#whatever they decide to do with this musical whether it be a stage play or game or whatever I am so down for ANY of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 3 days ago

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xii)

THEOREM OF BECOMING—Transformation is not a moment, but a process.

summary: The journey back to Jackson is full of make-believe of a life that almost feels like it's coming true.

a/n: woohoo, happy AAPI month! I'm sorry this update took so long, I was so indecisive on how I wanted this chapter to end, and what I wanted to depict, especially at the end when it was hard for me to decide where I wanted to place all of them... I just hope it turned out okay! one more chapter left before the epilogue :)

word count: 12,800+ words (dare I say, a short one?)

Joel tried to imagine himself at university. Outlandish things like, what would’ve happened if the world had given him a second door to open?

Because being here—goddamn. It was hard not to wonder what it might’ve felt like, walking into a place like this with a backpack and purpose instead of a rifle and regret.

What kind of kid would Joel have been, sitting in one of those chairs? Twenty years old, maybe. Hell—eighteen if he'd played it straight. No Sarah. No mortgage. No busted-up drywall jobs. No worry about gas bills or whether the AC would hold another summer.

Fuck no, he wouldn't do whatever it was Leela was doing in that lab, with data and diagrams that looked like chicken scratch to him. He would want a degree in something that lets the brain wander. A major in liberal arts, maybe. History. Music theory sounded nice. All that “not real work” crapola folks in his neighbourhood used to scoff at.

He’d always had a good head on him—just never the time or the cash to spend chasing someone else’s definition of smart. See, college wasn’t for men like him. Places like this weren’t made for people like him.

It was a gate you needed a key for, and that key used to cost fuck-ton loans and inevitable debt. More than he ever had or would have.

But that never meant he wasn’t curious. Never meant he didn’t know things.

Truth was, Joel used to like ideas. He liked stories. He read when he could. Listened. Paid attention. Watched old movies with Sarah, sometimes caught the way dialogue turned into meaning. Took in books secondhand, borrowed from neighbours, dog-eared and scribbled in. Kept his head and hands busy. When he worked construction, he could out-measure, out-calculate, and out-plan any of those stiff-collared pricks with their clean hands and degrees nailed to their office walls.

Tommy used to joke that Joel could memorize a script better than a foreman could read a blueprint.

“Man, you ain’t dumb,” his baby brother said once, picking dried cement off his hands. “We’re just poor.”

And he'd agreed. Their whole academic system was a racket, just a way of putting a price tag on knowledge.

Places like Caltech were always for them—it was for the bright ones, the born-lucky, the rich kids with trust funds and internships lined up like bowling pins. Kids like Leela, in fact. He'd never set foot in a real university, let alone one like this. All that prestige and legacy. Hell, even the labs looked like spaceships.

Joel had never even been on a real campus before the world went belly-up, and now here he was, boots echoing in a dead lecture hall, listening to Leela piece together the last remnants of science like she was born for it.

He stood halfway down the sloped aisle, one hand dragging along the edge of a long desk. The laminate was peeling at the corners. He could picture a thousand students slouched here over the decades, bent over laptops or spiral notebooks, yawning, scrawling notes they’d forget the second finals ended.

Behind him, Ellie climbed onto the stage at the bottom of the hall, testing the strength of the lectern like a kid playing teacher. Her voice carried, all grin and gravel.

“Bet you’d sit in the back row. Right, Joel?”

Joel smirked. “Only place I could get away with nappin’.”

“Or so you think. I’d definitely be front row. Raising my hand. Asking annoying questions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t nothin’ changed.”

“Pft, whatever.”

Beyond the doors, down the corridor, he could just make out the faint click-clack of keys—Leela, working in the lab with that same eerie calm she always had when the world dropped away and it was just her and the numbers. Her silhouette had barely shifted in an hour. Her hair was loose, falling over one shoulder, half in the light. She looked like she belonged in there.

“Y’know,” he drawled out to Ellie from somewhere inside his head, “I think she and I… if we’d met like that back then… we’d’ve found each other.”

Ellie didn't tease him about it. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d be the guy just tryin’ to keep up. Probably complainin’ about the campus coffee and the goddamn parking passes.”

She grinned. “She’d dodge you for two whole weeks.”

“Hm. Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Then one day you’d say something too smart that’d make her stop and think. And boom. Now you’re study partners.”

He sighed. “I ain’t smart, kiddo.”

“Nah, you’re smart.”

“Not that kinda smart.”

“Bullshit. You literally remember everything. Details. Faces. The way you describe a guy’s boots, I feel like I was there.”

Joel clucked his tongue. “You learn to read people when your life depends on it.”

She shrugged. “Still counts.”

He didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched—somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Hey, know what else? She’d’ve helped me cheat on a math exam.”

“Ha, no way. Leela would smack you across the face.”

He rubbed his jaw, the beginnings of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “But she’d tutor me. Make me memorise some dumb equation by makin’ it a song or somethin’. She hums that stuff sometimes, y'know? 'Spretty cute.”

Ellie gave him a look—half fond, half exasperated. “Jesus. Jesse was right. You're cuntstruck.”

“Ellie,” he muttered, more warning than scolding, but it didn’t carry much heat.

“Aw, c’mon, Joel. Can you just imagine a life where,” she sighed, “you just live that time-honoured, grey area of life? Be a normal dude with a college sweetheart or some shit?”

“How the hell do you know all that?”

“I'm just that baller.”

“Jesus.”

Now, Joel meant to leave it there, but the thought had already taken root.

He let his eyes drift toward the broken chalkboard at the front of the room, and the lecture hall around them seemed to grow in his mind—less ruin, more memory of something he never had.

He imagined Leela sitting at a desk beside him, in a school that let smart kids like her and dumbasses like him sit together—just one of those big halls with sticky floors and ceiling fans that clicked when they turned, where the smart ones always found the front row and the tired ones sat wherever the sun didn’t hit their eyes. She’d be chewing a pen cap, probably, maybe twirling a strand of hair around her finger, nodding all serious while some professor went off about Gödel or Fermat or one of those names that felt more like hexes than people. Joel wouldn’t understand a lick of it—not even on his best, most caffeinated day.

But maybe—she’d lean in, whisper it in Layman's for him. Not to make him feel dumb, but because she wanted him to know. All sweet, patient, gracious Leela.

He’d pretend to follow along, nodding at the right times, but mostly he’d be watching the way her mouth moved around the words, the way her brows bunched up when she really got into it. Watching the gears turn in her beautiful, brilliant head. Joel still did that, when she went off on a tangent in their living room between her blackboards, he'd just want her to kiss her until she was blue in the face.

He nevertheless would've fallen so damn hard for her. Right on his ass. No question about it.

Wouldn’t have taken him long to ask her out, either—not if they’d met like that. Not if she didn’t already know all the things the world had done to a man like him. He would have acted like his balls had just dropped or something—nervous as hell, but trying to play it cool. Sweaty palms, rehearsed lines in front of his mirror. Something about those big, dark eyes of hers, her fancy shoes, or her mint-condition books. Something along the lines of: I promise I’m more interesting than I look… though I realise the bar’s low since I’ve been standing here staring at you for the last thirty seconds.

And if she’d fold and giggle ‘okay’—and he liked to believe she would—he’d take her out someplace decent. Someplace with candlelight, silverware, suited waiters, cloches and folded napkins. He’d pick her up in front of her building. Show up with a fat bouquet of daisies. Pull her chair out for her at dinner. Hold the door. Call her ma’am without even thinking. He would be flat-broke in that life too, but he was raised right with Texan manners imbued upon him by Mr and Mrs Miller, after all.

Leela would probably tease him a little, maybe make fun of how stiff his shirt collar was or how he kept checking the long-ass bill like it was going to change. But she’d smile through it and offer to go Dutch instead. That rare, toothy smile of hers that made her look so young, unguarded and just a little bit shy.

He imagined them walking back across campus after—quiet, inseparable, arm around his. Maybe it was autumn. Maybe the crimson maple leaves crunched under their feet, and she kept pushing her hands into the sleeves of her coat like she always did when she was cold but didn’t want to say so. Maybe he’d offer his jacket. Maybe she’d take it. Maybe he’d blow into her hands in an attempt to kiss them.

Maybe that night, standing outside her place, she’d look up at him with that same quiet challenge in her eyes she had now—like she was daring him to be gentle.

And he would’ve been. Gentle as fuck. Their first kiss wouldn’t have been some clumsy, rushed thing. No desperation. No fear of the dark coming back. Just... time. Time you don’t know you’re wasting until it’s gone.

He imagined her fingers curled into his coat on maybe their fourth date, maybe he'd just taken her out ice-skating or bowling, and she would push the coat off him, and pull him a little closer. Stay with me tonight. A breath caught between their lips. And maybe—God help him—maybe they’d have stumbled into the fancy elevator of her expensive off-campus apartment, shoes kicked off halfway, giggling when she nearly tripped over her own purse left by the door. He’d catch her waist, steady her, and she’d glance at him with those mischievous eyes that already knew what he wanted. I want all of you.

They’d lock the door behind them, not because they had to, but because they could—because no one was chasing them, nothing was breathing down their necks. Just a night in. Quiet. Private. Theirs.

The desk lamp would still be on, casting light over her math books still open, forgotten now, pages fluttering. Her room would be warm, a little cluttered, with too many books for one person. A corkboard with pinned movie stubs and Post-it reminders. A polaroid of them, maybe, from some campus event—Joel squinting at the lens, Leela mid-laugh as always, her nose scrunched in that way he loved.

They’d peel off layers slowly. Clothes in a trail from the doorway to the bed. His shirt, her dress, his belt, her tights, his boxers. Her bra hanging from the lamp. They’d laugh a little, giggling some, fumbling with the condom in his wallet like it was a joke they’d made earlier in the week—about how just in case that had suddenly become now.

No pressure. No pain. First times. A night they got to have too late. No urgency, no hunger born from grief or fear. Just intimacy. Just plain, affectionate, stumbling, careful sex. Earned. Trusted. Wanted.

He pictured them afterwards, her curled against him beneath tangled sheets, tracing lazy shapes on his chest while the radiator clanked in protest against the cold. Nodding while they discussed their upcoming test, how she’d incentivise him with a kiss for each question he scored, fingers moving through her hair, catching on a tiny braid she must’ve done while studying.

The window would fog up by morning. They’d sleep through their alarms. Maybe skip class like dumb rebels. Maybe make breakfast instead—pancakes from a box, the batter too thick, the frying pan too hot. He’d burn the first one and she’d steal it anyway, kissing him with syrup on her lips. Good fuckin' morning to me.

They’d graduate together, in this life. He’d be in the back row on ceremony day, shoes shined for once, hair swept back neatly, watching his best girl stride across the stage to grab her scroll. Top of her class, honour roll, summa cum laude. Maybe he didn’t get a diploma of his own—maybe he took night classes, taking the slow route out—but he’d be there, standing up before anyone else, clapping like hell, hooting her name with his hands cupped around his lips.

And she’d find him later, tassel on her crooked hat flying, gown wrinkled, eyes shining, leaping into his arms, and he’d spin her about. Kiss her right there in the crowd like he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

And in that life—the life he never got—maybe they’d go on like that for years. Their families are all tight-knit, spending holidays together, all of them waiting on hand and foot for Joel to pop the question, but he promised his girl all the time in the world. No muss, no fuss.

Graduation photos in front of some ivy-covered wall. Travel photos of the two of them from roadtrips and weekend escapes—mountains in Telluride, coasts in Monterey, lighthouses in Nantucket. Maybe later they’d rent a shitty apartment together in a big city even if he hated it—New York, or London, or some big German town with a zigzag skyline and a bakery on every corner—while she chased her PhD dreams and he’d just be happy to take care of them. Joel would take on carpentry jobs to keep the lights on and fix things around the building in exchange for rent. He'd play gigs, strum his old guitar, in pubs and bars all night for a good sum of cash. Patch the leaky sink with elbow grease. Assembling furniture that they couldn’t afford to buy. Shelves full of her notes. Coffee rings on the floor. Late-night supermarket runs. Eat dinner for breakfast and fall asleep with her textbooks open between them. The laughter of a life being made from scratch.

And maybe one day, not in a church, not even in a courthouse—but under that oak tree just outside her big, white house in Jackson, they’d say their vows. Soft ones. Barely louder than the wind. Just a handful of people who mattered, a patch of wildflowers in springtime, and the gold ring he’d carried in his pocket for years. Her hand in his, sliding the band into place. Her thumb brushing his knuckles while he tried not to cry. I offer you all I have, my dumbass and beating heart.

And she’d laugh when he picked her up, white dress, veil and all, just to prove he still could, and carry her over the threshold, whilst her sandals dangled from his fingers. They'd make love like it was the first time, on a nice, month-long honeymoon in the Maldives or Bali, on a linen, canopy-frame bed that wobbled by the time they were through.

And one day, he’d come home—sawdust still in his hair, tired to the bone, aching for his long shower—only to find a positive test on the bathroom sink, and they’d smile at each other like they’d just won the lottery. Those soft, teary eyes they’d share. You think we've got room for one more around here?

And from that moment on, Joel would've been all in. No half-measures. No second-guessing. Just him, right in her pocket. He wouldn’t leave her side unless he had to—work, maybe, or some emergency—and even then, she’d be on speed dial (not that she already wasn’t). He’d check in constantly. Make sure she was drinking water, eating enough. Sitting her antsy ass down.

Late at night, he’d press his ear to her belly, grinning when their baby kicked like she already had her mama’s fire. He’d murmur promises against her skin—about giving her the world, about love, about never missing a thing again. And he’d mean every damn word.

He wouldn’t miss a single ultrasound, even if the clinic was across town and the truck was coughing smoke. He’d be there for all of it—Lamaze classes, nausea, mood swings, sleepless nights, midnight drives for god-knows-what. He’d baby-proof every damn inch of the house, stock the cabinets with baby items, triple-check the crib screws, read every parenting book he could find, even the ones with goofy cartoon covers.

Overbearing? For fucking sure. She might threaten to divorce him half a dozen times before the third trimester—but he’d take it, all of it. With a grin and a kiss and a Yes, ma’am.

And when it was time—when the world narrowed to a hospital room and the sound of her hurting wails—he’d be right there, surgical gown and all, holding her hand through every contraction, brushing damp hair from her face, whispering through the panic, through his heart tearing in two: I’m right here, baby. I ain’t going anywhere.

And Maya would come hollering into their lives. Of course, that’s what they’d name her in this life, too. Radiant, beautiful, nascent Maya, looking just like her mama and holding his heart in her tiny fist. All that imagining he’d ever done—every if, every maybe—had somehow led to this little girl he called his.

He pictured Maya clearly in that other life—the one that never got to be. Toddling around their grad-school apartment, leaping onto his stomach in PJs on a lazy Sunday morning, giggling through a mouthful of sugary cereal while Leela chased after their little thief, trying to snatch the box from her sticky hands. One sock is on, and the other is always missing. Her wild curls bouncing as she ran to him when he walked through the door—always early, maybe this time in a stable job which involved him wearing a suit and tie, lugging a briefcase—arms outstretched, shrieking Da-da! like he was some kind of superhero, and without fail, he'd rain at least a hundred kisses on her before letting her go.

She’d throw a fit in the toy aisle over exactly the faulty stuffed animal, with lopsided eyes and a ripped tag, and Joel would fold like wet paper the second she pouted.

And if the bad times did come, the only arguments he and Leela might’ve had were the soft kind, inconsequential—disagreements over something like Joel’s brief, doomed venture into stocks, or Leela being scatterbrained with the grocery runs, or whether Maya should go to that elite preschool an hour away with the long waitlist and sterling reputation. Joel would’ve wanted the best for her, the kind of start he never had. But Leela would just want to keep Maya close a little longer, probably even attempt to homeschool her if she could swing it.

They’d make up over pizza on the couch—Maya asleep between them, still clutching that faulty toy, cartoons flickering on the TV. Their fingers would find each other over the back of her blanket, apology and forgiveness exchanged without a single word spoken.

And thereafter, the mornings were ones where he'd juggle coffee cups, lunch bags and backpacks, dropping Leela off at her university, her hair still wet from a rushed shower, pencil skirt on a tight ass that waited for it's morning squeeze, a thick binder clutched to her chest, a soft lingering kisses shared over the console; and then Maya in the backseat, singing along to the radio, squealing when he pulled up to her school next. She’d barely get her backpack on before she tore across the pavement to her friends, flashing Joel a quick flying kiss and a grin that damn near knocked the wind out of him every time.

And at night—the three of them crammed around a too-small kitchen table, Leela would sit, drafting her research papers or scribbling in a notebook, Maya in her lap, doodling in the margins, asking about black holes and dinosaurs in the same breath. Leela would answer every question like it was the most important one she’d ever been asked. Joel would just listen, smiling into his beer, tuck the moment away somewhere safe inside him, like a man who knew exactly how fragile good things could be.

And Maya would believe everything her mama told her. Because why wouldn’t she?

Joel blinked, staring at the cracked chalkboard. The room was silent, save for Ellie’s soft humming and the hum of distant power from the lab down the hall.

But that life—that life—wasn’t the one they got.

But maybe... maybe it wasn’t too late for some piece of it. Not the degrees or the papers.

But the love part. The quiet part.

Maybe that kind of life still had a place in this one. Maybe that was still real. Maybe it was standing just down the hall, surrounded by equations, stubborn as ever.

He smiled to himself, soft and stupid, like a man who’d just lived a whole other life in three minutes.

A loud metallic clatter broke the spell.

Joel turned—slow, blinking like he'd just woken from a dream—and found Ellie grinning at him, holding up a dusty diploma frame like she’d just pulled a sword from a stone. The glass was cracked in one corner, the name beneath faded and half-eaten by sun and decay. But scrawled across the middle in thick, unapologetic black marker was something brand new:

Dr. Leela Miller.

“Well,” Ellie said, lifting it higher like a trophy, “I didn’t know her last name, so…”

Joel stared. His breath caught on something warm.

“Reed,” he said, slow and quiet, like the name had weight. Affection weaved through it like a thread. “But this… this is fine.”

He could almost see it—this on the wall of that little apartment they never had. Over a desk cluttered with paper and empty mugs and one tiny sock, someone still hadn’t found the match for.

Ellie held it out to him like a kid offering a crayon drawing. “It’s probably not, y’know, technically accredited,” she said with a crooked smile. “D'you think she'll feel a little better?”

He snorted, folding his arms. “That's a ten-dollar word from a dollar-sized person.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

He gave her a look, soft and knowing. “Well, Leela won’t say it right now, but yeah. She will.”

Then he glanced across the hall.

There she was—his smartass, hunched on a table littered with papers and old, curling printouts. Leela had one hand braced against the edge, the other pressed over her mouth like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her fingers moved through a page, tracing lines of ink like a woman touching scripture. Like she was holding a piece of a language she'd thought was long dead.

Joel brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, low whistle.

Across the hall, Leela jolted a little—more like a reflex than real surprise—blinking over at him with a stunned, empty look. It cracked after a second, softening into something small and sheepish, but Joel didn’t miss the way she moved, like she was dragging herself up from somewhere far away.

He tipped his head toward her, half a smirk pulling at his mouth, trying to keep it easy, light.

“Weather’s turnin’,” he called, voice carrying across the dusty floorboards. “We oughta get movin’ along before it gets any worse.”

“Um...”

Leela hesitated, staring back at the whirring, flickering monitor like it was something alive she’d been charged with keeping breathing. Her hand lifted slowly, clumsily, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.

She gave a stiff little nod—obedient, automatic, like she wasn’t even aware of doing it.

Joel opened his mouth—half-ready to tell her it was fine if she needed more time—but Ellie piped up behind him.

“Ooh, we gotta head down to the coast first. Ay, you promised the beach, old man!”

Joel felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. He turned slightly, cutting a look back at Leela for silent backup.

And Leela just shrugged. Just the barest hitch of her shoulders, like even the decision didn’t mean much anymore. Her mouth twitched at the corners, a hint of old amusement surfacing and dying again all at once.

“I've almost finished the upload,” she said, tapping the corner of the monitor, where some ancient progress bar crawled along painfully slow. “Just... eleven more minutes.”

Eleven minutes.

It used to drive Joel a little crazy, if he was honest. He’d thought it was grief or obsession. Maybe denial. He’d even thought as much, once—there wasn’t anyone left who cared about prime numbers and proof sheets. Leela's long nights hunched over scavenged paper, her fingers smudged with graphite and ash, scribbling until her wrist cramped. A fucking waste indeed.

No one needed the big hypothesis solved when there were clickers on the road and medicine running thin.

And now he saw it.

She wasn’t trying to bring the old world back. She was trying to make sure some vestige of it survived.

Not the comforts. Not its power grids or grocery stores, or monuments. But it's thinking. It's questions. The bones of the mind that had once built bridges and satellites and figured out how to split atoms. She was keeping that, preserving hope for the world that would eventually look back.

And she was sending it forward like a time capsule in the shape of code—across a patchy uplink, through battered infrastructure, to a settlement that might not even know what to do with it.

One day, someone would.

Someone with a mind like hers. Someone with less blood on their hands and more time. A student, a child, a generation down the line who’d never seen the world fall and might still wonder how it once stood.

She was sending it all to Jackson—not as salvation, maybe, but as seed.

Something to plant. Something to grow if they ever got a spring again.

And if that someone asked, if they searched—she’d be there. In the pages, in the math. In the margins, scrawled with her restless handwriting. A woman who had no lab, no colleagues, no safety, but still sat down and thought.

Joel rubbed his thumb over a dent in the metal of the desk. It was humbling, what she was doing. Quiet and unadorned, the way most real things were.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel far from her work. He didn’t feel like it belonged to a world he couldn’t touch. He was somehow a part of it, too.

He exhaled through his nose, scratching the back of his neck. Eleven minutes. Seemed like a small enough thing after everything they'd been through.

He shifted his weight, the old floor creaking under his boots, and his gaze caught on the diploma again—still cradled in Ellie’s hands, the cracked glass catching the faint grey light.

Dr. Leela Miller.

Miller.

His name. His... wife.

He hadn't expected it to hit him like that. The word sitting there plain and heavy, stitched onto her like it had always belonged. The beginning of his other life.

His name stitched there so plainly, so firmly, like it had always been meant to sit against her like that. A jolt went through him—sharp and unexpected—settling low in his gut like a stone thrown into deep water.

He could almost see it, just for a second—clearer than any dream he ever allowed himself to linger on: Leela standing beside him at some clean, sun-warmed courthouse, signing her new name across the marriage license with a little grimace, muttering about how bureaucratic nonsense would outlive them all. Joel, laughing under his breath, taking the pen after her, signing his name next to hers. The flash of a cheap camera. The clap of a judge’s hand on his back. Her grinning face turned up to his, awaiting a congratulatory kiss. And he would make it linger, pressing two, three, four kisses before he murmured against her lips: You alright there, Mrs Miller?

Yes, Joel didn’t feel the press of the world closing in.

He just stood there, hands planted firm on his hips, heart too big for his ribs, and thought, Maybe it ain’t the life I thought I'd have.

When he was young—back before the world cracked open—he thought he understood what a good life was supposed to look like. Steady work. A home. A little backyard for Sarah to tear around in. A dog, one of those loud mutts that drove the neighbours crazy. Bills paid on time. Supper on the table by six. Simple. Straightforward. A line you followed if you kept your head down and your hands busy.

He’d built toward that life once. Brick by brick. Sweat and sacrifice and stubbornness. And he’d watched it all turn to ash in a single night, leaving nothing but the brutal math of survival behind.

Wake up. Choke down rations. Shoot. Kill without a thought. Stay alive. Sleep with one eye open. Repeat.

Hope had been a dangerous thing after that, an unaffordable luxury. Like college.

But standing here now, and Leela hunkered over that blinking screen like she was fighting the universe itself to save what little good was left in it—Joel realised he’d been wrong about what makes a life and what was worth holding onto.

It wasn’t about clean houses or paid-off trucks or picture-perfect little towns.

It was about this.

It was about watching the woman he loved refuse to give up on the world, even when the world had given up on her. It was about Ellie clutching a battered diploma like it was the goddamn Declaration of Independence, blinking out the window like a daydreaming college kid who still believed she’d make it here. It was about Maya somewhere back home, waiting, safe, growing up in a place that hadn’t been paved over by fear.

It was about them.

So, why not... breathe life into that other reality?

Joel shifted slightly, his hand drifting to his pocket—more out of habit than thought. His fingers closed around the small thing he’d stashed there weeks ago, careful not to draw attention to it.

Rolled it between his fingers sometimes, in replacement for the brass button that Maya had bestowed on him—in quiet moments, when no one was looking. Like maybe if he kept turning it long enough, the edges would smooth out, the crack in the band would seal, and time would forget whatever broke it.

It wasn’t much to look at. Just a beat-up old ring he’d pocketed back in Vegas, half-buried in dust beneath a shattered display case. The stone was gone. The band was thin and cracked, barely holding together. Still, he’d kept it. Couldn’t say why at first. Just felt right in his hand—small, broken, stubborn. Reminded him of someone.

Lately, he’d been thinking about what he might do with it. How he could fix it, in his own way. Maybe shave a sliver of intricate wood into the place where the diamond used to be. Not anything fancy, maybe a flower. She liked sunflowers. Just something honest. Pine, maybe—she always smelled like pine sometimes. Or walnut, strong and durable, like him. Something alive, something that wouldn’t shine too bright, but would still catch the amalgam of Leela.

He didn’t know if he’d ever give it to her. Or when. Or if she’d even want it.

Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d say.

But he carried it with hope anyway.

That was the strange part. It wasn’t really the ring that mattered—it was the idea. That someday, there might be room for something like that between them. Not as some big gesture. Not to fix anything. Just to say: this is still yours if you want it. Just to prove he still believed in what could come next.

Maybe sometimes love looked like a broken ring in a calloused hand, waiting for a world soft enough to give it back.

The sharp things—the grief, the anger, the failure—they were still there, rooted deep under his skin like old thorns. They always would be. But for once, Joel could see something else threading through it. A quieter kind of ache. Not the pain of losing, but the ache of wanting.

He wanted the kind of life that didn’t just survive the world’s ending—but stubbornly, stupidly, beautifully outlived it.

He wanted her, and Ellie, and Maya, and every goddamn scraped-together piece of a future he never thought he'd deserve.

And in this dead place, in the flicker of failing light and old dreams burned onto curling paper, Joel believed—just a little—that maybe this had all been for something. After all, maybe they hadn't come all this way just to bury what was lost. Perhaps they were here to carry it forward.

Maybe they were the ones meant to build what came next.

His throat felt tight, but he welcomed it. A man could learn to carry that feeling. He should carry it. Get used to it. All these good things he was doing.

He slipped the ring back into his pocket, careful, like it might bruise. Gave the pocket a small, reassuring pat.

He glanced at Leela, at the way she leaned into the light like a plant aching for the sun, and felt that wild, wordless thing rise again inside him.

Ours, he thought. Not just hers. Not just his.

Ours.

The ocean resembled a busted mirror.

Not glittering or big or blue. Just slabs of grey and darker grey, churning slow under the breadth of a sky that didn’t give a damn. The wind came off the water in lazy fits, carrying salt and rot and the memory of heat that had long since packed up and gone.

Wind tugged at what was left of the boardwalk nearby, a few slats still clinging on like they didn’t know how to fall properly. Rusted carnival lights hung in strips. Booths were gutted. A souvenir shack had collapsed into itself, hurling faded postcards and cracked plastic mugs across the ground. He saw a cracked one half-buried in the dune: I Survived Santa Monica Pier. Bit fucking ironic.

The sea had taken it all back. The joy. The noise. The crowds. It felt biblical, in a way. Like the tide was the big guy's long exhale.

Joel stood at the edge of it all—boots half-buried in wet sand, stepping over a tangled snarl of sea-bleached fishing net fibres, arms crossed against the cold that kept slipping under his jacket. The pier beyond was a half-collapsed skeleton, stripped bare, its spine curling out into the surf with broken ribs of wood jutting upward. Boats still rocked gently in the distance—untouched, paint peeling, sails long since devoured by saline winds, hulls soft with barnacles and time. No lights. No squalling. Not even of birds.

Funny. He used to think that if they ever made it to the coast, something would change. That maybe it’d feel like the end of the road—or the start of something. No, this was just another place the world forgot.

Ellie was already out near the waterline, her boots discarded in a heap beside a tide pool. She’d rolled up her jeans and waded ankle-deep into the cold muck, laughing as she scratched her name into the sand with a busted piece of driftwood. She looked so small like that. Innocent. Her shoulders loose, grin so secretive. He didn't get to see that often.

He watched her kneel, tongue poking slightly out in concentration, and for a moment—just a flicker—it wasn’t Ellie crouched in the sand.

It was Sarah.

Not imagined, not hoped. Saw. Not older, not younger—just as she was the day he lost her.

Kneeling beside her, seaweed looped over her wrist like bracelets, giggling about how it was going to get washed away but doing it anyway. He could see her—clearer than anything. Her head of sunlit curls, tossed by the wind. Making a heart out of the seaweed. Lining the letters with broken shells. Elbowing Ellie with that half-teasing grin she used to have, the one that always said, Do not mess this up for me, Dad.

He clenched his jaw. Swallowed hard. Blinked until the double image snapped apart again, rattled the thought loose from his head, and it was just Ellie again, whistling tunelessly, digging up dead coral to decorate her crude scrawl in the sand.

Goddamn, was this what it was going to be now?

Visions. Ghosts. Fantasies of another life. Wishing, wanting. His mind folding over itself. Losing the thread.

Or was it just the many extremities of grief? The accumulation of too many years? Or was this the beginning of something slower and crueller? Alzheimer’s or some shit. Some fucking cordyceps variation they didn’t have a name for yet. Maybe he’d start forgetting the way back to Jackson. Maybe he already had.

He rubbed a hand across his face, dragging grit from his cheek. The salt clung to his stubble, and the ocean made his eyes sting even when the wind didn’t hit them.

A little ways off, Leela sat cross-legged on the sand, her back to the surf, little haphazard strands from her long braid slapping at her cheeks. A neat little pile of small seashells sat beside her, most of them dull with age and wear—but one, a tiny conch, recently vacated by some poor creature that hadn’t made it. It was still freshly pink inside, gleaming, faintly iridescent.

She had a needle gripped between her fingers, her brow furrowed as she carefully worked it through the shell’s spire. Every movement was methodical, like she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing, like it was all buried muscle memory. When she threaded the bit of twine through and tied a knot, she held the shell up between two fingers, inspecting, squinting at it like it was some precious thing instead of beach trash.

“For Maya,” she said quietly, flashing him a smile—small, lopsided, but real.

Joel let out a soft grunt of recognition. Awful lot of jewellery to be taking back to Jackson.

“Cute.”

He remembered that story—the one he hadn’t meant to overhear, but things stuck. Something about her old life, before Jackson, before her parents, before a child of her own. How she used to make little shell necklaces just like that one and sell them to dumb tourists along the coast back in her hometown. Overpriced junk, she’d said. That weird, lonely kind of pride people have when they remember who they used to be.

Maybe this was her way of passing it on. A sliver of childhood she could carve off and give to Maya. A small thing that said I was here. I was whole once.

He took a step closer, boots sinking into the sand, hands in his jacket pockets. “Still remember how to rip folks off, huh?”

She glanced up at him, just barely. “Who says this one’s not priceless?”

Joel smirked. “Better be. Our baby girl’s got high standards.”

That got a laugh. A real one—small, scratchy, but it cracked the stillness in a way nothing else had all day. Leela shook her head, still smiling, eyes on the necklace, watching the shell sway from its string.

A beat passed. Wind was threading through the bare bones of the city. Maybe this place had once been paradise. Joel didn’t know. All he saw now was wreckage. Absence. A ghost town choking on salt.

Behind them, far away, Ellie whooped, triumphant. “I told you, little bastard! Joel, look, that’s a motherfucking crab!”

Joel glanced over. She was crouched in the wet sand, a long stick in one hand, something small and wriggling and furious in the other. Her sleeves were shoved to her elbows, knees soaked through, hair wild in the wind. She grinned like she was twelve again. Like the world hadn’t burned down.

Another shriek from Ellie. “Holy shit—there’s more of them! A whole Jackson community!”

“Well, don’t just play with ’em. Grab a few. Might be good eatin’.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, poking one with the tip of her stick. “Eat this? Dude, it’s got, like—claws. And it’s hard as shit.”

“That’s how you know it’s good,” Joel called back, deadpan. “Hard shell means there’s somethin’ sweet inside.”

Ellie gave him a look. “Oh, hear, hear—Wordsworth over here.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Just get a few, kiddo. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if it kills me, I’m haunting your lying ass.”

Then she dropped the crab anyway, watched it scuttle sideways into the surf with all the drama of a jail break, and burst out laughing—real, unguarded. Her laugh rippled across the beach like it didn’t know how rare it was. Like it didn’t think it was a goddamn miracle.

Joel turned back to Leela. His voice dropped, not meaning to get soft but unable to help it.

“So, is this what you pictured?”

He didn’t say the beach. He didn’t mean California. Didn’t mean the long road behind them—full of blood and breath and quiet, feral hope. Didn’t even mean the life they’d clawed together with broken fingernails and dogged luck.

Leela didn’t answer right away. She just looked out toward the horizon, the sharp line where grey sea met grey skies. Where the world used to open up into possibility, into summer vacations and shipping routes and postcards with skipping dolphins. Now it looked more like an ending. A sentence with no period.

Then she shook her head, just once. “Not even close.”

But she was still holding the shell in her hand. Still tying another knot in the twine. Still smiling, just barely. And somehow, that answer—quiet, and unfinished—was more honest than anything else she could’ve said.

Joel sat down beside her, his knees cracking like firewood. The cold bled through the seat of his jeans, but he didn’t flinch. Just sat. Facing the water.

Leela didn’t.

She was turned slightly away, angled toward the sand, toward the ground, like she’d taken some quiet oath never to look at the sea again. As if it had taken something and she wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of her eyes.

Joel laid his hand over hers, careful.

She stilled.

His palm was unpolished against hers, but he could still feel the tiny shape of the shell necklace beneath it. Warm from her skin. Light as a breath.

“Joel.”

Before she could ask him to get the fuck off her, he said, “Look, I just—”

“What do you think Maya’s going to be when she grows up?”

Leela’s voice was soft, half-swallowed by the sea wind. Not wistful, not dreamy. Just plain and curious, like she was asking about the tide.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes slid back on the water—on the slow, thick roll of it, the lazy collapse of each wave as it dragged itself onto the sand. This landed hard—not because it was tragic, but because it was so normal.

And yet that question hung there. He rubbed his jaw in deep thought. That wasn’t a question people dared to ask anymore, not seriously.

Honey, what do you want to be when you grow up?

He'd asked Sarah that plenty of times. And her answer had been no-bullshit: a rockstar. He used to joke to her about it, how maybe she'd take her old man backstage one day and sign T-shirts with her primped face on it.

The world was too fucked-up now, no rulebook to follow. See, back in the old world, kids had answers ready. Doctor. Firefighter. Astronaut. Singer. Shit like that. You dreamed, you planned. You had options. Only now, the world didn’t want anything from its kids but survival. To grow up at all was a feat. To grow up and become something? That felt like a pipe dream.

Joel breathed out through his nose. He shifted in the sand, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched against the wind.

“I dunno,” he said finally. “Ain’t somethin’ I let myself think about too much. We used to imagine the future. Now we’re just glad to get through the day.”

Leela said nothing. Just waited, steady, patient, the way she always did when she knew he wasn’t finished.

A bitter little smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Baby girl’d probably be a scavenger. Some real slick trader. Hustler like her mama used to be.”

Leela huffed softly.

“Maybe a sharpshooter,” Joel added. “Takes after Ellie. Bossy as hell.”

That made her laugh again—just a little. Joel felt it in his chest like the thinnest crack of sun through stormcloud.

He kept talking, quieter now. “Could be she ends up one of those quiet ones. People listen when she speaks. Not ‘cause she’s loud—but ‘cause she means her shit. Maybe that makes her a leader. Or a target.”

He hated that last part. But it was true.

The truth was—he didn’t really care what Maya became. He just wanted her to have the space to choose between gentleness and survival. To live long, safe, and full enough to even ask that question. And he hated the world for making him think all this shit.

“And maybe she’s just alive long enough for it to matter,” he finished. “It’s enough for me.”

Leela’s fingers paused at the shell’s knot.

Joel looked over at her, and she still wasn’t looking at the sea. Her face was turned away a little, but her eyes were distant—thinking hard, probably thinking too much.

“Does it scare you?” he asked.

She blinked slowly. “What does?”

“The future,” he stated. “What she might become.”

Leela was quiet for a long time. She pulled the twine taut, tied another knot. Maybe the third one in the same place.

Then she nodded, but it wasn’t sharp. As if something she’d carried for years, only just now saying out loud.

“I just can’t have Maya become like me, Joel,” she said.

Joel didn’t say anything because he knew what she meant. And she was fucking right.

Not just Leela's impossible intellect that she carried like a blade. Not Joel's desiccating anger. Not the endless spinning logic or the obsessive calculations that had driven her across the country in a haze of grief and purpose. Not the math or the memory or the way she could see ten steps ahead while the rest of them were still tripping over the first one.

No—she meant the burden. The self-blame. The detachment. The constant need to understand everything instead of just feeling it. The survival that looked like a function but was really just a retreat.

The way Joel disconnected. The guilt that never left. The way he didn’t flinch at corpses anymore because somewhere along the way, his empathy had learned to ration itself. The way he lived in his head because that was the only place he could guarantee no one would hurt him.

And because of all the ways they taught themselves to cope—none of them were life. They were pauses. Contractions. Damage control.

She sighed. “I thought I wanted that. I did. But after everything back there…”

She nodded toward the road that led back to the university. Toward where she'd left her hopes and regrets. A whole piece of her past.

“I realised that…” She tapped her temple, fingers light, like she was knocking on the side of something hollow. “She doesn’t need this.”

He didn’t press or fill the space like he normally would with some muttered acknowledgement, because this wasn’t a moment for patch jobs.

“This saved me,” she murmured. “The logic. The focus. It’s how I kept going after—after what happened. If I could just understand enough… if I could predict things, calculate the worst-case scenario, I could keep her safe.”

Her voice tightened. Just a bit. Joel heard it.

“She deserves more than that.”

Joel’s throat was dry. He swallowed hard, barely managing. “And now?”

Leela let out a long breath. Not weary. Just… stripped bare.

“Now I just want her to scream,” Leela said. “To run fast. To fall hard. To be loud, and wrong, and stupid—and free. I want her to feel so much that she doesn’t know where to put it. I want her to hit back, punch hard, when someone corners her. Not stand there frozen, plotting some clever escape like that’s gonna save her.”

Joel’s eyes flicked toward her.

She wasn’t looking at him. Still had her gaze fixed on the necklace in her lap, the shell swinging gently as she tied and re-tied the same knot like it was muscle memory. Like if she stopped moving, she’d splinter.

And goddamn.

That’s when it landed. What she was really saying.

He’d seen people go quiet in the worst moments of their lives—seen them freeze, let it happen, disappear behind their own eyes. Not because they were weak, but because someone, somewhere, had taught them that silence was safer than screaming. That survival meant outthinking, not resisting. That pain was something to calculate your way around.

Leela had been that sort of survivor.

“I couldn’t even save myself,” she said, bitter, flat, after a beat.

The fuck kind of thing was that to say? Making it seem like it just made sense?

Joel’s fingers tightened gently around hers, unable to unclench his jaw. “That ain’t your fault,” he reassured to an extent, teeth gritting. “You sayin’ that like it was your choice.”

She said nothing. But the silence was answer enough. And Joel couldn’t sit with that.

“I don’t give a damn what you think you didn’t do,” he muttered, heat rising in his throat like bile. “Someone took... somethin’. They did that. You think being smart, or planning a way out—fuckin’ hell—none of that would’ve mattered.”

She shook her head once. Not in argument—just acknowledgement. “No. But it still happened. And I did nothing.”

Then, finally, she looked at him.

There was no shame in her eyes. Just a brutal clarity. The kind that only came from staring something dead in the face for years and deciding to live anyway.

“I know what I am, Joel. I know what it took to survive. I know what it turned me into. And I don’t want that for her.”

Joel didn’t speak right away. There was nothing to fix. Nothing to deny. He understood her too well for that. She wasn’t afraid Maya wouldn’t make it.

She was afraid Maya would—by becoming someone like her.

“Baby, she’s gonna carry us,” he said, a promise in his voice. “But she ain’t gonna be us.”

Then he reached out, covered her hand with his—rough skin on hers, grounding her.

“She’s got us, Leela,” he added, more quietly.

And he meant every word. He knew what it was to survive through retreat. To mistake numbness for control. To wear grief like armour and call it strength.

Leela didn’t flinch. But she didn’t smile either. Her face softened—like she wanted to believe him, that she was someone worth having.

“I hope so,” she said.

They sat there a while longer, the tide crawling up toward their boots whilst Ellie shouted at them about a jellyfish. Joel felt the sting in his joints when the winds picked up, faster, saltier, sharper.

He looked down at the shell again, their hands twined around it. Small. Pink. Still shining faintly inside. Something you’d pick up on a beach day with a little girl who didn’t know the world yet.

They couldn’t offer Maya that clean world they had lived in. But they could hand her a few pieces worth carrying. And she’d figure out what to build.

For one brief moment, he let himself believe his baby girl would have the chance to answer that question one day—for real.

What do you want to be when you grow up, Maya?

The fire had sunk lower to the forest floor, just embers now, red, pulsing like a heartbeat under ash. Shadows lean long against the trees. Night smells like salt and old leaves, smoke in cloth, and distant sea. Boots scuffed quietly on dirt. The silence that only came late, when everyone else was asleep, or pretending to be.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“No.”

“You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

“Night too loud? I've got headphones.”

A pause. Then: “Thanks... I'm missing home.”

“Oh. Me, too..”

“Hm. It's the longest I've been away from it.”

Another pause. “Yeah?”

“I keep wondering if I’d feel different if I got back. Things just magically change.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Fabric creaks. One of them tugs their sleeves down.

“Still mad at him?”

Pause.

“…He just left. You saw how bad it got.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And he didn’t tell me a word about the Fireflies. Or Caltech.”

“He thought he was protecting you. You know how he is.”

“That’s the problem.”

Another pause. “He said nothing. Just packed up and left. Like I’d only get in the way.”

“I know.”

“You think I meant it?”

“You sounded like you did.”

“I think I did, too. Then. I was just... so angry.”

“But now?”

A defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“Maya watches the world like he does, too. I noticed.”

“She does that because she learns from him. You can’t raise a kid halfway in, halfway out. You can’t teach them to trust and then disappear when it counts.”

“Yeah, but—” Someone exhales sharply. Tosses a pebble into the fire pit. It hisses. “He came back, didn’t he?”

“Only because we followed him.”

“He came back because he’s never gonna stop coming back. That’s the whole point of him.”

Silence. A reckoning in the dark.

“You know what he told me once?”

“What?”

“He said—he didn’t think people like us got second chances. That we ruin too much. And still, every time he looks at Maya, it’s like he believes she’s the one thing he didn’t fuck up.”

Silence.

“He loves her more than he knows how to say. But he shows it. In everything. That’s the closest someone like him gets to a promise.”

“…he still left.”

“I didn't say he's good at it. He's a goddamn dick. And he was wrong.”

The voice is calm, blunt. Not trying to win. Just telling it as it was.

“But so were you. Saying you’d take her. Like she’s a thing you can lift out of him.”

Quiet again. Then: “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just—she’s all I have. Everything good in me went to her. I had to follow him, and I have to keep her safe. Where do I win?”

“Jesus, she is safe.”

“No, I mean... he’ll break her heart someday, I know it.”

“Fuck no. Never Joel.”

“Hmph. You sound sure.”

“He didn’t break me. And the world gave him every reason to.”

Silence again. A longer moment, this time.

“Maya asks about you when you’re not there, right? She misses you. She asks for you. But when Joel’s gone? She watches the door. She won't leave it. That’s the difference.”

A breath.

“You take her away, and you’ll still have her. But she’ll never stop watching that door.”

Then the fire popped. A shift of posture. The brush of hair against cloth.

“He didn’t get to do all that before, you know. The whole marriage and two-parent household thing. Not with…”

Another breath.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you’re still thinking about kicking his ass out.”

A creaking silence.

“I’m not good at staying.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why do you?”

A small sound. Could be a laugh or a sigh. “Because he’s good at making me think I can. I’ve seen what that man does when he loves someone.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“No.”

A beat. “It really should.”

“I guess that’s the difference. I'm not scared of him. Not like you are.”

“I'm not scared of Joel.”

“Bite me.”

“It’s more about what he’d give up. For us. For her. What it would turn him into.”

“A dead man.”

No response. But from the dark—

“You think you’re protecting him?”

“I think I’m trying to keep us all breathing.”

“Well. That’s one stupid way to live.”

A rustle. Someone folding their arms. “Do you hate me?”

“What?”

“For saying all this. For thinking it.”

“Of course not. If anything, it makes you more real to me.”

“…But?”

“But if you take her from him—really take her—it’ll kill him.”

“I’m not trying to hurt him.”

The silence after that settles deeper. One of them pokes at the embers with a stick, ash dancing up like fireflies.

Then, softer: “I know. That’s why it would.”

As if into the mouth of some ancient beast, the Jackson gates shut behind them with a final clank, steel locking steel, rusting, slow, a reluctant welcome, and for a second, it sounded like a cell door closing.

Joel walked under the shadow of it and didn’t say a word.

The sun hung low on the horizon, flooding the snow-melted streets of Jackson with a weary saffron. Familiar smells maundered through the air—woodsmoke, cattle, hay, pine needles thawing on the wind. There was boisterous laughter somewhere. Hammers. And it all felt just close enough to touch, but not quite real. Like something playing behind a looking glass.

He was back.

Somehow, again, he was still standing. Luck—or stubbornness, someone up there still not ready to let him rest—was still with him. He’d gone to California half-dead and half-stupid, and still made it out. And more than that—they had come for him. Ellie. Leela. They’d followed. Chosen to come after him.

Because he was worth saving. Because someone out there still cared if he lived or died.

That part stuck like a splinter in his chest.

He barely had time to register the weight of it before Tommy was on him, hauling him into a rib-crushing hug, laughing through a wet voice.

“Goddamn, you tough bastard. You just don’t die, huh?”

“Too much to live for, baby brother.”

Joel didn’t hug back. Not at first. Then he did—hands slow, uncooperative, gripping Tommy’s shoulders like he had to feel the bones to believe this was real.

Joel pulled back from Tommy’s grip like he’d just come up for air.

The noise of Jackson started to creep back in—the call of someone on a ladder, boots on pavement, a dog yapping in the distance. All the moving pieces of life.

He turned to his brother, voice low. “Maya?”

Tommy smiled, but it was tight around the edges.

“She’s doin’ just fine,” he said. “Caught the sniffles crying her eyes out, but she’s fine.”

Joel stiffened. “She sick?”

“I said she’s fine, Joel,” Tommy said, firmer this time. “She… she just missed her daddy, is all.”

Joel looked away.

Of course she did. And he hadn’t been there. Not for her fever. Not for the nights she cried herself hoarse. Not for the mornings when she didn’t understand why he hadn’t come back. He’d walked out with nothing but a note and the ghost of an apology, like that would hold up in a house full of silence.

They passed through the main square, Joel’s boots heavy on the stone. It all looked the same; that was what struck him most. The tedium. The cruel, gutting way the world carried on like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t nearly drowned. Like Ellie hadn’t pulled him back from the brink. Like Leela hadn’t followed him into hell and back.

Like Maya hadn’t cried herself sick.

Then, they turned the corner. And there it was.

The big, white house.

For a moment, Joel took it in. How much he missed this place.

Its porch was half-shadowed, steps dusted with snow. The gate creaked in the wind. He used to hear it from the bedroom. Used to fix it every two weeks, he could never find the right hinges. Used to—

He swallowed.

It used to be a shape in the distance. Something he’d catch through the branches of the old oak tree on mornings, sitting like a clean dream against the sky. Back then, it was just a house. Then it was her house. Then his. A home that was anchored in history and laughter, and Leela’s quiet hum as she flipped a page in her notebook. Full of Maya’s shrieks, toy horses skittering across the floor, her squeaky boots thumping against the wood.

Now, it just looked... tall. Unreachable. Like he’d have to climb back up the whole goddamn mountain to get inside again.

He had left something whole and returned to find it grown in his absence, evolved without him—carved deeper, tighter, stronger. Or maybe that was just him. His fear of losing.

Tommy called out, “Maria’s up ahead—she brought baby girl down the block to get some fresh air. Cranky all goddamn morning. She won't listen to anyone unless it's me.”

“Why's that?”

He sighed. “Guess I remind her of her old man.”

Jesus Christ, this was going to hurt like a bitch.

Joel’s head lifted.

And then he saw her.

A small figure on the porch.

Standing just like she used to, on the top step—like she always did when she waited for him after patrol. One mittened hand resting on the railing, the other clutching that old stuffed horse, ears chewed and fur matted from love.

She was watching the path. Waiting. Lips trembling like her whole world had been breaking every hour they were gone.

His feet wouldn’t move.

Her curls were a little softer now, matted, darker. Her coat was buttoned crooked, boots mismatched, nose splotchy from a recovering fever and maybe something else—like she knew something was coming. Some part of her did.

He took a half-step forward and stopped himself.

Then—

“Mama!”

The word left her like a crack splitting open. Her eyes widened. Her whole body leaned forward as if pulled. Arms out. Little hands grabbing at the air.

“Mama, mama—ha—come—Mama—”

It was the kind of sound only babies could make. Too raw to fake, too loud for their size.

And she teetered on the step, wailing.

Not to him. Not even a glance.

Just attempting to barrel forward to her mother, stubby legs churning, the toy horse flopping from her hand.

Joel felt it like a bullet.

Every effort she took—away from him, toward Leela—landed heavy in his gut. It was instinct. Pure. Unforgiving. She had learned that when someone disappears, you hold tighter to the one who doesn’t. The one who stayed.

Joel barely noticed Leela rush past him, knees bending, a ghost trying to reassemble a body—and didn’t even register the blur of movement until she was halfway to the porch, arms already outstretched. Her eyes were wet but unshed, her mouth twitching like she was keeping herself stitched shut by force.

Maya crashed into her, as if her mother made her real.

“Mama, Mama…”

No trembling. No collapse.

And the sound she made then—Joel had never heard it before. Not from her. Not from any baby. It was half-relief, half-fury, all heartbreak. Like something in her had cracked wide open from the waiting.

He staggered, stopped walking altogether.

Leela lifted her, spreading kisses on her cheeks, nose and hair, rocking her like she was trying to put every second of the last few days back inside her arms. Maya’s sobs were hiccuping now, her face buried in Leela’s neck, her whole body trembling.

She pulled Maya in like she meant to disappear with her. Pressed her face into her curls, kissed the top of her head and closed her eyes like that was where all the warmth lived now, shushed her with slow, circular bounces, murmuring nonsense in that gentle, rhythmic tone only mothers had.

“It’s okay, Maya. Shh, Mama’s here now. Mama’s here.”

While Joel stood frozen on the road.

He didn’t know when his hand had clenched into a fist or when his breath had left him.

He didn’t feel anger. Not at Leela. Not even to himself. It was something deeper. Older. Like watching a life he’d dreamed of grow old without him. A desolation.

And Maya—was still crying. Still hiccupping. Her fists balled into Leela’s coat. She hadn’t even looked at him. Or maybe she had, but didn’t know what she was looking for.

He wanted to step closer. Just one more step. Reach out. Soothe her. Say something. But his feet might as well have been nailed to the frozen earth.

He had nothing in his hands. Not even the strength to say her name.

Ellie moved up beside Leela, brushing Maya’s curls back from her sticky, tear-wet face. She said something. Leela nodded. And they all began to walk up the porch steps together.

Joel didn’t follow. Not yet.

He just watched.

Watched how tightly Leela held their daughter. Watched Ellie glance back at him once, her face unreadable, before she jogged past him and followed Maria and Tommy down the road, and away.

Watched his whole life move ahead of him, step by step, without turning around.

Leela’s arms were tight around Maya’s little body, the baby’s sobs quieter now but still hiccupping against her mother’s shoulder.

All he knew was that he’d left all of this behind with nothing but a note and a mission and the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could do something that mattered. Maybe he could fix something.

He eventually trailed behind them like a ghost.

They reached the porch. Leela didn’t pause. Just hitched Maya higher on her hip, the little girl whimpering against her shoulder, and stepped inside.

Maya twisted as they crossed the threshold, her arms flailing, her cries rising in volume. A shrill pleading screech.

“Da-da! Come, come!”

“Maya,” Leela tried to shush.

“No, no! Da-da, pease!”

Her voice punched through him, sharp and high and raw.

“Da-da-da-da—...”

The door closed with a soft, final click. Over.

Somewhere inside, the baby girl's cries still carried over in fresh pricks at his pummeled heart.

Joel stood there, one foot still planted on the step below, like a man halfway to salvation and halfway to hell. He hadn’t moved. His hand—useless at his side—twitched, searching for something it had forgotten how to reach.

The latch echoed louder than any gunshot he’d heard these past weeks.

He stared at the wood grain of the door, the same one he'd walked through a hundred times before, and now couldn’t seem to approach. A stupid part of him still thought maybe it’d open again. That she’d come back, that she’d say—something. Let him hold Maya just once.

But the house stayed still.

So Joel sat. Dropped like a felled thing onto the top step, legs spreading, elbows propped on his knees, fingers pressed to his lips. Because where else did he have to go?

He stared at the dirt packed under the railings, at the porch slats he’d helped mend last summer. He wasn’t sure he had the right to look at any of this anymore.

It hurt to breathe. Not from the bruised ribs or the deep-healing wound in his side. The knowing. The understanding that he’d done this. The rot. The shame. The guilt. The want to fight Leela, argue, and bash against the door.

And when he rubbed a hand over his face, he felt it—wet.

Tears. Real fucking ones.

He stared down at the shine on his fingertips like it was a new language he didn’t speak.

Crying. Goddamn. So he was still capable of that.

After all this time. After the blood. After the fear. After the killing.

It wasn’t the pain of the trip. Not the near-drowning, not the way his ribs still clicked when he breathed too deep. Not even the damage done to Leela’s precious math notebook, still folded at the bottom of his pack like a prayer he couldn’t read.

It was this silence that used to be his favourite harmony. This porch. This big white house across the street, standing like a lighthouse in the middle of the Wyoming snow.

His big, white house.

Or maybe it never had been his. Maybe he’d only been borrowing this life. A thief in someone else’s dream.

In this big dream, he might not be welcome anymore. He’d left thinking he could prove something. That there was still good he could do. That it mattered if he bled for it. That the sacrifice would mean some shit when he brought it back.

Only now—he was just a man sitting on the porch, hands empty, spine bent like a penitent.

He was still the loser. Always had been, hadn't he? A man who couldn't hold onto what mattered, even when it was pressed into his hands. Slipping through his callused fingers, sand in an hourglass.

“Da-da.”

A tiny voice. Raw. Exhausted from crying.

He blinked. Looked down.

Two tiny fists rested against his knee, barely covering them.

She stood there—his baby girl—in her yellow footie pyjamas, curls plastered to her forehead with sweat and tears, her cheeks flushed and snotty, a fist now halfway to her mouth. A warrior, somehow. She looked like she'd marched out here on stubbornness alone.

“Up, up, Da-da,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath, lips rounded to an 'O'.

He didn’t move. His hands stayed clenched on his knees, like he wasn’t sure if they were still allowed to touch her.

He just looked at her—like he was seeing a miracle and wasn’t sure he deserved to touch it. This small miracle with her tangled hair and her crooked little mouth, trying to be brave. Her big brown eyes stared straight through him, full of a deep, solemn thing children shouldn’t carry but sometimes did.

Maya wobbled slightly, off balance, still reaching. Her coat sleeve bunched at the elbow, her fingers finding a fold of his jacket and tugging. It wasn’t strong. It wasn’t a demand. Just a little pull. A tiny act of faith.

“Pease, da-da.”

That was it.

That was all it took.

He broke. Open like a thundercloud. A dam giving way after too many winters.

No big sound. No shudder. Just a quiet, helpless noise from the back of his throat, a beam giving out in a storm, as he leaned forward, reached for her with hands that shook, that had pulled triggers and choked men and now dared to try and lift someone so little and innocent. Someone still his.

He drew her in like she was the only warmth left in the world.

She wrapped her arms around him, little boots stomping onto his ribs, one arm locked around his neck, her fingers fisting the collar of his shirt, and burrowed in like she’d never left him. Like there’d been no time apart. Like he hadn’t abandoned her.

She just clung. The way babies always do. She didn’t care about the mess. Her dainty love hadn’t learned conditions yet.

His throat narrowed, his chest hitched once, sharp—then again, then again. He dropped his face into the crook of her neck and let it come, loosening that lock in him that had been latched since Sarah died. The kind of crying that doesn’t make sound, that just happens. Tears soaking into the fabric of her coat, into her hair, into his beard. He breathed her in like it might fix something, might make him whole.

“I got you, baby girl,” he sniffed.

She smelled like cinnamon. Like sleep. Like their kitchen in the mornings when Leela was fresh from her shower, Maya would toddle in and reach for a bite of breakfast with both hands.

She smelled like everything he’d fought for. Everything he might’ve lost.

Maya leaned back slowly, the softest untangling of her arms, her tiny body still half-draped over his chest. She blinked at him, her brows drawn close in a look far too serious for her little face. Her mouth tugged slightly downward, curious and concerned all at once.

Joel tried to smile for her. Tried to smooth his face. “I'm okay, it's okay.”

But she saw it anyway. The tears, still clinging to his lashes, streaked into his beard.

She stared, her little hand floating uncertainly in the air between them, fingers flexing like she knew there was something she was supposed to do but wasn’t quite sure how.

Then—clumsily, earnestly—she reached up and touched him, just one little hand against his cheek.

Joel looked from her eyes to her palm.

So small, it barely registered, but he felt the gentle tap, the warm pressure. He felt her try to wipe it—like she’d seen done before—dragging her palm across his stubble, awkward, too hard, leaving a streak of baby drool behind.

She sniffed. Then tried again, this time gentler. The way her mama would do it.

“Mm-mm, no,” she told him.

And then—her other hand went to his hair.

A soft, patting motion. Adorable, pure toddler comfort. No finesse, no words.

She looked at him like she was waiting for him to stop crying. Like she believed he could. That he should. Because Mama always did, when she wiped Maya’s tears. Because after the tears came warm arms. And sometimes applesauce.

Joel let out a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob—just breath. Cracked, quiet. “You takin' care of me?”

His hand cupped the back of her head. His forehead rested against hers, their noses nearly touching. Her fingers were still in his hair.

“Da-da, no, no,” she resonated.

Joel’s heart clenched again—but differently this time. More like remembering what it was for. Beating for her. Alive for this.

He kissed her temple, the warmth of her skin soaking through his bones.

For a moment, the world held still.

No howling wind. No boots on snow. No years of silence pressing down between now and what he’d lost. Just this: the tiny weight of her heart against his chest. Her trust, folded into his jacket like a brass button or her mama's ring in his pocket.

The floorboard behind him creaked.

Joel didn’t lift his head. He felt her before he saw her. The air changed when Leela entered a space—like some internal pressure recalibrated. Softer, but tighter. She didn’t take up more room than she needed, never had. But somehow, her presence always rearranged it.

She stepped to the railing beside him and leaned, arms resting along the wood. The porch light behind her cast a low, golden ring along her dark, frizzed-out hair on her shoulders. The fire inside flickered behind the curtains.

She said nothing at first. Just looked at him. Looked at them.

Like she was trying to map it out—this man, this child, this picture she couldn’t quite trust yet, this picture that didn’t match the one she’d carried around for too long—of absence, of damage, of a man who left too much behind.

Joel didn’t look at her straight on. His eyes stayed on the horizon past the railing, that dim stretch of pine and powder blue, mountains against the dusk that bled into dark. He could feel her gaze, though. The questions in it. The ache. The absence they were both pretending didn’t sit between them like a third body.

“Joel,” she murmured, the first ripple on still water.

He swallowed. His arms tightened almost instinctively around Maya, who shifted with a faint hum, fist tucked against her mouth once more.

“Just let me hold her for a bit,” he said. It came out low, like an apology, or a prayer through gritted teeth.

A breath passed. Then, quietly—

“You can hold her as long as you want.”

He finally looked at her. Her face was turned to the dark, but he could see the fine edge of exhaustion there. Not the kind that came from no sleep—but from too many nights spent enduring what no one saw.

Her voice was softer when she added, “Do you want to shower first?”

Joel blinked, the words hitting him sideways. What a normal fucking thing to say. So regular.

His mind fumbled with it—like she'd offered him a cup of coffee in a warzone. Like there hadn’t been a canyon gaping between them only days ago, carved out by silence and anger and too many things said too late.

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. Almost. But the sound got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled with something older and harder.

The wind stirred again, tugging at the hem of her sweater. She didn’t smooth it down. Just let it flutter around her thighs like she didn’t feel the cold.

“Leela,” he said, low, worn, like gravel under tired boots.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak right away. Just leaned a little further into the porch railing, her fingers curled loose around the wood. Shoulders rising. Falling.

Quieter this time—less like she believed it, more like she needed to—“Come inside, Joel.”

Not an invitation. Not a plea. Just something said because it had to be. Like muscle memory. Like faith said out loud.

“You don’t belong anywhere else.” A beat. Then, “And it’s cold outside.”

Joel looked down at the little girl in his arms. Maya’s cheek was pressed to his chest, her lips parted, her breath warm through his shirt. Her small hand clung to the collar of his jacket like she thought he might still disappear if she let go.

He felt it again—his daughter. His reminder. His consequence.

She came to me, he thought. She still comes to me.

Even now. After everything.

He shifted his weight and rose, careful not to jostle Maya. His knees ached. That old pain in his spine flared, but he barely felt it. She was heavier than he remembered. That, too, was a gift.

Across from him, Leela didn’t move. She didn’t offer him a hand. Didn’t clear the way. But she didn’t block it, either.

The door behind her stayed open.

Oh, here they were again.

Same porch. Same house. Same damn man, more or less.

But different. He wasn’t pounding on the door this time. Wasn’t driven half-mad by a baby that wouldn’t stop crying. He wasn’t walking in blind and bitter and ready to do a good thing just to silence a bad one.

Now he carried that baby in his arms. His baby. His girl.

And Leela—she was the one with the door now. Not just the one behind him. The one she kept closed for years, locked and latched and bolted from the inside, because too many people had barged through without asking.

Joel stepped forward.

Not past her. Not through her. To her.

The space between them was close. Intimate. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough to feel her breath ghosting warm in the cold.

She turned her head, finally. Just enough to see him.

Their eyes met. A half-second. A heartbeat.

There was no forgiveness in that look. Only recognition. And maybe—God help them both—want. A bit of love. Still there, under the rubble and the ruin.

He didn’t say, Thank you. Couldn’t. Didn’t think they’d be enough if he did. And she didn’t say, Welcome home.

When he stepped through the door beside her, the warmth met him like a memory.

As he crossed the threshold, this time he came to carry it all. To be part of it.

Maya stirred in his arms, murmuring something soft and wordless. Her thumb found her mouth again. Her head dropped against his shoulder like she knew this place of hers. Like her little body remembered what his mind kept trying to forget.

Joel blinked hard, the air in his lungs thick.

It was the same spot he’d once stood when he almost didn’t come back. When he’d looked at Leela in that doorway and thought about forgetting this ever happened.

Now she stood just behind him. A quiet key turning in an old, rusted lock.

And he thought: This is how it happens. Not with a grand gesture. Not with a reckoning or a flood of apologies. Not with big dreams of another life coming crashing down.

But like this.

A door not closed in anger. A man not barging in. A home not yet reclaimed, but not lost either.

Step by step. Word by word. Warmth bleeding slowly into cold skin.

Not a finish line or a full repair.

A place to start again.

One last time.

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cxrrodedcoffin · 10 months ago

Text

Rock Me - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer decides to surprise Rockstar!Reader on the road after one of her tour stops, so they fuck each other’s brains out.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I made my first custom fic header! I really wanted to capture the vibe I was picturing for this so I hope y’all like it! Decided to combine my love of music with my love for Spencer Reid, I was def picturing the vibes of The Pretty Reckless and In This Moment for the kind of band reader is the frontwoman of, reader plays the bass guitar because I always wanted to play bass when I was younger lol. Very short outro cuz I felt like it was getting a little too long lol, p.s. yes the title is a one direction song, fight me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: sub!spencer, mommy kink, established relationship, lots of teasing, playfully mean dom!reader, degradation, pet names, unprotected sex, penetration, afab + fem reader, slight alcohol mention, cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob, typical criminal minds level violence at the beginning.

Rating: R, 18+

——

You were a force of nature. Spencer knew that from the moment the team walked into that concert venue in search of a serial killer targeting high profile rock musicians. Your voice captivated him, strong melodies reverberating inside his mind, snaking around his every thought, he was hypnotized like a sailor drawn to your siren song.

When the unsub ran on stage and held a knife to your throat, Spencer’s heart stopped, until you used the headstock of your bass to uppercut the criminal, forcing him to drop the knife and stumble back into your bandmate’s drum set. You weren’t going to wait for someone to rescue you no matter what you were ordered to do, your fate was in no one’s hands but your own.

That was the moment Spencer knew he had to have you, and he’d do whatever it took to see you as often as possible. He spent the next six months bouncing back and forth across the country, from whatever state the latest case was in to wherever your next tour stop was. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Now, as he waited anxiously on your tour bus with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand ready to surprise you, he found his mind wandering back to every dirty encounter the two of you had leading up to this. He catered to your every whim, falling to his knees to eat you out whenever you asked, in your dressing room before a show, in the bathroom on the moving tour bus, even side stage right after you’d just finished performing, smelling like smoke and sweat, ripping your fishnets so he could devour your cunt on top of an amp.

What the two of you had was utterly filthy, and he loved every second of it. You hadn’t given him the pleasure of properly fucking you yet, but that’s not to say you disregarded his pleasure all together, far from it. You loved to let him put on a show for you, sitting on the bench across from him on the bus as you watched his brow furrow, his large hand fisting his cock impossibly slowly as you talked him through masturbation, reveling in the way he whimpered when you finally gave him permission to cum, shooting a massive load all over his lightly toned stomach.

He felt free with you, like he could lull the constant noise in his head for a short while and just be whatever you wanted in the moment, whether that be a loving boyfriend who’d hold you and let you bitch to your heart's content about your in-ears malfunctioning during the show, or a mere tool for your pleasure, he was content.

But right now, he was really, really hoping you’d use him like your own personal sex toy.

You raised your bass in the air, screaming an enthusiastic ‘goodnight!’ into your mic before running off stage, desperate to rip your clothes off and cool down after sweating your ass off under the stage lights for the last hour and a half.

You handed off your gear to the sound techs before saying congratulatory goodbyes to your band mates, making as close to an irish exit as you could, shaking off any fleeting guilt you had about it knowing you’d do the whole thing over again together in a couple days when you arrived in the next city.

You grabbed your bag from your dressing room, taking a couple snacks for the road from the basket the venue provided in accordance with your rider before heading out to the bus, ready to take a cold shower as soon as possible. You yanked open the bus door handle, climbing the short steps into the central seating area, nearly dropping your bag when you finally saw him.

“Spence!” You cheered, a little too giddy to see your boy wonder. You quickly tossed your bag aside and straddled his lap, taking his face in your hands and crashing your lips to his in an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue danced with his, desperate to taste him after two weeks of no physical content. Spencer had sent you as many tribute videos as you’d asked for while you were apart, but it just wasn’t the same as getting to feel him.

When you pulled away, the deep red of your lipstick was smeared across his plush lips, and you would’ve giggled if the sight hadn’t turned you on so much. He really was so pretty, you absolutely understood why his teammates nicknamed him pretty boy. You kissed him one more time on the cheek, placing a perfect kiss print on his soft skin before reaching for the flowers he’d brought you. You took in the fresh floral scent, admiring the flora for a moment before thanking him and getting up to put the stems in the neck of an empty liquor bottle in lieu of a vase.

“I’ve missed you.” He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched your handiwork over your shoulder.

“Not more than I missed you.” You challenged, setting the makeshift floral arrangement on the small countertop. You turned to face him, your platform boots putting you right at his eyeline. He may have been taller than you but that didn’t stop the hold you had over him.

“It doesn’t have to be a competition.” He laughed, pulling you closer.

“But it does Spence, do you know how many times I got off stage and wished you were there to see the killer show we put on?” You were earnest, something only he seemed to be able to pull out of your usually headstrong facade.

“Ah, every show you put on is extraordinary, watching you is transcendent, you’re otherworldly up there, even on what you consider your bad days.” He praised, showering you with his famously flowery language. You felt a special appreciation for it, because despite the messy rocker chick stereotype, you held a life-long love of literature close to your heart.

“God, you are so whipped!” You teased, lightly pushing at his chest. Despite your deflection, the blush creeping across your cheeks showed him just how much his words meant to you.

“Maybe, but I know you love it.” He called your bluff and the back and forth was starting to stir something in you that needed attention, now.

“You know what I missed the most?” You asked, unable to keep your eyes off of his mouth.

“What?” He knew where you were going with this but needed to hear the words from your perfect lips.

“Seeing you cum all over your stomach live and in person.” Your sultry tone sent blood rushing straight to his cock, eidetic memory pulling clips of your mutual masturbation to the front of his mind.

“W-what if I came somewhere else tonight?” He stumbled over his words, having a hard time maintaining eye contact as he asked the awkwardly worded question.

“Like where?” You played dumb, exaggeratingly tilting your head and twirling your hair around your finger.

“Inside you.” He whispered, gaze locked on the wall behind you.

“Hmm I didn’t quite hear that, can you repeat it for me?”

“Inside you, I want to fuck you.” He blurted out, lipstick-stained cheeks burning bright red in embarrassment. You took his chin between your fingers, forcing him to look at you as you pondered your next move.

“I have a mountain of fan mail full of guys begging for the opportunity to fuck me, what makes you think you deserve it more than any of them?” You prompted, watching the way his features contorted in reaction to your somewhat harsh question.

“You’re being mean.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, brown irises glazing over as a lump formed in his throat. Despite how sad the thought made him, it also had his bulge straining even harder against his pants than it already had been.

“I know baby, but you’ve gotta prove how badly you want this, I’m not just going to give you the privilege without earning it.”

You could see the wheels turning in his head, no doubt debating what he could do to demonstrate his worth to you. His demeanor started to shift, holding eye contact as his shoulders straightened, practically puffing out his chest.

“I think I’ve already proven myself to you, given that you’ve cum on my tongue more times than you could count.” This sudden surge of confidence from Spencer was unexpected, but something about it had you hungrier for him than ever.

“Fair, although I do think that eidetic memory of yours gives you an unjust advantage.” You teased, a small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. You took a step forward, closing what small gap was left between the two of you before bringing your hand to graze over his bulge. He let out a breathy whimper, pupils dilating as you applied slight pressure to his almost painfully hard member.

“I’ll do whatever you want, I just need you to touch me.” He breathed, bucking into your hand. You began to undo his belt, pushing him back until he fell back onto the leather bench. You loomed over him, low cut top giving him a face full of cleavage as you worked to slide his pants down just enough to free his aching cock. You moved to straddle his lap, sitting back on his thighs to leave ample space to toy with his member.

“Can you be a good boy for me?” You purred, starting to pump your spit-covered hand up and down his shaft.

“God yes.”

“Yes, what?” You stared him down, watching his lips part with a gentle moan.

“Yes Mommy.” The groan ripped from his throat, prominent veins framing his adam's apple.

“That’s right baby, let mommy take care of you.” You kissed his cheekbone, then his jawline, admiring the way your crimson lipstick contrasted against his pale complexion as you worked your hand over his cock, feeling every curve and contour of his thick veins against your palm.

“Take off your shirt.” You ordered, your free hand skirting under his layered vest and button-up to feel his abdominal muscles flex with every shallow breath he took. He did his best to quickly undress, lifting the vest over his head before shaky hands began unbuttoning each adornment, finally shaking off the garment and exposing his bare chest.

You trailed your kisses down his neck, peppering lip prints across his chest, stopping periodically to suck and nip until dark red and purple bruises bloomed over his skin. You could tell he was holding back, front teeth biting into his bottom lip to stifle his sighs.

“Spencer, I need to hear you.” You bring your hand to a stop, waiting for him to release his lip from the bite before starting up your movements again. You brought your other hand down to cup his balls, gently massaging them as you increased your speed, rotating your wrist to maximize the stimulation against his increasingly sensitive shaft.

The moans and whimpers falling from his lips grew louder, his mind abandoning all inhibitions as his approaching orgasm clouded his judgment.

“You’re so loud, the rest of the band is in the bus right next to ours, do you want them to hear how big of a whore you’re being right now?” You teased, snapping him out of his love-drunk stupor.

“I-I thought you wanted me to-“ He stuttered out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re right sweet boy, I want them to hear exactly how good I make you feel.” You cut him off, a wicked grin spread across your face as you focused your movements on the tip of his cock, your thumb smearing the pre-cum dripping from his slit all over the swollen head. His moan caught in his throat, breathing becoming increasingly labored until one final twist of your hand had him falling over the edge.

“Mommy!” He cried out, his thighs flexing as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach. You slowed your movements just slightly, milking him for all he has. You took your free hand and picked up some of his spend on your fingers before bringing them to his parted lips, prompting him to suck them clean. He does as he’s told, utterly shameless about everything he does for you.

“You’re such an obedient slut Spencer, I love it.” You praised, pulling him into another heated kiss. You pulled away, watching him catch his breath and look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky.

“I think you’re ready for me, if you’re up for it.” His eyes went wide at your proposal, his heart feeling as though it could beat right out of his chest.

“Yes, yes, I just need a minute.” He panted, his cock already semi-hard again.

“Take your time sugar, I’m gonna take a quick shower.” You patted his cheek before rising off of his lap and walking to the small bus bathroom, stripping out of your black latex mini dress and shredded fishnets to wash off the sweat and body shimmer from your time on stage tonight. You didn’t bother removing your makeup, too excited to finally have Spencer’s perfect cock inside of you to waste any time.

He didn’t need to know how badly you wanted him, the cat and mouse game the two of you played was unlike anything you’d ever had before and it beyond satisfied you to know how much power you willingly held over him, and how much pleasure you mutually received from it.

When you finished scrubbing down you made your way to your small bedroom at the back of the bus, finding Spencer ready and waiting for you on your bed. He was laying nude on top of the comforter, messy strands of hair resting against his forehead, pillow sitting in his lap as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch for you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He greeted you, watching as you rubbed body lotion over your skin. When you reached your chest, you spent a little extra time kneading the lotion into your breasts, putting on a bit of a show for him. He loved all of you, that much you were sure of, but he always had a special appreciation for your breasts.

He’d find any opportunity to lay his head on your chest while you laid in bed together on your off days, watching Doctor Who and nerding out over through lines and plot holes alike. It was days like those that had you really falling for him, your souls finding ways to both mesh with and contradict each other in a perfect harmony.

“You’re too sweet to me.” You smiled at him, rubbing the last bit of lotion into your skin before walking to the end of the bed. You reached forward, observing as his eyes went straight to your chest when you bent over to pull the pillow away from his lap. His cock stood straight up, bobbing slightly. A deep blush creeped over his cheeks, his shyness endearing, especially given that you had just had your hand wrapped around him twenty minutes ago.

“Do you want to be on top, sweetheart?” The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, he just figured you’d be the one in control of the whole thing, but the thought of hovering over you, getting to have a perfect view of your hair all splayed out over the pillows, your face contorted in pleasure, had goosebumps rising over his skin.

“If that’s what you want.” He surrendered, always looking to please you. You nodded, climbing onto the bed to lay down, waiting for him to reposition himself between your legs. He knelt there, reaching to grab the pillow from the end of the bed, bringing it behind your thighs. You understood what he was silently requesting, lifting your hips to allow him to slide the pillow underneath.

“Where’d you learn that, wonder boy?” You giggled, propping yourself up by your elbows to watch him.

“I read that it can ease the tension on the lower back created by repeated movement during intercourse, I want you to be comfortable.” He explained, bleeding heart showing once again. You nodded, smiling at him. His fingers slid up your thigh, pausing at the apex before dipping into your folds, his digits welcomed by your warm arousal.

“Y-you’re so wet already.” The look of amazement on his face amused you, as if he was somehow completely unaware that you were, in fact, truly attracted to him.

“Spencer, believe it or not, I actually do enjoy our time together.” You teased, raising your knees to your chest to give him a better view of your cunt. His features softened, your joking easing his nerves as he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

“Can I start?” He asked, positioning his hips just above yours.

“Yes baby, go slow.” You locked eyes with him, pushing a strand of hair away from his face. He brought his cock to your cunt, rubbing the head through your folds before tapping it against your clit a few times, making absolutely positive that you were relaxed enough. He positioned his head at your entrance, slowly pushing forward until his head popped into your welcoming hole.

“Stop.” You commanded, voice firm. His eyes widened in panic, freezing his movements.

“W-what’s wrong? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He rambled, fear in his tone.

“I’m okay Spencer, I just want you to stay like that until I say otherwise.” He could hear the amusement in your tone and although he was no longer concerned, confusion quickly replaced it.

“Why?” He questioned, apprehensively obeying your request.

“I’m just doing whatever I want, just like you asked me to. I want to see if you can resist your urges.” He was almost annoyed, knowing that this was another one of your power plays, but the shiver that ran up his spine told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

So he stayed there, wincing every time you clenched your pelvic muscles around his tip, trying to break him. You knew it wouldn’t work, he was the definition of obedient, but it was oh so fun to watch him squirm in anticipation. After a good five minutes you decided you’d had enough, ready to let him fill you.

“You are so deliciously pathetic.” You laughed lightly, pulling him down into a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand snaking up your stomach to grope your breast. Your nipple hardened against his palm, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“Move, Spencer.” You finally gave him permission, your hand tangling in his messy locks. He pushed further into you, his thick girth stretching your walls in a way that had you begging for more.

“So tight.” He moaned, pausing to just feel the way your pussy hugged him before pulling out and thrusting quickly back into you, his eyes shut tight in concentration.

“Look at me.” You moaned, needing to see the pleasure in his beautiful eyes. His eyelids fluttered open, catching your gaze as he found a steady rhythm inside of you. Each thrust of his hips made the filthiest sound, wet slapping skin mixing with both of your moans, his whines and whimpering music to your ears.

The pillow beneath you made for the perfect angle, allowing the veins on this cock to rub deliciously against your sweet spot. He grabbed the side of your face, his mouth practically devouring you as he swallowed your moans. When we pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips fell to your chest, and without hesitation he dipped his head down to lick it up, repeating your earlier actions as me marked your chest, working his way to your breasts.

He increased his speed, pumping in and out of you at an animalistic pace, his mouth finding your nipple and sucking hungrily. You threw your head back into the pillows, your hands finding his back and your acrylics digging into his delicate skin. You scratched up his back, surely drawing blood and for a split second you worried you’d taken it too far, until he moaned loudly against your chest.

“I’m gonna cum.” He panted, shifting so his face was above yours again. He looked to you for permission, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“No, not until you beg for it.” You told him, digging your nails into his back again. He slowed his pace just slightly, his free hand finding your clit and rubbing quickly over it, hoping it would soften your conviction just a little.

“Please let me cum, I need it.” He weakly pleaded, his actions growing increasingly desperate.

“Come on baby, I know you can do better than that.” You encouraged him, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. He whimpered, hanging his head for a moment to center himself.

“Please Mommy!” He groaned, watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

“Do it, fill up Mommy’s cunt Spencer.” You finally allowed him to let go, getting in a few more hard thrusts before his hips stuttered, his cock twitching and coating your walls with his warm cum. The feeling of his warmth deep inside coupled with his hand on your clit sent you over the edge, every nerve in your body on fire as the tension in your core dispersed through your body, the pleasure washing over you in waves.

When you both came down from your highs, Spencer collapsed face down on the bed next to you, his head turned to face you.

“I love you.” He whispered, half hoping he’d said it low enough that you hadn’t heard.

“I love you too, Spence.” You returned the favor, any fear he had immediately dissipating with the mutual confession.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #sub!spencer #mommy k!nk #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mine #my writing

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skay-ali · 7 months ago

Text

The sacrifice of a poor broken soul

The ideas just come to my head, I can't help it.

Another neglected reader, it's just an idea.

You were a fool.

You should never have made such a decision.

Leaving your home, to attend whatever plans your silly but dear friends have.

It was a routine that you had started in your life, but now you did nothing but curse for having followed it.

But you needed it, to get out of your "home", to forget your family for a moment, to stop acting as if you were actually a happy family who love each other.

Love, you never saw that, maybe between them, but you were never part of it.

It doesn't bother you much, when you first arrived in your new home, you may have felt it, a lot of resentment and hatred, but you got over it as you grew up.

There were more fish in the water, you told yourself, enough to start a new family.

One that won't force you to act like everything is fine at home, not one that will make you pretend that you know each other so well, that you are the best siblings and the best father in the world.

You were tired of smiling at every damn gala they forced you to attend, along with them, your beautiful family, you were tired of being ignored by them all the time, of course unless they were in the public eye.

When you just received an invitation to attend a concert, you gladly accepted and left the big house.

The sunset on this day was great, an advantage of being autumn, it was a preamble to the great concert you would attend.

The landscape changed a little this month, the buildings, whether small or large, had decoration due to the holiday that was around the corner.

The high volume of the music greeted you, when you met your friends they quickly went to drink a glass of the special drink that was playing on this outing, a game they started when they got tired of always drinking the same liquor, drinking something new every time. meeting they had.

They got as close as they could to the stage, where from time to time different bands or some singers performed, you danced with your friends in the improvised circle they formed, many times you let yourself be carried away by the songs, jumping until you ran out of air or spinning like a carousel with one of your friends until you get dizzy.

Everything changed in the blink of an eye, some hands discreetly took you away from the others.

You tried to fight, moving away with all the strength you had, but the hands that pulled you did nothing but squeeze you even harder until your arms were left bruised and in pain.

You ended up inside a van.

You could see some people, dressed in red capes, among them was a rock group that had performed at the concert.

They covered your mouth with a very strong adhesive tape, they tied your hands and feet, even with that they did not ignore blindfolding you.

You were terrified, especially because of what the whole group was up to.

Everything was strange, very scary, you were lost, you weren't going to get out of this, your friends were so drunk that they probably forgot about you, or they probably thought that you were bored and decided to go home.

They were the only ones who could do something about your disappearance, you cursed yourself for that, you didn't expect anyone in your house to notice it, to begin with your whole family attended a big meeting that took place a few days ago because of the events that took place at different times.

You weren't even sure that when they came back they would notice that you were missing.

You breathed, trying to maintain your composure, you needed to calm down, it would be easier to think with a cool head, and not filled with despair.

A way out of such a situation, without you making your kidnappers very angry and planning to get rid of you, without you having gone far enough out of their reach.

All those supposed plans were interrupted.

As soon as they arrived at a place, they took you out of the car. only to throw you in a place without any care, the impact was painful which made you end up lying down trying to catch your breath and relieve the pain.

You heard their voices very close to you, it was as if they were surrounding you.

It took you by surprise when hands grabbed you and left you unable to move.

You wanted to scream, protest, tell them to leave you, that you would do anything if they let you out, you had a lot of money, I would give it to them you didn't care, after all it was just a basic compensation for the bad family you had.

But you suddenly felt like something pierced your stomach, it was just an instant, an enormous pain ran through your body, no matter how much you screamed, only moans of pain came out of your taped mouth.

Blood, it was blood that you felt draining from your stomach, this was horrible, even with a small movement in the stomach, the pain became twice as bad.

You hoped that would be the last thing, you would have a knife stuck in your stomach until you ran out of blood and died.

No, that wasn't the case, they continued with the torture, they sang again.

They removed the knife from your stomach quickly, in that same way the blood began to flow.

You felt like something stuck in your chest, right in your heart... everything became blacker than before.

You didn't feel your body anymore. no.. noo.. they killed you.

You couldn't even see your life pass before your eyes, you couldn't see your mother again.

"You are my new vessel" a voice was suddenly heard.

"I give a little credit to those useless people, they finally achieved something" his tone was sharp and full of grace, as if everything was funny to him.

A light, you noticed it, along with some footsteps, and a shadow that was getting bigger and bigger.

You trembled with fear, you still didn't know how that was possible, they hadn't already killed you.

"Tell me what is your name?" The voice was directed towards you this time, or at least that's what you think since you don't see anyone next to you.

"Please, I... I... no..." You didn't even know what to ask anymore, you were speechless because of what was happening, much more about your situation, asking him to live... you were already dead, since that dagger entered your Sweetheart, it's all over for you, asking him for mercy and not killing you was no longer an option.

"What do you want from me?" sobbing with fear.

"ahhgg complicated humans, I asked for your name not for you to ask questions" his tone was filled with irritation.

"____" you left quickly, avoiding sobbing.

"Oh what a peculiar name..." Silence began to reign, you no longer heard the voice of the demon, only a silhouette, very tall, the red light behind that thing illuminated the entire black space that surrounded you.

You placed some horns on the head of the thing that was talking to you... if that was so, it must have had a... tail, indeed it did.

"You're a demon, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, the best you could ever meet in your miserable, short life... oh sorry, what did you meet in your short, miserable life" he mocked you.

"What do you want from me?" a valid question, it surprised you how you were able to speak, after many tears and moans of pain, it was strange that you were still standing figuratively because you were sitting on the floor.

only silence, was what came from his address,

"Please tell me what you want, I'm so scared of everything that's happening to know the reason why they killed me?" you pleaded desperately.

A grimace was the first thing you heard, "yes, well, I haven't welcomed you or introduced myself."

"first welcome to my compound ____"

"My name is §§§§§§§ enchanted"

You didn't understand his name but you weren't going to intervene and put yourself in more danger by saying such a thing.

"I brought you here to introduce myself... I needed to meet my vessel after all" hearing those words scared you... vessel... perhaps him.

"From now on your body is mine, so I can use it like a puppet whenever I want... but don't be scared, it's just a means to achieve my ends" You gulped at his words, like your body was his, a puppet said, that means either he was going to control you for his plans, or he would take you out of your body and he would be the new bearer.

The tears that little by little dried up returned to your face, due to the horror of your new reality.

"You've had enough of crying, your life is not over yet" the figure walked again.

You didn't notice how with each new step closer to your position, his height became smaller.

Some hands rested on your legs... they were so small. When you looked up you saw it... a demon, or a pet demon... it was small, just like a cat.

A miniature demon ended your life... you sobbed more because of that.

"Stop crying" he raised his voice.

You stopped scared.

"You can still live, I need someone to take care of my new body while I make my body... who better than its old owner" You wanted to see him with the worst face you had but you were still in danger if you offended him.

"why...why would I do that?"

"It's what I offer you or stay and suffer in my domain" he said it with great indifference.

"You should take advantage of the opportunity I gave you, in fact if you manage to follow all my orders I will compensate you... how about taking revenge on those who ended your life" his voice became a whisper at the end... as if it were a secret. It reminded you of the television shows when a demon would whisper evil things to someone to make them commit it.

You accepted the deal after thinking about it, you were afraid of staying in this terrifying place, it was better to play along with the devil. His matiatic laugh when you oiled him and squeezed your hands, made your blood run cold, but... what other option did you have.

the griots still sounded in your head, even if everything became silent. The blood covered your body, you had the knife still open in your stomach.

But that new voice in your brain assures you that it is not a problem, your new boss would make sure you still lived.

If that demon settled in your head.

In your hands you had a black cat, the devil was not interested in entering your head, but he also appeared in the form of a cat... to torment you.

You felt like your body was getting more and more tired, tiredness was catching up with you.

The smell of metal also reigned in your nose, no matter what you did it still lingered in you.

It was because of your body bathed in blood, not only that of your wound but also that of your murderers and victims.

You still didn't remember what happened, only that they died by your hands.

You walked a lot, you still didn't understand how you endured it.

The night was ending and with that a new day, the sky was still a little dark but you could already notice the sun's rays becoming present.

A car stopped near you, an adult woman, with some gray hair visible behind the car, behind her a man with the same age as the woman.

They looked at you worried, hoping to get a reaction from you... but you couldn't anymore, the tears had already run out, as had your voice, or you simply had nothing to say, you already accepted what happened...

In a short time, police sirens were heard in the distance. while the adult woman next to you tried to comfort you..

#x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #platonic batfam

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multi-stays · 2 months ago

Text

The Peacock

Paring: Dom!Stripper!Minho X Sub!Male!Reader

Genre: Smut/18+ MDNI

Summary: You always admired The Peacock’s sexy moves on the strip pole from afar but tonight, Changbin has different plans for you.

Note: Made a lot of last-minute changes to this or it would have been out sooner, also Changbin (My Pookie) is a character. Listened to a lot of “Girl in Red” whilst writing :)

Masterlist

✨💜Warnings below the cut💜✨

Proofread: TeeHee<3 Nope

Warnings: Dead Dove: Don’t Eat, Urolagnia, unprotected sex, spit play, kissing (mouth, body, nipples, etc), dirty whore Lee Know, mentions of alcohol, eating/licking cum and urine, groping, humping, *tw* consensual rape (it’s confusing but it’s how I wrote it), Lee Know in heels, super gross, pet names/praise, cussing….Lmk if there are more, enjoy!

Blaring music, flashing lights, the gross smell of alcohol, and half-naked people. All the sights and sounds of your favorite strip club to go to. Not only was it your favorite because your best friend Changbin ran the place and you got away with whatever you wanted. But also because of him, The Peacock. You came to know his real name was Minho from Changbin and he loved messing with you about how much you liked him.

“Eyeing up them tail feathers aren't ya,” “ bet I know why he named himself The Peacock,” he would tease.

But tonight was different in more ways than one. Typically Minho would be on the center stage, every night till dawn. Then at the end of the night, the curtains would close and he'd be taken under the floor into his dressing room. Tonight he was in the side cage and only doing half of his normal routine. “He must be hurt!” you thought to yourself, then you seen Changbin.

“Looking extra sexy tonight my friend,” he said twirling you around to eye up your curves in the satin shirt you put on.

Changbin pulled you in close, pecking a small kiss on your cheek then sat down on the stool across from you.

“You've probably noticed I put your friend in the side cage for tonight, but I have a good reason,” he said swirling the ice around in his glass.

“So you put him there! I thought he was hurt,” you said with a sigh. Relieved he wasn't hurt but now you had a bigger question. Why? He was Changbin’s best performer and everyone paid a high price to see him.

“He's saving his energy so he can give you his all in the solo performance I got you with him,” he said smirking through the glass, as he took a small sip from his drink. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, you knew Changbin was up to no good.

“I'm sorry. You did what?!” your mind was racing fast and your heart even faster. He actually expected you to go to a private room with The Peacock and keep yourself from passing out.

“He said he's noticed you before and he thinks you're cute,” he said glancing over at Minho who was dancing with money being thrown between the bars.

“Room five. He’ll be waiting and he doesn't like being kept waiting,” he said with a wink, then he left.

You didn't know whether to go in or just leave a note saying it was a mistake. But Changbin told you he said he thought you were cute. That sunk in your mind deeply and penetrated through everything else.

You thought you looked pretty sexy tonight and with what confidence you had, you decided to go.

Opening the door you could tell Changbin had your room dazzled up. It was one of the bigger rooms so it had everything in it. Lights, a big bed with red pillows, a strip pole, and a random chest. Upon opening the chest you were met with lube, dildos, and all kinds of other sex toys.

You were relieved you made it into the room before he did but you were definitely not doing tonight sober. So you took an old scotch off the top shelf of the pretty glass cabinet and poured yourself a drink.

You sat down on the edge of the bed surprised by the velvet bedspread, it felt nice and very expensive. You tried your best to calm yourself before he came but before you could you heard the clicking of heels against the marble floor and knew that could only be one person.

Autumn red hair, a black Gucci t-shirt, and the cutest pair of red striped stockings you've ever seen accompanied with his signature Peacock heels. God was he sexy.

He stared at you from the doorway, smirking at you devilishly with those eyes of his. Your body could feel them dragging along all your curves and instantly you could feel the heat start to rise on your face.

He waltzed over to the pole, clearly in control and clearly confident of his body movements. He swayed his hips so seductively as he straddled the pole, pressing it between his ass cheeks.

“What’ll it be tonight hun, a dance?” he asked wiggling his butt as he arched his back on the pole.

“Or a lap dance?” your breath hitched in your throat and your body stiffened. Just the thought of him touching you had you hard as a rock. You crossed your legs hoping he wouldn't notice but his sharp cat eyes that peered at you over his shoulder said otherwise.

He twirled around the pole to face you, squatting down with his legs cocked open exposing his beautiful and half-limp penis through the stockings. The little bump between his legs was so perfect and you couldn't help but eye him up as he rubbed his hands down his thighs.

Your eyes darted everywhere but at him as he stood up, the sound of his heels was getting closer making a beeline towards you, but then it stopped.

“Can I touch you?” he asked softly, his breath hitting your turned cheek that was too scared to face him.

“Please do,” you whimpered hoping he would dominate you and take control of the situation.

You felt his hand on your chin as he turned your face to meet his. The smirk was back on his face and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

He leaned into your ear and whispered “Want a dance cutey?”

He grabbed your hand and bent over in front of you, guilding your hand to touch his back. “Touch me” he moaned, swaying his body in front of you and sliding his hands up his body to his neck.

You let your hands slide up his shirt and along his back, following his movements as he slowly turned around. Your hands were now on his stomach, feeling the vibrations from the low moans that came from his throat.

“Do you mind if I use you?” he asked placing his hands on yours and sliding them down to his cock, leaving it there as he raised his hands in the air. He danced with the muffled music that was playing outside the room and you could see his penis harden at your touch through the soft fabric of his stockings. “I've seen the way you look at me and I know what you've told Changbin. It's cute.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and straddled your legs. He pressed his hard penis into yours and swirled his hips, using you to pleasure himself.

You leaned in and kissed him, genuinely trying to taste him. You felt so many things at once, you slowly went from shy to confident when you felt his hand squeeze your cheeks open. A hot strand of his spit slid down your throat making your penis twitch against him.

He darted his tongue into your mouth making your eyes roll to the back of your head. With each suck on his tongue you could feel yourself becoming more desperate for friction and obviously, he noticed too.

“Take your pants off,” he said softly into the kiss. He stood up with you and kissed all over your body. As a new layer of your clothes came off, his mouth would find its way there. While trying to take your belt off he swirled his tongue around your nipple, making it impossible to focus.

“Help me, help me,” you moaned out motioning to your pants that were still on. He obliged, kissing down your belly and taking your belt off with ease. He pulled away and took your pants off, throwing them beside the bed somewhere.

You tried to pull him back into another kiss but he walked away, reminding you he was still very much in control. He walked over to a big curtain that until now you hadn't noticed. He stepped beside it and pulled the curtain off, revealing a giant mirror that showed the entire bed.

“You know how unprofessional it is for me to have sex with you,” he said slowly walking closer to you with his sexy heels clicking the whole way.

He walked behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pushing you towards the mirror. “If I'm gonna be dirty, I at least want to see how beautiful you look when you moan my name.”

You stared deeply into his eyes through the mirror and let your body fall back into his, pressing your ass against his erection.

You laid your head back on his shoulder, exposing your neck. “Just fuck me” you whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He leaned in and started sucking on the soft skin of your neck, rolling it through his teeth and moaning into your skin.

When he pulled away you could see the big purple mark he left on you and a toothy smile on his face through the glass.

He slowly kissed the big bruise and slid his hands down to your underwear. He hooked his fingers under the soft fabric and pulled them down to your ankles so you could kick them the rest of the way off.

Your hard cock sprung free, twitching and leaking precum down your leg.

“Leaking for me hun, how sweet,” he moaned.

He pulled his stockings down just enough to pull his cock out and reached around you to stroke your penis. He grabbed your jaw and yanked it toward the mirror. “Watch for me hunny.”

His hands were soft and his fingers were long, wrapping around your penis perfectly, it felt like heaven. He curled his fingers around your tip and gathered as much of your liquid as possible.

With his hand full of your precum he stroked himself, lubing up his penis with your essence. He lined his penis up with your tight hole and pushed in hard. Your body jolted with each rough thrust of his curved penis and his balls slapped against your ass, stinging you slightly.

His hand stayed on your chin, positioning you so you had to watch the sinful display in front of you through the mirror. His other hand rested on your waist, holding you still to fuck up into you.

“Moan my name, I'm sure you know it well,” he said quickening his rough movements and licking your neck.

“Fuck Minho, so full mmm,” you moaned trying not to come undone before he did.

“Shit I'm gonna piss, your too fucking cute,” he said with a moan.

You felt a warm, wet liquid come out of your asshole and run down your leg. The once soft feeling of his penis was replaced with something more raw and rough.

Minho smirked in satisfaction as his piss ran down both of your legs and made a giant puddle where you stood. His heels squished and clacked in the puddle, matting the long shag carpet together.

His penis now slid into your ass easily but with more friction, the long curve of his penis that was squelching in your body felt like nothing you'd ever felt before.

The sight in the mirror was gross and blissful, a combination you never seen before. Everything he did surprised you and you loved it.

“Cum for me. Cum for me now I want to see it,” and almost instantly you did. Your body listened to his every command and orgasmed over his voice.

Your white ropes went everywhere including on Minho’s heels, making your mind go fuzzy. Just the sight of your milky cum running down his sparkly heels had you panting and wanting more.

“What a good boy, cumming for me when I asked,” he said fucking his penis roughly up in you a few more times before cumming in your sore hole. His hips jolted with each pump of his cum, making you feel even more full. “Fuck,” he moaned letting his head fall forward and rest on your shoulder, the sweat making your skin stick to his.

You could see through the mirror that he had finally stopped orgasming with his hand perched on your shoulder tightly. He grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together again. “Just hold still.”

Quickly he fucked up into you, using the sensitivity to force himself to pee in you again. “Fuck its warm,” you moaned unbothered and more so flattered he wanted to overstim himself using your body.

“I need to… I need to,” he moaned as you felt his warm pee run down your legs and hit the floor in a small trickle.

He pulled out with a quick yank of his hips and all the fluids came pouring out of you. Runny yellow-tainted cum came gushing down your legs.

Minho looked over his shoulder at the mess he created clearly amused. His cock was sensitive and he knew your hole would be even more. He grabbed the tip of his penis, circling his thumb around it, and walked over to the bed. He sat down and motioned for you to follow.

He took his cum covered shoe off and began licking it. “I needed a taste of us 'cause fuck was that amazing,” he said with a moan. “I’ll be seeing you again right?”

“Yes please, I've never felt so sexy,” you said crawling up on the bed beside him.

“I gotta go now but here,” and he handed you a small card with the address to Changbin’s club on it and his name “The Peecock”.

“So that's how you spell your name, makes a lot more sense now,” you said scanning your eyes over his wet clothes and the big mess in front of the mirror.

He put his shoe back on, still wet and not in the slightest bit clean. “I held on a lot longer than I thought I would, you're too fucking cute not to piss over.” Then he walked out, covered in pee and cum but he looked sexy doing it cause he didn't give a fuck.

You decided to hold onto that card as a little memento from your first meeting, besides you knew exactly where to find him and after that, it was never hard to get his attention in a crowd.

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kingkatsuki · 11 months ago

Text

I wasn’t sure where I was going with this but I keep thinking about meeting Kaji at a hardcore show.

I feel like this is gonna turn into a 20k fic if I continue I’m so obsessed😔

The first time you’d met Kaji Ren you punched him in the face.

A smooth right hook— that truth be told you weren’t even sure you were capable of. Uncertain whether the throb in your fist was worse than the impact on the side of his face, just below his cheekbone as you held your hand to your chest with a pained expression immediately after.

It wasn’t your fault— you’d thought he was the same guy that had been flirting with you all evening inside the dingy dive bar. Leaning over to shout in your ear over the loud riff of bass as you tried to watch the local hardcore band playing on the tiny stage surrounded by flashing lights. Groaning into your drink as you took a step closer to the stage, hoping he’d take the hint but instead he seemed to get even closer. Wondering why the fuck someone would come to a show, just to shout over the music?

Deciding to leave the gig early as you shoved his chest, trying to regain some of the personal space he’d stolen from you as he reached out to grab your wrist. Practically twisting your hand to try and escape his hold as you felt hot tears begin to clump in your lashes from frustration alone— it was always the same fucking story at these hardcore shows where guys thought they could take whatever they wanted, and you were sick of it.

Storming out of the grubby bar and out into the street as you felt the relief of the cold evening air press against your skin. Drying the thin sheen of sweat that layered against your body, before you felt a presence to the side of you and you just swung hard.

You’d expected him to throw a punch back when he stepped closer, like all the other gang men that you met would’ve— but he didn’t. He noticed the way you flinched as he stepped closer, cowering away from him in fear as his eyes softened. Reaching out to clasp warm fingers around your clenched fist as he uncurled your fingers, holding your hand towards him as he judged the tender skin.

“You’d do more damage if you held your fist like this,” He rumbled gruffly, his calloused fingers contorting your hand with such gentle care as he adjusted your thumb to be outside your fingers as he turned your fist vertically, “You won’t fuckin’ hurt yourself like this either.”

It wasn’t even like you were listening anymore, as he encroached your personal space. The musky scent of him mixed with something sickly sweet as you rest your head against the brick wall behind you, trying to remember to breathe.

“They can sense you’re weak,” Kaji continued, “That’s why they think you’re an easy target.”

“I’m not fucking weak.” You practically snarled back at him, although the evidence spoke for itself. But you’d done enough to leave a blooming red mark against his cheek, enough vindication for now.

You were sick and tired of men that thought they could take whatever they wanted, to treat you like shit when you were just trying to get home from work. Having to come up with lies about having a boyfriend, or someone waiting at home when you should’ve been able to simply say you’re not interested—

“You punch like a girl.” The corner of his lips curled into the slightest hint of a smirk as he places his white headphones over his ears, turning to leave.

“I thought you weren’t like all the other assholes, asshole.” You huff.

“Never said it was a bad thing.” He calls back, shoving his hands back inside his hoodie pocket.

#ren Kaji x reader #soft ren kaji #this is basically same universe as the record shop worker AU idk #very self-ship coded sigh #wind breaker x reader

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crepezinhos · 5 months ago

Text

Has anyone ever noticed how most (if not all) soundtrack played when you’re in Tatarasuna resembles Scaramouche? I don’t even think it was intentional, but I need to rant about it down below:

This all started when I was farming some Nobushi at Inazuma and the game tracked some of them at Tatarasuna, and there I went with my Scaramouche on-field (named Kuni btw), and then out of nowhere this melody started playing:

And if you don’t have Spotify:

youtube

It wasn’t the first time I heard this playing in my game, but now that I was finally using my Scara, I genuinely started to feel horrible, no matter if my objective was distracting me from it or not.

This song really sounds to me what would be the soundtrack playing when Scaramouche was still Kabukimono, wandering around Inazuma after his heartbreaks, trying to find a new home, or destiny while feeling empty and grief for his losses.

And specifically, when the beat ‘drops’ (because there’s no real anticipation in this music), it really sounds like the angry stage of grief, but still sounding soft and sweet just like Kabukimono was. The only moment of anger we saw coming from Kabukimono in the game was when that orphan kid died, and he was angry at that death, the world, his mother, the Archons, and himself. That’s why he immediately broke down in tears afterwards, he was in grief once again, just like this songs sounds like to my ears. But, since it does still sounds more eery and negative rather than comforting to me, I interpret this music as Kabukimono deciding to transition from Inazuma to Snezhnaya and from Kabukimono to Kunikuzushi/Scaramouche.

That’s why I felt so horrible while playing with Wanderer there. All that grief and commotion in Tatarasuna, caused because of his existence, is now just a memory in the back of his mind. No one remembers it. No one remembers the beautiful, innocent puppet boy who roamed in search of a home and his own mother and attracted the eyes of the Fatui to that cursed land. Not even Ei remembers all the pain she unintentionally led Scaramouche to suffer, which hurts the most to me. She’ll walk through those toxic lands without any notion of the suffer her own son (and the entire land) went through in there because of her neglect of him. And even if I have hopes that they’ll meet each other again, I don’t believe it would be a fair conversation (aka, Hoyoverse forgiving Ei’s actions and considerably-bad-writing in a blink just for the sake of her popularity in the fandom). And honestly, just imagining Wanderer walking through the lands of Inazuma again, after so many years and traumas, makes me sick to the stomach, specifically one where he’d be in search of his mother again like Kabukimono used to do too.

Not that I think Scaramouche shouldn’t forgive Ei, but knowing how Hoyoverse glazes her, I’m pretty sure that he’d be just be like ‘Yeah, whatever’ and Ei still wouldn’t make any efforts to compensate him due to that miserable approval.

But, going back to the point, I really do wonder if, by the time they were creating this and the other soundtracks for Tatarasuna, they had Scaramouche’s character in mind. I personally don’t believe that was their intention, but some people appear to believe on it. When I was reading the comments of the video, in search of anyone who felt the same way about that soundtrack and Scaramouche, I found this:

Another comment also pointed out that the ‘beat drop’ was a less intensified version of Scaramouche’s boss theme too (specifically in the Dominatus part). Do I personally see it? No, but both themes still sound a little similar to me in the end.

Anyway, I think this is end of my little rant about Scaramouche’s character and the sound representation of him. Hope this was somehow enjoyable to read about.

If you’re still unsure whether you understand me, I’d recommend do the same as me. Go to Tatarasuna (specifically in the forge), play the song and walk (no sprint) with Wanderer around it. Maybe that’ll make you understand, because there’s no way I’m the only who genuinely feels this emotional with Scaramouche’s lore.

Istg this man had a cultural and emotional impact on me…

#Spotify #Youtube #genshin impact #scaramouche genshin impact #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche #wanderer genshin #genshin wanderer #genshin kabukimono #kabukimono #wanderer #genshin inazuma

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pain-in-the-butler · 9 months ago

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Out of curiosity…if Ono is your third fav Seb. What’s your Offical Sebastian Ranking™️?

Just as with the ask about the Anime Expo panel, it's fortunate for me that someone reached out, because I was thinking of making this a post on my own eventually someday anyway. What follows might be more information on my opinions of Sebastian than you care to have, so apologies in advance. Let's count down from worst to best:

6. Hiro Mizushima from Black Butler (2014)

There's a reason no one talks about this movie. It's because it sucks, and somehow I feel I can't really blame Mizushima for his performance, but... it is still a mixture of weird and unmemorable. That hairstyle does him no favors either, but maybe the fact that I find him a little bit frightening to look at should give him points rather than detract them. Off-screen, he looks like a completely normal man; somehow the film's efforts to make him a sexy butler were unfortunately funneled into making him unnerving and unappealing. And the movie is two entire hours long.

There's a lot I've deleted from my memory about the Black Butler live action film, but that lack of memory seems a sign that he should sit in dead last. Whether he's acting like a total weirdo or actually successfully impressing me, Sebastian should never be a forgettable character, and all I can think when I consider Mizushima's performance is that I never need to see it again.

5. Yuya Matsushita from That Butler, Friendship, The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World, and the first run of Lycoris that Blazes the Earth

I know some people may find this placement to be blasphemous, but honestly, the only thing I really like about Yuya's Sebastian is his singing voice, and even then I'm not that wild about it. It's been a few years since I watched TMBDITW, so it's not super crisp in my mind, but I will give him some recognition as an early Sebastian who still had little material to work with. He probably had to do some of his own legwork to adapt the character to the stage and to the original stories he was expected to act in. That can't be easy, and it makes sense that his Sebastian would be one that had to stand somewhat independent from the canon. I also appreciate that he is playing Sebastian with purpose behind his actions and not a sexyman who just serves whatever convenient purpose the narrative dictates, like Mizushima's Seb.

With that caveat out of the way, I still don't like his Sebastian portrayal. It's clear Yuya really drummed up the "I'm no one but I can become anyone" aspect of Sebastian. He can invent personas that suit the situation, like when he decides to seduce Undertaker, but as soon as the problem is solved, he reverts back to being robotic and unsmiling. You get the feeling that he's rather cold and calculating and that he is only interested in doing things that will earn him Ciel's soul. I didn't watch with subtitles, so perhaps that evaluation is misplaced, but his mannerisms dictated that energy to me.

Also, I can't get behind the sort of sexual and romantic tones that sometimes felt present, especially when real children were involved. It will always taint his work for me. There's one song where he and Ciel look at each other the entire time and it's three and a half minutes long but it felt like a year. I wanted to crawl out of my skin because it was so horrifically awkward. Stick this man in fifth.

4. Toshiki Tateishi from The Public School's Secret

So I went into this musical fully prepared to hate Toshiki's performance, considering the act he was following, and... I thought it was actually pretty decent. When I think of Sebastian in the Weston arc, I think of the "sexy professor" angle Yana kept trying to push, and I was worried Toshiki would play into that, especially considering Ciel was being portrayed by a legal adult onstage for the first time. I was pleasantly surprised! That's not what happened at all.

Though likely unintended, I would say Toshiki gives off a rather maternal vibe, behaving more like Seb does in memes: kind of silly, kind of fussy, an overworked single mother who cares for her boy. Toshiki's Sebastian was very attentive of Ciel. He was frequently pleased with his kid's impish nature and didn't seem that annoyed to be taking on extra tasks, only complaining lightly, "Even though I have things to do too!" at the end of the chores song. When Ciel came up with a plan to foil Maurice, Toshiki seemed excited to praise him and gratified to help. He was like Sebastian Lite, only a bit insidious at times, mainly the ever-attentive helper.

To me, it's the first time one of the musicals has made Sebastian feel like a supporting character rather than the driving force behind the story. I prefer when he and Ciel are both treated evenly as protagonists, but I hate it when it's All About Him. I think Toshiki's performance has a good heart and he made me laugh at times. He's not quite canon Sebastian, but I like him. I trust him not to eat the sonboy just yet. Mostly.

3. Daisuke Ono from the Japanese dub of the anime

Daisuke Ono was a part of my first experience with Black Butler, so there's something about his voice that feels like it's just right for Sebastian. And it kind of is. It's a really flexible voice, and one that is clearly giving a performance when you listen to him. He also infuses his dialogue with what sounds to me like inherent smugness, which I think suits Sebastian perfectly. Ono's performance is the most self-satisfied in nature. It makes you think of a well-fed cat licking its chops while it considers its next meal.

His voice is not sexy to me, but I can see why people find it to be. At the same time, Ono isn't afraid to give Sebastian different inflections, even ones that some might consider too embarrassing or OOC for Seb. He's a veteran voice actor and he knows how to do whatever is requested of him. Sebastian treats his career just the same: he too will do essentially whatever Ciel requires. I think Ono is a natural match is what I'm saying, especially having now seen him in person and observing the way he works a crowd so effortlessly.

All that said... Ono's Sebastian is perfect. I don't mean that as a compliment: I mean he's too lacking in flaws. Sure, he has the big flaw (okay with killing a child) but he isn't really giving "silly idiot." Ono's Sebastian is the one the girlies write about in their self-insert fiction. And for the first two seasons, that's kind of who he was supposed to be, so fine. But even when he has silly or idiotic moments, it doesn't feel quite authentic, if that makes sense? I think to Ono, Sebastian's stupid mistakes are just a fluke, quickly corrected. It doesn't feel like they're a fundamental part of who his Sebastian is.

If you consider this nitpicking, you're right! The next two Sebastians are just that good. I still consider Daisuke Ono to be a very talented and accurately-portrayed Sebastian.

2. J. Michael Tatum from the English dub of the anime

While it's possible that I pick up on more nuance in Tatum's performance because he's the only one here who speaks the same language as me, how fortunate we are to have him doing Seb's English voice. He might not actually have a real British accent, but he's just too charming not to love. To me, he has all the vocal command of Ono but is more candid in his delivery. Ono may be Sebastian the perfectionist and Sebastian the performer, but Tatum is Sebastian the butler, well settled and confident in his human role.

I really appreciate the ways you can hear Tatum's voice change notably depending on Sebastian's emotions. This is especially prominent in Book of Atlantic during the flashback sequences: an annoyed Sebastian is an entirely different sounding dude than when he's being cunning, and again when he's being subservient. And he really does have this very silky, ASMR-ass way of speaking that suits Sebastian to a T. It's inherently convincing.

And more to my own interests, Tatum's voice for Sebastian has a really paternal nature to it, and I like that. I think it adds to the complexity of Sebastian's role in Ciel's life when you can hear this caring quality in the voice of a demon that will one day kill the child he works for. He can also be snipped and punctual, and then he can be gentle and reassuring, all in the same scene. And he can be scary too... and I'm super looking forward to hearing how this plays out during season 5.

To compare him to Ono again, I think Tatum knows Sebastian can be an idiot at times, but that quality still takes a backseat to the suaveness. He's almost perfect. And I probably would even say he is perfect, if we hadn't seen perfection itself. As he is, I think Tatum is an excellent voice actor for Sebastian, and I'm grateful that we have him in the position that we do.

1. Yuta Furukawa from the second run of Lycoris that Blazes the Earth, Noah's Ark Circus, and Tango on the Campania

Yuta Furukawa. What a legend. What an icon. This is where I would say "he isn't just playing Sebastian, he is Sebastian," but Furukawa is even more than that. He's what Sebastian should be. And that's not just me being rude to Yana. Yana has flat-out said that Yuta knows Sebastian better than she does herself. She's right.

If you have yet to see Yuta perform, then congratulations: you're in for a treat. What I wouldn't give to forget my first watch of Tango on the Campania and relive that magic all over again. Yuta knows who Sebastian is with every fiber of his being. And the fact that you see him over the course of three plays means you get to witness for yourself how his Sebastian goes from being a smirking demon who lives to impress, to a creature who understands fear, hardship, and pain. And yet you still wonder: is he really learning and growing after all? Or am I too being tricked by this suave being who appears to be emotionally moved?

I'm also proud to report that Yuta plays Sebastian as a true idiot. He says silly things, he behaves in silly ways! He's embarrassing enough to make Ciel roll his eyes, he uses his brawn before his brain, and he's often surprised enough to gasp. He's not afraid to look impressed or astounded or even frightened: he wears his emotions on his sleeves, but he can hide them just as quickly. This Sebastian lives for attention from humans, but what he loves even more is learning from them — perhaps so he can become a better hunter, perhaps so he can become a better scholar. He leaves you wondering which in the most intriguing way.

And I may be biased, but Yuta to me is the most paternal of all the Sebastians. Whether or not a fatherly nature is intended, I'm at least happy to report that his Sebastian is not one romantically inclined towards Ciel. His coworker is an actual child, so there's no reason that should be an acceptable angle anyway, but it really shows in all the little ways he primps at and supports Ciel on-stage. His rapport with Reo is especially adorable and shines through in their every scene.

Not to mention, he's so endlessly entertaining to watch. He has legs for days and he can fuckin groove. He may be playing a demon but he has the voice of an angel. If I called him to my house, he'd probably fix my leaky shower. What can't this gift of a man do??

I could literally go on and on and on for paragraphs. Yana is just the same. We all love Yuta Furukawa, the only Sebastian who is more Sebastian than Sebastian and probably the best thing, in my humble opinion, to come out of the Kuroshitsuji franchise. Thank you, based Yunbastian. We did nothing to deserve you.

#kuroshitsuji #asks #phew! sorry this took so long #here it is at last. my top choice is going to surprise no one whatsoever but it was a great opportunity to gush about him #thank you for the ask!

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fuctacles · 9 months ago

Text

"What are those 'freaks' exactly?" Steve asks from the back seat of the car. He does have a vague idea but it's not something that comes up in daily conversation or gets covered in classes. He's not even interested in going, but his parents rarely take him anywhere, so when his mom mentioned that a freak show came to town and she wanted to check it out, he backed her up and his father reluctantly agreed to make it a family trip.

“Human curiosities,” his mother answers, which explains nothing to him.

“Mother Nature’s fuck-ups,” adds his father, making Steve frown.

Wasn’t nature supposed to be orderly and thought out? Meticulously crafted by evolution or god’s plan, whichever you believed in? (Steve’s teachers had a confusing beef about it.)

Then again, nature invented spiders, which Steve would consider a fuck-up on its part. He remembers Dustin telling him about a comic about a spider-man. The thought of a human-shaped arachnid makes his skin crawl and he loses all his curiosity on the topic. Suddenly the family trip doesn't seem so fun anymore.

The short drive to the empty fields on the outskirts of Hawkins is filled with the Top 40 playing on the radio. His father taps his fingers to the beat of some of them, proving against all odds that he's capable of enjoying trivial human things. Steve loves to sing along and dance in the confines of his room but here, trapped in a car with his parents, he just bops his head slightly, not wanting to disturb the silence.

The freak show is a lot like the circus his uncle took him to once. There is a scattering of tents and trucks in varying sizes, all in a similar, kitschy theme of a fun fair. The air even smells of popcorn and hot dogs.

His mother scrunches her nose as soon she steps out of the car.

“This is not what I expected,” she comments, eyeing the scattering of kids and families running around.

“Well...” His father slams the door shut, pulling out a cigarette even before locking the car. “These things are dying off because of human rights activists,” he says around the cig he's trying to light. “Guess they had to rebrand to keep the business afloat.”

It's Steve’s turn to scrunch his face. His dad makes everything about business and money, even something supposedly fun, like a Sunday family trip to a fair; freak show, circus, whatever this is.

“It used to be a huge tent with displays. Now each of them gets their own? Who do they think they are?” his mother laments while hanging onto her husband’s arm, while Steve tails behind.

They pass a tent with a Siamese Twins sign hanging from the front, with a man at the front of the line, gathering money and letting people in. Nearby is another tent, occupied by a Bearded Lady, then a Half-man Half-wolf behind it. The line to that one is particularly long.

The Harringtons agree to take a walk around and decide which ones they want to spend money on, and whether it's even worth it. They've already paid an entrance fee that gives them access to most of the attractions anyway.

They pass a couple of smaller booths, a face-painting clown, and a juggler, before reaching the biggest tent in the center. In front of it stands a chalkboard with a schedule of main events. According to it the next show, between 1 pm and 2:30 pm, was a music performance, pricing a dollar per song: The Twisted Jukebox.

Steve decides to stay back, with a couple of bills burning in his pocket, while his parents keep exploring.

The light coming in from the top of the tent illuminates a box in the stage center, throwing a long shadow against the soft glow. As he comes closer he realizes it's a jukebox, and he wonders what could possibly be so special about it to warrant an hour-and-a-half-long performance slot. The sign says 'a dollar per song', but does it even take bills?

He decides that the couple of minutes left until the start gives him enough time to examine the machine. It isn't as close to the edge of the stage as he’d like but he presses against the wooden construction nevertheless, cocking his head to the side. The jukebox looks off, different from the ones he'd see at diners, but he can't exactly put his finger on why.

“Hi! Would you like to request a song?”

The sudden voice to his left startles him into bumping his elbow against the stage. He winces as he turns around.

A blonde girl is smiling at him apologetically. She's wearing a short green dress, with a jacket he's seen on other circus staff thrown over her shoulders. She must be involved in the show, then.

He glances back at the jukebox, the song list unreadable from his vantage point.

“What are my options?” he asks, looking at the girl again.

“Any song works!” she says with a bright smile, and he frowns at her, confused.

"That's not how jukeboxes work," he observes. But her smile only widens.

"This one does," she assures him. "So?"

His mind blanks in when put on the spot like that, but he thinks back to the songs he's heard on the radio today.

"Madonna's Material Girl?" he suggests hesitantly. For some reason, she laughs.

"That's perfect. You're the first one today, so you'll get the honors. Do you have a token already?"

The face he makes must be answer enough because she smiles and produces a coin from her pocket. Or a poker chip painted gold to resemble a coin.

"I hope you have a dollar because I don't have any change yet."

He remembers how gigs work, that you have to pay the performers, and dives into his pocket. He didn't take much with him, but one dollar isn't a problem. He exchanges it for the golden token.

"Follow me." The girl motions at him and turns around abruptly. Stunned, he does as he's told until they reach the steps on the side of the stage. She moves aside as if expecting him to go up there.

He's confused as all hell. Is this how all circus performers were? Freaks in both senses of the word?

The girl chuckles at him and she's too cute for Steve to be offended but it's a close call.

"Hop up there, put the coin in the slot and the show will start. I'll come get you after that."

His confusion triples down but he's used to nodding along when a cute girl talks to him so that's what he does now as well. Blondes are not exactly his type, but maybe he could ask her out and show her around town later.

"Okay," he says before stepping on the stage. When he turns around the girl is gone and he hopes it's not some kind of twisted joke.

The sunlight coming through an open flap on the tent's dome lights the stage, casting the surrounding audience in shadows, which Steve is grateful for. He doesn't want to know what kind of faces they are making looking at the dumbass on stage approaching a jukebox.

It looks almost like any other he's seen before, though the paint job is custom. Twisted Jukebox is written at the top in scratchy letters, and the sides are painted with images of fantastical creatures: dragons, unicorns, and the like. Not Steve's style but someone did a good job on it.

The songs list though, is... peculiar. It has things like:

Anything by Metallica, please,

No Wham! I beg of you,

Country over Pop.

Steve wonders briefly if he had even woken up this morning. Everything from the moment his mother proposed a family outing has been too weird to be real.

Finally, his eyes land on the colorful slot with an arrow pointing to it saying "$1 - 1song". He rubs his thumb over the token he's been given before flipping it sideways and sliding it in.

The coin rattles inside like it just fell through into an empty box. He frowns.

read the rest here with art by @blasvemous

And then, the sides of the jukebox fall apart.

#steddie #freakshow au #mine #steddie fluff #steddie fic #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #platonic hellcheer #cj x big bang #stbb #stbb 2024 #stranger things big bang #steddie freakshow au #steddie circus au

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simp2537 · 1 year ago

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Hey there, I saw your requests were open and just wanted to ask if you’d be willing to do a yandere Percy Jackson x a male or gender neutral reader who happens to be an actor— I myself am male, but I also think it’s annoying to look for a fic about your favorite character, only to find out it’s written for the opposite gender. The reader can either be a demigod (probably a child of Apollo or Dionysus since those two are closely related to acting & whatnot) or just some mortal that can see through the mist like Rachel or something. Either way, would you mind writing about Percy seeing the reader & a co-Star share a stage/film kiss? It could even be Percy & Annabeth since both are pretty cool and I like them both as a couple; plus, poly yandere situations are fun. You can also decide whether or not the reader and Percy/Percy and Annabeth are dating or not; thanks for taking the time to read this, and have a great day :)

-🪑 (I am now chair anon)

Stage Lovers

A/n sorry if this isn’t what you wanted, I took a small guess in a few things. Not sure if everything I wrote was canon but whatever. I wasn’t sure if you meant the show of book so if the books image their older and the same goes for the show. Also I used the Little Shop of Horrors play in this. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Yandere behaviors, possessive behaviors, slightly(a bit more then slightly) himbo reader, mention of killing someone later.

Anon - 🪑

All Characters are aged up to 18 plus

Percabeth x Male! Reader

Camp half-blood was a buzz with people. Apollo’s cabin was preparing the annul musical/play to celebrate their father’s birthday. Percy and Annabeth hovered around the scene as they watched their boyfriend practice his lines with some daughter of Aphrodite. The girl was too close, too touchy, to smiley for the pairs taste. Their sweet and kind boyfriend Y/n just helped her with a smile in his face. Percy kept an arm around the visibly seething Annabeth as they watched. Everyone at camp knew that Y/n was there. They all got the message but this stupid girl.

Open distain was on Annabeth face as Y/n walked over to them. His script loosely in his hands and a bright smile. He’d been working for weeks on this play, but he wouldn’t say a word about it. Y/n being the sweet boyfriend he is, wanted his lovers to be surprised when they watched him.

Y/n kissed Annabeth’s forehead first, hoping to soothe the anger visible on her face, then he moved to Percy. When he pulled away Percy held his hand.

“Who was that?”

Y/n turned his head at Annabeth’s tone. It’s irritated and annoyed.

“Who?” Y/n questioned unsure. Percy traced the back of Y/n’s hand.

“The girl over there, you were reading with her a moment ago Sunni.” Y/n blushed at Percy’s nickname for him. Looking back quickly Y/n missed the look of hatred his partners gave the girl.

“Oh, Vanessa, she’s my stage partner for the play.” The pair stilted. His partner?

“What play are you doing again?” Annabeth pondered twisting a lock of her hair. Y/n’s face lit up and he chuckled softly. The pair basked in awe of his voice. They could listen to him all day.

“Little Shop of Horror… Wait! No! I’ve spoiled it now! It was meant to be a surprise!” Y/n groaned softly. Percy laughed at his silly little Sunni. Annabeth raised a brow intrigued.

“Who do you play?”

“I’m Seymour!”

“And she is?” A moment of silence filled the air after Annabeth’s words. Percy brought Y/n closer and sent him a look.

“Who is she?” Percy demanded not liking that Y/n wouldn’t answer.

“You can’t get mad.” They pair furrowed there brows.

“Why would we be mad lovely?” Annabeth muttered softly moving some of Y/n hair. Y/n didn’t meet either of his partners gazes.

“She’s Audrey.”

Silence echoes through there conversation. Y/n had shown his partners the movie of Little Shop of Horrors once. In that one time they knew who Audrey was. Y/n took a nervous gulp and his partners shared a look.

“Are you mad?”

“No, lovely we’re not mad.”

Y/n breathed out a sigh of relief. One of his other siblings motioned for him to go back. Y/n kissed his partner goodbye quickly and dashed back to the stage.

“I’ll grab her after the show.” Annabeth voiced softly.

“Why can’t we grab her now?” Percy snapped. No one other than them was going to touch Y/n. They could allow that.

“We’re nothing going to mess up Y/n’s play, he’s been working so hard. We’ll throw her in the lake afterwards, then celebrate with Y/n.”

With Annabeth’s words said the pair returned there gaze to Y/n who was singing with one of his siblings who was playing Audrey two.

#percabeth #percy jackson x reader #annabeth chase x reader #percabeth x reader #percy pjo #percy series

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pauking5 · 1 year ago

Text

New Year, New Me

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x fem reader

Genre: mutual pining, flirting, some jealousy (if you squint), a shitload of banter, teasing

Word count: 5.7k+

A/N: I told you more Zoro is coming 😉 All I'm gonna say is that it's one of my favorites. Might have a part 2 planned but we'll see. Enjoy!

Part 2

The deep bass rocked your body with every move, heart beating in sync with the music blaring from the speakers in the club. Alcohol coursed through your veins, relaxing all your nerves and worries. Only heavens above knew how much you needed this.

To let go of everything for one night.

Especially if that one night was New Year's Eve and you dreaded it a shit ton.

This year was pure torment for you on the love frontline. There were some dates, a lot of situationships and even more failed talking stages.

It felt like your heart was just a hotel for people to stop at for one night. You left the doors wide open for anyone to come in and occupy a room. They would get whatever they wanted from you, whether that was sex or just talking the night away, and leave their trash at your doorstep for you to clean it up as if it was yours.

And it left you emptier and emptier the more you let the latch open.

Not one of them wanted to truly get to know you or let you talk for that matter and it was driving you nuts. You tried hard to convince yourself it wasn't a you problem. It was just hard seeing everyone else so happy and in long-running relationships while you were there struggling to have just one normal conversation with someone.

Before you let it get worse and have another storm wracking your heart you found yourself hitting the club a lot more often. As bad as it was, at least it covered the self-deprecating your sober mind was up to the minute your mouth touched the rim of the glass of mixed alcohol in your hand.

When the city clubs stopped doing it for you, you took to the beach club nearby. The tropical house genre wasn't really your style or the club itself, but it grew on you the more you visited it. Not for the good cocktails or the fun atmosphere the club induced in you. But for the green-haired man sat at the far back of the club that captured your eye.

From the looks of it he was a regular. Every night you were there, he was there too. You didn't think anything of it until it's been a few weeks and he was still present.

The only thing that changed the more you went there was that he took notice of you too.

The most he did was glance your way as you were dancing thinking you wouldn't notice but you caught him every. single. time.

There was something about the way he looked your way that sparked something in you. Every time his eyes laid on you it felt like your body would set on fire and that feeling only grew stronger over time.

He would be the only thing occupying your mind both in your waking hours and the intoxicated ones. Besides the obvious attraction you felt for him there was also this weird sense of connection that drew you to him. You hoped he would make a move to you but all he gave you was that unwavering gaze turning your insides to mush and your head into a mess.

You took it in your hands and decided to make the first move a few weeks ago. It was one of those nights you were feeling the loneliness a little too hard and thought some sort of action would have done you good. You scanned the club for him and found him in his usual spot, nursing a glass of what looked like whiskey.

The moment you set your eyes on him his dark eyes lifted from the glass to you, as if sensing that you were looking at him. His lips were placed on the rim of the glass, but his gaze was solely trained on you.

You moved your body to the rhythm of the music without breaking eye contact. He watched your every move from behind that glass like a hunter observing its prey, dark eyes roaming over you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

The beat of the song playing intensified and so did your moves, rolling your hips in sync with it. That caught his attention since you caught him licking his lips. He was definitely interested but he didn't make a move to you that night.

So, you tried luring him in more the next time you went. You danced a but more provocative this time, a result of the combination of liquid burning down your throat. You threw your hands in your hair messing with it as you exposed your neck, all whilst narrowing your eyes on him.

The most that did was halt the glass that was halfway to his lips, hand gripping it tightly as if to preserve his self-control. You continued the teasing, this time letting your hands wander down your body following the way his eyes trailed down. That had him throwing the contents in his glass down his throat rapidly, tongue poking against his cheek. You smirked in victory at the reaction. But even that wasn't enough to bring him closer to you.

Last week you decided that it was going to be your final try. You would drop it if he still didn't understand your intentions this time around. After all, you had your pride to preserve too.

He could be God's favourite for all you cared but if he couldn't grasp the concept of a woman wanting him this badly it was his fault.

Your last resort was provoking him. You wore a shorter dress revealing just enough to get any man howling to rip it apart. But it turned out, he wasn't just any guy.

After scanning the crowd you grabbed a random guy and danced with him for the majority of the night. You let him move you along to the music, holding your body flush against his. He placed his hands on your waist and dipped his head in your neck leaving rough kisses down your neck. You tilted your head back and looked at the green-haired man only to see his jaw twitching, eyes narrowed to slits in your direction.

Smirking at his reaction you turned around to the guy, glueing yourself to him impossibly close. You leaned up to whisper in his ear, eyes still set on the man at the back. His fist tightened dangerously next to the glass on the table.

Even with those obvious responses it still didn't get the point across to him.

You didn't understand him. You literally gave him every basic hint that you were interested and he reciprocated the gestures only to keep himself in that damn darkened corner.

He gave you the attention. The intensity of his gaze couldn't lie on that. One look from him kept you wanting more and more. You craved to know that connection wasn't just a lucid dream induced by alcohol and strobe lights. You lost yourself in the need for him to want you the way you wanted him.

And you did all that for a stranger.

The pursuing ended tonight. You weren't going to wait for anyone. Tonight would just be about you and you only.

But your excitement to drown in liquor and dance the night away into the new year was short-lived as the dance floor was suddenly flooded by couples of all people.

Blocking the laughter and sweet nothings whispered way too loud around you became harder. You ordered more and more alcohol to neutralise your senses and keep your emotions at bay. But no matter how much you drank and danced, you couldn't prevent that lonely feeling from seeping into your bones once again.

The closer it got to midnight, the worse you felt. A couple to your right was making out quite grossly, hands grabbing at each other's faces like it was a hotdog eating competition. Another couple to your left were humping each other like they were the only ones on the dance floor. You were pretty sure someone already had their junk out and it was just a matter of time before it sat in your line of sight and you got scarred for life.

Ah, fuck this. I'm leaving.

There was no point in staying here longer only to make yourself hurt more than you already did. The universe wanted you to suffer till the remaining last seconds of the year and you weren't going to give it the satisfaction.

You emptied what was left in your cocktail glass and placed it on a nearby table. Grabbing your bag and hoisting it up your shoulder, you turned for the exit. You wanted to get out of here before it hit midnight and all these couples would be getting it on.

But someone had other plans for you.

You barely took two steps towards the exit when a strong arm locked on your arm and pulled you backwards. You crashed into a hard chest, world swaying around you from the rapid movement. A woody vanilla scent surrounded you, sending you into a deeper daze than you were already in.

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned your head back only to come face to face with the green-haired man that occupied your mind for the past few weeks. The same man that annoyed you to the world's end as your attempts to show your interest for him seemed in vain.

Your mind was working on overdrive to make sense of what was happening. You didn't even look for him tonight and he was here, holding your hand. It wasn't helping that he was sat right behind you, body so close that you found it hard to breathe like a normal person. What was worse was that his eyes were focused on you, a relaxed smirk dancing on his lips.

The more you gazed into his eyes the more he took your oxygen away. And you couldn't help staring at him just a little more too entranced in his presence.

He looked even more breathtaking up close, strobe lights bouncing off his features enhancing them even more. His eyes appeared a lot sharper than they looked in that poorly illuminated corner.

He had this weird way of putting you in a trance every time your eyes locked with his. It veered you away from the fact that he lead you on for the longest time anyone's ever done before.

Upon remembering why you had every reason to be sour towards him, you turned your head away from him. You also did it to gain some stability in your mind, narrowing your eyes on the blurring crowd of dancing people in front of you.

"Didn't really have anything keeping me here," you spat out.

The music changed to a slower rhythm, still bouncy enough to keep people dancing.

His hand let go of your arm and you breathed a sigh of relief, until he wrapped it around your waist instead. You prayed he couldn't hear or feel the way your heart was racing, considering your back was pressed firmly against his chest.

"Wasn't going to let you go without a dance," he whispered in your ear.

There was no telling if the shivers dancing down your spine were either from him or from how buzzed you are. But you could feel the deep tone of his voice even with the loud bass thumping through you, louder than your own heartbeat.

"Oh, really?"

You turned around to fully face him. He was a head taller than you, shoulders extending beyond your field of vision. Your eyes lingered on his bulky arms, lined with muscles upon muscles, wondering how it would feel like to be squished between them.

The relaxed dress shirt he wore tonight looked divine on him. It was unbuttoned just enough to give you a sneak peek of his pecs, the rest of the material stretching over his toned body perfectly.

Okay, maybe he is God's favourite.

Beyond his looks, he was also emanating this oddly comforting energy. It was what drew you to him in the first place. You felt it the minute he laid his eyes on you the first night you came here and you felt it now as his eyes bore into you.

He took his time checking you out too. He was finally standing this close to you and you rendered him absolutely speechless. He thought you were beautiful from that corner, but you were even more gorgeous up close.

Your hair was put up in a messy bun, a few hair pieces falling around loose, framing your face. Your eyes twinkled with the changing colours of the lights, curiosity and interest dancing in your eyes.

The white silk dress you wore fell just below your knees. The straps around your shoulders did little to keep the dress on you as they circled behind where a deep back line exposed you fully to him. That cutout of the back line stopped way too low for his liking and your chest was covered just enough to not give him a heart attack.

What surprised him was that your outfits matched. If anyone asked the two of you if you were a couple they would hit the nail beside the head, so close yet so far.

Wrapping up the staring contest, his eyes settled on your lips. They were slightly parted, eyes seemingly just as lost in him as his were in you mere moments ago.

He chuckled at you which brought you out of your own spiral of thoughts and back to the blaring music and chatter around you.

"What are you really looking for out here?" he asked, stepping just a little closer to you.

Well, for starters, you weren't looking for commitment. But you also weren't looking for a one night stand. As contradictory as that sounded.

But it was a new year, which meant you could give into that new year, new me bullshit without thinking too much about the consequences for once. Who knew, maybe something would change.

The green-haired man sitting before you did not look like the type to commit or have just a one night stand either. So, he might have been just as conflicted as you were on that topic.

"Tell you what," you stepped closer to him and traced his shoulders with the pads of your fingers. He followed your movements until your hands stopped at the collar of his shirt, palms laid flat on his chest. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Your eyes moved to his lips for the millionth time tonight. They looked so plump and inviting. You wondered how they tasted. Were they soft, with a tinge of his cologne that was already getting you addicted or were they rough, tasting just like the alcohol he normally drank?

He noticed the way you eyed his lips hungrily. His eyes moved from your hands on his shirt to your own lips. He couldn't deny yours looked just as inviting.

"20 seconds to the New Year!" said the dj through the mic, gathering everyone around for the reverse countdown to the new year.

He could consider himself fucked if he didn't make a move now.

"10 seconds!"

His eyes darted between your eyes and your lips unsure if he should indulge and plant a kiss on them.

"5!"

With uncertainty still dancing in his irises he leaned in, eyes moving to your eyes to search for any sign you didn't want this. But all he found was a fire ardently raging in your eyes. It was him that started it after all.

"4!"

The look on his face made you nervous. Any moment now his lips would finally press to yours.

"3!"

He glanced at your lips, getting closer but moving so infuriatingly slow that you decided enough was enough.

"2!"

Fuck it. I'll do it myself.

You fisted his shirt harshly and pulled him down to you, unable to wait anymore.

"1!"

You smashed your lips on his just as the countdown came to an end.

"Happy New Year everyone!"

Gold confetti rained down on you from all sides, getting stuck in your hair. The song playing on the speakers accelerated and so did your heartbeat the more your lips moved in the same rhythm with his.

Your hands locked at the nape of his neck pulling him closer to you. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, while the other grabbed the side of your face.

"May this new year be filled with fun for all of you," boomed the dj through his microphone before putting up the volume on the music.

New year's wishes could wait a little more. For now, you were too busy exploring the lips of the man that started a fire deep inside of you. He bit your lower lip, eager to take the kiss somewhere else.

You've been kissed before but never like this. It felt euphoric, like you reached the seventh heaven with the help of his lips alone. You were thankful he held onto you because your knees shook dangerously. And this time it wasn't from the damn alcohol.

You pulled apart trying to will some air back into your lungs. A lone hair strand fell in front of your face and you lifted your hand to brush it away but he was faster. He took it and gently put it behind your ear, letting his fingers ghost over the side of your neck. You couldn't help the smile pulling at your lips.

"Give me a second."

He let go of you and rushed off somewhere. You waited for a bit then scanned the crowd, unable to find him anywhere.

He couldn't have just left me here after that, right?

Did I rush him into it?

He probably left, didn't he?

Oh, lord.

I scared another good guy away.

This one was special too.

Great way to start the year, doofus.

Before you could wallow into self-pity and rethink your exit plan, he came back. Turns out he just went to get his jacket.

New Year's resolution: Stop overthinking shit.

He moved his jacket to one hand and let the other one find yours again, fingers lacing with yours delicately. The same fingers you studied for nights on end wishing they were wrapped around yours were now actually interwoven with yours.

"Do you have your things with you?"

You nodded, motioning to your bag as you fixed it on your shoulder, slightly confused at the question. He started walking to the bar, dragging you with him and hastily waved over a bartender.

"Give me the best bottle of champagne you have, a bucket of ice and two glasses. I'll take one of those platters too."

"The what-," you stuttered, shocked at his detailed request. He just smirked and you felt warmth rush to your cheeks.

How is a literal stranger making me blush and feel like I'm gonna explode at the same time?

Once he received the bucket with everything he asked for stacked neatly, he paid the bartender and led you outside to the beach. Fireworks were still going on from the looks of it. You could see the displays on either side of the beach you looked at. There were a few groups gathered around bonfires on the outside extension of the club, clinking glasses together and wishing for a better year.

You got a feeling he wasn't keen on hanging around others considering the fact that he mostly drank alone. Spotting a blanket and a few cushions on a couch you grabbed them, securing them under your free arm before you linked your hand back with his.

He started walking and true to your assumptions he led you further away from the crowd. He finally stopped at a spot that was illuminated enough to see each other. It was rather reclusive, but still in the vicinity of the club.

"Is this the part where you kill me or something?"

"I try to act like a gentleman and you take me for a psychopath," he deadpanned.

"Well, are you a psychopath?"

He just chuckled at your remark and shook his head.

"If I was, I wouldn't have asked the bartender for the best champagne they had."

"Fair point," you giggled.

He took the blanket from you spreading it out on the sand. You placed the cushions down while he placed the platter in the middle and motioned for you to sit down first.

"So, why did you bring me out here, stranger?"

"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while, but I guess tonight was a better time to do it than any. And name's Zoro."

He placed the bucket down and took a seat next to you. Grabbing the bottle of champagne he worked on opening the aluminum seal. Your eyes wandered over his arms, mindlessly stopping at the label and you felt your heart fall to your ass.

"IS THAT DOM PERIGNON?!"

You covered your mouth surprised that your voice came out so loud. He chuckled at your reaction before he moved to open the wooden cork.

That champagne costs a fortune. The selling a kidney or two kind of fortune. Fortune that you will probably never reach in your lifetime to just blow away on champagne regularly.

"Yeah, it is," he smiled. "I asked the bartender for the best they had and it's safe to assume he delivered."

"And you want to drink that... with me?" you asked pointing between the bottle and yourself.

He nodded, busy fighting with the bottle. He almost had it open but the cork just needed a little shimmying. An idea seemed to pop into his head judging by the way he snickered at you.

"Wanna see a trick?"

"Sure."

He picked up one of the champagne glasses in the bucket and held the bottom to the mouth of the bottle. He wiggled it a little on its neck until he found the perfect balance, moved it back and thrusted it forwards with force.

You expected the glass to break and fly everywhere but that didn't happen. What did happen was that the cork flew towards the small waves washing up on the shore with a safe pop sound. The glass was unharmed and the bottle was at last open, cold steam escaping it.

Your mouth was hung open in surprise. So he has several tricks up his sleeve, besides the gentleman act.

Satisfied with your reaction at his trick, he smiled again, this time more widely. He poured you a glass first and handed it to you before pouring himself one.

"Happy new year, stranger," he smiled, tilting his glass to you.

"Happy new year, Zoro," you returned the smile and clinked your glasses together.

You sipped the champagne surprised at the taste. It had a rich apricot flavor, a little sweet but not too over the top. You took your time savouring it. Who knew when you would get to relish in luxury like this ever again so might as well enjoy it.

You leaned back watching the remaining firework display. He moved to get comfortable, leaning on his side with his head on his palm. He had your exposed back in full view. Your skin looked so soft that it took everything in him not to trace his fingers down your spine.

"You're an interesting man."

"So I've been told."

"You had me running circles around you for weeks, you know."

"I know," he swirled the liquid in his glass, staring at it. "I'm not exactly a pro on the dating field."

"You don't look like a beginner either," you said before throwing back the champagne in your glass down your throat for some more liquid courage.

"What about you?" he asked as he got up to pour you another glass. "Should I be wary of any male alphas that would like to smash my face for kissing you?"

You laughed heartily at that. He's been around you for half an hour at most and he already made you feel giddy inside.

"Nope, not a single soul. Main reason why I've been hanging around at the club more than I do around my own house."

That was an exaggeration but there was some truth in it. You did it hoping to find someone that you could connect with in some way. And you did, considering the green-haired man currently laying next to you. It was just a question of whether he felt that connection too.

"And I thought you were coming to see me."

"Of course I did!"

His eyes shot up from his glass just as you registered what you said. The blush on your face expanded and you probably looked like a tomato by now.

Stupid alcohol.

"Sure you did," he chuckled.

You leaned back to smack his chest and he threw his head back laughing at the sight of your red face. As annoyed as you felt, his laugh was quickly growing on you.

"Tease," you tsked.

"Can't help it," he scoffed with a tight-lipped smile, taking another sip from his glass.

"I guess it's good," you mumbled mostly to yourself.

"What's good?" he asked.

"Letting go of the past. Living in the present, as they say."

"Losing control every once in a while can do you good," he stated.

Maybe he was right. Maybe tonight wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

Watching the sea at night when it was the calmest, with the moonlight glimmering on the waves put you at ease. Just as much as the man beside you did right now.

You dove in the charcuterie platter, laying on the blanket with your heads propped on the cushions, talking about anything and everything. You learned more about him and the fact that he could handle a shit ton of alcohol seen as he was downing champagne glasses faster than you.

Telling him about yourself and what a shit year you've had in terms of dating to get him off your case a little was supposed to be just light-hearted banter. But he just took that as a sign to tease you more.

"How to lose a guy in 10 days was definitely made about you," he howled laughing, after you told him about one of your situationships.

"Really funny. As if you've seen the movie," you said, popping a grape in your mouth.

"Try me," he taunted, adjusting his position to sit above you.

You mentally searched the movie for a scene that was iconic but could have easily gone unnoticed. You found the perfect one. Suppressing your giggles to not give it away, you cleared your throat to get in character and recited the scene word for word.

"Little, big, little, big... I don't know... I guess we will find out!" You made the grabby hands and pulled on a silly face, embodying the character.

He sat thinking for a few moments until the colour drained from his face at the realization of what scene it was.

"I am not saying that line even if you shoot me."

"Come on. I did it so it's customary you do it too."

He face palmed, releasing a sigh of annoyance. He just had to put himself on the spot like that. But he was a man of his word.

Looking around for anyone that could possibly hear him and become a collateral victim, he let out an exasperated breath and got into character.

"You-You can't name my member... Princess Sophia."

You rolled around laughing as he dug his face in his cushion in shame. The look on his face was priceless and you decided to pay back his earlier teasing with even more teasing.

"I have a question."

"What now?" he mumbled, voice muffled by the blanket.

You got closer to him and tried to keep your laugh in as you whispered your question in his ear.

"Does your member have a name too?"

His head shot up, eyes squinting at you dangerously. The earlier embarrassment was gone from his face and if the twitch in his jaw wasn't a clear indicator that you were in deep shit, the hand gripping your cushion was a good sign that you should run away.

"You're so dead."

Before he could lay his hands on you, you got up and ran out towards the shoreline. He followed, rushing to catch up with you.

You lifted your dress a bit to avoid stepping on it and bolted as fast as you could. He almost had you when you took a turn to throw him off, running back to the spot your blanket was on.

"Catch me if you can," you laughed.

"There's nowhere for you to run."

"Watch me."

You slowed down on purpose, letting him get close to you again only to dash out back to the sea. The soft sand under your feet turned from smooth to damp and soon enough your feet were submerged in cold water. You thought he wouldn't follow you to avoid getting his clothes soaked but he proved you wrong again tonight.

He ran towards you at full speed and you really had nowhere else to run this time. The bottom of your dress got drenched, sticking to your legs the further you went in. The water only slowed you down, giving him the opportunity to catch up with you.

You were waist deep in the water when his hands sneaked around your middle pulling you to him. You tried to break free but it was no use. The grip he had around you was as strong as steel.

"Let me go."

"Only if you say sorry."

"What if I don't? You gonna make me?"

"Huh, so she's got guts too," he chuckled.

"Why don't you fuck around and find out just how gutsy I am?"

You refused to give in. Splashing water at him only made the grin on his face widen because he started tickling you. And everyone knew tickling was a low belt move. You roared with laughter thrashing around in his arms.

Suddenly, retreat sounded a lot better than being tickled to death.

"Okay! I'm sorry!"

"Are you really?"

"No, but stop tickling me."

Reluctantly, he let go of you. He knew you had a surprise attack in store. His suspicions were confirmed true when you ran behind him, trying to push him into the water. He lost his balance but he wasn't planning on going down alone, hand quickly clamping down on yours to pull you with him.

You gasped as the water enveloped you fully. Sitting back up, you were fully drenched. Most of your hair was wet too, water dripping out of it like you just stepped out of the shower. Zoro, on the other hand, was giggling at you like a fucking school girl proud of bullying her friends.

Annoyed with his antics, you turned around and walked back to the blanket, plopping yourself down. He walked out too, that devilish smirk plastered on his face.

He stopped in front of you. You tried to look away from him but you couldn't. Especially when his shirt was so soaked that it stuck to his body in a way that let you see all of his toned muscles.

"Like what you see?"

You snapped out of your delusions, putting your annoyed face back on.

"Go away," you waved him off.

A sudden gust of wind blew reminding you of just how exposed you were. You looked like a wet dog. Your dress was wet and stuck to you uncomfortably, increasing the cold seeping inside your body at a faster rate than you liked..

You let your hair down placing it around your neck to get some sort of warmth from the parts that weren't soaked. Covering your arms in an attempt to wash the cold away, the breeze only persisted, blowing even more harshly as if to spite you. Zoro noticed you shivering.

"Are you cold?"

Still irritated with him, you shook your head no. You didn't want his help after the stunt he pulled. But the way you held tightly onto your arms and rocked from side to side told him otherwise.

Out of nowhere, warmth enveloped you. You turned to see Zoro right behind you, hands on top of your shoulders to make his blazer jacket cover as much of your body as it could to keep you warm. It was big enough to look like a blanket on you. You sighed at the comfort, pulling it closer to snuggle into the warmth of the fabric, feeling some of the cold dissipate.

"It might be hot out here but it's still December."

"It's January now," you stated.

"Okay, smartass," he boomed.

The night sky got darker and stars twinkled brightly as you talked until you finished the bottle of champagne and the platter. As much as he liked to tease, you loved his company a lot. The more time you spent with him the more you wished tonight would never come to an end.

He suddenly got up from his spot beside you and went to stand in front of you. He scratched the back of his neck looking at you which made you confused until he spoke up about his intentions.

"May I have this dance?"

He extended his hand out to you and you hesitated. Not out of the nervousness you felt yourself, but in a ploy to push his buttons. He deserved a little more teasing after making you wait for it for so long.

"Come on. I told you I wasn't gonna let you leave without a dance."

The way he looked at you changed your playful plans. It looked like he was really trying to be more into it and you couldn't say no to those eyes.

"Okay," you gave in, letting your hand slip into his.

His eyes lit up like moon crescents as he pulled you up and brought you closer. This must have been the softer, drunken part of him.

"What about music?" you asked.

"Music?"

He moved from one side to the other until he settled on a spot a few feet away from the blanket, tugging you with him. You were about to question his actions when you heard it. The faint sound of music playing from the club mixed with the sound of the waves breaking at the edge of the shore. It wasn't too loud or too faint but just enough to be peaceful and rhythmic background noise.

"You're unbelievable, in a good way," you giggled. He just smiled at you like a fool, most likely gone on the bouts of alcohol induced giddiness.

He pulled you closer, one hand holding yours out while the other curled around your waist, similar to a fancy dancing pose. Stepping left and right he pulled you with him into something that resembled a very weird tangled waltz.

You danced a combination of everything. He twirled you around, bottom of your dress swirling around you. Then he spun you out and brought you back in to hold you close as your hands settled back on his shoulders. He even lifted you up like one of those ballerinas you see at the opera, paying attention not to drop you face forward in the sand like a true dancing partner. You couldn't deny you had chemistry.

Twisting you around again, he stopped to dip you down on your back, hands secured tightly around you. He leaned down to your face, just a small distance away from putting his lips on yours. You closed your eyes in anticipation, expecting him to kiss you.

You wanted to feel his lips against yours again, missing the way they fit just right with yours back at the club. But just when you thought he would kiss you, you felt his lips elsewhere on your face - in a small peck on your cheek.

He brought you back up and grinned as your cheeks flushed pink. You brought a hand up to your cheek to touch it, feeling the faint brush of his lips burn into your skin as you processed it. He took your hand away from your cheek and laced his fingers with yours, leading you into yet another dance.

It was ridiculous. You were dancing to faint tropical house music on the beach in the darkness of the night with no sense of rhythm. But the soft sand under your feet felt better than any rigid dance floor you've been on and your dance partner was gentler than anyone you've ever danced with. You wouldn't trade this for the world.

The side effects of all the alcohol you drank was slowly kicking in and thankfully, the pace of your swaying got slower. You laid your head on his chest and let him rock you back and forth, listening to the beating of his heart that was more music to you than anything else.

"Thank you."

"What for?" he asked, looking down at your small form in his arms.

"For tonight," you sighed. "I haven't felt this good in a while."

"You're welcome," he said softly.

He was still trying to process things himself, mostly the fact that he was finally holding you after playing hooky for so long. You curled up closer searching for more warmth in his arms and he couldn't help but smile at you once more. It wasn't like him to show his inner happiness to people, but it seemed like his smiles were limitless for you.

The high of the alcohol you consumed was long gone, replaced by a drowsy feeling overtaking your senses. The music stopped playing telling you it was way too late for the world to keep going at it. All you could hear were the waves lapping each other in close distance, accompanied by a peaceful silence and the soft breaths coming from your human pillow.

You cuddled into him, sighing at the warmth he radiated. An arm was draped around you, drawing random patterns on your back that lulled you even more towards sleep though you didn't want to give into it just yet.

His other hand busied with yours, tracing up and down your fingers one by one. He turned them on all sides, then moved to your knuckles, inspecting each ridge and mound, each fading scar evidence of your rebel childhood. Once he was satisfied with his findings he intertwined your fingers together, bringing them closer to his chest.

Your hand looked so frail in his bigger one, encased like a precious jewel in a locked treasure chest with a lost key. But that key wasn't lost. It was just waiting to be found. Just like the latch on the hotel in your heart was waiting to be put back on the door by a person who wanted to stay all year around. Could he be that person for you?

He was the only thing turning in the tides of this endless night and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. Meeting him felt like some kind of blessing was bestowed upon you. Like all the pain of the previous year and the endless waiting was finally rewarded the way it was written to happen from the start.

By the looks of it he felt that connection too. It might have been just a one night adventure but only your sober minds could decide that in the fast approaching morning. But for now, being in each other's presence was enough to calm the tempest that's been swirling in your heart for so long.

He noticed you doze off when your head felt a little heavier on his chest. Taking his eyes off the sea and the few boats popping up and down the waves in the distance, he looked at you. Your cheeks turned a rosy shade, most likely from the amount of booze you had. They puffed up against his chest, light snores escaping through your opened lips. There was a little trail of drool pooling at the edge of your lower lip. He chuckled and wiped it away, making a mental note to tease you about it when you wake up.

Truth is that he's been waiting around for you all night back at the club. Time was flowing way too slow and his patience was running thin. But once you finally walked through the door his inner clocks froze over. His breath got caught in his throat, so much that he couldn't find it in himself to make a move to you yet again.

So, he just watched you from his usual spot, hoping he could get some liquid courage if he drank a little before coming to you. But he wasted way too much time wallowing in self-pity.

When you got your things and slammed the glass on the table enraged, he knew you were about to leave. If he let you leave back then he was sure he wouldn't be able to face you again. So he finally made a move to you, running through the crowd to catch you.

The fact that you were now tucked safely in his arms, wearing his jacket, told him he made a move at the right time. Who knew what other man would've stolen you away if he waited for too long. Or if he ever got to see you again.

From what you told him, he could sense how much you craved to find someone. To stop opening up to people who didn't even want to hear about anything other than bodily pleasure. Because he craved a deeper connection with someone too. He was just bad at showing it most of the time.

"I'm so glad you didn't settle," he whispered, laying a soft kiss on the crown of your head.

He spent the remainder of the night watching over you, until the dark sky turned into the early haze of dawn. He closed his eyes for a bit, waiting for you to wake up and unknowingly, he doze off in the comfort of feeling you close.

The comfort you were wrapped in was so cozy that you found it hard to open your eyes. Once you did, you took in your surroundings, surprised to see the green-haired man still at your side. The longer edges of the blanket were wrapped around the both of you, providing some warmth in the early morning breeze.

You half expected him to leave you here on the beach. To wake up and think of it as just another drunken night out that others normally wanted to take back. But he didn't.

You looked towards the sea. The previously dark night sky that was illuminated by the glow of the moon was now a myriad of orange and pink. It was brighter than any sunrise you've ever seen.

The start of a new beginning, you smiled to yourself.

The sun was still on his way to fully light up the sky, but the rays were already bouncing off the waves in glimmering gold and the sea looked so crystalline and blue, like you were watching a movie scene unfold before you.

Turning back to the man beside you, you took your time taking him in. He was sound asleep judging by the way his chest rose up and down slowly and had one arm under his head, propping it higher than the cushion could. The other one was still wrapped around you, in the same position you remembered it to be before you fell asleep. Small chimes came from his golden earrings as they dangled on the breeze of the wind.

He looked so at peace, a close-mouthed smile on his lips. The urge to lift your hand and trace the outlines of those lips grew the more you looked at them.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," he spoke, taking you by surprise. His voice was way deeper than last night, resounding a little raspy in your half-asleep ears.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Enough to feel you staring at me like I'm made from tempered glass."

"I wasn't staring."

"Sure you weren't."

"Okay, you caught me."

His eyes crinkled in pride at getting you to admit it before opening up to look at you.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, a hint of amusement present in his voice.

"I slept fine," you replied, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

He looked too pleased with himself in the early hours of the morning. As if he knew something you didn't.

"Did I do something weird in my sleep?"

"I wouldn't say weird. But I'm glad you were comfortable enough to do it with me," he smirked.

What the fuck did I do? Did I snore? Did I kick him? Wait. He said I did something with him. Did we do something like-

Your eyes widened as the thought crossed your mind. The look on his face could only say that you did exactly what you thought you did.

"DID WE FUCK?" you whisper shouted.

His grin just widened and he started laughing hysterically, slapping the sand beside him like a maniac.

"Why are you laughing- YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

"Your face! That was priceless."

The daggers you were throwing at him told him you weren't in the mood for ridicule you this early in the morning. Too bad he had other plans.

"But you did do something."

"JUST TELL ME ALREADY," you shouted, getting ready to strangle him.

He seemed deep in thought on whether he should tell you.

"What are you willing to do for this important information?"

The way he wiggled his eyebrows at you told you he wanted to negotiate some terms first, as if he was withholding national secrets or some shit.

"I'll do anything," you sighed, playing along with him.

"Anything?"

"Zoro, I swear to god I'm going to put my foot through your face."

"All it takes is one kiss."

"One kiss? What are you, five?"

"Rules are rules. Kiss or I'm not telling you."

Your tongue poked your cheek in annoyance as you looked out at the sea debating your choices.

You could either run away and live with the humiliation that you'll never know what you did that had him make fun of you this bad. Or you could just humour him and find out what it was quicker. The latter seemed like the better choice.

"Okay, fine."

You decided to go for a kiss on the cheek, to pay him back for the almost kiss he gave you while dancing. You leaned down to him, cheek in your direct line of sight. You were about to plant the quickest peck on it when he moved his face so your lips landed on his instead.

They tasted like a glass of freshly opened champagne, just like the one you drank with him last night. You felt him smile against your lips, holding onto the nape of your neck to pull you closer. When he was satisfied enough with his kiss, he let go of you and you separated, breaths fanning each other.

"Are you gonna tell me now?"

"Did you know you drool in your sleep?"

"I DID WHAT-"

"There was like a whole lot of it on my shirt. Like a newborn baby's."

You burried your head in his side, trying to hide the blush rising on your cheeks. He just laughed at you squeezing you closer.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. I think it was adorable."

"You're just saying that," you mumbled.

"I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

He moved away from you and you thought he got up. Turning your gaze upwards you found him standing above you, hands on either side of you.

The playfulness in his eyes was exchanged for dark eyes staring down at you with hunger. The smirk on his lips told you that nothing remotely good passed through his mind at the moment and it made you gulp.

He leaned down to you and your breath hitched. No man made you this nervous before and you didn't even do anything together to feel this way. Like you sinned a thousand sins or something.

His lips brushed your ear, chest almost pressing against yours.

"Am I making you nervous?"

"Yeah. No. I don't know."

He looks like a sculpture and I'm supposed to not get turned on by it? Yeah, right.

He took you by surprise pressing his lips on the side of your neck. It made you forget where you were in the first place, mind entirely focused on the fluttering feeling he instilled in you. He moved the kisses all the way down to your jaw, with the goal of getting to your lips.

Just before you could feel them again, your stomach grumbled loudly interrupting your moment. Turns out the flutters were from being hungry.

"You have great timing," he shook his head at you.

"It's not my fault I'm hungry."

"Then, how about we grab something to eat?"

"I would love that."

He sat up and helped you up, starting to gather the stuff that needed to be taken back to the club in the bucket. You grabbed your heels, putting your arms through the sleeves of his jacket. Once you had everything you started making your way back.

"I'm craving seafood," you recommended. "What do you wanna eat?"

"You."

"EWW DONT SAY THAT."

"I'm joking."

"I am never kissing randos on new year's ever again."

"Only if I can become the only rando you kiss on every new year's."

"You're impossible," you smiled.

"Only for you."

Part 2

Thank you for reading! As always, comments, likes and reblogs are welcome :)

#roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x reader #opla zoro #one piece #one piece x reader #i don't know about you but i am wrecked after this one

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primrosechronicles · 11 months ago

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Sky Cotl x ISAT Fanfic!

Performance Guide and Siffrin (strictly platonic)

Summary: The performance guide and Their moth meet again Warnings: Nothing that I can think off...? Word Count: 1784 PART 2 HERE

You step into the backstage of the village theater, taking a moment to appreciate all the preparations you and your crew did to make the theater more accessible to both moths and citizens alike. It took a lot of hard work, from assembling the stage to ensuring the levers operated properly. Despite the challenges, it was all worth it for the grand opening of the theater.

You carefully walk up the stairs behind the levers, with the lively chatter of your beloved crew filling your ears.

“Director!” The crew’s resident dancer quickly stands up and crosses the room towards you.

“Dancer.” You greet back. a smile creeping up your face. “What are you guys doing?”

“Me and the crew were discussing some things to put in your comedy!”

You tilt your head curiously “Any particular reason why..?”

“We, uh, wanted to shake off the nerves... You know, we're all pretty jittery about tomorrow…” They shake their head “And! And.. you looked like you had a hard time figuring out the punchlines..”

You smile and give them a pat on the shoulder “Thank you.. And to be honest I'm nervous as well…”

“Well let's be nervous together!” They giggle joyfully, grab your hand, and lead you toward the group.

You sit with your crew and you observe the Stagehand frantically calculating the materials needed for the props and your Storyteller conversing with the Musician, though they seem to forget that the comedy is a.. Comedy.

“How about you, Dancer? Do you plan on writing a play? I'm sure you would be very good at it.” You ask.

Your Dancer shakes their head “Oh no! I could never make a play as well as you or the storyteller…”

“Oh don't be modest, Dancer.. I'm sure whatever you write will be wonderful.”

They smile at you and go back to continue whatever they did before approaching you. You sigh contently, you love being like this, being surrounded by the people you love, you could live like this forever.

Hand in hand with your crew and cast members, you all bow. The sound of whistles, cheers and honks fills the ears of your cast. You look at your audience, their smiles fill you with joy as you are reminded of why you and your crew decided to make the theater.

Your Musician begins to play a mellow melody as your Stagehand hands you the mic. The rest of the cast quietly slips offstage.

“My beloved audience.. Welcome! To the village theater.” you pause then breathe in and out. “As I stand here before you, I'm filled with gratitude for your support and for the opportunity to bring stories to life on this stage.”

You continue “This is a place to play many parts, whether it be to play music.. Or to dance… or to tell stories!” you turn to your crew and smile gratefully at them.

“This is the Season of Performance! So come and share your vision with us all!” The audience erupts into applause and cheers, giving your crew a successful opening night.

You smile as you and your Storyteller converse with the audience members.

“--And the part when the girl almost got caught by the krill! It was so terrifying I was at the edge of my seat!” You laugh in response “Hah! Yea, our musician did an amazing job on the music on that part!” “There was a krill part…?”

You smile wider as more audience members praise the work of you and your crew, but then something catches your eye in your peripheral vision. You take a closer look and notice a mother gesturing at you while her child, embarrassed, tries to run away. You deduct from the child's age that they’re a moth, but they aren’t dressed how moths usually look? Instead of the usual brown cape, it is replaced with a white one, with smooth ends instead of the uniform jagged edges that make it resemble actual wings. Two pins are placed just below their chin, pulling the whole look together.

You walk up to them and kneel to be at eye level with the kid. “Hello! Did you enjoy the show?” The child jumps slightly, startled, then slowly nods. “I did…”

Their mother whispers in their ear “Tell them what you told me.” The child looks at their mom, nodding with slightly more confidence. “Uhm! I wanna do what you do! I wanna make stories and-and! Pretend it on there!” The child slowly lifts a trembling finger to point towards the stage, their eyes shining with a nervous excitement.

You turn to the mother “Ma’am, are you perhaps from the village of dreams?”

“Oh no.. We're actually staying at a relative's house right now to check out the new season."

"For how long...?" you ask, as an idea begins to take shape in your mind.

“About 1 or 2 months, my relatives love having us around and they usually prepare for us to stay for 3 months but there's something urgent I have to get back to by then..”

You smile and turn back to the kid “Welcome to the Season of Performance” You slowly place the season pendant around their neck “I hope to see you often during the months that you're here?” The little moth nods furiously. “Yes!”

"Guys?! Where are you?! I have an idea!" you burst into the building, searching for your crew members. "We're on the second floor!" the familiar voice of your Dancer exclaims.

With a surge of adrenaline, you sprint up the stairs (that honestly looked like ramps instead of stairs) to the second floor, your fast footsteps echoing throughout the hall.

You reach the top of the stairs, where they're all gathered around the mini stage they've set up. You make eye contact with your crew’s Stagehand and they gesture for you to sit on the cushion next to them.

Tea in hand you breathe in and out, “Each season goes as follows: teach them some simple craft spells then the other stuff that's unique to each season” you smirk, gaining more confidence with your idea. "What about the “ stuff that's unique to each season “ part is a workshop for the moths! And… for people who are interested! We could teach them about theater, how to write a play, and everything else we do here. It would be a great way to share our passion and get more people involved."

Your crew members exchange eager glances, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, that's a fantastic idea! I could teach them some sick riffs!" your Musician exclaims, playing their guitar with determination.

The Stagehand chimes in, "I could show them the ropes of stagecraft, from lighting to set design."

You turn to your crew's Storyteller, who smiles warmly. "I'll help them find their voices and tell their stories."

"I can lead sessions on movement and expression," the Dancer suggests. "I can teach participants how to use their bodies to tell stories and convey emotions on stage."

The excitement in the room is palpable as everyone starts brainstorming ideas for the workshop. You can already picture the theater bustling with little moths, eager to learn and create.“This is a great idea Director! Where’d you get the inspiration?” Your Stagehand asks you.

Your thoughts go back to that moth earlier, you smile warmly thinking of them “Just an idea i had..”

After a week of planning with your crew, the workshop is finally ready.

After a comedy skit performed by some members of the Season of Dreams you go up on stage mic in hand.

“Okay guys announcement! So, first of all, thank you so much for your creative And hilarious—” you wink at the Season of Dreams members “---Plays!”

"Now, as everybody knows, every single season has its events themed after, well.. The seasons theme!”

"So… without further ado, we are thrilled to announce our upcoming workshop series," you continue, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "Starting next week, we'll be hosting a series of sessions right here at the village theater. We'll cover everything from writing your own play to stagecraft, movement, and more!"

A wave of excitement washes over the audience as you outline the workshop's details. Your crew members stand beside you, beaming at the enthusiasm of the audience members"We want to invite all of you to join us," you say, scanning the crowd warmly. "Whether you're a seasoned playwright or a parent wanting your little moth to experience new things—” You wave towards the familiar moth and their mother “---this workshop is for you. Let's come together and create something magical!"

The applause and cheers that follow are filling you with a sense of accomplishment and joy. You glance over at your crew, sharing a proud and excited look. Then you look over to the moth that started it all, you see them look at you with wonder in their eyes, fiddling with their season pendant. You wink at them, they give you an attempt-wink back.

You walk through the excited crowd trying to reach that little moth and their mom. They spot you approaching and their faces light up with anticipation.

"Hi ma’am! Little moth!" you greet them warmly, kneeling down to the moth’s eye level. "I'm so glad you're here. Are you excited about the workshop?"

The child nods eagerly, a shy smile playing on their lips. Their mom smiles gratefully at you.

"I think it's going to be a lot of fun," you continue, glancing between them. "We have so many exciting things planned, like learning how to write plays, creating characters, and even some dancing!"

The child's eyes widen in excitement at the mention of dancing. "Can we really dance like the actors did?" they ask eagerly."Absolutely! Our Dancer is going to show us all how to move and express ourselves on stage. It's going to be fantastic!" you reply with a chuckle.

You thought a bit and realized… “Hey, i never got your name!” They look back at you and give you a smile you will remember for decades “It’s ____—”

You wake up to the chatter of your beloved crew. “Director! Thank the stars you’re awake!” You are then squished by the weight of your crew hugging you “We were so worried!” “You won't believe what happened!” “you were out for multiple—”

You shout, overwhelmed by the voices. “Guys! One at a time what happened?” Your Dancer looks at you with an expression you have never seen them wear. “Well—” “Director?”

You all turn to the unfamiliar voice, five figures fill your vision, four foreigners and one… Wait a minute… white cape with smooth ends… Two pins placed below their chin… Thats the— “_____?”

A/N: IM FINISHED!! yay,,, this took me like two drinks of mountain jew and! a couple of days..

So for my Sky: Cotl audience, the moth in the fic is the main character from In stars and time and the Fic was inspired by @kyri45 who did a wonderful job on her cross AU of the two games!

For my ISAT audience the fic is set in the game called "sky children of the light"

@kyri45 I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS! your au really got my brain tickled!! thank you for re-igniting my sky grind and thank you for feeding me with ur yummy AU

#sky cotl #skyblr #sky: cotl #sky children of the light #isat sky:cotl! au #isat siffrin #isat spoilers #isat #isat odile #isat au #isat boniface #isat bonnie #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #season of performance

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tomorrowxtogether · 6 months ago

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HUENINGKAI: “I learned to love myself thanks to MOA”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY comeback interview

2024.11.13

He cleared out his favorite hoodies and learned how to handle Cubase with ease. While many things keep on changing, some things are forever constant: the music, the group, and MOA. They are the true passions of HUENINGKAI, whose confident tone reassures us of his commitment to forever.

You cleared out some of your hoodies and stuffed toys—what you called your “horcruxes.” HUENINGKAI: Well, the hoodies were way too small for me anyway. (laughs) I wanted to try out some new styles, too, so I cleared them out. I decided I needed to ditch the hoodies first and try something prettier, including buying some knit sweaters. I also felt I could do away with my old stuffed dolls and replaced them with some new fluffier ones. It’s hard the first time you get rid of stuff, but I found it gets easier after that.

You’ve made a lot of big changes in different areas. You’ve been keeping up with your exercise, even throughout the ACT: PROMISE world tour, forming the TXT Exercise Team and regularly taking “TXD” [today’s exercise done] photos. (laughs) HUENINGKAI: I always take TXD shots. I share them in our group chat. I started working out to boost my self-esteem since they say it helps, and it definitely helps keep my mind off things when all you can think about is how tiring it is! (laughs) You can’t help but lose weight if you box. It’s the only thing that makes me sweat as much as performing in concert. There’s someone on staff who’s been doing CrossFit for a long time, so I recently started too. My goal was never to bulk up and get these huge muscles in the first place but to have a slim build with lean muscles, so CrossFit seems like a good fit for me. And MOA, you don’t have to worry—I’m not going to overdo it. (laughs)

A lot of MOA were surprised the way you threw the guitar during the performance of “Growing Pain” on the ACT: PROMISE tour. HUENINGKAI: My image sure underwent a transformation. (laughs) I wanted to show how even someone like me, who’s usually so pure and soft, has some rock star inside him. I looked up different ways of capturing the idea of smashing up the stage. I initially thought about breaking the guitar, but I figured throwing it would be better. That was all I did early on in the tour, but by the time we took it to the US, I experimented a lot, throwing the pick and flipping my bangs back later on. I was happy I got to show off a different side of myself through all that.

You’ve always had a knack for playing instruments and like playing them for fun. How do feel now that your YouTube series HUENINGKAI Wants to Start a Band is over? HUENINGKAI: I love playing instruments and being in a band, so I was thrilled to be able to make it. Just holding an instrument in my hands makes me feel happy, and actually interacting with and jamming with a band felt like a quintessentially youthful experience. The whole thing was fun to shoot. It never felt like work to me. I approached it like I was going to hang out with a school band.

What do you think makes being in a band so uniquely appealing? HUENINGKAI: I think it comes down to the eye contact you make while playing together. I think chemistry’s the most important part of a band, and when you’re looking each other the eye and having a good time together, you feel fully united. I feel like rock has the power to make unforgettable memories for both the band playing and their audience. I heard MOA saying they’re interested in playing in bands now or want to get back into learning an instrument. HUENINGKAI Wants to Start a Band was a huge motivation for me, and it makes me happy thinking it planted the seeds for some great dreams among MOA. I hope they challenge themselves to pursue whatever they want and achieve their goals, whether that’s playing in a band or something else. Just the act of trying something new takes a lot of courage, and if they build up some experience, they can truly enjoy their youth.

What form did that sense of youthfulness take on when you were making the show? HUENINGKAI: It’s the kind of youthful experience you can only experience during your university years, full of excitement, sorrow, and happiness all mixed together. The song “Kitto Zutto” is actually supposed to be about how I felt filming the Yonsei University episode of HUENINGKAI Wants to Start a Band. I seem to remember working on it between filming episodes two and three. I tried to make the chord progression feel both bright and also have a refreshing, youthful vibe. The very first thing I made was the piano track, but it felt a bit bland, so I turned up the BPM and then it sounded great! The funny thing was that I tried to play at that higher BPM but my fingers couldn’t keep up. (laughs) Since it would’ve been a little bland with just the piano, I felt like it’d be nice to have a catchy melody, so I had a guitar riff repeat from the intro onward. That’s the main highlight of “Kitto Zutto.” The drums gradually build up the sound and create a sense of flow.

How do you think it compares to the first song you produced, “Dear Sputnik”? HUENINGKAI: I’ve grown so much since then. When I was working on “Dear Sputnik,” I didn’t know how to use Cubase, but I used it to make the song this time. It was easy and convenient once I got the hang of it and got better as I used it more and more. Actually, for “Dear Sputnik,” I created the basic structure, but I got a lot of help from other people since it was less than two years since I debuted. I really wanted to contribute a greater share after that, and I did contribute significantly more to “Kitto Zutto.” It’s the first on a path of hard work towards being able to make a song I can truly call my own.

When you had just debuted and you were on Section TV, you said, “Ever since I was a trainee, my one goal has been to make and perform songs that can move people.” To what degree have you achieved your goal? HUENINGKAI: With “Dear Sputnik,” 30%—“Kitto Zutto,” 60%. Right from when I was first writing “Kitto Zutto,” I was thinking about how fun it would be to sing it with MOA in concert. Nothing makes me feel more fulfilled than when I see MOA enjoying a song I produced. When I performed those songs in concert, I went around in front of the audience on the moving stage and could see MOA up close and personal. They all looked so happy. I’m glad I made these songs that MOA can really get into singing along with and that we can touch their hearts with. I think singing them together gives them their final touches. I want to keep making and performing songs that everyone will love and can make them feel happy when they listen to them.

In many ways, the past year has been an excellent showcase of how you’ve grown musically. You really got people talking when you were on Lee Mujin Service and when you performed “BETELGEUSE” on the Nippon TV show THE MUSIC DAY. HUENINGKAI: I got lots of messages from people I know. (laughs) It’s the first time so many people have reached out to me like that. I was grateful but there was something indescribable about it because I feel like I’m still in the process of finding my own voice. I’ve tried singing with something more like rock vocals, and even though I don’t have difficulty hitting high notes, I’ve been thinking carefully about how to make them sound even better. I’d like to find vocals that are a little more unique to me. Obviously being a good singer is important, but I feel like sometimes that individuality is even more important.

You’ve always been a kind person, but you seem pretty strict with yourself. HUENINGKAI: Only when I feel like I’ve perfected a skill can I say that I’ve truly made it mine. I’m sort of a worrier so I practice on my own outside normal rehearsal time. Our new single “Over The Moon” is hard. (laughs) My feeling is, if you want to dance well during live shows, it starts with singing perfectly before you ever even stand up. And when I’m performing onstage, I just think, Just do it like we practiced. I might just end up making mistakes if I try to go beyond that.

I guess “Over The Moon” would’ve been hard since it’s more about making it feel romantic than unfolding a clear sense of progression. HUENINGKAI: It’s not a sad song, but it doesn’t exactly feel cheerful either, so I was aiming for a kind of longing middle ground. I start out singing softly to MOA, almost like a whisper, then add in a touch more of that longing in the chorus. I see “Over The Moon” as me removing the gravelly vocals from “0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)” featuring Seori and keeping it light.

When watching “Over The Moon,” it reminded me of “9 and Three Quarters (Run Away).” HUENINGKAI: Exactly! It’s got the same ear-tapping move on the line “whisper me my name” as in “9 and Three Quarters (Run Away),” so I ended up watching our old performances for the first time in a while. My image back with “9 and Three Quarters (Run Away)” was meant to evoke the excitement of school days, while in “Over The Moon,” I tried to convey something a little more mature, like a university student.

You also came across as mature the way you led the older members in the 144th episode of TO DO X TXT, “Abandoned Stars,” even though you’re the youngest in the group. HUENINGKAI: That’s probably the most they’ve ever needed me. (laughs) It was scary at first, but I helped them because I felt like they wouldn’t even be able to go in if it weren’t for me. And anyway, it was less scary the second time around. I guess it’s because I’m a levelheaded person. They were clinging to me so desperately I thought my clothes would come off. (laughs) That was a first. But on the inside I was actually kind of glad and thinking about how much they need me.

You also paid YEONJUN a visit when he was shooting the music video for “GGUM.” HUENINGKAI: YEONJUN was the first one of us to do a solo project, and since I wanted to show my support and express my gratitude anyway, I brought some dakgangjeong we could eat together. (laughs) But most of all, I really wanted to learn from him. The stage presence he had as he sang from start to finish all by himself, and watching how naturally he ad-libbed towards the end, was all pretty amazing. (laughs) His solo was a good experience for us, too.

You’ve always emphasized in interviews how you want to be dependable for the rest of the group. What does trustworthiness mean to you? HUENINGKAI: Teamwork. The greater the trust between us, the stronger our group becomes. As a member of a kind of team, it’s always my hope that the other members can continuously rely on me. That’s what being a team is, after all.

And honesty is crucial for mutual trust, of course. In an interview with W Korea, when asked what it takes for a group to last a long time, you said, “Teamwork. Being open with each other about feelings.” HUENINGKAI: I actually never used to talk much about my feelings. I thought things would just work out over time, but now I talk things over with the people I’m close to, like the other members, my family, and the protocol team, no matter what it is. I really listen to their feedback, too. It just feels better that way. But it’s not at all easy to open up about what you’re feeling inside, of course. You can never just be like that from day one. So I just started slowly, and now I’m more open than I was last year.

You posted a letter on weverse for the fifth anniversary of your debut, and in it you talked about how you’ve always been careful to hide your feelings away because you didn’t like to talk about them. What made you decide to open up to MOA? HUENINGKAI: I never wanted to let MOA know when I was having a hard time. I always wanted to show them the good sides only. But the longer we were together, the closer we became, and I realized that also talking about those things was the right way to further develop the relationship. That’s why I was honest and open in what I wrote on weverse on March 4. I resolved to be more honest and open from then on.

It takes a lot of courage to be open like that. How did you find it in you to find the courage? HUENINGKAI: It’s all thanks to MOA’s love. Every time MOA opens up through their fan letters or in person, I can sense their love. The phrase, “my youth is TOMORROW X TOGETHER,” is beautiful, and hearing, “I’ll love you completely for who you are, no matter what—I love you so much,” absolutely fills me with strength. All these people around me were showing me love, but I felt like I didn’t love myself. I learned to love myself thanks to MOA.

It’s clear that you have an immense amount of love toward MOA, too, like when you said, “It may have been hard doing what it took to debut, but I could do it all again 100 times if it meant I could be with MOA.” HUENINGKAI: I wanted to show them just how much I love them. There were a lot of times I felt like giving up before I debuted, but MOA helped me forget all about it. I know what it means to find happiness as an idol thanks to them. I think MOA is what’s made TOMORROW X TOGETHER whole.

#txt #tomorrow x together #241113 #weverse magazine #hueningkai #huening kai #weverse

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rafesbunny · 11 months ago

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just a friend- rc 🎀

where r and rafe are childhood friends, but will that all change?

it was finally friday, and you could relax and forget about the the tiresome week you just had. sarah, your best friend, said that after school you could go hang out round her pool with your mom before you two had to go out. you and your mom didn’t have the best relationship, everything she said seemed to have some snarky attitude to it and her compliments were always backhanded, but either way ever since you were little you two would go to the theatre every week to watch whatever was on. you loved the theatre it was a place to escape from your life and the opportunity to get sucked into someone’s else’s reality. it was a bit ironic that you would go to your place to escape from your mom with your mom, but it didn’t matter who you were with, as long as you were at the theatre. not too long after you had arrived your sister, scarlett and her friend , the older cameron daughter, sophie, arrived, and you took off your clothes, revealing your sweet little red bikini. you always have cherished your relationship with your sister, despite the five year age gap she was your best friend. you felt like a child again, playing mermaids, splashing each other and gossiping with a drink in your hand around the pool.

as you got out and dried yourself off, slipping back into your shorts and oversized tee, a giggly wheezie came out attacking you, scarlett and sophie with a water gun, getting you drenched again. and trailing behind her and scolding her was rose who was also bringing over a plate of juicy, colourful fruit over, “i’m so sorry girls” she apologised, but you just laughed and dismissed her with a shake of your head, how could you ever stay mad at wheez? as you continued talking to your sister and her friend, and rose caught up with your mom, she exclaimed to everyone, “you guys come for the annual celebration tonight! it will be lots of fun, plus it’s not too dressy so you could borrow something from the girls,” she said to you and scarlett, and to your mom, “and i can give you something of mine” your eyes lit up, you’ve always wanted to go to the cameron’s annual party but your mom never allowed you to go. you’ve heard about how amazing it was from whispers in the hall way and from peoples stories on snapchat and instagram: they would have heaps of food, from every cuisine you could think of; games and competitions, that were silly but everyone wanted to win; music blasting through the speaker, whether that be from a delicately made playlist throughout the years or from a live band; and an open bar that would serve everyone. “maybe, we’ve got plans” your mom said coldly, you looked at her pleadingly but she just ignored your attempts to get her to change her mind.

finally sarah, had arrived home and came into the garden. you two have always been friends ever since you were little girls learning their abc’s, even when you two grew up, you had stayed in the same friendship group. your other friends were a lot more like sarah, they were bubbly and outgoing and adventurous, and you were still bubbly but in bigger groups you were more reserved and kept to yourself, this meant that you never really went out with them outside of school, much preferring the solidarity of your room. as she got down to the pool she stripped off her clothes revealing her bathing suit, she also brought up the grand event happening later, “you guys should totally stay, it will be the best time. you’ve never come before so it will be even better as it’s your first time”. you girls slipped back into the pool and as you swam to the middle of it you whispered, “yeah just gotta convince my mom, y’know how she is” sarah understood, she’d known how yours and your moms relationship has been for years now so she gave you a sympathetic smile. you’d been doing gentle, slow laps of the pool for nearly an hour now when you decided to get out and dry off, the stage for later was being set up and caterers were making their way in and out of garden. even though you probably wouldn’t be staying, you and your sister decided to help set up. as you and sarah were doing some finishing touches, rafe walked out in those beige kook shorts he always sported and a lose white linen button up, he gave you a nod of acknowledgment and made his way over to rose to see what he needed to do before guests started to arrive. you, sarah and rafe used to be a little trio when you were younger, always going out together, if it was to the beach, the zoo or just to the park, you were always together. every weekend you would all have a sleepover and during the summer it was practically nearly everyday, and during the day, if you were busy at a family event, they would also be invited and vise vera. you were inseparable. but as you grew older you drifted away from rafe, he started to hang out with his own friends more, he wouldn’t hang out with you and sarah as much, he only would if you were at Tannyhill and he wasn’t busy. there was no bad blood or any argument that happened, you guys just simply grew up. but even with that the whole of the island knew not to mess with rafes girls- his sisters, and you.

slowly guests start arriving, it was mainly younger couples with children, as they couldn’t stay until too late they just showed up early to make the most of it. Sarah grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the stage which had five chairs with a deflated balloon on each, sarah was too your left and rafe was to your right. you looked rafe and then went to look back at Sarah but she was gone, rafe saw your puzzled expression and pointed at the stage and there sarah was with a mic in her hand. “what is going on?” you asked rafe in bewilderment. “basically every year we host the same competion. it’s only silly but everyone loves it. five people from an age range- so these ones coming on will be like ten years old, and the next will be like teenagers and so on- and out of these age groups they have to blow up a balloon and whoever pops it first wins out of that age group. then out of the end of the night all the winners from different age ranges compete against each other for the ultimate winner. it’s stupid but everyone has fun” you laughed softy at the stupidity of it all but you loved it, you wished you could stay longer, “you think i could win?” “doubt you would win against me” “is that a challenge mr cameron?” “maybe it is” you two bantered back and forth. as sarah was explaining the rules to the children, through the mic, your mom was talking obnoxiously loud from where she lounged on the sun bed next to rose. out of the corner of your eye you could see rafe turning his head quickly to look at her, clearly getting agitated. you knew he was stressed because no matter how silly this was all, he hated seeing people disrespect the effort his family had gone through to set this up, he also knew how mad ward could get at this too and didn’t want to deal with that later. you just about heard him murmur , “oh my god just shut up” as he ran his hand down his face and turned the top half of his body to glare down at your mom. with your best efforts, you pushed rafes shoulder so he was back to looking at the stage and said to him, “just tune her out and ignore her, y’know that’s what i do” with a playful smile on your face. chuckling at your lighthearted joke, he put his arm around your shoulders bringing you into the side of his chest as you watched the group of tots try to blow up a balloon. after it was done, sarah got off the stage and made her way back over to everyone else gleaming, she always managed to bring the light into any room. as you stood around talking another one of your friends showed up, grace, she embraced you in a big hug causing you to detach from rafes hold. your conversation got onto the topic of an upcoming party, it was this girl in your english class birthday soon and she was hosting a house party with nearly everyone from your year and other people from outside the island, and afterwards instead of everyone going home you’d camp on her fields she had attached to her house. you weren’t really that close with her, the only conversations you had was when you sat next to her in english, but she was a sweet girl so you were you to go and celebrate her big day with her. plus who were you to say no to a party! this obviously sparked something in sarah as she once again grabbed your hand and dragged you over to where rose was sun bathing, “rose y/n is going to that party in a few weeks!” this was her way of subtly asking rose again if she could go, you have always been the person who your friends parents trusted the most so you were used to people telling their parents you were going to something so that they could go. “well then i guess you two could go together” sarah squeezed your hand out of excitement she could now go and she carried on rambling about the event. this physical touch made you realise rafe wasn’t here now with you guys, the thought of that made your heart ache. why though? he was just a friend.

#rafesbunny #rafe cameron #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx #rafe #obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #puppy!reader #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #bsf!rafe #bestfriendbrother!rafe x reader #obx fanfiction

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marengogo · 8 months ago

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UGH!-8: I Tried So Hard and Got So Far, But In The End, IT WILL NOT MATTER.

A playlist of all angsty songs made by Yoongi

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

–🐺–🐺–🐺–

Hello my Kindred Gurls, Bois and Enbys,

Not sure how everyone is feeling, exhausted is one good guess, but I am sure there are many more emotions floating around that my tired little brain can’t even recall at the moment. For the good part of last week I was working on a post called 431 Context Not Found about some Big Blue Bird ARMY (aka 3B ARMY or even VPD …) and the way they’ve been dealing with “various things” and just as I was about to resume writing it, I went on the Blue Bird App, and got triggered. So I decided that my 3B ARMY post can wait, and I just had to let this out real quick. As always, my opinions, my rant, my delusional ass. Okay.

Within the context of music, the second you say the word ARMY, everyone may not really know what we are truly about, but they all know who we are fans of. V1P, bl1nks, c4rats, ex0ls, etc, I learned this names because of fan wars which take place daily on the Blue Bird app. In the same way in which I quickly learned that every group has a fandom, but not every fandom has a group, at least not in the way ARMY has BTS, and vice versa.

None of us were attracted to the boys because we saw "perfection".

Sure, if you are a post-2017 ARMY, BTS was that group, the type of group that just kept winning and that whatever they touched turned into gold. However, the moment we all got into the fandom, we all got to properly know the boys and we all quickly found out they were far from perfect, right?

Joonie is smart as hell but some of everyday life skills are still a conundrum for him and an obstacle within life itself. Jin gives Confidence classes, but was the one member who had to learn everything from scratch and sometimes he lets that bother him. Yoongi is literally a musical genius, a very kindhearted man with many silent emotions who is often misunderstood, and rarely understood. Hobi dance master extraordinaire, who is basically scared of anything that moves, but also quite critical of anything that doesn’t move in his life. Jimin, Jimin, jImin he is the one member who is sure to not disappoint on a stage, he owns the presence, but gets so easily lost off of it, trusting too much, but relying too little. Tae vocal range like few, just like is society knowledge, yet many a time, he knows so much, that he inadvertently ends up understanding so little. Jeon Jungkook, Golden Maknae Jeon Jungkook, the boy who can do it all, but is also very aware of what he doesn't want, whether you like it or not.

Because we as ARMY are FAR from perfect, we naturally got close to them, who also are just as imperfect. Yet, we, as Global/Western as we are, never stopped to think what it meant to value imperfection in their world, the East, which still seems to value perfection above all. And that was one of our shortsights, because we are basically citizens of the world, we try our best to include everyone’s point of you into consideration, but you know who doesn’t? Kpoppies. They are aware they stan Asian artists and also transferred themselves into the Ease mentally, so even though they value many superficial things, above all, they sometimes seem to know how to play their game better. When they agree with us that they paved the way, when they fall asleep on WEVERSE, when they do Try-Not-Laugh with us, when they stay up playing games with us, when they are not amused by us, when they scold us, when they randomly start lives … that’s not Idol behaviour. That’s Tannie's behaviour with ARMY.

So no matter how much we want to be there for them sometimes, no matter how much we understand how unfairly they are treated, by their peers, other fandoms, and the world honestly, there is one thing we really must do. WE MUST STICK TOGETHER. We must be united because in this type of rigged game, one of the ways to change the fate of the game is by numbers and realistically speaking, if we could only agree to be on a united front ARMY would have COLOSSAL NUMBERS. Now, this is the post that triggered me:

These people obviously don’t give a flying fuck of how they get to have a connection with the BillBoards. Who cares about the 7 boys who literally worked their ass to make sure that people like this 3 can just stroll on their red carpet like nothing. This, as shown by the tweet below, was an event prepared by Billboard to find the next BTS. These people are literally ALL THERE for an event that is aimed at finding someone who is better than BTS and nobody is batting an eye. They are all seeing it as an achievement … 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡.

Which is when something snapped in my tiny little pea brain.

SK Media and the Big 3 had probably somehow hoped that them going to the military would reduce their power and popularity as it has done with everyone who was ever anyone in their country to that point. YET, THERE IS BANGTAN, GOING STRONG AF. Solos thriving, Documentaries selling, Shows popping, and Accolades piling. It's like nothing has changed. But one thing didi change. The boys are now “separated” which makes them weaker and an easier target in their eyes.

Joonie - From the moment chapter 2 started my man saw no peace. ANY WORD HE UTTERED, ANY PICTURE HE POSTED he was attacked for, hate tweet after hate tweet after hate tweet. I mean … crazy.

Jin - They tried to get him down by interfering with his Paris walk during the olympics or just getting into his WEVERSE lives and making him a martyr for a cause he didn't cause. And now he is being chosen to represent SK, after this whole SK Media debacle … it is tough.

Yoongi - This was in my eyes a setup, but also unfortunately, served to them on a silver platter. Not really a DU1 per say but every fandom and all K-media will endeavor to keep using this against him and the band.

Hobi - The boycotting of his album unfortunately was quite the success, which is a pity because HOTS is a darn good album. And now he is about to get out in 50 days or so, and Media will be all over him; what will happen?

Jimin - They’ve always targeted his dad, from the very bitter beginning. And now it has escalated to a level that is kinda disgusting. Majority of ARMY are not going to do anything about it, because they somehow seem to be very slow to move when it comes to JM, but hey, what can I say. And let’s not forget all the attempts at ruining his promotion from all the fandoms + 1. Fuck all of y’all for real.

Tae - Whether Tae and Jennie actually dated or not, they were in Paris for a fact. It wasn’t cosplayers, it wasn’t a dream, it was them. But this cannot be used against him as a bone for hungry dogs. Allkpop has been baiting people with a scoop about the matter for quite some time now. It is even pinned on their blue bird profile. He also has the McD picture on his account, which even though it was taken before the boycott it will also be used against him for an endless amount of time.

Jungkook - Not only do we have fandoms of other non-kpop bands getting together so that he doesn't win anything at the VMAs, he still has the Scooter association tied to him which is not going away any time soon.

Bangtan - “Let’s literally call upon EVERYONE in the world to find the new BTS”

They’ve been trying to destroy us, by attacking and singling out member by member, and even just collectively, using boycotters, solos, shippers and some “ARMY” themselves, and they’ve been doing a darn good job so far. I-Army and K-army fighting. ARMY pretending luke shippers and solos don’t exist. Boycotters are still trying to make their way in. Baby ARMY still being born and having no “Parent” ARMY to help them in this times of “war”. It’s all a bit of a mess isn’t it?

So it all looks like shit right now, and it should very much feel like shit as well, like every time you open the blue Bird App, you should feel like wanting to throw your phone out. Unfortunately we can’t get shippers, solos and boycotters to listen but for everyone else, it doesn't matter our present differences, we can keep fighting once the boys are back together, like it is all well and good we all came together for Yoongi, but it ain't’ over. WE NEED TO FIND A WAY FOR ALL OF US TO BE UNITED UNTIL 2025. Us, the fans who believed in the perfectly imperfect boys, who at the same time constantly are surprised by us, the perfectly imperfect fans.

We are the only way out for our boys to be able to get back in.

But in order to win this game, we need to sit down and study all the rules, so we can figure out how to play them at their game. And it is also INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT to understand that no matter who your bias is, as things stand right now, they are stronger as a group, mentally and emotionally, because they are all they’ve got, besides us. FOR REAL. So if you love your bias, uplift their members and you'll see them thriving more than ever, because they are not going to shine, while any of their members are suffering. GUARANTEED. We have less than a year before they all get out and the one thing I think we should probably work on is learning to multitask. We can stand up for Yoongi, while protecting JM’s family, while voting for JK, protecting Tae’s privacy, letting Joonie just enjoy his music, while welcoming Hobi in the least media oriented way, while supporting Jin … 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡. Yeah, it's a lot, but who better than flawed/deranged bitches to carry out a seemingly impossible task?

Always respectfully yours 🫰🏾💜

Marengo.

#BTS is 7 #BTS has ARMY and ARMY has BTS

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bluecatwriter · 11 months ago

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I watched the Wildhorn/Black/Hampton Dracula rock opera!

Okay, okay, okay. As some of you know, one of the guys in my theater troupe got me comp tickets to see him in Dracula: The Musical. You guys. It was an EGREGIOUS adaptation that didn't even make narrative sense on its own terms. I also had a TOTAL BLAST.

If you like the musical, no shade to you— please just keep scrolling and like what you like! However, I had so many thoughts about this that I had to word-vomit about it, and thought some of you might have fun reading my thoughts on the good, the bad, and ugly for 3,000 words.

TL:DR: Very fun experience, so glad I went, the play's narrative choices make me want to throw hands in a Denny's parking lot, much dunking/adaptation-hate ahead, my friends are amazing, I'm writing my own play now.

(CW discussion of rape, ableism, drug use, suicide)

-First of all, everyone take a moment to appreciate my eyeliner. I do not usually draw eyeliner that well so I was very proud of myself.

-I went with my sister, since we both knew people in the cast. (I thought we knew three, but we actually knew four: the actors who played Dracula, Mina, Lucy, and Quincey.) My sister didn't know anything about Dracula except what she'd picked up from my incoherent ramblings (which I generally keep to a minimum around her).

-It was a black-box theater, which I didn't expect: six or so rows of chairs on each side of the theater, facing each other across the relatively small room, with the stage in the middle and a live orchestra (!!!) on one end. The set was a minimalist Gothic castle design, with windows, a freestanding moving wall, and a large platform that, throughout the play, served as Dracula's coffin, a table, Lucy's bed, Lucy's coffin, and just a general place to stand and sing in a badass way. I absolutely LOVE black box shows because they're so intimate: you can almost reach out and touch the actors, and you can see every minute facial expression and gesture, the light glittering in their eyes, and so on. (Acting in a black box theater is much more like movie acting because the audience can see what you're doing with your eyes in a way that regular theater doesn't allow, meaning that things like eye contact between characters is much more electric and effective.)

-The sound design and lighting effects were doing a lot of heavy lifting in this show, and they nailed it. Very spooky!

-The play began with the weird sisters, and they were consistently my favorite part of the play— the actresses killed it (ha), bringing an intense, spooky energy to the story, often serving as narrators, background singers, extras, special effects handlers (such as portraying the wreck of the Demeter), and the physical manifestation of Dracula's will/presence. They were AWESOME.

-I had decided in advance that this play was a fanfiction written by Dracula about himself, and nothing about the show dissuaded me from this idea. The guy who played Dracula served major cunt from the moment he stepped onstage, wearing leather pants with laces up the side and a big sweeping coat and a huge amount of eyeliner that really brought out his unnervingly blue eyes. ("All guys should wear eyeliner and leather pants," I joked to my sister after the show, and she responded, with the most haunted look I've ever seen, "I agree about the eyeliner, but not the pants. I lived in San Francisco for three years, and you know not what you speak of. There are things I cannot unsee.")

-Actually, to be honest I liked Dracula's characterization (until the end; see below); whether because of the director or the actor or both, this version really did not downplay what a bastard he is. He was incredibly ruthless, in all senses of the word: focused on a single goal and not caring who got mowed down in the process. Anytime his sung lines talked about him being lonely or sad or whatever, the actor played it off as him trying to garner sympathy from his listener, rather than expressing his true feelings, which was a directing/acting choice I really appreciated.

-When Jonathan came on stage (from the door just a few feet away) I nearly squealed with delight! He just RADIATED "biggest sweetheart you've ever met" energy: tall and lanky and with a scruffy lil beard and clothes that didn't quite fit. I was in love with him from the beginning. Also he got to mention his Kodak camera, and I remembered that I could not actually cheer at moments like that because that would be weird.

-The Dracula-Mina "romance" was introduced very early, which I appreciated; from a storytelling perspective, it was good to have that continuous thread. Dracula looks at a picture of Mina, mentions how young she is, asks Jonathan if she is "pure," and then decides that they're soulmates. It was SO PERVY. Once again, I loved the Dracula characterization. If only it had stayed one-sided…

-I was fortunately warned that in this version Jonathan takes the crucifix off so the weird sisters can continue attacking him, but I still had to suppress a "BOOOOO!" (I did whisper "NOT CANON!" to my sister, and later she said that when that happened in the play she was like, "Oh, okay, I don't care what happens to this guy now.") But I guess it did have the effect of making him less sympathetic, which served the story the play was trying to tell.

-I was pleased that there was a Drac-drinking-from-Jonathan scene, and consistent with the storytelling, Drac had a whole song about how he needs Jonathan's blood so he can be young and hot and go seduce Mina (which, again, fits with the story they were telling). They decided not to have any sexual tension between Dracula and Jonathan, so the blood-drinking scene was pretty brutal (complimentary)— Jonathan laid out on the platform with Drac just. gnawing on his neck while Jonathan writhed and convulsed. It was still kinda hot though not gonna lie

-Lucy's characterization at first was pretty interesting, because her song about the three suitors (and the directing/acting) made it seem like she was just kinda stuck with three mediocre choices, and chose the least offensive one (Arthur, who she describes as boring and can't even think of one nice thing to say about him) and tried to convince herself that she would be happy. This was honestly the biggest moment where I had to just squirm in my seat to keep from actively booing. Don't be so mean 2 my boy! From a storytelling perspective, it wasn't clear at all why she chose Arthur, because Quincey was the only one of the suitors who had any personality at all (even Jack was bland. JACK. WAS BLAND. YOU COULDN'T HAVE HIM SIT ON HIS HAT OR AT LEAST FIDDLE WITH HIS LANCET? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???). Anyway, Arthur was actually totally fine after that song (and had some nice lines in the group songs).

-Meanwhile, Drac is creeping on Mina by entering her thoughts without her consent and being like, "We're soulmates," and she just…. goes along with it???? With literally no rhyme or reason to her decision???? I know some of this is that I hate the whole concept of soulmates, but I expected at least SOME justification for why she was interested in him. There was no indication she was unhappy with Jonathan; there was no hint of any emotional connection; there wasn't even some weird "reincarnated lover" story to try to soften how incredibly strange it felt that Mina was randomly in love with this guy's voice in her head. His baritone is sexy BUT IT IS NOT THAT SEXY. GIRL PLEASE.

-In this version Dracula bites Lucy because he's trying to call Mina to him and Lucy comes by accident and he's like, "Well, nothin' I can do about that. CHOMP." Which, again, I honestly liked this characterization because he's not apologetic about who he is; he is just destroying everyone in his way and not caring about them as people. He just has a goal and he'll do anything to reach it.

-Then of course Lucy's like, "Oooh that was actually so sexy and I never want to wake up from that dream of him chomping on my throat." The directly seemed to imply that being bitten by a vampire just. instantly turns you into something that's not yourself, so I could kinda excuse it if I squinted, but it was still pretty icky.

-Renfield got to stab Jack! My sister felt sorry for Jack (because all his unethical science got shaved off in this adaptation) and I was just like, "YESSS RENFIELD YOU GO!"

-Jonathan shows up again, in a wheelchair (a really cool old-fashioned one), and Mina goes to marry him, and their marriage is paralleled with Lucy and Arthur's while Drac looms in the background. The double wedding was a nice staging choice, although the optics of Mina somewhat reluctantly marrying disabled Jonathan while abled Dracula is standing by being All Sexy was… uh, it was not great. But on the plus side, maybe it emphasizes the ableism that a lot of people have toward Jonathan's disabilities in the story, bringing them out into the open? (I am grasping at straws here.)

-Van Helsing was perfect! The actor had wild gray hair and forehead bumps and a tenor voice that could shatter your heart into a million pieces. He did a great job of having the "weird professor" vibes even though his lines were more coherent and to-the-point than they are in the book.

-No blood transfusions, sadly, but I see why they cut that part.

-Lucy turning vamp was very well done. I think I should mention at this point that the actors who played Dracula and Lucy are actually married to each other in real life, and they had really crackling chemistry and it was clear in every scene they were together that they were having just the best time. "Life After Life" was my second-favorite song in the play because it's just Dracula sending Lucy out to eat people— and again, both actors were clearly having SO MUCH FUN performing this song together. At the end of the scene I was all pumped up, like, "Yeah Lucy! Go eat some people!!!"

-Intermission. I told my sister this was like the part in Rashomon where the rapist tells the court his point of view and is like, "Oh, she totally wanted it." My sister shook her head at me and chuckled.

-The graveyard/Bloofer Lady scene was genuinely horrifying; Lucy's actress did an AMAZING job of amping up the horror, beginning the scene by cradling a baby and singing it a lullaby, then just CHOMPING down on it, and throwing it down and hissing like an animal when the Crew of Light approached her. Mina and Jonathan were in that scene, too, and even though Mina didn't have any lines, seeing her reacting to it (rushing to grab the child, dodging out of Bloofer!Lucy's snapping jaws) gave the scene a lot of emotional intensity.

-Both Bloofer!Lucy's death and Renfield's death were directed beautifully; they were both somewhat quiet, almost slow motion, focused not on the violence but on the emotional weight of both their lives ending.

-Jonathan and Arthur, while both being incredibly bland characters, have I think more dialogue in this play than they do in the book. Every time they spoke I was like, :D :D :D! My blorbos!!!

-Throughout Mina's whole song "Please Don't Make Me Love You" (sung, of course, to Dracula) I focused VERY HARD on my friend's amazing acting, her beautiful voice, the way she was playing this with absolute conviction, while in the back of my head I was screaming. Just a primal, Nazgul-like shriek. GIRL WHY (I think my sister was amused by how much I was squirming)

-Van Helsing has a nice little song about his dead wife, saying that it was a vampire that killed her and that's why he's a vampire hunter now. He was also shooting up with a comically large syringe during this song, but sure, yeah, that's fine. Like I said, his voice was SO BEAUTIFUL, so I was entranced. If only he had gotten a chance to find connection and family ties in order to continue that character arc HINT HINT

-Ah, then we get the Blood Baptism scene. Mina sings a song about how she doesn't want to run away (because of that sexy baritone voice I guess) so she invites Dracula into her room, he knocks out Jonathan, and then they make out over Jonathan's body. Le sigh. The funniest part of this scene is that they had her drink from his chest but they didn't use any fake blood, so he just unbuttons his shirt and she buries her face in his boobs, no context. I asked my sister afterward, "What did you think was going on in that scene?" and she said, "I figured she was drinking from his vampire-milk titties."

-Van Helsing and Dracula got an "I will take you down!"-style song that was actually really cool.

-Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, BOOK-CANON MINA SHOWS UP! She was in a wheelchair now (a great directing choice, I thought), and demanded that Van Helsing hypnotize her, insisted on them keeping the information from her so that Dracula can't get to it, makes them all vow to kill her, and figures out where Dracula is going based on the maps. I was like THERE SHE IS! THERE'S MY GIRL! …But unfortunately this characterization makes no sense in the story the musical is actually telling. Why is Mina leading them to him? Why is she taking such pains to make sure Dracula is not warned of their coming? It didn't fit with any of her characterization in the rest of the play (and especially not with the ending), so it felt really cobbled-together and odd.

-Also Jonathan vows to kill her and there's a whole song about how sad he is that he will have to do that. I was gritting my teeth the whole song being like It's a storytelling choice it's a storytelling choice it's a storytelling choice it's a storytelling choice it's a

-Okay. YOU GUYS. YOU GUYS. The song "Deep in the Darkest Night" WAS AMAZING. It's a song by the Crew of Light (and in this version, sung by all six of them, including Mina) about their quest, and how they must be points of light in the darkness. It was SO BEAUTIFUL and SO THEMATICALLY ON POINT and it was EVERYTHING I WANTED from a Dracula musical and it is a CRIME that the whole play was not built around these themes and motifs!! *chewing on the scenery* Also, holy cow, everyone in the cast could sing like nothing else. Full-body chills. Stunning, incredible, showstopping, no notes.

-In one of the hypnotic sessions, Dracula came to stand behind Mina and they sang a duet, a reprise of "Life After Life" (the song for Bloofer!Lucy), and that was an incredibly effective storytelling choice (also their voices just blended so. well. together that even in the songs I hated, I still got chills because their voices were SO DANG BEAUTIFUL TOGETHER). Again, I am haunted by what this play could've been if the Drac/Mina thing was one-sided.

-In this version, Quincey gives Mina his Bowie knife for protection, which I thought was sweet.

-Drac has a big sad-boy song about how he's actually in love with Mina now. BOOHOO MOTHERFUCKER. NO ONE CARES.

-Quincey got killed by trying to stake Dracula and Drac grabbing the stake and shoving it into his stomach. (My sister gasped and squeaked, "No!" when this happened.)

-Meanwhile, Van Helsing and Mina get separated, and Mina has a whole song about how she's made her final decision: she's gonna become a vampire and live with Dracula forever. At this point in the play I was like, Okay, girl, whatever, you do you…

-But then. BUT THEN. *frothing at the mouth*

-(Don Black and Christopher Hampton meet me in the Denny's parking lot I just want to talk)

-Drac's like, "Ooooh no actually I don't want you to be a vampire so you need to kill me now."

-Mina's like, "Nooooo this makes me so sad I have chosen to be a vampire and it is what I truly want!"

-Drac's like "Nobody cares what you want because the authors couldn't care less about your agency as a person"

-Mina's like "nooooooooo i'm so saaaaaad!"

-(Me: *still frothing at the mouth*)

-Finally, weeping, she takes Quincey's knife and places it over his heart.

-And then SHE DOESN'T EVEN FUCKING KILL HIM HE JUST GRABS HER HAND WITH THE KNIFE IN IT AND KILLS HIMSELF

-Like, I am just so mad that Mina doesn't even get the tiniest bit of agency here at the end. She is just blown about by the whims of the men, and at the end none of her narrative choices are respected in any way. A lot of this is, I'm sure, the directing for this particular performance: if I were trying to make this ending a bit more narratively satisfying, I would give Mina a moment where you can see her agreeing with him and deciding to kill him herself. This ending just felt… cheap. It didn't even form a satisfying closing even based on the rules of its own storytelling. It was so ridiculous that I actually had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

-After the show we got to talk to all our friends who were in it and it was easy to sincerely compliment them because they all did an AMAZING job. I feel so honored to be friends with such amazingly talented people!

-We drove home in a lightning storm while blasting Blondie's song "One Way or Another" (my sister said she was thinking of this song all through the Drac/Mina story arc) and singing loudly along. "ONE WAY OR ANOTHER/I'M GONNA FIND YA/I'M GONNA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA!"

-I asked her which two characters she thought I shipped the most and she guessed Jonathan/Quincey. Not a bad guess.

-Got home, rambled to my very tired spouse, curled up in bed, turned to him and said, "I promise to never leave you for some random dude who speaks in my head and says we're soulmates," and he replied, "And I promise to never leave you for three sexy vampire ladies," and if that's not a wedding vow renewal I don't know what is.

-Laid awake for nearly two hours brainstorming a Dracula play (not a musical, I'm not that talented). And, uh… yeah. A script is gonna happen. I've written plenty of plays (and co-directed/co-produced a few times), so it's definitely in my wheelhouse, and my brain will not shut up with ideas. So! *tosses it onto list of creative projects*

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(P.S. If you reblog, please don't tag this as the Dracula musical because I don't want any fans to be exposed to the hate. Thanks!)

#my writing #i guess???#dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #i am still so amped up a day later #tw scopophobia #character hate

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