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fleursdemeduse · 3 years ago

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Remembrance AU: Fighting For the Right Side

Warnings: Nightmare [Depiction of child death] ; Mention of death ; Allusion to mass murder and bombs

Words: 3.3k

You were quick to settle into your position in Pogtopia. Every day was primarily spent with Techno, but it was relaxing. You farmed, took trips to the bastion you two had met at, he protected you in fortresses, you two even went mining together. He was a comfortable constant in your world. Even when the voices got to be too much, you were with him. But that might have been what caused it all in the first place.

Settling into the small alcove Tommy said you could use, you decided that you could take this brief moment of quiet to read. You felt safe in the ravine, so much so that you had shed your armor back in Techno’s hidden stronghold.

Once sat in front of the fire, you tossed another small log in the flames. You'd have to go find more wood tomorrow but this was enough; The fire burning was bright enough you didn't need to light a torch and waste extra materials they might need, and the air warm enough you only needed a small throw blanket for added comfort to cuddle during the parts of your book the suspense physically got to you.

And so you got comfortable. You relaxed against the wall and you opened your book. Page 47.

Suddenly, sounds bombarded the child - a mad rustling, and then, twit twit, echoing over and over. They were familiar sounds, not particularly frightening, but unplaceable. A heartbeat was louder than anything else and the small nine year old could only wish that the sound were quieter. That everything was quieter.

The maze was an overgrown thing. Something so large that anyone who encountered it knew they could never escape. The shadows kept moving though; rushing faster than legs could ever hope to outrun. Faster and faster they crawled like vines all around. And soon the child was engulfed. Darkness spread to every limb, smothering wails that spilled from parted lips. There were no cries for help or alerts to any who would listen. Soon, nothing remained.

The crash had startled you awake. Your nightmare releasing it’s hold from you at the sudden sound. You relaxed quickly, however, seeing Wilbur in a heap next to the stairs. He must have fallen again. You pressed your lips together, remembering Techno’s words. “We used to have railin’s but Wilbur, he just really enjoyed fallin’ to his death.”

The brunet slowly got up and pat himself off before looking up at you and smiling. A smile like that could have made sunflowers turn to revel in its glow.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for waking you.” His voice was soft, probably to not wake anyone else if they hadn’t already been awoken already.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn’t a very good dream.” He nodded at you in understanding. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

The teasing smile on your lips grew bigger when his smile soured and he scoffed, grumbling to himself about how every mission was technically a secret one.

Yours fell away when he started walking off, his softness darkened with the thought of what happened during his outing. You hesitated. You didn’t want to wake Techno. You two were only just growing closer and you didn’t know how the hybrid reacted to missing out on the little sleep he was actually getting. But you didn’t want to be with your thoughts. Despite not being even remotely close to the man now leaving you behind, you reached out for him. “Hey Wilbur?” He turned to look at you. "Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don't want to be alone after that."

You watched his brown eyes brighten and a boyish grin overtake his lips. It reminded you of Tommy’s. You briefly wondered if his mood always swung this dramatically. “I'll stay for as long as you need." He made his way to sit with you and you added another log to the fire, sitting up so the rock digging into your spine shifted away. Wilbur sat across from you, his presence immediately making you relax.

"So, Mr. Leader," You taunted once more, "What was the secret mission?"

In the coming days, you and Wilbur spent more time together. He’d tell you the most random facts about himself whilst you two worked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay it any mind.

"Hey [y/n], guess what?"

"Hm?"

"I was born on September 14th. That makes me a Virgo."

"Did you know I can play guitar?"

"I think everyone knows that about you, Wilbur. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought you might wanna hear me play you something sometime..."

"You know, I was once married to this wonderful salmon named Sally. You remind me of her sometimes."

“With you on our side, [y/n], I know that we’re going to win L’manburg back. And I promise you’ll have a spot in my cabinet.”

It was decided. Techno and yourself would attend the festival while Wilbur and Tommy hung back and watched from a safe distance. You were nervous. A bad feeling grew like a stone in your stomach as they all prepared.

"Hey [y/n], come here a moment, will you?" Sighing as you stood from the chest you were going through, you felt your back pop in a few different places and you hissed before walking to where Wilbur stood. It was silent in the ravine, everyone just as anxious about the festival as you.

"Yeah?" You asked, resting a hand on his arm as you peeked around him at the paper on the table. It was a map of Manburg with “x”s scattered across it.

"Are you prepared?" He glanced down at you, watching the crease in your eyebrows deepen as you examined the plans.

"Mhm." You hummed, finally looking up at him. His eyes were so warm when they looked at you, just like Techno’s. Even if he didn’t have a smile, they were always filled with that same warmth that made you feel important. The two were more like brothers than either cared to admit. "Why?"

"Can I tell you something and you keep it a secret from Tommy and Techno?" Everything around you felt like it had stilled. Everything waiting for the other shoe to drop. The stone suddenly felt heavier.

"What is it?” He continued looking at you and you found it almost hard to breathe. "Wilbur?"

His hand reached to cup your cheek gently. They weren’t calloused like Technoblade’s. They were the hands of a poet, of a musician, of someone whose hand reached for the quill not the sword. They smelled of gunpowder. Your heart felt like it was in your throat when you realized what all of those “x”s were.

“You would risk letting all those people die just so you could have L’manburg back? Why?”

His voice came out hoarse when he finally brought himself to speak. "Because if I can’t have it, no one can, [y/n]. I'm so sorry."

Your lips trembled. You thought of all of the innocent people who would never see it coming. You thought of Tommy and Techno, getting ready in another part of the ravine who wouldn’t know until it was too late. You thought of the man before you who probably felt like he was doomed to keep repeating this action again and again. When had blowing something up ever worked in his past lifetimes? He had to know that this was crazy, right?

Wilbur continued to stare at your frightened face for a moment. He looked so serious. His dark eyebrows drawn together and lips turned just the slightest bit downward. But his eyes? The warmth that filled them seemed to be slowly draining and being replaced with dark melancholy. You hated that look on him and drew your hand up to hold the one cradling your face. “You don’t have to do this, y’know. There is always another way.”

Wilbur stepped forward, pulling you into an embrace that smelled of cedar and leather. His hand left your cheek to instead hold your head to his chest. You didn’t like this hug. This hug felt like he knew things were going to go horribly wrong and he didn’t want you to see the aftermath of it. “If there were one, we would have found it by now.”

Your hands gripped the soft material of his trench coat and you pressed your face into his sweater. You didn’t want this. You were happy to help where you could, but you didn’t want to be a part of the destruction of a nation. You just wanted to help your friends overthrow a tyrant. “I wish I were as brave as you, Wil.”

The soft huff of a chuckle reverberated through his chest as he squeezed you tighter. “Did you know that that’s the first time you’ve called me something other than my name?” His voice was uplifted at the end. He almost sounded happy by the thought. It was squashed when he sighed, pressing his face into your hair. “I wouldn’t call it bravery, though. Still, I promise that we’ll all end up on the other side of this together.”

You tilted your head up a bit to look at him. “Where else would we be?”

He didn’t answer you, just held you tighter.

If there was one thing Wilbur couldn’t describe himself as, it was good.

In previous lives, he had been a cruel, sadistic god. He forced hundreds of people to compete for his entertainment. They were rats, moles, ants, sometimes even just humans while he played the part of omnipotent creator. He had been a king sometimes, or a hero. And time and time again, he was just an older brother. But no matter what, he couldn’t seem to save the people who loved him the most. He couldn’t protect the ones who looked up to him; be it because he found sick joy in their deaths, or because he wasn’t strong enough.

He never felt strong enough.

When Technoblade had told him of the strange person whom he had met in the nether, he almost brushed it off. There was no way he had met someone whom he hadn’t shared at least one lifetime with. There was no such thing as new players who weren’t just NPCs.

However, when you stepped into the ravine, inventory absolutely filled with different items that you just willingly handed over to the pink haired hybrid with a smile, he was utterly floored. The curve of your lips, the tone of your voice, even the look in your eyes were all new to him. He had never once met you.

He approached the two of you with hurried steps, wondering what kind of trick you were playing, only to freeze when you turned your gaze to him. He could hear his own blood rushing through his ears and, for a moment, he wondered if you could hear it too. The expression you wore unnerved him. It was as if you had seen every lifetime, every possibility. Yet you still had the nerve to smile shyly at him. When you waved at him in silent greeting, he knew Technoblade had been completely correct in his assumption. Your lives were missing from your wrist.

You were an investment.

But no one made him feel as powerless as you did.

You were able to try things over and over and over again. You weren’t held back by memories of mistakes or fears. The tiny flits of trauma they all seemed to feel were just… absent in your being. You were unapologetic about running errands in Manburg and doing reconnaissance whilst you were out, seemingly unafraid during the recounts you had given him of meeting Schlatt and Tubbo for the first time.

And this seemed to hold true in your interactions with Tubbo. He didn’t treat you with the same feral energy he shared with Tommy or the attitude he put forth for his leaders. When you weren’t spending almost every waking moment with Technoblade, the soft murmur of your soft voices being heard through the stone walls that led to the farm, you were interacting with one or both of the teenagers that helped fuel the rebellion. Tubbo told you about new ideas he had, or described to you his day, or even just explained to you things that even he himself knew he would have trouble understanding, despite Tubbo being the one to explain them. Wilbur noticed that you just did that. You listened patiently while someone talked, despite the knowing look in your eye that made him feel like you already knew exactly what they were about to say. And this seemed to carry over into your relationship with Tommy.

You paid rapt attention to the blond, reminding him that even if he was still technically a child, that doesn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be listened to. The oddest part he found, though? Tommy actually returned the favor in kind. It wasn’t so much that you would go on long-winded tangents and he’d be forced to sit there and listen. It was that when you asked or told the sixteen year old to do something, he did it without too much of a fight. That’s not to say he wouldn’t talk back to you, he did almost every time, but it was the point that he would still do what you said without much hesitation. And every single time, Wilbur felt the sharpest stab of envy.

He had questioned Tommy after the first couple instances of it happening before him. He had cornered the very person who had been his younger brother in many previous lives against the cold stone wall on one of the walk ways while you and Techno were out gathering things from the nether and demanded to know why. However, the young soldier just shrugged in response. “They just usually have very fun ideas.” He had stared long and hard at the blonde, the other fiddling with the hem of his dirty shirt. He made a mental note to ask if you’d be willing to do laundry for them when you next went to Manburg. “That and…”

“And?” Wilbur had immediately prompted, knowing the time he had to question the younger was running short.

“They just have that tone of voice. And something makes me feel like I should listen when they tell me to do something.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to berate him. “Sometimes it feels like they know way more than they should. Like they already know what’s going to happen.”

The brunet’s words died on his tongue.

They all felt like that.

But if you knew so much, why did you never talk about any of your past lives like the rest of them did? If you knew what was going to happen, why were you so patient and let them make mistake after mistake?

The thought sat bitterly at the forefront of his mind as he pat himself off, having fallen off the side of the walkway yet again. He almost regretted removing the child-proofing, but he was an adult, and he didn’t need them, and he certainly wasn’t going to recant his insistence that they didn’t need them. He turned when he heard shifting and saw you slumped against the side of the ravine.

In the dim lighting, you looked different. You were cuddled under a thin blanket, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed into a pout that reminded him of a child. He must have awoken you. You looked rather cute like this, though.

He smiled at you despite himself. He was still a little hesitant about being around you. He didn’t need help in his daily activities like Technoblade, he didn’t need a guiding hand like Tommy, and he felt plenty listened to daily, unlike Tubbo.

But somehow, he didn’t feel as loved as you were.

“Oh hey, sorry for waking you.” The words had slipped from his mouth before he had had a chance to stop them. Now he’d be forced to converse with you. He watched your eyes look away from him, even in the dim light.

"It wasn’t a very good dream.” You didn’t have good dreams? What was there to have a nightmare of? He tucked that piece of information away for later, your eyes were back on him. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

His mood immediately dropped, especially when he saw the mocking grin that planted itself on your face. It was as if this were a game to you. “Every mission we pursue is a secret one, you of all people should know that.”

The grin just grew and he felt his chest tighten. How could you act so lax when you seemed to know exactly what happened when he was out there? He turned to walk back to his desk to write about the events that had transpired and quell his anger. He wasn’t truly upset with you, he knew that, and he didn’t want to take that out on the one person that seemed to be holding together his fellow usurpers, but you almost irritated him. His soft steps reverberated through their base.

“Hey Wilbur?”

His steps faltered. Despite your previous mood, you suddenly sounded so small. Afraid. He looked at you from over his shoulder and was surprised to see your extended hand.

“Can you stay for tonight? I don’t want to be alone after that.”

A new feeling sparked in him.

You wanted him? The one who had been so helpful for everyone else, to the cause, even to him on occasion, needed his help? How bad had your dream been? You looked so distraught, so powerless. He didn’t feel so weak when you looked at him like that.

“I’ll stay for as long as you need.” Your eyes held a warmth that could rival the fire in front of them. You moved to feed it and he sat across from you. You two weren’t close in either sense of emotionally or physically.

When had that changed?

He felt compelled to check up on you more after that night, use you as the investment that he believed you to be. No one in Manburg knew of your status, and he was planning on using it to their advantage.

Or, he had been.

But you made him feel safe about sharing things about himself. You were easy to talk to, easy to work around, easy to listen to. You would have been so easy to use.

Maybe that’s why he told you of the plan he and Tubbo had come up with.

You had found your way into much more than his good graces, just like the rest of them, and he didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. You were so susceptible to influence, he feared you’d start to see him as a villain. He knew what people would say about him. He wanted you to know his thoughts and feelings before you could be tainted by their remarks.

He had shared memories with you before. They all had. Words seemed to fall unencumbered whenever you were around and they were all victim to it. But you hadn’t judged any of them on the actions they had taken in their previous lives. You didn’t even judge them on the actions they had taken in this one. Despite this, he was still scared you’d be turned against him if he wasn’t the one to tell you.

“I think everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

It was his turn to prove that they were fighting for the right side.

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: nightmares #tw: death #tw: child death #tw: genocide #tw: bomb

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harringrooves · 3 years ago

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Inspired by the #cherrylanechallenge day 1 prompt knife but this is not spooky at all so technically this is just a random little ficlet! AO3

The chair outside the principal's office is already taken when Billy gets there. He lets his eyes follow the trail from the clean, white sneakers up the impossibly long stretch of denim clad leg and even further upwards over the two toned striped polo shirt to the moles peeking out from just under the collar.

Steve Harrington glances up at him, then grimaces. Sighs.

"Jesus Christ," Harrington mutters.

"What are you doing here?" Billy grunts. There's no where left to sit, so he flung his jacket onto the linoleum and drops down onto it, back resting against the wall directly opposite Harrington.

Despite the distance of the entire width of the hallway between them, when Billy stretches his legs out the scuffed points of his boots almost touch the edge of Harrington's sneakers.

"Waiting for Mrs Reyes."

"Yeah, no shit."

That earns him a glare from Harrington. Billy's stomach turns a little at the disdain in Harrington's dark eyes, but it's the curiosity shining through that makes him squirm. Like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"Why're you here?"

Billy rolls his eyes, letting the familiar motion draw out the equally familiar sneer. "Same as you, dumbass."

Harrington huffs and turns away again as they both fall silent, glancing at the door every so often as the minutes tick by. It's not at all a comfortable silence. Harrington's not looking at Billy so Billy shouldn't be looking at him. But the walls are blank and the only other remotely interesting thing is the name plaque on the principal's door.

So Billy traces the letters dutifully, keeps going even when he gets nearer to the end of Reyes and stripes creep into the very edge of his vision. Even when he hears Harrington shift in the chair, moving his legs under him onto the seat then over the arms than back down to the floor. Even when Harrington asks, "You go crazy on some kid again?"

Billy goes round and round the shape of the capital R. "No. The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Harrington laughs. It's loud and braying, and not what Billy would've guessed King Steve's laugh would sound like. He imagined something smooth and dark, something that would exude effortless charm with an undertone of something mysteriously rich and out of reach.

It just sounds like a teenage guy laughing, if a teenage guy was also part donkey. Billy would find it funny, if Harrington wasn't laughing at him. "What?" he repeats harshly.

Harrington eventually quiets. "What do I mean? The night at the Byer's, you went like, fully psycho. Your eyes were fucking dead. Did you get like that again, is that why you're here?"

Finally, Billy tears his eyes away from the plaque and meets Harrington's head on. "No," Billy says firmly. "I didn't fucking- no."

Harrington shrugs. "Whatever. Wouldn't surprise me if you did, sooner or later."

That stings. In California he was good at skating and surfing and babysitting and he was top of his class in English and History. Even after she left everyone knew him as Rosaline's boy (never Neil's), with the blonde hair and the yellow surfboard and the white smile that was a little too charming for his own good. Here in Hawkins, he was the Hargrove kid, the one who fucked and ditched, the one who fought and drank.

Maybe Billy's fine with everyone else thinking that about him, but not Harrington. Billy won't let himself think about why, but he wants Harrington see him. To look at him and think he's better than that night.

"I got kicked out of shop class," Billy bites out quietly. Harrington blinks at him.

"You got in a fight in shop-"

"I didn't get in a fight, for fuck's sake!"

Harrington holds his hands up in mock placation, bobbing his head mockingly. "Alright, alright." He stretches his leg out and lazily nudges at Billy's foot. "What'd you do then?"

"Made a knife," Billy mumbles, eyes back on the plaque.

Harrington laughs again. "You what?"

"I made a-"

"A knife, yeah." Harrington cocks his head like a little dog, some of his fringe flopping into his eye. "You know that just makes you sound even crazier, right?"

Billy just shrugs and lets his head fall back against the wall. "Wasn't for me, it was s'posed to be a gift. For- for Max." Harrington freezes.

"You were gonna make Max a knife as a gift?" It sounds like Harrington's struggling with every implication of that sentence. That Billy would gift Max something. That a knife was an appropriate gift. That Billy would care enough about anything to create something hand made.

"Yeah." He can't help but let a little bit of defensiveness slip into his tone. Billy kicks Harrington's foot away, probably a bit harder than necessary. "It was a replica of that one her character has in that stupid game her nerd friends play. Demons in Dungeons, or whatever." Dungeons and Dragons. Billy's not that stupid, but he's also not that shameless to admit to knowing what it's called. "It was a full scaled up one, even got the pattern on the handle half done."

"That's- cool," Harrington says hesitantly. "Didn't know you cared, Hargrove."

"Shitbird's birthday soon. Thought she'd like it." Billy glances over to Harrington, who's watching him with narrowed eyes. Billy coughs, shifting his shoulders a little to roll off the weight of the scrutiny. "Doesn't matter, that fucker Morrison confiscated it anyway."

Silence falls again, still just as awkward as last time but lacking a large amount of the hostility. Harrington's still watching him. The plaque's lost it's draw and Billy resorts to tracing the seams of his jeans with a fingernail.

"I'm failing English," Harrington offers abruptly. Billy's head snaps up, but for the first time Harrington's looking away as he speaks. "That's why I'm here. They're not sure if I'm gonna graduate."

"Sucks," Billy says roughly. Harrington nods slowly.

"Yeah."

Billy swallows, fingers clenching into fists atop his thighs. "I could, uh, give you my notes."

"Why would I need your notes?"

"'Cause you're failing English." Billy doesn't mean to say it like Harrington's an idiot, but those big brown eyes are wide and confused, like he's never thought about actually asking for help. "And 'cause I'm acing it."

Harrington's nose wrinkles in obvious disbelief, but he doesn't challenge it. He just sighs and lets his head loll to the side, propped up by his fist. "Yeah. Whatever. I'll do anything, at this point."

Billy nods silently. Harrington opens his mouth again, but he's interrupted by the click of the office door finally opening. Mrs Reyes pokes her head out.

"Steve," she greets him warmly. Her eyes slide over to Billy on the floor and her lips thin ever so slightly. "William."

"Hi," Billy says as obnoxiously peppy as he can manage.

"I'll see to you in a minute, after I've spoken with Steve." And then Harrington steps through into the office and the door swings shut once again.

Billy could get up and sit in the now vacant chair, but he stays right where he is until it's his turn to be called in. Harrington looks at him as he passes him in the doorway, but it's obvious that he's a million miles away, frowning at Billy but his mind no doubt occupied by something else.

Mrs Reyes doesn't ask what happened, just gives him a Friday detention and a lecture on how badly his behaviour is going to affect his record and how that's such a shame given his academic achievements. Billy lets it wash over him, not bothering to really pay attention. He's heard it all before.

When school lets out and Billy makes his way out the Camaro, he almost trips over his feet at the sight of Steve Harrington leaning against his car, twirling a knife in his long fingers.

"Here," Harrington says as soon as Billy gets close enough, holding the knife out to him blade first. Billy takes it gingerly and slips it into his jacket pocket.

"How'd you get it back?"

Harrington's chest puffs up in some god awful display of smugness as he smirks at Billy. "Morrison leaves his office unlocked during lunch. Everyone knows, it's like the number one place to make out. I was in an out, the couple in there didn't even notice me."

"That's disgusting. But, thanks, I guess-"

"Don't." Harrington holds up a hand, wincing a little. "I didn't do it for you, I think Max will really like the gift so if anything, I did it for her. And consider this payment for the notes."

"Payment?" Billy's brow furrows. "I didn't ask you to pay me." But now that Harrington's mentioned it, he definitely should have. Harrington's rich, everyone knows that. Billy could've got an easy $100 or some of the good weed Tommy's always talking about Harrington having.

"And now you don't have to," Harrington says smugly. "I give you the knife, you give me the notes. I don't want you asking me a month down the track to give you like $80 or a bag of weed or whatever in return. So there's the knife, aaaaand we're even."

Billy glowers as Harrington grins smarmily at him. "Fine. We're even. Now fuck off, some of us got places to be."

Harrington dutifully pushes off the Camaro, walking backwards towards his own car a few rows over. "Cool. Give me the notes whenever this week."

Billy doesn't say bye, just gets in his car and drives off, studiously not watching the fading image of Steve Harrington in his rear view mirror.

...

Max loves the knife. She doesn't hug him, but she nudges his shoulder with hers and declares that she's going to tie it to her belt and carry it with her at all times from now on. Neil goes purple trying to hold back his commentary on just how ladylike and appropriate for a young woman that is. Billy gets a cuff to the back of the head later, but it's worth it.

Harrington does get to graduate. He leans over from his seat beside Billy's (alphabetical order) during the opening speech of the graduation ceremony and whispers closer than necessary into Billy's ear, "Thanks, man." He doesn't so much as glance at Billy for the rest of the three hour ceremony, or during the party later that night that goes until daybreak the next morning, but it's worth it.

Billy bides his time. He can handle one more summer if it means getting enough cash to be independent when he leaves for college in a few months. Neil sucks as much as always, and driving Max everywhere cuts into the hours he's able to put in at the pool, but when she drags him to the new mall after his shift and right into the blissfully cool ice cream shop, Steve Harrington's eyes catch tellingly on the bare skin between the bottom of Billy's crop top and his tiny, red shorts and it's so, so fucking worth it.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #this isn't spooky at all i'm so sorry 😩#also unedited af #where does this fall on the canon timeline??? nobody knows!!#hg fic #harringrove fic

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saynotoshityouhate · 3 years ago

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Squirt Guns & Switches (Adam Sackler x Reader)

summary: Your childish boyfriend ruined your nephew's birthday gift - but that didn't ruin your evening.

notes: this was my first submission to a fic exchange ( @adcuficexchange ) ever - something that really pushed myself out of my comfort zone but now I’m addicted. I wrote this for the lovely @leatherboundbirate and while it’s not my best work (and I desperately want to try it again now that I know what I’m doing) I still had fun writing it and hope you liked it! 💕

cw: oral (f receiving), PIV, squirt gun play

Summer in NYC was sweltering at best. The air was thick with humidity and sweat. The tall buildings and black asphalt held all of the heat at street level. Your small apartment had one window AC unit that you only turned on to sleep. You and your boyfriend, Adam, were struggling actors and living in NYC was expensive enough without the small comfort of cool air.

It was your nephew’s birthday party tomorrow, and you still needed to wrap his gift. You got out the wrapping paper, tape and scissors from the back corner of your closet, along with the shopping bag that held his gift, and set them at the kitchen table to put the gift together. You poured yourself a tall glass of ice water, attempting to cool your body down more, as wearing only a thin white tank top and gym shorts wasn’t doing the trick.

As you sat down, the front door flew open. Adam, a towering presence, crashed into the living room, kicking off his shoes and tossing his red backpack onto the couch. “Hey kid,” Adam kissed your cheek, “How was your day?” He whipped off his t-shirt, revealing his structured chest that was covered in a sheen of sweat. His skin was adorned with millions of little brown freckles and moles, a walking game of connect the dots - your favorite hobby was to trace them and find new constellations across his back.

“Oooooh shit, I’ve always wanted one of these!” Adam picked up the newest version of the SuperSoaker Squirt Gun - the gift you had purchased for your nephew, before you even had a chance to answer. “Hey put that back, that’s for tomorrow!” The heat had drained the patience from your soul, even if he got cuter when he was excited about something.

Before you knew it, he had ripped the packaging apart, eliciting a groan from you. “Ugh, seriously Adam?” Adam chuckled. “Kids have too many toys these days anyways. I’d be content with a stick…and a magnifying glass.” You rolled your eyes. “You were one of those kids who lit ants on fire, weren’t you.” He stuck his tongue out at you as he turned on the sink to fill up the squirt gun’s large tank.

You stood, hands on your hips, still pissed that you’d have to buy a new gift in the morning. “Adam, don’t you dare.” Adam grinned wide, showing off his goofy smile that made you absolutely melt. You tried to hold firm, but then he fired. “wanna see your tits….” He sprayed the squirt gun across your chest, dampening your white tank top. You squealed, the ice cold water soaking through the thin fabric, quickly revealing the fact that you hadn’t put a bra on this morning. It was too hot!

“Adam!!!” You whined, stomping your feet. “Give me that!” You charged towards him, grabbing at the squirt gun. Adam held the gun above his head and skipped around the apartment chanting “You’re not wearing a bra! You’re not wearing a bra!” He was too tall for you to reach it, but you knew exactly what to do to get him to listen to you.

Taking a deep breath and looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, you grabbed the hem of your tank top. “My shirt is so wet Adam, I should probably take it off.” You lifted the shirt over your head, revealing your breasts. Adam dropped his arms from above his head, and set the squirt gun off to the side. Like two magnets, his large hands latched on, holding their weight and softness. You gasped slightly, knowing this would be his reaction but never fully prepared for how wonderful it felt. He knelt down, bringing your chest to eye level, as he laid gentle kisses on and around your breasts. You brushed your fingers through his mop of dark hair, reveling in the feelings coursing through you.

You hated to interrupt, but this was your one opportunity. You grabbed the squirt gun which was just off to the side and taking a step back, you fired. Adam was knocked off balance, too engrossed in your tits to realize you had bested him. You copied his actions, spraying his chest, until you saw the tent that had formed in his shorts. You laughed, always surprised by the small things about you that turned Adam on - like when you took control.

Adam’s eyes were blown wide, surprised by your actions but also incredibly excited for whatever was going to come next. Your eyes glistened with mischievous excitement. You shot one quick squirt of water just to the side of Adam’s hardening cock. He grunted, his hips thrusting slightly, seeking friction. You laughed again. “You’re a needy little brat, aren’t you? Stealing my gift, holding it out of my grasp, getting my shirt wet…” You sprayed the gun again, this time to the other side. He grunted again. “Kid, come on, gimme a break.” Adam pleaded.

You slowly walked toward Adam, squirt gun pointed at his crotch. “You ruined my gift, Adam.” You sprayed the base of his erection, drawing a groan from your prey. “Now I have to go shopping in the morning.” You sprayed the head of his cock. “Fuhuuck, I’m sorry,” Adam mumbled. “What did you say, babe? I couldn’t hear you.” You stood over him, your legs straddled over his hips, squirt gun pointed straight down.

Adam grabbed your calves, rubbing up and down. “Y/n, I’m…” you sprayed a long stream of icy cold water, slowly, from base to tip. “Hands off, Sackler. Not until I hear an apology.” Adam’s head rolled back, his hands falling to his side and his hips jutting upwards. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he yelled, bringing his deep golden eyes back to meet yours. You smiled, taking a step forward and lowering yourself down to sit on his stomach. “That wasn’t too difficult, now was it?” You held the squirt gun above your head, resting your other hand on his chest and leaning in, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Your breasts fell right in his eye line, taking every ounce of his self control not to open his perfect pink lips and take one into his mouth.

You stood up, setting the squirt gun back on the table. “Now, here’s how you’re going to make it up to me. Not only are you going to replace the gift you ruined before I have to leave in the morning, but you’re going to make me feel good. I’ve had a long fucking day. I really just wanted to wrap this gift and spend the evening with my wonderful, caring, doting boyfriend. I wanted to make him feel good.” You shimmied your hips, pushing your shorts and underwear down to your ankles. Kicking them off to the side and taking a large step forward, you looked down at Adam, who was salivating. “Do you think you can make me feel good, baby?” Adam nodded his head, swallowing thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You smiled down at your large, usually intimidating, boyfriend. Not only was he goofy, and silly, and sweet - but he could be strong, and dominating, and rough around the edges. You loved that about him - never knowing what to expect. It kept you excited - and he felt the same way about you. You slowly lowered yourself, his tentative hands gently guiding you, unsure whether he was allowed to touch you or not. “Please touch me,” you breathed, covering his hands with yours, your warmth easing itself onto his eagerly awaiting face.

Adam knew what he was doing, knowing exactly how to draw reactions from you, whether they were feelings of pleasure, frustration, or pure need. He used his lips and tongue, his breath and the vibrations of his own pleasure to drive you absolutely crazy. From the start, you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to hold out. Your hips moved in slow circles, your heavy head lolled back, and your hands, unable to find a home in one place, moved from Adam’s hair, to reaching behind you, grabbing at his now painfully hard erection through his shorts. “Babe, you make me feel so good, make me cum baby, please,” you whined, quickening the movement of your hips. Adam chuckled, the deep vibrations of his laughter drawing a high pitched squeal from you. He was in charge now.

Adam moved his hands up to your hips, and in one swift motion, he had you on your back. Lifting his head and pushing your legs apart, he settled himself up on his knees between your legs. “I’d be happy to go shopping for you, kid. But I know the best way to make you feel good is my cock in this tight pussy of yours. I was just gettin’ it ready earlier.” Adam pushed his shorts and boxers down just enough to free himself, the tip red and angry and leaking precum. “Please Adam,” you cried, desperately, “I need you.” That was all he needed. In one movement, he entered you, fully and deeply. He was right, his early actions had you more than prepared for his above average size. You had already been so close - it only took a few deep strokes and taps of his finger on your clit for you to lose control. Your orgasm crashed over you, babbling nonsense and soaking Adam’s cock with your arousal.

“Couldn’t even last for me, could you, kid? Now you’ve gotta wait for me, can you do that?” Adam’s thrusts became messy, his hair fell in front of his eyes and stuck to his face where your taste still lingered. You sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, reveling in the full, warm feeling that had washed over you. “I can wait for you, please cum for me, Adam. I want you to fill me up, Adam. Please.” That was enough for him, stuttering once more and groaning into his release.

You both laid on the kitchen floor, close...but not too close - the heat of the day and your activities didn’t bode well for post-coital cuddling, the squirt gun still sitting perfectly on it’s perch. Who knew a squirt gun could lead to so much enjoyment?

#adam sackler fanfic #adam sackler smut #adcu fic exchange #adcu summer fic exchange #adcu community #adcu #adam sackler x you #adam sackler x reader #Adam sackler

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roachliquid · 3 years ago

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When it comes to writing about societies of eusocial insects, I'd love if more writers were to consider the potential of termites.

Here in the States, we're mostly conditioned to think of termites as dangerous pests who eat your house. And in fairness, that is the most likely scenario where most Americans are likely to encounter a termite - much like any cockroach, we tend not to notice them unless they show up in our homes. But what I generally see people overlooking is that that's only one side of the story - benign, even helpful termites never seem to get touched on, except maybe as food.

(To be fair, they are tasty and nutritious.)

And... that's silly. When we write about other eusocial insects, it's often from a pretty positive perspective. Ants? Noble, hardworking citizens who come together to make their hive strong. Honeybees? Noble, hardworking citizens who come together to make a delicious, incredible food source. (Or hot babes who want to kidnap you to their hive. And frankly, I'm not judging. I'm into it.) Wasps get a bad rap, of course, but that's a topic for another post, because I'm here to deliver some excellent facts about termites and why they are such good candidates for a storytelling subject.

Termites are every bit as industrious and complex as bees or ants. Yes, that can lead to digging tunnels in your house, but it also involves building massive underground complexes, or impressive clay skyscrapers, which boast not only the termites and their young but amazing features like ventilation systems and fungus farms.

You know those weird fictional tropes that people like to apply to ants or bees? Stuff like workers being both male and female, drones surviving to mate with the queen over and over, or the hive staying functional for years on end? Termites have all of that. Of course, taking creative liberties is fine, but how neat is it that there's a real bug that does all this stuff?

Termites are precious. Look at those blobby little bodies and tell me they aren't. They're basically rounder ants! And you can't tell me that those soldier termites with the single horns aren't cute as shit. They're so pointy.

The most damaging termite in the United States isn't even a problem because it's a termite, per se. The Formosan termite is actually an invasive species in the US, and the main reason it poses such a threat is because their colonies are massive compared to other termites that live here. Which is to say, they'd make great foils to some of our other species, assuming your story is set in the States. Or you could ignore them altogether and write about some nicer ones, if you prefer.

We've been shitting on cockroaches for too long. Most roaches aren't really a threat - even the ones who show up in your house are less likely to be vectors for disease than a warning that you really need to clean the place up. (German roaches can pose serious problems, but much like Formosan termites, they're not exactly the baseline creature.)

Of course, if you're not interested in termites, we could also use more stories about naked mole rats.

#termites #insects #cockroaches #writing

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needcake · 4 years ago

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day 4: cardverse

Arthur/Teo, PG-15 (for some violence), 2k.

@engportevents

Three times the Queen of Spades almost caught the Diamond Bandit, and one time he did (sort of)

There had been talk – rumors – of a band of bandits roaming the borders between the four kingdoms for months. Their usual targets were trains loaded with gold and silver and the occasional rich traveler going from one kingdom to the other.

Arthur, currently, was the latter.

“Can’t you make the horses go faster?!” he shouted at the conductor who yelled back something he didn’t quite catch over the noise of the fighting in the carriages behind them where the rest of his security detail was being held back instead of doing their job of protecting him!

He shut the small partition between him and the conductor with a violent shove and noticed the inside of the cabin now smelled of lavender.

When he turned back on his seat, the Diamond Bandit was smiling at him, sitting with far too familiarity with his arms spread open over the back of the cushions and his legs crossed.

“My, so you’re the next Queen of Spades?”

Arthur breathed deeply. His powers had not fully developed yet and the masked man he had seen in the wanted posters all over the towns in the Diamonds Kingdom was very much not a rumor.

“What of it?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time while summoning enough energy in his hand to blast the damn smile off the man’s face.

The bandit shrugged, that idiot smile still plastered on his partially covered face.

“Does your future husband know?” he asked and Arthur could feel the small ball of pure energy in his hand growing even smaller and denser. It needed to be as small as the head of a pin before he could cast it and cause any real damage.

“Know what?” He needed more time, just a little more time and concentration.

The bandit leaped onto his lap and pressed a dagger to his throat. His smile turned wicked. “That you’re no longer a virgin,” he whispered in his ear and Arthur’s concentration evaporated, the energy in his hand expanding until it blew up like a firecracker and blinding white smoke filled the cabin.

The pressure of another body over his was gone. Along with his engagement ring.

When the smoke cleared, the conductor announced the bandits had retreated and they were safe now. Arthur nodded and pressed a hand to his chest. How had he known…?

Next he saw him was during a ball in the Clubs Kingdom to celebrate the Queen’s birthday. Clubs was a Northern kingdom with a long and proud tradition of horseback fighting and hunting, and Arthur was trying very hard not to look directly at the animals’ heads hung on the walls around the room.

The music changed and his dancing partner – an older gentleman and high-ranking noble, probably belonging to the House of 8 – was shoved out of the way to make room for a younger and more vigorous partner who strode across the ballroom with Arthur in his arms, barely giving him time to keep up.

“Watch it!” he scolded when his feet almost stepped over his.

“Are you going to throw another feeble spark at me?” the man laughed and Arthur only had time to catch a glimpse of pale green eyes and a dark mole beneath the right eye before the entire room went dark and a myriad of gasps and faint exclamations of fright and surprise replaced the music.

“It’s you!” Arthur hissed and felt strong hands hold him tighter against a firm chest.

“Does anyone in this room know, dear Queen?” the bandit asked in a whisper and Arthur felt his entire body shiver with the proximity and the smell of lavender. “Have you told anyone that you used to be just another one of the butcher’s kids until you began manifesting the powers of a Queen?”

Arthur’s anger grew white and hot and powerful, and when he shoved him away and flicked his wrists the entire room exploded in searing light.

He had to blink several times before the room had regained color again, the servants hurrying to light the candles again. Nobles and monarchs were looking at each other with surprise and astonishment. A lady clutched at her neck only to find it bare.

Her scream pierced through the night, followed by many others like hers.

The situation had to be dealt with. The Diamond Bandit could not just steal from under their noses and be allowed to go unpunished. After what happened in the ball, the King of Clubs raised the reward on the Bandit’s head and the Queen of Hearts volunteered to bring the man and the rest of his band to justice.

Arthur approached Kiku afterwards and asked to be a part of the task force. Kiku only looked him over once before acquiescing silently.

It took them a month to gather the information that led them to the humble stone house where the bandits were hiding deep in the Diamond countryside near the border with Spades. Kiku and his men went after the larger group while Arthur was left alone to chase their leader into the forest.

He aimed a single arrow at him when he had him in his sight and the Diamond Bandit fell to the forest ground, clutching at his shoulder and crying out in pain.

Arthur approached him slowly and balled up magical energy in his hand. He had trained for this moment. He was now so much better at it than when they first met.

The bandit smiled through the pain, writhing on the ground beneath him. His mask was slipping; the shape of his nose oddly familiar.

“Is your mother still the best seamstress in Spades?” he asked, grinding his teeth as blood flowed down between his fingers. “Does she still bake the most awful scones?”

Arthur stepped on his hand and he screamed. The ball of energy in his palm shrunk to an impossible miniature size, no bigger than an ant, more lethal than any weapon.

“How do you know that?” he hissed.

Green eyes looked up at him. “Have you forgotten about her too?”

Kiku’s horse distracted him as it rode with its master into the space they were in, and when Arthur looked back at him there was only a small pool of blood seeping into the earth in his place. Kiku dismounted and came closer, inspecting the blood.

“He has some sort of magic,” Arthur tried to explain even if he himself didn’t entirely understand. “He disappears.”

“Not disappear,” Kiku corrected him lightly. “He changes. A tanuki.”

He pointed at a small trail of blood, droplets that went further into the forest. Arthur looked at his friend. “Only Diamond high nobility can shape shift.”

Kiku nodded. “You should pay Francis a visit.”

It was not hard to convince his husband to send a letter to the King of Diamonds. It was hard, however, to sit at his table and pretend to enjoy the dinner when all he wanted to do was to strangle Francis’ neck between his hands.

“I see you have a new Jack,” Alfred said politely, raising his glass at the man on the other side of the long table and Basch raised his own politely in return. “What happened to the last one?” he asked Francis beside him.

“He died,” Arthur supplied in a dry tone and Alfred looked between him and Francis, noticing Arthur’s glare and Francis’ cold demeanor.

“His ship sank during the war,” Francis said and took a sip of his wine. “What kind of a Jack would he be if he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice himself for King and country?”

Arthur got up. His hands shook beside him with uncontrolled energy that seeped light between his clenched fingers. He stormed out of the dinning hall before he lost control. He left and did not come back, forgoing what he had come all this way for.

“Did you know the guy that died in the war?” Alfred asked him late that night after Arthur had forced them to pack up their things and take their carriage back to their kingdom.

“I did,” he said, staring out at the dark through the carriage window. “He was my best friend.”

Arthur woke up with a draft coming into his room through the open windows.

“You’re not too heavily guarded for a Queen,” the Diamond Bandit said, smiling at him under the moonlight.

He sat up on the bed and clutched the sheets to his chest. “What do you want from me?”

The man took a step forward in his direction and froze on the spot. A circle of light with intricate runes glowed beneath his feet.

“I see you’ve gotten better at magic.”

Arthur threw the sheets aside to reveal himself fully clothed and stood in front of him. He could already hear the guards coming closer, alerted by his spell. “Who are you?”

“Do you still remember when we first kissed?” he asked, still smiling despite having been caught. “Behind the house while my mother tried on dresses in your living room?”

The guards came into the room and took him away. Arthur prided himself for not collapsing to the ground until he heard their steps on the far end of the corridor. It was where Alfred found him minutes later, when he held him until he stopped crying, not understanding why since they were safe now. The bad guy had been caught.

The rest of the group had been hanged in the early hours in a secluded location as not to distract the people from the main event. Only the Diamond Bandit was to be given a public execution under the eyes of the four monarchs and the people gathered at the central square in the Spades capital.

Arthur had to give out a few golden coins, but he did manage to have the room alone with the Bandit before they took him to the gallows. Teo had his head down, his shirt had been removed along with his mask and his long hair hung over his shoulders, barely concealing the fresh bruises and cuts the guards had given him since he had been brought to their care.

“Did your companions know that you cheat at cards and that you once spilled black tea on your mother’s new dress and blamed your little brother?” he asked and Teo laughed, coughed, spat out blood. Arthur came closer to the bars separating them. “How did you survive?”

“The sea didn’t want me,” he said, his shoulders rising and falling as he spoke. “I floated to the surface with the debris and the enemy ship rescued me.”

“Francis would have paid the ransom.”

Teo laughed again, wet and raspy. “They tried that.” He looked up at him, green eyes almost swollen shut and Arthur felt his chin tremble at the sight of his mangled face. “He said he didn’t negotiate with barbarians.”

He curled his hands around the bars, pressed his face between them. “Then why? Why come back?”

Teo smiled. “You know why.”

Arthur sat beside his King and they watched as the Diamond Bandit was brought out. The crowd watched in silence. No cheering, no murmurs.

They put a sack over his head and a noose around his neck.

When the trap door opened, Arthur shut his eyes and flicked his wrist. Something small, smaller than a grain of sand, shot out from his palm.

The crowd gasped, someone screamed. When he looked again, the Bandit had disappeared.

Arthur came into his room followed by a chambermaid who was frantically trying to undress him while he gave her no attention and went on talking to his secretary about the seating arrangements for the banquet next week. The other kingdoms’ delegations should be arriving soon and their rooms and accommodations had to be prepared ahead of time, there was no time to waste.

He stopped when he noticed the open window over his desk.

On top of his books, there was a single stalk of lavender.

He smiled.

#engport #hws portugal #hws england #aph portugal #aph england #hetalia #engportweekevent #a wild fic appears #this feels a little rushed and i apologize ;_;#i do want to revisit this universe one day and expand on the themes and the worldbuilding #maybe probably #cardverse

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boymeetsweevil · 4 years ago

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the most magical place in hell

Grouping: (For Science) Reader x JK

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings/Themes: implied sex, 5 is a crowd annoying friends since that’s the vibe these days, d*sn*y please don’t sue

Prompt: “For Science, I miss this couple sm. Any scenario would be fantastic! For inspo, did JK and OC get to go on a vacation, (jk expressed he wanted to in his journal) if so how did that go? Any fun new experiments?”

A/N: This commissioned fic is part of the Changes with Luv project, hosted by FicsWithLuv. Here you can find more information about the project, cause, places to donate, and ways to commission a piece or offer your services if you are a content creator. Thank you!

On the third day of the cruise, Jungkook rolls over in his sleep. His hand reaches for you. His palm meets the bare skin of your shoulder already moving despite how pale the morning light is under his lashes.

“What’s happening,” he mumbles before grabbing more greedily at you. There’s not too much resistance as you let yourself be dragged a few inches across the sheets.

“We have to get up. Breakfast starts in 10 minutes, remember?”

You lean down to press a peck just above his brow bone and he groans. As you pull away, there’s a sweet waft that hits him and lets him know you’ve already showered and gotten ready. Now it’s his turn.

He gives himself just until you gather your things and shut the door to the room. Then he’s pulling himself out of bed with every ounce of energy he has left. He brushes his teeth with his eyes closed, does a perfunctory shower with the lights off like it’ll give him some more sleep. But he’s still dead tired as he throws on an outfit and heads out the door.

The walk to the dining area was exciting 3 days ago. The decadent decor, the view from the high balcony separating his floor from the others, the grand 20’s style atrium with Mickey Mouse memorabilia incorporated throughout. Everything used to be exciting 3 days ago. Sadly, the first day passed and things quickly lost their charm.

As he scoops a smiley-face omelette onto his plate in the buffet line, he searches for your face in the crowd of families scarfing down their first meals of the day so they can take their kids to the waterfall pool on deck 6. By the time he reaches the end of the line, there’s still no sight of you among the tables. So he ventures outdoors where there’s less seating but considerably more sun. He thinks back to his quick routine in the room. Did he remember to put on sunscreen?

When he finds you, you’re stretched out on a beach chair and taking in some of the sun. His mood is partially lifted when he sees just how content you look getting warmed like a lizard on a rock in your tiny bikini. He stands over you deliberately just to see you pout and pull down your sunglasses with a huff.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Who’d you think it was?”

“I thought it was Hoseok about to ask me to take his profile pic again.”

Jungkook chuckles a little before sitting in the open seat next to you. “Couldn’t have been him. Too early.” “That’s true.” You sit up then, peering at his plate. “What’d you get us?”

“Us?” His smile is warm. “I thought you’d have eaten by now with the way you left the room.”

“I was looking for an empty spot for us. It was your job to find the actual food.”

“No one else would willingly wake up this early,” he cuts a fraction of the omelette before holding the bite up to you. “But I guess it’s only fair.”

You open your mouth happily.

“Permission to board the S.S. girlfriend?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m wasting fuel in the port,” he continues to hover the fork just outside your reach, even when you jump forward with a nip.

“Permission to board,” you grumble.

He laughs like you told a great joke and gently feeds you the bite. With soft eyes, he watches you point to different things on the plate and dutifully feeds you your fill. This might be the first time he’s been able to spend a few moments alone with you since the five of you got on the cruise. He finishes up the bit of toast you couldn’t finish and the few blueberries that didn’t interest you. He must be staring because you turn to him in your reclined position and return the favor.

“You’re looking a little red. Did you put on sunscreen?”

“I think I forgot. I was trying to get ready fast so you wouldn’t have to sit around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone,” you reach into the bag you brought for sunscreen. “Yoori was with me. She left for the gym maybe 2 minutes before you came out here.”

“Oh,” is all he says.

Jungkook scowls a bit as you rub the lotion onto his face. That Yoori and Hoseok, and probably even Taehyung, might be spending more time with you on this trip than him is starting to be the horrible icing on this shitty vacation cake.

“Why don’t we take some time to—” He begins but a large shadow looming over the two of you makes him stop in his tracks.

“Hey,” a man with thick blond hair and even thicker muscles nods down at you. “You were at the adult lounge last night, right?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open. Thor—or the actor who plays him during the Marvel day activities—has come up to your spot. He’s got the Ragnorok breastplate on with board shorts adorning his chiseled lower half. From the top up, he looks just like the real thing.

“Wow. Yeah I was, I’m surprised you remember,” you hold a hand over your eyes so you can look up at “Thor”.

“How could I forget. You and your beautiful friend were quite the sight yesterday.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks.”

In all his excitement, he overlooks the flirting. Jungkook stands up from his seat then and sticks out his hand. “Thor” shakes it hesitantly.

“Hey. I know you’re not the real thing, but it’s great to see you. I wasn’t at the adult lounge last night, so we didn’t get to meet.”

Jungkook makes sure to puff out his chest so “Thor” will notice the print of his button down shirt. Tiny little hammers.

“Do you like the shirt?” He beams.

“Thor” squints down at the animated hammers.

“I can’t say I really know what’s on it, but sure.”

“They’re...they’re Mjölnirs.”

“Mole-whats?”

You gasp, clapping your hands over your mouth.

Jungkook drops “Thor”’s hand at the same moment, disappointment turning down the corners of his mouth.

“Nothing. They’re just drawings. Have a good day, man.”

“Thor” chuckles before looking back down at you. “Cute kid,” he says before sending you a wink and making some comment about getting to rehearsal.

Yoori returns from the gym that moment, nearly running into “Thor”. He gives her an appreciative once over which she returns smugly. Her expression changes as she approaches you and Jungkook looking like you had both seen a car crash.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you respond quickly with a subtle look at the back of Jungkook’s head to tell her ‘not now’.

“Well,” she plops down on the end of Jungkook’s beach chair, “How was breakfast?”

“It was fine,” Jungkook sighs and scoots back so she’ll have some room. “We finished a little while ago. Now we’re just making plans for the rest of the morning.”

“Couple stuff...I’ll go get myself a plate, then.”

You wait until Yoori’s disappeared into the dining area to turn to Jungkook. He doesn’t look angry per se. Just resigned.

“What were you saying before?”

“Hmm,” his eyes are far away, “I was just saying we could take some time to ourselves.”

He wants to say he feels like he’s barely seen you since he stepped on the ship, but he doesn’t want to make you feel bad. The funny thing is that you weren’t even looking forward to the trip before the first day. The tickets for this Marvel cruise were a last minute gamble. You had dropped many not-so-subtle hints about wanting to go somewhere a little less kid-friendly, but he’d waited until the last minute.

At first it seemed like the best possible last choice a person could have. You were all fans of the comics and movies with the exception of Taehyung and Yoori. Taehyung was more of a DC fan and Yoori just sort of let the movies wash over her. You’d been worried that the week would be torture for you with all the screaming kids around. But you were actually having the time of your life. Meanwhile Jungkook was having a less than ideal time.

“Sure. Like what?”

“Maybe we could relax? I’ve had research video meetings the last two nights, so I haven’t really been up for the late night stuff. And I’m just barely up for the morning stuff.”

“Hmm. What about the spa? I haven’t been there yet and it’s on my list.”

“The spa?” Yoori comes out with a mountain of waffles and rumpled-looking Taehyung and Hoseok behind her. “Yeah, let’s go to the spa!”

“Actually, I think Kook just wanted to—”

“I heard it’s actually pretty decent on this boat. They have a hot rock massage where all of the rocks look like the Tinman’s suit.”

“The Tinman,” Jungkook practically chokes.

“I think she means Iron Man,” Hoseok grins sleepily. “Anyway, I’m down for the spa thing too. Never too early to have a tiny lady go in on my thighs.”

“You’re literally so nasty,” Yoori glares back at him.

As your other friends bicker, you flash Jungkook an apologetic look. He shrugs because that’s easier than fighting it. He relishes the second plate of food you get for him and lets you feed him the bites in between kisses and mini-reapplications of sunscreen. It’s all the rest he gets that day. The spa is probably the least relaxing moment of his life.

He doesn’t even get to sit near you. Instead, he gets roped into the men’s section where Hoseok’s tiny lady goes too hard on his thighs and the resulting yelps make Jungkook’s ear drums pound. Taehyung falls asleep two minutes into the Iron Man hot rock massage and snores in a way that’s nearly identical to the 60 year old guests napping nearby.

You emerge from the women’s section with Yoori looking like you’d smell and feel like a rose petal. But Jungkook doesn’t ever find out if you do, because he’s being thrown right back into more “fun”. Somewhere in the back of his mind—between Black Widow meet and greet and the Ant-Man lunch show—he thinks that he would probably be having actual fun if he had some time to breathe. Although, he figures it’s enough to just breathe you in. He feels slightly less drained looking at your smiling face and wide eyes as a wild Hulk appears behind you at the pool after lunch, spraying you lighty with comically huge muscles and a comically tiny water gun.

“You’re not coming?”

Jungkook groans, partly out of guilt and partly out of exhaustion. It’s nearing 10:30 at night and you’re getting ready to go to the adult lounge again. This time it’s for all-things-Spiderman trivia and drinks. He wants to want to go. But he can’t find the strength. He figures too much sun and too much socialization is the answer.

“You’re not staying,” he counters as he does his best to sit up in bed. There’s a nice soft glow bleeding in from the giant picture window of the suite that looks onto the water and there’s some Loki pajamas calling his name. Your tight little dress is calling to him too. I’d look better on the floor, it says.

“I figured this would be a lot more lowkey than everything else we’ve done today. There’s no water and no noisy families. Or screaming Hoseoks.”

“You heard that earlier?”

“I did,” you grimace. “He must have really pissed off that masseuse.”

“I’m pretty sure he just talked with her like he talks normally.”

“Can’t fault her for that, then.”

There’s a beat of silence as you test the security of some strappy heels. Naturally your eyes wander from the shoes to your boyfriend. He’s tapping away at some emails on the ship’s slow wifi no doubt. If you couldn’t tell how tired he was from the slope of his shoulders and the bruise-like shadows under his eyes, the giant yawn he barely stifles is a giveaway.

“Maybe I could just—”

The door to your suite swings open, revealing Taehyung looking frightened in a silky peach button down as Yoori pinches Hoseok’s ear.

“You’re coming, right? Please tell me you’re coming.”

“She’s coming,” Jungkook pipes up from the bed. His eyes never leave the screen of the computer as he types away, but he blinks slow and long. Your heart aches a little.

Taehyung breathes out a sigh of relief and links arms with you. You get one last look at your exhausted boyfriend before you’re pulled out of the room entirely.

“Do you think they’ll even bother asking about the Garfield version?” Taehyung’s question shakes you out of your worry.

“Pfft, no.”

On the fourth day of the cruise, Jungkook is awakened earlier than he wants yet again. A large clap of thunder and the bolt of lightning flash from the other side of the window. He crawls quietly around your sleeping form and throws on his glasses. There’s heavy rain too—a sure sign that the pools and sundecks will be closed. Out of habit, he checks his email and sees a message from the ship coordinator.

Esteemed Guests,

As some of you may know, two performers at last night’s dinner show in House of Mouse theatre (Deck 5, room 6B) showed signs of a stomach bug during the performances. For the safety of the rest of the cast, staff, and guests, we will be postponing today’s shows to sanitize the performance rooms and allow the actors time to recover. Room service will still be available.

We know this is a large inconvenience, and to thank you for understanding, please check your trip accounts for a refund for today’s fares. Additionally...

Jungkook can’t help the fist pump and small hoot he lets out. The email gives him the same feeling he gets on those days when he wakes up hours before his alarm only to discover his professor had cancelled class for the day. With a skip in his step, he returns to bed.

When he wakes up hours later, it’s natural. You’re still spooned to him, still soft and warm and pliant in sleep. He runs the tip of his nose along your neck while the fog of sleep lifts. The smell of your soap and skin is warmed with sleep. The sniffing must tickle you, because you stir before arching against him in a morning stretch. He moves so he doesn’t get in the way of your swinging limbs and smiles to himself. It feels like it’s been forever since he last got to hold you like this without the threat of someone whisking you away.

“Morning,” your voice is gravelly from disuse. “What’s going on. What’s the plan?”

“There’s no plan.”

You’re still half asleep, but you have the social awareness to let your voice go high with incredulity. “No plan?”

“No plan. They sent an email.”

“Read it to me?”

He reads the formal apology while you turn in the covers so you can embrace him while you wake up. By the time he’s done reading, you’ve sat yourself up to look at his phone screen as well.

“Sounds good,” you chirp.

“Really? I would have thought you’d be disappointed about not having a packed day. You’ve been zooming around since we got on board.”

“Yeah, but this was supposed to be our time together. It’s only natural that your friends would tag along.”

“So they’re my friends now?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Only when they’re annoying.”

As if on cue, the front door sounds with knocking. Taehyung is the one who calls out about breakfast plans, but you know all three of them are out there. It’s almost a menacing thought.

“Your friends are here,” he groans. His head falls back onto his pillow defeatedly. They’re likely to burst in any second.

“Don’t worry.”

The sound dies down momentarily when Yoori mentions the extra keycard you gave her for emergencies. Hoseok and Taehyung continue to jiggle the door for sport while chatting idly. Meanwhile, you crawl underneath the sheets and re-emerge on Jungkook’s side of the bed. You look him over, as if searching for something. He’s about to ask what you’re looking for when you reach out and pinch both his cheeks suddenly. While he’s mid-yelp, you swoop in and nip at his lips. It’s quick but it was just harsh enough that his face looks blotchy and his mouth starts to swell.

He whines. “Is this because I called them your friends?”

“Just trust me,” you hiss before your hands disappear further down the sheets to tug off your own underwear and throw it towards the door.

A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Yoori, Hoseok, and Taehyung. Their smiles are bright until they take in the scene. Jungkook’s hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his mouth looks like it’s been lightly ravaged. Though you’re mostly covered with the sheets, the underwear that is very clearly not on your body and the way the sheets drape over your head as you lay between his knees tell a very convincing lie.

“I think I just caught that stomach bug.” Yoori says lightly, still smiling. Hoseok peers behind her, looking mildly interested.

“I hate it when I remember they have sex with eachother,” Taehyung buries his face in his friend’s shoulder looking mortified as Yoori slowly closes the door.

“Yeah, it’s kind of like walking in on your aunt and uncle doing it. But, like, 12 times worse.”

Jungkook basks in the new silence for a few moments before it’s replaced with the rustle of sheets.

“What are you doing” he trails off to a whisper as you tug the waistband of his underwear down. Your hands still.

“You don’t want to have boat sex?”

“No, no, I do. I wanna have boat sex.”

He nods intensely and you laugh at how earnest he still is. Jungkook’s cheeks flare up, now doubly red from quiet excitement.

“Guess I should have just proposed this, huh?”

“Yeah,” you hum thoughtfully while moving on your knees to straddle his hips. “I can't see how this would have ruined anyone’s fun.”

“I can think of a couple people’s fun we just ruined.”

“I really meant my fun. Speaking of which,” you settle onto his lap and begin to grind.

He shudders, head falling forward with a sigh. This, he thinks, is the real happiest place on earth.

#changeswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriters #bangtan bookclub #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #honestly not sure where this title came from but who cares i guess

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evolutionsvoid · 4 years ago

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The Drillbeak Cockatrice is indeed a member of the Cockatrice family, as one should easily be able to tell. Even if the name wasn't a dead giveaway, the modified crop, fancy crest and ocular decorations should be enough of a clue! They share all the traits that this family possesses, and have found a way to use them in a different niche. Drillbeaks are found in warmer climates, often leaning a bit more toward the arid side. In truth, they aren't too particular about the weather and temperature, it just so happens that they care more about the wants of somebody else. The climate they seek is the one that termites and ants prefer, as Drillbeaks are primarily insectivores. Wherever there are colonies of these insects, these birds are close at hand. Their populations are scattered amongst the ranges of these eusocial insects, but their strongest numbers can only be found in the ultimate insect motherload! You want to see Drillbeaks? Pack your things and go visit the Hivelands! For any insectivore with the proper tools, the Hivelands is the closest to paradise they can get in their lifetime! It is an entire ecosystem that forms around a massive colony of insects, the land being literally shaped by their actions! The Mountain Makers are the sole reason these bizarre habitats even exist, and they are also the reason why a lot of living creatures call it home! A population big enough to rebuild the landscape on nearly a monthly basis is a huge one indeed, and anyone looking for a bite to eat knows that this would be a reliable food source! It should be no surprise that the Hivelands has incredible diversity when it comes to insectivores, as the Mountain Makers serve as the dietary staple for the entire region! With such an endless buffet skittering beneath the porous rock and sculpted earth, the Drillbeak has equipped itself with the best tools to access this feast! The rather obvious feature is its powerful beak. While it may not look as threatening or deadly as some other predatory birds, it can pack quite the punch! It is quite sturdy and is backed up by a series of tough neck muscles. When a Drillbeak wants to nab some bugs from down below, its beak will strike the earth with enough force to shatter rock. While Hiveland stone is not nearly as tough as other rocks, due to it being held together by Mountain Maker secretions, the power necessary to break it is still quite staggering! And to do it with your face! This is only possible because the beak is anchored to the skull in such a way that the shock of the impact is safely dispersed through its whole form. Internal cushions and specially arranged anatomy keeps the Drillbeak from beating its own brains out, especially when they start "drilling!" When these birds encounter dense rock or seek to dig far down, they can peck at the earth at a blinding speed! This rapid movement turns their head into a blur, as they rain powerful blows down upon the ground or any unfortunate thing below them! It is impressive to see and easy to hear! It is a rather loud event, and it is how I was able to track down these birds whenever I sought to study them. Hearing the sound of a digging Drillbeak echoing across the jagged hills and warped spires is one of the Hivelands common joys! That earth-shattering beak isn't the only thing the Drillbeak is equipped with! Those who look upon a drawing of these birds will notice that they possess more developed forelimbs than many of their Cockatrice brethren. Rather than them being stubby little arms, these could actually be called functioning appendages! At first glance, you may think these limbs end in thin razor-sharp claws, but these are not weapons! Rather, they are actually highly modified feathers! Perhaps long ago, these feathers once made a wing, but now they have found a different purpose. These structures are mainly a hollow shaft that has lost most of its barbs. These have no use for flight or warming them in cold weather. Instead, these feathers have a special structure that runs through their hollow insides, which interacts specifically with the nerves that lie within the surrounding flesh. Certain muscles allow them to move these feathers like probing fingers, and you may see a hungry Drillbeak tap the ground with these slender structures. What the creature is doing to hitting the ground in such a way that it can sense buried chambers and tunnels beneath its feet. It is believed that these feathers are good at picking up vibrations and subtle movement, and that is how the bird finds its food. It can feel the places where the Mountain Makers are the thickest, or where fat grubs may hide. When a promising signal is felt by its feathers, it shall smash the ground open and feast. A long sticky tongue is good for tiny insects, while larger prey is crushed in the beak and swallowed. While the Drillbeak prefers insects, it will not turn its beak up at an opportune meal. Pitfall Moles can fall prey to these birds, especially when the Drillbeaks detect their famous traps. With its sensitive feathers, a Drillbeak may notice the obvious pitfall and deduce that the moles are lying nearby in wait. With its heavy tail, it will bash open the fragile floor and dupe the moles into thinking prey has blundered into their pit. When the eager critters scurry forth to claim their prize, the Drillbeak will stab its head into the fray and seize one of the would-be predators. A hearty whack upon the skull, and the acid-spitting mole will be dispatched and a hearty meal will be claimed. It is a rather clever tactic, and that is not the only trick these birds can pull!

Drillbeaks are rather crafty birds, always finding ways to turn things to their advantage. Duping the Pitfall Moles is one neat trick, but they can also take advantage of another ambush predator! Through the Hivelands, Leg-Eaters are a rather famous and vicious hunter. Their ability to spring from practically any hole to sear off flesh is terrifying, but the Drillbeak is not scared of this. It seems like their tapping methods can pick out the presence of these Slimes, as their unique gooey bodies create a distinct sound and feel. If they can sense that an Acid Slime is hiding nearby, they will use these long feathers as a lure. By tapping loudly and probing the inside of the Leg-Eater's burrow, they can bait it into attacking. When the Slime lunges for the supposed food, the Drillbeak will evade its attack and move in for a bite. In some cases, the Drillbeak may steal chunks of food still digesting in the Slime's pseudobody, but most of the time they are seeking out the goo itself! Leg-Eaters secrete a powerful acid, and that is precisely what these birds want! By tricking these Slimes, they can grab a mouthful of this potent goop and store it in their resistant crop. Don't forget, these are Cockatrices! What member of this esteemed family wouldn't want a belly full of death? The specialized crop of the Cockatrice family comes into play once again and, for the Drillbeaks, it is designed for acidic slime and venomous insects. Mountain Makers have certain members that use venom to defend their colonies, and other bugs can retaliate with the same. The Drillbeak eats these poisonous morsels and stores them in its crop. Pitfall Moles and Leg-Eaters are also a good source of caustic fluids, perfect for burning flesh! Combine that all with its own bile, and you got a powerful stew that will eat a hole right through your body! This is how the Drillbeak will defend itself from foes, spitting streams of flesh-searing vomit onto those who get too close. While it may not cause infection like other Cockatrice concoctions, it will melt your flesh and scar you for life. I remember when I was looking through the archives in Baraku, when a curator pointed out a interesting skull that they owned. It was a human one, but I only knew that because they told me it was. Apparently it belonged to a nomad who had gone into the Hivelands and accidentally ticked off a Drillbeak. It seems like they got a big dose of its spit, because the face looked more like a melted bowl than anything else. A morbid thing, but one that should warn you about getting close to these creatures! Of course, like all Cockatrices, this weaponry is limited. They can only store so much acidic vomit at a time, which means they can deplete their stock. When this happens, predators may swoop in to take advantage of this weakness, and promptly get a beak through the skull for their cleverness. Don't forget that these birds smash through rock to get their food, so bone and carapace prove no match to them. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------- Why not more species? Why not just more? A Cockatrice and a woodpecker? Sure! The nice thing about coloring birds (despite them being pains to draw) is that there is literally no way you can screw up coloring them. If you think you designed something tacky or way too ludicrously colorful, just look up some birds and see that they already have this color scheme and they love it.

#cockatrice #mythical creatures #monster #creature #art #drawing #bird #woodpecker

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micyclemorton · 4 years ago

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this is a loooong one, boys

yes this is going to be a masterpost for my main 12 trolls so you can get to know them! they’re not all in the same world, but I don’t have any class/aspect clashes. biographies posted under the cut! suirev - burgundy / lumina - bronze / dietas - gold / phobis - mutant / lamiac - olive / immera - jade / ruilin - teal / tracor - cerulean / itoria - indigo / jezakk - purple / astril - violet / cirlun - fuchsia suirev - sylph of light / lumina - page of space / dietas - thief of doom phobis - mage of life / lamiac - seer of mind / immera - bard of heart ruilin - rogue of hope / tracor - prince of blood / itoria - knight of breath jezakk - heir of time / astril - witch of rage / cirlun - maid of void

suirev, lumina, immera, ruilin and jezakk are alternian, but only immera and ruilin are connected in terms of their lore. dietas, itoria and tracor are beforan, and all connected. suirev, lamiac, astril and cirlun hail from exonera (the first planet in the universe of my fansession) and are all connected to each other.

suirev - praying mantis lusus lumina - star-nosed mole lusus dietas - chameleon lusus phobis - serpent lusus lamiac - fennec fox lusus immera - venezualan poodle moth lusus ruilin - raccoon lusus tracor - scorpion lusus itoria - ant lusus jezakk - harp seal lusus astril - angler fish lusus cirlun - axolotl lusus

YOUR NAME IS SUIREV HELIOS.

Nobody believes you, not even your MANTIS LUSUS, but you know a lot more about the fate of the world than you let on. They dismiss your PROPHECIES as bogus, no matter how many tomes you write, and you’ve lost count of how many that is. You consider yourself PRETTY ENLIGHTENED, but not in the spiritual sense… yet. The spirits that pester your caste a lot of the time even seem to avoid you, which would have confused you a time ago, but now you know why.

You’ve developed a nasty habit of checking everything you want to say in your head, and they’re sick of being your mental proofreaders. They’ve made it very clear they dislike you, so you have some HEALING to do. People find you preachy, but that confuses you a lot. You’re mostly silent so that you can concentrate on the cacophony (spirits or no spirits) ringing through your pan, as you get some REALLY GOOD STORY IDEAS from them. Besides, you were named after an OLD GOD for a reason. You should have the right to preach.

One might even say that you’re COMPLETELY RAVING MAD, but at least you try to keep your appearance in check. It’s a shame your blood colour makes your EYE BAGS so obvious.

Your handle is LiteraryLunatic, and y★u end y★ur sentences with exclamati★n marks! S★ n★b★dy notices h★w tired y★u are! Besides, y★u’ve been staying up all night with pr★phecies racing thr★ugh your pan!

YOUR NAME IS LUMINA SERVIN.

You’re a maniacally busy troll, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, because your pan is always buzzing with NEW IDEAS. You have to keep yourself busy to fend off the ENCROACHING EXISTENTIAL DREAD that fills lowbloods like you. Your mole guardian helps you expand your desert-bound hive-workshop, because you’re often too busy - catering to all of the stupid VIOLET TOURISTS AND LANDDWELLERS in the nearby hive-clusters in order to make money and survive - to pay any attention to trivial household chores.

You’re not very good at what you do yet - though some would suggest otherwise - and you’re just striving to be better. You can recognise that you have the POTENTIAL to be GREATER, and it’s all just barely out of reach. You made yourself some KICK-ASS GOGGLES, inspired by the human subculture of STEAMPUNK, which you adore. They’re probably your best work to date, and you wear them so constantly that you’re afraid they’ll meld onto your face sometimes. The metal they’re made of, BRONZE, is the same colour as your blood, and one of the most pleasing aesthetically, in your opinion. No-one’s figured that out yet, luckily enough.

You’re an avid blacksmith, inventor, tinkerer and the rest of it. You’re making quite sure that you possess any title that involves HANDS-ON CREATION, really. Sometimes, you COMPLETELY SPACE OUT when you should be working, thinking of how best to go about things that really don’t require that much thought. It’s just how you roll.

Your handle is MechanicalMiner, and SOoMETIMES YOoU CAN COoME OoFF AS A LITTLE TOoOo LOoUD BECAUSE OoF WHAT’S PROoBABLY INDUSTRIAL DEAFNESS, EVEN AT THIS AGE.

YOUR NAME IS DIETAS LAMBDA.

Misfortune has pretty much DEFINED YOUR LIFE up until now, but that’s not important. What really matters is your job, and it’s a relief to have distraction. You know that you’ve been through a WHOLE LOT OF HELL, and would never wish that on anyone else. Ever since you crashed a training ship, blacked out for a bit and met your moirail, your dear ITORIA, things changed. Your HELMSTROLL DREAMS might have shattered, but she made sure you’re not too miserable.

YOU CAN SEE EVERYTHING. Well, almost. After losing your biological eye in the crash, Itoria built you a brand-new one, and now you can see in INFRARED LIGHT as well. You’ve recovered thanks to her, and you want to repay her by TAKING AWAY THE SUFFERING OF OTHERS, doing what she did for you. You travel around selling CHARGED-UP PROSTHETICS to trolls in need, while simultaneously keeping off the trail of the OVERSEERS, a pack of Ceruleans who you’re pretty sure want to kill you and your moirail for saving people.

YOU’RE NEVER GOING BACK TO THAT PLACE. The training centres are a source of shame and hurt for you, because you abandoned your guardian to get a purpose that ended up not working at all. How dumb that was.

Your handle is PsionicProsthesis. Yx0xu speak with a flare that reminds yx0xu of the symbx0xl that was given tx0x yx0xu at the training centres, as it’s a hx0xpe yx0xu’ll never fx0xrget despite the negative memx0xries, and tx0x represent yx0xur lx0xst eye.

YOUR NAME IS PHOBIS SACCHE.

If your lusus could talk, they’d probably say you were a NERVOUS WRECK. You’re not going to tell anyone otherwise, because your shaking hands prevent you from pulling up the blinds in your constantly darkened hive. Not that you’d want to, of course, since you live in a GHOST TOWN. Populated by literal ghosts. They don’t interact with you much, which you’re extremely grateful for. If the drones thought you were alive, you’d be dead in two seconds flat, with your BRIGHT RED BLOOD on public display.

It’s MAGICAL that you’ve survived this long, but you think it’s because of the menacing SERPENT that you’re fortunate enough to have as your guardian. You like to use their scales to fortify the SCYTHES AND OTHER WEAPONRY you build for yourself. They tend to do most of the hunting, as you can’t risk going out of your hive much, but you do enjoy training. Your LIFE itself is a gamble, and it makes you paranoid as hell, but at least you’re a decent fighter. Not that anyone would know or care. You also like TELESCOPES and looking at the STARS, but have no idea that your symbol means anything to do with that.

Your handle is SerpentineStargazer, and youre a phucking,,,, phucking brasssh little,,,,, ssshit whossse dumb… dumb phorked tongue makesss you…. hisss when youre nervoussss. ~~

YOUR NAME IS LAMIAC FENRIS.

You’re small in stature, but that doesn’t undermine how HARD-WORKING AND DRIVEN you can be. After all, when you work for THE EMPRESS, things need to be perfect. You’re also RESIDENT TELEMARAUDER of SKAIANET SYSTEMS, being tasked with worming your way into people’s minds to sell DIFFERENT NEFARIOUSLY-LABELLED PRODUCTS. You’ve never seen them made, but that’s not your job. It’s most likely for the best, anyway, seeing as how easily frightened you can be when FENFOXMOM isn’t around. Working for such an awful corporation and even more awful people - looking at you, Mr LaCroix - makes you sick to your stomach, but you need the security.

You’re a pleasant enough troll to be around, but can always change your expression and demeanour, your words cutting as sharp as the weapons you use to defend yourself. You do hate getting your claws dirty unless people really get on your nerve, in which case you’ll tear them to shreds verbally and physically. Somehow, the renovated ballroom you use as your office has been clean of client’s blood for a whole week! Something tells you you shouldn’t be excited about that, but what can you say? You’re territorial. Even though you can’t remember the last time you properly hunted, you can SEE WHAT’S GOING ON INSIDE PEOPLES’ HEADS and defend yourself.

Your best friend at the palace is the HEIRESS, which can be a bit strange due to the remarkable caste-gap between you, but she barely seems to care about that sort of a thing, which is nice. She’s the reason you have the job at the palace, because you consider THE EMPRESS HERSELF to be a very disagreeable person, even though you can’t exactly state that out loud unless you’re gossiping with Cirlun.

Your handle is FluctuatingFoxfire, and yo)u speak in a manner that perfec)tly c)o)nveys yo)ur need to) pro)tec)t yo)urself fro)m harsh judgement, while also) ho)no)uring the sign emblazo)ned ac)ro)ss yo)ur w)ork c)lo)thes at all times. ~~ YOUR NAME IS IMMERA METREN.

You’ve always been down in the BROODING CAVERNS, doing what all Jades should do and tending to the Mother Grub as she churns out her little grubs for everyone to see. You’d rather not be around to see them, if you’re being honest. You think it’s all just tiresome, thankless work, and aren’t really sure why exactly YOU HAVEN’T RUN AWAY YET. The chattering of your colleagues makes your head hurt, and their happy-go-lucky demeanours just make you REALLY WANT TO SCREAM. At this point, you’d take being a lowblood fighting for their life over whatever job you have here. One occupationless troll among thousands won’t hurt the economy too much, right? You sure hope not.

The fuzzy, pathetic, colourless MOTH you have as your lusus is just waiting to be crushed in the busy environment, and she refuses to leave you alone. Most Jades’ lusii abandon them if they work in a cramped space and fulfil the DESTINY SET OUT FOR THEM, but yours won’t. It’s not like you have the HEART to tell them to leave, and they barely listen to you as it is. No one seems to, troll or otherwise, even though your ninth wriggling day has come and gone and you feel your WINGS growing in. Generally speaking, that’s more of a rare Bronzeblood thing, but you’re sure that’s why your back is itching. You suppose it’s one of the - only - perks of being grub-like.

You just want to do one of two things: Have your colleagues SING YOUR PRAISES for your hard work, as they should acknowledge you, or ESCAPE INTO THE ALTERNIAN WILDERNESS so deeply that not even your lusus will be bothered to traverse your dangerous path. But you have to put up with the noise and the heat and the MURDEROUS INTENT blooming inside you where it shouldn’t really be in the first place.

Your handle is VindictiveVenusian, and YOUR’3 NOT <3RY TOL3RANT OF ANY HOOF33ASTSHIT YOUR COLL3AGU3S TRY TO SPOUT AROUND YOU, SO YOU TRY TO <<ARN THEM OF A POTENTIAL KISM3SITUD3 AT ANY GI<3N MOM3NT. ~~ YOUR NAME IS RUILIN CAPITA.

Some would call you a thief, but you have more dignity than that. Even though people continue to call you dirty and look down upon you for the nefarious way you act, it’s JUST WHAT YOU’VE BEEN TAUGHT by your RACCOON LUSUS. You love them more than you love getting your MONEY-GRUBBING CLAWS all over your newest riches, and that’s certainly a testament to just how highly you think of them. They’ve always been around for you, and you WISH SINCERELY that they’ll never leave, because they’re the only support you have.

You weren’t exactly raised well, being stuck in the BROODING CAVERNS for far longer than you should’ve been while the lusii took charge of all the grubs around you. YOU’RE THE ODD-ONE-OUT. It’s filled you with WHITE-HOT RESENTMENT, and you’re on a mission to gain back what you lost. You’d once wanted to become a legislacerator or something like that, as with all the other trolls in your caste. But that doesn’t quite suit the reputation you have on the streets, nor the way you’ve been treated. Why get justice for a system you don’t believe in? Besides, you know that someone would rat you out so that you’d be culled, not be the one doing the culling.

You want to take back what was stolen from you, and you’ll get your TRUSTY GAUNTLETS dirty any number of times to do so. Mostly, though, you steal money just because you have the skills to. Being a mid-lowblood isn’t the best, so you’ve picked up tips and tricks from THE VERY THUGS YOU’D NOT WANT TO STEAL FROM YOU.

Your handle is RaucousRebellion, and ¥ou t¥p€ using th€ many $trang€ $ymbol$ ¥ou find on ¥our ¢oin$ and not€$ - that w€r€n’t €xa¢tl¥ *¥our$.* until a mom€nt ago.

YOUR NAME IS TRACOR BOLDEL.

Everyone agrees with what you have to say, and that’s exactly how you like it. That’s how it’s always been, from the moment you were chosen in the brooding caverns by your MAGNIFICENT SCORPION LUSUS. They left you long ago, because you didn’t think you needed them, and you don’t really care where they might be right now. They’ve taught you to be commanding, and now your words STING SHARPER than the knives you’re so fond of using at any opportunity you may get. It’s not necessary, really, but it makes you seem fittingly intimidating and means that NO-ONE WILL STEP OUT OF LINE.

So you thought. Contending with idiots in the PRISMATIC TRAINING CENTRE FOR YOUNG PSIONS ((LOCATION B2)) is a much harder task than you first realised, due to the fact that there aren’t enough OVERSEERS and too many indigoblooded instructors that know that they can break your control with a little bit more effort than you can prevent. Why they couldn’t spare two ceruleans per centre is beyond you, but it hardly matters enough. You’ll kill with your knives if your empath abilities don’t work, or they don’t COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DOMINATE THE COMPETITION YOU’RE CONVINCED IS REAL.

Even though you’re so busy sending goldbloods to their deaths, and you don’t really have time for quadrants, ITORIA APREIN IS OUT FOR YOUR BLOOD. She’s the main reason why you think there’s an uprising stirring within the centre, and the trolls who you let loose from your control at the end of the day DON’T WORSHIP YOU LIKE THEY SHOULD. You’ll fix that over time, of course, but you are just waiting for the right moment to strike. Your handle is BloodthistyBenevolence, and yovr tone of voice is aluuays nnvch gentler than anyone uuovld expect it to be.

YOUR NAME IS ITORIA APREIN.

Since you rebelled against the TRAINING CENTRES, there has ben a resolute sense of MORAL IMPORTANCE instilled inside you. You don’t think there’s anything else you can do to fulfil your need to help people than providing refuge for the goldbloods entranced by the idealistic, worrisome occupation of helmstroll. It doesn’t bore you if there are a few trolls that come and knock on your door every so often, because ANTMOM has always been around to support you, and she’s even harder a worker tham you. You’ve always wanted to redeem yourself, and realised that preventing the CERULEAN OVERSEERS from culling any more innocent lowbloods is the way to go. There’s nothing more that feels properly fulfilling than DEFENDING OTHERS WITH EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT.

BREAKING YOUR APATHETIC SHELL has been a hard task and still is, but you’re working as hard as you can to prevent shutting away from the world. Emotional expression has always seemed like something forbidden, especially to INDIGOBLOODS like you. YOU DON’T LIKE FEELING VULNERABLE, but there’s nothing much you can do about it unless everyone just leaves you alone and without any chance to heal. DIETAS makes you feel better about expressing yourself, and you’ve developed pale affections for the little goldblood ever since you found them SCARED AND HALF-DEAD IN THE FOLIAGE. It frightened you, but now not much can. You’re a strong team, and you know they’ll be a backup when things go awry with your DEARLY DETESTED KISMESIS, TRACOR.

You use your knack and love of WIRING AND CIRCUITRY to keep everything safe, creating cameras to track the trolls in your care. You also enjoy SHOOTING DOWN SURVEILLANCE DRONES, because you’ll never truly be FREE of the Overseers and your haunting past if you don’t do something to prevent their poor, uncoordinated attempts at monitoring you. You’re glad for that bit of your unfortunate occupation, at least.

Your handle is EsotericEngineer, and yOu c△n’t seem tO seper△te yOurself frOm △ symbOl Of the life yOu left behind.

YOUR NAME IS JEZAKK IMETAT.

YOUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT. There’s not much you can do about it, though, because your circus troupe’s on the rise, and the RINGMASTER is starting to get some very bad ideas of what they might do to get you to actually comply for once. There’s nothing you can say that’ll make the people around you actually stop and listen. You feel small, so you try to wear BRIGHT, FLASHY COLOURS and STRIPY TIGHTS to mimic the figures so prominent in the jack-in-the-boxes you’ve always been fond of making and tinkering around with. You have no idea when that particular fascination set in, but it keeps you distracted from worse things that might happen to you. Despite the fact that you’re a highblood, you’re younger than the other performers in the troupe and feel more vulnerable than you should be.

You’re not really meant to be in the troupe, anyway. There was a time where you assume some SEADWELLERS were hunting for food or the fun of it - none of which they need to do, you’re guessing, because of how rich they are - and that was when you’d realised there was a harpoon broken off in SEALDAD’S side. So you saw the distant big top and ran to it, hoping that someone could help your lusus. He *was* healed, which you’re grateful beyond gratefulness for, but then… you don’t really remember. Blaring carnival lights, yellow-tinged and blinding, and then… EVERYTHING CHANGED. You never quite made it back to the sea, because the other purples started to teach you their ways, and you have an eerie feeling that they were trying to lure you into working for the ringmaster, who most of them (except for your ‘friend’ Othamo, who’s pretty fearless in a callous way) worship like a god.

Then you did, but you’re working for yourself most of the time. Wilfully disobedient. You just want to get out of the troupe, and you’ll do anything you can, but it’s been a few sweeps already. Performing with Sealdad makes you happy, and your contraptions do. So maybe it’s not so bad to stay for a little while longer. The time will come when you can make a break for it, you’re sure, just as long as you can secure an escape plan that means your lusus won’t be out of the water for too long at once.

Your handle is ClockworkCarnevale. _/[[ yOU’rE EAsIly scArEd, yOUr vOIcE gEttIng ErrAtIcAlly lOUdEr At wEIrd tImEs. bUt yOU bEt thE jAcks In yOUr bOxEs ArE fInE, sO yOU EnclOsE yOUr tExt In OnE tOO, tryIng nOt tO pAnIc. ]] ~~ YOUR NAME IS ASTRIL HURICA.

Though you suppose you go by ASTRIL ZEPHYR now. Nothing’s really worked out for you in your life, but the dastardly clairvoyant you’ve seen loitering around your ADOPTIVE DAUGHTER swears that EVERYTHING’S YOUR FAULT. She’s all wrong, of course, and you have the authority to - and half a mind to - completely banish her from the palace if she says one more thing to damage your opinion of her, which was always bad in the first place. You’re now the ‘mother’ of Cirlun, a disobedient and woefully immature fuchsiablood who was entrusted to you by virtue of your position as head of the VENERATED COUNCIL OF VIOLETS. It was disbanded many a sweep ago, with the heiress’ arrival on your sad little planet. THE COUNCIL was a committee of seadwellers with the purest blood, closest to that of a natural Aquarian, who banded together to keep the citizens of DUIIARIA (Now colloquially ‘Earth X’) from descending into anarchy.

You don’t have the best relationship sense, being that you CULLED YOUR MOTHER at the tender age of six sweeps. You could argue that you were only small, and naive, but you were seething with unbridled resentment and RAGE, even knowing that anglerfish don’t talk and thus don’t communicate well. You’ve kept that QUIETLY MURDEROUS DISPOSITION ever since the deed was carried out, and never intend to drop it. Tyranny is the only way you know how to keep your citizens in check, and you don’t intend to learn any other way. It’s ruthlessly effective, and that’s the only standard you’ll accept. It’s probably one of the reason’s why everyone thinks you’re WICKED AND UNCOMPROMISING, even your own daughter. You’d like nothing more than to leave Cirlun to her own devices and show her just how foolish she is to want pacifism.

But now, you wait eagerly in the shadows until she reaches the appropriate age to ascend to the throne. Then you’ll truly teach her what it’s like to fight for her life, even though you never really had to in your own right. You’ve spent a long, long time trying to prepare Duiiaria for survival when up against MILITARY AND INTERGALACTIC OPPOSITION, as you want to conquer as much as you can. You’re not about to relinquish your autocratic mindset for a brat like her, even though she has the right by blood. It won’t matter so much any more if you spill it first.

Your handle is GalacticGalvaniser, and you speak As Cr1sply And D1rec7ly As You Expect Your Orders 7o Carry 7hrough 7o Your L177le C171zens. 7OUR 7EMPERAMENT CHANGES S11GH717 WHEN YOU’RE ANGR7, 7HOUGH.

~~ YOUR NAME IS CIRLUN ZEPHYR.

You’re the heiress to an empire that you want none of. You were adopted by a troll (despite having a rather pathetic and sickly lusus) after emerging from the CHOKING DARKNESS, and she won’t give you the time of day (unless it’s to mock you for your poor fighting times) so you’ve realised there’s no point in asking how. That’s the only thing you’re glad for, you suppose. The fact that she stays out of your hair is certainly good, because you’re not good in social situations or with diplomacy at all, and you have plenty of time to escape up to the palace’s extensive library. The library is the only time you get any relief from any pressure being an heiress brings.

Reading, of course, is your main form of escapism since it’s so easy to access. Nobody much minds that you while away your time in the library, save for when ASTRIL sends guards to pull you away from your latest fascination to train. Training, that is, for your imminent death at the Empress’ own hand - or trident, as it were. You don’t really know why she does train you directly, since you think that’s something you need to do for yourself, but you guess she *is* PRETTY DAMN BLOODTHIRSTY. The fact that you put up a fight makes everything that much more enjoyable, and you’d say you’re a MORE THAN SERVICEABLE fighter. So much so that you swear you’d be at the forefront of your mother’s GALACTIC ARMY had she not decided she wanted to cull you from the moment she first laid eyes on you.

You’re pretty sheltered, being the only fuchsiablood in your timeline, but you do have a moirail (who you’re pretty sure your mother wouldn’t like at all by virtue of his being a MUTANT) that you sneak out and see under the guise of MYSTER WAEVEL, just another violetblood. Technology has made it easier for you to hide your own blood, and you’re hoping that Etoile could one day mask his as well. Inside the palace walls, LAMIAC FENRIS is your best and only friend, and you often sit with each other and talk when she’s not working. The stories she tells are mainly client complaints, but you’re lucky that the gory recounts she tells with such zeal don’t turn your stomach much. The bloodstains on her office walls don’t help.

A lot about you is a total mystery, but that’s just the way you like it.

Your handle is AlchemicAxolotl, named for your love of the lusus you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE. ))((oping you )(onour your biggest rolemodel - w)(o's long gone, only around in t)(e b∞ks you pour over - you've since added a little flair to your typing, and t)(ink it l∞ks a lot more personal. ~

#fantroll #suirev helios #lumina servin #dietas lambda #phobis sacche #lamiac fenris #immera metren #ruilin capita #tracor boldel #itoria aprein #jezakk imetat #astril hurica #cirlun zephyr #homestuck #homestuck fantroll

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theradioghost · 5 years ago

Note

So I’ve realized recently that I actually really really like podcasts when my audio processing isn’t acting up (thanks tma!) and was wondering what recs you have for completed podcasts. I’m cool with basically any genre and theme, though I would appreciate a warning for tragedy. Thanks for your time!

Of course! I’ll put this one under a cut just so the length is a bit less ridiculous.

Some of my favorite completed shows are

Wolf 359 – a scifi comedy about four squabbling coworkers on a malfunctioning, isolated space station which then takes a hard right into a spectacular, heartwrenching drama. Not a tragedy, but many tears are shed when listening. Probably one of the best podcasts out there tbqh.

Ars Paradoxica – a modern physicist accidentally invents time travel, landing her back at the start of the Cold War and changing the course of history forever. The creators literally described it as “a tragedy” and they weren’t lying, although the finale is sort of hopefully bittersweet.

The Hidden Almanac – a grouchy professor in a plague doctor mask offers bite-sized pieces of history and hagiography from his fantastical world as well as gardening advice, occasionally interrupted and/or dragged off on unwilling shenanigans by his tequila-loving accidental necromancer best friend coworker. Fantasy writer/artist Ursula Vernon and her husband put this 4-minute show out three times a week for SEVEN YEARS, and it’s funny and cozy and poetic and can be found in full here, as there are too many episodes for most podcatchers to display.

Alice Isn’t Dead – lesbian Americana road-trip horror. A cross-country trucker searches for her missing wife while monsters and conspiracies pursue her across the vast empty and abandoned spaces of America. Actually also exists in novel form.

The Bright Sessions – records from the office of Dr. Bright, a therapist who specializes in people with strange and secret abilities. However, her patients aren’t the only ones with secrets. Personally this show never completely absorbed me like some others did, but the character writing is genuinely amazing. The story obviously also deals a lot with mental illness and some other difficult topics and content.

Our Fair City – the eight-season saga of the inhabitants of a post-apocalyptic underground city ruled over by the remnants of an insurance company, featuring mole people, lightning-harvesting sky sailors, giant ants, and a found family of mad scientists among others. Part comedy, part drama, all anticapitalist satire. You kind of have to give it a couple of seasons to find its stride (this was one of the very first shows in the podcast-based audio drama revival) but it is absolutely worth it. Disclaimer that while I am on the final season of the show I have not quite finished it yet.

Jarnsaxa Rising – a unique scifi-fantasy hybrid, in which a vengeful Norse giantess escapes imprisonment with the goal of destroying the gods and bringing about Ragnarok, only to find herself in a post-climate-change dystopian future.

Glasgow Ghost Stories – a Scottish woman begins noticing the many ghosts inhabiting the streets of her city; but the ghosts have begun to notice her too, and not all of them are friendly. Pigeons are involved.

Big Data – an odd little heist comedy about a rogue journalist investigating a spectacular crime in which the “seven keys to the internet” are stolen, leading to a story about hacking in which no actual hacking is involved. There are two fun side notes to it: one, everything that happens in it could technically happen in real life. Two, it involves an absurd amount of cameos from other well-known podcasts (and also Taika Waititi?), which you don’t need to get to follow the story but which make it kind of hilarious on a whole other level when you listen to those shows.

I Am In Eskew – a surreal, intense, disturbingly poetic horror about a man trapped in a shifting, malevolent, impossible city, and a woman on the outside trying to find him. Extremely good but I do recommend thoroughly checking the trigger warnings on this one. (Surprisingly non-tragic finale, although not a typical “happy ending.”)

The Alexandria Archives – half comedy and half horror, in the form of a late-night radio show at Alexandria University, on the edge of North Carolina’s Great Dismal Swamp. Half of each episode is a standalone cosmic horror story set in and around the town of Alexandria. The other half features the antics of the university’s students, including the host MW and her friends who are definitely Canadian exchange students, and not a vampire hiding from his ex and a bunch of stranded space pirates. (A little goofy? Yes, but I love it a ton for all its faults anyway. Also, some of the short stories are genuinely terrifying.)

and also, some completed miniseries!!

The Tower – a gorgeous experimental audio drama in which a young woman decides to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one ever returns.

Time:Bombs – a comedy by the folks who made Wolf 359 about a bomb disposal squad on New Year’s Eve, trying to survive their leader’s obsession with breaking a record.

They Say a Lot of Things – upon discovering that she can interact with a dropped tape recorder, the ghost of a young girl tells her story, interwoven with the stories of those who have passed through the abandoned house that she cannot leave over the years that she’s haunted it.

Podcaster A. R. Olivieri specializes in microfiction miniseries, ranging from scifi to experimental to fantasy. (Side note, a lot of his work crosses over with the still-running scifi podcast Girl In Space, but you don’t need to have listened to GIS to understand what’s going on in his shows.)

Nym’s Nebulous Notions – a self-declared investigative journalist decides to check out a mysterious SOS signal and finds herself on a mysteriously abandoned ship – or so she thinks. Arguably a tragedy, although not necessarily in the way you might think.

Palimpsest – technically not finished, but each season of this anthology makes up a complete 10-part story, and seasons 1 and 2 are complete. Season 1 is a ghost story about a woman who is suspicious about strange happenings in her new home and her odd new neighbors. Season 2 is a turn-of-the-century dark urban fantasy about a girl who escapes her career criminal mother’s house, taking a job as the companion to what her new employer claims is an imprisoned faerie princess. (Season 3 is ongoing and is about a codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on London’s streets during the Blitz.) It’s a heartbreaking sort of show, albeit in a very beautiful and moving way.

The Details is a short piece about an office worker who goes in to negotiate for a promotion and finds himself negotiating with the devil himself instead. The number of genuinely surprising and excellent twists it packs into just 45 minutes is really fun.

The London Necropolis Railway – a really underappreciated little fantasy-mystery about a recently-dead detective who refuses to board the train scheduled to take her to the afterlife until one of its hapless employees helps her solve her supernatural murder.

Janus Descending – a scifi horror told in two intertwining perspectives, one in reverse order and one in chronological order, about two scientists who land on a remote planet to investigate the ruins of its lost civilization, only to encounter the thing that killed the former inhabitants. A fantastic story told in a really clever and unique way, but stamp a big old tragedy warning all OVER this one, although because of the structure you technically know how it’s going to end right from the start – what makes this show so good is how you get there. It will make you cry, though.

… and also my show, Midnight Radio, which is about lesbian romance, small towns, old radio shows, the good and bad sides of nostalgia, and ghost stories.

#Anonymous #asks #my posts #podcast recs #bobbie recommends things

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dorkyungsoowrites · 4 years ago

Text

Fatal Ties: The Ending

As promised, here's the plot bullet-points for the rest of this story so no one is left to wonder. When we left off, the Boss had just been shot at and was going to try figuring out who the mole was, who the perps were, and how to stop them while still going through with the wedding. I hadn't plotted out anything in detail, but here's the things I knew I wanted to put in. Oh, and a flashback that would reveal how the Boss became the Boss.

Message gets to the Boss to meet with mysterious people who shot at them. The fact there's no demands is fishy, but they go.

They have Kyungsoo hidden away ready to shoot if the meeting goes south. The person who shows up? The Boss' sister. *queue flashback*

(In the edits I was doing the pov changed and the bakery was instead a greenhouse cause I liked the idea that deep down this mafia boss just wanted a quiet life with their plants. So just to avoid confusion this is told from 3rd person pov, and it is indeed showing the day the Boss used a coup against their own father, but it was actually their sister who killed him, and they sent her away under the guise of protection. In truth the Boss pinned the murder on the sister and took over the business.)

They were standing in a vast, gleaming greenhouse awash with sunlight. Two rows of various plants and flowers grew on tables, leaves dancing in their warm glow. Two people stood in the center as they spoke alone. One of them carried an overwhelming sense of authority and sharpness. Wearing a pressed black suit and severe eyes. The other, with broad shoulders, looked right at home beside them.

There was something odd about the image, however. The emotions of the moment eclipsed details; softening and flooding out the edges with blotted blurs. The surroundings bent toward the two figures slightly, revolving around them, existing by extension.

A bright and fierce feeling consumed them. It beckoned they straighten their back. It filled them with elation and confidence.

The breeze sung, warmth and sweetness tickling their nose with a few wisps of hair. Distant concussions rang in their ears. That of hand-made rhythms and automatic syncopation like a crackling symphony. Fingers flinched by their hip, joints aching to grasp long awaited vindication.

A smile slid into place on the one with broad shoulders. Something older and deeper than amusement. It had the appearance of affection, but it was dangerous; too sunken and tight. "This is my kingdom," he said. "None of this would exist without me. Some delusional little girl won't change that."

"A kingdom is more than one person," they remarked, a sneer curling their upper lip. "You're not thinking."

"Am I now?" he marveled, teeth flashing. "You've spent your whole life trying to make me proud. Now you're going to give everything up for some petty cash?"

"Someone is."

"We could do that," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Or you could stay here while I go clean up the mess inside, and every time you lay down in the bed I bought, under the roof I earned, you'll rest peacefully, remembering when you chose to walk away."

"Just like some mindless, obedient bitch, right? Why would I go back to that?"

"Some paths are less traveled for a reason."

The air stretched, a tethered tension consuming the room. It seeped into their chest. The words agonized and twisted their thoughts into turmoil, but more than that, it galvanized their wounds. Defenses dissolved into truth. Their face went eerily blank, poised for one direction or the other. Weighing the words against their knowledge. On the cusp of their vision, a shape came with the wind that made the leaves tremble.

Clasping metal, their hand raised, and a gunshot shattered the air. Three heartbeats, then a dull thud and a crack. The sound resonated throughout the new space created; striking the emptiness from their gaze. As they looked down at the man collapsed on the concrete their eyes blazed. Watching him attempt in vain to put pressure over the hole in his chest, mouth gaping open and shut with no utterance. The bullet had hit just under his clavicle.

The color was ripped from his face. As seconds passed his brows set into a hard line, glowering up at what must have been just shapes and bright lights. Slipping into shock and the blissful numbness.

And their veins were white hot. Seething scars lurked in the tremor of their hands. Their knees hit concrete, fingers twirling the barrel of the gun into their palm, and rammed the blunt end down onto his forehead.

A fissure opened in his flesh. Hazed hatred in hard eyes and harder hands, his bloodied fist cloyed upward. Treachery painted their neck, warm and slick, and their insides revolted.

They brought the corner of the grip down once more, grunting with the force of it. That time a wet crackle was heard, tissue and marrow and matter opening like a rift in the earth. His eyes dimmed and shut. Fingers fell limp. Then they brought the gun to his face again, and again, and again. Beating, breaking until all the scars were his and retribution stained their very self, pooling around their knees.

They were left with shivering leaves and limbs, metal clattering to concrete. For a few moments, they thought they could feel everything. Beneath, the ground itself breathed with them. The immeasurable magnitude of their actions soaked the air; acid in their lungs. Stinging, shallow flexes damming their thoughts. The image of his bloodied skull battered and branded into their memory; proof he would no longer torment.

"We have to go." A set of shoes stepped in to view. Welcomed into the washed-out greenhouse; making it sharper.

Their gun was picked up. Then a gentle hand rested on their arm. The light straightened and the emotions drained; a hollowness haunting their eyes.

"Come on," the voice urged softly. "I'll take you out of here for a bit. What's that place you always talk about going to? The one in the mountains. We'll lay low there for a bit, and when we come back everything will be like it should. They know what to do."

It was a trusted sound, the promise of better circumstances. It had to be, coming from the one who had been bound for so long; now unbound and free to bind. The vindication was theirs to share. So they swallowed the bile and butterflies, and took the hand on their arm. Bundled in familiar security, warm with such flattering certainty. There would be no leaving the stranger path.

This little exchange (starting with the sister speaking) during the reunion that would confirm what happened in the flashback:

"At least I killed him on purpose. You're a glorified accountant. Dad would've squashed your guts like an ant. If I'm appalled with what you've become, he's rolling over in his grave."

"As long as he stays there then I don't fucking care."

The meeting basically just confirms all the "who's" and "why's" but not the "how". Sister who wants the business for herself, therefore stopping the truce by getting revenge on the Boss is top on her list.

Some more reconnecting, tied together by a homophobic dad. Then this schpeel by the sister as well for more context.

"I was cursed from birth, just like you. The daughter of a mafioso. There's a mark on my head always. Police want to lock me up, criminals want to use me to prove themselves to their own shitbeat dads, regular people are scared shitless they'll be arrested just for talking to me. You weren't protecting me! You threw me to the wolves! My own sibling..."

"The world took everything from me! Don-"

"No! You did that! You took everything, killing anyone who didn't agree with your grand vision!"

Hadn't decided how the Boss would get out of the meeting, but basically the tension would build cause now you realize the Boss hasn't done much actual killing themselves. But the sister? She' killed her family before; what's stopping her from doing it again now?

More bonding with Baekhyun. Teaching him things. Maybe try and get him to kill someone to prove himself, but he can't go through with it.

Boss is in the greenhouse the morning of the wedding, but Baekhyun is also there, and with a gun to his head, kneeling. Boss of course then pulls their gun on the person threatening their fiancé which is the sister. Then maybe this interaction (starting with the sister speaking.)

"Look at you, so proud to kill me. About to be the big boss who saves the day. Protecting everyone with this fucking contract and this ridiculous fucking sham wedding. You think this'll make things right? Just like killing our fucking dad and throwing me out was right because you "saved" the business? Because you were "protecting" me? There's no redemption for someone like you. No happy, fairytale retirement ending. I'll just be another body you leave behind. Go on, finish me. Send my body to Junmyeon and scatter me to the wind, but it won't change what you are."

Lots of twisted emotions, Boss on the verge of tears.

"...I miss my old sister."

"Of course you do," the Boss replied. "They were much more trusting and naive. Easier to kill."

"What happened to your ruthless energy? You used to have real ambition for this company. Now you want to play cottage lesbian with this dipshit?" A pause. "I'm tired of this bluff. Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo appears and restrains the Boss, taking their gun away and maybe holding a knife to their throat, voice in their ear.

"Be a good kitten and shut your mouth, huh? You had your chance." He turns to the sister. "Trade you for the dipshit."

Sister laughs. "He's all yours, love."

Kyungsoo was the mole. Twisty, yes? The irony being the Boss was worried Baekhyun was the honeypot, when Kyungsoo had been all along. Well, from when he actually started sleeping with them. He tried to get the Boss to change their ways, and when they didn't, the sister gave up and and gave in to vengeance.

As Kyungsoo trades, Baekhyun steals a gun from Kyungsoo's holster, presses it to his chest, and pulls the trigger. His first kill.

The Boss uses the distraction to kill their sister. Their final violent act. Both of them standing amidst the blood.

The truce is made, the Boss gets married, and both their souls are now corrupted and damned.

Hadn't totally decided, but if I were to lean toward a happier ending then the Boss would've raised up one of the others (probably Jongdae) to be the new boss, and they'd prove their sister wrong by retiring with Baekhyun to a small house with a garden. Well, they weren't totally happy after everything they'd been through, but they were content.

#exo #baekhyun #kyungsoo #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fic #baekhyun ff #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic

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fallout4holmes · 4 years ago

Text

Nuka-World 6

We had a visitor the next morning. Mags Black left her two cronies at the base of the artificial mountain as she took the lift up herself. I don't know what she said to Gage to get him to stay put on the ground, but he wasn't happy about it.

Holmes had just finished his morning cigarette and a minimal breakfast. He stood as she stepped off the lift, "Ah. Ms. Black."

The raider boss raised an eyebrow, "Miz? It's like you're trying to stand out. You're the Overboss now, Mister Holmes, you get to be on a first name basis with everyone."

Holmes lit another cigarette and said with exaggerated politeness, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Mags smirked, "You can blame it on giving the Disciples The Galactic Zone. I don't know what you're planning, but I want my people to come out on top at the end."

"At the moment, avoiding the animosity of an amusement park full of raiders is my primary concern."

"Bullshit," she said pleasantly. "You're the General of the Minutemen, the frozen vault-dweller that destroyed the Institute. I heard about your almost-war with the Brotherhood too, how you kicked them out of the Commonwealth after destroying their toys." She gestured to me, “Most of the raiders in Nuka-World are from west of here, where the Institute never had a presence. They think your friend is just a nifty robot bodyguard. Creepy, but nothing more. Those of us from the Commonwealth though?” She smiled, sinister, “We know exactly what he is. William and I know better than most. You never did find that janitor that went missing, did you Nick? What was her name, Amelia?”

“Annette,” I corrected, tried not to rise to the bait. “Not usually a fan of kicking folks out beyond the Wall, but in the case of you and your brother I’m glad Diamond City did.”

“Funnily enough, so are we. This suits us much better.” She said it smoothly, nothing but charm, but you don’t last long in my line of work if you can’t tell a bluff when you see one. She turned her attention back to Holmes, “Either your rumored nobility is all an act to get you into a place of power, or you’re going to throw a wrench into the fragile gears of this place. If it turns out to be the first one, you may want to consider showing my people a bit of favor before ugly rumors of synths and interfering Minutemen start circulating the park. If it’s the second one, well. Just know that every Operator in this park is watching.”

Holmes glowered, “I don’t respond well to threats.”

“As long as you respond,” Mags said, and took the lift back down.

As soon as she was down, Gage came up. "Mags pissed?"

"A touch upset," Holmes offered me a cigarette, which I took. "I was a little surprised she remembered you, Valentine."

"Guess it's hard to forget a face like this," I said dryly.

"What the hell are you two goin' on about?" Gage sighed.

"Nothing important," Holmes said, "just the Operators being unhappy with me. They can have the next park, it doesn't matter."

"Giving 'em the next park might look like you were intimidated," Gage said.

"What is the next park?" Holmes asked.

"Figured we'd hit Dry Rock Gulch."

"Hm, the American 'Old West' theme. A fake gold mining operation should suit the Operators, don't you think, Valentine?"

I chuckled, "I think the implication is gonna go over their heads, but we might as well check it out and get it over with."

Holmes agreed and we headed off. We made it to the park’s gate when I heard something moving through the earth, sort of like the sound a mole rat makes just before it leaps out and bites you. Only these weren’t mole rats.

A handful of big red worms with mouths that took up the whole head attacked, surprising the hell out of me and Holmes and earning an annoyed growl from Gage. They weren’t much of a fight, but, “Well that was unpleasant,” I said.

“You never seen bloodworms before?” Gage asked, skeptical.

I shook my head, “We don't get these things back east.”

“Better get used to ‘em, they’re a fucking menace around here.”

Hopefully we wouldn’t be staying long enough for me to get used to them, but I kept that to myself. I glanced around as we entered the park, the Old West frontier outpost aesthetic turned kitsch.

“How’s it go,” Gage sarcastically drawled, “This town ain’t big enough for you and me… ah, never mind.”

Holmes chuckled. “Let’s ask the local law enforcement for information,” he pointed to a protectron wearing a sheriff’s hat.

“Hope y'all are having a good day here at Nuka-World. Ready to saddle up and ride into the old wild west?” the protectron said.

“Great,” Gage grumbled, “More dumb robots.”

The protectron was unperturbed, “I'm the sheriff of these parts, and I need your help getting rid of those no good outlaws holed up in Mad Mulligan's Mine!”

“This is why I hate robots,” Gage huffed. “They don’t even know the world ended, this playtime shit is annoying.”

The protectron’s park personality programming stopped, “Processing: Hostile visitor. Ignore and continue explanation for the sake of the other guests.”

I laughed.

The sheriff continued his job, “The door to Mad Mulligan's Mine is locked up. I got a spare key in a safe by the theater, but wouldn't you know, I plum forgot what the combination to the safe was! You'll need to talk to my three amigos: Doc Phosphate, One-Eyed Ike, and the Giddyup Kid. Prove to them you're tough enough to take on the outlaws, and they'll give you their part of the combination. Good luck, little doggie! And don't forget your complimentary deputy uniform, courtesy of Nuka-Cola!”

The sheriff handed Holmes a costume, who promptly handed it to Gage, who scowled before realizing, “You got a weird ass sense of humor, boss,” and tossed it away. As we walked he asked, “We really gotta do all that, talk to three other robots just to get a key?”

“I suppose we could simply hang a banner and be done with the place,” Holmes said.

Gage shook his head, “Not with the bloodworms. Gotta torch the nest first, otherwise whoever moves in is gonna be pissed to hell you gave ‘em an infested base.”

Holmes made casual eye contact with me. He’d been hoping for a raider-bloodworm showdown.

“I mean,” Gage was still talking, “why do we need this fucking key in the first place? Can’t we just blast the door open?”

“I try not to do anything rash if I can avoid it,” Holmes said, “and surely you don’t think we’ll be bested by a few challenges designed for children?”

“I’m starting to second-guess making you Overboss,” Gage grumbled.

“Perhaps you should have considered that possibility before enthroning a stranger you know precious little about, against his will,” Holmes steely replied.

“I can deal with an ass of a boss,” Gage played it cool, “as long as he gets done what needs to get done.”

We did the tasks for the park protectrons, fighting bloodworms, overgrown crickets, and giant ants along the way. Once we had the key, we headed for Mad Mulligan's Mine… a roller-coaster.

Gage had kept pretty quiet til then, "People actually stood in line and waited for this crap?" He scoffed, "Bunch of suckers."

"Roller-coasters were a popular attraction,” I commented flatly, “though I can’t say I ever saw the appeal.”

Holmes gestured for quiet as we headed into the ride. The lobby held a souvenir shop and the entrance to the tunnels that would lead folks to the boarding area, decorated to look like you’re walking through a mine out of a Saturday morning western. Back then it probably lacked the dead bodies, of course. Holmes and I had heard rumors of traders who hid from Colter’s raiders in Dry Rock Gulch. We found ‘em. Bloodworms saw to it they didn’t have long to enjoy their freedom.

The boarding area was a massive pit littered with brahmin corpses, bulging with bloodworm larvae. In the middle of the pit was the massive queen herself.

“I believe we’ve found the nest,” Holmes said.

“No shit, boss,” Gage scoffed.

“Valentine and I will take care of the queen, you exterminate everything hiding in those brahmin.”

Gage nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

I might be getting too old for fighting overgrown monsters in caves… but every time I think that, I know it’s not really true. Or it is, and I’m too stubborn to admit it. Anyway, we got the job done but the queen did a number on my leg. At least we know that Nuka-Town’s got a competent mechanic. I could walk, which is saying something, just going to have a limp until whatever got whacked out of place could get realigned. Gage was going to make a remark, but wisely shut up when Holmes glared at him.

We let the Sheriff know the job was done, got paid, which was a nice surprise, and Holmes climbed up to the top of the theater to hoist a flag with a black heart in a bullseye, bleeding gold.

“Gave in to the Operators after all, huh?” Gage said once Holmes was back on the ground. He didn’t sound accusatory, which was kind of weird, just like he was making conversation. Which was also kind of weird.

“If I have to secure Mags Black’s silence with a token gesture,” Holmes said, “then so be it.”

Gage shrugged, “Just let ‘em know you’re the Overboss, not some do-good General.”

“Gage, you conned me into this mess for the purpose of bringing the gangs together, yes? How does strutting around threatening violence serve that purpose?”

“Because we’re raiders?? That’s the language these idiots speak. You gotta treat ‘em right, but make sure they know you can end them at any time.”

Holmes made a considering sound and headed out of the park, “I often thought that if raiders could ever organize, they would be a force to be reckoned with. It seems I was right.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Gage exclaimed, relieved as if Holmes had finally come around. He didn’t know that every time the topic came up, it was followed with a list of possible ways the Minutemen would eliminate that threat.

Unfortunately, none of the hypothetical scenarios ever involved the General and his partner effectively being held hostage, with no way to call for help.

#fallout4holmes #fallout 4 #nuka world #nick valentine #sherlock holmes #fan fiction #catching up on past posts

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ngame989 · 5 years ago

Text

“Onward” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 7

Writing: @ngame989

Art: @toxicpsychox

Editing: @toxicpsychox, @seddm, an IRL friend

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Bloodlines clash over the past on the first anniversary of the Cleaving, while Star, Marco, and others try to focus on looking forward.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Sorry for the big delay. In the meantime, we did a pretty massive in-character RPish Q&A session taking place in the time of the fanfic collection storyline just before this chapter, so check that out here! Post-summer schedules are settling in now, so hopefully we can get back on track for regular updates. See below for the text, hope you enjoy!

“Think we should head back downstairs soon?”

Star poked her head out from the closet to find Marco had taken his hoodie off and spread himself akimbo on their bed, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. “We probably should,” she admitted, turning the swords she held in her hands over a few times. Her own blade was relatively simple compared to the ornate craft of Marco’s falchion, the Cleaver. That name seemed especially fitting now, since it was exactly one year ago today that their new world was created. She carefully set them against the wall, still in their protective sheaths. “Ooooor we could just use my messiness as an excuse for why it took us extra long to find these!” she drawled out dramatically, giving Marco a sly grin. He finally tilted his head towards her and opened his eyes, treating her to his soft warm gaze while she kicked off her tennis shoes and adjusted her old sky-blue dress. Their day had begun only a few hours ago, yet she was already feeling drained, and his slight wince when she dropped onto the mattress, reclining against a wall of pillows suggested he mirrored her sentiment. “You OK?”

“If your uncle’s hug didn’t break something, your aunt’s sure did,” Marco mumbled, testing his joints for injury with a grimace before scooting himself further towards her and dropping his head into her lap. Normally she’d be all for the rowdy family party going on right under their feet, but today felt like it should be their day too. Earthni was a wonderful place for sure, but today was the anniversary of so much more for her. The perfect bliss of loving Marco, the terror of losing Marco, the overwhelming sadness of missing Marco, the enrapturing contentment after reuniting with Marco...

“Marco, Marco, Marco…” she singsonged, thoughts leaking out into words. Her left hand caressed his cheek while she tangled the fingers of her right in his hair; he closed his eyes and nuzzled further into her contentedly. Her smile grew all the wider as she upped the ante, squishing his cheek and poking his mole then finally honking his nose. After a few moments of trying his best to ignore it he started lazily swatting her hands away, but she persisted nonetheless. This adorable face was hers for the booping, dangit!

“Star.” His tone was firm, but she knew better than to assume he meant it.

“Yes?” she innocently crooned.

He caught her wrists and held them away from him. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun, silly.” She wriggled free and got a sneak attack in, pinching both cheeks at once. When he went in for the counter, she pulled back so quickly that he slapped himself, causing Star to fall backwards onto the pillow clutching her sides and laughing. Marco lifted himself off of her and onto his knees, and she caught only a glimpse of his cocky smirk before he dove forward, pinning both her arms above her. “Oh no! You got me, Diaz! I am at your mercy. Whatever shall I do?” Try as she might to keep up the mock damsel in distress act, she failed to suppress her giggles. Only a second later, he released her hands and planted a quick kiss on her lips before resting his head on her shoulder. Her arms wrapped tightly around him. When she’d made the fateful decision to risk leaving everything else behind for Marco, this was why, this was what she couldn’t see herself living without.

“Star… ow…” Her grip slackened and he wheezed in relief. “You definitely… got that… from your dad’s side of the family.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly.

“Hello, dears.” Eclipsa’s voice rang from the doorway, catching them both off-guard. Marco yelped and rolled off of Star, flopping to the floor with a thud. “Don’t mind me, I was just sent up to see if you two were ready for your demonstration. I must say, everyone seems quite excited for it.”

“Oh heeeeeey, there’s the swords!” Star pointed with a totally convincing shocked expression. “Silly Marco, I told you they wouldn’t be under the mattress!”

Eclipsa laughed heartily enough to make the light purple hem of her summer dress sway around her. “There’s no need for excuses, dears. In my younger days, I would have killed to have Globby with me at even a single family outing. I’m not one to tattle on the tomfoolery of love. You should probably go, though, before any more Butterfly-Johansen friction spills over.”

“Uuuuugh,” Star groaned. Things had been pretty civil amongst all the various interdimensional families thus far, but she’d known it was only a matter of time before something happened. When she was a kid it was fun watching everyone punch each other off cliffs to vent their frustrations, but now it just seemed petty and pointless to her. Had they learned nothing from everything that happened? She helped Marco off the ground then grabbed their weapons for the exhibition spar that all their guests were apparently anticipating. He slid into his hoodie while she slipped back into her shoes, then they closed the door behind them and descended the stairs.

The Diaz living room was largely occupied by the Butterflies for the time being, while Star could hear the characteristic Johansen ruckus from the backyard. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could all just get along forever? Probably, but she could scarcely fathom how that might ever happen. She glanced around to find her mom trapped in conversation with Great-Aunt Etheria in the kitchen. Despite wearing more casual clothing, Mom was in total “queen” mode right now, politely tut-tutting at all of Etheria’s observations. Maybe that wasn’t the best term for it, but it was how Star had known her mother most of the time growing up. However, there was still no mistaking the strain in her expression: even the Queen Moon of her childhood couldn’t put up with Etheria for long, and Star had no idea how the mom she’d gotten to know in recent years could handle it for more than half a minute. When Etheria noticed Star’s presence and strutted towards the stairs, Star could see her mother breathe a slight sigh of relief before following.

“Ah, dearie, there you are. Come, come, let me see this magnificent blade I’ve heard so much about.” Eclipsa held it up, but the eldest Butterfly snatched it from her grip without even a glance before running her fingers all over the blade. “Fine craftsmanship, indeed… where did you get such a thing? I must commission the maker for a new display.”

“It was actually Buff Frog who recommended me an old friend of his, she’s really cool. She does experimental art with molten metal that’s really pretty-”

“Ah. Hmmph.” The woman handed the sword back to Star tersely. “Well, it is well-made, I’ll give it that.”

“Speaking of artistry,” Moon chimed in before Star could respond, “weren’t you saying something about Marco’s parents, Aunt Etheria?” Star and Marco glanced at each other anxiously.

The large woman perked up, scorn diminishing in an instant. “Oh yes, they’re wonderful. A poet and a sculptor, how splendid! It’s positively delightful to see such devotion to the most noble of endeavors. The graceful wielding of a blade or a brush are signs of a good temperament. I’m glad at least your family can appreciate the finer, more delicate things in life, boy.” Star cringed a bit, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Marco doing the same, but the tension she didn’t even know she had in her shoulders dropped. Despite the tone, it was nice that Marco was being accepted, but… yeesh. “Let’s get on with this display, shall we?” The group headed outside where the Diazes had taken advantage of their spacious backyard.

Star instinctively shielded her eyes with one arm, blocking out the blinding light of the sun. Two poles held a banner up above a table loaded with all kinds of meats and vegetables. ‘Butterfly-Johansen (and Diaz) Annual Picnic’. Marco’s parents had resisted inserting themselves for long enough that Star had scrawled the addition on herself. They were hosting the freaking thing, why shouldn’t they be an official part of it? The Butterflies who had followed them outside were audibly scoffing at the various Johansen men and women sweeping up armfuls of meats and jamming them into extra large tortillas that were still far too small for the task. Finally she found her dad, who was guiding cousin Rock through the various foods that had become a staple of his diet, and when he noticed her in kind he skipped over. “Star, honey, there you are! And Marco, my boy, tell me: did you have your first encounter with Grandpappy Bear? The man with the grey beard down past his knees?” Marco nodded at the clarification.

“Ha! My father used to tell me stories of how he’d vanquish foes by opening his arms to feign surrender. Many great men and women fell right for it- went for the hug and had the life squeezed right out of them!” His eyes narrowed intensely, getting right in Marco’s face, and Marco’s nose ruffled at the wild beard hairs.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Marco dryly responded. “My everything hurts.”

“Nonsense, lad. If you’re even still standing, you’ve done better than most! It’s like you’re part of the family already.” He clapped Marco on the back with a joyous laugh, and Star grabbed onto her boyfriend’s arm to keep him steady on his feet.

“Try not to break the boy,” Etheria sneered from the doorway behind them, joined by a few of Star’s aunts and uncles.

“They are quite talented at breaking things,” Heartrude murmured low enough that anyone farther away than Star probably wouldn’t hear.

“Aye, we’re just having fun with ‘em,” Aunt Crag hollered back. “From what Rivey tells me, he’s gonna be an honorary Johansen soon enough!”

Daaaaaaad. Star tried to bury the rising heat in her cheeks. While her brain was still putting itself back together, Marco had jumped between them with a nervous grin on his face. “So, swordfighting, huh? What’s the deal with that?”

“Yes, I suppose some entertainment is in order,” Etheria sighed. “Are you quite sure that we can’t stage a rousing game of Flags, Moon? After the last few cancellations due to…” Her gaze flickered to Eclipsa and Globgor briefly. “Circumstances on Mewni, and now the Butterfly Kingdom being dissolved altogether, I dare say some stress relief might do us all some good.”

“Hear, hear,” the Butterflies behind her chanted. Even a few Johansens were mumbling their assent, though they’d never be forthright with their agreement with the eldest Butterfly.

“Be that as it may,” Moon spoke up, “my decision still stands. If there’s anything I’ve learned these past few years, it’s the value of letting go of the past if it’s holding you back, and Flags, fun as it may be, just kept this feud going. We have our whole lives ahead of us. Perhaps it’s best if we can all learn to find that which binds us together.”

“She’s right,” one of the Johansen cousins added. Phew. Finally, maybe people were starting to see the sense in- “Since we don’t have to bother with politics anymore, maybe we just shouldn’t put up with them!” Oh for the love of- calm down, Star. Deep breaths. Though she tried to ignore it, a tiny voice in the back of her mind pondered those words carefully. Why were they trying to make the families get along? Sure, it’d be nice for its own sake, but it wasn’t like her parents were BFFs with any of their in-laws, either. Maybe it was selfish to think, but what did they get out of it?

As the tensions mounted more by the second, Star felt something prodding her clenched fists. She looked over her shoulder to see Eclipsa surreptitiously handing over her sword, while Marco already had been given his. Star took the hint. Too late to turn back now.

“EN GARDE, MARCO!”

***

To anyone else, the sun being blocked out completely in the middle of a summer afternoon would have been alarming, but for Eclipsa it was a most welcome sign. “Having fun, my love?” a deep voice boomed above her.

Globgor shrunk down to smaller than his default size, his form-fitting sweater vest and pants scaling appropriately, and dropped down on the grass next to his wife to hand her a cup of tea. She took a test sip: black, with milk and a generous serving of honey. He only ever put that much in when he thought there was something bothering her, and as always, he was correct. “I get the unfortunate feeling we’re not quite welcome among some of the clan, Globby. Especially those on our side. The Johansens seem quite fond of you, though.”

“Ehhhh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right, they’re definitely nice in their own way, but I think it’s only because I’m strong. They kept laughing about eating people, and said maybe Etheria would be a gourmet meal.”

“Well, that is a perfectly acceptable reason to like you, dear,” she crooned, placing her free hand on his arm. “But yes, that is… troubling.” It didn’t surprise her, really; it had taken her nearly a year to find her place within the small portion of the Butterfly family consisting of just Star and Moon. Eclipsa had accepted being an outcast from the remainder of it, given her supreme infamy in Mewnian lore, but it wasn’t in her nature to sulk, and in all fairness it had been a good year for them. Perhaps she hadn’t been the best at guiding her people safely through dangerous times, but she still had earned respect and camaraderie from much of Monstertown. Rebuilding the town after Mina’s destructive rampage had been a satisfying effort, and she still had far more time to enjoy the company of her family than she ever could have dreamed.

Taking another soothing sip, her gaze wandered over to the only other people she knew that needed this time to be together as much as she had. Star’s combat style was fierce, unrelenting chaos guided by warrior’s instinct, but Marco balanced it perfectly with a keen eye for when to defend and when to counter. Eclipsa had guessed where they’d end up from quite literally the first moment she’d met Star, and where they complemented each other perfectly as a team, they were equally matched as opponents. The shimmering steel clanged over and over, neither combatant spending more than a handful of seconds on the backfoot at a time. Marco deftly ducked under a ferocious two-handed swing and jabbed forward, so Star rolled with her momentum to dash backwards. She was about to back into a cactus behind her when Marco kicked off the ground and lunged towards her, grabbing her free hand and twirling her to the side, eliciting hoots and hollers from the enthralled crowd. They both giggled before squaring their stances, and combat resumed.

“They’re quite extraordinary, aren’t they?” Eclipsa turned away from the match in progress at the sound of Moon’s voice. Globgor extended an enlarged arm towards a chair leaning against a picnic table and dragged it over for her.

“They’ve both turned out to be some of the best of us. Even with all my strongest magic, I wouldn’t want to get between them. It looks like they could keep this up forever.”

Moon raised an eyebrow and folded her hands in her lap, sipping from a mug with an ornate floral pattern. Royal status or not, Moon had a taste for the finer things. “I wasn’t talking about the swordfight, Eclipsa.”

“Nor was I.” Eclipsa playfully smirked, and Moon conceded the point with the two sharing a knowing look.

Globgor shrunk and hopped onto Eclipsa’s shoulder, gathering some of her flowing green hair with his tail as a headrest and reclining into her neck. “Wouldn’t it have been nice to be like that at their age? We only ever had minutes at a time to ourselves, and it’s not like we could just use giant mirrors or big glowy portals to chat whenever we wanted.”

“True enough, my love, but Star had been devoting everything to keeping an entire kingdom afloat at age 15 for half a year, and Marco’s own service merited knighthood in less. Even if we debate the details, I’m not sure I envy them.” She gently ruffled his hair with her fingers. “And besides, we’ve had the last year, and however many more follow to do whatever we wish.”

Globgor smiled back up at her, hugging one of her fingers. “You’re right, dear. Oh Moon, that reminds me, how are those big plans you mentioned a few weeks ago?”

Moon crossed her arms, frowning slightly. “It’s not anything that big yet. I’ve... just been gathering some information. Wrathmelior was quite helpful in finding Historia Homewnum for me, it’s older than the Butterflies themselves. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it yet, but I want to talk to Star first.” She turned away from Eclipsa and Globgor, gazing with a solemn smile towards her daughter who was laughing hysterically as she chased Marco down and tackled him into the grass, weapons forgotten. “How we look back on Mewni requires guidance from those looking most forward.”

“How do you look back on it, Moon?”

Her brow furrowed as she took one sip, then another, clearly lost in thought. By the time she spoke, the entire glass had been drained. “I’m not proud of many of the things I did, or even those I felt I had to do, in my time as queen, but it’s a legacy left behind nonetheless. The people of this world deserve to know it as it was, sometimes noble and sometimes flawed.” A shout of “why I never!” was heard from the distance, and everyone turned to see one of the younger Butterfly cousins hastily retreating from an encounter with Johansens. “Very flawed,” Moon sighed. “The Johansens at least mean well, in their own ways, but my side… well, let’s just say it’s a good reminder of why the Cleaving was necessary. My apologies for any trouble they’ve caused.”

Eclipsa laughed sardonically. “Until quite literally hundreds of years after she perished, my own mother would have drawn and quartered me just for being in love. Family problems are nothing new.”

Globgor hopped off her shoulder, enlarging as he pointed across the spacious yard closer to Moon and River’s yurt, which had become a veritable house in recent months. “Is that River?” Eclipsa squinted to block out the sunlight and get a better view, and sure enough he was locked in a struggle with Heartrude, who was trying to wrestle a large drumstick out of River’s teeth.

“In all fairness, Moon, the Diazes are excellent chefs. I wouldn’t blame anyone for that level of passion over the catering,” Eclipsa sniggered.

“For heaven’s sake…” Moon grumbled while dragging her hands down her face. “River!” She darted off towards the scene, leaving Eclipsa and her husband alone once more.

A few of the others glanced over their way, but none responded. Globgor grew a little more and stretched his limbs before sprawling himself out on the ground, yelping sheepishly when his actions knocked the chairs over. That’s my Globby. Eclipsa giggled and jumped over the wreckage into his arms, using his chest as a pillow. They both loved their daughter more than anything, but time for just the two of them was always welcome. “There are certain advantages to not having much of an audience…” he said, chuckling and gently pulling her closer for a kiss. When she’d first started secretly dating monsters in her youth, the Mewman lore had maintained that size-shifters were clumsy oafs when large and insidious creeping vermin when small, and that was saying something since the pages written about the middle ground weren’t exactly flattering either. No matter his outward appearance, he always knew how to handle her with precision and grace, and they’d worked up a complete comfortability with the shifts in their daily lives. One of Globgor’s favorite amusements was trying to solve any mundane issue he could with only size-shifting, leading to some incidents such as the shelving unit they’d had to rebuild after he tried expanding in a confined space to reach some baking ingredients at the top, but it never failed to amuse her. They flirted in the grass until they’d lost count of the minutes, uncaring of who may have been looking at their innocent (by their standards) shenanigans, until the sunlight in the corner of Eclipsa’s eye went dark once more.

The moment that it took for Globgor to stop being distracted by her kisses lasted about as long as the time it took her to recognize that the usual cause of this was already beneath her, and both snapped to attention together. “Gotcha! Now we’re even-steven,” Star gloated.

All four eyes below her blinked a few times. “Um, it’s Globgor, not Steven.” The other three looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. “What, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, darling,” Eclipsa responded. They both stood up, brushing any stray grass marks off their clothing. “Excellent fight, dears, though I’m afraid I was too, ahem, preoccupied to catch the ending. Who won?”

“Star did,” Marco said.

She poked him in the cheek, beaming with pride and doing a little dance. “First time, too! I was like, swing, swing, slash and I did this really cool twirl and knocked it right out of Marco’s hands. I did it!”

He wrapped an arm around her affectionately, which also served to calm her antics. “I was off-balance from pulling you away from the cactus,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Love made you weak, Diaz, but I love you for it.” She nuzzled into his shoulder and he rested his head against hers. “Anyway, how are things going for you guys?” Star wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at them.

“The party is delightful. It’s so nice to get to celebrate with everyone, even if there’s the occasional spot of friction.” It wasn’t worth troubling Star and Marco over; this celebration was in service of them, in a way.

“The Butterflies don’t seem to like us too much, and I think the Johansens like us for not so great reasons,” Globgor ever so helpfully stated. Well, there goes that idea.

Star growled under her breath. “Why are they always like this? It seemed like things were turning around after the last Flags,” she moaned.

Marco shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, sometimes old grudges last a long time. I remember Uncle Miguel didn’t speak to his wife, Aunt Juanita, for 15 whole years because of a stolen enchilada. She’d even bought him one the next day, too. Probably explains why Cousin Bobby is a bit weird.”

Star puffed up her cheeks in indignation. “OK, I know this isn’t the point, Marco, but every story about your extended family just makes me want to meet them even more.”

“Maybe once the government sorts out all the passport stuff,” Marco said, “and maybe on their own, too. I’m glad your family likes my parents, but I’m, uh, not so sure how they would all get along.”

“Good to know.”

“Can’t you just eat like a well-behaved member of society!” The group heard from a distance away.

“I don’t want to be part of any society that has someone do the chewing for them!”

More and more Butterflies and Johansens clustered together in the center of the yard; it seemed like this whole debacle was about to reach critical mass. Eclipsa surveyed the scene carefully: Moon and River were trying ineffectually to calm it, and the Diazes watched from the sidelines, babies in tow. It seemed like they were the only ones left in action. Marco gathered them into a huddle, with Globgor shrinking down to the appropriate size. “Alright, how do we figure this out?”

“Families bicker sometimes, darling,” Eclipsa offered somberly. “Perhaps them getting along just isn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t get it, though! Okay, fine, they’re annoyed by each other, but who isn’t annoyed by family sometimes? Heck, even Marco grates on me when he says I should ‘eat less sugar’ and ‘eat something besides sugar’ and ‘stop pouring sugar into my soda until it becomes a thick paste’! Have you ever seen the nutrition labels on the Sugar Seeds you eat too?”

“Hey…” Marco pouted.

Globgor raised a hand. “Well, Star, healthy eating is an important-”

“Not the time!” she growled.

Marco squeezed her shoulder, which calmed her down enough for him to speak. “Well, when Uncle Miguel and Aunt Juanita’s feud finally ended, it was because his brother stole one of his enchiladas and then gave it back, so they made up really quickly. I guess that helped him realize he didn’t even know why he was still being so mean about it. So maybe if we just got them to realize their issues are normal…”

“They could just be annoyed by each other normally,” Star finished. “Marco, you brilliant man, you.”

Folding her hands in contemplation, Eclipsa finally spoke. “All well and good, but how? Even though my time was 300 years ago, I don’t think much has changed in just how stubborn any of these royal families can be. They’re not just going to give up hating each other so easily.”

Globgor’s tail swished up against her in excitement. “Remember when you helped me become a vegetarian?”

“Yes, of course.”

“For a while, I still thought about eating Mewmans every single day, so you made all those veggie-filled scarecrows for me to find. They weren’t that good.”

“Not my best work, I admit.”

“But being able to still have some way of scratching that itch was what helped the most, and now it’s not even a problem anymore!”

“So you’re saying we just need a way to still let out all their aggression without doing any serious damage, then. Globgor, you brilliant man, you.”

Rafael and Angie poked their heads in between Marco and Globgor. “If I may contribute a suggestion…” he said.

“Aaaa!” The other two couples stumbled back in shock.

“Sorry, we heard you from over there and we had an idea. You’re not that good at being quiet,” Angie laughed, ruffling Star’s hair.

“When I was growing up,” Rafael continued, “we used to always play silly games in the backyard and everyone got very competitive over it. I think I have some of the equipment still in the shed. Maybe a friendly competition is in order?”

“I love it!” Star shouted, her eyes lighting up with joy. She stuck her hand into the middle of the group, grinning fiercely at the gathered crowd. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s stop our families from killing each other over petty grudges. Globgor, lift all the equipment. Nachos can help too, she should be coming back from her afternoon stroll right about now. Mr. Diaz, set it all up. Eclipsa, Mrs. Diaz, plan the rules of the competition. Marco, let’s go try to distract my family. Team Family on three!” Regardless of whether it would work, Eclipsa felt quite enthusiastic about this as well. She couldn’t say whether it would work, or how it might impact her own standing within the group, but the simple fact that there even seemed to be a chance to set things in the right direction for Star’s family at all was far more than she’d ever had the chance to do in her past.

“Alright, on three,” Eclipsa said, leading the charge. “One, two, three, family!”

***

Marco followed Star across the yard, needing to jog to keep up as she pulled him forward by the hand into the center of the ruckus. Moon and River had their backs to each other as they tried to keep the seething rage from either side at bay, but a few people had already crossed the battle lines and an all-out brawl was beginning to erupt.

“Don’t worry Mom and Dad, we got this,” Star confidently shouted over the din. Admittedly, Marco was a bit less certain than she was that this would work. He was the odd one out in terms of his upbringing, and Star’s families honestly spooked him a little bit with their intensity. The Diazes were quirky, sure, but like most other things on Mewni, this whole situation just seemed amped up to 11 all the time. Still, he wanted to see it through for Star’s sake, if nothing else. So much of what they’d gone through was due in some way or another to family disputes, it was very clearly a personal affront to her. “Alright, everyone, settle down!” Didn’t work. “Butterflies! Johansens! Could you please just stop-” Even at the top of her lungs, nothing changed.

River pushed her back a step. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got this.” He inhaled enough air that his bare chest visibly expanded. “QUIETTTTTTTTTTT!” Dead silence hung in the wake as every member of the families turned their full attention towards Star, Marco, and her parents. One Johnasen even paused mid-headlock of Heartrude. “Listen to my daughter speak!”

“Thanks dad. Hello, everyone!”

“Hello, Star,” the crowd mumbled hesitantly.

“Butterflies, Johansens, I know you both have your differences. I know that nothing I’m going to say will make you just get along forever. But I have a question for you. Uncle Heartrude, you hate the Johansens for how they eat, but haven’t you ever been annoyed whenever Uncle Jimothy uses salad forks for meat?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how-”

Star pointed directly at one of her larger cousins, and even just a sideways look at the fire in her sapphire eyes inspired him as well. “And Boulder, didn’t you once say Rock was a snooty little pebble for waxing his shoulder-horns twice a day?”

“Aye, I did.” His thick brow furrowed and his voice came out a bit muffled from behind his enormous brown beard.

“But you still love each other like brothers, so why are you still trying to break Heartrude’s leg right now?”

“Oi, I guess I am,” he said, letting go of Heartrude’s leg. “Sorry about that.”

Star squeezed Marco’s hand in hers hard enough that he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in exhilaration.

“So sure, we all get mad sometimes. But instead of trying to kill each other over it, let’s just settle it like we would any regular family feud. With friendly, non-lethal competitive fun!”

River tapped her on the shoulder. “Um, sometimes the Johansens do actually settle them by-”

“Not now, Dad,” she forced out through gritted teeth.

“Right-o, dear.” He quickly hustled back to Moon, who was watching with a proud but cautious smile.

Etheria shoved her way through the crowd and confronted Star face to face. “That may all be well and true, but the Johansens spoiled our royal bloodline-”

“That was my own choice, thank you very much, Aunt Etheria,” Moon huffed, hugging River closer to her.

“Besides, I’m proud to be a Butterfly and a Johansen,” Star continued. “And so what if it’s not what you wanted for the ‘royal bloodline’? Earthni to Etheria, we’re not even royals anymore! Who cares about some stupid bloodline when my mom was able to actually be happy?"

“Traditions are important, child. Now, I’ll grant you that we no longer hold claim to a royal throne, but neither do you, so why should we listen to you anymore?” A few murmurs were heard among the Butterflies and Johansens both. How ironic that the first time all day they could agree on something was on their right to hate each other.

“Because… because…” Star floundered for the first time in her speech. Her hand trembled in Marco’s, and the Star he knew and loved wouldn’t have faltered until hope seemed almost completely lost. He had to do something. Think, Marco, think… the Johansens respected might, the Butterflies respected prestige, what did any of them have that could appease both? They were so upset about Flags being cancelled in the first place because both wanted its bragging rights so badly. Wait… that’s it!

Alright Diaz, you got this. Marco stood tall and squeezed Star’s hand back to let her know it was OK. “Because I, Marco Ubaldo Diaz, am the reigning Flags champion, and I say to do what Star says!”

“Marco, what the horse-flipping heck-” Star wheeled on him incredulously, but he quickly turned her back towards the crowds. Their gazes roved over the faces in the crowd. All of the fight had left them. His gambit had worked.

“Huh,” Star uttered matter-of-factly, still in shock. “What would I do without you, Marco?” she whispered to him under her breath, and his heart fluttered as it always did. “Alright, listen up, people! This isn’t about epic conflicts or generational feuds. You’ve got a problem with someone? Challenge them to a short, safe, and fun game to settle that score. Marco’s parents and Eclipsa and Globgor are in charge of the event planning. They’ll help you set everything up. May the best person at resolving all their conflicts win! Welcome to the first annual...”

“Game of Yards!” Star and Marco triumphantly shouted in unison.

“Remember to have fun!” Star shouted before tugging Marco’s hand away once more, but she steered them away from his parents and then further away from the entire party.

“Um, Star, what are you- where are we going?”

“Can we talk about something? I need to get away for, like five seconds.” Marco hadn’t heard her sound that exasperated in a while.

“Yeah, of course, let’s decompress. Anywhere special you wanted to go?”

Her gaze frantically darted around them. She’d taken them back towards the forest, near the edge of the territory their parents had acquired. “I don’t know, I just kinda walked. How about there?” she asked, pointing to a small hill in a clearing, covered by the shade of some Mewnian oak trees (thankfully, the benign sort). Marco nodded, and they both went over found a suitable spot.

“What’s on your mind?”

Star shifted restlessly after sitting on her legs. He tried to convey as much support as he could through the gentle caress of her hand laced with his. Even from hours after they’d met, he’d always been ready to be right beside her when she needed, and that resolve had only strengthened as the years went by. Once she’d gathered her thoughts, she began to speak. “Who am I, Marco?”

Of the many ways he’d thought this conversation could open, this wasn’t exactly one of them. “Huh?” was all he could mutter.

“It’s just… Etheria’s right. I’m not a princess anymore, and when all that went down I just wanted to be a normal teenager, but I’m not gonna be a teenager forever either, you know?”

“I understand.”

“Yeah, but when you turned down Eclipsa’s knighthood, already had a plan for stuff you wanted to do. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to college and all that junk? You can do that now since you finished high school, right?”

“Mhmm.” Marco fell back onto the grass, resting both his arms on his chest and staring up into the clear purple sky. “I- I guess I haven’t thought about it much since then, either. Mom told me that the college she teaches at was still taking students, and it’s still really close to home, and- and I thought about signing up but I wasn’t sure.”

She plopped down beside him, rolling over to face him and taking one of his hands in hers. “You should! Marco, whatever you want to do, you’ll be amazing at it because you’re Marco Diaz, and I’ll be right there every step of the way.”

“Thanks, Star.”

“I never had anything like that. I didn’t think about it too much when I was a kid, and then I was gonna be a queen because, well, that’s what princesses did. And then the first moment that I seriously got to thinking about what I wanted, kablam-o! Solarian warriors attack, magic’s gone, and Earth and Mewni merge. Once the craziness finally stopped, all I could think about was being with you. Don’t get me wrong, the past year just being with you and doing whatever we want has been incredible, but now I just need to figure out what else is out there for Star Butterfly, and honestly...” She squirmed uncomfortably and scooted closer into him, resting her head on his chest. “I’m scared, Marco. I know I need to ‘find my calling’, or whatever Mr. Candle might call it, but I have no idea how, and I don’t want to lose this either.” Her arms buried underneath him and held him closely. There was a bit of dampness that Marco could feel seeping its way into his hoodie, and that caused a few empathetic tears to well up in his own eyes.

He brushed them away with a sleeve and then hugged her tighter to him, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “We won’t, Star. Ever. Even if it takes a year, or ten, or a hundred years, or even if you never find some perfect job you want to do forever and ever, that’s fine! As long as you’re happy and fulfilled, that’s all that matters, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Promise.” They rested in silence for a few moments, holding each other closely as thoughts of potential futures whirred in Marco’s mind.

Her chin lifted up and dug into his chest as she stared at him. “Any ideas?” Those Earth-sky-blue eyes that had filled him with a sense of purpose for so long now implored him to return the favor.

“Well, you’re not a princess anymore, but… maybe the stuff you liked doing as a princess could help? You’re a natural leader, you inspire people to be better than themselves, you worked so hard to make Mewni a better place.”

“Marcoooooo,” she crooned, and he lovingly pecked the blushes rising on both of her cheeks.

“For real, Star, you’re the coolest person ever, you could do whatever you put your mind to. Not long after we first met, you were terrified of all the princess duties, and you ended up figuring out how to do them the Star Butterfly way. Just remove the ‘princess’ part of it, and figure out whatever else you’re gonna do the Star Butterfly way.”

A teasing smirk rose on her face. “Weeeeell, I can think of at least one thing, mister…” she booped his nose with hers, and it was his turn for a fiery blush to arise. “You’re so cute to tease. Have you ever thought about what would happen if none of it happened? Like, if I never stopped being a princess and then I had to be queen someday.”

“A little? That whole year on Mewni was kinda a bit weird and all, with the squiring, and…” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Figuring out how I felt about you.”

“Right back atcha, there. But what if we’d still done all that, just without completely changing the world?”

“Being a knight would have been really cool, I guess, but the whole Lifelong Post thing… kinda weird. Maybe I could’ve been one without it, or something? Or maybe I’d have just picked you, officially,” he said, poking her nose. “A knight and princess being together is a story that’s, like, 1000 years old, after all.”

“That’s really sweet, Marco, but… nah,” Star dismissed him, turning over to stare at the same sky he was, folding his hands inside hers.

“Nah?”

“Nah. You wouldn’t have been a knight for long.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“If I was still a princess, then you’d be my prince.”

He jerked upward out of instinct, only stopping because of the weight on his chest. “Uh, Star? I, um, I don’t think that’s how noble ranks, um-” Stream of consciousness took over while he scrambled to collect his shattered thoughts.

“Princesses can do what they want, silly. I’d declare you Marco Diaz, Prince of Echo Creek, and your mom and dad could get little crowns, and there’d be all sorts of ridiculous contracts to sign. You’d be free to whatever you wanted on Earth, too! But we could still be together.” Her head tilted up and her eyes met his once more. “Forever.” The determination in those pools reflected love at him, and even with the impact from the gravitas of her statement, it still just felt natural, it felt right, like everything with Star always seemed to. She leaned upwards to kiss him, slow and soft and sweet as her hands ran over his face and through his hair as his reciprocated. When they finally broke apart, Star sat up, and the Sun framed her hair in the most beautiful way; Marco found himself needing a few more moments than usual to catch his breath. “I’ll always love you, Marco.”

“No matter what, Star, I’ll always love you too. Now come on,” he said, pushing off the ground to a standing position. “Let’s go win some Yards, my princess.”

“We just had a moment, Diaz. You get a pass, this one time… my prince.” She puffed up her cheeks indignantly, but a radiant smile cracked the facade almost immediately, clearly as lighthearted and giddy as he’d ever known her to be, and he felt much the same.

Their fingers intertwined as they dashed away towards their home once more, looking forward to finding their place in the world and - more importantly, perhaps - tag-teaming to kick some butt.

#starco #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #globclipsa #tgg svtfoe #fanfic

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