily surprised by their abrupt appearance.

This is so much faster than the films. But while they started strong, the Raiders are more willing to take a life and they start to overpower the Minutemen and Diamond City and it sounds like they’re losing. And Fast. Draven pulls me tighter to him and I feel a knife being pressed to my side, his heavy breathing in my ear warm, fanning down my neck. And then he bursts from the crowd, blood spattered across his face and clothes, chest heaving.

Benny!

He takes a step forward, but then the ground shakes, a deafening roar sounding loud over the sounds of fighting as a giant dinosaur looking thing comes stomping into view. It’s tall, at least 20 feet tall, curved horns adorning it’s face, scaly skin, standing on 2 legs, 2 long arms with sharp claw-like fingers at the end. And it hits me - this must be a Deathclaw.

“Fuck!” Draven yells from behind me, yanking me along with him as everyone starts running, some people trying to shoot the thing and take it down. We lose Benny in our escape, and honestly, I’m too terrified to try and slow him down. We have to get away from that thing!

As the sounds of the deathclaw and fighting start to fade a little, a shot bounces off the ground next to us. Draven clutches me to him and spins, the knife poking my side again and I gasp at the pain. My hands grip the arm he has pinned across my chest, frantically turning me side to side to find the shooter. But he doesn’t have to look long as Benny appears from nowhere, his dark jacket flapping in the breeze. He aims his pistol at Draven.

“Just give her to me and I’ll get you what’s owed. Then I’m out.”

Draven squeezes me a little tighter. “She must be more important to you than I thought for you to bring the literal cavalry in.”

Benny shrugs, but I know it’s for show. I can see the tension in his body, in the small movements of his face that I’m so attuned to. “Hard to find good help.”

“Mmm. Well, if she’s not so important, maybe I’ll just keep her. Trade you for her.”

Benny sighs. “Don’t make me kill you, Draven. You’re smarter than all those other Raiders.”

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll just keep her and kill you. Best of both worlds.”

If I hadn’t been staring at his face, I would’ve missed the nearly imperceptible glance Benny gave me, his eyes dropping ever so slightly before snapping back to Draven, who had been rambling on about the horrible things he’d do to me. Slowly, I loosen my grip on Draven’s arm, lowering my own to my sides. I try to tell Benny I love him and trust him with my gaze but I don’t know if he saw it.

“-and then, only when I’m done with her, I’ll toss her to my-”

BANG!

A loud gunshot rings out, my own voice screaming with it. Draven drops to the floor, instantly dead with a bullet in between his eyes. Benny lowers his gun and runs to me, holding me to him.

“Hey, sshh hey it’s me. You’re ok, Juni. I’ve got you.”

My breathing starts to shorten and I start gasping for breath a little. “Benny?”

He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes wide with fear. They start to rake over my body, but I know where it is. I reach my side and pull my fingers back, blood covering them.

“No! Fuck!” Benny grabs me as I slump, my limbs already going cold. He must have hit an organ.

“I l-love y-you, Ben..Benny,” I say, gasping for breath.

Benny holds me, but before he can reply, that same screech comes bellowing at us. Benny turns his head, staring at the deathclaw as it charges us. He turns back to me and holds me tighter, trying to shield me from whatever violent attack was about to happen.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m so sorry, Juni. I love you.”

His tears splash on my face, joining my own. It may be because I’m dying, but I hear what sounds like a vertibird (a sort of helicopter) propeller. And machine gun fire, the screaming from the deathclaw indicating it had been hit. Multiple times. Benny tears his face from mine, looking through the dust at the deathclaw, who was falling on his side, sliding across the dirt, dead.

“Hey! Help! Get a stimpak!” Benny screams from somewhere above me, one of his arms leaving me to wave.

I look up at the sky and I see it then, a large vertibird descending upon us, someone in power armor hopping out. I must be dying because I swear I see Frankie in the pilot’s chair as the stomping from the power armor gets closer.

“Here! Stimpak now!” Benny yells and the stomps come closer as my eyes start fluttering. The last thing I see before I pass out is Santi’s face appearing from behind the power armor helmet, leaning over me as Benny comes into view, a pinch in my side before I pass out.

Sunlight streams across my face, the warmth and brightness rousing me from sleep. I blink, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light. As my vision acclimates, I look around the room I’m in. It’s plain, medical. Like a military med tent. I feel a weight on my hand and look down to see Benny, asleep on said hand. His face is turned towards me and I take advantage of the quiet to study his face. It’s peaceful in sleep, the white of his scars even seems subdued. And I’m struck again by how handsome he is and just how lucky I am that he loves me back. I reach over and brush back some hair from his face as he stirs beneath my touch. His eyes open and he finds mine already watching him. He sits up, taking my hand in his.

“You’re awake! How do you feel?”

How do I feel? “A little sore but alive. What happened?”

Benny cups my face and leans towards me, kissing my gently before pulling back, giving me a small smile. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

He sits back and takes my hand again. “Draven stabbed you. There was so much blood. You were…” he swallows hard and I squeeze his hand in reassurance. “You were dying. And then that deathclaw found us. He was charging and I thought..well I thought if you were dying, then I’d go with you. I was going to protect you as best I could. But then Frankie and Santi showed up and mowed that fucker down.”

“So that was Frankie and Santi? For real?”

He nods. “Yeah! I wasn’t sure they even got my message but apparently they did. Santi got to you just in time. He jammed a stimpak in your side, but you had passed out. We weren’t sure the stimpak would work in time.” He takes a deep breath. “But you did. Once it seemed you were stable enough, we loaded you up and they took us back to base. We’re in a Brotherhood med tent right now.”

“And the Raiders? Won’t they retaliate?”

Benny chuckles. “Those knuckleheads? The only one of them that had half a brain cell was Draven and he’s dead. The others? Most of them died during the fight. Maybe a few survived but we won’t see anything from them.” We sit in silence for a moment before his eyes drop from mine. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

I cup his face. “What? No, Benny you did what you could. You couldn’t just come running in. We wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

Benny laughs. “That’s exactly what Will and Tom said. They said you’d kill me yourself for coming in without a plan.”

“And they were right.”

“Tom gathered up all the Diamond City guards and Lauren got in touch with your Minutemen. They came as quick as they could. I’ve never seen Preston that mad. Anyway, you saw what happened.”

My mind flashes back to the battle and I shake my head. “When can we leave?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I smile at him. “Let’s go home.”

1 year later…

“And then I mowed that yao gui (mutated bear) down!” Santi boasts.

Frankie snorts. “Yeah but it took you a week to scrub your shit from the inside of that power armor!”

We all laugh as Santi throws an empty Pork ‘N Beans can at Frankie’s head. “Pendejo. How many yao guis have you stood in front of?” They bicker like brothers back and forth for another few minutes, eventually walking back towards the kitchen to get more food.

Benny and I had returned to Sanctuary Hills, bringing Santi and Frankie with us. They helped refortify the perimeter and took turns on watch. They left for a run to Diamond City and came back a month later with Will and Lauren, Tom and Molly opting to stay behind in Diamond City. Tom was too connected with his bar and Molly and the kids loved it there. But what surprised us most was that Santi brought back with him a girl, Jamie, who fit right in the moment she came inside the gates.

Benny comes to stand next to me, draping his arm around my shoulders. He tips my chin to him with his pointer finger and kisses me, deepening it momentarily before pulling back. He smiles and rubs his nose against mine before resting his head on mine.

As I feel Benny next to me and look out at all of our friends, my heart fills with happiness and gratitude that we all somehow managed to make it, together, past the end of the world. And that we would be able to survive whatever this wasteland throws our way.

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk

#benny miller #ben miller #benny miller x reader #fallout #benny miller x you #benny miller x f!reader #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benjamin miller #benjamin benny miller #garrett hedlund x reader #garrett hedlund x you #garrett hedlund characters #garrett hedlund character fanfic #garrett hedlund character ff #garrett hedlund character fanfiction #fallout fanfiction #crossover au

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over-bi-the-wayside · 7 months ago

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Assigning songs to tumblr rp people because I’m bored

(Since I changed the url on here — hi, I’m Wren, I run Vera, Peggy, one of the Steve’s and some other folks you might know)

Vera - @moongirlwidow

I’m giving you Vigilante Shit — I feel like the devilish, girl’s girl vibes are on point, and your eyeliner is, in fact, on point, the only other option is a bit of a focus on your softer side, that’d be Kindly Calm Me Down by Megan Trainor

Peter - @definitelynot-peterp4rker

Okay this one was harder, I’ll give you Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers — you seem a bit softer and warmer, and you’re amazing to your girlfriend and family

Em - @just-a-fucking-civilian

You give very hippie/warm/chaotic vibes, so I’m gonna give you Bad at Love by Halsey. Plus, it just has the right vibe, and has a bit of a broadway feel. Other option is Foreigner’s God by Hozier

Vinnie - @vinnie-the-witch

Okay you’re hard, I had a lot of songs that felt right. Basically everything by Rabbitology, and some other various stuff, but, based on your vibes and your relationship with Em, I’ll give you Bog Bodies by Rabbitology

MJ - @midtown-braincell-holder

Okay this is the easiest so far, you get Not a Pretty Girl by Any DiFranco, I don’t think explanation is needed for this, it’s just the right feminist rage, the aesthetics are right, 10/10

Nev - @nevaeh-daughterofvalcarol

Okay, you had a lot of options going for you. I’m considering 100 Stories by Alice Merton or maybe Teams by Lorde, She’s Mine by Eva Westphal is also a strong contender based on how much you love your fiance(it’s adorable), so I think ima go with that one

Athena - @karmas-a-bitch-and-so-am-i

Okay so, I’d give you Vigilante Shit but I already gave that to Vera, or Bog Bodies for how devoted you are to Iyla, but I also already used that. So, I’m going to give you trouble by Camylio, based off of you and your girlfriend

Angie - @the-angie-martinelli

So I feel like it would be appropriate to give you a broadway song, obviously. As Long as You’re Mine from Wicked might fit, though I think I like of like Girls by girl in red more, so I’m going with that

Iyla - @iyla-difransisco

Okay, top three in a speed round: Francesca by Hozier, Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo, Empire Now by Hozier. Empire Now isn’t feeling quite as good as the other two, and I’m just really feeling the Hozier so let’s go with Francesca

Jeff the Land Shark- @jeffthebestboi

Okay this is here mostly because why not. I did, somehow, come up with options, but let’s go with The Cheese Tax from Puppy Songs. Yes, I know you’re a shark, but it fits, and that is ineffable

Annndddd I have hit the limit for songs per post, enjoy my unserious song assignments and if I missed you feel free to request, I’m definitely turning this into a series

#wren’s ramblings #tumblr people get songs #Spotify #marvel roleplay #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel rp #marvel mcu #mcu roleplay #mcu rp #music

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psychhound · 1 year ago

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ttrpgs in the classroom (part 4)

howdy!! back again after,, a time away (grad school is insane <33 save me <33) for a long overdue classroom post!!

so this one is about our first big essay assignment, the personal narrative essay! we'll actually be going over a number of games for this one!!

the assignment:

write a 900-1200 word personal narrative essay by playing a solo journaling ttrpg and reflecting on the experience using the prompts provided

the prompts:

What memory surfaced while you were playing the game, and why do you think that is?

What was your main emotion while playing, and where do you think that emotion came from?

What story from your childhood did your playthrough remind you of, and how did you come to know that story?

How did playing through the game inspire you? Is there a change you want to make in your life because of this experience?

Did playing through the game remind you of a success or failure from your real life, and if so, how did playing help you reflect on this?

the games: (as presented on the assignment sheet)

The Lighthouse at the Edge of the Universe by @lostwaysclub

You are a lighthouse keeper in the far reaches of space. Every day, there is work to be done to maintain your lighthouse, safeguarding passing ships from the edge of the universe. Log your observations, maintenance, and events while facing threats like emotion-driven weather.

Yourself

You have just discovered that you are a changeling: something between human and fey. Over five acts, you will reckon with this new discovery, and let your feelings shift and grow.

Snow

There’s something on your mind. There’s snow in the driveway. As you take the time to shovel it out, you think through and process your situation, whether mundane or life-altering.

Long Haul 1983 by @seanpatrickcain

You are a long-haul truck driver making a journey through an empty but dangerous world. Each day, you face a long, lonely highway filled with threats—whether mechanical, supernatural, or psychological. Each night, you make a payphone call to your most important person and leave them a message, though they never pick up.

Last Tea Shop (CW: death)

You own a tea shop on the border between the worlds of the living and the dead. As people pass from the first to the last, they stop into your teashop to have a drink and talk with you.

village witch - which was not on the assignment sheet but one student asked special permission to play this one after we listened to an actual play podcast that played this game (alone at the table by @ladytabletop) and the themes of the game really spoke to her

(if folks know other tumblrs for the creators feel free to tag them!!)

the results:

i was really really happy with these essays overall. the students wrote about some very impactful memories and emotions, and all seemed to get a lot out of playing

i had a lot of essays that came back and said "i never thought i'd be a gamer but i really enjoyed this" or "i didn't think i would get anything out of this experience but it really moved me". i was particularly happy with the essay from the business major that said "this was way better than being on my phone" considering these are 18 year olds still adjusting after years of the pandemic and leaving home for the first time and also this was homework

the most popular game played was last tea shop, and i had a mix of responses of "this made me realize how much i value my friends" to "i really need to value my friends and memories with them more" to "i really want to make more friends". i also had students who said this game helped them process grief over losing loved ones

long haul was also a popular one, and i got my most descriptive writing out of this game. it was interesting who the students chose to make their calls to, as well as what they chose the threats to be. one student got a bad ending and decided to play the whole thing again so he could make it home

the students who played lighthouse found it really soothing, as the game intends, and said it was a good way to process things that were on their mind after some of them had rough days leading up to playing (one student said he had to start over because he almost fell asleep on his desk after the game was too relaxing)

and with snow, none of the students chose to meditate on things directly from their lives, but all ended up finding that they had unconsciously put things they needed to process into the game and found new perspectives on them from playing. the kids who chose this one were the most surprised at what they got out of the experience

no one ended up choosing to play yourself, so i may switch this one out for future classes

the reason i chose these games in particular is that they all have an element of choice, and they all deal with emotions in some way. i thought this was a really successful first assignment and was glad the students all seemed invested and excited to play more after this

#indie ttrpgs #ttrpg community #solo journaling game #journaling rpg #teaching #ttrpgs in the classroom

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tech-deck · 7 days ago

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Tech-Deck 2.0!!...sorta

This is a long one folks, so I'll add a TLDR at the bottom. But for those who wish to read on, grab some popcorn :3

Hello friends! It's been a while. like, a year or so I guess? There may be some who remember me, and there may be some who are like "never heard of ya!" and that's quite alright!

My name is Tech-Deck, or Techie, or Amber (by person to person mostly, but anyone is welcome to call me by that name too) I used to be someone who posted an re-blogged a lot back during the heydays of a show called "The Bad Batch"

A year ago I made the ulimate decision of destroying my tumblr account of, geez 11 years? I had it since 2012, but really didn't do much on it for a long time. That was until I got hooked into the Star Wars fandom. And suddenly it was like an entirely new wave of socializing had swept me under my own two feet!

I fell in love with a show called "The Mandalorian" during lockdown and had such a blast that I wanted more SW content, but didn't really know what else to watch that I found interesting.

And then my brother told me about this Clone Wars spinoff called "The Bad Batch" and I watched the first hour long premiere and I was instantly hooked.

But at the time I had not seen much of The Clone Wars TV show outside of a few stray episodes on cable TV. so I knew I had to dig my heels and go back to watch the entire 7 season run of the show and...My God what a show it was! (This is why I'm an avid cartoon = for everyone ambassador because holy hell!) So much drama, and action and political espionage and sabotage and all the "tages" lol.

From there I got back to the new show that seemed to be an interesting spin-off of TCW and it was something in that show that really sparked my shift into more social and creative avenues.

I joined Discord for the first time, I started to connect to a lot of other fans of the show, and then....I got the inspiration to write!

and my God, did I have a lot to write about, or moreso I had a lot to write about a certain character. But the bottom line in the moment was I had jumped into a new creative avenue that I never thought I would ever do. And, not to toot my own horn, but I felt like I did pretty well with my works. At least the ones important to me were.

I enjoyed the love and even the constructive criticism I got, I went through the same fun of watching each episode and wanting to write my own characters, or ideas into each one, but alas my time management and slow writing speeds didn't quite match up all the time.

And lets just say, that in all my years of living, I have met friends for a season, a reason, and a lifetime thanks to this fandom. I get to work with an amazingly talented, awesome, and wonderful individual who has been nothing but supportive of my endeavors and I am so very thankful to have them in my life! so yes, thank you @tech-aficionado!!

And of course, there are too many to list here, but I have made some incredible friends that have pushed me, and inspired me to not only write, but to be more open about my experiences and challenges, and dare I say, my strangeness in such a strange world.

...With all that said...why did I leave tumblr then if I was doing great?

To be honest...on the inside I let my own self doubts and criticisms get the best of me.

Many days i would struggle to even open up my discord or chat with people, or even be honest in how i was feeling. I could tell that a lot of external pressure I thought I felt was really my own self-hate and guilt seeping through the smiles and bright eyes. I wanted to be open, but something was holding me back from explaining my sorrows, and ultimately I also could tell my main struggle was hoping for absolute recognition.

I realize it's a silly thing now, but back then I would be disheartened at the lack of response or comments and such to my works or to my replies. I felt like there was still this invisible wall that I couldn't get past to be part of this greater collective of individuals. I let my idea of perfectionism and need for approval get the best of me, and I finally had a moment of clarity driving out to a hike one day.

There were many times I wanted to delete everything social media wise and just forego the entirety of it. To finally be like me in my youth where all I really needed was the open air and a good book and some irl friends to hang with.

So I finally deleted my tumblr account and oddly enough, it did feel like a giant weight came off of my shoulders. Like I no longer had to feel like I needed to prove myself by writing all the time, or trying to engage in fandom chats with everyone at all times. I finally felt free to let my real personality and introverted needs to take over.

I was still pretty active on Discord with friends, but even then soon I started to dwindle in my comments and posts. Gone were the days where I would have the app open on my laptop or phone, ready to jump into a conversation about the latest episode or the latest spicy fic one of us wrote!

Now I barely keep check, I'm on a few times during the week, but it's mostly DM's to my boss, who is currently sitting next o me as I type like my keyboard is on fire, about how annoying our co-workers can be, or planned trips to places together. But I can tell that this is exactly where I am the happiest.

I love all my friends that I have made on here and on Discord or other media, and I want you all to know that I will never not love you all so much, but I also know that my own sanity rests with more quiet time than probably most people.

I'm a loner at heart, always have been and I probably will most likely be for the rest of my life. Do I have my days where I need social contact, yes. But even then there are moments where my battery just dips so drastically that I need a breather for a week or 2 before I come back online, or chat again.

So now the real question...why am I back on Tumblr, where it all began?

Well, I guess I never really left this place. I had this new account for a while, mostly to make sure my friends were doing okay that I didn't chat to much, but also, there's just something I enjoy about seeing everyone's passions and love to share their creativity and liveliness on one of the last genuine social sites left. I can't bear the idea of not having something great to read or share with others and this is that one place that sparks creativity in others...it definitely did for me :3

So now you all know, at least whoever read all the way through! (I commend you, it was definitely a lot to process myself) and I want you all to know that I'm not fully back and running a blog like I used to. I don't write much at all anymore, and I probably won't pick it up much again unless I really feel the urge, but even those urges are just small WIP's that hang out in my docs for years collecting dust and growing new mold spores!

I'm just here, vibing to my own tunes and at my own pace, and I have made peace with that. And I want to encourage you all to also take a breather from time to time, you don't have to delete anything if you're not as insane to jump the gun like I did.

But take some time to consider your own health and well-being. Find that lost spirit if you feel like you're in the dark, and if this is where you feel your best and your most "you" than keep at it!

I will be here, vibing and lurking, just being me. And that's all that I need to be! PEACE!

TLDR: Tech-Deck is back, but at my own pace and my own vibe!

#psa #im back in the houuuuuse #but like quite and here for the snacks #adding my sw tags because it's best for my input #but i can delete if it's too spammy #star wars #star wars fandom #bad batch #the bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb

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fireflysummers · 1 year ago

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Final Thoughts on GO S2

I'm probably gonna pull back on discussing S2, at least publicly, after this. I did actually like a lot of the season, but it's triggering some of my religious trauma and also the fandom is already stressing me out. So here, let's have some final thoughts.

First and foremost: I am not a Gaiman simp. I've read a decent amount of his work: comics, short stories, essays, and novels. Aside from Good Omens, I've liked Coraline and The Graveyard Book the best by far, whereas American Gods just. Did Not Connect with me, even though it's should have, given the stuff I tend to enjoy.

However. Regardless of whether I like a given work (or even like how he adapted it, a la parts of The Sandman TV series), he is a veteran writer who has proven that he does, actually, know how to write a story with consistent characters.

Beyond that, I do actually believe that he's trying to do right by Pratchett, and loves and respects the story and characters they created together. He's generally shown up as an ally to a variety of social causes, and directly and respectfully responds to fans on Tumblr. While no saint, I feel that there is cause to give the benefit of the doubt that things will resolve satisfyingly in S3, and that there is Intention about some of the things in S2.

This, of course, does not absolve it of being "bad," but even here I think we need to articulate better the different types of "bad" that people are reacting to. There seems to roughly be three camps here: 1) People who thought it was "bad" because of how it ended, with the breakup and a lot of unresolved plot threads; 2) People who thought it was "bad" because it struggled on a technical level with its set, lighting, directorial choices, editing, etc; 3) People who thought it was "bad" because they felt the characterization was significantly off and that the internal logic of the series had been violated.

With regards to Point One, the only solution is to Wait and See. Judgement should be reserved until the story is properly finished--easier said than done, especially considering the current media landscape, and the number of series or franchises that fail to live up to their promises.

Point Two isn't something I understand well enough to contribute meaningfully, except that I suspect the pandemic affected this aspect the most and am willing to give it a bit more mercy. That aside, I for the most part I don't find it bad so much as not as good as S1. Except for the parts with epilepsy warnings, surely there could've been a better way to do that.

Point Three... that's the stumbling block for me, and I find it interesting that most of the folks who struggle with this point in particular are long time fans of the book.

I trust that instinct.

There are two different directions to go from here. The first is the assumption that these problems are a result of ego, carelessness, or lack of skill from the showrunners/writers/director. It's cynical but not unjustified. The second is the belief that the breaks in lore or characterization were intentional, building towards a much grander conspiracy. Of course, even in this case I don't think it forgives the lack of signposting that would indicate that this is a choice rather than an accident. It just makes it feel clumsy and poorly constructed, a major risk on a show that hasn't had its third season confirmed.*

However, regardless, it still feels salvageable. I've enjoyed reading a lot of meta on all this, and I've pulled some things from others (particularly That Theory by @ariaste), but I don't really want to put forth a single, defined theory myself. Instead, here's some questions I've got, why those questions are important (to me, at least). Actual theorizing comes after, and anybody who snidely mentions Sherlock in the comments or tags is going to get auto-blocked. Like seriously, I'm aware that some stuff is a stretch, but it's fun??? To theorize????? And I'm here for me and my peace of mind rather than trying to argue a point.

*I have some suspicions here, particularly with Gaiman stating that the decision from Amazon would come much faster than The Sandman's second season (which was four months). I don't know enough though to say if that's actually significant.

Questions

Who the fuck is telling this story?

This is the most important piece, in my opinion. There's this assumption when reading books (or research papers, newspapers, etc...) that the narrator who is writing the words is a non-presence, Neutral and objective. That's not the case, and an important part of literature critique is figuring out who the narrator is, and what their goals are. Oftentimes, the narrator and the author are the same person, but with Pratchett's work, particularly on Good Omens and Discworld, the Narrator was its own unique character.

This is why people struggle adapting Discworld to live action--that medium requires a Reason for having a Narrator, and especially in the age of method acting that's often considered immersion-breaking. Good Omens worked so well because they not only kept the Narrator, but they made Her God.

This added some really interesting new dimensions, such as the scene where Crowley speaks to God about his fall and the destruction of humanity. He doesn't receive an answer, but we're watching from God's perspective, so we as the audience know that She's listening.

Another advantage of making God the Narrator is that it justifies all the goofy little asides we get into the lives of minor characters (i.e. Leslie the Mailman), without losing focus. It helps the world feel like it’s full of people, rather than characters and plot contrivances, and the theme that individual people and their choices are important. The Narrator is such a central character of Good Omens that without it, the story struggles to stay focused.

It also highlights a key difference in the writing styles of the two authors. Pratchett’s work tends to introduce four or five totally unique plot threads that feel completely disjointed until the last act (if not even later), when it turns into a Chekhov’s Firing Squad. Plot twists around secret identities and backstabbing and schemes are relatively rare, as the omniscient Narrator doesn’t lie about the intentions of people or their actions.

Gaiman’s writing is typically not like that, to my knowledge. He buries characters in misdirection and hints, and you never know the true identity or motives until all the chips are down. It’s a perfectly valid way to approach storytelling, but it makes it jarring to see it in S2. The lack of a Narrator is a huge reason why S2 doesn’t feel like Good Omens to some folks.

My gut feeling is that the decision to shift from the original Narrator was highly intentional. It helps to obscure the thoughts and intentions of people, and it also muddles the insights that we’re supposed to take away. (I would have loved hearing God monologue about what’s going on in Jim’s head. I think it’d do a lot to make him seem less.... obnoxiously stupid.)

More than that, it brings up a reasonable potential plot point of: Where did God go? Why isn’t She present in the story? Even in her early appearance in the Job flashback, she doesn’t sound like the narrator for last season. After the first part of her speech (which Gabriel later quotes), her tone turns casual and condescending, which might line up with her being a bit of an asshole, it doesn’t line up with the whole “dealer of a mysterious card game who is always smiling”).

Also, I don’t think it’s safe to assume that nobody is telling the story either. Just because they’re not making their presence known doesn’t mean they aren’t there, and in a story like Good Omens, that’s concerning.

Wait, where's Satan?

Another person I saw while scrolling the tags pointed out that Satan is nowhere to be seen this season. He's really only mentioned in reference to a bet God made in Job, but then Crowley is the one on the ground causing mischief. There's no Hail Satan among demons (like Hastur and Ligur did at the start of S1).

That's might be because the writers didn't want us to think it was important (a la Hastur), but that feels off. Given that Satan speaks directly through the radio to Crowley in S1, complimenting him on his work, it's safe to say that he was at least aware of and involved in the goings-on in Hell. The fact that he wasn't even an worry for Beelzebub in abandoning their post? Feels weird.

(Also if you know where that post is, I'll happy credit + link)

What is Maggie?

Look, I love cute lesbians in love as much as the next queer, but I don't like Maggie. I don’t think she’s a person. Contextually, she’s a plot device, but I agree with That Essay that she might be an actual Plot Device.

Her characterization is simple and relatively shallow—a bit of an airhead, ray of sunshine that’s supposed to remind you of Aziraphale. When she describes her past to Nina, it’s almost robotic (also, her story implies it was Mr. Fell who first rented to her ancestor, not Mr. Fell’s great-grandfather like Nina implied). Her emotions are over-dramatic and seem to be turned on and off at random (scenes with her crying to Aziraphale about her woes had my “manipulator” senses going off for some reason).

When asked about a song, she not only IDs the song, its singer, and its year, but how and on what it was distributed. (Honestly thought this would’ve been something interesting, because she’s been pretty ditzy so far, it’d be interesting if she had like... an insane memory for music history.) And then she’s the one that sets Aziraphale on his little investigation by giving him the transformed records, while also planting the seed about her love troubles with Nina. Later, her advice to Crowley is... not awful, but feels insincere and a bit too forward, given her own self-proclaimed lack of relationship experience.

I don’t know what she is (a demon, hastur with amnesia in disguise, a literal plot device inserted by the current storyteller, etc...), but there’s something not right with her.

(Also the joke of “who listens to records anymore, it’s so old fashioned” just doesn’t land, lots of people buy records, and I’m saying this as somebody who has worked at a record store before.)

What's going on with Aziraphale?

There’s something Off about Aziraphale, and it’s not his choices at the end of the season. That makes total sense if you read him as somebody with severe religious trauma getting dragged back into the abusive system because other people need him and he’s been promised the ability to change things.

But I do think something is happening to his memory. Nearly all the flashbacks are from Aziraphale’s point of view and retelling, which means that they’re less reliable than God’s version of events in the previous season. Many of them don’t make logistical sense (post-church scene in 1941), depict Crowley as meaner or more sinister than we know he is, or frame events... weirdly. The scene with him trying food for the first time feels Really Bad, especially when the series has previously established that he’s a) prim and proper and b) his interest in food is one of the beautiful things that connect him to humanity, not some kind of gluttonous sin. Also he turns down alcohol.

Their meet-cute at the start of the universe also doesn’t line up with their reactions to each other in Eden, or the fact that knowing each other Before has never come up or been hinted at anywhere ever. I don’t know what’s causing this to happen, only that Aziraphale repeatedly looks pensive when coming out of flashbacks, and Crowley is never there afterwards to corroborate said memories.

His actions also seem pretty inconsistent with what we know of him—i.e. I refuse to believe he would ever mistreat his books, even if they’re just old encyclopedias. Also, he feels a bit too...forceful in trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love? I mean, he didn’t exert that much direct influence on even Warlock, when he was actively hoping that the boy would turn out angelic rather than neutral.

I don’t think this removes his agency in that last decision, so much as explains how he was in such a vulnerable place at all. He still needs to apologize and fix things, because he messed up, and even if he hadn’t he still seriously hurt Crowley.

What's going on with Crowley?

There’s something Off about Crowley. The most obvious thing, of course, is his memories. At multiple points in the present day, characters state that they remember him or have met him before, only to be met with confusion. This is especially concerning given that he has a nigh photographic memory for faces (something mentioned in the book when he immediately IDs Mary Loquacious, 11 years after a 30 second conversation).

Overall, he seems to be better known by other supernatural entities this season, in ways that often tie him back to his angelic identity (i.e. saying they fought together in the war, Aziraphale stating he knew the angel he used to be, etc...). This doesn’t feel right, because S1 we see that Hell is largely apathetic towards his schemes, and definitely does not defer to him at any point in any capacity.

Then there’s the issue of his power level. It’s always been speculated that Crowley was a powerful angel prior to falling, when he mentions in S1 his involvement with star making, his seemingly unique ability to freeze time, and creating a pocket universe for Adam before the confrontation with Satan. He also has a tendency of breathing life into inanimate objects, like his plants or car. He also has the regular demonic skillset: miracles that can adjust physical appearance; the ability to change inanimate objects (like paintball guns into real guns); the ability to manifest clothing and similar items; and summon hellfire to his fingertips. This, plus the way he monologues to God with a degree of familiarity rather than reverence seems to indicate that he was Somebody Powerful and Important Before.

But in S2, his skills are significantly expanded upon. The miracle he and Aziraphale summon sets off alarms in heaven and hell, and it’s powerful enough to mask Gabriel from the Archangels. He summons a miniature sun to rain fire on Job, which is way bigger and flashier than anything we’ve seen him summon in S1. (If he needs fire, he alters the course of a dropping bomb, without creating one himself.)

Yet he’s able to cloak his presence so well he goes wholly unnoticed in heaven, or in front of heavenly agents on earth (i.e. the Job flashback). Muriel can’t clock him as a demon, or even as another supernatural being, despite their auras usually being pretty significant, such Aziraphale immediately sensing the archangels when they arrive. He’s able to interfere with files that Muriel claimed required clearance (although I feel like that might just be a snark about Obeying Without Thinking? I would really need a Narrator to know.)

I might be misremembering, but I don’t think we’ve seen angels or demons transmogrify living beings before either. In the book, Crowley brings Aziraphale’s dove back to life after the failed magic show, and occasionally sinks ducks, but he doesn’t alter them? Not even Adam demonstrates that skill in S1. But he has no trouble turning Job’s children into lizards, however temporarily. Boy that would’ve been convenient during the flood. Or when the guard stopped then from getting to the air strip.

I don’t have any real issues with his characterization in the present day parts of S2, but there’s something weird happening with Crowley.

Where's all the people?

I really like a lot of the new characters, but how were there only like, 2.5 new humans named in the present day? Flashbacks don’t count bc the humans are all dead and can’t affect the story.

As much as I like Nina, she and Maggie don’t drive the story beyond being an occasional and awkwardly inserted plot contrivance? Both are actively robbed of their agency at several points, forced into situations that they could not have avoided or escaped. I’m not really sure what growth they’re expected to experience other than deciding not to date each other after everything. I literally can’t tell you anything about Nina other than that she remembers her regular’s orders, runs a coffee shop, and has a textbook abusive partner we never see. The only meaningful interactions they have are between those two, or in conversation with Aziraphale and Crowley.

Compare that to S1, where Anathema gets hit by Aziraphale and Crowley, but her primary relationships are with Newt, Adam, and Agnes Nutter (I think that counts as a relationship). We know that she’s got a wealthy family back in Puerto Rico, and that she was literally raised to save the world, and that she isn’t happy under all that pressure. Newt on the other hand is connected to not just Anathema, but Shadwell and Madame Tracy. He never even directly interacts with Aziraphale and Crowley. We know about his hobbies, his struggle to hold down a job, and his almost supernatural ability to destroy any electronics he touches. I don’t necessarily like how their relationship came together, but they were both very, very well fleshed out characters with unique backstories and goals. They weren’t just... waiting around to give Aziraphale and Crowley a new questline.

And while there’s no requirement to include a large cast of human characters that are exerting influence over the story, the lack of it is another aspect that makes this season feel not like Good Omens.

Also, it's just. Really weird to me that the events of S1 aren't really referenced at all? Like, Adam isn't mentioned, nor is Warlock. I don't expect them to keep track of the humans they met on the airfield for 20 minutes, but none of it is ever specifically referenced as far as I can tell, beyond Crowley threatening Gabriel. Like, I get that it's been a few years, but the pair caused a big enough disturbance that you'd expect some kind of ripples in their supernatural communities.

Promised by the Narrative (Obvious Chekhov's guns that I will be legitimately upset over if they do not go off)

A sincere apology from Aziraphale to Crowley that doesn't come with the expectation that Crowley will come back to him, but because he deserves an apology, even if the choices Aziraphale made were done with good intentions. Aziraphale does not expect forgiveness, and is shocked when Crowley grants it without hesitation.

A clear declaration of love from Aziraphale, which can't be rationalized away by either of them.

An "I'm Sorry" dance between Aziraphale and Crowley, but with greater sincerity and gravity. The most important piece is that they end up dancing together, which signifies a mutual apology and dedication to come together.

Since kissing is on the table, I expect an actual joyful, mutual kiss between these two assholes.

A shared cottage in South Downs.

Predictions/Theories (just some fun thoughts I've had)

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he didn't make himself not the antichrist, but accidentally crowned his human dad the King of Hell. Nobody knows this, because Adam doesn't have a good measure for "normal" supernatural situations, and Mr. Young because he's so "normal" that he explains away all the magical bullshit that's started going down.

When Adam declared that Satan was not his father, he erased Satan altogether. However, this left a vacuum in both power and reality. The defection of both Gabriel and Beelzebub only widens that crack. In an attempt to Fix things, reality is warping the story. Crowley has become leagues more powerful between S1 and S2, as the narrative is trying to force him into the role of his previous boss. Aziraphale is unknowingly being pulled into a similar version on the Other Side, perhaps to replace Gabriel or perhaps to replace God herself, who has been fairly absent in all this. The alterations to their memories or past have come about to keep the narrative running smoothly.

When the Metatron asks Nina whether anybody has ever asked for death, he was actually referring to Death, the sole remaining rider of the apocalypse.

If Maggie is indeed a Plot Device, it would be a fascinating exploration of Free Will to see her become aware of this (cue existential crisis), and then fall in love with Nina on her own terms, rather than because she was written that way.

Hastur will be back. Somehow.

The reason why S2 focuses so much on the supernatural characters is because S3 will be about how the events in S1 have changed the political landscape of heaven and hell. Angels are questioning their roles, demons are yearning for something more. It's scaring upper administration, and then the two most reliable folks in employment run away to alpha centauri. Recruiting Aziraphale and getting him back in line prevents him from becoming a martyr, control the range of his influence. The series reasserts its theme of choice and agency by highlighting that Aziraphale and Crowley aren't that special, they've just had the chance to live and grow, and that the others have free will too, if they want it.

The reason why they wanted to separate Aziraphale and Crowley, is not to get Aziraphale on his own, but to get Crowley on his own. He literally stopped time and made a pocket universe in front of Satan last season. He's powerful and dangerous and somebody wants to see that reigned in.

Wishlist (stuff I desperately want to see)

Crowley getting an audience with God and an opportunity to ask his questions, only to refuse to do so because he's found his own Answers and he no longer needs hers

Aziraphale and Crowley growing more into their book incarnations. Aziraphale becomes confident in his sense of morality, which he developed the hard way through millennia on earth besides humanity. He slowly learns what it means to be loved, unconditionally, but also is better at asserting and maintaining his boundaries. Crowley, still anxious and unwinding, works through his fear of abandonment, providing him opportunities to be kind and gentle and nurturing--all traits that he's aggressively hid since being a demon.

Hand holding. I know that Gaiman was referring to Ineffable Bureaucracy, but I still feel like we'd benefit from meaningful hand holding, especially since that got cut from the adaptation of the book.

Shifted focus away from the supernatural shenanigans, and back onto the humans that actually drive the story.

Cameos from S1 characters (if not a more substantial appearance).

The Four Other Riders of the Apocalypse.

Cursed Thoughts (why I shouldn't be allowed a social platform)

Ineffable Bureaucracy turns up in season 3 because Beelzebub got Gabriel pregnant somehow.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #good omens meta #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens 2 theory #good omens 2 analysis #long post #text

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blacksapphhicmaddonna · 1 year ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE - WHAT I HAVE TO DO.

a/n: hey y'all! so, I tried to post this in response to the anon who asked for a snippet but I saved it as a draft and Tumblr ate it😭 SO THIS IS DEDICATED TO YOU, ANON, WHOEVER YOU ARE!! sorry babes!💔💖💖💖💖

its been a minute since I've written anything fully, this was fun!!! as always, please ignore any grammar/syntax/spelling. I proof read it but you feel me. I'm super excited to be writing something so long and multi chaptered and definitely out of my comfort zone! am I an action girly now? LMFAO but anyway, I'm super open to any feedback and 👀 as always, if you wanna see sum, say sum.

anyway, I love my science gays and I will stan shuriri forever. this is pretty much all angst at this point❤️‍🩹, but I truly hope you enjoy LMFAOOO. lmk how you feel.💗 (and yes, I love a good flashback real bad and ima do it every time if I can. not too much on me LMFAO)

✮ taglist: @mybonafidefeelings@zeezeecave@gr00vyminibus@lppriceisright@darkangelchronicles@princessmel-1995@xenaizogie@nanii2x, and tagging a few folks that enjoyed the sneak peak and a few shuriri/shuri/riri folks who might! @karimwillia @inmyheadimobsessed@mal-urameshi@somethingcleaverandwhitty@imjusthere2readbruv@imagineandwrite there's more but my computer glitching so we gonna get this show on the road! lmk if you'd like to join the taglist or check the link in my tagged post! love y'all, muah

✮ word count: 11,193

✮ panther divider: @firefly-graphics

✮ some of the xhosa translations are from @iinkonde! here's where you can find some of their amazing resources: 1 2 3

Shuri paced the room that seemed to be growing smaller by the millisecond around her, searching for something - anything - inside of the brain most people considered the smartest in the universe to offer the scientist in front of her. She found nothing but the desperation she had been pushing down since the moment they met.

A desperation that mirrored the effects of the herb she had reproduced, also made from the desperation to save something that she felt was slipping through her fingers at the time. Just like the herb had found its way through her body when she first took it, this feeling spread from her throat as she choked when their eyes met as she pushed herself into the dorm room she was once again standing in. Down to her chest, pulling heart strings she didn’t know she had. Plucking them in a rhythm that felt intrinsic, ancestral, almost painful in the way that they made everything feel superimposed. She resisted, but she felt her toes and she felt her finger tips and she felt the curls framing her face dance above her eyes ever so gently. It spread through every atom that comprised the panther and she could barely breathe. She felt everything and she felt nothing, like she was sinking in an ocean of clouds. She could barely look at the woman who was staring back at her with a look of confusion, and an equal desperation that she couldn't explain.

Shuri still had nothing to offer in terms of speech. She paced at a speed that had only just registered as super fucking fast, clearly adding to the concern building in Riri's eyes.

"Shuri-" Riri started, but couldn't even try to finish as her voice had triggered the awaiting and building eruption in Shuri that it always did. Riri, if she did anything to Shuri, she made her feel things she wasn't used to feeling.

"Anything you want, just name it. It's yours. I'll make it happen. I'll build it myself. Just please don't do this. Please." Shuri froze in her place, finding herself begging for something she couldn't explain. She knew she was almost yelling at the other woman, which she would never do but she couldn't find the part of her that could compose herself. She was thankful for the kimoyo beads she had scattered in the room when she entered, enabling a silencing mode and cutting through anything that the government had tapped in Riri's room.

Riri froze too, only moving to fumble with her fingers nervously. She didn't have anything to offer the panther, the queen standing in front of her. She didn't have anything to comfort her friend. The woman she loved more than she could explain. More than almost anything.

"I don't... I don't want anything from you, Shuri... We both knew this day was coming. You had to have thought about it. I thought you were.. I don’t know... It almost felt like-"

"Please, Ri. Please. Just find something and I'll do it. I'll make it myself if I have to. Please just find something else."

"I don't want... I don't understand, Shuri. We only talked about this like twice, I didn't even think you cared that much or even had time to care about it... or me, really. Just... lets just sit down for a second." Riri tried to redirect, trying to give herself time to figure out what was going on. She felt her mind trying to run back through memories and conversations the two had shared in the past year and some change, but it was few and far between that they ever really had time to talk about their lives in depth lately. At first, they talked a lot after they had finally reconnected. They had even spent a few nights together. But lately, Shuri had been working a lot and it seemed like their connection was running dry. Riri had shared her plans a few months ago and hadn't really heard much back from the woman standing in front of her looking like she was fighting a battle she wasn't sure she'd win. Riri had committed herself to this, to showing up and doing what she felt she needed to do to make up for all the ruin she had caused - or at least what she thinks she caused. And now Shuri was trying to offer her a chance out of it. She didn't know what to do or what to think. That's something she felt often with the panther, she figured out. She had zoned out for only a split second before Shuri was grabbing her wrists and looking in her eyes.

"Riri, I'm begging you." Shuri stared into the Iron Heart's eyes, searching for something she knew she was missing. Something she needed the way she needed air, she felt. Riri searched back, trying to decipher something Shuri wasn't ready to let her see.

"Shuri, you know I feel responsible... But, I just.. I don't understand what's going on. What's wrong? Please just talk to me. It's okay." Riri tried to pull them closer, tried to grab the Panther's hand but her grip was too tight around her wrists. Shuri relaxed it, she hadn't intentionally been holding on so tight but she wasn't ready to let go. She's never been ready to let go of who she loves. She saw that same resolute look in Riri's eyes that was always there when she was sure about something. It broke something in Shuri that she knew she couldn't mend on her own. One final try, she told herself.

"I will give you anything under the sun. Please just don't go to them. Don’t go to him. I- I know you're trying to help and change things for the better, and you will. But not like this. Not until it's safe. He will find you, Riri. He will do anything to get to you and to get back at me. You know this and you still choose to go? You don’t have to make this easy for him. We can figure this out a different way. Please. I will give you access to all the technology Wakanda has to offer, just please find something else to focus on, to take place of this. Please."

Riri tried to pull her closer again but the panther moved back, sending a shiver of rejection up Riri's spine.

"I don't want anything from you, Shuri... I just want you. I- I mean I just want you to-"

Shuri felt her body getting hot and somehow freezing at the same time. Riri just wanted her? But she also wanted to go on this suicide mission, which is what it was regardless of what Riri thought of it. She fought back the defensiveness she felt crawling up her throat like it always did when she was hurt. She didn't want to lash out on Riri, she only wanted to protect her. She only wanted her to be safe, alive. She only wanted her. But it was to no avail. She felt the ferocious beast pull itself through her. She scorned herself as her words burned their way through her skin, landing on Riri's.

"You just want whatever you want. You just want to fight whatever moral war you have going on because you're the one who survived! You would give up your life for what? For who? Not for my mother! Not for me!"

Riri hadn't noticed the tears stinging down her cheeks until she saw the ones pouring out of Shuri's. It was something she had never seen before. She had seen Shuri lash out, though. She knew this was just the first wall of defense the panther had when she felt hurt, afraid, abandoned. She couldn't take this personally, though she had to fight back the sting of the words as they came at her. She reached out to try and touch the woman in front of her.

"Shuri, please. Let's just ta-"

"What?! Sit and talk? For what? For you to tell me again why you have to do this, why you have to go and die? Do you care so little for me? For yourself?"

"You know that's not true!"

"Why wouldn't it be true?! Ungayenza njani le nto kum!?"

"Please just listen to me! I don't know what's going on but we can talk about it! I'm right here, I'm right here!"

"But you won't be after this! You don't have to do this! Just let me try, let me show you that there's other things to give you purpose, there’s other ways we can handle this! PLEASE!" Shuri felt herself starting to cave in, her chest becoming a cavern filled with the screams of the orphaned girl inside of her. The girl who needed her family. The girl who couldn't save her brother. The girl who was held back from her mother as she drowned. The woman who loves women, specifically the woman in front of her who was planning to give herself up. She couldn't keep it together. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

"That's not for you to decide, Shuri!" Riri shot back, starting to feel the same layer of armor pull itself over her. She didn't like being yelled at. It triggered something in her that she herself had pushed back as far as it would go. She just needed to get Shuri to listen to her.

"I don't care! You can't do this Riri!"

"Please stop yelling at me!" Riri gave in, covering her ears and turning her back to the panther, who felt herself go still. She hadn't meant to unleash this part of herself. She felt embarrassment mixing with her desperation, afraid she had only made things worse. Who was she to be trying to control the actions of a woman she only met a little over a year ago? Who she was just friends with, and barely that if you based it off what normal friendships looked like. They rarely even spoke for longer than a few minutes every couple days and that wasn’t even true anymore. Shuri scorned herself for the time she hadn’t spent with her, for the time she had been forced to spend trying to fix, defend or save her country. She resented her royal blood now more than ever, wishing she could be nothing more than a girl again. Maybe a student. Maybe just different. Shuri felt herself starting to crack, she felt like she would disintegrate if she stood there any longer. She had done enough damage. She and Wakanda and the Talokan had put Riri through enough and she knew that. She could see why Riri would think this guilt was hers to bare but Shuri knew better, knew more secrets. She knew that her father and his father and so on hadn’t handled things right, and no matter the good T’Challa had tried to do - maybe he didn’t do it right either. So now it laid in her hands, forced once again to stand in the way of something she wasn’t ready for. She felt bad for herself, but she felt worse for Riri. She wishes she had never sent her home with the beads, that they had never touched hands, that they had never even met. Maybe if no one ever knew about Vibranium, no one would be trying to take it. Or maybe if the world had always known, if her ancestors had done things differently, this wouldn’t be Riri’s life. She was part of the lost tribe, as N’Jadaka would call it. Maybe he was right. She didn’t know what to think, but she also knew who she was, herself. She was the most powerful person on the surface world and she was the Queen of the most powerful nation in the world. And she was in love, helplessly, with Riri Williams. She would not let her go again.

"I am sorry for coming here and making you upset." Shuri said blankly, masking any emotions she had just shattered into the room as best as she could to regain any self control she had left.

Riri turned around, tears still swelling in her eyes. She hiccuped and it made Shuri's heart pound.

"I-it's okay. I just don't like b-being yelled at. Can we just sit and talk?"

Shuri nodded, knowing Riri needed a minute. Riri turned to grab a blanket off her bed to wrap herself in as she took a seat on the floor in front of her bed. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths before motioning to Shuri to sit next to her. Shuri stared at her for a moment too long, before kneeling down next to her. They sat in silence that wasn't comfortable for the first time in a long time. Neither missed this feeling, the feeling of such uncertainty between them. Sure, it was always there, biting at the backs of their minds and hearts. But they had both worked hard to be comfortable with just having what they had. But now more than ever, neither was sure what was really going on. Shuri mirrored Riri, taking a few deep breaths. Riri felt herself relax, misreading the quiet sigh Shuri let out.

"Are we okay? I don't want us to fight. I just... need you to help me understand why you're so upset. It didn't seem like you even really cared about this. I know you've been busy with what you have going on so I just figured this... I.. wasn't really on your radar anymore."

Shuri stayed silent, fighting that feeling nudging her.

"Please say something." Riri pleaded quietly after a few too many more moments of silence. She couldn't stand it. Neither could Shuri. She needed to escape. Get out of the room, out of America. She needed to run and scream and break something. She needed to kill Namor. That was her only option, once again. She knew it would come. She knew the fate of her country would be in the air again, and part of her knew she shouldn’t do it. Equal parts yes and no. Blood on either hand, regardless of what choice she made. But she also knew that Riri's life was once again in question and there was only one answer Shuri would accept. She would deal with the aftermath the same way she had been. She would accept whatever came. She knew she wasn't thinking clearly, that maybe she would be exiled or worse, but she also knew she couldn't live with herself if Riri wasn't alive tomorrow, and that was enough for her right now. If Riri wouldn't listen, then there was only one choice.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Riri. It won't ever happen again."

Riri was startled at the sincerity in the Panther's voice. She was confused why that was what Shuri felt she had to focus on in the midst of whatever the hell was going on.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad at you for yelling at me. I'm just confused..."

"It's not okay. This, whatever you're planning, whatever he's planning... None of this is okay." Shuri said, pinching between her eyes as she tried to swallow the same beast from just a few minutes ago.

"Shuri... it's not like before. It's not about him. It's not even just about what happened in Wakanda. You know I'm Iron Heart. You knew I was going to start doing these things at some point. Missions that weren’t just flying around Chicago and Boston stopping robberies. And you know that something has to be done. And I can’t let this go on again when we all know it’s my fault.” Riri sighed. “We all know it is. So, please just try to hear me..."

"I have always heard you, Riri."

Riri digested that sentence with a gulp. She replied after a moment.

"Then let me hear you, for once. Tell me why you're here. Tell me why you're reacting like this. Tell me who you are and what you're feeling. Let me in, Shuri." She said, reaching out to grab Shuri's hand again. The Panther's hand was hot, almost burning. She didn't pull away this time.

"I'm here because I lo-.. Because I won't let this happen." Shuri caught herself before she said something she couldn't explain. Riri looked into Shuri's eyes with a pleading, less sure look. Shuri couldn't hold it this time. She couldn't freeze. She couldn't tell Riri. She reminded herself what happens every time she loves someone. She reminded herself of what she was capable of and what needed to be done. Regardless if Riri ever shared her feelings or not, she would swear her life to protecting the woman until the day she met the ancestors and maybe after if she could. She would do whatever it took, every time, no matter what, she resigned to herself. She squeezed Riri's hand.

"What're you gonna do? Lock me in my room, Shuri? I don't get what's going on!" Riri pleaded.

"I would never. You are not a prisoner or someone I want to control. You are free to do as you please, just as I am. Please understand that much."

"What does that mean... Wait, please don't go!" Riri tugged back at Shuri's hand again as the Panther got up to leave. Shuri looked down at their hands touching, taking in every second that their skin touched. She remembered what it felt like to reconnect after a long time apart. She wishes she could live in it like she had before. She brought their foreheads together and closed her eyes.

"I will protect you with every part of me. The cost will never be too much."

"Shuri, please don't do what I think you're about to do..." Riri pulled Shuri's hands into hers and brought them to the sides of their faces. They were so close they could feel each other's breath on their lips. Riri prayed in her head that Shuri would listen to her, knowing the strength and power the woman in front of her wielded. Shuri choked out a pained laugh before kissing Riri's forehead and pulling away, taking in the scent of Ghanian Shea Butter and the sweet scent Riri always had.

"Andizukuphulukana nawe. Impilo yami ngeke ibe lutho ngaphandle kwakho, Riri Williams."

Before Riri could open her eyes, the Black Panther was gone, the sound of a closing door shaking Riri to her core. She felt like she was in shock, having nothing to do but curl into a ball and pull the blanket around her body, covering her face as she let the rest of the tears fall silently. She laid there for what felt like an eternity until she heard a familiar voice call out to her.

"Miss Williams?" Riri jumped up, running around her room tracking down the voice. She picked up a purple and black kimoyo bead and held it up, suddenly seeing several others connect like magnets from across the other corners of the room.

"Griot?!" Riri both yelled and whispered.

"Hello, Miss Williams. Are you feeling alright?" Griot asked as the AI began taking a scan of her body to check her vitals.

"I've been better... what's going on? Why are you here? Not that it's not nice to... well you get what I mean!"

"It seems you have suffered a panic attack of sorts. Please get some water and take a seat before I proceed."

Riri rolled her eyes with a tired huff, giving in because she knew Griot wouldn't budge until she obliged. She grabbed a half empty bottle of water from her desk and sat back down near her bed, pulling the blanket up around her. She suddenly felt the absence of Shuri in her space and fought back the tears threatening to make way through her as she pulled the bracelet on, watching it activate. She had felt this way before, but it was different now.

"Feeling better, Miss Williams?"

"Just Riri is fine, and I guess. Can you explain what's going on now, please Griot?"

"Yes, Miss Riri." Griot replied as a hologram of Stark Tech floated in front of the scientist. She felt even more confused.

"Why are you showing me Stark Tech?"

"The panther has created and assigned your own AI for you, it's name is VIV. It is nearly identical to the JARVIS, or Vision, that Tony Stark had. It has been being developed for over a year, and seems to have just finished."

"What the fu-"

"The Panther also has an updated version of your vibranium Iron Heart suit on it's way to your lab location, or garage currently. She has given you access to me as well, with some restrictions. She has instructed me to inform you of this when the AI download is complete."

Riri sat in even more shock than she was in before. She was even more confused about Shuri's intentions now. More confused about her feelings, than anything. She replayed the words the panther had said to her before she left, she knew some Xhosa but it wasn’t great.

"Can you translate what Shuri said to me in Xhosa before she left, Griot?" Riri asked, hoping for some clarity. Griot calculated for a moment, before answering.

"It would seem I am not permitted to complete that task at this time, Miss Riri."

Riri felt a pang of frustration rise in her, as she let out a laugh.

"Of course not... Can you tell me where the panther is right now?"

Griot took a moment again before answering.

"The Queen was on her way back towards Wakanda as of her last status, but it would seem she has powered off her location devices. Would you like me to contact her for you?"

Riri sat for a moment, considering her options and her own feelings.

"No, that's alright Griot. We're going to my lab. Can you help me boot up VIV when we get there? We're going on a trip."

"As you wish, Miss Riri."

Riri stood up, grabbing a hoodie and sliding on some J's. Before she walked out the door, she slid on the kimoyo beads and asked a final question.

"Oh, one last thing Griot. Can you turn on privacy mode? I would like my location hidden from everyone, including the Panther. Can you do that?"

"It seems I can, but I would not advise that action Miss Riri. There are safety protocols in place that the Panther can activate for you remotely."

"That's fine, just turn it on. I have my own safety protocols."

"As you wish, Miss Riri."

"Thank you, Griot."

Riri made her way to her garage in no time, paying no mind to the world around her or the messages on her phone from MJ about their project. When she got there, she did decide to shoot her a quick text explaining that she was heading home to Chicago for a family emergency, that MJ could find her portion already done on a small drive in her room and that she had permission to break in, and that she would make it up to her later. MJ did reply, but Riri didn’t have time for that. She got to work, with the help of Griot, or the portion of him that she was allowed to operate, and booted up her own AI and implemented it into her nano suit. The one from wakanda was on its way but wouldn’t be there in time. Thankfully, she didn’t have to meet with Namor for another day and a half. She needed to think quickly but after working everything out with her suit, she was unsure where to go from there.

“Griot, can I use both you and VIV?”

“Yes, but you likely will not need me once the AI is turned on. I will be there when you need me, though Miss Riri.”

“Thank you Griot.” Riri smiled to herself, always fond of Griot and their robot voice. It made her think about the time she spent in the lab with Shuri, where they would borderline argue and Riri would laugh at them. This brought back that pang in her stomach and chest. She got to work on turning on and engaging with the AI so that it could mold to her needs, voice and patterns. After about an hour, she felt ready to head off. Except she had no idea how to get to Wakanda, let alone how to get in. She ruffled through her bookbag to find the information Namor had sent for her. A small teal envelope with her name on it, looking like it was written with a quill and ink. She shuddered at the thought of how old this man was and how intentional he had been to get this note to her. She opened it and read over it again, hoping to find more information than last time. Then, an idea came to mind.

“Hey VIV, and Griot, not that I don’t think you can handle it by yourself VIV. But uh, can you both scan this for me? I don’t have my Black light. Look for anything and everything. Cross reference what you find, if anything. Please.”

“Yes IronHeart.” “Yes, Miss Riri.” They both answered in tandem. While they got to work, Riri sat down finally to think about what she could do. She couldn’t exactly call up the avengers to help her figure this out. She had to be lowkey, she had to be smart, and she needed it to work. She had only been to Wakanda once, and wasn’t really in the know about how to travel there let alone get through the border forcefield. As she went over all she did know, trying to remember any details that would help, the AI duo alerted her.

Griot speaking first, since VIV seemed to sense a deeper trust from the IronHeart’s patterns.

“There are markings on the back that would indicate a geolocation where Namor would like you to meet.”

“So, coordinates? I can work with that.” Riri said out loud, still trying to figure out exactly how she could work with that. Until she looked over at her father’s red car, in pristine condition thanks to Shuri. And it dawned on her.

“Griot, do you have contact information for anybody besides Shuri?”

“I have contact information for Queen Shuri, and Okoye, former general of the Dora Milage.”

“Perfect. Please contact her now.”

“Yes, Miss Riri.”

“Wait, before you do, please transfer this contact information over to VIV. I’m not sure if Shuri knows that I have VIV yet, but in case she does, I don’t doubt that she would shut you down.” Riri explains to her favorite robot as if they needed it. Griot complied and sent a call out to Okoye.

Riri waited, holding her breath. She wasn’t sure is Okoye would answer, or even be willing to help. But this is what she had to work with.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Okoye answered.

“Small girl. Is everything alright?” Okoye answered seeming cheerful enough to hear from the girl but not without worry for the cause. Riri took a deep breath and explained the situation, truthfully, to the best of her ability. Somehow, as a surprise to both of them, Okoye was on her way in a matter of minutes as a Midnight Angel, with a jet that Shuri had let her keep. They both knew Shuri would be upset, but somehow it didn’t matter enough to let her get to Namor. They both knew what could happen, and what Shuri would likely do.

No time was wasted when Okoye arrived, Riri running in the open hatch as fast as she could. Okoye pulled off without a trace, both of them hoping they hadn’t alerted any American law enforcement this time.

Okoye charted course for Wakanda and they both sat in near silence for most of the ride, only sharing a few words when Riri boarded, Riri showing Okoye the letter before she began piloting. They would make it in time. Riri sat near the back, not feeling like she belonged at the mantle of the machine. She had always liked these, having begged Shuri to teach her how to fly one before they set off for war. Riri sunk into her feelings that she had been trying to keep at bay since finding out about the AI. Before Shuri came, she honestly really wasn’t sure what she was going to do or how she was going to do it. But it seemed like the timing would suggest that she was supposed to, whether she really wanted to believe that or not. She didn’t want to believe that she was this horrible monster who brought death and destruction with her everywhere she went, but sometimes she really did. She tried to fight those thoughts back and began to feel the weight of her body, sinking into the seat. Sinking was a familiar feeling to her. She tried to remember how to swim in her own thoughts. She remembered how Shuri would talk her through her episodes. How she would call right away when she sensed anything off, even if Riri wasn’t wearing her beads. She remembered how it felt to think everything would be okay, and how often that was proved to be untrue.

It was too easy to remember. Too easy to feel like it was just yesterday. Riri couldn't keep her mind from wandering back in time while the Wakandan jet made its way through the air. Trying to focus on anything else, trying to pay attention to the Dora silently flying or guarding the exit, trying to watch the sky around her. Anything. She couldn't bite down hard enough on the inside of her cheek, leaving a sore mark wasn't enough to keep her mind from its current occupation.

"What are you doing here?!" The shorter of the two screamed, almost screeched as she ran into the panther's arms.

"I had some time to myself finally. Where else would I go?" Shuri chuckled as she picked the scientist up.

"You could literally go anywhere in the world and probably... out of the world? At this point with Wakandan tech." Riri explained, seriously, as she hung onto the slim but toned body holding her off the ground with ease, not realizing she was holding on as tight as she was. Not realizing there was nowhere else Shuri would have gone. Nowhere.

"You're so... anyway, what should we do?"

"How long do we have?" Riri asked as she pulled back, not even trying to contain her wide grin that was plastered across her face. Shuri recorded it to memory, as she always did with the smaller woman's features.

"96 hours. Well, 96-ish, less now that we've been standing here debating where I could've gone." Shuri jokes as she lets go, making sure Riri found her footing.

"Shut up! Four days?! We have so much to do!" Riri definitely screeched this time, pretending to slap Shuri's arm. Fighting the urge to grab it and pull her in, Shuri picks up Riri's book bag from where she dropped it and places it in her desk chair as she walks to the bed and pulls her own bag out from under the bed.

"Exactly how long have you been here? You seem comfortable." Riri jokes as she grabs two waters from her mini fridge and hops up on her bed.

"I am." Shuri chuckles at the sight of the shorter woman having to jump to get on the bed. "And since your first class."

"Are you serious?! Why didn't you say anything dickhead?!"

"Ouch!" Shuri feigns pain as she catches the pillow Riri throws at her head and plops on the bed next to her. "I had a few things to handle, and needed to secure the dorm building. I didn't want to disrupt your day, I know midterms are coming up no?"

"Yeah, they are but you could've let a bitch know! I would've cleaned!" Riri states, noticing that she sounds much like her mother.

"I like your mess." Shuri smiles.

"Shut up. How did you secure the whole dorm building?"

"Well, I hope you don't mind. I have beads in every corner of the building. And a few around campus as well. Including in here. Is that alright with you?"

"Sheesh. Do I have a choice?" Riri jokes, but Shuri nervously answers.

"Yes of course! If it's not comfortable for you, I can sleep at a hotel. I should've asked, I'm sorry about that. Next time I'll-"

"There's a next time too?"

"Well, if you'd li-"

"Are you crazy?! Of course! And yeah yeah, that's all fine with me. I get it. Don't start worrying about it or nun. I was just curious."

Shuri's smile returns and she relaxes back into the bed. It was oddly comfortable, being that the last time she was here was before the war. Sure, they'd been talking for months over facetimes and calls. And texts. And letters.. oddly, but not to them. They were both truly as desperate as they felt, but excused it since it seemed mutual - opting to call it a mutual interest in friendship, as opposed to what it really was in the bigger picture. And sure, they had seen each other one other time, but it was so brief that it shouldn't really count - although it did, to both of them.

Shuri had arrived at an American event in Boston, forced to show face by the elders after the uproar surrounding her mother and everything. She felt it was too soon and didn't make sense to attend a tech gala when none of it was even touching Wakandan tech. But regardless, she put on her best suit and went, disregarding the elder's request for her to wear traditional royal attire. She sat there, wishing she hadn't come, while big investors droned on. The only part that peaked her interest was listening to the stories of young inventors. They reminded her of herself, so excited and in a hurry. They reminded her of someone else too. Someone she had been longing to see since she left Wakanda only a few months ago at the time.

Shuri muddled around the thought of calling Riri, or just showing up at her dorm. She knew she had responsibilities to attend to the next afternoon after she returned home, and it really hadn't been that long. Maybe Riri wasn't ready to see her yet? Or maybe she never would be. Or maybe Shuri had really made their connection up in her own mind. Or maybe she didn't? And maybe she should just call her, or maybe send her a quick text to keep it more casual? Keep what, casual exactly? She wasn't sure. She paced around her own mind anxiously the entire night, not realizing it was her turn to speak until the Doras were next to her asking if she was alright. She collected herself and headed to the stage, performing a speech much like her brother had about the importance of innovation, supporting the youth - especially the Black and Brown youth, etc. She meant what she said but she hardly felt as connected or present with it as she was when she wrote it. Still circling her mind was her favorite innovator, the scientist who made everything make sense to her. Pining so badly, by the end of her speech she had resolved to call Riri. Faking her smiles through the eruption of clapping and handshakes as she left the stage, she made her way back to her seat while the closing speech began - only to lose her resolve when Ayo bent down to whisper a reminder of their exit plan and their intended arrival time back in Wakanda.

She had known it was a foolish thought. Who even knew what the small scientist would be doing at this time? She could be working, studying, partying. God, Shuri hoped not but recoiled at her own thoughts. She wasn't heteronormative and she wasn't the toxic type. She just also felt jealous of anybody and anything that got to be around Riri when she wasn't. Which was most times. Essentially all the time. Really, she reasoned with herself, she had only been around Riri for a few days and it had been against her will anyway. Maybe she really was making all of this up in her head.

The Queen of Wakanda continued her mental pace as she made her exit, later than most guests and certainly not from the front entrance. She walked through the beautiful building with the Doras who were talking amongst themselves about logistics, seemingly all having caught onto another one of Shuri's "moods". Shuri paid them no mind, as they expected, while she began brooding. What was the point of coming to America, aside from like... the actual point, politically - if not to see her scientist? She caught herself scoffing at "her scientist", making fun of herself in her head as they headed outside and around the back when the Doras suddenly stood alert around her. Shuri looked around her and back at her beads quickly, doing a quick scan of their surroundings, only to hear a small, out of breath "Hey" from her left.

"Williams?"

"Yeah, yeah.. haha. Hoo. Crazy catching you here." Riri joked awkwardly as she tried to catch her breath from clearing having run.

"Yes, well I was-"

"Giving a speech. I saw on tv. Just happened to be in the neighborhood myself so I figured I'd uh, say hi." Riri cut the Panther off as she caught her bearings and finally made eye contact. Shuri made contact back, silently signaling for the Dora to drop their guard. Ayo looked between them but of course followed command. Shuri stepped between them and closer to the scientist, who was now twiddling her fingers and looking anywhere but at Shuri. Just like she did in Wakanda. Just like Shuri had replayed in her head a billion times over. While Shuri took the absence of eye contact as a chance to damn near gawk at the smaller woman, Riri was doing her own mental laps.

She also questioned her intentions and if she had been making this all up. She also questioned how crazy she must look, showing up here like this. She couldn't stop herself, leaving MJ, Peter and Ned in her OWN room after they had been flipping through channels and Riri caught a glimpse. That was all it took, one, maybe two seconds and she was out the door. And granted, she kind of was in the neighborhood. If you consider being four miles away in the neighborhood. She had considered grabbing her car from the garage but figured it would take too long, so she jumped in her nano suit her and Peter had been working on (that definitely still needed some work), and flew over. Of course she couldn't land in front of everyone, so she landed in a park a few blocks away and took off on foot. None of which she will EVER tell anybody, although she could barely remember her excuse to the three friends she left in her dorm as she forced herself to look back up and meet Shuri's eyes.

"In the neighborhood?"

"You could say that." Riri joked awkwardly again.

This made Shuri laugh. Riri had that effect on her, she had learned during their late night lab sessions. Even in the midst of the grimmest of days and a literal war, Riri had Shuri laughing so hard she cried a few times. They both seemed to be thinking back while they laughed together and smiled at each other shyly until Ayo cleared her throat.

"We must get going, Kumkanikazi." Both women seemed to jump a bit, having been pulled out of their staring contest. Riri shuddered at hearing Shuri be called that, she recognized it from when Okoye would speak about Queen Ramonda. She had done her best to pick up on as much of the language as she could when she was there, for some reason unknown to her - she just figured it would come in handy. But now, hearing it and knowing it meant Queen, shook her to her core. She remembered why she hadn't reached out, the guilt that sat in her bones about it. She nearly turned on her heels until she heard Shuri speak.

"One moment please."

"My Queen, we really must-" Ayo begun speaking in Xhosa but was cut off by the Panther Queen.

"Please. One moment." Shuri said, a command but almost begging, not turning to face the general one step to the side of her. She pulled at the necklace around her neck and Ayo nodded silently.

"I will ready the jet." Ayo answered and turned around, her and the two other Dora briskly walking to the jet that was just now coming into Riri's focus. She assumed it was using the new camouflage tech she had heard mentioned before she left Wakanda.

"Those things get cooler every time."

"Yeah, I suppose they do." Shuri laughed half heartedly. They both tried to speak but cut each other off.

"So-"

"I do-"

"You first." They both sheepishly smiled as they spoke in unison. but Riri insisted. "Go ahead, please."

Shuri would've resisted if she wasn't so desperate and struggling against showing it.

"How have you been? I've mis- I've been wondering. We haven't spoken since you left." Shuri caught herself, suddenly feeling like twiddling her fingers and looking at her shoes too but she resisted that too. She was good at resisting.

"Oh.. well yeah. I've been. You know, school, work. Just been trying to get through the semester. I wanted to re- well I wondered how you've been too."

"I've been, too." Shuri shrugged with a smile. She wanted to know more, everything. To devour the stories Riri could tell her, even the most mundane. She wanted to know what pencils she used to write equations and what she thought of the food in her cafeteria. Riri just smiled, feeling the weight again. She knew Shuri hadn't been good, and she knew she hadn't either.

"Can I ask you-" They both spoke in unison again.

"You first." Riri insisted again, before Shuri could. Shuri didn't like it but she also didn't have much time to waste.

"Why didn't you reach out?" She asked, leaving Riri out of breath all over again. After a second that seemed like a million, Riri answered.

"I didn't know how." She said truthfully.

"I left you beads. Maybe I should've left a note too. I'm sorry, I figured you'd-"

"No, no. Not like that. I figured that out, it was actually pretty easy." Riri smiled, thinking about how much fun it was to try to get the beads to work. Fun until it wasn't. Fun until she heard Shuri's voice message and left it for months.

"Then you didn't want to?"

"No, I did. I just didn't know... how. I didn't know what to say, or how to say it. But trust me, I wanted to. I really wanted to." Riri said earnestly and more quiet than she intended. Shuri believed her and took her answer, even if she didn't like it. Again resisting herself. Resisting Riri.

"I understand. Thank you for letting me know. Well..." She looked back at the Jet and sighed. They made eye contact before Shuri decided it would be best to count her losses in her own country, turning to leave.

"Wait, I still have a question!" Riri almost shouted. "If that's okay... of course." She said more quiet. Shuri turned around eager to hear. Hoping. Resisting. But hoping. She nodded her head.

"Well..." Riri twisted her fingers around in her hands. She still didn't know what to say or how to say it. But she didn't have much time to waste.

"Well?" Shuri asked, trying not to sound pushy but anxious to know.

"Is it too late?" Riri asked, looking back up at the woman in front of her. The face she had committed to memory, but a bit different. More mature. Somehow even more beautiful. Shuri said nothing.

"...To reach out... To talk?" Riri finally drove it home, sending a silent prayer to whoever would answer that she wouldn't further embarrass herself.

Startling the both of them, Shuri's beads lit up and Ayo's face appeared.

"My apologies my Queen, but if we do not leave in the next three minutes, you may be late to your engagements tomorrow."

"Yes, thank you. I'm coming." Shuri said back, eyes still on Riri.

Riri felt defeated as she watched the panther tuck her beads back up her sleeve. It probably was too late. And who knows. Maybe it was the right thing to do to not stay in contact. Maybe that's what was best for Wakanda or Shuri. She remembered her mother always telling her that sometimes "doing the right thing feels like shit". In this case, she thought, it felt worse than shitty.

That was until Shuri grabbed her hand. Softly, almost too soft in comparison to what you'd expect from a super powered panther. It was so soft yet sent a shiver through Riri, like electricity was coursing through her. Like her heart was beating for the first time. The eye contact was somehow not as awkward as it was a second ago when they were standing a few feet apart. It was like they were all alone.

"Use the beads. If they need to charge, just set them in the sun but they shouldn't."

"Oh- Okay. I will. I will." Riri said twice, almost like she was confirming with herself first and the Shuri.

"Good." Shuri smiled. She took a step closer before she heard another beep on her own beads. Before the General could speak, Shuri was already responding.

"I heard you. I'm coming."

She looked at Riri again and sighed, and suddenly Riri saw just how exhausted the Panther really was. And maybe something else too. Shuri stepped back again, not wanting to let go of Riri's hand.

"It'll never be too late. I'll see you soon?" Shuri said, finally letting go and letting the physical distance regrow between them, hoping that the emotional distance wouldn't grow again too.

Riri watched as the panther walked back to the jet and boarded, looking back only once, only long enough to catch Riri's small wave but not return it. The younger scientist stood there feeling disassociated, unsure of what to do next. Really, she knew she had to go back to her dorm and go back to living her real life just like she had after she left Wakanda. Although, as dreary as that still seemed to her, this time felt different. Like there was something to look forward to, if she had the balls to actually use the beads like Shuri had said. She mulled over whether or not it was an instruction or a question from the Panther as she chose not to watch the jet fly off behind her. She heard the media start to buzz again when they heard the jet, upset that they had missed the person they were waiting for. Yet, Riri stood there and stared at the ground where Shuri was just standing. She still felt that pathetic feeling, and worried that she hadn't had a chance to explain how she found Shuri or even knew she would be there. She felt the weight of grief again, after seeing how tired Shuri looked when you really looked at her. And she felt guilty, for feeling excited. For feeling the butterflies she always pretended she didn't feel. She wondered, briefly, how Shuri was feeling right now but per usual, tried not to wonder too much as to not become delusional. She knew better than anybody that assuming to know how someone else thinks is the worst mistake you can make.

Shuri, back in the jet that was flying faster than she would like, was afflicted by similar thoughts. She wondered how Riri had found her and wondered if she really was as lucky as that just felt. She wondered why the girl even came. She wondered if she thinks about her too. She wondered if Riri would use the beads. She sat awake, replaying every moment of their time together since their first encounter over and over until they arrived in Wakanda, despite the Doras concerns for her not getting rest. Shuri would rest when things were well enough for her to rest, she told herself, but even she was starting to notice the cracks. She knew she could only stay awake for so many days until her body would shut down. She had secretly tried some of the elixirs and teas that both Nakia and Aneka had sent her, and she had read what Okoye sent her after hearing everything. She had slept every now and then, but it was never restful. It was never without torment from some figment of her mind taking shape of someone she wasn't ready to face - whether that be Namor, N'jdaka, or her mother. She always prayed for T'Challa to appear, who she wasn't sure if she was ready to see but longed for the comfort of his voice or face, but each time her body fell asleep, her mind fell into a well pit of despair.

That is, until later that night. Shuri had been through her daily responsibilities after making it back to Wakanda. Once her meetings were over, she made her way to the lab. She did her best to avoid checking the status of Riri's beads, trying to keep her mind busy as she usually did. It was harder this time, knowing that she'd actually spoken to the girl. After bopping around a bit, her body started to feel the weight of the past few days. She hadn't been physically training as much as she should've the past few weeks, because she knew it would knock her out but she was starting to feel stiff. She finally let up and sat down at one of her desks in a back room of the lab after Griot had let her know her vitals. She didn't usually sit in this room, so she hadn't been aware of what was placed in there. As she lazily sifted through the papers on the desk to try to keep her mind occupied, she saw blueprints for Riri's Iron Heart suit. The same feeling of nervousness and excitement rose in her as she more hurriedly looked over them. Despite all the work they did together, she never really got to see too much of Riri's initial process from scratch. She ran her slender fingers over Riri's pencil marks, reading over all her notes to herself.

With a yawn, Shuri sat back and relished in the fact that Riri actually existed. Sometimes, when Shuri was really out of it, she couldn't believe that everything really happened. She was sometimes convinced she would wake up and her mother would still be here, or that Riri was just a figment of her desperate imagination. Sure, having her mother back would be... well, everything. But it scared Shuri to think Riri might not have been real, that she didn't really happen. She felt selfish for this, knowing that Riri's life would probably be better without the trauma she endured in Wakanda. But nevertheless, Shuri held on tight to the memories she had of the woman, hoping that they would be enough for her.

She thought about how it felt to hold Riri's hand, to touch her skin again. It was just as soft and delicate as it had been when they parted ways a few months ago. Her face looked the same, maybe more mature in some ways. She looked tired too, underneath the face she put on for other people. They had gotten past that with each other during their long nights alone working together in the lab.

She thought about what it would feel like to fall asleep in Riri's bed. The mattress probably wasn't super comfortable but she remembers all the colorful pillows she has, messily strewn across the surface. The different colored blankets would probably fit them both well, even with the little space a twin bed supplies. They would have to be close, touching. Shuri imagined breathing in sync, feeling Riri's ribcage rise and fall in her arms while they were pressed against each other. She thought about how Riri smells. She's been trying to replicate it for months. She thought about breathing her in, laying her face in the crook of her neck and sleeping. Not thinking. Sleeping. Not even having to dream. She thought about waking up next to her, seeing her sleeping still until Shuri shifted too much by accident. Riri waking up and no doubt saying something funny. Or soft. Or just saying hello. How her eyes would look. She thought about not being afraid to make it real, that in her thoughts she didn't have to pretend that these touches were by accident or out of necessity. That they could spend an eternity, wrapped in colorful blankets, sleeping and touching skin to skin. That maybe Riri would feel the same, and they would laugh about how long it took to figure it out. That they would laugh until they couldn't, and talk until they couldn't, and then they would kiss. And everything would melt away, and neither would know where their skin would begin or end. And they would kiss until they couldn't. And they'd sleep.

She hadn't realized she had fallen asleep at the desk until she heard Griot's voice.

"Sorry to startle you, Panther. But, Miss Williams is trying to contact you. How would you like me to proceed?"

Shuri was shook, unsure of what she looked like or even what time it was. She felt nervous. She felt groggy, not even sure if this was real either. Nevertheless, she answered.

"Patch me through, please."

She waited a moment with bated breath, hoping this wasn't a dream or some fluke. Until she heard a familiar voice.

"Hello?" Riri asked, sounding nervous herself. Shuri wondered what time it was there, too.

"Hey." She said, in a more relaxed tone. Even if this wasn't real, it was still the best dream she'd had in months. Maybe ever.

And they talked, for a long time. Eventually working through any awkwardness. Riri never explained how she made it to the Panther, and the Panther never asked. She did explain, however, why it took so long for her to call. Shuri just listened and let herself laugh, like she'd been dreaming about. Finally feeling free for a little bit, even if it was just for a little bit.

On the other side of things, once Riri had cleared everyone out of her room when she got back and promising to explain to MJ later, she had sat down and thought about what to do. That turned into pacing and talking outloud. She had been avoiding the beads like the plague for months, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what choice would cause the least harm, since she already felt guilty for what she had caused. She found herself awake all night feeling anxious. She left for class that morning, deciding that she would get through her day and take a nap. She would figure it out after that. What she didn't tell Shuri, is how hard its been to sleep since she left Wakanda, or really even how hard it was while she was there. But when she tried to take a nap, she realized that all she dreamed about this time was Shuri and how soft her hand was when they had touched and how peaceful it felt to talk to her, even if only for a few moments and only a few words. She decided when she woke up that even if they ended up never talking again, she would keep her promise and use the beads.

And that's what she did. And that's what they kept doing, for weeks and months. They talked, they listened, they laughed, and on rare occasion, fell asleep. Both free from nightmares, even if just for a little while. Until Shuri finally arrived.

And finally, they had some time to really figure things out. Shuri promised she wasn't missing anything important by being there, and that she had allotted enough time. Riri was still unsure about it but couldn't resist the opportunity to finally see the woman she had been pining over for months - as a friend, of course.

As Riri remembered back fondly, she had forgotten what was ahead of her until she was jolted by turbulence that was usually well controlled by the Wakandan tech in the fighter jet. She couldn't process how she could possibly be on her way to confront the man that almost killed her and did actually kill the Queen of Wakanda. She couldn't fathom that she was racing there, against her love, her best friend, to make sure she didn't kill him first. Suddenly her clothes all felt too tight, and her suit felt heavy despite being nano. Suddenly the air felt hot and her lungs felt empty and she felt dizzy. She had felt all of this before, a panic attack. Riri Williams was no stranger to a panic attack. Not before Wakanda, and definitely not after. Though, for the past few months, she had always had Shuri to help ground her. Now, she was floating in the air, literally and figuratively. Everything was moving so fast. She felt herself spiraling and cursing herself in the process, unable to stop it but ashamed nonetheless. She had worked hard, since she was younger, to have a control over her emotions and thoughts. She needed to, especially if she was going to take this super hero shit serious. Especially if she was going to be there for her mom and sister after her dad passed. Especially if she was going to make it. But she felt that control slowly ripping itself to shreds, doing a number on all the mental blocks she had in place. She couldn't lose Shuri. She couldn't be the cause of another war in Wakanda. She couldn't live with the guilt. She couldn't let Shuri get hurt, or worse, for her again. Even if it meant confronting a man much more powerful than her. Even if it meant losing. Even if it meant drowning all over again.

Suddenly, she felt a cool hand grace the side of her cheek. She felt her suit dematerialize around her until it was just a bracelet again. She felt Okoye kneel down in front of her, eyes kinder than they usually were. She felt her pull her in close and squeeze. The pressure of the embrace bringing Riri back into her body. They stayed like that until Riri could breathe again.

She went to apologize as Okoye pulled back silently, just as she had appeared, but she was cut off.

"Aht aht. There is no need." Okoye softly but firmly let her know, sitting down next to her. They had never been this close before. Riri looked over to see the jet flying itself. The first time she saw that happen she was crazy nervous, but she's grown to trust both Wakandan tech and Okoye. After a few moments of silence, Okoye spoke again.

"I know what she means to you, you know."

Riri looked at her finally, noticing how somber her eyes really looked. She had seen those eyes before, but not like this. Okoye continued, looking back out the windows.

"I was T'Challa's right hand. I saw it all, from the beginning to the end. I saw him be the panther, I saw him be the king. I saw him be Shuri's brother." Riri felt a pang in her at the use of Shuri's name. She listened.

"And I saw him fall in love. I saw him devote himself to Nakia, and I saw her unravel at the loss of him - until she left. I saw it all, as much as I could. And I often wondered why I didn't feel the way they seemed to feel when my husband betrayed me and Wakanda. But their love... it was pure. It was something out of this world, it was something built into them." Okoye sighed, feeling grief in many directions. Riri found herself fighting back tears again until Okoye looked at her with different eyes, almost loving eyes this time.

"I have seen that kind of love before and that is how I know you have it. Both of you. And that is how I know we will figure this out." Okoye looked at her and squeezed her hand again, affirming what she said. They both heard the AI tell them they were approaching in the next 5 minutes. Through her tears that were now shamelessly falling down her face, Riri gulped out a question, in true Riri fashion.

"Do you think you will ever love like that?"

"I already do." Okoye said, getting up and adjusting herself to get back to the front of the plane to chart their secret entrance into Wakanda. Riri looked confused.

"Ngudade wethu." Okoye answered again, before sitting down and being who she needed to be. Riri knew what she said, and knew that she was right. About all of it.

As they prepared themselves, Riri suited up and made her way to the front of the plane.

"Where did he say to meet?" The midnight angel asked Riri. She sent the coordinates to the jet and looked at them wistfully. She hadn't really thought about where she might actually be going to "talk" to him when she was rushing to get herself to Wakanda. She jumped when Okoye gasped.

"What?! What is it?!" Worry filled her from head to toe again, hoping it had nothing to do with Shuri.

"That bastard... We are going to have to find a way to break into the palace. He wants to meet in the throne room."

Riri was speechless, knowing that this was a tactic to try to make her feel weak. She also couldn't deny that it was working. She felt her heart rate increase at the thought of being back in there. Of seeing the place where she almost died. Of... all of it. She had visited many times in her dreams, all against her will. And now she would face him there, against her will. She knew he was doing this to weaken her resolve, much like her and Shuri did with the dehydrating jet. She knew his intent all along, but this certainly solidified it.

Riri tried to make peace with dying in Wakanda. Once again, her mom wouldn't know where she was or how any of this happened. She wondered what lie they would tell her. She wondered if she would fight or just give herself to him. She wondered what Shuri would do, knowing this wouldn't end well no matter what she did. But she held her mind together as best as she could. She knew she had to meet him before she did. She knew she had to do what she could to prevent a second war. Okoye knew too, looking at her and then pulling up her own beads to try and locate Shuri.

"The Panther's location services are currently offline." The Ai spoke to them.

"Let us pray she is behind us and not ahead of us."

"Will she know where to find us?"

"We are about to break into the most secure place on the planet earth. I'm sure everyone will know where to find us in a matter of moments." Okoye answered and they shared a look.

"I hope you know, I will fight until the end with you. I have stood with the Wakandan throne my whole life. I have stood with Shuri and those that came before her. I have stood for the safety of my people as best as possible, but I have made my own mistakes before. I will stand with you, now, Riri. No matter the outcome."

Riri felt the pull of her tear ducts again but different this time. Okoye reminded her of her own sister, and of her own mistakes. She reached out a hand and found Okoye's. They held hands until it was time to land.

Once they had maneuvered their way into the country using Okoye's knowledge as former general and her new disguising tech, which Riri made a note to recreate if she made it out of this, Riri followed Okoye into the dense jungle around them.

"The best chance we have is to stay low until we can't anymore, and then charge in. The Doras won't see it coming but they will react, with their full might as they've been trained to do. Even to me. Our goal is not to harm any Wakandans, but we have to get to the throne room before he does. I will do my best to reason with Ayo and Aneka but they will resist a meeting with him there. Once we spot him, we must draw him away from the palace. Even if it means drawing him to the sea. Remember that he is most powerful near water."

Riri nods as she listens. Okoye wishes there were another way.

"Remember that if we see Shuri, we may already be too late. We must keep them separate. I do not know if she will choose peace a second time. Not when it concerns you."

"I don't want her to do this, I hope you know. You were right. You were right about it all. I love her. But I don't want her to risk everything for me. You all already have and I can't live with that. I can't live with any of this. I don't want to die but... But I can't let everyone else die for me either." Riri spits out, hoping she's being believed. She means it. Okoye looks at her and hears Nakia's voice in her head. "I just know his spirit. It is simple in that way for me."

"Ndiyawazi umoya wakho. I believe you. And I will fight to make sure no one has to die today, unfortunately even him if it means peace."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, small girl."

"For what?" Riri asked, genuinely surprised since most of the mayhem the past few months has been a result of her actions - intentional or not.

"For giving her something to hold onto again. Something to believe in." Okoye answered truthfully. Riri didn't know what to say but she took in what the older woman said, against trusting her. After a few moments of silence, it was time.

"Stand behind me and do not fly until I tell you. If you enter the air space anywhere near the palace, you will be shot down before you can count to one. Do you understand?" Riri nodded.

She did understand. Now, more clearly than ever.

🖤

#black sapphic #riri williams #Shuri Udaku #iron heart #black panther #black panther wakanda forever #black wlw #marvel #SHURIRI #SCIENCE GAYS #SORRY FOR THE ANGST BUT I HAD TO

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