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utterlyazriel · 9 months ago
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let me keep you company
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a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.
For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.
You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.
Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.
But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.
You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.
Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.
Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.
All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.
And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.
But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.
You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.
But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.
One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—
A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.
Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.
"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.
Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.
"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.
Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"
A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.
You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.
"Not... much." You answer honestly.
There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.
He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."
You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.
"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.
Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.
It's going to be a long two months.
As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.
Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.
There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.
Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.
Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.
Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.
Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.
You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)
Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?
As if, you snort to yourself.
You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.
As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.
"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"
You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."
Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"
"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.
Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—
"You did not ask for a ride this morning."
Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.
"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."
You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.
"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.
His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."
You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.
"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.
Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.
You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.
You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.
"I'll be... going this way."
Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.
"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.
He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."
When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.
“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.
You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.
Guess you have company.
Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.
Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.
And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.
The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.
In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.
“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.
Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.
“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”
It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.
Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.
The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.
You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.
When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.
The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.
"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."
The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.
You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—
"Y/n."
Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.
"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."
"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.
It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.
Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.
Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.
Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.
"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."
Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.
"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.
Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.
You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.
"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.
It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.
"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.
The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.
Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.
"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.
You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.
You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.
The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.
By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.
That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.
"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"
Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.
"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."
You hmph. "Maybe I will."
You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.
"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."
Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."
Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"
You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.
"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"
"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"
The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.
"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.
You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"
Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?
"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."
And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.
Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.
It continues like that for the rest of the week.
Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.
The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.
It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.
Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.
As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.
"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.
"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.
"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.
"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."
Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."
You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”
You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.
"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."
"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.
The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.
Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.
"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.
Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.
"Go on then," She urges you.
For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.
You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."
He's waiting by the time you get there.
Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.
Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.
"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?
Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.
"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.
You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.
"And you didn't think to tell me?"
One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.
"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."
You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.
Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.
"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."
"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"
He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.
This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.
"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.
Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.
He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.
Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.
Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.
Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.
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parkitrighthere · 1 month ago
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The Black Orchid Project
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Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller Word Count: 19k Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, toxic characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, death, and conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face. a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support. a/n: So, I finally posted. Yeah, I know, shock of the century, right? You were probably out here cursing my name like, 'Where the heck have you been?' Well, I guess I just decided not to post this time. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. But hey, I’m sorry for that. I know, I say sorry a lot, it’s like my default setting at this point. But I swear, I’m really going to try and post more. I promise. Maybe. Also, a super huge shoutout and a massive thank you to my absolute favorite person @closer-to-jungkook. She beta-read this mess for me, and gave me so many amazing insights, but guess what? I didn’t do a single thing with them because, you know, I’m a failure like that. So, yeah, basically I let her down as my beta reader. Sorry, girl. But next time, I swear, I’ll actually listen and make you proud... unless I forget, again, in which case... whoops. Anyway, love you guys, and I’ll try not to disappear again... maybe.
PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02
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CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks
You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, your hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles white as you tried to appear composed. But your patience was wearing thin. He was overreacting, making a mountain out of nothing. Sure, you’d made a mistake—who hadn’t?—but this? This was ridiculous. What was his deal with the room’s capacity? Why on earth was he so bothered about having more than four people in a room? Seriously, what kind of control freak rule was that? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Was he scared of crowds or something? Honestly, with his attitude, he should be. If he kept ticking people off like this, one day, someone might snap—and if there were enough people, they’d form a mob. The thought almost made you snort, but you swallowed it down, biting your cheek. It was a silly theory, but it was better than trying to untangle the nonsense of his rules.
The meeting dragged on. Time seemed to crawl as if the clock itself was protesting against the sheer monotony of the discussion. It hadn’t been long since it started, but to you, it already felt like you’d been trapped in this room for days. You lost count of the times his gaze—no, his glare—scorched into you. Each glance filled with condescension that felt like a slap across the face.
He glared at you again. His soft, doe-like eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, with a keenness that made you shrink back slightly. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under his skin as he ground his teeth. You flinched instinctively, your body betraying you with a subtle jerk, as if bracing for impact, suddenly aware of how small you felt under his scrutiny. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingers feeling like they might snap, as you tried to focus anywhere else.
You quickly averted your gaze, your eyes darting around the room, desperate for an escape.  Your eyes landed on Taehyung. He leaned back casually in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his long fingers drumming against the table in a slow, lazy rhythm. As soon as he felt your gaze, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. He raised his brows and blinked at you—once, deliberately.
You felt your face heat, and not from embarrassment, but frustration. God, all these men are insane. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms to calm yourself.  You swore they all had some kind of mental dysfunction. Jungkook with his silent rage, Taehyung with his infuriating charm—maybe Jimin was the only sane one in this room besides you.
You sighed, shifting in your seat again, your foot tapping nervously against the floor. Mental health courses exist for a reason, you thought bitterly, your gaze flickering between Jungkook’s scowl and Taehyung’s irritating grin. Maybe they should sign up for all of them.
 As your thoughts spiralled, you dared a glance at him… again. Only to catch the faintest twitch of his brow—precise, calculated. It wasn’t just anger in his expression; it was something darker, something… personal? And it scared you, even if you’d never admit it.
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The moment you had been dreading finally came. The meeting was over.
Chairs screeched against the floor as everyone pushed back from the table. The sound grated on your nerves, but you rose from your seat anyway, hands trembling, legs wobbling as though they might give out beneath you.
 Your breath hitched, shallow and fast, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a viscous thud that made your chest ache.  Was this fear? Anxiety? You couldn’t tell anymore, but it clawed at you, gnawing at your insides like a predator circling its prey. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to calm yourself, but the uneasy tremor in your chest refused to fade.
You risked another glance at him, keeping your gaze low, peeking through your lashes, a fleeting, nervous look that you immediately regretted.  His gaze locked onto you, soft yet paradoxically so sharp and firm, as if he could see right through you. The weight of his stare felt like a physical force pressing against your temple. You quickly looked away but it was too late.
 Your throat tightening as your heart slammed against your ribs. But it didn’t matter—his eyes stayed on you, burning holes into the side of your head like he could feel every breath you took.
There was something in the way he looked at you—a mix of curiosity and disdain that made your skin crawl, like you were an unsolved puzzle he hated having to deal with. It was as though he were studying you, dissecting you piece by piece. He looked at you like he couldn’t stand the thought of breathing the same air as you, as if being in the same room as you was a personal insult he couldn’t forgive. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in kindness. A cold, predatory smirk curled his lips, one that made your blood run cold.
His soft brown boba eyes never left you.
And then he smiled. Cold, shrill, and entirely without warmth. A smile that dripped with obnoxiousness and delight, as though he was basking in your unease, feeding off it like it gave him some twisted satisfaction.
 You weren’t sure what scared you more—the venom in his gaze or the fact that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to.
"Jungkook," Seokjin’s voice cut through the fragile silence like a gentle breeze, calm and soothing.
Jungkook’s head snapped toward Seokjin, and in an instant, everything about him changed.
 His shoulders, tense and rigid moments ago, relaxed, and his piercing glare melted away, replaced by something soft—gentle, even. His lips curved into a smile, one so sweet and genuine it left you completely dumfounded. You blinked, your mouth falling open in shock.
What the hell?
Your eyes widened,  as you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face.  How... how is this possible? This was the same man who had spent the entire meeting glaring daggers at you, exuding nothing but cold enmity. How could someone so rude, heartless, and obnoxiously infuriating smile like that? It didn’t make sense. It felt like a trick, some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. But there it was—his smile, warm and dazzling, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour glaring at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe.  And now? Now he looked like a painting come to life—a vision of warmth and beauty that shouldn’t belong to someone so cruel.
Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his smile softened his entire face. For a brief, fleeting moment, you found yourself mesmerized. A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of your mind, He’s stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. And he was. That smile made him look like something out of a dream, his dark orbs soft and almost shy under the fluorescent light. He was cute too, you realized, in that infuriating way that made you want to scream. And hot? God, no one could dare bring up the concept of hotness without mentioning him.
How can someone so horrible look this… beautiful? The whisper in the back of your mind grew louder. This man is the definition of beauty.
Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you shook your head quickly, breaking free from whatever spell he’d cast. No. Absolutely not. Don’t go there. You shook your head slightly, muttering a quiet mantra in your head. No, no, no. He’s an idiot. A rude, wicked bastard. Stop it. This is the same guy who’s made your day a living hell. Remember that. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, or the strange flutter in your chest.
Jungkook didn’t respond to Jin right away. Instead, he moved. His long strides carried him around the table, each step smooth and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped beside Jin, his posture instantly relaxed as Seokjin patted his shoulder in a way that felt natural, familiar.
Jin began to speak again, his lips parting as if to offer some kind of reassurance, but Jungkook cut him off before he could finish.
“Hyung! Let’s go to my office,” Jungkook said, his voice low and soft, almost tender. “We’ll talk there?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it, polite and calm. It was so different from the cold, harsh tone he had threw your way.
You blinked, staring at the two of them as your jaw threatened to hit the floor again. This can’t be real. Him? Soft? It was like watching a lion purr—a sight so contradictory it didn’t feel real. His tone was polite, his demeanour respectful—words you would never have associated with the man five minutes ago
Your eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Jungkook, the same man who had made your day a living hell, now stood before Seokjin like an obedient younger brother. It was unsettling, to say the least.
He wasn’t just polite—he was soft. Gentle, even.
You couldn’t stop staring. The way he tilted his head slightly when he spoke to Jin, the way his hands relaxed at his sides, no longer tense or clenched. It was so different from the version of him you knew, it almost felt like you were looking at a completely different person.
Your fingers twitched at your side, itching to pinch yourself. Maybe you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because the Jungkook you knew? He didn’t do soft. And yet, here he was, proving you wrong with every breath. The man who had made it his mission to make you feel two inches tall was suddenly soft and sweet with Seokjin? It didn’t make sense.
But the warmth in his expression lingered, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten. He was more than what you’d seen so far… wasn’t he?
Jin’s face lit up with a bright smile as he nodded at Jungkook. Turning away, he gave Namjoon and Taehyung a light nudge to follow him.
Namjoon responded with a quick nod, a broad grin spreading across his face as he moved to join them.
Taehyung, however, didn’t move. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back with a loud, exaggerated sigh. His lips pressed into a pout as he stared at the ceiling like the very idea of moving was a personal offense. It was no secret that Jeon Enterprises and Kim Enterprises were very close; both companies worked hand in hand. Even Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung went to the same school and college together. Their entire childhood and teenage years were spent together, and they were still together. All three of them were always in the news, and always together too. Jungkook knew Taehyung like the back of his hand along with his antics.
Namjoon glanced over, eyebrows furrowing in that “here we go again” way of his as he caught sight of Taehyung’s antics. “Seriously?” he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated. His hands found their way to his hips, as he watched Taehyung flap his arms against the chair’s armrests.
Taehyung raised his hand in the air, palm out, as if announcing something grand. “No!”  he exclaimed, dragging the word out as he slowly pushed himself up from his seat, slowly, deliberately, making it as dramatic as possible before turning to Seokjin. “I won’t, hyung. I refuse.”
Seokjin didn’t react right away. He merely tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, making it clear he wasn’t impressed. His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. His gaze shifted to Namjoon, wordlessly asking, Is this brat for real?
Namjoon only shrugged, an almost conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, as if he found the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. They both turned their attention back to Taehyung, who didn’t care—if anything, their reactions only fueled his theatrics.  "NO," Taehyung declared, his voice firm, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.
“What now?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice calm, dangerously calm, but the words that tumbled out were tight. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—it was the kind of calm that warned you not to push your luck. His piercing eyes bored into Taehyung, sharp and calculating, a reminder that behind the soft features was a mind you didn’t want to cross.  The sharp edge to it made you flinch, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.
The tension in the room shifted as even Taehyung hesitated for a second, his hand dropping to his side as he shifted under Jin’s obdurate stare. But within minutes he was back to his usual self.
You stood in the corner, half-forgotten, watching the scene unfold as if you were invisible. For a moment, it felt like you were intruding on a private family argument. They were so lost in their little world that none of them seemed to notice you lingering.  The ridiculousness of the scene was almost enough to make you forget the tension lingering in the air. Almost.
Seokjin’s calm demeanour held stable as he waited for Taehyung’s next move, the silence stretching just long enough to make even you hold your breath.
But Taehyung, being Taehyung, jabbed his finger in Jungkook's direction without even sparing him a glance. “He didn’t invite me! Just you, hyung. Just you,” he said, voice laced with mock hurt. Namjoon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. How could he stay mad? Taehyung was his little brother, and no matter how ridiculous the stunt, even when they bordered on absurd, he couldn’t help but find it endearing.
Taehyung’s arms crossed over his chest, his pout deepening as he stuck his bottom lip out, eyes narrowing as he watched Seokjin expectantly.
“An invitation? Really? You want an invitation?” Seokjin asked, his voice flat and deadpan, like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this ridiculous request. “What is this, a wedding? You want calligraphy and wax seals?”
Taehyung’s pout deepened, his gaze shifting dramatically to the side as he huffed. "Please would do," His voice a mix of childish demand and mock offense, his eyes flicking to Seokjin for any sign of approval.
 “A proper invite,” he huffed. “With manners. A simple please.”
Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh, it came out bright and loud, like he’d just heard the funniest joke. "What?!" he snorted, stepping forward with an amused glint in his eyes.
 His laughter only grew as he straightened, wiping a fake tear from his eye before stepping toward Taehyung. “From Jungkook? Oh, Tae, you’re delusional.” he said, his voice a mockingly sweet coo.
Taehyung’s brow twitched, and he shoved Jimin away, glaring at him. “Don’t call me delusional,” he snapped. “And stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”
Jimin, still laughing, straightened up and threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “Oh, but it is, Tae-Tae,” he teased, dragging out the nickname with enough sugar to cause cavities.
Taehyung immediately shoved him off. “Don’t call me that!” he barked, though his glare wavered when Jimin stumbled backward, his laughter echoing in the room.
“Let’s be real,” Jimin said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Jungkook saying please? You’ve got better odds of him baking us cupcakes with love letters on top.”
Seokjin watched the entire scene unfold with a quiet sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he shook his head. “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the fondness he felt for them all.
Jungkook, who had been leaning against the wall with the air of someone far too cool to care, quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The faint smirk on his lips said it all: “Not happening.”
“See?” Jimin said, gesturing toward Jungkook with a wide grin, as if the smirk was proof enough of what he’d been saying.
Taehyung huffed, rolling his eyes as he glared at Jungkook. "He’s insufferable." he muttered, his voice flat but dripping with monotony. He threw the words out with the kind of disinterest that only Taehyung could manage, as though even arguing was beneath him.
“Always has been,” Jimin agreed cheerfully, giving Taehyung a playful pat on the shoulder.
“You want an invite?” Seokjin deadpanned, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Fine. Jungkook, invite him.”
Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”
The room fell silent for a beat before Jimin broke into another fit of laughter. “I told you!” he howled, practically doubling over again. “That guy would rather eat his shoe than say the p-word.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Taehyung muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Jimin grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What’s the matter, Tae? Expecting something special from him? Maybe a song, a serenade, flowers—”
“Shut up,” Taehyung snapped, his face turning red as he swatted at Jimin His glare faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement behind his annoyed facade.
Namjoon, trying to keep it together, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. Seokjin did the same, clearing his throat to hide the grin threatening to break free. You couldn’t hold back either, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. The sound of it made everyone snap their heads in your direction, and you immediately went still.
“Oh, for the love of—” Taehyung groaned, turning to Jimin abruptly, the chair scraping loudly as he shoved it back. “This is ridiculous. Forget it. I’m not playing this game.”
“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed, a laugh already escaping as he took a step back, clearly enjoying pushing Taehyung’s buttons.
“Like I care!” Taehyung shot back, his hands gesturing wildly before he turned on his heel. He glared at Jungkook one last time. “Who’d want to spend time with a jerk like him anyway?”
You couldn’t help but agree, nodding your head. It was truly, genuinely, sincerely, honestly the most truthful statement you'd heard all day. Even Jungkook chuckled at Taehyung's behaviour, and your gaze snapped back to Jungkook. You stared at him in disbelief; you never thought you'd see this man smiling. Yet here he was, standing in all his glory, proving you wrong.  Jungkook? Laughing? Relaxed? It was like spotting a unicorn in the wild. For the first time, he didn’t look like the insufferable boss you were growing to despise. He looked...earth-shatteringly handsome. You cursed under your breath, clenching your fists to keep from staring too long.
It made you feel like your brain was short-circuiting. Here was this asshole of a man, acting like he was above it all, and yet… he was smiling. It made him look almost… normal.
Why was he so ridiculously handsome? He was a jerk, a complete ass, yet... there was something about him. He was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.
He was a jerk, but otherwise, he was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.
You shook your head abruptly, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop it.
Why were you thinking all this nonsense?
Because no matter how annoyingly perfect he looked in that moment—relaxed, smirking, and effortlessly magnetic—you knew better. He wasn’t your type. Not even close. You were way too smart to fall for someone as much of a piece of shit as he was.
As soon as your eyes met Jungkook’s, your heart dropped into your stomach.  Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you suddenly felt unstable. You felt like the world had stopped.  The only thing keeping you upright was the edge of the table you leaned against, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. It was like he had forgotten you were even there, but now that he remembered... you were in trouble.
Your thoughts were a mess, a rush of panic flooding your veins. Please, don't fire me. Please don't fire me, you repeated over and over in your mind. His stare made you feel like a sheep waiting to be devoured by a wolf—helpless and small.
Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jimin’s voice cut through, loud but tensed. "Why are you still standing here?" he asked, his eyes darting nervously between you and Jungkook. "I'm sure you have work to do."
You nodded quickly, too quickly, your head bobbing furiously in agreement.
“What work, Jimin?” Jungkook snapped, his voice low and brimming with frustration. “She’s fired,” he declared, sending a shiver down your spine. His words felt like a physical blow, the weight of them crushing your chest. You could barely hear the rest of his sentence as panic drowned out everything else—I've had enough of her…
What to do now?
Cry, a voice whispered in the back of your head.
Jimin, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Enough, Jungkook!” he shot back, his voice hard and commanding. The sharpness in Jimin’s words was like a shield between you and Jungkook’s anger. You could see the way Jungkook’s expression shifted—he was still seething, but Jimin left no room for argument.
“She isn’t fired, and it’s final,” Jimin said. You could see the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his temper.
Jungkook opened his mouth to retort, but Jimin cut him off with a simple wave of his hand, motioning for you to leave. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted from the conference room, not even daring to look back. You weren’t sure whether to be more terrified of Jungkook or grateful to Jimin. You knew you’d messed up—it was your fault—but Jimin had chosen to take your side, and you couldn’t understand why.
You sprinted down the hall toward the elevator. Your hands trembled as you jabbed—no, banged—the elevator button for the 26th floor. The wait felt agonizingly long.
When the elevator finally dinged open, you stumbled out, half-running to your desk. Collapsing into your chair, you let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your arms on the desk. Your head fell onto your desk with a loud thud.
What had just happened?
God, your first day almost became your last.
You took a deep, steadying breath and pushed yourself upright, gripping the edge of your desk to ground yourself. This isn’t the time to wallow, you thought, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You couldn’t afford to crumble now.
You can’t mess up again, you reminded yourself, wiping a hand over your face. Jimin might’ve saved you today, but luck won’t always be there neither… he. Luck was fleeting. It wasn’t something you trusted. Not with your history. You let out a dry laugh under your breath—luck and you were like oil and water. You were the ultimate symbol of bad luck, and that delightfully beautiful director of Jeon Enterprises had simply taken pity on you. Yes, it wasn’t luck. It was Jimin’s mercy, and you couldn’t count on it happening twice. Especially not when your boss—the arrogant bastard himself—was likely already sharpening his knives for round two.
The thought of Jungkook—his dark, piercing gaze—still lingered in your mind, but you forced yourself to focus. He was a devil, no doubt, and you... you were just the unlucky fool who happened to cross his path.
You couldn't afford to mess up again. Play it safe, you told yourself. Do your job right and keep your head down. You couldn’t give him another reason to unleash his wrath.
Your eyes fell to the stack of files in front of you, and a sinking feeling hit you hard in the stomach. The pile seemed to grow taller with each breath you took. The next meeting was only thirty minutes away
You glanced at the files scattered across your desk. Focus, you reminded yourself, slapping your cheeks lightly to snap out of it. The next meeting was in thirty minutes, and you didn’t have the luxury of time to curse your misfortune or that insufferable man.
Your eyes darted over the papers, frustration bubbling up as you began sifting through them. The previous secretary—whoever they were—had left behind a tangled mess. A spectacularly awful mess.
 How was this even possible?
You could almost feel your blood pressure rise as you examined the glaring errors.  The deadlines were completely out of sync with the client’s expectations, the budget allocations were so far off it was laughable, and one section even referenced an entirely different project altogether. If this wasn’t fixed in time for the meeting, it would be a complete disaster, and you were the one who’d have to face the consequences.
“This is a joke,” you muttered. You grabbed a pen, tapping it furiously against the table as your brain raced to come up with a plan.
Half an hour. That’s all you had to fix this disaster before you had to present it to a room full of people, including him.
"Fuck you! Whoever you are." you muttered under your breath, pushing your sleeves up, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Get it together, you scolded yourself. “This isn’t rocket science.” Your voice cracked slightly as you muttered the words aloud, as if hearing them would calm the storm raging inside you.
You grabbed the laptop, pulling up emails and client notes to cross-check the project details. The keyboard clacked furiously under your hands. Your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips pressed into a tight line. You clicked open the soft copy of the file, eyes scanning the screen quickly.
You stole a glance at the clock, and your heart nearly stopped. Twenty minutes left. Fuck.
The dull throb behind your temples was growing each passing minute, but you didn’t have the luxury to slow down. Tears? Not an option. You didn’t have time for that. Not when your whole career was teetering on the edge of disaster.
Get through the day without Jungkook turning you into his next verbal target.
 The mistakes were too obvious to miss, too dangerous to ignore. If the client saw these errors, it wasn’t just your job on the line—it was Jeon Enterprises' reputation. And that would mean your boss, Jungkook, would tear you apart, slowly and painfully.
 what have you done to deserve this.
Your fingers slammed against the keyboard as you raced through the sections. The section referencing the wrong project? Gone, replaced with the right one. The mismatched deadlines? Adjusted. The budget allocations that didn’t even make sense? Rewritten, recalculated, and double-checked.
You needed to print the corrected version. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, unsure of where to even begin this process. This wasn’t just a small mistake anymore—it felt like the whole day was falling apart in real time. You stared at the screen with mounting dread. Print. Where?
You slapped the print button, watching as the computer confirmed that it was printing, but your brain was far from settled. Printer? Where’s the damn printer? Your heart pounded as you stood, snatching up your blazer and dashing out of your office.
The hallway felt endless as you looked down the corridor. You felt a wave of frustration, the kind you’d never experienced before. You could have screamed, a sound that would shake the walls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you forced a deep breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself.
Finally, you spotted the printer at the end of the hall—right by the breakroom, its small glowing light blinking. It should have been a simple solution, but when you saw the machine, all you felt was pure, hot rage. Why is it always this difficult?
Why did it feel like everything was against you today?
Because of course, it jammed halfway through. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned down, yanking at the paper slot with all your might. The printer groaned, then jammed, and you let out an angry sound that came out as a strangled groan.
“Come on, you stupid thing—work!” you hissed, muttering curses that seemed to make you feel worse. Stupid thing!
You slammed the print button again, your fingers stabbing at the machine. Finally, the printer whirred, clicked, and then began its slow, steady rhythm. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hand against your forehead to steady the dizziness threatening the edges of your focus.
Finally, the documents started coming out. You grabbed them. You ran your hands over the pages, smoothing them down compulsively as though that would make them more trustworthy. You clutched it like it was your lifeline. Not perfect, but it'll have to do. Once back in your cabin, you shoved the papers into a folder, your chest still tight.
The clock on the wall caught your attention.
Ten minutes left.
 You could barely breathe as you walked out of your office, your feet moving almost on autopilot. In no time, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s office.
You knocked. Once. Twice. And then… you waited.
 You closed your eyes briefly, took a steadying breath. You bit your lip, and raised your hand to knock thrice.
"Come in!" Jungkook’s voice rang out, gruff and loud, cutting through the air. You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, and every head in the room snapped toward you. You stepped inside, your heart racing as you greeted them with a polite but fake smile, trying your best to keep it together. Only Jimin smiled back. The others... they just stared, like you were some strange creature. Jin and Namjoon looked shocked—why? What was going on? And then there was Taehyung, his eyes wide with what could only be described as disbelief.
Jimin spoke first, his voice light and effortless, and you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars—or maybe it was just Jimin being Jimin. “You need something?”
You gave a short nod and turned to face Jungkook. His eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest, his whole posture screaming annoyance.  His jaw was clenched so tight it seemed like he might snap any second. You swallowed hard, trying not to show how much his stare rattled you.
"Yeah. I was merely here to remind Mr. Jeon that the meeting starts in… like ten—no, seven minutes now," you managed to say, your voice wavering just a little as you spoke. Your hands were clenched at your sides, and you forced yourself not to fidget.
You stole a quick glance around the room. Jin and Namjoon had gone back to their own conversations, but Taehyung was still staring at you, mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe you were standing there. Jungkook still hadn’t said anything, his eyes still boring into you.
"Thank you," Jimin said, his smile soft and genuine. "He’ll be there."
You nodded once, trying not to let your relief show too much. You gave a quick, polite bow of your head, then turned, making your way to the door, your steps hurried but controlled. As you left the room, you couldn’t help but think—Jimin was an angel, working for a devil. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done without him today.
As you walked out of his cabin, you caught the faintest sound of Taehyung’s voice drifting behind you.
“Damn, dude! She’s something. She must be… to get you this worked up. Wow! I loved it.”
You didn’t linger to hear the rest, though. It was like your feet were moving faster than your brain, the urgency propelling you back to your cabin. You sprinted to your desk, your hands shaking as you skimmed through the pages one final time. You stapled them together. You had to present this with confidence, one mistake and Jungkook would tear you apart.
Five minutes left.
“You’ve got this. Just fake it. Fake it all the way.”
Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the conference room. Your grip on the file tightened, your knuckles white. When you reached the door. With a firm push, you stepped inside.
Walking to the table, you laid down the stack of updated project files, replacing the older copies. Once every seat had the corrected file, you finally slid into your chair. The leather seat creaked softly as you sank into it, and you folded your hands tightly in your lap to steady them. You darted a glance at the door, waiting for everyone's but specially Jungkook’s inevitable arrival. You flipped through the files for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers blurred slightly before your eyes, but you forced yourself to focus.
The sharp sound of the door opening made your head snap up. Jungkook walked in with the same air of authority that always seemed to announce his presence before he even spoke. His eyes locked onto you, narrowing instantly, and his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.
You stifled a sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral. What now? You wondered bitterly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jungkook didn’t just dislike you—he hated you—like, deep, unrelenting hatred. For what reason? Who knew. And frankly, you didn’t care.  If you could, you would’ve told him to take his reasons, his anger, and his goddamn temper tantrums and shove them up his perfectly tailored ass, but you knew that wouldn’t help you keep your job.
He moved around the room with precision, as he made his way to his seat. His attention was fixed on you, like you were some annoying fly he wanted to swat. You straightened in your chair. He dropped into his chair with an air of casual authority and grace of someone far too confident for their own good.
For a moment, your traitorous thoughts drifted. He was handsome—annoyingly so. Sharp jawline, paradoxically piercing boba eyes, and a frame that looked like it was carved by a sculptor. But his attitude? That was enough to ruin the whole package. If only his personality matched his looks. If only he wasn’t such a pompous, insufferable jerk. Instead of charm, he had an ego the size of the goddamn building. If he had even an ounce of kindness or respect to him, he would’ve been perfect. But no, instead he walked with the kind of arrogance that could suffocate a room, his back rigid and his posture as stiff as the stick lodged firmly up his ass.
You shook the thought from your head. He wasn’t worth your time.
The door opened again, and this time it was the clients. Jungkook stood, but just barely.
He simply stood halfway and gave a curt nod that was so half-hearted you wondered if it hurt his pride to be polite. God forbid Mr. Perfect lower himself to basic manners. His expression didn’t change—stoic and unbothered—while yours shifted into a polite mask. Maybe you were expecting too much. Maybe you were the problem. You slid your chair closer to the table and sat down next to him. You offered the clients a small smile, hoping to compensate for Jungkook’s complete lack of warmth.
But his eyes. God, his eyes. They didn’t stray far from you.
You placed the documents in front of him. You kept your gaze fixed on the table, careful not to meet his boba eyes. “Here! Mr. Jeon,” you whispered, your voice as even and professional as you could manage. The last thing you wanted was to give him even an inch to criticize you.
Before you could pull your hand back, his fingers closed around the file. His hand was warm—too warm—and for just a moment, your cold, dainty fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his hand lingered on yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Your body felt paralyzed, shocked, maybe even mesmerized by the sensation.  You couldn’t pull away—not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t.
Jungkook’s hand retreated first, leaving your fingers tingling. You leaned back in your chair, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. You turned your attention to the clients, offering a polite smile. They exchanged a few glances, their expressions unreadable.
Why are they looking at me like that?
Before you could figure it out, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, quiet and low. "Why are you making that face?"
You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”
He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. His voice was soft, like a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.
“You look like you’re constipating,” he said, his tone casual, smooth, utterly calm—and utterly cruel and casual, as though commenting on the weather.
Your face fell. What did he just say? Your mouth fell open slightly in horror, heat rushing to your face. He did not just say that. You glared at the side of his face, imagining all the ways you could strangle him with the tie he wore so smugly. Murder was illegal, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception.
 Ignore him. He’s not worth it or… should you just strangle him? Oh, you wanted to strangle him. No, you needed to strangle him. Who even says that? You huffed, straightening in your seat and glaring at the file in front of you.
Jungkook flipped open the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents.
And then it happened—a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so subtle you almost missed it. “Let’s begin,” he said smoothly, finally turning his attention to the clients. But just before he did, his gaze flicked to you, brief but searing.
The meeting began.
The meeting dragged on. Your hand ached from jotting down notes, your fingers stiff as they moved across the page. All you could think about was how Jungkook managed to handle these clients—their demands were endless, their standards sky-high. Jungkook, somehow, handled their lofty standards with an ease that almost infuriated you. How could someone so insufferable be so damn good at this? You, however, were drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All you wanted was to go home, curl up, and forget this entire ordeal. But the clients showed no signs of slowing, so neither could you. You scribbled furiously, keeping up with the endless stream of requests and comments, your hand cramping around the pen. Every now and then, you stole glances at the clock, silently begging for it all to end.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end.
 The clients rose, shaking Jungkook’s hand with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said, their tone oozing professionalism. Then their gaze flicked to you, offering a curt nod—no words, no acknowledgment of your work. You swallowed the frustration bubbling up in your chest and nodded back, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Typical. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment as they exited the room. Well, women in corporate field.
The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Your mind was hyper-aware of his presence.
He was leaning back, the picture of ease, his chair swinging slightly from left to right. His left leg rested over his right, one arm draped casually across the armrest. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but the intensity of his stare was enough. You didn’t dare look up. Not after what had happened earlier. Not after what he said earlier.
You stole a glance, his tie had loosened slightly, the top button of his shirt undone. When he did that? He looked like he owned the entire world, and the infuriating thing was—he probably did.
You remembered what you thought while applying for this job: How hard could it be to work for him?
You’d found out the hard way, within mere hours.
Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just hard to work for—he was impossible. A devil in designer suits. A man who had no mercy and no patience, especially not for someone like you. Your first day had made that abundantly clear in the worst way possible.
Jeon Jungkook wasn’t someone to take lightly. He was a storm you hadn’t prepared for, and it was already threatening to swallow you whole.
You pushed the glass door open, ready to step out, but then you heard it—his voice, loud and clear.
"Pebble!"
You froze. Slowly, you turned around, almost colliding with the door in the process. His eyes locked onto yours, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the friendly kind—it was something else. Something that made you feel both irritated and, disturbingly, giddy.
"What?" you muttered, your voice low and unsure. You weren't able to understand why you gripped it ever so tightly.
He stood from his chair, rising with an ease that felt effortless, his hands casually buried in his pockets. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to examine you. He was far too good-looking for your sanity, far too composed, far too everything.
 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.
What was this? Why were you feeling so fragile in front of him? You didn’t have time to figure it out because, in three long strides, he was standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.  His eyes were still on you, as if he were studying you—no, devouring you with just a glance. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And that, right there, made you even more furious.
Is this guy stupid? you wondered. What was the point of staring like that? It felt intrusive, unnerving, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your own gaze away.
 Staring, in your book, was the hallmark of cheap behaviour, reserved for people with no manners or boundaries. But he somehow pulled it off, with that smirk and those features and that way he seemed to have everything in the world under control. As if his ridiculous good looks gave him a free pass.
"Coffee. In my office."
"Huh?" was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of what was happening.
He tsked, shaking his head like you were hopeless. “You heard me. Black. No sugar. Ms…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.
Your eyes widened in realization. He didn’t know your name. Or worse—he hadn’t even tried to know it until now. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth, about to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, he finished with,
"Pebble."
Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.
Pebble.
He had just called you Pebble.
You stood there, staring, stunned, unable to believe what just happened.
He was the most disrespectful, irritating, unbearable person you had ever met.
The anger built up in you until you couldn’t stand still anymore. You stomped your foot hard against the ground.
You would make him regret this.
Oh, you absolutely would.
With a resigned sigh, you turned toward the elevator, dragging your feet. At least you now knew where the coffee machine was—down at the far end of the floor. Great. More walking. You hadn’t even done this much cardio in the past year, let alone in a single day. No wonder all the women here looked so fit—they practically lived on their feet.
When you reached the elevator, you noticed him—Jungkook—already stepping into it. Your pace slowed instinctively. No way were you getting in that elevator with him, even for a single second. He wouldn’t stop the elevator for you anyway—he was too much of a jerk to care.
But when had life ever gone according to your plans?
Before you could change direction, you heard the sound of the doors closing and sliding back open.
Oh, hell no. Your body tensed. You didn't want to step in there with him, but you didn’t have a choice. You dragged your feet reluctantly. The annoyance in his eyes deepened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was already regretting his decision to wait for you.
Finally, you reached the door.
“Get fucking in, woman.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You stepped inside, muttering curses in your head, and the doors slid shut with a soft ding.
 You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to figure you out or, worse, punish you for existing.
Maybe he was pissed.
And you? You couldn’t decide if you hated him more in this moment or if you just wanted to get out of this damn elevator as quickly as possible.
“I thought you had work here,” he said, his tone casual.
“Huh?” you managed, surprised.
He shook his head, as if you were already the most frustrating thing he’d encountered that day.
“Do you know anything else besides ‘huh?’”
You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t wait. “I said, I thought you had work here.”
“What work?” you snapped. His eyes flared. But the bastard smirked, like he’d been expecting this reaction.
“What meeting do we have next, Pebble?” His voice was smooth, almost playful.
Your stomach dropped. Pebble. He had just said it again. But. You froze. His words lingered in your mind like a bad omen, but all that filled your head was white noise. The name of the company… where was it? Shit.
He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, just to make sure you knew how badly you’d messed up. “You need to collect some files from marketing and sales team. You forgot.”
The damn files. I forgot? You swallowed hard, glancing around the elevator as if the walls could give you an answer.
“What are you trying to do—break the glass and jump into the sales and marketing floor?” he said, his tone as bored as his expression. His words felt cruel, but you knew there was a bite of truth to them.
You shook your head, cheeks heating as you mentally berated yourself. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, embarrassed and annoyed. More walking. That’s all you could think about now.
The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook stepped out first. He glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow, and for a split second, you thought—just maybe—he might say something remotely decent. But no, that was far too much to hope for. His lips curled into that damn smirk as he turned away and said, “Coffee. On my desk. In five minutes.”
Before you could even respond, he turned around and walked away.
You stepped out of the elevator, its door closing behind you. You let out a frustrated exhale. God, I hate him. You made your way to the coffee machine. You prepared the coffee just like he’d ordered, and even the smell made your stomach churn. The bitterness of it matched the bitterness radiating from him.  No wonder he was always so damn miserable. A person who drank this much bitter coffee could only have a bitter heart.
You walked down the hall to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly, holding the cup in your hands.
“Come in,” he barked again from inside.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside, placing the coffee on his desk. He was sitting at his desk, back straight, his sharp features focused on his laptop. The desk was neat, pristine, every paper and pen in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos on your desk.
“Here, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice tight with forced politeness.
He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the first sip, and you watched in disbelief as he sighed deeply, as though he’d just tasted heaven.
“Good,” he muttered, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was all about the coffee. Your stomach turned at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that you’d stood there, prepared it, and handed it to him.
“Send Jimin in my office. Now, leave,” he demanded, his voice flat, as if he were speaking to a wall, not a person.
 Every inch of you wanted to pull his hair out, to throw something across his perfectly organized desk. Instead, you nodded stiffly.
“Sure, Mr. Jeon,” you said, forcing the words past your clenched teeth before turning on your heel and leaving.
Once outside, the first thing you did was head straight for Jimin, who was at his desk, buried in papers. His workspace was cluttered with post-its, notes, and scribbles. His eyes lifted when you approached, and though his face showed signs of being busy, his greeting was polite as ever.
“What brings you here, Ms. …,” he began, with a soft smile.
“Mr. Jeon wants you in his office,” you replied, keeping it brief. You didn't have the energy to engage in any more small talk.
"Why?" Jimin asked, as he stood up, closing the file in his hands and sliding his blazer on with a sharp tug. You just shrugged. Jimin gave a small nod.
“Alright,” he said, adjusting his blazer. His tone indicated he didn’t mind being interrupted. “I’ll head in there.” You watched as he walked toward the hallway.
You followed your own path toward the marketing department first. You handed over the files, your hands sore from too much writing, before heading toward the sales department. The constant movement was starting to wear you down, but you couldn’t let it show. You did the same at the sales department, before finally making your way back to your office, your feet aching more than ever. This is going to be a long day, you thought, pressing a hand to your lower back as you settled into your chair.
Before you could catch a break, the clock ticked, signaling that it was time for the next meeting. You picked yourself up again, shoulders sore and heavy, and made your way back toward Jungkook’s office.
You knocked on the door before stepping in, your hand pressing into the wood with slightly trembling fingers. This time Jimin was in there with him, seated on the couch. He looked agitated—hands running through his hair as he exchanged words with Jungkook.
You hesitated at the threshold. You didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. You quickly turned on your heel, shaking your head as you backed out. These guys were insane.
You closed the door behind you with a gentle push and let out a shaky exhale. Your hands gripped your notebook tightly as you walked back toward the hallway.
The next meetings were a blur. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself relieved when Jungkook skipped every other meeting for the day. He didn't show up, and Jimin took over. The clients didn’t seem to mind the change, and in fact, it made things easier. Jimin’s presence was soothing.  His voice was soft, his smile was kind. He spoke in careful sentences, his calm composure like a reassuring presence. Working with him was smoother, quieter—lovelier, even. He made the chaos of the day seem more manageable, and you found yourself wishing you found yourself wishing you could work for Jimin, just him.
But you quickly shut that thought down. That wasn’t possible, not when you were stuck in this job, tied to Jungkook. No matter how much you hated it, you had to stick around. It was unviable to leave, even though every part of you screamed for the chance to escape. You have to stick around him.
As the last meeting came to an end, you gathered the files and followed Jimin out of the conference room. He took the files from your hands. You were thankful for his help, but the lingering feeling of being under the spotlight didn’t fade. You hated the attention, and of course, everyone would stare. Having the director of the company himself helping you with your work was far too big of a deal. The eyes of all the female employees had burned into you as you walked out. You couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort, and it only worsened as you stepped into the elevator with Jimin.
"Mr. Park, you really don’t have to do this," you said, offering a shy smile as the elevator doors slid shut behind you.
Jimin, however, seemed unfazed. He gave a lazy smile, his voice light as he answered. "Oh, I’m not doing it for you." Jimin leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the floor numbers as they lit up.
You blinked, confused, your brows knitting together. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He turned his head, flashing you a mischievous grin. "It’s more for me, really."
Your frown deepened. "For you?" You couldn’t hide your confusion, but Jimin just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.
"You see," he began, shifting slightly to face you fully. His eyes sparkled with a playful yet sincere gleam. "I come from old money. I just can't stand the idea of a woman doing something like that when I’m around. Makes me feel like I’m failing somewhere. I’ve got this fragile ego, you know?" His voice was light, teasing, but his smile softened as he continued. "It just feels better to help out. Plus, it’s... good manners."
"Yeah?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his words. The slight smirk tugging at his lips told you he knew you were lost but didn’t care enough to explain. Instead, he only shrugged nonchalantly, his expression  so casual it almost felt dismissive.
Before you could respond further, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Jimin stepped out first. You followed behind as you adjusted your grip on the files. He led the way to your cabin, his presence drawing a few curious glances from colleagues. You felt those stares prickling at your back again, but Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. He walked you to your cabin, while you struggled to keep up with his pace. When he finally reached your desk, he placed the stack of five thick files down with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust off his hands like it was no big deal.
"All set. Anything else you need before I head out?" he asked, his voice light as he straightened his blazer.
Thanks again, Mr. Park," you said, shaking your head.
Jimin gave a small nod in return, stepping back. Just as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take care, pretty," he said, his tone casual, yet the words felt deliberate.
Your hands froze mid-motion as your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. Heat rushed to your face, and you felt the unmistakable blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire. You stared at the empty doorway where Jimin had disappeared, his words echoing in your mind.
"What the hell," you muttered under your breath. Forcing yourself to focus, you picked up the files, flipping through the pages with renewed determination. It was time to finish up for the day, but not before ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes scanning schedules and notes, the lingering warmth on your cheeks refusing to fade completely.
When you finally finished your work, you grabbed the file Jungkook had instructed you to complete and headed to his office. As you approached, you noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the small gap, you could see Jimin sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat with his brows furrowed in a way that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was a wonder Jimin didn’t crack under the weight of his perpetual grimace. If he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking, you were certain his demeanour would’ve been a massive letdown.
"Are you even human?" Jimin's voice rose, his tone laced with disbelief as he leaned forward, his palms slapping against the desk with a dull thud. His lips pressed tightly together. His words seemed to hit like a quiet plea, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care. His eyes stayed glued to his file as he flipped the pages.
"I am dying over here. I am that tired and you are one of the reasons behind it. Don’t you dare ignore me, Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin continued, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. His words grew louder as he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air, as if trying to physically puncture Jungkook’s indifference.
"Huh?" Jungkook’s voice was flat, almost absent, as he gave Jimin just a single glance, his eyes flickering for a mere millisecond before he turned back to the file in his hands. He gave a distracted nod, not sparing Jimin much more attention.
Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly, his annoyance reaching a boiling point. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. His fingers curled into loose fists as he leaned back, pacing a step before planting his hands on his hips. "You made me handle all your meetings and deal with my own workload. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while you sit here, all cozy with your stupid papers! Do you not have any regard—"
"You're right," Jungkook said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, cutting off Jimin’s rambling mid-sentence. He slowly closed the file in front of him and placed it neatly to the side. This time, he leaned back in his chair, his posture loosening slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His dark, boba eyes locked on Jimin’s. "I am sorry, hyung. You're always picking up the slack for me. I don't say it enough, but… I’m really grateful. I couldn’t do this without you."
Jimin froze for a moment, his brow furrowing as he eyed Jungkook suspiciously. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, studying Jungkook as if he had just grown a second head. "Oh? What’s wrong with you?" he asked, dragging the words out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the edge of Jungkook's desk. "Show me your head. You punk, I’m sure you hit it somewhere."
Jimin shot up from his seat and lunged across the desk with inflated urgency, his hand reaching for Jungkook's head like a concerned but overly dramatic mother.
"Jimin-shi!" Jungkook exclaimed, his voice rising in protest as he swatted at Jimin’s hands. He grabbed Jimin’s wrists, prying them away from his head. His brows knitted together as he leaned back further in his chair, out of reach, glaring at Jimin. "I swear, I’ll kill you."
"There you are," Jimin said, a grin spreading across his face as he let out a sigh. He flopped back into his chair, dramatically wiping his brow as if the ordeal had been exhausting. "I was worried for nothing. Glad to see the real  grumpy, homicidal self's still here."
Before they could exchange any more words, you finally stepped forward, your knuckles rapping lightly on the doorframe.
Knock, knock.
The sound broke through, causing both their heads to snap in your direction.
For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. You tightened your grip on the file in your hands, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt. Clearing your throat, you finally stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt," you said.
Jimin’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he tilted his head, gesturing toward the file. "It’s fine. Come in. Looks like someone’s got work to do, unlike us," he teased, his tone light.
You tried your best to force a smile onto your face—a polite, controlled, and friendly expression—but as your eyes met his. Your throat felt like it had closed up, your voice thin and wobbly. Why did he make you so nervous? Yes, he was intimidating. Yes, you’d dealt with difficult bosses before. But there was something about him—something that felt wrong, a shrill, intense warning in the back of your mind, like a distant alarm telling you danger was near.
Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you passed Jimin’s chair. He was sitting casually, his hands clasped behind his head, completely at ease as he looked over at you. You stopped beside Jungkook's desk, just behind where Jimin was sitting. "Mr. Jeon, I just finished the tasks you assigned." Your voice was soft but steady as you extended the file toward him. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the eye of the devil. "Here’s the file. I’m leaving now, so I was wondering if there’s anything else you need before I go?"
Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly and precisely. His sharp gaze scanned your face, lingering on your forced smile before sliding down to the file you’d placed on his desk. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes—soft and doe-like at first glance—betrayed a sharp, predatory glint. "Actually," he drawled, his voice carried an edge that made your pulse quicken. He gestured lazily toward the towering stack of files on the far corner of his desk. "I do need something."
Your eyes widened as they darted to the stack, a silent gasp catching in your throat. The files seemed endless. You swallowed hard, glancing back at him, but his expression was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if you were more nervous or outright afraid of what was coming next. "See those files?" he continued, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I need them reviewed and sorted by tomorrow."
And you just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether you had a choice, or if you were already drowning. Tomorrow? That was impossible. You turned back to Jungkook, hoping to find some hint that he was joking, but his expression was calm and unyielding, like carved stone.
"I…" you began, but your voice faltered.
"Something wrong?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to argue.
It was your first day, and you couldn’t understand what went wrong. You’d always thought Jungkook was handsome, admired him from the glossy pages of magazines and the distant buzz of news. You'd been excited, so excited to work for the most wanted bachelor in the continent. But now? Now, it wasn’t going as planned.
Too much work. Too much. How could anyone be expected to handle this much work? You thought you could handle challenges, but this? This felt impossible. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You’d probably have to sell your soul to some demon and even then, it still wouldn’t feel enough. You couldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. But the thought of giving up? That wasn’t even an option. You wanted to scream. No. You didn't want to scream you wanted to kick him where the sun doesn't shine.
"To-tomorrow," you stammered, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth. You were close to snapping, but something in his gaze made you hesitate.
"Impossible?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice a low, smooth. His eyes locked on yours, the warmth in them replaced with ice. "I’m not interested in hearing any excuses. You need to understand where and for who you’re working. Workload is a usual thing here. You either do it or resign. It’s up to you. Nobody’s begging you to stay."
The words were harsh. There was no softness to them, no room for debate, no compromise. He wanted you to know that you had no power here. His small, smug smile confirmed it—a clear taunt, a game to him, and you could feel it deep in your bones. He wasn’t just being cold. No, he enjoyed this. He was tormenting you, and you knew it. He was such a sadistic being.
"Understood," you said, the words coming out of your mouth with a firmness that surprised even you.
You turned your back to him and grabbed the stack of files from where they were carelessly left. The moment you lifted them, you knew this was going to be hell. It was heavy—too heavy—far heavier than you’d expected. Your arms shook as you struggled to balance them. You almost stumbled under the sheer force of it, but you steadied yourself.
You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to ask Jimin for help. You glanced toward him, only to find that he and Jungkook were locked in a silent staring match, their gazes locked like two wolves sizing each other up.  Jimin looked like he was about to explode. You couldn’t drag him into this. He already looked like he was walking a thin line, and you didn’t want to add to the fire. Besides, Jimin looked angry enough already.
So, you started walking.
You struggled your way out of his office. Your legs wobbled under the weight, and you nearly stumbled into the doorframe as you tried to maintain your balance. You wanted to scream. You hated him. You hated everything about this. Him. His handsome face. His smug smile. His icy tone. His ridiculous expectations. In truth, you’d never felt this much resentment toward anyone. Not even your previous bosses had managed to push you this far. But Jungkook? He was something else entirely. A walking nightmare wrapped in a handsome package, and you were stuck in it.
The moment you stepped into your office, you slammed the door behind you. You were done. You were going home. You couldn’t wait to get out of here. You grabbed your bag and purse. You cursed under your breath, knowing you couldn’t leave without grabbing those files too. There was no way you were going to spend another minute in that sterile, over-designed office. You adjusted the files again, and with a final shake of your head, you stepped out of your office. Your feet moved on autopilot as you walked toward the elevators. You didn’t look back. There wasn’t any point.
You knew you’d have to come back.
You knew you’d have to face him again.
But for now, you needed to get out.
The first day had been hell, all thanks to your devilish boss.
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Jungkook and Jimin stepped out of Jungkook’s office. Jimin shot a sharp glare at Jungkook, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, on the other hand, wore a smug, teasing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Jimin’s annoyance and found it far too satisfying to ignore.
"Jiminshi," Jungkook said casually, but Jimin didn’t even give him a second glance, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.
“Shut up,” Jimin snapped back without hesitation, the heat in his voice enough to make Jungkook pause for a second. It almost made him laugh, but he quickly held it back, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"Come on, Jimin. We’re already late. And Jin hyung will be mad if we get even more late," Jungkook added, his tone light but carrying an edge of urgency. His smile was easy and easygoing, the kind that always got under Jimin’s skin, and this time, it did the trick. Jimin let out a slow, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his irritation simmer down. He nodded once, fingers gripping his phone a little too tightly. His hand flexed as he tucked it back into his pocket, his gaze fixed forward as they walked towards the elevator side by side.
Jungkook pushed the button to call the elevator, and Jimin stood next to him, arms crossed, still giving off that frustrated vibe. But Jungkook could see the edges of his irritation slowly dulling. Even if Jimin was pissed, he wouldn’t stay mad for long. Jimin was always the wise one, and he knew that getting upset over Jungkook's antics wouldn’t help anything. Jin had invited them for dinner tonight, and they both knew this wasn’t just another casual evening. Jimin had told Jin about you—how Jungkook couldn’t hear your thoughts, which still felt weird and foreign to him. It was strange, unsettling in a way, and Jin had wanted to discuss it. He’d called them both over, saying he needed to talk. Jungkook was curious about what Jin had in mind. It wasn’t every day that Jin invited them over, especially not without a reason.
The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook gestured for Jimin to enter first. Jimin grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. Jungkook stepped in behind him, and the two of them stood in silence. He was looking forward to the evening, not only to talk things out but also to meet Jin's wife. She was a kind and sweet woman. If it wasn't for Taehyung, they would have never met her. Jin had been married for years, but he rarely invited anyone over, keeping his personal life guarded. Jungkook and Jimin always looked forward to her company. Jin, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with her. It was impossible not to notice the way he adored her. They all had to be on their best behavior when she was around, though—Jin’s protective streak was well known.
The elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. They descended in silence, the air feeling heavier as their thoughts swirled. Both knew this night would give them more answers, but they weren’t sure what kind of questions would arise afterward.
Jungkook and Jimin soon stepped into the reception area. The receptionist was seated at her desk, typing quickly, and her head lifted the moment she saw them. She offered a polite smile as they approached.
"Good evening, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Park," she greeted warmly. Jungkook didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed ahead as he strode past her. He could hear her thoughts—granted, not every single word, but enough. Disgusting. Intrusive. He had no shame in admitting it. He didn’t feel the need to entertain it, so he ignored her completely.
Jimin, however, was different. His easy smile came naturally as he gave her a small, polite nod. His body language was relaxed, his movements smooth as he walked beside Jungkook toward the parking lot. His gaze was neutral, a simple act of kindness that contrasted sharply with Jungkook's indifference.
They reached the parking lot, and Jimin climbed into his car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He had originally planned on making Jungkook drive, but the irritation bubbling in him from earlier—the way Jungkook had acted with you—made him rethink. He was annoyed, not just because of what happened, but because Jungkook’s behavior had crossed a line. It wasn’t professionalism; it was just unnecessary rudeness. Pure and simple. Jimin had half a mind to lecture him, but instead, he started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life filling the air.
But Jungkook didn’t get in his own car. His eyes weren’t on Jimin, nor were they on the road. They were locked on something—or rather, someone.
You.
You were standing by your car, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders looked tense, rigid, the way they always did when you were tired. You were clearly trying to calm yourself, but your lips were moving. You were speaking to yourself, or maybe the wind, but Jungkook could see it—your face contorted into something that looked like frustration, like rage.
He observed you. His body was suddenly heavy, his thoughts distracted. You looked like you wanted to set the entire parking lot on fire. From the way your hands tightened into fists by your sides, Jungkook could tell you were seething, clearly ready to explode. He couldn’t hear your thoughts, couldn’t read your mind like he could with everyone else, but it didn’t matter. Your expression was enough. You were cursing him out, he was sure of it.
It felt wrong to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like an itch buried beneath his skin. His entire body ached to know what you were saying, but you were like a closed book—impossible to read. It irritated him. That feeling of helplessness, the itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated not knowing exactly what you were thinking, hated that he couldn’t tap into the storm swirling behind those eyes. You looked like you wanted to strangle him, and the idea actually made him chuckle darkly to himself.
As much as he hated to admit it, there was something oddly magnetic about you. You looked so exhausted, so ready to shatter, your emotions playing across your face like an open book he couldn’t read. And that drove him insane. He wanted to know all of you. Every thought. Every word. Every secret. But he couldn’t. And it pissed him off.
His chest tightened as he studied you, his mind working in circles. Even though you looked like you were about to explode with frustration, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him. Paradoxically, your anger—your confusion—was like a balm to his restless thoughts. His hands twitched at his sides.
And you, completely unaware of his gaze, kept muttering, your words too quiet for him to catch. The cold wind swayed your hair, and Jungkook wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him. He hated that he cared. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know.
He shifted his weight, a part of him wanting to walk away, but another part of him... couldn’t. He hated how curious he was about you. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and that was something Jungkook couldn’t stand.
You suddenly turned your head, catching Jungkook’s eyes locked on you. Jungkook’s breath hitched. The shock of being caught sent a wave of heat through his chest. His eyes widened in alarm. Shit.
He knew. He knew you caught him. His face twisted into a mix of panic and frustration, and before he could overthink it, he whipped his head around, his heart pounding. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He bolted into his car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Without looking back, the engine roared to life as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sped out of the parking lot, his focus darting between the road and his rearview mirror, where you were barely visible in the distance.
But before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything in an instant.
And then—he cursed.
He hated the rain. It always made him feel fragile, exposed, as though the world was pressing in on him in a way he couldn’t control. The sound of it pounding on the roof, the windshield, and the pavement—it was overwhelming, and it irritated him that he couldn’t understand why. It was stupid.
He glanced at the road, but Jimin’s car was nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jimin was probably already halfway there, and here he was, alone and soaked in this awful weather. His head was a mess, and his frustration felt tenfold. Great. He groaned, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. Perfect. The rain made it harder to see, the windshield wipers swishing furiously, but still, everything was blurry. Most people would’ve slowed down, maybe even pulled over. But Jungkook wasn’t like most people. So, he didn’t. His foot pressed harder against the gas, not caring about the storm that made the road slippery and hard to see.
Then, Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of Jimin’s car parked outside a convenience store, headlights flickering through the rain. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking his head.
Typical Jimin.
Jimin was probably picking up some random snacks or an odd gift for Jin and his wife. The thought made him grin—what could you possibly find at a convenience store that would be good enough for dinner with Jin and his wife? Not much, he figured. But Jimin would always find a way to make things interesting. There was no way Jimin would have time to get something nice, and even if he did, Jin wouldn’t care. Namjoon wouldn’t even be there; he was off with his girlfriend. It was the kind of casual thing Jimin would do, and Jungkook was sure Taehyung along with Eunji (Namjoon's girlfriend's daughter) would tease him mercilessly about whatever he picked up. He could already imagine the scene: Jimin sulking, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying the attention. He spotted Jimin emerging from the door, an awkward bag in his hands, and he wondered what he had found.
But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He didn’t want to be stuck in the rain any longer, so he pressed on, the road slick with water. The roads were empty. His headlights swept through the downpour, and the sound of his engine roared louder, mixing with the patter of the rain. The world felt gray and cold, and for a moment, he wondered if anyone else was even out here. His eyes darted, blinked twice, then three times in quick succession. A sharp flash of light broke through the downpour—streetlights, or headlights—too fast, too sudden. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but his vision was useless against the storm.
Something’s coming.
Before he could react, he felt it. A sharp, sudden jolt as his car lost control. His hand gripped the wheel harder, his muscles tensed. He tried desperately to turn the steering wheel, left, right—anything to steady the car—but it felt as though the wheels had no grip at all. His breathing came out in short, sharp bursts.
And then it hit.
The sound was deafening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Jungkook’s body was thrown against the seat as the car twirled. He barely registered the impact before the airbag exploded in his face with a loud whoosh, his head slamming into it with force. His vision blurred, and the pain came, biting and sudden. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow. The car spun—once, twice, thrice. His hands trembled against the steering wheel, and his head throbbed painfully. His heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest.
For a moment, everything went silent. He could feel his body shaking. His head swam, dizziness clouding his vision. His pulse raced as the rush of adrenaline hit, but then, fear—a feeling he rarely ever felt—took over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after Mr. Park took him in. Not after Jimin became his family. He wasn’t supposed to feel this vulnerable. But now, the sensation was loud and personal, crawling up to his heart, through his arms, and into his bones.
Jungkook's world spun around him, the blur of the rain and the crash fading into nothingness. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The sound of the storm, the screeching tires, everything disappeared. He wasn’t in his car anymore. He wasn’t even on the road. No, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.
He was seven again.
The leather seats were soft, comforting, and the scent of his mother’s perfume lingered in the air. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine, a calm contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He glanced around. His father was driving, hands steady on the wheel, wearing his familiar cheeky smile. His mother sat beside him, head against the window, her gaze distant but peaceful. Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, squeezed between the seatbelt and the door. His arms were crossed tightly, shoulders hunched in frustration, as he kept his head down to avoid their attention.
“Hun, how long until we get there?” his mother’s voice broke the calm, soft and uncertain, reaching his father’s ears. She turned her head toward him with a small smile, her face lit faintly by the dashboard glow.
Mr. Jeon turned toward her, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He shot her a cheery look, his eyes soft with affection as he answered. “Quite,” was all he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that made her smile.
But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.
Jungkook was sitting in the backseat, his little arms crossed tightly over his chest, his puffy cheeks flushed red. His head was turned toward the window, a frown tugging at his lips.
"What happened, Jung?" His father asked gently, voice full of care.
Jungkook’s gaze flickered up to meet his father's eyes, but he didn’t speak. Jungkook just huffed, his lip curling slightly, trying to hold back more tears. His arms tightened around himself, his small body so tense it seemed like he was trying to disappear into the seat. His eyes welled up again, and he sniffled, looking away.
“He don’t want to go.” Mrs. Jeon whispered softly, her voice light but firm, as though she’d been trying to ease the situation for some time. She shifted in her seat, her hands lightly brushing her white Chanel dress.
"I know that," Mr. Jeon said with a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook. "But why?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Mrs. Jeon shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her husband with a helpless smile, her eyes glinting faintly with understanding. “You know how shy he is,” she whispered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not Jungkook. Her voice was soft and wrapped in familiarity, like a gentle assurance.
Mr. Jeon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. He then turned his attention back to Jungkook, his smile wide and encouraging. “But Taehyung will be there, too. Don’t you want to play with your hyung?” he teased, wiggling his brows playfully as he spoke.
Jungkook’s expression twisted with irritation. He pouted even more, his arms folding tighter across his chest. “No,” he snapped, his voice a little louder than before. “No, Taehyungie.” He refused to even look at his father, turning his head toward the window. His little hands balled into fists at his sides as he sat there.
Mr. Jeon froze for a moment at Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes widened briefly as he glanced back at his son in the rearview mirror, but he let it go. He wasn’t angry—he never was with his son—but the outburst was unexpected. Jungkook wasn’t one to open up easily, and Mr. Jeon understood that. It wasn’t that Jungkook disliked Taehyung; he just couldn’t handle him. Taehyung was too much—too loud, too dramatic, too confident for Jungkook’s liking. His endless antics and unshakable charm always rubbed Jungkook the wrong way. It was easier for Jungkook to retreat into his shell than to deal with someone like Taehyung. Jungkook preferred the quiet, the safety of his own thoughts, while Taehyung was none of those things.
“Park uncle and his son are coming too. You wanted to meet Park uncle’s son?” Mr. Jeon tried again, his voice light and filled with gentle encouragement. He glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed slightly. He wanted Jungkook to at least be excited.
They were heading toward the Kim mansion for a grand party. A formal event with a lot of people, glittering dresses, and chatter. The kind of place where smiles felt like currency and charm was the language. It was important because their families shared good relationships with the Kim's. It was a social obligation.
But Jungkook didn’t bite. His gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. He pressed his cheek harder against the cold glass, the coolness against his skin doing little to ease the rising frustration in his chest. He wasn’t interested. His father’s words barely registered in his mind. The whole idea of going to a big event, the crowded space, the noise—it all just felt overwhelming.
“No,” Jungkook muttered, his voice tight, almost as if he were trying to seal off any further conversation. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn't want to go. Not to meet Park Uncle’s son. Not to that party. Not anywhere. He wanted to stay home. He hated people. All of them. Parties. Crowds. They made his skin crawl. Even though Park uncle was always kind and brought him chocolate, even though he was gentle and easy to talk to, it didn’t matter. Meeting his son was a thought that felt like a chore.
Mr. Jeon’s face softened with a small, exasperated sigh. He turned his head, catching his wife’s eye for a brief moment. Mrs. Jeon gently tapped his arm, urging him to stop pushing Jungkook. But Mr. Jeon didn’t listen. He could see his son’s discomfort and it worried him. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time.
“Son, listen,” he began, trying again with more patience, his voice firm but not unkind. “You should—”
But his words were cut short by the sudden screech of tires and a blinding flash of headlights, too bright, too fast. Then—boom. Something slammed into their car, a deafening crash that shook everything around him. The impact tore through them, sending the car off the road. The world spun wildly, glass shattered, metal twisted, and screams filled the air. His head smacked against the seatbelt, his shoulders pulled hard by the force as the car twisted and turned like a broken toy. His arms flailed, his hands gripping at anything they could find, but there was nothing.
Finally, the car came to a violent stop and everything felt eerily quiet. The sound of the engine sputtering, the hiss of rain, and the faint, dull ringing in his ears filled his senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but his head spun. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. Through his blurred vision, he saw it—them. Blood streaked his vision, dark and warm as it trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. His breath came in short, broken pants. He couldn’t see clearly—everything felt distorted, red, and wrong.  His mother was there. Her body was twisted, crumpled, unnatural, and there was so much blood. Everywhere but specially beneath her.
“Mom…” he whispered, his voice broken, a thin, desperate sound. His lips trembled, his head shaking as though he could will it away, but the horror wouldn’t leave. His small hands gripped at his seatbelt again, his fingers sticky, his face soaked with rain and fear. All he knew was that his mother was hurt, she was bleeding and wasn't moving.  No, no, no… His chest ached, a desperate pain that he couldn’t understand.
His eyes shifted to his father, still breathing, but barely. His father’s chest rose weakly, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest. “Dada…” His voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whimper as he reached out for his father, his small hands pressing against the seat. The fear was suffocating, but the pain of seeing his father so helpless, so close to slipping away, was worse. His body shook uncontrollably, his tiny frame trying to fight the overwhelming terror that threatened to swallow him whole.
The silence felt unbearable. Everything around him felt like a blur, yet every detail was all real and painstrikingly cruel. His hands trembled, his body shaking, his chest aching as he waited—desperately—for some kind of answer. But before his father could respond, figures emerged from the darkness dressed in black uniforms that glistened faintly under the rain. Their presence felt wrong, but the night itself was nothing if wasn't sinful. Jungkook’s head spun, his ears ringing painfully. The sound was distorted, every word like a distant, broken whisper. But the fragments came through, jagged and broken.
“And, it’s done... Wasn't much. Let him suffer.”
Jungkook visibly flinched at their words, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His ears rang painfully, making it hard to hear, but the fragments reached him like poison.
“He denied boss, after all.”
"Hmm, all he needed was that file. Black orchid project's file."
 "Yeah, stupid motherfucker." They turned to leave, but then one of them paused, looking back at Mr. Jeon’s bloody form, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “You know, since you’re dying anyways, let me tell you something… we found her. We got the first kid from the Black Orchid project. And with her, we’ll get them all. And with you dead, who will stop us.”
Their laughter was cruel and hollow, echoing in the stillness like nails scraping across the floor. Jungkook’s chest tightened, and his stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as they disappeared into the rain. The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, but before he could process them, another sound broke through—the sound of his father’s breath.
Mr. Jeon’s body shifted, his chest rising and falling in labored, shallow breaths. His tear-streaked face twisted with pain as his eyes met Jungkook’s, the weight of everything crashing down in those last, fleeting moments. “Jungkook…” His voice was raw, barely a whisper, but it carried so much guilt that it felt like it could suffocate him. “I’m so sorry, my boy… this… this is all because of me.”
“Dada…” His voice was cracked, shaky, the fear rising in his chest like a storm. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling, but it fell short, his small fingers grazing the air instead of his father’s skin.
Just as Jungkook’s vision began to blur, another sound broke through the haze—the screech of tires and the distant sound of shoes splashing through the rain. Relief flickered faintly in his chest. Someone was coming. But his blurry gaze couldn’t make out who it was.
A pair of feet appeared before him, followed by the frantic sound of someone running, slipping in the rain as they skidded to a halt next to the wreckage.
 It was Mr. Park, panting, his face pale with shock as he took in the horror before him.
Mr. Park dropped to his knees beside the wreckage, his hands trembling as they hovered over the twisted metal, unable to focus on anything but the devastation before him. His breath hitched in his chest as his gaze fell on Mrs. Jeon’s crumpled, lifeless form, and the tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could manage was a broken, “Oh, my... How… what?” His gaze settled on Jungkook’s mother, crumpled and lifeless in the front seat, and his breath hitched. His hands gripped the cold, wet metal of the car, his entire body shaking as he fought the overwhelming wave of fear and sorrow threatening to drown him.
“Hang on! I’ll get you both out, I promise!” His voice cracked as he spoke, his hands fumbling against the seatbelt, desperate to pull them free.
But Mr. Jeon, with great effort, shook his head. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through the chaos. “No... no... listen to me.” He coughed, his body convulsing from the effort, and blood spattered onto his chest. “I... I won’t be able to make it out of here. Take Jungkook... get him out... and raise him. There’s no one else I trust more than you, Park. You’re like a brother to me. Please... take care of him... like he’s your own.”
Mr. Park’s eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them shut for a moment, trying to push back the wave of grief threatening to drown him. His chest tightened, and his voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady. “I will. I promise. But don’t say that, we can still—”
“No…” Mr. Jeon’s voice was barely a whisper now, weak and distant, almost drowned out by the rain. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he coughed, blood staining his mouth. “It’s too late for me… just save him. Please.”
Mr. Park’s hand trembled as it hovered over Mr. Jeon’s, and he nodded, his lips trembling. He wasn’t ready to accept this, but he knew there was no choice. “I’ll take him,” he whispered. “I’ll take him, I promise.”
With trembling hands, Mr. Park unbuckled Jungkook, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s tear-streaked face, pale and bloodied. The tiny body was limp in his arms, and he fought to hold back his own tears, knowing it wouldn’t help. Jungkook’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes barely open, blinking with confusion and fear, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
“I’ve got you,” Mr. Park whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his arms tightening around Jungkook as he lifted him from the wreckage. Jungkook’s head rested against his chest, the faintest stir of breath against his skin. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though he knew nothing about this could ever be okay. If anything, he himself didn't trust his words. They felt hollow.
“I’ll be back to get you. And I’ll get you out too, just hang there,” he said, his voice final, desperate, and certain. His hands trembled as he cradled Jungkook against his chest, his gaze flickering back toward Mr. Jeon, whose eyes were barely open. Mr. Park wasn't sure if he was even capable enough to fulfil that promise, but at that moment, it was all he could offer; it was all he had left.
Mr. Jeon’s eyes fluttered, a faint nod the only response he could manage. His body had grown so still, but the tear streaked face, the way his lips trembled, said everything. He knew it was a promise that wouldn’t be kept—but he nodded anyway, and the last bit of hope faded in the silence of the wreckage. With one final glance, Mr. Park turned, his arms cradling Jungkook against him, as he ran toward safety, the boy’s limp body a stark contrast to the life and pain surrounding them. The rain continued to pour, and with each step, it felt like the world was slipping further away.
Jungkook’s eyes fluttered weakly as he was carried to Mr. Park’s car. His small body felt light and cold against the older man’s chest. Inside the vehicle, Jimin sat in the backseat, his wide eyes staring at the scene before him. His small hands gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the headlights. When Mr. Park placed Jungkook beside him, Jimin’s shock melted into a visible concern. His little face was a mix of worry and gentleness as he shifted closer, his small body trembling slightly. Without hesitation, he wrapped his tiny arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of Jimin’s embrace was so soft, so comforting, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.
“Don’t cry… it’s okay, don’t cry,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled Jungkook closer. Jungkook’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow with loss. The last thing he felt before the world around him went black was Jimin’s arms, holding him tight, and the warmth that felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap.
Meanwhile, Mr. Park’s hands were shaking, his desperation choking his every movement as he turned back to the wreck. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the flames, but he didn’t make it. Before he could even reach the wreckage, the explosion erupted in a violent wave, the flames licking at the sky as they consumed the car. The explosion rocked the ground beneath him, the heat so intense it scorched his skin, and the rain didn’t do a thing to stop the inferno. The sound of the blast echoed in his chest, and for a moment, Mr. Park stood frozen, his body trembling from the shock, the image of his closest friend burning into his mind.  His breath caught in his throat, his heart twisted painfully, but he couldn’t move. He watched as the fire consumed everything—everything he had hoped to save. The rain poured harder, but it was useless against the inferno.
And just like that, Jungkook lost everything in one brutal, cruel instant. His mind hung on that moment, the crackling fire and the unyielding rain swallowing it all. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears as he was pulled from the memory. Another sharp, blinding flash of light cut through his closed eyelids, yanking him out of his haze. His head throbbed painfully, the beat of his pulse a steady rhythm that seemed to match the aching in his skull.
A car screeched to a halt in front of him, the sound cutting through the fog in his mind like a blade. For a moment, he thought it was Jimin. But that couldn’t be right—Jimin was way behind him, far away from this mess, in a safe place. How could he have gotten ahead so fast? Jungkook’s thoughts came fast and fragmented. His breaths came quicker, his hands trembling harder as his body tensed with uncertainty.
What was happening? Was it Jimin? Was it someone else? His mind felt fractured, his body unable to respond. His body felt paralysed, useless.
The driver stepped out into the downpour, his black uniform drenched in seconds, but he moved forward with an unsettling calm. The sight of the uniform—it was like a switch had been flipped inside Jungkook. But his thoughts were too scattered, too foggy, to make sense of it. The closer the man got, the louder the buzz in Jungkook’s head grew, like lightening sissling through his skull. It was unbearable. His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in desperately, but the pain only intensified. A low, broken groan escaped his throat.
Without warning, a loud, brutal crash shattered the silence. The man had smashed the car window. The sound tore through his body like a physical blow, breaking his fragile focus. His eyes flew open just as he felt the sting of broken glass. The shards flying like tiny stars of pain that bit into his skin. Before Jungkook could even flinch, a rough hand wrapped around his collar and yanked him from the seat. He was dragged out into the downpour, the cold, icy rain slamming into his face, washing away the blood. The cold slapped against his skin like a thousand tiny knives, but he was too weak to react. His limbs were heavy, his body numb, as if it wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t fight back. The man dragged him across the slick road like he weighed nothing, and with a brutal toss, he was slammed onto the wet pavement. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the cold, muddy water instantly soaked through his clothes, seeping into his bones.
He forced himself to push up or at least he tired. His hands trembled, weak and brittle, but he couldn’t hold himself. His body gave out, and he collapsed back into the mud with a helpless, wet sound. His face turned upward, the rain blurring his vision, every droplet a sharp needle that dug into his skin. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in shallow bursts, but the pain in his skull, his limbs, and his chest refused to go away. Jungkook tried again, his body shaking harder this time. His head swayed from side to side as he struggled, but the rain felt endless, each droplet pounding into him, each one deeper, colder, meaner. His heartbeat was an erratic drumbeat in his chest, thudding against his ribs like it might give out at any moment. His vision remained a hazy blur—everything was grey, wet, and cold, and the pounding in his skull grew stronger with every heartbeat.
Jungkook’s eyes fought to stay open, his vision blurring more with each passing second, but the shape of the man in front of him became clearer. The man in the black uniform loomed over him, a dark, shifting figure that blurred in the rain. His face was a shadow, but the smirk on his lips was cruel and clear.
The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jungkook struggle beneath him, barely able to lift himself up on one elbow. His hand gripped the gun with a steady, deadly calm, and as he crouched down, water splashed from his chin, droplets falling onto Jungkook’s face. “Look at you,” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery, “pathetic. No high and mighty prince now, huh? Where’s your guard dog to save you?”
Jungkook’s chest heaved in ragged breaths, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He could feel the weight of his body dragging him further into the puddle, the cold seeping into his bones, but his muscles were too weak to fight back. His hand twitched, desperately trying to reach for something—anything—to push himself up, but it shook violently, unable to get any purchase. He gritted his teeth, eyes clouded with pain and dizziness, unable to respond, unable to do anything but lie there and take it.
“today was my lucky day, I guess,”  he laughed.
“You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long,” the man continued, his voice dropping lower as he straightened, standing taller. His form was solid and imposing, his boots kicking mud as he took a step back. The gun rose, glinting under the pale light of the streetlamps. The barrel was cold, steady, and pointed directly at Jungkook’s chest.
“Time to put you out of your misery, kid. Join mommy and daddy. I wager... You’ve been dying to.” A cold sweat broke out across Jungkook’s skin even in shrill rain, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, flicking between the gun and the man’s mocking face, terror clawing at him from the inside. His chest tightened, his body frozen as the world spun around him, and he tried once more to move, to escape, but his legs were useless, as if the earth beneath him was swallowing him whole. All that remained was the sharp, unrelenting noise of the rain and the sickening sound of the man’s finger inching toward the trigger.
Jungkook’s body went rigid as the man’s words echoed in his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as the memories of his parents flooded him—their lifeless eyes, the blood staining the night, the terror that gripped him then and now. His hands, slick with cold rain, shook uncontrollably as he stared at the barrel of the gun. His throat constricted, but no words came out—only a choked sob that was lost in the downpour.
The man’s grin widened, cruel and savage, as he inched his finger toward the trigger. Jungkook could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction of finally having the power to take everything from him. The laughter in his voice was sharp, like glass scraping against his skin, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he squeezed the trigger.
"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."
The gunshot shattered the night—louder than the storm, louder than the pounding in Jungkook's ears. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain paused in midair, hanging like frozen tears, the wind silenced as if holding its breath. Jungkook felt the world tilt beneath him, and his body instinctively braced for the impact that was supposed to come.
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a/n: So, how’d you guys like it? Hate it? Loved it? I need the feedback, break me, but like... gently, okay? I’m fragile and I’ll cry, like, on the spot. But honestly, there might be some grammatical disasters in there. Why? Because I got sick and just didn’t have the energy to do much editing work on it. So yeah, don’t judge me too hard, I’m basically a walking disaster right now. Also, I really hope you still love Jungkook after reading this. Please don’t hate him. Show him some love. And, like, show me some too, because my ego is starving. Tell me how amazing it was (or, like, pretend it was) and boost my fragile little ego, okay? I need it. Love ya, guys!
226 notes · View notes
cauliflowercounty · 10 months ago
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Knives Dance (Part III)
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader
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Summary: It was hard to have a prose summary so here are some bullets of what’s happening in part 3
Baron Feyd missing you + heartfelt reunion 
Feyd being totally infatuated with you
SCIENCE!!! and POLITICS!!!
Rabban being pitiful
Reader being a badass
Feyd vs Paul on Arrakis (what will happen? You’ll never knowww… [unless you read this chapter **wink, wink, wink**]
Warnings: Violence, blood, death (woohoo)
Word Count: 10.3k (whoops… I went typey-type)
A/N: I wanted to say a sincere thanks to everyone who's read Knives Dance up to this point. This series is some of the most fun I've had writing in a long, long time. Sending lots of love your way :)
Part I | Part II | Part III
--
Stirring gently in his bed, Feyd recoils slightly as the light from Giedi Prime’s black sun hits his eye line through the wall of windows that separate his bedroom from the private balcony that overlooks the cityscape.  He extends his arm to your side of the bed and runs his hand languidly across the surface, feeling the cool, silky sheets under his fingertips. His heart feels heavy in his chest, and he lets out a low growl of frustration into his pillow. It has been a long three weeks without you.  
You’ve been off-world on a visit to Youra to see your father and bring back equipment for the laboratory you’re constructing on Giedi Prime. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about your safety because he insisted on a full Harkonnen security detail accompanying you, which should have put his mind at ease, but he’s laid awake each night since your departure, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think of disasters befalling you during your travels. One night it’s asteroids colliding with your ship, tearing gaping holes in the walls, and sucking you into the vacuum of space. Another, it’s an ambush by an undiscovered society, hellbent on killing alien peoples for sport. Perhaps a novel virus wiping out the entire population of Youra and you with it in a matter of days?  No farfetched scenarios were off limits when Feyd allowed his mind to wander.
The foreign feeling of loss due to your absence has not only plagued him with anxiety, but allowed Feyd to slip into a state of abject melancholia. None of his old vices have come close to fulfilling him, let alone make him feel much of anything.  Watching his servants cower in fear or making foreign ambassadors quake in their seats wasn’t giving him the same gratification as it once had.  Even hearing the roar of the crowds in the arena didn't given him any satisfaction. Everything had felt unbearably pedestrian. The only thing that brought a smile to his face was the thought of having the other half of his bed full again and listening to your tranquil voice. With every passing moment, he’s yearned for the life you had built together on Giedi Prime to resume.
Your mornings together were simple and easy. They were a time when he could always experience a drop of serenity within the political quagmire he’d gotten himself into since assuming the title of Baron. He’d wake up with you already in his embrace, your head laid delicately on his chest. He'd listen to your soft breathing and savor the way your limbs would entangle with his. The image of you blinking your eyes open to look at him with the special glimmer of affection reserved just for him never failed to make his heart flutter. 
Overtime, Feyd noticed you had been taking very well to Harkonnen dresses, which you now wore more often than not. He had the best seamstresses on Giedi Prime make and tailor custom outfits for you, though he didn’t expect you to always wear them, knowing how important your heritage was for you.  Nevertheless, you continued to grab one of the black gowns from your shared closet for your daily tasks and tell him with a smile “I’m Baroness Harkonnen now.  Shouldn’t I dress the part?”
Before leaving your quarters each day, Feyd always took the opportunity to take your hand in his and bring you in front of the floor length mirror in your shared closet. With his hands around your waist, he would pepper gentle kisses from your cheeks down your neck, whispering in your ear “you are a vision today, my Baroness.” You'd always smile and blush bashfully in return, returning his kisses in kind. Moments like those when it was just the two of you had become one of his favorite parts of the day.
You made the meetings, filled with diplomats groveling to win his favor, bearable. How he loved to watch you as you sat on the grand Harkonnen throne beside him. You never failed to command the room with your head held high. Power and dignity seemed to drip off of your being and fill every room you entered. You were truly worthy of the title of Baroness, and with every passing day and every interaction, there was more and more for Feyd to admire about you.
In private, you took to training together, where he would bask in your shared might. With every blow he endured from you, all he could think about was that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, was the only person alive to witness you so animated with ferocity and passion from battle, as all others who have seen you this way have been slain and buried. Sparring sessions between the two of you almost always ended with you both on the floor, limbs entwined and chests heaving after one of you would get the best of the other and take the opportunity to pin the other to the floor. 
At the end of the day, you'd always assume your position on the balcony in a flowy, white nightgown. With a gentle gesture, you’d beckon him to accompany you while you observe your shared domain, watching the shuttles flying through the gaps in the dark architecture and the stark white floodlights passing over the cityscape.  He’d hold you close by your waist and whisper sweet nothings into your ear until you start to shiver from the evening chill, at which point he’d tug at your waist to take you back to the bedroom to retire for the night. Every day, Feyd was falling deeper and deeper into you, and he’s loved every moment. 
Bringing himself upright, Feyd stretches his arms and stands up, walking over to the closet. Across from his sets of Harkonnen formalwear and battle gear, your gowns are neatly hung. Half of them are the sleek, black Harkonnen designs he had made for you. The other half are gorgeously vibrant Youran gowns. He sighs, imagining sharing one of your moments again in front of the mirror like always, but alas, you are not beside him. Once he’s dressed, he emerges from his quarters and is met with a nameless servant.
“Good morning, Baron,” the servant says, bowing deeply and trying not to give Feyd an excuse to kill him. “I am here to inform you that we have received a signal from the Baroness’s craft.  Her arrival is imminent.”
Hearing those words, Feyd turns on his heel toward the landing docks, dismissing the servant who heaves a sigh of relief because his head is thankfully still connected to the rest of his body. As Feyd walks the halls, his pace quickens, feeling the anticipation rise in his chest. People bow and salute him in the hallways, but he doesn’t pay them any attention. He’s too preoccupied with his thoughts of you; he can already smell the aroma of rainforest flowers you carry around with you. The thought that he’s so close to having you near again nearly drives him mad. 
When he arrives at the landing docks, the fleet of Harkonnen vessels is already touching down. As he hears the machinery’s loud whirring die, the ramps of all the crafts to meet the floor. Lines of Harkonnen soldiers file out first, each soldier with weapons in arms. The steady pulse of their synchronized footsteps echoes through the space with perfect adherence to Harkonnen military standards is satisfactory for Feyd. The commander in front barks orders, and the guards immediately step into formation, making an aisle that extends between Feyd and the craft closest to him. 
He is at a loss for words when he sees you walk down the ramp. You are undeniably gorgeous in Harkonnen clothes, but you look positively ethereal in the Youran gown and golden headdress that adorn your body today. Instead of shrouding yourself in the cloak you’ve worn in the past to hide your weaponry, you’re wearing a traditional dress reserved only for Youra’s utmost nobility. Layers of sheer, olive and cerulean fabric flare behind you to create your dress’s skirt out from under a ribbed bronze and mahogany corset.  Seeing how it’s cinched your waist and accented your silhouette, all Feyd wants to do is hold you and drag his fingers up and down the length of your figure.
Through the abundance of delicate golden chains that are symmetrically draped over your exposed shoulders and chest, Feyd can see how the corset and the off the shoulder neckline cradles your breasts in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. The entire skirt of the dress is decorated in dazzling embellishments and the characteristic Youran golden thread that Feyd has come to love on you. The fabric of the train seems to flow like water behind you as you walk.  
The high front hemline of the gown that ends at your upper thighs gives Feyd a good look at your legs, the lengths of which are delicately wrapped in the thin, tan ribbons from your sandals. The crosshatched pattern of the ribbons allows him to see just how beautifully your legs are sculpted from years of training and exploration. The sight makes his mouth water. He is truly breathless gazing upon you, his Baroness.
You return his affectionate gaze and call his name excitedly, reaching down and bunching up your skirt in your grasp before breaking into a run between the lines of Harkonnen guards. Your footsteps are the only noise reverberating throughout the area. Before he even realizes it, Feyd’s running for you, too. As you approach each other, he extends his arms out to you, and you leap into them, wrapping your legs around his waist. As he lifts you up into his arms, he spins you both around as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his hold.
Your grips on each other are desperate. Without a moment to waste, he cups your cheek with one hand as the other holds you tightly by the small of your back. A tear threatens to fall from his eyes as he considers saying that he hopes that you’ve missed him, but the look in your eyes already tells him the answer. This is truly happiness like he’s never experienced before. It washes over him when you finally bring your lips to meet his. His breath is warm against yours as he exhales into the kiss in satisfaction. He feels your hands come up to clutch the back of his head to deepen your kiss and growls hungrily, quickly losing himself in your embrace while attempting to resist the urge to devour you on the spot. His brow furrows when you finally break for air.
“Hello, my love,” you whisper softly, pressing your forehead against his, as if what you’re saying is a secret meant for only his ears. He grins at the pet name you’ve picked for him.  “How have things been at home?” Your words make Feyd pause. Were you calling Giedi Prime “home?” 
“Everything has been adequate,” Feyd says, kissing you again. “But I do prefer it when my Baroness is beside me.”
“I guess you’re in luck then,” you smile at his words. You rest your hands on his chest, feeling his prominent pectoral muscles underneath his shirt which makes him sigh in satisfaction. You swiftly squash the temptation to kiss him again as you meet his gaze because if you do, you’d never want to stop. Feyd sets you down, even though he’d gladly carry you all day wherever you want. 
“My father sends his regards. He’s very pleased with House Harkonnen. He also sends his condolences at your uncle’s passing,” you say, which makes Feyd scoff silently to himself. “I’ve also gathered all I need for the laboratory.  I hope I didn’t bring too much back with me. I hope it’s not a burden…” you trail off.
“You could never be a burden. We have plenty of servants. They can handle the labor,” Feyd assures as he turns to one of the closest guards. “Start unloading the Baroness’s things. You know where to take them. Don’t you dare damage any of it. There will be repercussions if anything is found broken.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the guard responds before beginning to bark orders to the others. One by one, the guards disappear into the vessel, and emerge moments later, carrying large wooden crates by the bronze colored handles attached to the sides of each. They all file out and disappear into the fortress, headed for your lab. 
“So,” Feyd says, turning back to you. “Home is Giedi Prime now? I wouldn’t have expected you to call anywhere but Youra home. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied that you’ve found comfort on Giedi Prime, but I was surprised to hear you say those words.”
You smile and glance down at the ground before looking back to him, responding. “Younger me would have agreed with you. Youra is my first home and will forever be such. However, my feelings have changed. Home is wherever you are,” you explain, intertwining your fingers with his. At your words, Feyd pulls you in again by the waist for another quick kiss, and he wonders what he did to deserve a wife like you as you both turn to follow your belongings. 
Weeks ago, you and Feyd had set aside the largest of Baron Vladimir’s personal recreation spaces to be converted to a laboratory for you on Giedi Prime. You both had celebrated the initiation of the transformation by gathering all the Baron’s belongings and smashing them to smithereens, which was quite cathartic for the both of you. In particular, you loved bashing Vladimir’s pipe and ripping his bathtubs apart piece by piece. The day of eradicating every trace of Vladimir, except for his portrait in the hallway, culminated in you both basking in the warmth of a glorious bonfire, fed by what remained of the Baron’s belongings. 
You both arrive at your laboratory. The Harkonnen workers have been very efficient installing the necessary infrastructure in the time you have been away. The room that was stripped to the bones the day you left for Youra is now a proper lab, outfitted with fireproof surfaces, chemical hoods, gas lines, and plenty of storage cabinets.  
“Wow, Feyd,” you say. “This is amazing. I can’t believe this got done in the time I was gone.”
“Only the best for you, my love,” he replies as more servants arrive, and you begin to instruct them how to unpack your belongings. Feyd stands back on the sidelines and watches you, seeing the sparkle in your eyes now that you’re able to bring part of your life from Youra to Giedi Prime. Many of the instruments and objects he sees being unpacked are unfamiliar to him, but you seem unphased, perhaps even comforted, by the diversity of items. He marvels at your proficiency with handling all of them. With the help of the servants, you quickly have all the crates unloaded and the items put away and organized. You dismiss all the workers promptly, so you and Feyd can be alone. Once the doors are closed, you let out a sigh of relief.
“Is the space to your liking?” Feyd asks, coming to your side and slipping his arm firmly around your waist.
“It’s perfect,” you reply, looking around with elation in your eyes. You reach into a drawer in front of you and take out a jar. Inside, he sees it’s full of the iridescent indigo scales of the fish you had shown him the night you were attacked on Youra. “I wanted to wait until I got back to Giedi Prime to do the extraction on the scales for your batch of the elixir. …Would you like to stay while it happens?” 
Feyd nods without hesitation. He knows that watching you work is something only the people closest to you ever get to see. “Of course, my love.  It would be my pleasure,” he says. You smile at him, delighted at his interest. You point to a little door in the corner and tell him to wait for you before disappearing into it. A few minutes later, you emerge having shed your gown and jewels for a tan lab coat. When you smooth your hands over the new coat, Feyd thinks to himself how put together you look. You seem even more at ease now that you’ve changed. In your arms, he sees another coat and two pairs of safety glasses. 
“To protect your clothes and eyes,” you say, walking over and handing him the other coat and one of the pairs of glasses.  Inside the coat, he sees “Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” delicately stitched in with golden lettering.  As he puts it on, he realizes it’s been tailored to his measurements perfectly at your behest. His heart swells once again. Your foresight is obvious to him. Beside him, you take out a mortar and pestle and pour a few of the scales into the mortar. He hears the scales clatter like pebbles against one another as they fall. 
Over your shoulder, Feyd can finally get a closer look at the scales from the fish you had shown him. The scales are shaped like rounded trapezoids and glimmer even in the artificial indoor lighting. Through the striking coloration, he can see delicate silver ribs that flare out from the narrower end of the scales, making each scale look like a pocket of moonlight rays shining through an inky night sky.  Feyd thinks how it’s truly a wonder how nature produced such a creature that bears such beauty.
You grasp the pestle in your hand and start striking the scales with firm, downward motions. Upon impact, the scales fracture at the ribs. Little by little, the scales become smaller, and you change your technique, beginning to roll the pestle around the bottom and up the sides of the mortar. You reverse the direction of the circle every few times. Because of your expert hand, the scales are soon reduced to a fine powder in the bottom of the mortar.  The dust glistens beautifully as you pick up the mortar and tip it around in a rolling motion, observing the results of your grinding.
“It’s time to perform the extraction and then the purification. Hopefully the crystals will be well formed,” you say to him, taking the mortar over to the fume hood behind the two of you and flipping the on switch to the hood.  “Have you ever watched any of your scientists work before?”
Feyd shakes his head as he follows you, memories of his childhood passing through his mind. “My uncle always instructed me to remain in the arena and the training grounds growing up. The laboratories on Giedi Prime were never our places to be. Our scientists would always come and report to us rather than us going to them. It has always been that way. Everyone in House Harkonnen works for the Baron. Everything they do is in service to him. It is inappropriate by our standards for him to go to them.”
You nod at his words, reaching for the glass sash that separates you and Feyd from the compartment of the fume hood. “Unsurprisingly, it’s the opposite on Youra,” you say, putting the mortar with the powdered scales inside before lowering the sash again until it’s almost closed, leaving gap a couple inches tall for continued access. “Yes, all workers serve my father and me, but we are all colleagues, in a way. They are the workers and my father is the hub for all of the departments on Youra. Much of my father’s success is tied to them, so he would often visit our workers to acknowledge their efforts and dedication. He always wanted to see their work for himself, too. He’s always been the curious type. My father had me follow him to the laboratories as soon as I was old enough to understand safety protocol. I’m sure if it wasn’t for regulations, he’d have brought me into the labs in a baby sling.”
The image of young you in a laboratory, holding your father’s hand as Youran chemists show you both what they’re working on comes into Feyd’s mind.  Even though he didn’t know of you when you were children, he can imagine you then, much shorter with a rounder face but with the same bright eyes brimming with curiosity.  The idea makes his heart warm and a smile tugs at his lips.
“I’m sure those laboratory visits were most influential for you,” Feyd says. You nod in return as you put on a pair of gloves and reach under the sash to grab an amber bottle containing a clear liquid from the side of the hood.  
“Absolutely,” you reply as you transfer all the powdered scales into a glass Erlenmeyer flask and add enough of the liquid to cover the solids. You move the flask onto a raised plate in the hood and press a few buttons to begin the heating process.  “I loved watching them do their work. They knew so much about our world, but were still determined to know more.  The way they moved in the lab was like a dance. I desperately wanted to be a part of that, so I began working with them when I was fourteen…”
As Feyd listens to you talk about your past as you work, his admiration of you grows. Your determination and tenacity through failed experiments and stalled projects are astounding to him, and the fact you’ve been able to become a swordswoman on the side this is truly a marvel. Your skill and years of training are evident today, as your body seems to know this process by memory. This in front of him is the product of all those years of effort.
The liquid in the vessel begins to bubble gently. As the moments go by, the liquid takes on the iridescent nature of the scales and becomes a vibrant blue. Removing it from the heat, you strain the liquid through fine mesh into another container, removing all the powdered scales from the mixture.  Looking at the collected solids, Feyd can see the scales have lost their original coloration and turned a chalky off-white. You smile to yourself, knowing that the extraction was effective while you prepare a large volume of a different liquid, also clear and colorless, in a large beaker. 
“Are you ready for the recrystallization?” you ask him, grabbing a syringe and drawing up some of the extract into the barrel. You return to the beaker of liquid and gently tip it sideways with one hand while pointing the tip of the needle at the side of the beaker. Carefully, you begin to squeeze the syringe and the indigo liquid begins to drip out the needle’s tip and trickle down the side of the beaker. As the extract hits the surface of the clear liquid, deep purple crystals seem to flutter out from the point of impact into the liquid instantaneously. Feyds lips part in amazement, unable to tear his gaze away from the process
“How does it work?” he asks, watching as a batch of thin, needle-like crystals start to gather at the bottom of the beaker while the bulk liquid remains colorless. It’s as if all the color of the extract has been contained within the crystals. 
“I use the first liquid to remove the compound from the scales and make a concentrated extract. I then add the extract to a bulk solvent which our compound of interest is insoluble in. The compound forms crystals when the liquids meet because the second liquid is in great excess compared to the first,” you explain, drawing up more extract and adding it to the beaker in the same way. Once you’re out of extract, you squat down to bring your eye level to that of the beaker. “It’s perfect. I don’t think the crystallization has ever gone that well.” 
You’re absolutely beaming as you swirl the crystals suspended in the liquid, admiring how they twinkle in the light. He can’t deny that your excitement is contagious. You collect the crystals by filtering the mix through another filter and spread out the crystals on a metal sheet to allow them to dry before removing your safety glasses, and Feyd follows suit.
“This is the compound I was referring to that night at the Pools of Ashora,” you say to Feyd.  “If we dissolve the crystals in water and drink it, it allows people to retain their body’s water content and reduced the frequency at which people needed to drink water.”
“Fascinating…,” Feyd trails off, staring at the delicate crystals scattered across the surface inside the fume hood. 
“When I was on Youra, I tested the elixir myself,” you say. Hearing you say that you’ve done that, a bolt of fear goes to his heart at the thought of you just drinking a novel chemical. Feyd’s eyes quickly lock onto you, and his neck stiffens. His mind swirls with distress at the possibility of you getting hurt. You may look okay now, but was the elixir difficult for you to stomach? Did it hurt you in the moment?
Looking at him, you’re immediately in tune with his reaction, and you lift your hand up to rest on his arm to calm his nerves. At your touch, he immediately relaxes. “Don’t worry, Feyd. I am alright. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’ve done plenty of trials since I first introduced this fish to you. I assure you it’s safe. I’ve had all of my best scientists on this project, and I had the best doctors in Youra monitor my vitals for two days after the fact.” Feyd nods, knowing if anyone is competent enough to keep you safe, it's yourself and the Youran doctors and researchers. “We still don’t know the exact mechanism of the compound in the body, but we do know there aren’t significant negative side effects on people. Do you trust me?”
“Of course,” Feyd replies, taking the opportunity to bring his hand to your waist and pull you close enough that your lips are almost touching and you’re both staring into each other’s eyes.  “I will always put my faith in you and your work.”
“I’m glad to hear,” you reply, your breath fanning out across his face, which sends shivers down his spine.  “That means a lot, Feyd, we’ve been working hard the last few weeks for this.” Grinning at you, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tips your head up toward his, catching your lips in his.  You quickly take off your gloves and hold his cheeks in your palms, savoring the intimate moment. 
A knock at the door sounds through the room. Feyd grumbles in annoyance as the tension between you releases. You and Feyd look at each other before ending your embrace. You call out “Enter!” in the direction of the doors. A military advisor enters the lab in full uniform with his head low. He immediately drops to his knees in front of both of you to show his respect.
“Baron, Baroness,” he says. “I am deeply sorry for interrupting you both, but I bring critical news from Arrakis.”
“Very well,” Feyd says, straightening up and peering down at the man kneeling before him. “Out with it.”
“There has been an attack by the Fremen. They destroyed eighty percent of the most recent spice crop.” You can tell by the way the man shivers that he is afraid. Nobody ever wanted to be the one to break bad news to Feyd-Rautha. “Count Rabban attempted a counterattack.”
“‘Attempted?’ What happened?” Feyd growls, his eyes flashing in dissatisfaction. You catch Feyd’s hand in your palm as it flies in the direction of the knife he keeps on his person. You shake your head. You tell him there is no use in killing this man because it would be a waste with just a look.  
“Y-Yes, my Lord,” the man says, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You can hear him beginning to hyperventilate despite his best attempts to steady his breath. “Rabban went after the Fremen, but the dust and debris from Rabban’s initial artillery attack made the visibility so poor on the battlefield that only Count Rabban and a few others survived. They were ambushed in the haze; it was a massacre with a casualty rate of seventy two percent and climbing.”
“Over half?!” you gasp, your own fists beginning to clench at Rabban’s blunder.
“Rabban says he saw the Fremen prophet, Muad'dib, on the battlefield before he fled. The Fremen… they are dedicated to him. They kill for him, Baron. Our spice operation is in jeopardy. We await your command.” 
Feyd stiffens, a vein threatening to pop on his temple. He sucks in air through his teeth, infuriated at Rabban’s continued incompetency. The advisor recoils at the noise, shuffling backward toward the door.
“You are dismissed,” you call to him with a huff.  A wave of relief washes over the man as he bows and thanks you before slipping out the door.
“Rabban is a damned fool!” Feyd shouts once you’re alone. “He has had every chance to rectify his mistakes on Arrakis, but he seems to leave his brain behind when he makes decisions and lets this Muad'dib win every time! And now I hear news of abandoning the battlefield at the sight of this prophet? He is a coward! An absolute imbecile! If something doesn’t change soon, the Emperor will take Arrakis from us!” 
You reach your arm out and rest it on his shoulder. In moments, you’ve quelled Feyd’s initial outburst until he’s only seething with fury instead of being on the verge of trashing the entire lab. “I think it’s time to relieve my brother of his duties,” Feyd says after he takes a deep breath. “We shall go to Arrakis to do it. I want to see the look on his face and the hope drain from his eyes when he knows he’s failed. I will take over the operation on Arrakis.  We will do what my brother was incapable of.”
“In that case…,” you say, preparing two glasses of water, adding a pinch of the crystals to each.  The water immediately turns a luminous indigo, and you hand Feyd one of the glasses, which he gladly takes.  You raise your glass in the air. “To victory and to House Harkonnen.”
“To victory and House Harkonnen,” he replies, connecting the rims of your glasses and drinking the entire glass in one go.  The elixir is salty and rich on his tongue as if he’s drinking the essence of the tropical ocean. As the elixir flows into him, he feels a warmth pulsate throughout his body.  He isn’t sure if this is truly the effects of the elixir or just a placebo, but Feyd feels powerful, like he could slaughter a thousand men and still have a hunger for more.  As he meets your gaze, you give him a knowing look. You feel the energy, too. You both shed your laboratory coats and leave the room to prepare for your journey to Arrakis. 
--
The preparations before and journey to Arrakis went without a hitch. You had opted to choose Harkonnen battle gear over your own, but you and Feyd still agreed on concealing your knives under a black Harkonnen dress cloak, still not eager to let anyone know of your true nature. Arriving in Arrakeen, you notice the striking architecture, made up of geometric slabs of tan stone layered to create a fortress to protect its inhabitants.  This time on Arrakis, Feyd doesn’t feel the heat like he used to. It’s as if his body is fighting back against the harsh environment on the desert planet. You feel it, too. You were initially concerned because you had only tested the elixir during the dry months on Youra, which paled in hostility in comparison to Arrakis, but seems the elixir’s protection is more than sufficient.
You and Feyd walk the halls of the fortress side by side, heading to the room where all of the Harkonnen strategists and military officials are. You see them gathered around a digital map projected by a computer in the middle of the room, which shows the locations of all the Harkonnen forces in the north of Arrakis.  Upon seeing their Baron and Baroness side by side, they all freeze and bow.
“Welcome to Arrakis, Baron, Baroness” one of them says. He opens his mouth to continue but Fed cuts him off. 
“Enough,” Feyd hisses at him. “I have orders for you. You are no longer to follow the word of Count Rabban. As of today, he is relieved of his duty as Planetary Governor of Arrakis. You will report directly to and receive orders only from me and your Baroness.”
The room of men immediately shout “Yes, My Lord!” in response. A smirk forms on Feyd's lips at their responsiveness, and he instructs them to hit the Fremen with old-fashioned artillery. As the orders are executed by the Harkonnen military, you watch the map intently as the targets on the map turn green, indicating the Fremen bases are hit successfully. All of the military advisors’ eyes widen in surprise at the genius of Feyd’s strategy as the reports of complete annihilation from the ground forces roll in. 
They all begin to applaud Feyd and as their chants fill the room, your heart fills with pride.  Feyd has finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was always meant to be the leader of House Harkonnen.  As the applause continues, you see Rabban appear in the doorway, a look of surprise disgust on his face. You notice he’s still wearing his nightclothes, and your eyes flash between him and Feyd as Rabban approaches Feyd, Rabban’s legs still stiff from sleep. 
“Leave us,” Feyd instructs the others in the room, who promptly file out. They keep their eyes on the floor, not daring to look at Rabban. They know people who end up alone in a room with Feyd after repeated blunders usually don’t exit the room outside of a body bag. 
“What are you doing here?” Rabban growls at Feyd.
“It’s early morning.  What are you doing here?” Feyd quips back.  Rabban lets out a frustrated huff.
“You can’t just waltz in here,” Rabban says through gritted teeth.  “And how can you bring that woman into the inner sanctum?”  
“How dare you refer to your Baroness like that!” Feyd roars, grabbing Rabban by his collar.  “If you have forgotten, dear Brother, I am Baron now.  I will do as I please and take my wife wherever I wish!” 
Feyd throws Rabban back and he falls on his back hard. In desperation, Rabban tries to scramble to his feet again, but as soon as he’s almost upright, he feels his knees buckle from under him as you kick the backside of his knees in. Rabban’s forehead collides with the stone floor with a visceral crack, and he feels his arm caught in your grip behind him. He groans as you push his arm to the verge of overextension. On his neck, Rabban feels the cool tip of a blade threatening to pierce his skin, which sends a chill down his spine, his head still spinning from impact.
“You should learn to respect your superiors,” you whisper to him as Feyd’s gaze is fixated on you.  The picture before him has a fire rising within him. His breath turns thick and heavy, seeing you over Rabban, your blade on his neck and your foot on his back with a fiendish smile on your lips.  “I would have expected more from my brother-in-law… You are a disgrace to House Harkonen,” you drawl, pressing your dagger’s tip into Rabban’s neck enough to draw blood. Dark crimson blood trickles down Rabban’s neck and he squirms. You remove your foot from his back and step forward to place your shoe by his face. You take the opportunity to kick his cheek in a little with the toe of your shoe before the heel of your combat boot hits the floor by Rabban’s face with a firm thunk. “Kiss my feet, and I may spare your life.”
Rabban quivers under your hold, his palms spread over the stone floor. He considers trying to escape. He could try to press his body up and avoid the blade on his neck and try to sweep your legs out from under you, but he quickly realizes that you are in control. Any movement like that would end with your knife in his chest, back, or neck. Despite his position being compromised, he hesitates to kiss your foot  How could he, Glossu Rabban, kiss a woman’s shoe in submission?
“You heard her, Brother,” Feyd hisses, stepping toward you both as he basks in his brother’s terror.  Feyd stops in front of his brother and squats down to look at him. “Kiss her feet.  Now.” 
After a moment, Rabban quivers and presses his lips against the leather of your shoes. As he does, you see how miserable and pathetic this man below you is. It's truly a shock that this oaf is the brother of your Feyd, who is confident, domineering, and skillful in every way.  
“You made a good decision obeying, Rabban,” you say, releasing the blade on his neck. “I would have wasted a perfectly sharpened knife slitting your throat if you hadn’t cooperated.” You step back from him as he clambers into an upright position. His hand flies to his neck, feeling the blood trickle down his neck and seep into his nightshirt. 
“You are hereby relieved of your duties as Planetary Governor of Arrakis,” Feyd grins at the pitiful sight before him. “You will return to your quarters in the meantime and wait for future instruction.”
Rabban leaves in defeat. Once the doors shut behind him, you and Feyd smirk at each other, and Feyd rushes to you giving you a tender kiss.  “I love you, Baroness,” he murmurs, completely infatuated with you.  
--
A few days later, you stare up into the atmosphere of Arrakis. The Emperor’s craft has just entered the atmosphere. You and Feyd share incredulous looks and you immediately make your way to where the emperor will be docking.  
“What could the emperor want?” you ask Feyd as you walk..  “We restored spice production. It’s never been more efficient.”
Feyd shakes his head, deep in thought.  “I do not know, my love.”  
“I don’t like this, Feyd.” you whisper to him, trying not to let anyone else hear and Feyd nods in return.  “What could have summoned the emperor to Arrakis?”
“We shall see,” he replies. Rabban arrives and bows to you both, which makes you frown. Rabban hasn’t been involved in House Harkonnen’s operations since he was removed. Nevertheless, he still proceeds into the throne room before Feyd or you can dismiss him.   
Inside the throne room, the emperor is perched on a large throne up a large flight of stairs with his daughter and a Bene Gesserit standing by him.  Your eyes narrow seeing the witch’s presence, knowing they have tricks they are not afraid of using to manipulate the great houses. You, Feyd, and Rabban kneel in front of them, bowing your heads.  Before any of you speak, the emperor’s voice rings out. 
“I am sure you are curious as to why I have come to Arrakis,” he begins.  “What do you know of the prophet Muad'dib?”  Rabban speaks up first, saying that Muad'dib is a madman.
“Mad?!” the emperor says.
“All Fremen are mad!” Rabban counters, and the Emperor’s fist clenches around the arm of his throne. You and Feyd shoot daggers at Rabban, and he closes his mouth immediately, putting his head down again which casts his face in shadow.
“We apologize for my brother speaking out of turn,” Feyd says to the Emperor. “Rabban has had no part in the latest work of House Harkonnen. He is not a reliable source of information.  We know Muad'dib is a figure of the Fremen, and they follow his command.”
“Yes,” you say. “He organizes their forces, and they have been effective in battle against many of our forces by hiding in the sands and staging ambushes.  They’ve been effective at destroying our spice harvesters in the past, but we’ve been able to successfully retaliate.” The Bene Gesserit flashes some hand signs at the emperor. She must be able to tell if people are lying or not. 
“What of the prophet’s whereabouts?” the Emperor asks, his voice darkening with frustration at your lack of knowledge.  The emperor’s suggested scorn directed at House Harkonnen is sour on your tongue, and you grit your teeth.  
“We control the north of Arrakis and spice production, Emperor,” you reply, keeping yourself collected.  “We believe Muad'dib has fled to the south to hide in the storms after my husband’s last military tactic was successful in neutralizing their northern bases.” 
As you utter those words, you feel a tremendous boom propagate through the air, causing the building to shudder. Everyone in the room looks up. Some of the diplomats that have accompanied the emperor swallow thickly. You and Feyd exchange knowing glances. Something isn’t right. The Sardaukar forces, who have come to protect the emperor, raise their weapons and get into formation with one line in front of the emperor, who has abandoned the throne in favor of shelter. 
The other line of Sardaukar forms a line opposite the entrance way, as more explosions can be heard beyond the walls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rabban slip away, ever the coward. You feel Feyd’s touch on your arm as he beckons you to position yourself behind the defenses with the other diplomats. From your shared position, you both wait and listen intently. The others in the room are paralyzed in a cold sweat, but you and Feyd are silently watching, waiting, and listening, already gathering information on the situation to calculate your next move.
Dust fills the room as another bang resonates throughout the room and the barrier breaks down. The frontline of the Sardaukar advance, weapons at the ready. As they disappear into the dust, you know they aren’t coming back. The room is almost entirely quiet, but through the haze you hear the barely audible but familiar sound of daggers piercing armor, slitting throats, and tearing flesh. The remaining Sardaukar dig their heels in as a figure emerges through the orange debris, wrapped in tan fabrics caked in others’ blood. His face is concealed by a scarf, and the only flesh of his you see are his eyes, blue from spice. He is accompanied by an army. Judging by the amount of noise they made on their arrival, you and Feyd know there are probably hundreds of them. Fighting your way out is not an option. This must be the prophet Muad'dib.
Muad'dib looks around with his blade drawn, seemingly searching for someone as he enters the room.  You see him and Feyd make eye contact. Feyd’s eyes narrow at him in curiosity. When Muad'dib does not find who he is looking for, he turns the crowd of people behind the Sardaukar guards. Most of the diplomats instinctively take a step back. He makes eye contact with the emperor before turning to his own forces and hissing something in a foreign tongue which you presume to be Chakobsa, Fremen language. He exits the room back into the crowd of Fremen who chant for him, waving their war banners.  You see they bear the hawk insignias of House Atreides. The son of Duke Leto Atreides is alive. 
The Fremen advance, easily slaying the last remaining Sardaukar. Many of the diplomats shudder and jump in surprise as the Fremen plunge their daggers into the Sardaukar warriors, who are powerless to stop them. Once they are all dead and their blood is spread across the floor in crimson red pools, the Fremen start grabbing the rest of you by your arms, and you are all dragged away one by one. You are being taken prisoner. You look to Feyd, who gives you a subtle nod as if to say “go along with it,” and you do.
--
You’ve laid low all in the confinement the Fremen have kept you in all night, not eager to give any of them a reason to kill you. Silently, you’ve been analyzing your situation, trying to figure out a way to achieve an optimal outcome, which you feel is slipping through your fingers. Since you have been taken prisoner, you can only presume that the rest of the Sardaukar and the Harkonnen army have been slaughtered and their bodies burned before daybreak. You and Feyd are likely the last living Harkonnens on Arrakis.  
After sunrise, you are called upon by a faceless Fremen, who orders all of the prisoners to follow. You are reunited with Feyd, who takes your hand, careful not to let the Fremen see this gesture of affection as to not allow them any leverage. His touch automatically makes you as at ease you can be, given that you are both captives without allies. 
Arriving in a room with the other prisoners, you see the surviving Fremen mingling and congratulating one another. The man from before stands in the clearing of the room without his face covering, his black wavy hair framing his face. Feyd turns to you and mouths “Atreides.” You nod in understanding, and watch as Paul Atreides addresses the Emperor, challenging him for the throne. Looking out the window, you see warships in the distant sky.  The other great houses have arrived and Paul Atreides threatens to destroy all the spice fields if the houses intervene. 
“Stand yourself or choose your champion,” he orders the Emperor, who turns to Feyd.  
“I select Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” the emperor declares. “Get him a blade.” You inhale sharply, knowing this means Feyd must fight to the death against a man who has already slain many in battle and emerged victorious from the bloodbath of the previous night. You trust Feyd’s skill, but you know not to underestimate Paul Atreides. Feyd’s eyes flicker toward you. He knows what you’re thinking and gives you a slight nod as if to promise he will fight his hardest, not for the emperor, but for you. He is presented with a blade by one of the members of the emperor’s council. To your surprise, Feyd pushes it away and turns to you. Coming to stand in front of you, he gestures downward toward your legs, where your daggers are still strapped to your thighs out of sight.
“Feyd, are you sure?” you say to him, your voice small. 
“I want to use your blade. Please let me fight for you,” Feyd whispers. You nod and reach down to fulfill his request, drawing one of your Youran weapons from your garters. When you hand it to him, Feyd feels the familiar heft of your dagger in his hand, which makes him grin. Just as he remembers, it’s expertly balanced and perfectly crafted, its pointed tip shining in the low orange light of the room. He smiles, recalling the night you handed him the same blade, the first time he saw your true nature. He twirls the knife in his grip with a flourish of his wrist as he stands opposite Paul Atreides. 
“It’s nice to finally meet you, cousin,” Paul says.
“Cousin…” Feyd says, continuing to evaluate Paul for his weaknesses. “You wouldn’t be the first family member I’ve killed.”
His words don’t phase you. You’re well aware of Feyd’s family history. You clasp your hands in each other in front of your chest, willing Feyd to be the victor. Paul Atreides straightens himself and salutes Feyd. “May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul says with a gruff tone, lowering himself into a battle stance and pointing his knife at Feyd. Feyd smirks, raising your weapon. The sight of it in his hand is gratifying for Feyd. Despite standing alone against Paul, it’s as if you are both in this fight together with him wielding your weapon. 
“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Feyd returns and within moments, they're after each other, having an all out brawl in the middle of the room. They each swipe at each other with reaction times like lightning.  The sounds of blades crashing against one another, the low smacks of their bodies colliding, and their grunts of exertion fill the room. You have to admit, Paul Atreides is an impressive fighter. He’s quick on his feet and swiftly dodges and counters many of Feyd’s attacks, but it is obvious that Feyd is the one with strength on his side. The only way for Atreides to win is if he is able to find a way to use that strength against Feyd.
You’re barely breathing at this point. Your facade of stoicism threatens to crumble when you see Paul Atreides’ forehead connect firmly with your husband’s nose. To your surprise, you don’t see any blood on Feyd’s face. Paul Atreides’ head is thrown back after almost bouncing off of Feyd’s nose. Paul’s head seems to be spinning as he stumbles backward on uneven footing.  Feyd recognizes Paul’s debilitated state is fleeting, and takes advantage of the moment, striking Paul again. The tangle of limbs is intense, but in the blink of an eye, you see Feyd disarm Paul, taking Paul’s knife for his own.  
As they break away from one another, Paul Atreides is heaving, struggling to breathe as the leather bound hilt of your dagger protrudes from his abdomen. He’s wheezing as his own blood seeps into his battle gear. His allies gaze upon the sight in shock, some wincing in second-hand pain.
Feyd approaches him promptly, and grabs Paul by the scruff of his neck, raising Paul’s own knife at him. Paul Atreides uses his own gloved hand to grab the blade, trying to push it away, but Feyd leans in, forcing the blade to slip further into Paul’s grip, cutting the flesh of Paul’s hand open with a sickening noise, the tip of the knife getting closer to piercing Paul’s neck.
The next moment, you feel like screaming. The dagger, once poised to slice open Paul Atreides’ neck, is no longer in the air visible to you. Paul Atreides has used his grip on Feyd’s blade to redirect the tip toward the stomach of your husband. Your hands fly to your mouth, tears threatening to spill.  The force Feyd puts behind his blade at that proximity is fatal. 
The memories of meeting Feyd on Youra, fighting by his side against Ozran, plotting into the early hours to kill his despicable uncle, your wedding ceremony in front of House Harkonnen, and the moments of tenderness and affection he’s given you in private flash through your mind. Your stomach writhes, and your heart shrivels into itself, and your mind begins to confront the idea that you now must mourn the life you and Feyd had assembled. Another thought flashes through your mind. You’ll likely be killed after this with the rest of the prisoners in this room, and die alone without your husband, lightyears away from your people on Youra and Giedi Prime. You’ve failed.
Through your tears, you stare at the scene as the air and the people surrounding you are completely still.  However, something gives you pause. You hear something hit the floor look down to the area under Feyd and Paul’s feet. You spy fragments of metal, broken into uneven shards, scattered across the floor. However, there is no blood to be seen.  Your eyes shoot to Feyd, who is also looking down to where they both hold the hilt of the broken knife. 
Without a second to spare, Feyd’s hand flies to your knife in Paul’s side, ripping it out of him. Paul cries out in agony, the removal of the knife causing a blood curdling squelch of skin and muscle ripping. The next moment, Feyd slits Paul Atreides’ throat with a grand swing of his arm, sending blood splatter fanning across the floor. The pregnant woman seated in the wooden throne bearing the Atreides crest lets out a high pitched shriek, and she begins to wail, seeing the light from her son’s eyes fade as his body crumples to the floor. A Fremen woman across from you lets out a shaky breath, her lip quivering and tears pool near her bright blue eyes as Paul Atreides’ fresh blood collects in a puddle on the stone floor under the gaping hole in his neck.
Feyd turns back to you, bloody blade in hand and lets out a deep exhale, allowing the tension in his own chest to dissipate. He had thought he was dead, too, but no. He is alive. He is victorious, and he gets to look into your eyes again, knowing that he has done his job for you.
Kneeling, Feyd presents the emperor with the soiled blade. The emperor smiles and pronounces Paul Atreides, the prophet Muad'dib, to be dead and Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as the victor. In defeat, the ally of Paul, identified as Gurney Halleck, relays a message to the great houses of the outcome of the fight.  The emperor’s reign shall continue, and your husband is alive. You push your way past the others in the crowd and throw yourself at Feyd, who cradles you in his arms, running his fingers through your hair, whispering to you “Please don’t shed any more tears, my love. I am still here… I wouldn’t leave you that easily.”
“I thought I lost you,” you choke out and Feyd shakes his head, using his thumb to wipe away the tear stains on your cheeks. 
“You haven’t and you won’t,” he replies, his hands holding your body steady. “Let’s go home.”
Holding your knees to your chest, you sit in a private chamber on the Emperor’s vessel as it leaves the atmosphere of Arrakis to take you and Feyd back to Giedi Prime, which was the least the emperor could do given that Feyd nearly died for him. One of Feyd’s hands rests on your waist, holding you firmly in his grip while the other rubs gentle circles on your shoulder with his thumb.  Feyd watches as your eyes dart side to side, which happens when you’re deep in though. 
“What is on your mind, my love?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.  
“I’m thinking about your battle with Paul Atreides,” you reply. “The knife broke when he tried to turn the tables on you, didn’t it?” Feyd nods, bringing his hand down to the spot on his abdomen where the knife was. “May I see where it was?” you ask and Feyd obliges, creating a small bit of distance between the two of you so that you can get a good look at his torso.  
You bring your hand to where Feyd’s armor has been sliced open by the blade. Bringing the other hand to his body, you gently spread the layers of fabric and leather apart to look through the hole. Underneath, you see Feyd’s familiar pale skin and his chiseled abdominal muscles that you’ve always loved to drag your fingers across. His skin appears to be absolutely pristine without a single nick or bruise in sight. You bring your head closer to get a better look before saying, “There isn’t evidence of any damage to your skin, Feyd. Your body is like the battle never happened. There isn’t a trace of impact.” As soon as you utter the last word in the sentence, you freeze and your lips part ever so lightly as your mind races to connect the dots. He knows that look on you, and he sees the gears turning in your mind. 
“Impact…,” you mumble to yourself. Your eyes shoot up to Feyd’s  “During the battle there was a moment when Paul Atreides’ head collided with your nose.” Your hand flies to his cheek to steady his head. You examine his nose, using your hand to tilt his head side to side. Everything about his face is unchanged, which shouldn’t be the case, especially after a fight like that and the headbutt he endured from Paul. You tip his head back. Again, there is no blood or breakage. 
Your mind begins to race as you return your hands to your husband’s torso. Your hands fumble as you attempt to remove the layers of armor in between you and Feyd’s skin. Feyd realizes what you’re doing and soon enough he’s shirtless in front of you. You extend your hand out and drag your hand over his stomach. You press your fingers firmly down onto his abdominal region and upper body repeatedly, changing the area you’re putting pressure on each time. He feels solid under your touch and not in the way you’re used to. Feyd has always been bulky and muscular, hardened from years of training, but something about this is different. It’s like his body has the durability of an alloy the researchers on Youra could only dream of engineering, but he’s still flesh and blood. Bring your fingers to your own stomach, pressing your fingers against your own front, and you gasp. “That’s it!” you exclaim.
“What is it?” he asks, knowing you are on the edge of an epiphany. 
“It’s the elixir!” you gasp, standing up and holding your head in disbelief  “It saved your life!”
 “I thought it was only to help the body retain water,” Feyd says as you get up and begin circling the room.
“Don’t you remember? That’s the end result of the elixir, but we were still unsure of the mechanism by which that happens!” you exclaim. “Remember the night I showed you the fish? I said that the fish sheds its scales at the beginning of the wet season. What I didn’t tell you is that the wet season is the only time of year we can get the scales off the fish because they fall off naturally. Our scientists have tried to get the scales before the transition of the seasons, but they've always been unable to pry the scales off or kill them because it was impossible to slice open the fish. No matter how much we sharpened the knives, we couldn’t cut them open!”
“That’s how the fish retain water in the dry season. The fish develop these scales with this compound that transforms their own bodies into a shield from the elements, so that water can’t escape. I’ve always wondered how a fish would be able to survive the whole dry season on a dried up lake bed.  This compound is why the fish species hasn’t gone extinct! When they’re sitting in their dried up ponds, no predators can eat them because their bodies are too tough to pierce,” you surmise, delight filling your complexion. “By drinking that compound, the same thing has happened to our bodies! You were able to survive the battle because your skin became this impenetrable barrier that lets you keep your water that just so happens to be impervious to outside attacks as well! That’s also why your nose didn’t break and why Paul Atreides was so disoriented after he struck you with his head. It was as if he rammed his head into a steel wall.  Researchers on Youra didn't catch this effect in the clinical trials because we don’t just go stabbing all of our test subjects with knives or subjecting them to blunt force trauma, especially not for a study about water retention!”
Feyd hardly believes what he’s hearing, but he knows it's true. Everything you’re saying makes perfect sense.  Memories from the battle flash in his mind.  He remembers his arm is suddenly bending toward himself, feeling the rough surface of the broken blade scrape against his abdomen, but the pain he had been trained to resist since childhood never hitting his senses. He brings himself to his feet and pulls you into his arms, squeezing you as tight as he can muster. “You are phenomenal, my dear,  I can’t believe you figured that out,” he murmurs to you. “Thank you.  I owe you my life.”
He lowers his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s never done before. You both cling to one another, relieved you are both alive and safe. Feyd holds the back of your head and runs his fingers through your locks tenderly, thinking about how far you both have come in this short amount of time. Mere months ago, you were a stranger he had the obligation to meet and marry. He knew he would have to enter a loveless relationship with you in the name of alliances. He tried to convince himself you were a woman he wanted to make a plaything out of.  Before, he was intent on manipulating, breaking, and exploiting you for his own amusement. Those ideas feel so foreign to Feyd now as he revels in your affections and caresses your cheek. 
Looking down at you, he sees you for what you are. You are the most beautiful being to ever exist.  Nothing past or present will ever compare to you, and it brings tears to his eyes, knowing you are his wife and he is your husband. You are the culmination of all House Ronen and House Harkonnen have worked for, a true representation of the union of your two houses, and the pinnacle of all Feyd has come to hold dear. You are where brain meets brawn, where tradition meets modernity, and the pride and joy of Feyd’s life. You are simply everything. 
-- 
Thanks for reading!  I can’t believe the series is over (but I'm also considering writing an epilogue, but I have some requests coming down the pipeline, so we'll see about that. lmk if that's something you might be interested in...). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed Knives Dance! :)
Also is it obvious I study chemistry yet?
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dumbingofage · 28 days ago
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i've been excited about this chapter since the title was first visible in the archive. are you excited to finally re-introduce joyce to her big sister? & how did you figure out the 'right' moment to do this arc?
i kept on putting it off because i wanted joyce to find out about carla first but i kept on putting THAT off because i didn't really feel excited about writing Joyce Does A Transphobia, and i put it off so long that it turns out that at this point in her college year whoops joyce is going to actually be aggressively well-meaning which is its own kind of terrible but way better than it would have been earlier
but as you can see i made that happen
of course, jocelyne's return is kind of the catalyst for a whole bunch of other stuff, so we'll see what happens now that i've got the snowball rolling down the hill
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bubblybloob · 1 year ago
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Whoop I finished my reverse Damsel idea. I briefly discussed her in two other posts but I’m going to go further into her here with a better grasp on what she’s about
Pretty long ramble below, so watch out.
Basically, instead of warning her/resisting the Narrator in chapter 1, you, thinking you can’t overpower him, attempt to slay yourself. The Princesses stares at you in horror as you cut into your own neck (this is the route where you don’t initially bring the knife so she’s the more sympathetic version).
She attempts to wrench the blade from you because she has no idea why you’re doing this and doesn’t want you to die. Whether or not she gets the knife though doesn’t matter, because it’s too late and you die.
(Still am stuck on what sort of voice I want. Had a lot of suggestions on stuff like a Martyr sort of voice or one similar to the old Meek voice but the problem mostly stems from characterizing them in a different way to the other voices, which is something I can’t figure out given the situation).
Chapter 2 is titled “The Fae”.
The main room is primarily made of stone, with many unidentifiable chiseled metals and rock, but you don’t stay here for long, nor get given the option of taking the blade, as choosing to approach the blade or the basement will activate a trapdoor that will send you falling to your death. Just as you’re about to meet your demise, something grabs your palm. Looking up, you see the princess, swinging from the ceiling with you in hand.
The Fae is strange, originally she was going to be similarly shallow in nature like the Damsel, but I would compare her uncanniness more to the Razor, with a constant smile, eerie stare, and maybe an off putting voice.
She’s pretty blunt on what she wants, the satisfaction of saving you from this awful cabin and leaving together! Despite her more than ginger attitude towards you (she acts like you are made of glass), she’s actually quite egotistical, with her occasionally praising herself and puffing up whenever she receives applause from you.
She makes unintentional jabs at your incompetency and reminds you “it’s not your fault you’re not cut out for this, really! I’ll get us out of here my handsome corvid!” and sort of talks down to you and always acts like she’s the smartest in the room (and she probably is depending on what voice I make up for the route). She’s also weirdly fixated on your safety and goes above and beyond to protect you from even the smallest splinter, she’d act like you were dying if you got so much as a scratch.
(All of her traits are exacerbated to a worse degree in chapter 3).
Edit: I forgot to mention all of her behavior is inspired by the fae. I forgot that some people aren’t as well versed in fae lore. Fae are, from what I have heard, pretty selfish, manipulative, and possessive all while being downright ethereal, so I gave her a dose of all of those traits and toned it down a smidge.
Her appearance is also meant to be slightly unnerving. She has long elf like ears and eyes that are surrounded by shadow, with large black pits in the center of her eye that are impossible to tell if they are part of her pupil or not. She also gives off a very faint, white light, it’s almost imperceptible but it’s there.
Her dress is more of a skirt than anything with a sash that has long ribbon like ends that are every length all at once at any given time. They easily wrap themselves around objects even if it shouldn’t be physically possible, and she uses them to swing from the ceiling (spider princesses). Her “crown” is made up of a few translucent butterflies that seem attracted to her like magnets, occasionally they flutter about but usually they sit on her head.
I like to think that there are hints to the fact her butterflies aren’t real, just extensions of herself. They might flicker in and out of existence if she’s upset with you or stressed about something.
Another thing of note, like with some other princesses like Nightmare or Thorn or something, she has no chain. (Maybe there’s some creepy dialogue option where she reveals she broke it with her teeth or something more crazy).
Anyway, the princesses states that everything is fine and that this time around she’s going to be the one to rescue you. She fully intends for both of you to escape, and for you to just follow her lead, because she’s going to make sure you’re alright and that nothing will hurt you.
If you follow along she will save you from the dangers ahead, the basement of the cabin has been increased in size and there are rooms with rolling boulders, pits of spikes, etc. These sections aren’t too long, there’s probably like five explore options along with two or three choices you can make per room and there’s only like three of said rooms.
At the end she literally carries you out of the cabin and swings you around all like “We did it! I’m out and you’re safe! Not even a scratch on you, didn’t I do a good job?” Before mentioning how cold it is and getting taken to Ohio by the Shifting Mound.
There is another way this can end however. There are two potential ways to get to this I think.
If you keep questioning her when shes says something’s wrong at some point you get killed by some random trap while you’re distracted. You get killed and probably end up with the Skeptic.
If you don’t let her do the work and instead try to do too many things yourself you also eventually get killed by a trap and probably end up with Stubborn or Contrarian depending on your actions.
There might be a different third chapter that you can get to from another princess but idk what it would be so I’m sticking with the more direct continuation chapter.
You still don’t get the knife here and fall through another trapdoor. This time she doesn’t catch you and instead has already prepared something beneath where you fall to catch you. It’s probably just a plush room, somewhat reminiscent of the Stranger route’s soft stairs, but less existentially horrifying.
Here the princess thinks that maybe leaving the cabin with her is why you keep dying and so tries to convince you staying is the only option and that something bigger is trying to kill you off when you try to leave with her (she’s not wrong that there’s something bigger at play but she isn’t exactly right either). She’s too selfish to just let you leave without her even if her weird logic states that you’d be fine as long as she doesn’t leave with you, so all protests are shut down and she tries to force you if you complain.
If you got Skeptic there is the option of actually convincing her and that no matter what you’ll listen to her every word and you’ll escape together. She’ll listen and similar events to last time will play out, only this time the traps are deadlier but are made much more traversable due to the fact that she gives no fucks and will destroy every obstacle with ease. This time you actually leave and once again Ohio comes and gets her (I like to imagine The Narrator pulls the locked basement door trick and here she just punches through it and stares expectantly at you to turn handle from the other side with the newly created hole).
If you have Stubborn you can attempt to fight her. It probably won’t work at first because she’s the literal fae. But the Narrator, knowing you’re trying to fight now, will make the blade magically fall from the same trapdoor you fell from. And its iron touch can sizzle faerie skin. She doesn’t necessarily want to fight you, but if she has to rough you up some to get you to see things her way, she’ll do it. If you fuck up you’ll probably break something that you need to move or attack with and lose the fight, and she gets taken. If you don’t fuck up and win, same result except she’s got a knife in her chest when the mound comes and nabs her.
With Contrarian you choose to stay with her because funny boy wants to mess with the Narrator. I think maybe one of the traps somehow ends up infiltrating whatever “safe room” you’re in (probably because you’re thoughts spiraling on the thought of not actually being safe and dying again because that’s all you’ve done so far, so your perception kills you. Not sure what trap would kill you, maybe the rolling boulder crashes through the roof or something idk) and ends up fatally wounding you, making it the third time she couldn’t protect you, she stands over your body because “I had this planned, you should’ve been safe, how could this happen???” Before Ohio comes.
Whatever ending you get, she will make for a courageous heart.
I like to think you can kill her with Contrarian and get stuck with her with Stubborn, it’s just that they’d prefer and encourage you to do the opposite. The Skeptic is the only one where you can actually try to leave with her, again you can do the other options but having him is the only path where you can try to escape in the 3rd chapter.
I do have a 3rd chapter design in mind, but I’ll probably need to work on it some.
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ihearthes · 2 years ago
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Title: Hole in One
Author: @ihearthes
Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)
Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)
Word Count: 3100
The sky is the bluest it’s been in months, and I hear birds singing from the trees surrounding the private course. My clubs have been unused for far too long, and I cannot wait to feel the grass beneath my feet. Spying my grandparents talking to a young man who I assume is the club’s pro, I make my way in their direction, eager to get onto the green. The giddy skip in my step is undeniably partly due to the excitement of playing the game again, but mostly because I’ve not seen my jetsetter grandparents since Christmas. 
“Grammy! Gramps!” I call, my hand waving as they turn towards me. Wrapping my grandmother in a hug, I put out my hand for a high five with my grandfather. Gleefully, he obliges. 
“So glad you could join us!” Grammy whoops. “Let me look at you.” Taking my hands, she steps back to survey me in that way that must be a full chapter in the Grandparent Training Manual. “Looking sexy as hell,” she laughs, her greeting likely not in that same manual. “Twirl for us.” She makes that motion with her finger, and I oblige.
As I spin around, my skort not moving in any way that would make a twirl necessary, my grandfather applauds as if I were a five year old at her first ballet recital. 
“Two of the biggest dorks I know,” I giggle. “I’m so happy to see you!” Excitedly, I pull them in for a group hug, wondering why the golf pro hasn’t excused himself yet. So when I step back, I pointedly look in his direction. 
And promptly freeze. 
Fuck. Nope. Not the golf pro. Nor the course manager. Not anyone who works at the place. 
“Hi. I’m Harry.” He leans forward to shake my hand, his left leg raising behind him as a counterbalance to his inclining body. “You must be Birdy.” 
Horrified, I grasp his warm hand, my eyes roaming over his face with that stupid hair clip firmly holding back his bangs and his green eyes examining me, a smile on his face as his dimple deepens. Flustered, I don’t give him my birth name. “A nickname, of course,” I remark inanely. 
“I’m just hoping it doesn’t bode ill for my game today.” His gray pants are matched with a dark blue pullover sweater, a white turtleneck underneath. 
How my mouth continues to work is beyond me, but I throw my head back and laugh loudly. Probably too loudly as I’m feeling a mixture of terror and arousal, and the laughter is decidedly nervous. “I’ve never been a threat to anyone on the golf course,” I comment.
“With grandparents as young as yours, I expected someone younger.” Harry thinks he’s being coy, but my grandmother responds honestly. 
“We’re ancient, Harry, and our Birdie is 31 now. And not getting any younger.” Pointedly, she looks at me as though I had offended her in some way. 
“We’re up,” Gramps points, and we haul our clubs to the first tee. 
“What’s your handicap?” Harry asks as Gramps swings a few times for practice. 
“23,” I announce proudly, on the low end of average. “You?”
“14,” he brags, adding a wink for good measure, an indication that he is aware of his boast. Not that I can complain since I’ve also gloated about my below-average number. He’s too handsome and charming for my comfort, and I engage my attention on my clubs, polishing my driver before withdrawing it from my bag. 
Amiable enough, Harry diverts his focus onto my grandmother, and I’m grateful for the respite to catch my breath. 
“You must go first, Vivienne.”
I want to interrupt and tell him we always go with the oldest first, which is my gramps, but my grandmother has already fallen for Harry’s charm, and she giggles like a schoolgirl as she makes her way to the tee. 
After my grandfather and I have each teed off, Harry prepares for his turn. In those tight golf trousers, his arse is as well defined as the ostentatious naked statue in the fountain at the entrance to the golf club. I find myself unable to stop staring as he bends down to place his tee, and his form when he swings is a thing of beauty. No wonder he has a low handicap. Why couldn’t he be a failure at just one thing in his life? And why couldn’t it be golf? 
Noting where his ball lands, Harry removes his sunnies from the vee of his sweater and slides them over his eyes, shielding his expression. With a nod at the three of us, he twists his body, ready to move on. 
“Shall we?” Gramps gestures, and I hoist my clubs onto my shoulder again, setting off behind the elderly couple who head for a single golf cart. “Sorry, Birdy.” He casually throws over his shoulder as we approach the small vehicle. “We got the last cart. You and Harry will have to walk. But don’t worry. Your grandmother and I will do our best not to burn rubber.” 
If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if my grandparents were trying to play matchmakers. But they wouldn’t have any idea who Harry is. Although maybe it doesn’t matter to them. Perhaps my grandparents just want to pair me up with any Tom, Dick, or ….Harry.
“Mhm. See that you don’t get a speeding ticket, Gramps!” I yell as they take off, leaving Harry and I trailing behind. 
“You seem like a chip off the old block,” Harry jokes as we hike towards the hole. “Get it? Cause a chip is a golf shot.” 
“Oh, I understood the joke, but it was bad,” I groan. “No ifs, ands, or putts about it.” 
His eyes widen. “I see. It’s like that, is it?”
We both giggle, and when he shoves my shoulder at my next golf pun, I wonder if he’s flirting with me. As if Harry Styles needed to flirt with anyone. 
It’s on the fourth fairway that my Gramps gets involved with a joke of his own. “Hey, Harry?”
“Yes, sir?” The polite reply comes as I’m replacing my divot. 
“Why do the golf pros tell you to keep your head down during golf lessons?” 
“I don’t know, Rufus.” Harry withdraws his 3-wood and addresses the ball, shaking his hips in such a way that if my grandparents weren’t around, I’d probably faint. “Why?”
“So you can’t see them laughing.” Gramps guffaws, and Harry shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilted up as he takes a deep breath and launches his ball closer to the green. 
My grandparents always make me laugh, but today they seem in finer form than usual, as they joke with Harry, my grandmother clearly vamping. Before today, I’ve never wondered if my grandfather was anything other than straight, but the way he touches Harry at every opportunity makes the wheels in my head churn. 
On the 8th hole, Grammy takes a mulligan after her ball sails into the water hazard, just short of making it across. She sighs, pulling another ball from her bag and muttering goodnaturedly to Harry. “Golf balls are just like eggs. They’re white, round, and you need another dozen every week.” 
Harry slaps his knee as he giggles at her pathetic joke. I can almost convince myself that he’s having the time of his life playing golf with these 78-year-olds. He gives every appearance of enjoying the late afternoon game. No wonder no one has anything unkind to say about him. Well, no one he’s met anyway. 
As we walk to the 9th hole, I decide to dive in and bravely ask the question that’s been on my mind for the last two and a half hours. “Why did you join us today?” 
Startled, he twists his head to look at me. “You had three. I was a late single player. The pro added me to your party. Simple.” 
“Okay.” I draw the word out, wondering if I should ask the follow-up question, and when he continues glancing at me curiously, I go for it. “But why do you have a free day today? And why didn’t you bring someone with you?” 
He turns his head away from me, but I still see that left dimple deepen as he shrugs. “I decided on a whim that I wanted to golf in this perfect weather, and my manager was busy preparing for tomorrow night’s show.” Turning around, he walks backwards so he can face me. “But I never thought I’d meet such a fun –” his eyes never leave mine, “and sexy companion.” 
I can feel the red creeping up from my toes through my body to flush my face. How does he do it? Flirting so openly without being gross? If anyone else had delivered that line, I would have gagged. Instead, I pretend that his comment has had no effect on me – like I’m not going to need dry panties before dinner with my grandparents.
“Harry!” My grandfather yells from where he and my grammy have stopped at my ball. “You better watch where you’re going! Sometimes people don’t replace their divots.” 
The musician nods to me courteously as though he hadn’t just made my heart flutter. Turning to face forward, he continues on the pathway where we finish the 9th hole. 
“Birdie,” Grammy stoutly announces to me as she climbs back into the cart. “Your grandfather and I are tired. We’re going to head to the clubhouse and have a drink, but you and Harry should play the back nine.” With that, my grandparents wave to us as their cart drives off towards the start. 
Oh. 
Well. 
That was unexpected. 
This is unexpected. 
Harry has put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “Well?” He watches me carefully, and I know the decision to continue is mine. 
“I doubt I’ll get to play with someone like you again, so we might as well continue.” 
“Someone like me? A celebrity?” Seeming genuinely confused, he removes his sunnies and scratches his head near that damn hair clip. 
“A duffer,” I tease.
“If that’s the case, it’s because your beauty has distracted me from my game today.” His eyes twinkle when he makes the comment, and that’s the moment I know the flirting is on in earnest. 
When we reach the 12th green, I can’t stand being so close to him without letting him know I am up for more. As he squares up for his putt, but before he pulls the club back to take the shot, I whisper loud enough for his ears only, “If you miss this putt, I’ll let you kiss me.” He doesn’t hesitate, taking the shot that rolls right at my feet where I’m holding the flag. And yet somehow the ball doesn’t go in. 
“Does that deal count if I accidentally missed?” 
Biting my lip, I tilt my head and observe him. “Hmmm…I’m not sure. It’s kind of offensive that you wouldn’t want to miss it on purpose. I mean, here I am, perfectly kissable. I’m going to say no. It doesn’t count.” 
Stalking towards me, he picks up his golf ball and tosses it to the edge of the green. “How about now?” His voice is a growl, and he’s standing close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his body. 
Fuck. He’s so hot. Beyond sexy. 
I glance around the course quickly to see if anyone is nearby. Spotting no one, I tilt my head up to him. Harry grabs my chin with two fingers, staring into my eyes before he brushes his lips over mine. The moan that emits from my throat is heartfelt and demands more from him, but he steps back, his hand dropping to his side. 
Hooded eyes rake over me, and he smirks. “You’ve never met a golfer with a more delicate stroke than me.” 
“Promises, promises,” I tut, holding out the flag for him to take so I can putt. 
A few holes later, and all pretense has dropped as Harry rests his hands on my hips while I’m lining up my shot. “Are you sure you know how to hold a shaft correctly?” His voice in my ear is so gravelly that I want to drop onto my knees right there on the fairway and show him exactly how skilled I am at handling a shaft.
“Be careful there, Harry,” I murmur, “You’re like a water hazard. You’ve got me soaking wet.” 
“Fuck.” Stepping back from me, he shakes his head. “How many holes?” 
“Three,” I comment, and my eyes bat of their own accord, I swear! 
“Jesus!” He runs his hand over his face. “You’re like a fairway: short, well-groomed, and a pleasure to hit on.” 
“Are you saying you’d like to improve our stroke game together?” 
“I’m saying that I’m not going to make it back to the clubhouse at this rate.”
“Well…” I approach him, again searching the nearby greens for golfers, “...my golf coach says I have a firm grip. Do you want to see if it’s true?” 
“Birdy…” His voice is strangled as I ease my hand over the front of his trousers, feeling his length where it’s tucked safely high and to the left. The air exits his lungs at a faster velocity than a golf swing. “Get your clubs,” he commands, roughly replacing the putter he’d withdrawn and grabbing my hand. 
Yanking me behind him, Harry leads the way towards the parking lot where he uses an electronic key to open the vehicle and throw in his clubs before grabbing my golf bag and more gently placing it on top of his so that the two golf bags look to be spooning. 
“Get in,” he insists, and I don’t hesitate to scurry to the passenger side. 
“Where are we going?” I ask, my hands in my lap after I’ve buckled the seatbelt. The quivering in the lower part of my body will only be appeased in one way.
“Shit. I’ve no idea,” he sighs, not putting the car in drive. “My hotel is too far.” 
“Switch places with me,” I suggest, knowing exactly where we can go. 
With a single nod, the two of us climb from the vehicle and pass each other silently and aggressively on our way to opposite sides. Buckled in, I back the car from the lot and drive the two miles to my grandparents’ house. 
“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” I state. “Open the garage before the neighbors spot us.” I share the code, and Harry follows my directions. Without drawing too much attention, we’ve sequestered ourselves in the garage, with Harry waiting impatiently for me to get out of the car. 
The moment I step from the driver’s side onto the pavement of my grandparents’ garage, Harry approaches me, his hands cupping my face as he devours my lips. I do not hesitate, opening to him as my fingers fumble for the bottom of that fucking blue sweater I’ve been jealous of all afternoon because it gets to hug his curves. As I draw the sweater up, he releases my face to raise his arms over his head, and I don’t hesitate, repeating the gesture with his white turtleneck. 
As soon as his skin is free from the clothing, his mouth crashes back onto mine as his long lush fingers make short work of my white polo. He’s backed me almost to the stairs that lead to the house, and he wraps an arm around my nearly naked back just as I’m about to topple over onto them. 
“Where?” His breath is scented with the mint from his gum, and I feel the waft of it across my cheek. 
My brain scrambles. My grandparents’ house. Quickly I discard the master bedroom and the sofa in the living room. Grasping his hand, I haul us both to the only room that makes sense. Stopping to frantically kiss this amazing man, I reach behind me to unhook my bra, his fingers brushing over my boobs as soon as they are bare. 
When I open the door to our destination, Harry pauses, his eyes widening as he takes in the golf trophies, photos of my grandparents with famous golfers on the paneled walls, and the putting green. Shaking his head, he laughs, and the crinkles at his eyes make my panties even wetter. 
“I like my men like a sand trap: dirty, challenging, and unpredictable.” Although I’ve attempted to make the joke with a straight face, I fail miserably as I dissolve into giggles. 
With a face palm, Harry laughs too, glancing at the putting green. “No way am I fucking on that fake turf. One of us would end up with scraped knees, and I don’t know if I would prefer it be you or me.” 
“No question there,” I purr as I drop to my knees in front of him and reach for the button and zipper on his trousers. “I’ve been drooling for this shaft all afternoon.” 
“Well, I am known for my lengthy club.” The smirk on his face drops away as I free his cock and give it a few strokes before sliding my lips over the end and applying light pressure. Pushing his pants and underpants down his thighs, I reach for his balls. “Oh, fuck,” he sucks in air. “I had planned to wash my balls after the game today, but you’re welcome to….ahhhhhh.” The way the sound escapes his mouth when I do as he suggests and lave his balls with my tongue has me hotter than a July game at a Miami course. 
Returning to his cock, I slide his length as far as my throat will allow, practically unhinging my jaw as I take him in. Closing my lips, I use suction until he grabs my head, pulling my hair to remove me from my current activity. 
When I look up at him, I can see the scar under his chin as he’s staring at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, and I cannot resist scraping my teeth lightly to see his reaction. It’s instant, as his jaw drops and his eyes connect with mine. Just as I get to the end of his cock again, I make a humming sound, knowing he can feel the vibration on this sensitive body part. 
“Birdy…” he gasps. “I need…” 
Releasing him with a popping sound, I sit back on my knees and grin, rather proud of my ability to reduce this cheeky flirt to two-word sentences. 
“What?” I demand. 
“I need to feel your fringe. Taste it even.” 
Closing my eyes, I shake my head as though I’m disappointed with his golf pun, but it honestly gives a zing to my private parts. 
“Fair enough,” I comment, using my current location to remove his shoes and the rest of his clothing so that he stands before me, naked but for his socks. 
“Shouldn’t that be ‘fairway’ enough?” He giggles, his shaft pointing straight at me. 
I groan. “Oh, man. If I weren’t so hot for you, your bad jokes might just turn me off.” 
“Good,” he smiles, and the dimple deepens until I’m confident I could fit a thousand golf balls, each with their own 381 dimples, inside it. That many dimples all in the same space would be overwhelming. “Now let’s put my wood in your golf bag, shall we?” He holds his hand down to me, and I grasp it so that he can pull me upwards, our tongues tangling like a dust devil. 
Fingers fumbling with the buttons on my skort, Harry moves his lips to my neck. “Why ‘Birdy’?” 
“Seriously?” I scoff. “You want to talk about my nickname now?” 
His luxurious fingers shove my panties and my skort down to my ankles, ignoring my shoes completely as he encourages me to kick off the offending clothing. “Yes please.” 
Nude, I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at him from where he’s squatting on the floor after removing my outfit. “My grandfather scored a birdie every time he took me out with him on the golf course when I was a baby.” 
“Oh,” he pouts. 
“Not as sexy as you thought it might be?” 
“As a story, you really should work on it.” 
“I promise I’ll spice up the story with the next single that joins our foursome,” I simper. A look crosses his face that could be construed as jealousy if one were so inclined. Which I’m not. Because he’s just an afternoon fuck. 
As I start to step past him to the leather sofa, he grabs my thighs and buries his face in my crotch, sniffing deeply. Flabbergasted, I pause, my balance off. 
“Widen your stance,” Harry demands, and when I follow his direction, he uses both hands to part the petals at my entrance. Just before his tongue dives in, he blows a puff of air, and I shiver at the sexiness of the move. 
“Fuck, Harry,” I grab for his shoulder so I don’t sink to the floor. Between his tongue and his teeth, I nearly tip over the abyss, but when he uses both hands, inserting one finger in each of my body’s lower entrances, I come, screaming his name as I yank his hair, accidentally dislodging that damn hair clip which skitters across the wood floor. My orgasm continues as Harry rises, one finger still teasing my clit. 
“You were right,” he whispers to me as I gaze at his glistening face, “three holes left. Now taken care of.” Capturing my lips, he delves inside my mouth, his tongue and finger below taking turns, setting a rhythm that would do well in one of his songs. 
Fuck. I’m weak. 
When my body stops shivering, I use both hands to shove him onto the sofa where he lands with both feet out and his driver in the air. 
“Birth control?” he asks. 
“Taken care of,” I grin. “IUD. But if you want double protection or you don’t trust me…” I gesture towards the rest of the house, trying to figure out where a condom might be hidden in my grandparents’ house. 
“I trust you. No one with that nickname and those grandparents could lie about something like that.” 
With a grin, I concede his point. Besides, my grandparents would flip their lids if I got pregnant without a commitment. 
Slowly, as if I’m lining up a putt, I slide onto him. 
“Mmmmm…that’s a hole to be respected,” Harry murmurs as I descend, and I would laugh if not for the fact that I’m gearing up for my second orgasm. 
“Are you up for some stroke play?” I query as I settle completely on him, my insides stretched but happy. 
“Stroke that stroke, babe.” 
With the steady beat of that Billie Squier oldie in my head, I follow his instructions, lifting myself off his shaft before plunging back down as hard as I can. Just when I’m getting closer, panting as I look to the skies, Harry taps my butt cheek. “Turn around here, love.” 
Settling on the sofa with my rear in the air, I am startled when Harry’s finger circles my asshole, and I wonder if I’m in for a different experience than I had originally expected. He’s too big for my back door without a lot of preparation, and it’s clear he knows it as he settles on wedging a finger there while his cock invades my vagina. Between his cock and his inserted finger, I’m so close to exploding that I slam my body backwards into his until he finally removes the finger, grabs my hips, and pounds into me. 
“Drive into me, Harry!” I scream, recognizing the golf pun after it’s already left my mouth. Biting my lip, I reach in front and play with my clit just as Harry shoots his load into me, and I writhe with my second orgasm, his name on my lips as he falls onto my back. 
Seconds, minutes, decades later, Harry disengages from me. 
“That was pleasant,” he smiles, and I wonder if this is it. He’ll leave me here, his cum dripping from me onto the furniture in my granddad’s golf room. “We should probably get dressed and get back to the course. Otherwise, they’ll send out a search party. If we get back quickly, they’ll think we just took our time on the 18th.” 
Agreeably, I laugh. “I can see it now.” Imitating my grandma, “‘But our baby girl is out there with a handsome stranger! They must be exhausted after 18 holes!’” 
Together, we dissolve into giggles at the innuendo as we sort through the discarded clothing and dress ourselves, making our way back to the garage as we locate our shirts. 
“You better drive us back. I’m likely to get lost in your tall bush.” 
“Oh, please,” I roll my eyes. “My grass is perfectly trimmed for the game.” 
“Mhm,” he smirks, “Who’s your caddy?” 
We pull into the parking lot, laughing at our ridiculous puns. Removing our golf bags from the trunk, we make our way into the clubhouse where we quickly locate and join my grandparents. 
“How were the last few holes?” Gramps asks. 
“Pretty good,” Harry grins, glancing over at me. “I got both a Birdy and a hole in one.” 
I want to laugh at his comment, but any suggestion that we did anything other than play golf would get me in trouble, so I simply smile, nod, and announce, “It was quite the round. The best I’ve had in a long time, by par.” 
When everyone at the table howls with mirth, I feel Harry’s hand on my knee as my grandfather speaks up with, “Harry? I think you might be missing a number on your scorecard.” When he winks and gestures towards me, I groan, but my latest lover takes advantage of the moment, holding out his scorecard to me. 
“If you wouldn’t mind…I might need another hole in one the next time I come to town.” 
Reblogs are love. Thank you.
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tracybirds · 3 months ago
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Where Parallel Lines Meet (8/?)
If we could all ignore the fact that this took me 1.5 years to update, that would be great, thanks
It's.... been a time for me, but I'm so glad I've finally been able to have the brain space and the energy to finish this chapter <3 I hope you enjoy, and once again thank you heaps to @gumnut-logic for cheering me on!
Title is adapted from a line in Sarah Howes’ poem ‘Relativity’ (scroll to the bottom of the article)
A fight between John and Alan is followed by an interstellar storm with unexpected consequences.
[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 7] | [Part 8]
---
“Hey, Alan, dinner time!”
Gordon’s voice echoed in his headphones, and Alan pulled them off with a grin as he paused his game.
It had been a week and he still felt the thrill of knowing his family would all be there, just like they were before global chaos had squeezed them out of their lives on the island.
Gordon was pulling a face at Kayo as she laughed, happily grounded along with the rest of them, as Alan sidled into his seat. Scott held his fork halfway to his mouth, busy scrawling notes on a tablet as Grandma fussed at him to put his work away.
Scott absently tried to wave her off, only for his food to fly off his fork and land squarely in Grandma Tracy’s lap.
She said nothing, only stared at Scott with raised eyebrows as he put the tablet away with burning cheeks.
Alan grabbed a plate from Virgil, who didn’t pause in his conversation with Brains, pointedly ignoring their elder brother as Gordon and Kayo piled in on him.
It was a family meal, almost exactly as he had longed for, right down to the empty seat next to him that John took on birthdays and holidays.
It wasn’t anyone’s birthday now, but the empty seat stung all the same.
“Still no John?” he asked quietly, the now-familiar guilt thrashing inside him again.
Brains’ smile dropped for a moment and he shook his head.
“I’ll take him something later,” he said.
“Be patient, dear,” said Grandma. “He just needs some space.”
Alan grimaced.
Space was all his brother ever wanted. Alan knew what it meant for John to need space, and it had never meant shutting him out before.
Not that Alan could blame him, he thought as he poked his potatoes glumly. He’d tried to imagine how it would feel to have everyone openly celebrating your departure. More than that, it had been his family, his own brothers.
The thought made Alan break out in a cold sweat. And while Scott, Virgil and Gordon might be forgiven, having spent so little time with John over the past few months, he himself was a different matter.
He’d whooped.
“Alan?” said Virgil, and Alan raised his head to find his brother watching him with a worried look in his eye. “It’s not your fault.”
His stomach dropped away and the smell of food caught in Alan’s throat as he held back a sudden gag.
He stood, his chair scraping on the floor.
“I have to go,” he mumbled, and he stumbled out of the suddenly silent room, knowing that he’d just ensured he’d be the starring feature in the conversation the second he was out of earshot.
It wasn’t right, this mockery of a dinner that was near identical to the meals he’d had a thousand times on the island. Not when John was here.
His communicator beeped and Alan pulled up the call automatically.
“You need to find John,” informed EOS. “He has revoked my access to his biometrics.”
Alan let out a hollow laugh. “So he doesn’t want to spend time with you either?”
“He is being irrational.”
“He’s upset.”
“He’s been upset for months.” Alan could almost hear the stamp in her voice. “I merely pointed out that it was inefficient to relearn everything when he could accept the cure and regain it in an instant.”
Alan winced.
“Yeah, EOS, that probably didn’t help.”
“Why not?” she demanded. “He keeps talking about how he wants to do more, and how he has to get the simulators right to prove he’s just as good, but he could if only he’d listen to me! He said we were partners – why won’t he let me help him?”
She paused and her lights dimmed. “Does he just not trust me anymore? Most people don’t, you know.”
“It’s nothing to do with you,” he said. “He just needs to prove it to himself, I think.”
“He has nothing to prove.” Her ring of lights flashed orange, fierce and protective as ever. “He’s already done it. It would be easy; he could be himself again instead of this… child. Why can’t he see that?”
“He is that kid, EOS. Besides, when has John ever taken the easy way out? What if he’d done that with you?”
EOS froze, her lights falling until there was only one remaining, blinking soft and red beneath her camera. Alan found himself once again wishing he could take back what he’d said. They rarely spoke of EOS’s beginnings with the family.
“I am aware of what he did for me,” she said in a small voice.
Alan swallowed tightly. “I know. It’s just that, what he did for you he now has to do for himself. And it’s really, really hard.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yeah, it does,” said Alan. “But you and me can help him with it, right?”
“Not if he keeps hiding.”
“Well, then we’ll find him. Biometrics aren’t the only way to hunt someone down.”
***
It took the two of them nearly an hour to make any headway. John was smart, he knew how to cover his tracks, knew how not to be found.
EOS even swore when she realised the infrared tracking system had been rerouted to obscure any heat signatures, and Alan stifled a laugh thinking of John swearing in the exact same way on Thunderbird Five.
When they finally unravelled the mess of code John had created to hide himself away, Alan sat back in relief at knowing his brother was still here.
John was in the simulators.
Of course he was, thought Alan with a sigh. Two days locked in a room that wasn’t his, ignoring all attempts at conversation before making his escape. He’d hardly left the training facility since.
Alan had overheard Scott and Virgil arguing over the best way to handle the situation, usually after Scott had tried to ambush John for the umpteenth time. He’d been dragged away time and time again, having attempted everything from a ‘reasonable discussion’ to a full blown attempt to batter down a door.
Virgil defaulted to their grandma’s advice, as he so often did, insisting on giving John his space.
“Remember how he was after Dad – after Mom?”
Alan didn’t, but Virgil’s words had chilled him to the core, especially when he saw how Scott wilted in turn.
His brothers, his grandma, Kayo and Brains, they all wanted to sit back and wait for their John to come back to them.
But Alan knew his brother, this brother.
And he was done with waiting.
“Coming, EOS?”
She shook her array. “It’s enough to know where he is,” she said softly. “Now I can watch him, until he is ready to speak with me again.”
Alan nodded, then reached out and tugged open the door, stepping inside without another word.
He could tell when John sensed his presence by the way the ground fell beneath his feet, the momentary distraction enough to turn the flight into a death spiral.
John swore, with a ghost of EOS in his voice, glancing at him irritably before remembering he was meant to be ignoring Alan.
Alan sat down and picked up a headset as he felt for the familiar curve of the joystick in his hand.
“I don’t need your help.”
“It’s not help. It’s teamwork.”
“And I don’t want to talk to you.”
Alan shrugged.
“Fine. You going to fly or what?.”
It was his turn to ignore his brother as John glowered at him.
The sequence began. John’s hands moved instinctively to each position, his eyes narrowed slightly as he read the signs of instability ahead. Alan mimicked him as he made each minute adjustment, holding back a smile as John flipped the craft into a daredevil spin.
He never could resist showing off for his youngest brother.
“John, watch your intakes,” Alan murmured, his eyes flitting down to the dials.
He made no response.
Alan risked a glance at him, startled by the blind focus evident in John’s steely gaze.
“John, the intakes,” he said sharply, reaching across the sim to pull the nose up and allow more airflow.
A millisecond too late, as John’s own hand came crashing down on his own and fumbled.
It was all it took.
The sea water beneath them rushed upwards as the aircraft dropped, the swoop in Alan’s stomach as real as in any emergency, before the screens went dark and the holos surrounding them faded away.
John glared at him.
“Thanks a lot,” he spat. “I thought you were here to fly, not cause a crash.”
Alan rolled his eyes. “If one sentence is all it takes to trash your concentration, you’re not much of a pilot,” he retorted. “I told you, this takes teamwork. You’re wasting your time practising like this if you’re going to refuse to work with us at the other end.”
“They don’t want me to work with them anyway,” spat John. “Neither did you, last I checked.”
“I’m sorry it happened like that,” said Alan. “I won’t make excuses, there’s nothing to say. Just… John, I am sorry. And I miss hanging out with you.”
John didn’t look at him. Alan waited, biting his tongue in order to refrain from filling the uncomfortable silence. He held his breath, counting in threes, then sixes, then eights to fill in the passing seconds.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” John mumbled. “I woke up in this nightmare, home’s gone, Dad’s dead, and my own family doesn’t want me. They want some other guy, who looks like me and acts like me, but he’s not me.”
John shook his head. “He’s so far beyond anything I can ever do.”
He looked up at Alan, the hurt swimming in his eyes. “I just want to go home.”
Alan swallowed, a tight lump leaving his mouth dry.
“I can’t get you home,” he whispered. “But John, I want you. I love you. You’re my big brother, you can do anything.”
John blinked rapidly, lips trembling.
“I’m not your big brother anymore, Alan.”
He collapsed forward, and Alan instinctively reached out, refusing in this moment to pull away, no matter what his brothers might do in his place.
“We’re on the same team,” said Alan, his arms tight around John. “Don’t forget that. We are on your side. No matter what happens.”
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sleepis4theweak · 10 months ago
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WIP game
rules: in a new post, post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!
*note: my asks are currently off, so you can just comment on this post and I'll respond to it as if it were an ask :)
tagged by @midwinterhunt (I love that you could just tell that I was drowning in wips.... you were so right)
tagging: UHHHHH- ANYONE CAN JOIN YIPPEE!!!! <3 :D
ART - Flashbacks AU next chapter... I've made no progress <3 -Angsty comic on anger with the 2012 boys -Drawing for moot -Small comic with baby Rottmnt Donnie -Small comic with child rottmnt April and Raph -3 more of the drawing moots challenge thing -Looooong comic with 2012 April and Mikey -Comic with rottmnt Leo and Usagi -Short comic with 2012 Mikey and Donnie -Short comic with 2012 Mikey and Raph -Longer comic with 2012 boys about ADHD -THAT FUCKING OC PROJECT THAT I CAN NEVER FINISH GODDAMN IT -Rottmnt Leo and Raph long comic about stranger danger -Trauma and processing comic with 2012 April and the brothers -Milkshake animation... that I will likely never finish -A Lego Monkey animation... that I will also likely never finish -Mikey 2012 and Peepaw Mikey tiktok that... might get finished? -Waffles comic that I keep on abandoning whoops
There is definitely more... but this is all the stuff I have currently started on my iPad... haha....
(Save me I'm drowning in WIPs)
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minisugakoobies · 2 years ago
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Ashes Falling | MYG
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Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: smut, crack, DadYoongi!AU, BadCop!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: weapons - guns, switching POVs, angst!, allusions to murder, mentions of blood/wounds, fighting (hand-to-hand), shooting, Yoongi shows off that tongue technology (oral sex - f receiving), rough fucking (protected sex), Yoongi is not a good guy (ymmv)
Word Count: 5.3k (whoops)
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: I see the ashes falling out your window There's someone in the mirror that you don't know And everything was all wrong So burn it till it's all gone
A/N: And we've reached the end! This series came out of absolutely nowhere thanks to @minttangerines's beautiful brain and it's been fun just writing with no plan and no expectations. Thank you for riding along! 💜
Chapter title and summary from Agust D's masterpiece Burn It 🔥
Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕
Part 6 💵 Bad Cop Masterlist
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Then
Yoongi sits across from you, one hand resting on the dining table, the other playing with a glass of whisky. Around and around, the caramel liquid swirls. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear he was trying to hypnotize you. 
And it might work, if you were anyone else. Of course, anyone else would already be under the handsome man’s thrall. Especially the way he looks tonight - in his tailored suit, bespoke undoubtedly, since money is apparently no object for him, and with his dark hair slicked back to reveal more of his gorgeous face.
When he’d asked you to dinner tonight, you’d felt a slight thrill of victory, knowing that your plan was working. You’d succeeded so far in inserting yourself into his life. All the secrets the Bureau wanted so desperately for you to discover were practically within your grasp. You just needed a sign from him to confirm that you’re in. 
“So are you thinking of extending your contact?” Yoongi asks, sipping at his drink. You’d told him when you’d first met that you were working for Da-som’s school for a year, with the option to extend if the school agreed. He speaks casually, almost disinterestedly, but you can hear the true question beneath - are you staying?
“I think so. I really like it here.” 
A hint of a smile crosses his face at your answer. Long fingers reach into the inside pocket of his jacket and produce a cigarette, which he lights with the click of a flashy silver lighter. There’s not supposed to be any smoking in this restaurant, but no one’s going to stop the chief detective of the city’s police force, and he knows it. It’s a power move. 
“Good,” is all he says, blowing a smoke ring towards the ceiling. 
Anyone other than you would be affected by his reaction. By the heated look he gives you, gaze slipping down your face, down to your waist, and back. Not you, though. You know better than to fall for any of this. 
This is what you remind yourself as you push your thighs together, trying to still the sudden throbbing there. 
Your waiter returns with the bill and Yoongi simply reaches into his pocket, dropping a stack of cash on the tray without looking. Another power move. 
“Thank you for dinner,” you smile shyly, setting down your dessert fork. “I’m - I’m glad you asked me. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you better these last few weeks.” 
He leans forward, reaching his hand across the table to where yours is resting. When his fingers tap you, you flip your hand over and he slides his hand on top of yours. You immediately register something cool and hard between your palms. 
“Me too,” he says softly. “And I don’t want to stop.” 
He pulls his hand back a little, curling your fingers around what he’s left behind. Yoongi stands, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it as he bows. 
“I’ll be waiting,” he murmurs, lips humming against your skin, and then he walks away. You track him as he saunters confidently through the crowded room, until he reaches the entrance of the restaurant and vanishes. 
Opening your hand, you stare down at the piece of plastic lying there. A room key, to the hotel next door. There it is - your sign. 
The excitement that blazes through you is the ecstasy of knowing you’ve succeeded. Of realizing that you’re one step closer to the win, and nothing else.
This is what you tell yourself as you rise to your feet, and follow. 
Now
Your bag rests on the passenger seat as you hurtle down the highway. The car you’re driving is a piece of shit, but you were in no position to barter when you’d asked Seokjin if he had anything you could borrow to finish your mission. He’d called a friend of a friend and mere minutes later you were on your way. 
The police cruiser is still at Seokjin's, along with Jungkook. Your partner had been sleeping when you’d left, whispering a quick goodbye, telling him to stay put and rest while you finished the job. Seokjin promised he’d take care of him and you had no doubt that he would be safe there. 
The car’s shocks are fairly worn, meaning every little bump in the road sends your satchel bouncing. Instinctively, you reach out, searching until you find the little key tucked away in an inner pocket. The cold metal soothes you as you clutch at it anxiously. This is it, the final key to bringing Yoongi down. 
Your plan is, frankly, insane. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Thankfully, Seokjin gave you access to his personal arsenal, which is not small. But even if you’re strapped to the teeth, you’ll practically need a miracle. 
However, you’re not the praying type. Your faith resides solely in yourself. So you breathe deeply, and keep your eyes firmly on the road as you run through your plan again and again in your mind. 
As the bay comes into view, you pull over, parking the car near the entrance to the neighborhood where Yoongi’s second house resides. You’ll have to go on foot from here, to remain unseen by his men. Yoongi’s too careful to leave this place unmanned. 
You approach the fence bordering his mansion, peering between the iron bars. His vacation home is massive, a sprawling ode to excess, flaunting his new wealth. The layout of the place is fresh in your mind, thanks to floor plans stolen from the developer. Unfortunately, that’s not going to help you much if you’re outnumbered by Yoongi’s men. If only you could’ve waited for sundown, to give you more cover, or waited for backup, but right now you don’t have the luxury of time. 
A hand suddenly slips over your mouth and your eyes widen as someone presses their body against your back. Fuck! You grasp at their arm, readying yourself to attack, when a familiar voice hisses, “Don’t scream! It’s me.” 
“Jungkook! What the fuck!” 
Your partner releases you. He’s a little paler than usual, but otherwise looks like himself, even in Seokjin’s clothing, a black t-shirt tucked under a Kevlar vest, colorful sleeve of tattoos bright in the midday sun. 
“Did you really think I was gonna let you do this alone?” He grins, ignoring your scowl. “Now what’s the plan?” 
There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s here now, and even though you’re full of conflicting emotions - anger that he didn’t listen to you, guilt that you’re the reason he got injured - the feeling that overrides them all is pure, intense relief. Of course he’s by your side. You’re not alone.
It doesn’t take long to fill him in. You’re basically just going in there with guns blazing, hoping to fight your way to where you believe Yoongi’s safe sits, holding the box with the secrets that little key will unlock. 
Jungkook just nods when you’ve finished. “Got it.”
“We should probably call for backup.” 
“Already did, on the way here. They’ll be here as fast as they can, but something tells me that you don’t want to wait.” 
“I don’t.” You need this to be over, now. 
“Okay then. Ready when you are.” 
“Jungkook.” You pause, unsure how to say this. “I’m sorry. For everythi- ”
But he stops you with a shake of his head. “None of that. We’ve got a job to do.” He cups his hands, waiting to give you a boost over the fence. “Come on. You lead. I’ll follow. Like always.” 
With a nod of your own, you step onto his hands, and climb the fence.
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Then
Yoongi glances at his watch. It’s only been five minutes since he left you sitting at the table, but it feels much, much longer. Too long. He loosens his tie a bit as he waits. His suit jacket is folded over the back of the chair beside the bed. The room is quiet. 
Is he rushing things? It’s very like him to do that. He could move more slowly with you. But, well, he doesn’t want to. He wants you now.
Which is why he’s here, perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. Waiting.
It’s not just about sex. If Yoongi only wanted to get his dick wet, he wouldn’t have to take anyone out on several dates first. That’s not arrogance - it’s a fact that he radiates power, and women are attracted to that. And he knows he looks good. He has mirrors. 
No, it’s more than that - although he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been imagining this moment since the first time he saw you in Da-som’s classroom. He’d been so distracted by your beauty at the parent-teacher conference that he’d accidentally agreed to chaperone a class trip, just nodding along to whatever you were saying while picturing what you’d look like if he bent you over your desk right then and there. But beyond his baser needs, there’s something else. Something that draws him to you. He senses a kindred spirit. He needs to know how deep that connection goes.
There’s a loud click and the door suddenly opens. Yoongi stands as you enter. 
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” you say, biting your lip before smiling sweetly. 
In just three steps he’s across the room, pulling you into his arms for a passionate kiss. 
He quietly orders you to lift your arms, and the gorgeous dress you’d worn to dinner crumples into a soft ball of fabric on the ground. With sure steps he maneuvers you towards the bed, helping you sit on the edge, kindly freeing your breasts from the confining corsetry of your bra as he goes. While you settle onto the soft sheets, he slides your panties down your legs, taking care to rake his fingers along the soft skin there, delighting in the way you shudder at his touch. 
The plush carpet gives way beneath his knees as he kneels, leaning over to kiss you, getting lost in the incredible softness of your lips for a moment, until your hands reach for the buttons on his shirt. His hands lightly push yours away as he shakes his head. 
“Not yet, baby.” 
“But I wanna see you,” you say, pretty mouth turning down in a lovely little pout. “It’s not fair that I’m naked and you’re not.”
He just chuckles. Smoothly, he undoes one cufflink, then the other, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. His forearms flex with the motion, drawing your attention, and he smirks. 
“Don’t worry,” he assures you, “I’ll still put on a good show for you.” 
He kneels again, gently pressing his fingers into the bare skin of your stomach, urging you to lie back. One of your thighs comes to rest on his shoulder, then the other. With one hand he spreads your folds, saliva flooding his mouth at the glistening sight in front of him. 
“Fuck, sweetheart, you look good enough to eat.” 
You mewl as he kisses your dripping cunt, over and over, getting his mouth all sticky with your desire. Yoongi always follows through on his promises, and this is no exception. You can’t tear your eyes away from the dark-haired man as he rubs his lips, his tongue, his nose all over you, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Occasionally your head drops back, your eyes closing as if overwhelmed by the sensations, but then they immediately open again, not wanting to miss a second. 
“Yoongi.” 
Panting moans fill Yoongi’s ears as he drowns in you. When he finds the right rhythm with his tongue on your clit, a rapid lapping that has your hips lifting off the bed, he slides a finger inside your slick warmth, then two, three, and your moans become cries. Pleas, broken and desperate, begging him for more. 
Impatience roars up inside him again and he lets your legs slide from his broad shoulders. His cock aches as he tears off his clothing, sheathing himself with the condom waiting in his pocket, and you’ve barely moved up on the bed to make room for him when he’s sliding inside you. Fuck. So warm, so tight. A space carved out just for him. 
The headboard smacks into the wall repeatedly as Yoongi thrusts into you, hips slapping your ass with every sharp snap. You’re babbling, an endless stream of words pouring from your mouth, but the only words Yoongi can make out are “Yoongi” and “more.” 
“You want more, baby? I’ll give you everything. Anything you could ever want.”  
He goes harder, faster, driving his cock deeper and deeper. His hands grope at your breasts, your ass, as you take everything he has to give. When he feels your walls start to constrict, it’s almost a relief, because he’s not going to last much longer. And sure enough, when your orgasm hits, your cunt grips his cock so tightly that he cums, head dropping onto your chest as he fills the condom with his hot release.  
He lies that way, cheek pressed into the curve of your breast, breathing heavily as you both come down. From here, he can feel your heart pounding. It’s not identical to the way his own drums, but instead compliments it, a wild syncopation beating along to the steady pulse of his own tempo. His fingers tap along your sternum. 
“Is that morse code?” Your voice is just barely above a whisper, as if you don’t want to shatter the peaceful stillness of the moment. 
He lifts his head, smiling. “That’s your heartbeat. I’m playing along.” 
“Playing what, my collarbones?” 
“My piano.” His fingers dance over imaginary keys, caressing your skin so, so gently. 
“I didn’t know you had a piano. Or that you could play.” 
There’s so much you don’t know about him. So much he wants to show you. But he knows that it will take time. He has to ease you into his world. 
“I’ll play for you sometime,” he says, crawling up your body until his face hovers over yours. “If you’d like.” 
“I would like that. Very much,” you reply, lips curling into a shy grin, and he kisses it away until you’re breathless. 
Eventually, he has to go. He needs to get home to Da-som. Yoongi can defeat any enemy - except a babysitter with a curfew. 
He sits on the edge of the bed, fixing his tie, as you watch him from beneath the sheets. “The room’s paid for until tomorrow, so you can stay all night if you want. Order some room service in the morning. Treat yourself, sweetheart.” 
The corner of your mouth twitches. “You keep calling me that.” 
“Is that okay?” 
In reply, you pull him in for another kiss, and he sighs, wishing he could stay. Or take you home with him. But he’s not ready to have that conversation with Da-som yet. Even though he’s rushing everything else. 
He taps his fingers on your chest. “Sleep well, sweetheart.” 
He starts to rise, but you grab his wrist, holding him in place. 
“Yoongi. I don’t…” 
He says nothing, waiting for you to find your words. 
“I don’t do this with every father I meet, you know,” you finish, flashing that beautiful bashful smile again.
“Just me?” 
“Just you.” Your hand reaches out to straighten his tie, but then you gently brush your fingertips over his chest, mimicking his actions from earlier. Tap-tap-tap. 
In that moment, Yoongi knows. He’ll do anything for you. Like he told you earlier, when he was wrapped in your arms - he’ll give you anything you want. 
All you have to do is ask. 
Now
Bodies. So many bodies, scattered around the grounds of his house. Yoongi blinks dispassionately at them all. He thought he’d hired the best. Clearly, he was wrong. 
Yoongi honestly hadn’t known what to expect when he and Jimin arrived at his house on the bay. One of his guards had called him while he was on his way here and alerted him that you’d been spotted near the fence bordering his property. He’d hoped that when he got here, he’d find you waiting for him, tied to a chair by one of his guards. But it appears that he’d underestimated your skills, if you managed to take out so many of his men at once. 
No one appears to be dead, but they’re all knocked out or wounded. Interesting. Are you afraid to use lethal force? Or are you just saving your best shots for him? 
Together, he and Jimin sweep the first floor, finding nothing but his more useless guards. With a few silent signals, Jimin indicates that he’s going to scout ahead, and begins to climb the stairs. Yoongi watches him disappear down the hallway with a growing sense of unease. He tightens his grip on his gun. 
Jimin reappears after a moment, shaking his head. There’s only the other end of the hallway to explore now. The master suite is down that way. Where, in one of the walk-in closets, nestled in the corner, sits Yoongi’s safe. 
Maybe you’re not here. Maybe you’re already gone, with the contents of the safe firmly in tow. Maybe it’s all over, and any second now, this place will be swarming with feds. For the briefest of moments, Yoongi feels the strangest sense of relief at the thought. 
And then the moment is broken as a very loud “God damn it!!” rings out. 
Jimin instinctively points his gun in the direction of the screaming. It’s coming from the master suite. Yoongi joins him at the top of the stairs. 
“It’s her,” he states in a hushed tone. “That’s her voice.” 
“Sounds like someone might be giving her a rough time?” 
There are no other sounds coming from the direction of the suite. No more curses, no scuffling, none of the sickening noises that a human body makes when someone else is beating the shit out of it.
“Nah. She’s working on the combination.” 
“At least it sounds like it’s not going well.” 
For the moment. You have the key to the safe, but it’s a dual lock system, requiring a combination as well. Yoongi has no doubt you’ll figure out the date he used. It’s just a matter of time. 
So he’d better not give you any more. 
Yoongi grimaces, the gun suddenly heavy in his hands. “You ready?” 
Jimin nods. 
Silently, they creep forward. The door to the master suite looms at the end of the hall, and Yoongi feels his already frantic pulse increasing with every step. 
And then a floorboard creaks under Yoongi’s foot. Loudly. 
Both men pause, staring at one another. Listening. Waiting. 
The door at the end of the hall starts to open. Jimin dives into an empty room to his left, while Yoongi dashes into the bathroom on his right
The mirror mounted on the wall faces towards the end of the hallway. As Yoongi hides, he stares at the reflection of the person emerging from the suite. Shit, it’s Jungkook, gun drawn as he carefully sweeps the other open rooms down the hall. So much for Jimin’s incredible marksman skills - the rookie cop slash undercover agent doesn’t look any worse for wear, let alone dead. 
The door at the end of the hall opens again. Yoongi’s breath catches. With a fiercely determined expression on your face and that gun in your hand, you look nothing like the sweet, shy teacher he met all those months ago. A mirthless chuckle bubbles up in his chest. He clenches his jaw to keep it down. Funny how he was right - you are a kindred spirit, after all. Just a funhouse version of one. Staring at him from the other side of the mirror.
“Jungkook,” he hears you whisper, tracing your partner’s footsteps. “Where are you?” 
“In here. Did you crack it?” Jungkook reappears, gun lowered, and - 
BANG!
A bullet slices through the air between you and Jungkook. The two of you immediately dive, raising your guns in the direction of the gunshot - which, of course, was just Jimin announcing his presence. 
“Drop your weapon and come out!” you shout. 
Jimin just laughs, shaking his head. “Does that shit ever work?”
“Goddamn it, it’s that maniac again,” you hiss, loud enough for Yoongi to hear. 
“Did you miss me, love?” Another wild cackle. Yoongi glares at the younger man, but says nothing, not wanting to give away his location. 
Faster than lightning, Jimin fires another shot towards the end of the hall. 
“Fuck!” Jungkook yells, placing himself between you and the line of sight to the room where Yoongi can see Jimin crouching just inside. “Get back in there and keep trying! I’ll handle this asshole.” 
As soon as the door closes behind you, Yoongi looks at Jimin. He points to himself and then the door at the end of the hall. Jimin nods. 
“Oh, you will, will you?” Jimin taunts Jungkook. He grins at Yoongi. “I think - HEY!” Jimin dives aside as a bullet pierces the doorway, embedding itself firmly in the open door that Jimin was just leaning against. “You son of a bitch, you almost clipped my hair!” 
“Next one’s going in your forehead!” 
“As if you could hit my forehead!” 
“How can I miss a target that big?” 
“THAT’S IT!” Jimin roars. “YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?” He rolls up his sleeves, giant snake tattoo on his arm practically dancing as he clenches his fists. 
“Yeah! You already took one from me! It’s time for payback!” 
Jimin unbuckles his harness, letting the weapons hit the floor. “Then let’s do this! I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!”
“LET’S GO, MOTHERFUCKER!” Jungkook screams, and suddenly there are two blurs flying down the hallway towards each other. They collide with a loud “whump!” and Yoongi quickly slips out of the bathroom and towards the master suite. 
He opens the door slowly, much slower than the adrenaline coursing through his body wants him to, but he doesn’t want you to hear him entering. The two men behind him pay no attention, lost in their frenzy, powerful blows landing left and right. Yoongi closes the door just as carefully, twisting the knob so the lock clicks quietly into place. 
Gun raised, he takes one step towards the closet. Then another. The door is wide open, but the closet is so big that he can’t see the safe in the corner. Or you. 
As soon as he crosses the threshold, there’s a loud shriek as you jump out from behind the door and tackle him. His gun goes flying. He lands on his side, the breath in his lungs whooshing out hurriedly as you roll on top of him, thighs straddling his chest. 
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” You cock your gun, aiming it straight at his head. “I knew that maniac didn’t come alone.” 
Although your hands are steady, your chest rises with every panting breath you take, Yoongi notes. He feels his entire tensed body relax. You’re scared.
Good.
Yoongi smirks. “What are you gonna do, sweetheart? Shoot me?” He grabs the barrel of your gun as you gasp, but your finger doesn’t squeeze the trigger, even when he pulls it down until it presses into his forehead. “Go ahead.” 
“Stop it!” You try to yank your gun free, but he refuses to let go. You tug harder and harder, until he finally relinquishes his grip, and the force of your momentum throws you off balance. Yoongi scrambles to grab his gun as you’re knocked into a pile of hangers and clothing lying in a heap on the ground. When you rise, there’s a bright red line of blood seeping down your cheek, from where a hanger has cut you.
The two of you face off, guns drawn. Yoongi tuts. 
“Oh, sweetheart, your face. That looks nasty.” 
“Don’t call me that,” you snarl. 
“No? But I thought you liked it?” 
“I never did.” 
“Ah. Right. All part of the game, huh?” Yoongi laughs. “None of it was real, huh.” 
“It’s all over now.” Blood trickles down your cheek, dripping onto the pristine white carpet below. “Put the gun down, Yoongi. Think about Da-som. Think about -”
“No!” Yoongi takes a step forward. You hold your ground, but he swears he catches a flash of fear in your eyes. He should know, he’s seen it many times before. “Don’t you fucking tell me what to do! No one tells me what to do! I make the rules around here. I call the shots!” 
“Not anymore! We know everything. Everything. Your empire is burning down, Yoongi - don’t throw your life away trying to protect ashes!” 
“Oh, you know everything?” The mad laughter that’s been choking him finally slips past his lips. “Do you really? Fuck! You have no fucking idea!” Another step forward. He keeps his gun raised, but he’s cackling so wildly that his aim is all over the place. “Do you have any idea what I would’ve done for you? What I would’ve given you? Anything you wanted, anything you needed, it all would’ve been yours!”
“It wasn’t real, Yoongi!” 
“IT WAS REAL TO ME!” 
You freeze, eyes wide, as his shout echoes through the suite. Faintly, Yoongi can hear Jungkook and Jimin still fighting in the hallway. But it’s dead silent in the closet, where you’re still gazing at his face, as if searching for some sort of sign. 
Yoongi lowers his gun. He closes the gap between you, ignoring that your gun is now pointed directly at his heart, and reaches out with steady fingers.
Tap-tap-tap 
The silence in the closet is stifling, pressing in on him. But then you take in a shuddery breath. When Yoongi dares to look up, he sees tears in your eyes. 
But time, it seems, has run out. 
In the distance, but growing closer, he can hear the blaring wail of sirens. 
“YN!” Jungkook yells. The doorknob rattles. “Are you okay in there?” 
Yoongi’s fucked. He’s going down, and -
“Go,” you whisper. “You have to run.” 
There’s a loud thumping. Jungkook must be trying to break the door down with brute force. He’ll probably go grab his gun and try to shoot his way in next. Or any moment now, agents are going to come crashing through the windows. These are the panicked thoughts that race through Yoongi’s mind and prevent him from understanding what you’ve said. You drop your gun and grab his arms, shaking him. 
“Yoongi! Do you hear me? You have to run!” There’s a ferocity in your eyes that Yoongi’s never seen in anyone’s gaze but his own. “I know you have a back way out of here. You have to go now. Yoongi? Hey!” 
SMACK!
There’s a white-hot sting on his cheek. 
“Fuck, sweetheart!” He rubs away the pain left behind by your slap. 
A ghost of a smile crosses your face. The door has stopped shaking. “Listen, Jungkook will be in here any second. My team is likely already setting up a barricade and surrounding the place. You have to get to the water. Grab Da-som, start running, and never look back.” 
Da-som. Son of a bitch, he can’t lose her. The weight of everything he stands to lose finally comes crashing down. “Fuck, what have I done?” 
There’s a shout from the hallway, a berserker cry, and Yoongi realizes Jimin must have rallied for one last attack. Quickly, you take Yoongi’s hands, guiding him to stand again, and then lead him to the far corner of the master bedroom, where you push aside a bookshelf to reveal a darkened passageway, hidden from the outside. You really did know everything.
Or at least, now you do. 
The screaming sirens have stopped. Yoongi can hear voices out on the lawn. 
“I know you said you’re the one calling the shots, but you need to listen to me now. I’ll take care of everything else. But you - you can’t ever resurface, Yoongi. This is a one-time deal. Take Da-som and disappear. Please,” you whisper, clutching his hands. “Please, do this. If not for Da-som, if not for you - do it for me.” 
Even with his impending doom hovering just on the other side of the bedroom door, Yoongi can’t stop the way he feels. Of course he’ll run. 
Anything for you. 
Footsteps begin to echo throughout the house. Yoongi pulls you into his arms, embracing you one last time as his lips crash onto yours.
And then he runs.
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Epilogue
You open the door to your apartment, kick off your shoes, and flop onto the couch. Another fucking long day. The planning for your latest mission is completely draining your energy. For not the first time in recent weeks, you wonder if you should listen to Jungkook’s advice and put in for that time off request. You could definitely use the break. 
Unconsciously, your fingers rub at the scar on your cheek. It hasn’t hurt for years, but in the last few weeks, it’s been itching like crazy. Jungkook always jokes that he can tell that it’s going to rain whenever his bullet wound aches. You wonder what the scar is trying to tell you. 
Eventually, you drag yourself off the couch and shuffle down the hallway towards the bathroom, dying for a shower. But then you hear a soft sound coming from the door behind you, like something’s sliding along the floor, and you freeze.
There’s an envelope laying in the entryway. Instinctively, you place a hand on the holster of your gun as you peer through the peephole. No one there. No one in the hallway, either, when you open your door. 
The envelope has your first name on it, nothing else. With careful fingers, you tear it open, and read the scrap of paper inside:
35.9285° N, 128.5774° E
Coordinates. To what location? 
You flip it over: 
I’ll be waiting.
You sink onto the couch, staring so intently at the words that you’re surprised the paper doesn’t burst into flames from the intensity of your gaze. 
It’s been five years with no word on Yoongi’s whereabouts. Once Jungkook finally knocked out Jimin and shot the door open, he’d found you lying on the floor, pretending to be unconscious. Yoongi had given up and fled the scene. The Bureau believed your story, likely helped by the fact that Yoongi had left behind his safe and all the secrets it contained. His empire crumbled.
Even though Yoongi’d evaded your capture, you were hailed as the hero of the day and moved on to the next case. And the next, and the next. Days turned into months turned into years. 
Once the mission was over, you never brought it up again. Occasionally, Jungkook or Seokjin would try to get you to talk. But you simply told them that you had nothing to say. The case was closed. 
(To say nothing of your heart.) 
And yet… it wasn’t entirely true. If you’d chosen to talk to your friends, you might have told them that you still found yourself thinking about it from time to time. About Yoongi. And where he was. That sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d scour countless resources, searching for him. Yet no matter how much you looked, you never found a single sign.
Until, maybe, now. You glance at the paper, and it dawns on you what it really is.
A key. 
You rise to your feet.
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Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 
© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
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crystal-va · 1 month ago
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[VOID]!ALPHATALE ALPHATALE: REIMAGINED
Original Work by @vibeless15
Reimagined by CrystalVA
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Chapter 7: Try Something New
William woke up in his bed, it's his birthday again. "Adam's asleep... Guess I'm up early..." William rubbed his eyes and stretched, "Did you sleep well, blue prince?" William looked down to see the ghost flower on his bed, "Hey there, you scared me for a second..." William stood up and quietly put his jacket on, making sure not to wake Adam, "Well, how much do you remember?' the flower asked curiously, "I remember everything a lot clearer this time... Normally, I only remember it like a dream, but now everything is so clear. It's weird..." William sighed, hoping the conversation was done so he could move on and just live out his birthday normally. "You are aware that many more [RESETS]s have happened than just what you remember, correct?" The flower looked on curiously, "Astral Mother made sure I knew... One of her little experiments was testing and training [RESET] awareness... I'm pretty sure I'm the only one between me and my brothers who even somewhat remembered anything..." William looked down, sadness filling his expression, "hm... Well, I do hope you don't think everything will be fine after this. Your mother is very upset about her Genocide run." The flower said as it began disappearing, "Don't call her my mother. She lost that title long ago." William said sternly. "Of course, my apologies. I'll see you around, blue prince." The flower fully vanished.
Adam woke up a few moments later, "Oh shit- you're up early!?" Adam got up, excited he didn't have to wait to dig into the cake Quenya had prepared overnight. The morning went mostly as it did before, only noticeable difference being William's tiredness and the lack of a need to wake him up. "Hey, Will! You good? Ya look dead." Adam said as he stuffed his face with the last bit of cake on his plate, "W-what? Oh! Yeah... I'm just really tired, I'm fine." William shot up from his slouching position, "Anyway... We got any plans for the day?" William turned to Quenya, who had finished washing the dishes and rounding up the Temmies, "Hm? Well... Yes actually!" Quenya excitedly stepped towards the table where Adam and William were sitting.
Quenya revealed the tickets for the ARA Resort, which William tried to act surprised about. Everyone got ready as they did the first time around, and left for their day out. This time around, the three got to enjoy a wonderful show from Aurora without so much as seeing Astral Mother or Frisk. The next day started similarly, with William surprising Adam by being awake before him and the two going downstairs for a meal, normal breakfast instead of cake this time, much to Adams disappointment.
"Now that you're stuck here eating... I've heard you two are failing gym. Somehow I don't think it's because you're not 'fit' enough for it. What's going on?" Quenya leaned forward, starring William and Adam directly in the eyes, "Hey! It's not our fault they don't like us just because we're 'royalty'!" Adam was clearly upset, and William was trying to pretend he wasn't skipping classes. "That's why you impress them so much they can't fail you!" Quenya dramatically flexed as she shouted, "Mom... You bent your fork..." William pointed at the fork in Quenya's hand, "Ah! Shit! Whoops..." Quenya tossed the fork in the trashcan and grabbed a new one to finish her breakfast. Once the three finished breakfast, Quenya hurried William and Adam out of the house to be on their way to school.
The two walked towards the school, with Adam far in the lead. Adam reached a turn, where they saw Ares, Jacob, Chara, Delios, and Frisk all standing together, "Oh? HEY GUYS!" Adam shouted as he sped up even farther ahead of William, who started slightly speeding up. Adam ran up and aggressively hugged Ares, "Hey, watch out for the book!" Ares shouted, causing Adam to shift to a side hug, "Thank you." Ares said as he returned the hug. Adam looked up at Jacob, who had bandages on his head and arms "You look great today..." Adam said, patting Jacob on the back, "T-thank you..." Jacob said before looking towards Delios, who shot him a nasty look. "Sooo... What're you guys doing here?" Adam asked, "Chara said he had some news to tell everyone." Delios answered. Frisk ignored everything while leaning on a brick fence.
Finally, William rounded the corner and saw everyone. Chara noticed William and quickly ran and hugged him tightly, "...You did it..." Chara whispered, "Heh... I sure did..." William softly chuckled. "Now... What I wanted to tell everyone is... Me and Will are dating!" Chara excitedly announced, to which Delios and Frisk just walked away, "Sorry, but that's not all too surprising." Delios said before he disappeared behind a corner. Adam lightly smiled, "Can't disagree with Del on that... But I'm happy for ya anyway!" Adam said before giving Jacob a soft hug and continuing on his way to school with Ares while Jacob walked back to the castle. "W-what just happened?" William asked, stunned by the situation, "An announcement no one cared about, that's what." Chara answered, unaffected by the situation. "Huh... I guess that's that? It's 'official' now?" William asked as he started back on his way to school, "Yep! Sure is. You earned it after the last timeline." The two embraced each other for a moment before going their separate ways for the day.
A Few Hours Later...
William took a detour to the garbage dump near Waterfall City, where he let himself drift down stream on top of a pile of garbage and think. Now that him a Chara were actually a couple, he felt like he needed to think about a lot of things in involving being in a relationship, like his schedule and places to bring Chara. Like a waterfall. "A waterfall would be nice... Wait... OH FUCK!" William shouted as he fell down a pit deeper into the underground, "Ow... I definitely sprained something...." William said as he rubbed his right shoulder, "Ugh... Where the fuck am I?" William looked around, seeing nothing of interest other than a lone training dummy placed on top of a small pile of trash, "hm? That's... Odd..." William thought as he grabbed a metal rod and poked the dummy. "HEY! Do you just poke random people trying to sleep!?" The dummy erupted in anger, "Uh... Sorry, I didn't realize you were... y'know... alive. My bad." William apologized as he tossed the metal rod to the side, "Damn right it is! Now you're gonna sit here and listen to me complain about life as punishment!" The dummy shouted, with complete seriousness. "Do you... need someone to talk to? If you're lonely just say so, I'll listen for a bit." William said as he sat on an old crate that was barely held together. "W-what...? Really?" The dummy instantly softened, "I-I... Ok..." The dummy tried to put its aggressive mask back on, but realized it would be useless.
The dummy shared a lot, but Astral Mother was the primary reason for the dummies anger, and why it was stuck down there. "THAT BITCH TRICKED ME! She said I'd get a new body for my ghostly form, but failed to mention it was just to be a more realistic training dummy! The audacity! The audacity! Obviously, I wasn't gonna LET myself be cut and beat! So she threw me down here! THE AUDACITY!" The dummy continued shouting about the audacity of the situation as William silently looked at his muddy reflection on the dirty water. "RAH! SHE DESERVES DEATH! Wouldn't you agree!?" William stood up and smiled at the dummy, "She really does... Sad she's nigh untouchable..." William whispered as he teleported just outside of Snowdin and walked home. "She really does..." William reflected on his time with the dummy all evening.
During all of this, Frisk, Delios, and Ares were forced to listen to Jacob's screams as he was experimented on by Astral Mother. "So annoying..." Frisk groaned as he sat on a chair near the corner of the main room in the castle. "Shut up." Delios stood in front of Frisk, anger filling his eyes. "Since when did you care about any of these rats? I thought you couldn't care less, as long as they were useful." Frisk thought back to the previous timeline where Delios had been more affectionate. "Honestly... I couldn't tell you, but I don't care. Shut up." Delios said, stemming like he's mixing his "normal" personality with the more kind personality he experienced in the previous timeline. "... How strange, I don't seem to give a shit." Frisk said before shutting his eyes to take a nap, "You brat!" Delios shouted as he summoned his massive hammer and prepared to crush Frisk, but was stopped as Ares jumped in front of him, "Stop! If you're gonna fight someone, fight the actual problem!" Ares shouted as he looked towards the entrance to the secret lab. "She's why any of this is going on at all..." Ares sighed as he picked up his book he left on the ground, away from Delios's hammer.
2 Years Later...
William fell asleep on the couch the night before. He woke up to the pleasant sound of embers hopping around the fireplace. "Things are so... peaceful. I really thought everything was just gonna go to shit again... but... I can't feel safe with her in charge... No one can. She's up to something... I know it." William thought to himself as he slowly got up and made his way to the back of the house. Quenya was training in the backyard, striking the dummy with massive amounts of anger in every strike. "Hey, mom! I have a question!" William shouted, causing Quenya to stop, "*huff* *huff* Yeah? *huff* What is it Will?" Quenya grabbed a towel on the backyard fence and wiped some sweat from her forehead, "If I were to plan to kill the Astral Mother... Would you help me?" William asked, bluntly and with complete sincerity.
"WHAT!? ARE YOU INSANE!? HOW CAN YOU SUGGEST THAT!?" Quenya grabbed William by his shoulders and yelled. "Well- If we just make a plan, I really think we can do it!" William released himself from Quenya's grasp, "WILL! She has a leash on EVERYONE! She has greater power than I could even imagine! And... She has an even stronger leash on me... and I'd rather die than risk hurting any of you... Please, we can survive like this..." Quenya's voice became softer and quieter. "Mom... What'd you mean? What did she do to you!?" William realized just how little he knew about his moms life before him and Adam showed up. "William... let's go inside... Adam deserves to know what I'm about to tell you..." Quenya relaxed her body, walked inside with William, and told him to take a seat on the couch before going to grab Adam.
Quenya returned a minute or so later with Adam shortly behind. Quenya began explaining what prompted the sudden family meeting, William's question. "Will!? You wanna go that far!?" Adam agrees with the sentiment, but wouldn't go as far to suggest assassination. "As if she doesn't deserve it..." William mumbled. "Now... Onto why we're actually here. I need to tell you two something..." Quenya started explaining how Astral Mother created her all those years ago in the Great War of Human and Monsters. "Why does that mean anything!? Are you sentimental towards her just because she made you!? Is that why!?" William was more confused than anything. Was it really just because of sappy sentimental reasons that Quenya couldn't even consider this? "No! If you let me finish, you'll understand!" Quenya raised her voice and quieted William. "I... have a chip, of sorts... it gives her complete control over me anytime she pleases... It would... explode if we tried to take it out. I want nothing to do with you two dying... Especially if it's by my hands..." Quenya slowly explained as tears formed in her eyes, "Just let us live quietly... Everything has been so peaceful recently..." The tears in Quenya's eyes began falling, "Mom... We all know it won't last... Plus... I know something you don't..." William got up and hugged Quenya with Adam joining the hug, "W-what? What do you know?" Quenya stared curiously at William, "A lot..." William sat down and began attempting to explain everything about [RESET]s and everything they've forgotten.
"Wh-what? None of that makes sense... But, those stories... They feel... so familiar..." Quenya started shaking with fear. "That... That... THAT HEARTLESS BITCH!" Or... maybe rage. Adam shot up from the couch, "William... How can I help?" Adam still felt hesitant about killing, but he knew if anyone deserved it, it was Astral Mother. "Before anything, I have to figure out how to deactivate the bomb in Mom's neck..." William walked over to Quenya, "Where's the chip?" William asked, "it's in the nape of my neck, do what you need to get it out so I can kill that bitch!" Quenya was fired up. William began feeling around the back of Quenya's neck, seeing if the chip was deep or surface level. "Of course... It's too deep to feel... I assume I won't be able to expose the chip without it exploding... I gotta think about this..." William sat down and closed his eyes for a moment to think. "Mind if we help?" Said a voice from near the front door. "Who- Ares!? Delios!? What're you-" Adam reacted to them first, "Calm down... I came by to visit, and brought Dell with me. We heard what you were talking about... We wanna help." Ares approached William. "I can help disarm the chip. Grab my hand Will." Ares reached his hand out, which glowed a purple color.
William grabbed Ares's hand. He almost instantly felt different. He could see through things! He could see Quenya's skeleton, and the chip. "X-Ray vision!? How the hell did you figure that out!?" William was shocked. He had no idea purple magic could do something like this. Normally purple magic was virtually only used for defensive purposes. Ares didn't respond, he looked at William's chest with a look of worry before quickly letting go of William's hand. "W-What was that? What'd ya see?" William didn't get a chance to look down and know. "It's nothing to worry about... I think the magic was just messing with my head..." Ares was terrible at lying. "Ugh... I'm not gonna stop thinking about that... Whatever! I think I can deal with the chip..." William ran to the kitchen and grabbed an apple to show what he was planning. "Ares, can you make it so I can see the seeds of the apple?" William reached his hand out, "uh... Yeah, sure." Ares grabbed William's hand again. This time, the vision wasn't quite as strong, but enough to see the seeds. "Ok.. if I just..." William got close to the apple and hovered his hand over it, glowing with his blue magic, slowly moving his fingers. Within a few seconds, William phased all the seeds out of the apple, separated into their basic pieces. "Amazing..." Everyone said out loud, "I am so glad that worked... Ok mom, lean your head down." William said as he finished repeating the process to all the seeds is the apple. "Alright... Let's get this over with..." William said as he held Ares's hand and hovered his free hand over Quenya's neck. "Ok... Disable the explosive and bring the pieces out... easy..." William thought to himself as beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
After a few minutes of very careful handling, the chip was slowly phased through Quenya's neck in hundreds of its separate pieces. "Hooooo... Thank everything..." William said before he collapsed onto the floor, exhausted because of such precise use of his magic.
An hour or so later, William woke up on the couch surrounded by Quenya, Adam, Ares, and Delios. "Jeez..." William slowly got up, "Finally, now we can move on to the next step, getting enough people on board..." Ares said, instantly getting to thinking, "Actually... About that. How'd you get... him... to help?" William asked, pointing to Delios, "Ah, of course. I made him aware of Astral Mother's brainwashing. That wasn't too hard once I found out what method she was using." Ares said casually, "Wh-what? How the hell- nope. Just gonna stop here and accept it. You'll turn this into a college lecture on brainwashing if I ask." William said as he relaxed into the couch, "...Fair enough. Now, onto recruitment. We have, Me, William, Adam, Quenya, and Delios. Jacob and Chara shouldn't be difficult to get on board. Frisk could be an issue... He's far deeper under Astral Mother's influence than Delios was. Muffet could be good to get on board, she already leads riots against Astral Mother, so that's a pretty clear ally."
"OK! You're starting to ramble. Let me handle our assistance." William interrupted confidently, "...I suppose you are a better person to talk to people than me." Ares settled his thoughts. "Although, I will need your help with Frisk!" William requested as Ares and Delios left back to the castle for the night. "Leave it to me!" Ares shouted before fading out of view.
END OF CHAPTER 7
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lizaluvsthis · 1 year ago
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LIZ... LIZ I KNOW WE TALKED ABOUT THIS BUT AHHH (its me btw ;-}) BUT PLEASE- I WAS JOKING ABOUT THAT SPLIT PERSONALITY WITH SM4-
Oh fellow friend. I'M AFRAID I'M TAKING DOWN THE REFUSE BUTTON CUZ... I ALREADY CREATED IT :)
My friend and I were discussing about shay's new fic about three's split personalities. They jokingly said- "hey man- what if you actually made the split four-"
IMMEDIATELY WHOOPED UP MY ASS-
Anyways- new fic idea for me to write on even tho I aint much of writin.
Hehe... if you want to know the title (the fic will prolly have a short or long chapter depending on the plot I'd give so :))
It's called
Within a Blue Yapping Cloud
Eheheh... oh god this title gives off something... ;)
(Reminder: I will make this fic if I hype enough- just- not for now :))
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-Spare Me- (Edit: Now titled ‘House of Cards’ and continued on ao3 ^_^ )
Based off of the Eddisode "Spares". Tord tricks Tom into thinking he's a nicer clone of himself to imprison him in his lab. Part 1 of ?? - Smutty smutty chapter ;) Enjoy!
“I think we made the right choice”, Edd said.
“Oh yes, definitely”, Tord replied, mirroring the gang’s playful relief that they replaced Tom with another shiny new Matt. In the back of his mind, he hoped his discarded roommate didn’t wander off from the bin before he could come and have his way with him…
Luckily he didn’t have to wait too long, Larry kind of killed the mood when he snapped and called everybody morons. 
“You’ll have to excuse him, he gets cranky from constantly being shadowed by my brilliance”, the Evil Director apologized as he ushered his grumbling associate out the front door. 
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pooped”, Edd declared, getting up to throw away his Coke can. 
“Let’s call it a night, we’ll worry about cleaning this mess up tomorrow”, Edd waved them goodnight and stepped over dead bodies of themselves on the way to his room. 
Matt and Matt and Tord followed suit, sluggishly getting up from the couch as well, sore from the evening’s ass-whooping they inflicted on their clones. 
“Well, Matt, since you’re going by ‘Tom’ now, why don’t I show you to his/your room?”, Matt offered to his other self.
“Do I have to? Your room has all the mirrors. I don’t want to sleep in that smelly den! Isn’t wearing the blue hoodie enough?” New Tom whined.
Matt felt conflicted, not wanting to subject the handsome creature to the punishment of having to fully adopt the role of New Tom. But if he conceded, he’d have to share his room…His mirrors…His bed…..It didn’t sound very conducive to getting the restorative beauty sleep he was used to. The look of concern fell from his face and turned into indifference.
“Know your place, New Tom”
“N’awww”, New Tom frowned and shuffled to his new bedroom. 
Matt happily strolled to his room of sanctuary.
Tord stood there, watching the scene finish playing out, and waited for their doors to shut. 
“Freaks”
He padded to the living room window and looked out at the recycling bin. Tom was still there, unmoving. He didn’t look dead- just….defeated. Tord didn’t want to risk his other roommates catching him with what he was about to do. 
Clearly, Tom wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and Tord wasn’t worried he’d disappear if he were to wait in his room while he gave the others time to settle in and get to sleep. But still, he stood there, reveling in the feeling of anticipation and the sensations it brought. Tord’s breath grew excited as he fantasized how his ruse would play out. 
One would think that spending the evening killing clones of one another in all sorts of creative fashions would’ve helped alleviate the aggression they felt towards one another. But it wasn’t enough for Tord. There was something else he needed to do while he had the opportunity..
…..
Tom sighed, uncomfortable in his crumpled-up position. His limbs had fallen asleep after being contorted into the tiny rubbish bin for over an hour. He stared up at the sky, the surrounding city lights drowned the stars out and left it looking like an endless void. A perfect mirror to the black eyes looking up and feeling vast and empty inside. What did he do to even deserve this? How could they pick a second Matt over him? One Matt was annoying enough….But I guess he had no room to talk, given the overwhelming consensus. He didn’t even want to try and get out of there and come back inside. Surely the other Matt had taken his room. The thought of his roommates looking disappointed to see him on the couch the next morning was enough for Tom to stay out in the cold. He closed his eyes, accepting his resting place for the night.
Footsteps softly made their way close to Tom. He figured it was probably a raccoon coming to dine on whatever was freshly left out. Whatever. He didn’t care if it came to nibble on the banana peel stuck to his head. It’s not like the day could get any worse-
“Hey”, a hushed voice spoke above him. An arm gently poked his shoulder. Tom recognized the accent and groaned.
“Go away.” He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to entertain however the Norski was about to rub his face in the situation.
“Now, now”, Tord said with a smile in his voice, “I know you’re a pretty weird guy, but I don’t think this is anybody’s idea of relaxation, being squashed into the trash like that.”
“Fuck off, Turd”
“I just wanted to see if you were okay, I swear! It’s freezing out here, you should come inside, Tom”, Tord’s hand was back on Tom’s shoulder, it felt oddly….reassuring. Maybe that was just from the bar being set so low from the day’s treatment towards him. Tom was looking up at him now, his neutral gaze trying to assess what was going on behind Tord’s uncharacteristically pleasant stare. 
“Why are you , of all people, being nice to me right now?” Tom squinted. Hand still on him, Tord crouched down next to him to meet his eyes at his level. 
“Can I tell you a secret, Tom?”
“I feel like you will even if I say no, so, whatever. Go ahead.”
“In the middle of the excitement earlier, I took it upon myself to take out the real Tord”, he giggled.
 “As you might have noticed earlier”, he continued, “not all the clones turned out exactly like their originals. Same memories, sure, but not the exact same personality. Don’t get me wrong, both of us have the same penchant for violence, so it was easy to get the job done. But basically, I didn’t approve of the way he handled a lot of things. The world would be better off with a more reasonable version of myself. When reflecting upon our shared memories, I feel that, you, especially, fell into the category of Things He Never Handled Right”. 
Tom didn’t know how to process this information. Was he being serious? It seemed too good to be true. But then again, there was no way in a million years the real Tord would be acting this…Kind? Kind to Tom?? Yeah, the real Tord would’ve called him stupid for believing something like that for even a second. The real Tord would’ve kicked the trashcan over and left him to flail about while he laughed his ass back into the house. Maybe it was because he was just so tired and uncomfortable, but he decided to believe him. 
“I…..Fine. If you’re telling the truth, then you really did do all of us a favor. The real Tord absolutely sucks. It sure would save Matt and Edd a lot of headaches not having to hear us fighting all the time.” 
Tord restrained himself from responding how he would normally and sighed, standing up now. He held his hand out to Tom, offering him some stability while he wiggled his way out of the bin. 
Tom just stared at his hand, hesitating to speak. He was embarrassed to ask for more help than what was being given.
“What is it?”, Tord said.
“My….Um- my…… Ugghh .. shit… .My limbs kind of fell asleep a while ago in here. I can’t move them”. Tom blushed in anger. He didn’t care if this was a nicer version of the roommate he constantly feuded with. He was sure this version would still take joy from seeing Tom in such a pathetic predicament. 
“That’s fine. Don’t worry about it”, Tord reassured and stepped closer, hooking his right arm under Tom’s knees, his left arm wrapping under his arms. With surprising ease, Tom was lifted out of the trash and placed carefully onto his feet. Tord tried keeping him propped up with his left arm under Tom’s right arm, but his deadened weight took him by surprise as Tom crumbled in on his jello legs.
“Ahhh!!”
“Shit, sorry”, Tord lifted him back up, wrapping both arms around him this time. Tom didn’t know how to feel about this. He’d rather not be on the ground, but, this was ... .Weird. So weird. 
“Just let me know when the blood comes back into those legs. I know it takes a while for the TV static stage to pass. Then we can walk back inside”, Tord wrapped his arms around Tom a little tighter, “I’ll kill two birds with one stone and keep you warm in the meantime”, he breathed into his neck.
“Ummm…”, Tom hated the feeling blossoming in the pit of his stomach. His warm breath felt so good against his skin. This was the first time he had ever seen this side of Tord. Underneath all their bickering, Tom had always felt an undeniable attraction to his roommate. But there was no way for their heated arguments to have had the chance to ever turn into anything hot and heavy. This new Tord….Maybe things could be different. Maybe this new Tord was just less afraid of showing what the original also felt deep down….No. Tom was just thinking crazy now. He was reading way too much into this. Regardless, he was going to enjoy the moment just a little longer. His arms were back to normal, but he kept them at his side, not wanting to give away that he was stretching out the time spent in his embrace.
“Tord”, he said finally after a while.
Tord lifted his face from the crook of his neck, his eyes darted above his head, and released one of his arms momentarily to brush some trash out of Tom’s hair before wrapping it around his back again. His face was just an inch from Tom’s. His eyes were soft. The electricity Tom felt from their lip’s proximity to each other made his legs weak all over again.
Get it together, man.
“Yes, Thomas?” 
Oh my god.
“I-I think I can walk now”, he pulled away from Tord’s embrace. Stumbling back, he brushed himself off from any remaining debris on his clothes. 
“....Thanks.” Tom managed to get out, not looking at him.
“Of course, what are friends for?”, Tord smiled, looking pleased to see his roommate back on his feet. “Just one thing, the other Matt is sleeping in your room. You’re welcome to sleep in mine. The couch simply won’t do after the day we’ve had, after all.”
“Yeah, fine”, Tom relented. 
They walked back inside, quietly opening and closing doors, careful not to wake the others. Inside, Tom kicked off his shoes and was about spring into the bed and pass out, when a hand pulled onto his sweater mid-leap.
“You can’t be serious. You’ve been stewing in filth, go take a shower.” Tord threw a towel at him.
Tom snorted and ripped the towel off his head. “Whatever”, he shuffled into the bathroom. This shade of Tord felt more familiar than the one who held him outside. 
A shower was everything Tom needed right now. He stood there for a bit, letting the hot water wash the day off of him, enjoying how nice it felt. His eyes scanned the selection of products, surprised at Tord’s expensive taste. He helped himself to his lavish soaps, and steam wrapped the air around him with scents of sandalwood and clove. The door creaked a little as it opened and Tom froze mid-shampoo, his hands stuck still on top of his head and foam running down his face. He didn’t even realize his mouth was open in shock until the shampoo made its way down. He spit the shampoo out frantically and tried regaining his composure. Tord was already naked, resting his own towel onto the rack before hopping in beside Tom. 
“You couldn’t wait until I was finished?” Tom complained, crossing his arms. 
“This version of me is quite the environmentalist, I don’t like wasting water if I can help it. We can share, no?”
“Why didn’t you get in sooner then?”
“I had to give you a head start. You reeked.”
Tom glared at him, unamused.
“C’mon Tom, it’s no big deal, I’m already in here. However”- he leaned over Tom, reaching over to the knobs behind him, turning one further clockwise. He took his sweet time doing so, pressing against Tom in the small space. -“There we go. Had to turn the heat up a little,” he said low in his ear.
Shit. Tom’s body flushed with excitement, trying to calm himself down only made him more excited, it was a losing battle, a game of tug of war he could barely hold onto. He couldn’t let Tord see him getting hard. Before Tord could fully pull away and see his effect on him, Tom panicked and quickly squeezed way too much from the open shampoo bottle over his head and lathered a helmet of bubbles onto Tord’s head.
“Tom, what are you doing? ”, he wasn’t expecting this, but he indulged Tom’s silly little antics. He closed his eyes so the shampoo wouldn’t run down and make them sting. 
“Just …Wanted to repay you a little for helping me out earlier”, Tom lied, hoping he could will his boner away by the time he rinsed off.
Tord had known Tom long enough to recognize when he was hiding something. The way his voice pitched up, his frantic mannerisms. He found it amusing. He didn’t need his eyes to know that Tom was feeling flustered. Hearing him try to hide the fact only made Tord want to rile him up even more. 
“Well, that’s very nice of you, Tom. But if I recollect, you were in the middle of your own lather”- he reached up and ran his hands to briefly cup the base of his neck, moving up to glide his fingers through his hair and caress his scalp. 
Tom tried his best to keep calm. If he freaked out, Tord would for sure know he was having an effect on him. What if this new Tord was just a genuinely nicer, more affectionate genre of his former self? Would he think Tom was just some pervert if he caught him aroused at something as mundane as a shampoo? His eyes were still closed, so Tom decided to follow suit and shut his as well. Instead of the whole “Try not to think of an elephant” route (the elephant being his hard-on), he figured the next best move would be to try genuinely relaxing into the activity they partook in. 
The sound of running water filled their silence, as the two continued massaging their fingertips through each other’s heads. Neither didn’t want to admit just how nice it felt. Tom pushed down the hum of content trying to escape from his throat. Tord had stepped back in closer, and Tom’s eyes popped open. He could feel his hard cock poking against his thigh. Tord looked right back at him with a playful smirk. The product had washed away from their hair by now, but their hands remained cupping each other’s heads. The erection Tom had finally settled down was coming back in full force, batting against Tord’s fullness as his rose. 
“Thomas, you don’t have to worry. I’m not the same as the Tord you knew. You can just…Let it happen”, he leaned in and pressed his lips into Tom’s. 
Tom’s heart raced as he sighed and reciprocated the kiss. He brought one arm down to wrap around his lower back. There was no hiding or stopping it now. They sunk deeper into their kisses. Tord sucked on Tom’s bottom lip and moaned, grabbing his neck and slowly grinded their cocks together. Tom whimpered, needing more, quickly, but Red continued setting the pace, sliding his wet mouth over his and slipping his tongue in to greet Tom’s. Fuck. He could barely catch his breath, his heart was doing a little Irish jig in his chest. Something had to give.
“Get on your knees.”
It was Tom who spoke. Tord pulled his head away, raising an eyebrow in surprise at the firm tone in his desperate command.
“Oh?”
“You heard me, Commie. Kneel for me. Show me how sorry you are for how the other Tord treated me.” 
Before Tom could see him grimace in response, Tord gripped his hair and pulled his head back, kissing and sucking hard on his neck.  Masking his anger with passion was the only outlet he had for being bossed around without blowing his cover.
Fine, he reasoned with himself, It’ll be worth it when I finally get Tom where I want him. I need to be convincing if I want to lull him into enough of a sense of security to carry out my plan. 
He eased up on his roughness and lightly brushed his lips along to Tom’s ear, now kissing it gently as he held him close. 
“As you wish”, he breathed, sucking his earlobe. His lips pecked their way along his jawline and back to his lips, giving him another passionate kiss. 
“I truly am sorry, Tom. I regret the time we wasted hating each other for no good reason”, he murmured against his mouth.
“I  want to take-”, he kissed-
“every instance I’ve hurt you-”, he bit Tom’s lip, ran his tongue over it, and suckled, making Tom moan-
 “-and replace it with a new memory-”, he bit his jaw and grabbed his cock, giving it several pumps as he spoke-
“-of me making you feel good.” 
The convincing earnestness in his voice rang through Tom’s ears like warm honey that enveloped his thoughts and doubts, slowing time itself to a standstill.
Tom trembled as he failed to maintain his composure. Holy Bazooka on a Beagle. 
He lacked the capacity to respond with anything particularly clever. The only thing he could manage was rare sincerity.
“Thank you, Tord”, he sighed. His vulnerable state was driving Tord wild. Under the cover of this falsehood, he easily managed to break down Tom’s walls. His cocked ached imagining how heavy his impending betrayal would hit Tom. Fuck. His hips squirmed in delicious frustration as he smiled and hummed and kissed his way down the other man’s chest. My perfect little plaything. He laved his tongue over his right nipple, lapping at the sensitive nub and gently running his hand up and down the length of his cock. 
“Oh- Tord ”, Tom whined and panted unabashedly as Tord glided his mouth across Tom’s chest, nuzzling his chest hair and planting soft, audible pecks en route to the other side of this chest. Tord’s wet mouth latched on to swirl his tongue and tenderly bite down on Tom’s other hard nipple. His thumb was able to circle the head of Tom’s penis with ease from the increasing presence of precum. Tom was fully under his spell, eyes closed and head back, hands still grabbing onto Tord’s shoulders.
Tord kissed his way down, Tom's erection twitching as the other man held onto his sides to then slide his hands down to cup the back of his thighs. He knelt now before him. Tord’s heavy eyelids looked entranced as he planted more soft kisses on his hips and stomach, his breath teasing his cock and he passed it to alternate sides. Tom’s hips writhed in agony, wishing he would just get on with it. 
“Tord, pleaaase ” he moaned. 
Tord felt better regaining a little sense of control in this position. He was so hard seeing how needy Tom was for him. Tord, please, the begging was enough to make his own cock begin to drip.
“Please, what?” He exhaled against his swollen head, smirking up at him playfully. 
���Please, please,  suck my cock. I need your mouth around me. Blow me, god, please”, his brows furrowed in frustration as he looked down at his object of desire. Of course, any version of Tord wasn’t going to acquiesce so easily without a little teasing. 
Tord smirked and relented.
“Good boy”, his accent made Tom throb, his hypnotic gaze erased any ability to think coherently. Tord lifted his cock with one hand and swept his flat, wet tongue side to side, licking up from the base of his erection to the tip, taking his head into his mouth and swirling his tongue around deliberately, flicking at his frenulum and never breaking his gaze. His lips curled up as he tasted his salty precum dribbling out. Tom’s frantic expression and shaky breathing was quite a sight, his hips squirmed with increasing fervor and his chest heaved, craving more. Tord slid the rest of his length into his mouth, closing his eyes in concentration as he moaned and hummed in delight, bobbing his head at a moderate pace, every suck allowing Tom’s head to thrust against the back of Tord’s throat. Tom’s hips rocked to match their rhythm. His balls were taut, nearing climax, overwhelmed by the inviting wetness of Tord’s mouth that was slobbering up and down his length so dutifully. He ached in fear that this Tord would pull something like denying him at the last second, edge him for a maddening amount of time until he begged just right. He really fucking hoped not. 
The bathroom tile was making Tord’s knees sore. He kept his hands wrapped around Tom’s thighs for stability and sensed him close to ejaculating. The hot water was running out and he preferred not to stay uncomfortable and lukewarm longer than he had to. He always knew Tom had feelings for him deep down, and knew exactly what button to push to send him over the edge. 
Tord slowly slid his cock out of his mouth, maneuvering it to stay propped up against his chin. His half-lidded eyes softly looked up into Tom’s delirious voids and breathed his next words against the tip of his leaking head.
“I love you”
Immediately he sunk back to take all of Tom’s length, sucking and slurping the hot cum shooting down his throat. He freed one hand from Tom’s thigh to fondle his balls and pressed a finger against his perineum. 
“Fuck , Tord. Oh, fuck ooooohhh fuck ahhhh, god ” shock-waves coursed through his body and his string of helpless moans filled the night. Tord’s words sent pleasure from his groin and sent the feeling rushing out to his whole body. His heart and stomach fluttered with tingling ecstasy. His mind looped it over and over again. I love you. Each replay of the moment continued sending sweet voltage through this skin. 
Tord took him out from his mouth and stood, pulling him in to place some kisses on his burning neck. God, he’s so stupid, he smirked against his skin. He grabbed the top of Tom’s hand and placed it on his dick, guiding him as they both held on and stroked his length. Tord bit onto Tom’s trap muscle, huffing and moaning and they pumped his cock faster now. He’s such a gullible fuck. The rhythm of his bucking hips struggled to maintain their tempo as he mentally worked himself up. So easy to fool. His cock throbbed harder and Tord whined. Tom was obligingly stroking Tord’s with his fist around his, resting his head against Tord’s temple, panting and intermittently kissing his head.
Tord envisioned the look of horror and betrayal that would soon paint Tom’s face tomorrow morning, chained up in his laboratory. This lovesick idiot has no clue.
Classic, stupid Tom.
“Oh, fuck ”, Tord’s vision went white as he mewled into Tom’s neck, frenetically thrusting into Tom’s hand as they milked him to completion. 
“Aauuunnnnh ”, The tepid shower water brought contrast to Tord’s hot cum spurting against their stomach and thighs. His head swam in ecstasy as the warm glaze of his seed slowly washed down the drain. Tord, still breathless, lifted his face to rest his forehead against Tom's. He opened his eyes to see Tom softly looking back at him with a drowsy smile. Red felt an unfamiliar twang in his chest. Useless brain chemicals.
He delivered one final disingenuous peck on Tom’s mouth before hopping out of the shower to towel off.
“It’s late.....Let's get to bed”
Tom stood dazed, staring after Tord as he retreated to his bedroom.
___________________
To be continued :)
14 notes · View notes
starwriterulia · 6 months ago
Text
Tomb of the Goshenite Stargazer Dragon - Chapter 4
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SUBJECT MATERIAL WARNINGS FOR THIS FANFICTION ARE INCLUDED IN THE MASTERLIST POST OF MY BLOG AND THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS FANFICTION.
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Bat dividers by @violetbudd
Minors DNI, scene cut and creator support banners by @cafekitsune
Latest revision: August 18, 2024. Added minors DNI, scene cut and "Support your creators by reblogging" banners. Added ⏭️ emoji below end of chapter banner with text explaining its function as a navigational button.
Chapter summary: Faith, nude, is experiencing a lucid dream when Ra's, also nude, appears, and holds her left breast from behind while talking with Faith about how she could make this easier on everyone if she submitted to him. Faith reminds Ra's that it was a shared wet dream, and she follows her curiosity and sexual hormones, and allows Ra's to use her mouth. Before Ra's moves on to her vagina, the eight pairs of neon red eyes of a spider-demon appears in the darkness, and uses a tentacle to throw Ra's far into the sky. Faith flirts with the demon, who speaks Nerobzal, the language of the Nero Sprits of Faith's fictional galaxy, Thalassic Space, and they have sex using the demon's tentacles in Faith's mouth, vagina and anus. But Faith loses motivation and dispells the illusion, revealing to her that she had burned part of the forest near Wayne Manor, and is in shock.
Urania comes down from the sky in a beautiful cluster of stars within a beam of light, and scolds Faith, and inserts a finger into Faith's vagina to remove residue from the dream world to prevent a Nero Spirit from manifesting or possessing Faith. She leads Faith into the forest, where Batman was waiting, telling him to call if she's needed and Zatanna is unavailable, and they go to the mansion, where Urania departs. Stephanie waited inside, and helps Faith dress before making breakfast for the two girls, during which Faith tries to talk about her Fairy Persona, Solas, and her Mermaid Persona, Ønske, but instead talks about the alphabets and translation and pronunciation rules of Neofom and Nerobzal. Batman interrupts after this, saying they were late to the Belfry, and the girls put their dishes in the sink with water and leave with Batman. After Faith's training, while Barbara escorts Faith to the bathroom to shower while Tim and Stephanie prepare dinner, Dick reflects about the session, Ra's' actions earlier that day, and the other world-ending disaster that Ra's could initate with knowledge of its ritual. The Batkids eat dinner together, then Stephanie and Faith go upstairs to have some fun.
Fandoms: DC Comics, Batfamily, no Batcest, Thalassic Space (OC; takes inspiration The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Assassin's Creed: Black Flag, Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill 3, and other sci-fi, fantasy and horror titles, as well as original concepts, such as the science and lore of the galaxy.)
[In order of appearance] Characters: Faith Lawson (TBA; self-insert), Stephanie Brown (The Spoiler), Bruce Wayne (Batman), Barbara Gordon (Batgirl), Dick Grayson (Nightwing), Tim Drake (Red Robin).
Word Count: 11570 (Back to having a long chapter due to how much dialogue I tend to write, WHOOPS.) 15439 (August 10 revision, HOLY SHIT, I mean of course it got longer 'cause I added part of Chapter 3 onto it, but HOT DAMN)
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5
Content warnings: Nightmare related imagery, brief non-consensual breast holding, oral (male receiving), vaginal and anal teasing and penetration with a lucid dream manifested tentacle, face teasing (female receiving) with a lucid dream manifested tentacle, rough consensual vaginal and anal sex with a lucid dream manifested tentacle, dirty thoughts à la Dick Grayson about Faith's ass, thighs and boobs (it it may be slightly OOC, but then again... it's probably fine LOL)
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I approached my high school that was also UNBC Prince George and the most horrifying yet thrilling indoor water park that could ever exist, taking large strides towards the front doors of the school and entering, slowing my pace as I neared the gymnasium hallway. The canteen to the left was open and tended by familiar faces, and to the right was a Japanese subway station clad in neon pink, and down that way, on the left side of the hall, was a McDonalds. The way its white, red and yellow lighting merged with the neon pink gave me a headache. I entered the gym, which no longer captured its appearance as I remembered it, basketball hoops, metal support structures, the laminate flooring and the bleachers with an opening to the locker hallway, and from there two stairs to the mezzanine, and displayed the water park with white tiles and blue tiles of various shades, cautionary signs on the floor and walls, and two massive pools that were probably from Vancouver or Surrey. I had flashes of going down the waterslide of too many impossible tubes, the drain-slide of doom, and the shocking feeling of my foster dad not quite catching me, and the curiosity of what would have remained if I had died, that day. Would my subconscious be trapped in the pool, or would it become one with the water and cease to exist?
I heard a man hum lustfully behind me. He slithered an arm over my left shoulder and cupped his hand around my breast. "Are you usually naked in your dreams?" It was Ra's, of course. I didn't even need to turn around to confirm that.
"No." I felt my body awaken as we were transported to the street in front of the high school at night, the yellow light of streetlamps keeping away the creatures and spirits that I couldn't name or describe, but the goosebumps on my skin had felt. Ra's had attracted an audience of Nero Spirits, and they would love a show. I rubbed my eyes and yawned while I said, "But, yawn, whenever I check what I'm wearing, or make any conscious effort to get information or change the Script, things break, and I wake up violently." Ra's hummed. "Are you bothering me because you've found my dragon tomb on Earth and want to tell me you're coming back for your new wife?"
"No, although I do very dearly want that. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get past that spider of yours so I can make that come true, and you won't have to worry about training for what would be a short, futile and rather painful battle, for you."
"Like hell I'm telling you that. Ra's, when I say, 'Stop, or it'll kill you', I mean it, and it won't be me who kills you."
"Oh, aha ha ha, how cute. You think anything in your little galaxy can hurt me or take my life?"
"You brought this upon yourself. You should have recognised how dangerous Platonia is, when you first stared into it. If you continue, and if you manage to defeat me, or whatever, I literally will be unable to stop what comes next until I'm resurrected, and Earth won't have much time for the heroes to gather the Four."
"What are you talking about?" Ra's said, curiously. He moved to stand in front of me. He was naked, too. I couldn't help how my face reacted, my lips parting and my eyes locking onto his cock, six inches and quite girthy. "You like what you see."
"I mean, I do like older men, and it was a shared wet dream."
"Then make this easier on yourself," R'as took hold of my shoulders, and forced me to my knees. His dick was becoming erect, and was close enough to my face that I could smell his pheromones. "And let me fuck you, Faith."
I was lost for words. And I was really curious. Also, it might make Ra's stop pursuing me. "I have a gag reflex, by the way." I said, taking his dick in my right hand and stroking it as I licked and kissed around his tip.
Ra's moaned in his throat. "Yes, mm. Why don't I help you with that?"
"I'm open to that." I said. Ra's started to insert his cock into my mouth, his left hand holding the back of my head. I sighed, my shoulders relaxing.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Better than my dildo. You have a pulse."
"Oh, yes. Relax, relax everything, and just breathe through your nose calmly. I'll do the rest."
"Do you want me to swallow?" I said, making eye contact.
"Yes."
Oh God, my hormones. "Mm, fuck me." I slackened my jaw, inhaling. R'as pushed his dick into my mouth, and as I gagged and my eyes fluttered, he laughed with a smug expression.
"Good?"
"Mhm." It kinda hurt and was really awkward, but holy shit if wasn't a good hurt.
"Good." Ra's said. He grunted, and began to fuck my face. I moaned and concentrated on the rough feeling of his cock using me like a fleshlight. Breathing through my nose was so, so awkward and uncomfortable for the first fifteen seconds.
"Yes, like that. You've got it, now." I moaned, and reached my arms to hold the back of Ra's' legs. "Yes, good. Good, girl."
Ra's persisted, never easing up on his treatment of my mouth, and I felt the wetness of my cunt, and imagined how it might smell with the scent of Ra's' dick in my face. "You're wet for me, Faith." Ra's said, sultrily. I nodded a little, softly moaning. "Are you going to get on your hands and knees so I can fuck your little pussy?" I moaned.
"Nanoz." Said a masculine voice from the darkness behind Ra's.
"What was that? What did he say?"
I pulled my face down, removing Ra's from my mouth. "He said 'no'."
"Who was that?" Ra's looked over his shoulder as eight pairs of neon red eyes appeared.
"The demon I call Nerobzal. I don't know his actual name."
"It isr toz' preciozuzsr phzozr yabozuz toz knanozwz, labozve." I fluttered my eyes and blushed. I looked at Ra's face. He looked pissed.
"He said, 'It is too precious for you to know, love'."
"Well, get in line, pal."
"I azmam thze labinane."
"He is the line." I said. Ra's scoffed.
"Iphz yabozuz ever tryab toz tozuzchz mamyab labozve azgazinan, I wzilab' give yabozuz pazinan eternanazlab."
"'If you ever touch my love again, I will give you pain eternal'." I translated.
Ra's scoffed louder. "No pain you could ever give would qualify as pain to me." The eight-eyed demon was silent. "Makes you think twice, doesn't it?" Six. "Your 'love' is my bitch now, you hear me? I'm going to take her home a-AAAAND!" Ra's was lifted into the air by a scraggly neon red arm with a clawed hand, and swung about in tight circles like Thor winding Mjölnir.
"Send him home, honey." I said, kindly.
"Glabazdlabyab." 'Gladly.' The eight-eyed demon threw Ra's, whose scream followed his body into the silence of the dark.
"And the next time he tries to search for my dragon tomb, hunt him, and do anything but kill him. Batman wouldn't be happy about that."
"Yabesr, I uznandersrtaznand. Wze mamuzsrt plabazyab bzyab thze ruzlabesr ozphz ozthzersr, srozmametimamesr." 'Yes, I understand. We must play by the rules of others, sometimes.'
"Thank you. Do you… want anything from me as payment for this?" The demon hummed seductively. I felt his voice vibrate throughout my body, and I moaned loudly, my torso suddenly so heavy that I had to bend forward, leaning on my arms with my ass raised as I looked into the highest pair of the demon's eyes. "Labet mame plabeazsre yabozuz phzozr thze timame wze hzazve labephzt." 'Let me pleasure you for the time we have left.'
"Oh, yes! Yes, please!" I opened my mouth wide, licking the air. Three neon red tentacles, each with a tip the size of a naval orange and growing in width as they disappeared into the darkness, and another lanky arm came from the shadows. One tentacle placed itself in front of my face, and I desperately licked it and used my lips and jaw to put it my mouth to suck on, moaning. The demon grumbled four times. "Does that feel good, honey?"
"Yabesr." 'Yes.' I continued licking and sucking on the tentacle as the other two slathered my feet in the demon's liquid. The two tentacles traced up my legs, covering them in slick. When they reached my ass, the two arms he had produced grabbed my ass cheeks tightly. I moaned, sticking my tongue out. The tentacle I had been sucking on playing with my tongue, and moved around my face.
"Ohhhh, yes, honey, yes. Use me, honey, use me!" I pleaded. The tentacle pushed itself into my mouth, and I relaxed my jaw as it entered, flickering around, making me drool onto the asphalt. The hands spread my ass cheeks, and the two tentacles teased my holes, around and in the beginning of each opening. I moaned and gasped in pleasure, looking into the highest pair of eyes, and the demon hummed to me.
The tentacle lingering around my cunt entered, and I released a long, sputtered moan around the tentacle in my mouth. "Yes! Ohhhh!" The tentacle in my pussy began to thrust, the liquids that began to fill me making my head light with ecstasy. I tilted my head to the right with the sensation, the tentacle in my mouth beginning to pass into my throat, and I moaned softly.
The tentacle near my ass hole plunged in. "OH!" I gasped, moving my head back suddenly, leaving behind the tentacle in my mouth. "Oh, fuck yeah!" The tentacle in my ass worked quickly. "Oh, yes, honey, yes!"
The demon's tentacle that had been in my mouth travelled around my face, and I grabbed onto it with my left hand to lick it. "Wzhzazt wzilab' yabozuz doz wzhzenan hze chazlab'enangesr yabozuz azphzter yabozuz hzazve received trazinaninang phzrozmam thze mamozrtazlabsr yabozuz hzazve bzephzrienanded?" 'What will you do when he challenges you after you have received training from the mortals you have befriended?'
"I will try to win."
"Wzhzat iphz yabozuz labozsre?" 'What if you lose?'
"Will I not wander the darkness and find you?"
"Yabozuz wzilab', iphz thzazt isr wzhzazt yabozuz truzlabyab wzaznant." 'You will, if that is what you truly want.' The demon moved the tentacle from my face to my breasts, bringing forth two more tentacles. "Bzuzt yabozuz azre nanozt wzhzozlab'yab mamazde phzozr mame, labozve." 'But you are not wholly made for me, love.' The new tentacles wrapped around my waist and upper right thigh, hoisting my leg. "Yabozuz azre mamozrtazlan." 'You are mortal.' The tentacle that was in my cunt moved rougher, but not violently, aiming downwards and making me moan.
"Oznanlabyab yabozuzr srpirit isr eternanazlab." 'Only your spirit is eternal.' I hummed in acknowledgement, nodding. "Iphz yabozuz wzaznandered thze dazrknanesr' wzithzozuzt cozmamplabete cozmam'itmamenant toz phozrever be boznanded wzithz mame, azsr thze Labazdyab Wzhzoz Srozuzghzt thze Azrmamsr ozphz az Nanightmamazre, yabozuz wzozuzlabd never labeazve Inanphzernanoz." 'If you wandered the darkness without complete commitment to forever be bonded with me, as the Lady Who Sought the Arms of a Nightmare, you would never leave Inferno.'
"Wze wzozuzlabd be tozgethzer inan thze Perimameter ozphz thze Naninanthz Circlabe, buzt yabozuz wzozuzlabd be uznanazblabe toz die toz beginan ozr enand Red Srtozrmam Eazrthz, mameaznaninang wze wzozuzlabd hzazve creazted thzazt srcenanazrioz phzozr nanothzinang, aznand Thzalabazsr'ic Srpazce wzozuzlabd labozse oznane ozphz itsr Plabazyabwzrighztsr. I doz nanozt thzinank yabozuz srhzozuzlabd sreek mame." 'We would be together in the Perimeter of the Ninth Circle, but you would be unable to die to begin or end Red Storm Earth, meaning we would have created that scenario for nothing, and Thalassic Space would lose one of its Playwrights. I do not think you should seek me.'
I sighed. "You're right. Ra's has learned about Red Storm Earth now, right?"
"Yabesr, hze hzazsr. I hzeazrd hzimam labazuzghz phzrozmam thze roz'mam wzhzere yabozuz aznand Azrgozphzazelab wzere labazid toz resrt. Hze szazid it wzazsr perphzect." 'Yes, he has. I heard him laugh from the room where you and Argophael were laid to rest. He said it was perfect.'
"Thanks for letting me know. If I lose, Red Storm Earth will have to be ended, as it normally would."
"Yabesr. Aznand I wzilab' azccept mamyab rozlabe azsr oznane ozphz thze demamoznansr yabozuz mamuzsrt depheazt." 'Yes. And I will accept my role as one of the demons you must defeat.'
I nodded, and raised my cheeks to smile. "Oh, to finally see the climax of Thalassic Space!"
"Yabesr, it wzilab' bze quzite thze srpectazclabe." 'Yes, it will be quite the spectacle.' I nodded more. "I labike thze nanazme yabozuz gazve mame, labozve. It hzazsr aznan inanteresrtinang buzt srimamplabe ozriginan." 'I like the name you gave me, love. It has an interesting but simple origin.'
"Thank you. You won't leave me after this, will you?"
The demon laughed. "Nanoz. Wze hzazve beenan tozgethzer phozr srix hzuznandred aznand eighztyab srevenan yabeazrsr, aznand I hzozpe wze azre tozgethzer phzozr srix hzuznandred aznand eighztyab srevenan mamozre. Azsr equzazlab creaztive maminandsr wzhzoz srozmametimamesr mameet toz hzazve srex, inan dreazmamsr." 'No. We have been together for six hundred and eighty seven years, and I hope we are together for six hundred and eighty seven more. As equal creative minds who sometimes meet to have sex, in dreams.'
"Hm," I smiled. "This isn't a dream."
"Nanoz, it isr nanozt az dreazmam. Raz'sr azlab Ghzuzlab creazted az pazthz ozuzt ozphz thze tozmamb azsr hze phzlabed, wzhzenan hze wzozke mame phzrozmam mamyab wzeb aznand reazlabisred mamyab srize aznand pozwzer. I phzozlab'ozwzed hzimam toz az mamaznansrioznan aznand enantered thze roz'mam yabozuz srlabept inan azsr hzisr shzazdozwz. Wzhzenan hze remamozved hzisr clabozthzesr, I mamozved bozthz ozphz yabozuz hzere. I wzazited phzozr hzimam toz be nanuzde sroz hze cozuzlabd phzyabsricazlab'yab phzeelab mamyab Lawbzal, wzhzenan I grazbbed hzimam." 'No, it is not a dream. Ra's al Ghul created a path out of the tomb as he fled, after he woke me from my web and realised my size and power. I followed him to a mansion and entered the room you slept in as his shadow. When he removed his clothes, I moved both of you here. I waited for him to be nude so he could physically feel my Lawbzal, when I grabbed him.'
"Cool! Big, strong demon!" I giggled.
The demon hummed. "I azmam sroz veryab phzozrtuznanazte toz hzazve phzozuznand srozmameoznane sroz kinand, bzeazuztiphzuzlab aznand inantelab'igenant toz hzazuznant." 'I am so very fortunate to have found someone so kind, beautiful and intelligent to haunt.'
I smiled with my cheeks. "I'm glad to have met you in person, in this life. And I'm glad that we love each other."
"I azmam glanazd phzozr thzazt, toz', labozve. Nanozwz, hzozlabd oznan. Labet mame phzinanisrhz inan yabozuz." 'I am glad for that, too, love. Now, hold on. Let me finish in you.' I hummed, eagerly. "Labet mame cozmamplabete yabozuzr wzisrhz, aznand I wzilab' tazke mamyab pazyabmamenant." 'Let me complete your wish, and I will take my payment.'
"Let's do it, honey." I said, cheerfully. The demon pushed the tentacle in my vagina as far as it could go. I laid on my stomach from the overwhelming situation. "Oh! Oh, oh!"
"Isr thzazt toz' mamuzchz?" 'Is that too much?'
"Oh, I think you're right against my cervix, please try not to go further, it hurts as it is, and I don't think I would enjoy a dance with death that intimately."
"Veryab wzelab', labozve." 'Very well, love.' The tentacles continued to pump into my pussy and ass. But I was having trouble staying in the fantasy, and three seconds later, I released the illusion. I laid on a small clearing in the forest near Wayne Manor, and my solar magic had melted the snow and scorched the grass, and six layers of trees had been turned to ash.
"Oh my God, I did that!"
A cluster of golden stars spanning fifty kilometres (31 miles) gathered in the sky, and from the cluster came a golden beam of light that shot to the ground, four feet away from me. Urania must have given a Celestial Globe to Batman or the League. "Daughter," She said melodically, as she closed the distance, standing with her arms on her hips at my feet. "Were you not only pretending to have self-cestuous intercourse with your Animus in the forest, but role-playing as demon-spider and its wench?"
"Yes." I said, sitting up and crossing my legs. "I don't feel sick anymore, though."
"Tsk. Do you need me to look at your vagina and make sure you are not dying?"
"No, Mother. I lost motivation, just now. I didn't finish, or penetrate myself too deeply."
"Good. Still, I will clean you of any residue from the Dream World on Paper so that no Nero Spirit possesses or follows you." Urania knelt before me, and inserted a finger into my vagina. A soothing warmth captivated my body. Five seconds later, Urania removed her finger, and wiped it on her toga. "Oh, look at what you have done, in two minutes! You know how quickly your O-star eye burns everything around you, if you have lucid or waking fantasies without supervision! We are fortunate you had a sexual fantasy only involving yourself and your Animus instead of a destructive one like Red Storm Earth!"
"Yes, Mother. I'm sorry, I was dreaming and forgot I'm not on Earth-33 anymore, and that I have magic now."
"Mhm." Urania nodded firmly.
"I should have recognised the illusion I created, but I didn't because I wanted the fantasy so badly."
Urania held my hands in hers. "I know why you fell into the design of your subconscious, sweetheart. You are a lonely woman, and yes, most fault lays with your foster parents and some with your adoptive parents for not guiding you or talking to you about the how and why of relationships so you could at least use that knowledge to better your life. This was true during your life as a demigoddess, too. This dilemma of loneliness is also in part your fault, in this life. You understand the rules of monogamy, and the reasons for those rules, but when presented with online dating, you broke the rules of trust and exclusivity. You have not dated since August of last year, though that was two boyfriends later."
"Yeah." I exhaled. "Yeah. I keep making myself fictional love interests, but it never has, and never will, fill the hole I made."
"Precisely. Tell me, how did it actually feel to have intercourse with your Animus, in that form? What did your narration not describe?"
"I felt the strange, heightened sensation of having sex in a dream, but it went on for too long. That's when I remembered I don't have any real experience to base the scenario on. My depression broke me out of it, and, uh, I think that's fortunate."
"Yes, you are fortunate that your consciousness remembered its truth, albeit heavy on your emotions and health." I nodded, looking down. Urania sighed and lifted my chin with her left hand. "Ulia, I know you were only trying to please yourself and not have to ask for help. You have always had a hard time asking for help, even as a demigoddess. But this is something you should ask for help with. You are very lucky that your Animus has a tether of five kilometres (3 miles) to your physical location so that this short-sighted decision could not take you into the city, where all of the world would have beared witness to your debauchery and the natural horrors that the solar fire and gravitational vaccum sealed in your eyes that you were gifted to use for creation by your father can bring. Ask for help, next time. And not just when you need to be touched."
"Yes, Mother." I said, meekly. "I will ask for help, next time."
"Thank you. And I better see it! I do not want to see you put yourself in any more compromising situations, situations that will make the people who are supposed to trust you doubt your intentions, who you want to use your powers for, why you want to use magic, and I know this is especially important to you right now, why you are worthy of being Batgirl, if part of the Batfamily at all." I frowned as Urania said the last clause of her argument.
"You're right." I said, defeated but not broken. "I won't do this again."
"Thank you, Faith. Thank you." The second time, softly. Urania inhaled, stood up by pushing on her knees, and offered her left hand. I lifted my cheeks in a smile, and accepted the help to stand. "Let's get you back inside." We walked into the forest, where the grass became snow.
"Thank you for coming to help, Mother."
"It was my pleasure, Ulia." Urania wrapped her left arm around my right, and leaned close to whisper into my right ear, "When you do have sex with a penis, your IUD, Kyleena, won't do anything because of your reawakened spirit." I groaned into a laugh, smiling. Urania laughed in the way a mother who knows she's won would. "I love you." She said, melodically.
"I love you too, Mother." I said, kindly, and leaned into Urania, smiling with my cheeks and eyes. Urania hummed, pleased, and moved her weight away from me.
"Is all well, Batman?" Urania said, looking to her right. I inhaled and looked that way, and saw Batman emerge from the snowy trees.
"Yes. The only thing affected was the clearing, and those trees."
"Good. Her flu has been conquered, so I expect you will give her a meal and proceed with training?"
"Yes."
"Good. If she does anything like this again, but in the city, and you for whatever reason do not want to ask for Zatanna's assistance, or are unable to have her aid, please summon me with the Celestial Globe that I gifted you."
"I will, Urania. Thank you."
"Thank you, as well. For your patience, this morning, certainly." Urania said. Batman hummed. We reached the front yard. "All right, daughter. I will leave you, now. Until next time. Please try to behave yourself."
"Yes, Mother." I said, blushing bright red. "Thank you, Mother." Urania sighed with content. A smile came to her face, and she hugged me. I returned the hug, and several seconds later, Urania separated her body from mine.
"I will be on my way." Urania left for the sky the same way she appeared.
"Come on, Faith." Batman said, and walked with me inside the mansion.
"You're friggin' crazy, girl!" Said a feminine voice from upstairs. I looked, and there was—
"Stephanie!" I called out, beaming. Stephanie was not in costume, and leaned against the centre railing of the great hall stairs.
"Hi, crazy!" Stephanie replied. I laughed. "So like, you pretended to fuck your male-self, and you went out in the cold snow naked?"
"Yeah. I mean, I was sleeping naked, so."
"Faith!" Stephanie parkoured over the railing, and came towards me and Batman. "Faith, Faith, Fa-hey-haith." She put her hands on my shoulders with a smug grin. "You're crazy." I laughed. "And I will eat you out, tonight."
"Stephanie." Said Batman.
"Shut it, Bruce. Let's get you not naked, some food in your stomach, and then we'll get you to the Belfry."
"Oh-kay." I said, in my silly-time-at-work voice.
"OK?" Stephanie tilted her head forward, eyebrows raised.
"Yes, OK." I said, normally, with a light laugh.
"OK!" Stephanie linked her right arm with my left, and tried to skip, finding immediate resistance. "La—! Hey, why—?"
"I can't skip, either."
"Oh, right! Physical disability! You can't do shit, right now! I'm sorry."
"It's OK." I said, laughing. "We'll just walk, briskly, like the gays do."
"YES!" Stephanie and I began to walk at a fast pace. "Yes, we will walk briskly, like the gays do!"
"Woo hoo!"
"WOO!" Stephanie and I laughed. I heard a little something from Batman.
Faith and Stephanie entered the guest bedroom, and Faith searched in her dufflebag for something to wear. She chose black leggings and a full-length sleeved olive green shirt, vivid blue boxer briefs, a light blue sports bra, and black socks. Stephanie looked at the contents of the bag without touching anything. "Hm, you like earthy and jewel tones, eh?" Faith had brought a short-sleeved olive green shirt, a burgundy tank top, a dark blue shirt with a large rose pattern, two purple shirts, one full-sleeved and the other a T-shirt, and a brown tank top. She had brought two other pairs of black leggings, two pairs of black shorts, a grey pair of shorts, a pair of dark grey jogging pants, and a brown skirt that caught Stephanie's eye. Faith had brought two weeks' worth of black or dark coloured boxer briefs and a handful of loose-fitting bikini briefs, also black or dark coloured, black and grey socks, a pink sports bra and a purple sports bra that were the same style as the one Faith had picked to wear, and a grey sports bra with spaghetti straps and two darker shades of grey and black making a pattern of small lines.
"Yeah." Faith said, putting on the undergarments she picked. "Check out that brown skirt with the brown tank top, that's my favourite outfit."
"Yeah, I was looking at the skirt, lemme get a better look at it." Said Stephanie. She produced the item, letting it unfurl. "Ooh! That is so cuuuute!"
"Right? Thrift store find, along with the top I pair with it."
Stephanie pulled out the top, and gasped, seeing the dark olive green crochet work on its front. "Oh, that's so cute! I bet you look fabulous in it, with the skirt."
"Oh yeah!" Faith said, putting on the shirt she had chosen. "They look so good together that I get asked if it's a dress, and then I pull on the top of the skirt to show it's a skirt."
"Oh yeah." Stephanie said. Faith pulled on the leggings. "All good?"
"Uh, lemme brush my hair and wash my face."
"Sure, baby." Faith's cheeks reddened as they rose to smile, and Stephanie smiled in acknowledgement. 'I don't think she's ever been flirted with by a girl. This must be really special to her. Don't fuck this up, Steph!' Faith picked up the black vented hairbrush in her bag, strode to the bathroom, and went to work. "You're being so rough to your hair!"
"Yeah, well, if the curls win, it's a rat's nest, except for some parts in the back and front that stay curly."
"Mind if I help?"
"Sure!" Faith said, extending her right arm backwards. Stephanie entered the bathroom and accepted the brush. "I haven't had someone else brush my hair in a long time, that would feel nice."
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Stephanie said, beginning to gently work the brush through Faith's hair.
"I'm getting it dyed, on Thursday."
Stephanie gasped. "Ooh, what colour?"
"Red."
"Ooh, that'll look nice! Are you just getting it on what's grown out for a bit of an ombre look, or are you getting it all bleached and dyed, or just some streaks that'll get done?"
"What's grown out, plus a bunch of streaks."
"Nice!"
"Yeah. It'll be bright, but when I do it again, it'll be burgundy."
"Oh, that's going to look amazing on you."
"Mhm." Faith nodded, humming and smiling with her cheeks.
"You should let Bruce know, so he can make your costume match!"
"Oh, I will."
"Good." Stephanie continued brushing Faith's hair for another minute, then dangled the brush over Faith's right shoulder.
"Oh, you can put it back in my bag, if you want."
"Sure." Stephanie exited the bathroom, and Faith opened the cupboard under the sink. She found a white face cloth, and ran it under hot water as Stephanie returned. "You don't use soap, or anything?"
"Eh, I use a face-cleaning wipe in the evening, if I feel gross or put on makeup for once, but this is usually enough to wake me up." Faith wrung out the cloth and applied it to her face.
Stephanie laughed. "You're not already?"
"Sorry, should've said "clean my eyes". I get eye mucus pretty bad."
"Oh yeah. So you don't sleep well?"
"No. Even with my meds, it takes about three hours if I'm on my phone, which I usually am, just to watch a YouTube video." Faith folded the cloth, and set it on the edge of the sink. She walked out of the bathroom with Stephanie, towards the door to the hallway. "It takes two, or less, like, sometimes I'm asleep in the first half hour, if I'm really tired and just need background ambiance."
"What do you like to watch to help you sleep?" Stephanie asked, as Faith opened the door, the pair leaving the bedroom. Stephanie closed the door, and the girls went downstairs.
"People playing or talking about video games, horror analysis videos, be it about a movie, game or what have you, and now and then I'll watch something funny. I usually gravitate towards whatever SMOSH uploads I've missed."
"Oh yeah. You like their modern stuff?"
"I like their modern cast, yeah." The two crossed the open part of the hallway, passing the great hall stairs and nearing the reception room. "I think they're funny, and they seem friendly enough. Sometimes I watch a MARVEL movie on Disney+, or an episode of Young Justice, Justice League or Justice League: Unlmited on my TELETOON+ subscription through Amazon Prime."
The girls rounded the corner, to the right, walking through the servery to a narrow hallway, and taking the first door on the left to the kitchen. "Have you watched the Netflix Gotham show yet?"
"I watched two seasons, I think? I forget where I left off. I thought it was really good." Faith opened the door to the kitchen, Stephanie following and closing it.
"It was! Whatchu in the mood for?" They stood near the island.
"Good question, my stomach doesn't like eggs, but it does like hashbrowns and meat."
"How do you usually cook your eggs?"
"Uh, well-cooked? The yolk is hard. I flip it over to cook it."
"That's over-hard. Have you tried scrambled?"
"That's sort of how I make an omlette? It doesn't make a difference."
"Maybe your tummy just doesn't like eggs."
"Yeah, it doesn't like lactose or gluten, either."
"Well, that's a bummer."
"Gluten is more of just a pasta thing though. I feel bloated, and if it's not cooked all the way and I don't eat carefully, it gets stuck in my eusophagus and I have to puke so I can breathe again."
"Aw! Why do you eat like that, then?"
"'Cause I'm usually trying to get back to writing, or solely watching whatever I was watching."
"Ohhh, OK."
"Also yes, gluten and sugar are why I'm overweight."
Stephanie clicked her tongue. "Hey. Your weight is just fine, Faith."
"I mean, I guess it is, but my joints and feet don't like it. I can stand for even less time because of my weight."
"Hm. And I guess you don't work out because of your disability."
"Yep, that's the thing."
"Aw, that sucks. Well, we'll take it slowly with you, and we'll get you into a shape that works for you!"
Faith lifted her cheeks to smile. "Thanks."
"So, no egg?"
"Well, I do need the iron."
"Meat has iron."
"Honestly, with my anxiety today, anything I eat this morning might not stick with me."
"Ah, that's why your stomach doesn't like eggs, or breakfast, I'm guessing, in a more broad term."
"Yeah." Faith nodded.
"Well, you should still eat." Faith nodded more. "How about I do the cooking, and you do the dishes?"
"Sure!"
"OK, have a seat at the island." Stephanie said, walking to the fridge as Faith rounded the corner of the island.
"Yeah, no."
"'No', what?" Stephanie placed ingredients from the fridge on the counter.
"I can't sit here." Faith sounded stressed. "They're too tall, and they don't have backs. My back'll get sore, and I'll have anxiety from sitting high up."
"You know we're gonna work on that, right?"
"I know."
"Oh, who am I kidding? There's a little table set, over in the corner, baby." Stephanie obtained a frying pan from the cabinets.
"Oh yeah, I saw." Faith went and sat at the table.
Stephanie laughed, turning on the burner. "Why didn't you just go there instead of stopping to have a panic attack about the stools?"
"Because I always make things difficult for myself."
"I think you told me that before." Stephanie opened the butter plate and cut into the butter with a spatula, plopping it on the pan.
"Oh, probably. If not, you figure it out pretty fast, from knowing me."
"Yep." Stephanie turned and leaned her back on the counter as the burner heated up.
"Haven't watched Titans, and I think I'll keep holding off on that."
"Yeah." Stephanie and I laughed. "Do you have a favourite Batman or DC movie?"
"Ooh, honestly? I thought Matt Reeves' The Batman nailed what it was going for. It was nice to see Robert Pattinson have a role that he was good at, well, at least I think he was good at." Stephanie turned to move the melting butter on the pan. "Sure, you could argue he's missing the massive build that Batman has, but he got the eye expression and mannerisms pretty spot-on, and they actually wrote Batman to care for people, that time. I'm looking forward to the next one."
"Nice." Stephanie cracked two eggs on the edge of the pan, and opened their contents onto the butter, tossing the egg shells into a green plastic bin beside a wood panelled bin under the island.
"I haven't watched any other DC film besides the first Aquaman movie with Jason Momoa."
"Oh, OK." Stephanie stabbed one of the yolks, and reached into a cupboard for seasonings. "What seasonings do you like?"
"Garlic, and a little bit of seasoning salt."
"OK!"
"It wasn't bad, honestly. Yes, seeing a whore with no common sense made me wanna eat her intestines every time she was on screen,"
"Pffft, oh my God, Faith! Savage!" Stephanie was placing bacon on the pan.
"Oh, bacon?"
"Yeah, you don't like it?"
"I'm picky with it. Do you have something else? Like Canadian bacon, or sausages?"
"I think I saw sausages in there, yeah." Stephanie sealed the Ziploc bag that held the package of bacon, and went into the fridge. "Yep! How many do you want?"
"Two, please!"
"And how much hashbrown?"
"Oh, it's the cut up kind?"
"Yep. Is that OK?"
"Yeah! I usually buy the patties. Um, but go with about a quarter of a cup."
"Sure, baby." Faith exhaled happily, Stephanie watching her happy expression and smiling back before focusing on opening the Ziploc bag containing the package of sausages and placing two on the pan.
"But she could have been a worse actress. She did the minimum, but I know sure as fucking shit that Mera deserved better."
"That's for sure." Stephanie leaned her back against the counter, glancing at the pan.
"I think a new star with the same beauty and a lot more talent would've made all the difference."
"Oh, absolutely."
"But other than that, it was not a waste of my time. It scratched the itch I had of a decent underwater fantasy adventure, but the itch was still there."
"Ooh, nice way of putting it."
"I hear Lost Kingdom was a mess, and I don't wanna waste my time when I could read something on Tumblr or AO3 that would be so much better."
Stephanie laughed, and turned to flip the eggs and meat. "Do you mostly reblog DC and MARVEL stuff?"
"Mostly DC, and now and then a smut fic with the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or 2023's Mortal Combat 1 men."
"Pffft!"
"I have a type, but I also don't. It depends on what the horny needs." I laughed.
Stephanie removed the food sealing clip from the bag of hashbrowns and shook its opening over the pan. "Sorry, but I'm eyeballing this."
"Oh no, that's fine, I do that too."
"I couldn't see what you were doing, after your shadow-spider-demon disappeared and there was a beam that came down from a cluster of really pretty stars," Stephanie turned to Faith as she replaced the clip on the bag. "Which, hey, um, why did it have tentacles?"
"Because I wanted tentacles. My Animus is a shapeshifting Neo Spirit."
"Right, OK." Stephanie put away everything into the fridge. "Are you still a virgin, though?"
"Yeah, it was just an illusion."
"Ah."
"You know how, when you hump something, for me it's my bed or maternity pillow,"
Stephanie choked on air. "Yeah."
"Your body like, really gets into the fantasy?"
"Mhm."
"It was like that, but it was me and the ground."
"Ah, OK. How did you not wake up while crawling out of the window à la Kayako into the cold snow when the sun was just barely rising and then scampering off I think almost 1000 feet away to then hump and not only melt the snowy ground, but burn it along with a bunch of trees?"
Faith laughed with Stephanie. "Expert-level Dreamer mages, really meaning you have the skills equivalent to twenty years of training, are able to be so entranced by their own spells that they won't wake up without outside interference. But, like with sleep-walking, you must only wake a Dreamer if they're about to harm themselves, another living being, or a residential building, or have already done so. The best way to do this is with your voice and gentle physical contact, though the latter may not be effective or safe for the interrupter, and the former may not be effective with a normal voice. This is one of the reasons that Dragon Kin who can use the Thu'um and merfolk who can use the Mother Chords are so useful in Thalassic Space."
"Ooh, so someone like you, or a mermaid?"
"Dragon Kin include Dragon Form, Dragon Skin and Dragon Born people. Each are self-explanatory. Merfolk are, too, but some are born directly from Mother Mermaid and are called Mother-Born, and some Dragon Kin are direct offspring from Father Dragon and are, of course, called Father-Born. I'm not either of them."
"Oh, OK. I was gonna ask, 'cause that sounds cool!" Stephanie turned off the burner, reached up into a cupboard for plates and down into a drawer for cutlery, and filled the plates with food. "Do you want juice, milk, no, sorry, no milk for you," Faith laughed. Stephanie chortled. "Or just water?"
"What kind of juice is there?"
"Uh, let's see." Stephanie looked in the fridge. "Orange, apple, and peach mango."
"Orange."
"Same." Stephanie grabbed the jug and placed it on the counter. "Do you want a big glass or a little one?"
"Eh, a little one." Stephanie located a tall glass and a short glass from the cupboards, and filled them, then put the juice back. She brought the plates over, a fork on each plate, then the glasses of juice, Faith saying 'thank you' each time. "Wow, you've got really good table manners."
"For that part." Faith said, cutting the burnt pieces of egg away with her fork as Stephanie sat in a chair across from her. "Everything else I take after my dad, R-I-P."
"Pfft." Stephanie cut into her egg, and ate it. "So you eat like a redneck?"
"I eat like I'm in a hurry, again because I've got things to do,"
"Mhm."
"And because of my little arms and how I can move my wrists," Faith put down her fork and touched the area of her forearm above her wrists on the underside of her arms with the pinkie and ring finger of both hands. Stephanie's jaw opened. "I sometimes make messes when moving things. Even at work, that's how I drop stuff. Plus, having small hands." Faith cut into her egg, this time to eat it.
"I see." Stephanie chuckled, eating more egg. "What does that feel like?"
"It feels like I'm pulling on a muscle. My wrists are little sore, now, but it's not bad." Faith shook out her hands, and massaged the underside of her forearms.
"Are you flexible elsewhere?" Faith scooted back her chair, held her left foot with her right hand, and held it up to her head, her back barely having shifted. "Damn! Not bad."
"Yeah, my leg ain't straight, but it can go there."
"Nice. So really, the only issues here are your hypotonia, scoliosis, and your weight."
"No, my deformed feet, too."
"Right. I saw, when you were walking around naked. It looks painful."
"Only when I walk for too long, or I bump it against something."
"Right, I think you said that in the group chat." The two were silent, for about ten seconds. "Oh, how does your Fairy Persona work? 'Cause your Mermaid Persona works with your magic pearl, right?"
"Yep! Do you remember her name?" Faith drank some juice, then began eating her sausages.
Stephanie paused, chewing bacon. "I don't think you said that, in the group chat."
"Oh yeah. It's Ønske. And my Fairy Persona is named Solas."
"Ønske. What's that mean?"
"Desire."
"Ooh. Does they have their own stories, like your Dragon Persona?"
"Solas was earned by my demigoddess self after she saved some people for Danu, the Celtic Fairy Queen. Sunrise coloured wings until a new moon, then black and sparkly.”
Stephanie hummed with a mouth full of food, and swallowed to talk. “Cool!”
“And Ønske’s story is Anastasia, but in Thalassic Space."
Stephanie gasped. "I love that movie!"
"Honestly, who doesn't? Losers, that's who."
"Real."
"People who don't like musicals."
"True."
"And probably some guy named Daren."
"Ha! Some guy named Daren, ha ha!"
"No offense to my uncle Daren, he's a nice guy, I'm talking about the neckbeard Daren."
"Mhm."
Faith rested her fork, still in her hand, on the plate, just before she move onto the hashbrowns. She looked into Stephanie's eyes, making the other pause. "Do you want me to try and tell Ønske’s story, or is that enough for now?" Faith released her fork, and drank juice.
"Yes! Yes, I want to know the story, hee hee hee." More of a cackle than a giggle. Stephanie stabbed some hashbrowns and ate them. Faith giggled at Stephanie's cackle. "Ønske was born on planet Bafsina, meaning 'basin' in Neofom." She began to eat hashbrowns, too.
"What's that?"
"Oh, I think I only told this to Bruce, so I'll say it again. Man, I hope the others read the lore from TSRPG so I won't have to say this a third time. You know the rule for repeating exposition, in stories, right?"
"Yep! Three times is the max, unless you want your readers to get annoyed and bored."
"Unless it's for comedic affect."
"True."
"Neofom is the language of Neo Spirits, who are the opposite of Nero Spirits, who speak Nerobzal, and originate from the Suspensions of a person's Soul Bridge, while Nero Spirits are from the Underside. They represent self-love, dreams, and good memories, and again, Nero Spirits are the opposite."
"And you said your Animus is a Neo Spirit?"
"Yes. My Shadow would be a Nero Spirit. My Ego, which is just me, is the Canon Spirit."
"Oh, so the Map of the Soul is part of the lore, too?"
"Yeah, it helps to explain what everything is in terms that people would be more familar with."
"Who are 'people'?"
"The future readers of my novels."
"Ohhhh, oh, of course, sorry."
"It's fine." Faith chuckled. "Oh, I should say, though, since Bruce is definitely listening right now,"
"Yep."
"Argophael was speaking Nerobzal."
"He was?"
"Yes, but in character, because we were role-playing."
"Oh, OK. So Neo and Nero Spirits know each other's languages."
"Yes, and there's a petty rivalry over which is more natural for the Soul Bridge born Spirits of Thalassic Space to speak. As a reminder, and please repeat this to everyone, when anyone is doubting if I'm doing this to torment people, or if the Spirits are actually in control: the characters of Thalassic Space, meaning those named in the novel, are all Actors of the Rondo Theatre, and some come from the other eight Theatres that are run by the other muse children. All of us are friends and colleagues, and most of us are dead, in a coma, or are lucid dreaming. The only person, right now, who could potentially ruin the Theatres and their Actors is Ra's."
"Right. I'll remember that, Faith, thanks." Faith nodded. "Can you run me through the alphabet of each language, if that's not too complicated?"
"Sure! It's just a letter substitution language. Each has twenty-six letters, like the English alphabet. Rule number one: when writing and speaking either language, if you would repeat a translated letter, you do not write or speak the second letter, and put an apostrophe in the place of the second, and speak a light exhale, like," Faith vocalised a short exhale through her mouth. "Which you would right out as h, if you were to substitute the apostrophe for a letter." Stephanie mimicked the exhale. "Yes, just like that."
"Cool!"
"Rule number two: when reading or speaking either language, keep the tone of the word in English while merging the pronunciation of the translated letter, unless it conflicts with the tone of the syllable in the translated language. For example, mommy and daddy in Neofom is mam-ot-mam'-yab af-nad dafd-dyab. Note how the translated words now have more syllables, as we are wanting to speak each translated letter, secondly, that the expected e sound associated with the letter y becomes the translated letter entirely, which is common but not always applicable, hence why we keep in mind the tone of the word in English to guide how we speak a translated word, and third, that the accent and pace becomes breathy, slowed, and romantic, in the case of Neofom, or intimidating, in the case of Nerobzal. This is also meant to evoke memories of the bonds between Neofom and Neo Spirits, and Neofom when used in Elevifeb spells, as it is with Nerobzal and Nero Spirits, and Nerobzal when used in Eledisfeb spells.”
"I think you lost me, there."
"Oh, that's fine. It's in the planning document. I think the only people in the group that this will be interesting to are Bruce and Tim."
"Yeah." Stephanie laughed with Faith.
"So, for Neofom: af, spelled a-f, in reference to the word after, b, c, d, e, ph (fuh), spelled p-h, pronounced like the Vietnamese pho, again referencing the word after," Stephanie hummed. "G, ho, 'cause Santa, and yes, spelled h-o," Stephanie giggled. "K, la, chosen because it's a melodic word, ma, associated with motherhood, na, sounds like the babble of a baby, ot (oht), spelled o-t, and you say the o like a Skyrim Nord, not aught,"
Stephanie giggled more. "Not aught, OK."
"And chosen because the English word it sounds like, oat, of course, is associated with deities of agriculture, p, q, r, si (sigh), not see, because when you first come to the North Pole, you will sigh in relief that you are literally in the safest place in the galaxy,"
Stephanie hummed. "Wow, two Santa Claus references."
Faith giggled. "I dunno if I told you this, or Bruce, or none of you, but Santa is one of the eldest three Astral and Ebony Giant Elves, specifically an Astral Giant Elf. Do you know who Nerobzal is?"
"Yeah, he's the big bad of Thalassic Space, right?"
"Yes. Do you remember what his angel name was?"
"Uh. Uh."
"I'll take that as a no. It was Erophael, like ey-ro."
"Erophael. And your Animus is Argophael."
"Yes. Do you know what Argo was, in Greek Mythology?"
"Uh. No." Stephanie heaved a laugh. "I'm so sorry!" She swallowed the last of her hashbrowns, and drank more juice.
"Oh, it's fine. It was a ship built with the help of the gods that Jason and the Argonauts sailed from Iolcos to Colchis to retrieve the Golden Fleece. Part of the main novel is supposed to be an analogy of that because Thalaassic Space has pirates, and the captain who sails some of the main characters from Canada to England has a similar life story." Faith finished her meal. "Her deadname was Jason." Faith chuckled.
Stephanie laughed. "Oh, OK. Cool! Are there lots of trans and gender-queer people in your stories?"
Faith nodded. "Oh yeah, lots of 'em."
"Is ero Greek, too?"
"It has multiple meanings. In Creek, it means squirrel. In Esperanto, it means 'a bit, a single element, piece or component of a large mass or collection'. And in Finnish, it means 'difference, distinction,' is an ellipsis of avioero, meaning 'divorce', and also 'resignation, discharge, dismissal, separation, parting, and rid'. All relevant to who Erophael was, and became as Nerobzal."
"Huh. Wow, that's really well-thought out."
"Honestly, I typed out something that sounded like Argophael, and then I discovered it meant all those things, so I've kept it."
"Is that how you come up with everything?"
"Yep!"
Stephanie went limp in her chair, jaw open. Faith laughed. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah, most of the lore is me picking up a random thing from either Norse, Greek or Egyptian mythology, and rarely Buddhism and ancient Chinese mythology, even though Vishnu and the Four Symbols are most powerful, I don't actually have much fleshed out for them. I see if it fits, and try again if it doesn't. I usually get it right on the first or second try. And I connect things as I go, taking inspiration from my actual dreams and from all the media that I like, all so that people can both find familiar things and new things when they discover Thalassic Space."
"That is brilliant and so fucking cool, Faith!"
"Thank you! Uh, where was I? Oh! ut (ooht), like in root, v, wa (wah), like the baby from the "Look at the little baby" asdfmovie,"
"Wah!" Stephanie giggled.
"Wah!" Faith giggled. "X, yl (yihl), z."
"Mm, no footnotes for yl? Also, I wanna see all this written out, so I can see it in my mind."
"Yeah, nothing to note about yl. Also, uh, sure, I didn't bring my phone with me, though."
"I did! Here, lemme give you my Notes app." Stephanie produced her phone, unlocked and interacted with it, and offered it to Faith.
"Thank you."
"Mhm!" Faith typed on the phone. She set it down on the table.
"Ohhh, OK, I see. You even typed out the other language, and labelled them for me."
"As you can see, for Nerobzal: az (ahz), which doesn't have lore relevance but is supposed to sound like Black Speech from The Lord of the Rings,"
"Hell yeah!"
"Bz, which is literally part of the word-slash-name Nerobzal, c, d, e, phz, the sound of insect demons, collectively called The Hive, and is where lots of the rape porn comes from,"
"Eugh."
"Yeah, as a monster fucker, I actually fear infestation. The phallic parts I'm OK with, but they're always too big, and then there's the whole nesting part, and I just," Faith shuddered with her whole upper body. "Nope. No thank you. Sex is not supposed to be painful or life-endangering, much less non-consensual."
"Damn right."
"Next is g, hz, again, insect noise, k, lab, mam, nan, all three are Black Speech inspired, oz, which, if you say awz instead of ohz, fuck you," Faith said, casually. Stephanie guffawed. "P, q, r, sr (sir), which is relevant lore-wise because sometimes Nero Spirits call the Four Princes of Hell Sir or Sire instead of Master or Prince, t, uz (ooze), which evokes images of plague, relevant because of the undead of Nerobzal's army, also insect demons again, because ew," Stephanie made a vomiting noise. "V, wz (whz), meant to remind of the wicked voice of the Domain of Platonia, somewhere between a whisper and a rumble, x, yab, Black Speech inspired again, and z."
"Wow! That's cool! Thanks for the big, fun lesson, he he."
"You're welcome! You now know a little more about the chaos in my brain, yippee!" Faith mimicked the meme.
"Yippee!" Stephanie echoed. The girls giggled.
"And, uh… oh. Oh, we got here because you wanted to know the story of my Mermaid Persona, and then I was also gonna tell you Solas' story."
"Oh yeah, right." Stephanie laughed, Faith joining.
"You can do that later." Bruce said, stepping into the room. "You wasted almost ten extra minutes, just talking about lore, and we have to get to the Belfry."
"Whoops!" Faith said. She moved her eyes to Stephanie. "Later."
"Yes, later. Let's go." The girls put the dishes in the sink, Stephanie running water over them, then they exited the mansion with Bruce. Faith stared, mouth wide open, as the three walked to the black 2024 Rolls-Royce Spectre.
"Have you ever been in a car like this?" Bruce asked, a little smile on his face.
"You mean one that probably costs at least half a million?" Faith replied.
"Yes, actually, it was over half a mil'."
"No, never."
"Hm, well. Do you want to ride in the front?"
"Yes, please." Faith said. Stephanie giggled, and entered the right back door as Bruce and Faith entered the driver and passenger doors.
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The Spectre slowed as it rolled into the Belfry and came to a stop and its ignition was killed. Stephanie quickly left the vehicle and opened the passenger door while Bruce exited at a normal pace and walked ahead. Faith's laughter echoed in the garage as Stephanie helped her out. Faith stumbled, and Stephanie, already holding her arm, snapped her other hand to support Faith's back.
"Is she OK?" Dick chuckled, as Bruce stopped at the computer screens, where Dick, Barbara and Tim had gathered, Barbara giggling along.
"Oh, just ask her." Bruce said. Stephanie guided Faith for a few strides, then released Faith. She was still laughing as the girls came to the others.
"YOU GUYS GO THAT FAST ALL THE TIME?!" Faith said, laughing. The others laughed. "I mean, I guess you do, with all the stuff you do on the rooftops, but holy unsprayed cat in a crate," More laughter from the others. "That was insane, and really fun!"
"We were running late because Faith decided to yap about the languages of Thalassic Space, and almost was going to yap about the stories of her Fairy and Mermaid Personas, which is what she was originally going to yap about." Bruce said.
"I'm still kinda confused on the rules, but Faith just confirmed to me how friggin' cool and smart she is." Stephanie laughed.
"Thanks." Faith giggled.
Tim said, "Yeah, I read, like, everything in your planning document, and you were super thorough with every possible detail, but all of it was easy to understand. Well, at least to people who can see the whole picture as you describe every last detail."
"Thank you! Yeah, big brains are who Thalassic Space was made for."
"Oh, it shows."
"I bet the rules of the languages made sense to you immediately."
"Oh yeah, that was easy to understand. And I mean that as a compliment." Tim said. Faith nodded.
Dick said, "You ready to start, Faith?" Faith nodded more. "Awesome." He gestured with a hand for Faith to follow him and Barbara to a more open part of the room. "First things first: stretching."
"She's actually kind of flexible!" Stephanie said. "She can touch her head with her foot, if she holds it."
"Oh?" Dick said, eyes returning to Faith.
"Not standing up, yet." Faith laughed. Barbara chuckled.
"Well, that'll make things a little easier, even if you can't do it while standing, yet. Still, this is day one, so we're just going to see what you can and cannot do, and do some exercises together. If you feel like it, we'll show you a few moves. We'll get to making you stronger and faster as the days roll on, 'kay?"
"OK!" Said Faith.
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Faith dropped onto the couch on the upper level of the Belfry with a cold, wet rag on her forehead, wiping it around her face and neck, the pits and neckline of her shirt wet with perspiration, her chest heaving but slowing down. Barbara sat beside her, and Dick beside Barbara, Stephanie taking a seat on the arm of the couch to the right of Faith, Tim and Bruce standing in front of the couch. The sun was beginning to dim. Bruce handed Faith a bottle of water. "Thank you." Faith said.
"You're welcome."
"You still feeling OK, hon?" Said Barbara.
Faith nodded. "Yeah. Still feels better, but also super strained."
Dick said, "You only fell from your knees popping five times."
"That's a lot for one day, much less a week."
"And hey, we caught you, the other eight times." Tim said. "And! No knee dislocations!"
"Woo hoo!" Faith raised her stiff, tired arms in celebration, only able to reach her forehead. "Ow."
"Woo hoo!" Tim raised his arms at the elbow. The group laughed.
"Like we said," Said Dick. "At some point, you should be able to carry on, despite whatever your body does. Even if that's to safety." Faith nodded. "But you did good, today! Really good!"
"Yeah!" Said Tim.
"You sure did, Faith." Barbara said.
"Yeah, that was kind of impressive, your legs obviously aren't weak right now, you've just got a situation." Stephanie said.
"If you keep this up, it shouldn't be long before you'll able to go out with us." Said Bruce. Faith smiled with her cheeks. "How's that sound?"
"Sounds great! Thanks, everyone."
"You're welcome."
"You're very welcome!" Said Dick.
"We're here for you, hon." Barbara said.
"Heck yeah!" Said Tim.
"Always, baby." Stephanie said.
"'Baby'?" Repeated Tim, with a chuckle.
"What? I told you I'd pick her up, if she wanted." Stephanie said. Faith giggled.
"Yeah, you did." Tim, Dick, Barbara and Faith laughed.
"I brought your bag in the car, Faith." Said Bruce. "I thought you might want to stay here, so we don't have to bring you back and forth."
"Oh, perfect. Thanks, Bruce." Bruce hummed.
"I'll get it out for you and bring it up here, and then I think I'll head out."
"Thank you." Bruce nodded, then walked to the stairs to the lower level.
"All right, who's hungry?"
"C'est moi." Faith said, with a scoffed 'moi'. The group laughed.
"All right, you and me, Steph, let's get dinner out of the oven, and make a salad."
"OK!" Stephanie slid off the arm of the couch, and went with Tim.
"Shower time, miss Faith?" Barbara said, making eye contact.
"Yes, pliz." Barbara giggled, then rose to her feet, offering her hands to Faith. Faith accepted the help, and the two walked to one of the doors upstairs. Dick watched. Watched.
Hummed to himself. 'Babs has a perfectly formed ass, but Faith has a lot of ass. So much that it's part of her thighs, and mm, her thighs! Barbara's thighs are so, soooo good, don't get me wrong. And I'm not trying to say I'm going to jump into Faith-alley just for a taste, a feel. But I would. I totally would, if I wasn't trying to be loyal to Babs, for once, aaaand if she wouldn't beat the crap outta me.'
Bruce had ascended the Belfry and knocked on the bathroom door, giving Faith's dufflebag to Barbara, who closed the door afterwards, Bruce leaving for the stairs and his car.
'Barbara's got nice boobs, though.' Dick almost whistled, releasing the breath as an exhale instead. 'Hoo, that was close! Bab's got an even bigger personality, though, and a big mind and heart. I know her. She's just a beautiful, gorgeous woman.'
'Faith had a reduction for a very valid reason. I'm not saying I wish she hadn't had work done. I am curious to look at what she looks like, though. They bounce just as well as any other boobs do. She kept frowning at her legs and stomach, and Faith said she feels so bulky and bloated.'
'Babs told her that was OK, that it's a normal thing to feel that even she and Steph feel. It's a womanly experience, to do something and feel your body do something you don't like. Hell, even men feel that way, but in different places and with different thoughts behind the 'ick'. And Faith looked at her arms, and told us that she hated them 'cause it was taking more effort to connect hits with them. She has to lean and lunge for it to work, and right now, it's arguably her hardest task, aside from re-learning how to run and jump. But she'll get there. We all know that time is key, here. She's got a good attitude about it all, aside from that. She sure likes to make jokes.'
'Tim, Babs and I talked before Bruce, Steph and Faith got here. I'm sure Steph has realised this, too. I don't even need to think if Bruce has, I just know he has. But the reason Faith does it so frequently has to be her way to cope with anxiety. Her experience as a child who was told to stay in her room and be quiet, sometimes without toys or even permission to read or write. She had to sit and think until her mom came in, or called her out, and…' Dick sighed. 'All of us know what isolation like that is like.'
'I'm not saying we should steer her in the direction of using comedy less often, no, that's a part of her that we all enjoy, and she's not bad at comedy, either! She makes herself laugh because silence reminds her of that isolation, and she wants to make others laugh to try and make friends. It's not a stretch to think that's why she became a stortyteller, too. Friends; that's something we all know, including Faith, that she desperately needs. I think our strategy of not just going along with her jokes but guiding her back towards the relevant topic has been working out. And, while Faith was in the bathroom earlier, Bruce said that in a casual conversation where she isn't using laughter she might say something really out of nowhere that might hurt our feelings, and respond to that being called out with anger. I don't think so. Neither does Tim, Barbara or Stephanie.'
'Tim and I think she would freeze up and be unable to even apologise, but her face will say everything, and Babs thinks the frozen state will have a break, but her face will stay the same, except for her eyes, and she'll say 'sorry' then. Stephanie said Babs had taken the words right outta her mouth. That made sense to Tim, Bruce and I, too. Bruce told us what she did, around 5 AM. Hoo, wanna talk about someone who needs Zatanna as a tutor! And I mean that respectfully. She has Sagittarius A, a black hole for her left eye, and the O-type star from her now non-fictional galaxy for her right eye, if she uses, I think, her demigoddess powers! That's just wicked cool!'
'Sure, she burned some of the forest near the mansion, but as a creation dragon, she could have reversed the damage, right? And we haven't even seen her use the black hole, yet! All of us agree that, if Faith can be taught to control when and how much she uses her magic, and gets her strength back plus whatever else we can give her, she'll be golden! And that's really, really exciting. All of this is probably on her mind too. She'll be counting on us to remind her of it, until she won't need it, or at least as often.'
'Let's be honest, it'll be the latter. And that's OK. We all know that the past isn't something you can just leave behind. We carry it in different ways. Faith carries it in her heart, and is trusting enough to share it with others, as is in great need of doing so. She's a wonderful fit into the team.'
Dick sighed, Ra's face and retellings of his actions flashing into Dick's mind. 'I sure hope all of this will be enough to tell him to leave her the hell alone. If not, and he actually kills her in that one way, we're all going to be in deep trouble. We talked about who could summon which unicorn, too. It's one hundred percent possible to stop Red Storm Earth before the one hour mark, hell, the ten minute mark. But I have a sinking feeling that it won't be that easy. And I don't even know why. Tim doesn't either, and he read all of the lore.'
'Oh. It's that Ra's could use Platonia again, right? Is that how he entered Faith's dream? That led to her Animus leaving the dream world to defend her, among other things. I'm sorry, are we sure that was an illusion? It probably was just an illusion, Dick.'
'Platonia recognises Ra's as a demon, not a human, so after the first time he passed through, and found Faith's dragon tomb, it stopped trying to eat him. And, if he has a Nero Persona, it sounds like we're royally screwed. The Invitation of Nerobzal sounds just as scary as Red Storm Earth, even if it works differently. I have to make the comparison that I know everyone else has probably made: Faith is like Raven, in that if things aren't under control, things will be really bad. Could we even prevent all of that? Could Faith prevent all of that? We were going to ask her, during dinner. I bet there's lore that Faith hasn't written down, yet. She should write it down, and some more, so it's all there and Ra's can't cheat. Or cheat again.'
Dick's eyes were drawn to the bathroom door as it opened. He drew in and held a breath as he beheld Faith: her hair was very curly and voluminous, although the lower half was mostly still wet, and, bra-less, Dick could make out what her boobs were like, better than he had before. She had changed into black shorts and a purple short-sleeved shirt. 'Damn! Oh my God, her legs are so yummy looking.'
Barbara cleared her throat. Dick closed his mouth and blinked, making eye contact with her. "Sorry." He said to Faith, "Sorry."
She giggled. "You're fine with me, I'm too tired to sing Ashnikko lyrics right now."
Barbara said, "Pffft."
"And I'm not the probably slightly angry redhead." Faith walked to the stairs.
"Oh wow! Would you look at that!" Barbara said, approaching the couch, Dick swiftly standing up. "That would be me!"
"I swear that my eyes are the only thing that will go anywhere near her, Barbara."
"Oh, good! I'd hate to have to punish you for infidelity." Barbara patted Dick's upper chest. Dick just nodded. He followed her downstairs and to the table.
They heard Faith cheering, Stephanie echoing her and Tim laughing at them. Dinner was ready. Barbara sat at the left head, next to Tim, Stephanie at the right head, Faith occupying the chair to her left. Dick had three options: take the empty chair beside Tim, and play it safe but always have to look at Faith when he raised his head, or sit beside Faith, and accept Barbara's challenge. 'Oh, hell.' Thought Dick.
He sat beside Faith, who had her right foot crossed over her left thigh. She looked at him, her hair thankfully too wet to graze his arm, and she smiled with her cheeks at him. He returned the smile, then Faith sighed, looking at the meal before them. They were having chicken wings, salad and baked potatoes. Dick looked at Tim, who made an expression with one side of his face, looking at Barbara. Dick looked at Barbara, who rested her chin on the back of her hands, elbows on the table, and flashed a smile at him as they made eye contact. 'Oh boy.'
Barbara mouthed, 'I love you.' And scrunched up her eyes, smiling.
'I love you too.' Dick mouthed back, and smiled, his eyes failing to get with the program, blinking for help to the ceiling instead.
Barbara parted her lips to respond when Faith said, "Man, ya'll didn't think to get fixings for the baked potatoes?" There was only butter. No ranch dressing or sour cream, and no cheese, green onions or bacon bits. Stephanie wheezed a laugh.
"Sorry, we were on a budget." Tim said.
"Fair enough. Still, my dad would be sad." Faith giggled. Stephanie and Barbara laughed.
"OK, well, dig in!" Said Tim. Faith unfurled her leg onto the ground with a thud, and used her hands to move four chicken wings onto her plate. Tim laughed. "You know there's tongs, right?"
"Yeah, but this is faster." Faith said, while the others began to fill their plates. "Also, I don't care. I'm not putting them back, and I didn't lick my fingers or touch a dog or cat, or have a dog or cat lick my hands, and I just got out of the shower." Faith took a bite, the others laughing.
Dick thought, 'I guess she's also just a natural comedian. I'm sure she's learned how to be this funny, but it's still a good part of her personality.'
"OK, all right." Tim said. "Are you gonna scoop the salad with your hands, too?"
"No! What am I, a dog in a sweater controlled by a human?" More laughter from the group. Faith reached over the table. The group started to chuckle. Her arms were short by about a foot. "May I please have the salad?" Faith said, chuckling. Barbara and Stephanie giggled with her.
Dick laughed and said, "Sure." He moved his plate a little to make room for the bowl, then Faith used the salad tossers to put salad on her plate.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Dick moved the bowl back. Faith picked up the chicken wing she had started. She stared at the wall for one second, and the next second, she tucked in her lips and her cheeks became red. "Uh-oh. What are you thinking, miss Faith?"
"I'm not a dog in a sweater," Faith's sentence devolved into wheezing laughter. "Controlled by a human." She pointed at Tim. "Silent Hill 2."
"Oh God." Tim said. Faith laughed. "The dog ending." The others laughed.
"I'm gonna write in the planning document that the next time Ra's goes into Platonia, it shows him the Door of Nonsense and triggers that ending, but the credits all say names of the Batfamily."
"Oh-ho-kay!" Tim laughed with the others.
"A-ha-and," Faith sniffled. "When he exits, the door will keep cycling him through different horror and JRPG titles until he demands to go home." She giggled, and bit into the chicken wing she held.
"OK, hon!" Said Barbara, the others laughing a little.
Tim asked, "Do you have any ideas on how to cut Ra's out of Thalassic Space that would work long term?"
"Mm, besides the Invitation of Nerobzal? We all know he won't agree to have the Departed take his memories and knowledge of Thalassic Space." Tim and Barbara hummed in agreement. "But if Ra's doesn't find out about the ritual, which is the only other disaster-level event he could learn about and trigger that I implemented in the lore so that zombies and demons felt more natural and important to the possible events of Thalassic Space,"
"It fits nicely." Said Barbara.
"Thank you. Uh, yes, I have one other idea, but it's not in the planning document."
"What's your idea?"
"I would commission the Father Born and Mother Born to hunt him non-lethally, and not only remove that information from him but program his brain to ignore it and deny it as true, no matter what methods he or others may try to use to restore it." The others hummed in interest, Faith taking another bite of her chicken wing.
"That sounds like it could work. You should write it down." Barbara said. Faith nodded.
"How would you convince the Father Born and Mother Born to help you?" Dick asked.
"I would give them each a treasure or sexual pleasure, or assist them in other ways, in exchange for this. I wrote down the names of the current Father Born and Mother Born somewhere."
"Yeah, it's not in the document." Tim said.
"I think it's currently exclusively in a story called Realm of Album, in which I'm summoned to help the Mages Guild there because the elf king is having problems that only a Jester Playwright like me could help with." The group hummed in interest. "I can't remember their names, off the top of my head. I'll open the document later and tell you before I put them in the document, Tim."
"Sure, OK."
"Like I said, the idea isn't written down, but it would work because of how the Guilds serve the people, and that's why it would pass the legislation of At'fman Lawbzal."
"What's that?" Stephanie asked.
"It means 'Amen to the Fate of Man, Law of Beyond Zone Acceleration Lord'. The first clause-word is what people who worship the O-type star's spirit say while raising their right arm, then left arm, diagonally." Faith did this motion. "It's the 'Praise the sun' gesture from Dark Souls, but as steps of a contemporary jazz choreography." Barbara wheezed, choked on her food a little. "Da da da," Faith sang breathily, lowering her right, then left arm, the others laughing and Barbara drinking water from a glass. "Da da, da da." Faith ended the routine with her arms raised, two da's per arm. Faith rested her arms and took a second to eat again.
"The second clause-word reminds worshippers of the O-star's spirit that Nerobzal is not evil and is actually an Actor, who is so dedicated to and perfect for his role that he fools hateful people, who I'll just call Kaleido because it's accurate to the lore, into believing he's real and the true God, hence the 'Lord' part of the clause-word, and why he's called Hebzal, Himbzal and Hisbzal by Kaleido, who believe in a literal theatrical act. Other Actors, like Neo and Nero Spirits, call Nerobzal's Actor he, him and his because they're Actors, too. The idea is for the Neo and Nero Spirits to shock Kaleido time and again by using those those pronouns and revealing that he's just an Actor, discrediting their claims that Nerobzal is God." Dick and Barbara hummed with intrigue, and Stephanie hummed in awe. Tim hummed, nodding. "'Beyond Zone Acceleration' is a reminder that the magic Kaleido are using is from Sagittarius A, meaning it's Eledisfeb, and Kaleido want to use it for evil instead of to naturally balance out Elevifeb, because that's just how magic systems works, and ecosystems, hence why Kaleido are so crazy and unwilling to listen, just as radical right-wing people are."
"Oh OK," Stephanie said. "So, the politics in Thalassic Space that you're arguing for is left wing."
"Yes." Faith gave a firm nod.
"That makes sense."
"You can't be gay or an ally, much less dress alternatively, in particular goth, and be conservative."
"That's right!" Said Barbara. Tim hummed in agreement.
"It is the people who take advantage of the Actor's in-story powers as a Fallen Angel who are the enemy."
"Right." Dick said.
Faith started her second chicken wing. "Kaleido was chosen as the name that conquered the mostly vampire cult of Kitsch in northern Italy, which worshipped demons and Satan respectfully and safely, because the people who abuse and murder those who don't fit their expectations of a human and-or a Christian look into chapels of God through the kaleidoscope created by the painted glass often used in churches rather than looking at the Bible and recognising its merits and faults in modern times."
"Ohhh. I actually really like that."
"Thank you! That confusion and misdirected anger is what the Cult of Asherah was supposed to clarify so the crimes that have happened across time could be prevented. But the Yahwehists, all those years ago, proclaimed Asherah to be an idol and the people who served her idol worshippers. The career of prostitution has been bastardised by too many men and women for too long."
"That's true!" Stephanie said.
"Even in modern times, when prostitution makes a lot of money, it's not safe to be a prostitute." The others hummed and nodded. "So, I fixed that, in Thalassic Space." Faith bit off and chew more chicken. "The Thieves, Assassins and Mages Guilds all support and shelter prostitutes and those at risk, allowing the revived Cult of Asherah to educate people about safe sex and how to protect themselves and others from predators."
"Kitsch wasn't a malicious organisation until the Cànova siblings fulfilled the Fool's Promise, which is the part of the Fool's Poem that describes what happens to people who submit themselves to Nerobzal. It was just supposed to be directions for the makeup artists and costume designers of the Theatres in the Dream World on Paper to use for Actors. Magdalene and Malakai took it seriously, and they roped Mamazsr'azcre into it too." Faith looked at Dick, Barbara and Stephanie. "His name means 'massacre', in Nerobzal."
"Oh!" Said Dick.
"Grand Vampire Lady Brunetta heard Father Dragon shout it in the sky in the dream she had, the night she went into labour, and she and Grand Vampire Lord Müth interpreted it as a challenge to overcome, which he was doing until Magdalene and Malakai came to drag him into their plan to murder their parents and seize Kitsch. They didn't know why Müth and Brunetta were in the master bedroom and didn't fight back. The reason was hidden by the Four Symbols of Chinese astrology until the third incarnation of the O-star's spirit returned to Thalassic Space to help the people stop Kaleido once and for all."
"Oh!" Said Dick, as Faith ate more. "Sorry, are you the third incarnation of the O-star's spirit, and that's why you have it for your right eye, when you use your demigoddess powers?"
"Eh, sort of? I'll get there."
"No worries."
"Why were Brunetta and Müth vulnerable?" Barbara asked.
"Brunetta was pregnant while Magdalene and Malakai counselled with dark sorcerers to find a portal to the Lightless Realm, where Krampus used to reign over the Astral Elves and where the siblings discovered a copy of the Fool's Poem in Krampus' hut."
"Oh, that answers a question I had." Said Dick.
"Oh, good." Faith giggled. Dick chuckled with her. "So, if you're wondering, there's no way for Ra's to learn about what he's getting himself into, in my dragon tomb."
"He deserves to find out the hard way."
"I hear that, yep. Um, the flight of the Astral and Snow Elves from the Lightless Realm and Lightful Realm, which Santa used to reign, is a story for another time. Believe it or not, I can stay on topic, when it comes to my lore." The others laughed. "Brunetta had an intersex child named Maury, a derivative of Maurice, which means 'dark skinned', because they were the first and only Obsidian Infant, their body made from one of the Eledisfeb-filled asteroids of the asteroid belt to the west of Sagittarius A. Its existence was seen as proof that Sagittarius A was not a destructive astral object as it is in the Milky Way galaxy. There's an asteroid belt of Elevifeb-filled asteroids to the east of the O-type star, too, but I can't tell you who has the first Goshenite Child because spoilers."
Barbara said, "Wait, is it your demigoddess-slash-dragon self?" "Nope! It's a child born in The Double Eight of Thalassic Space, but it's not my child."
"Hm, all right."
"There's also lore about the Oracles finding out what Sagittarius A* actually is, thanks to Hirokou, a member of the Cloud Casters, seven students who met when they enrolled at Cedillo Imagination Magic Academy in Princess Georgina, which, yes, is UNBC, Prince George. The Cloud Casters volunteered and were chosen by the Oracles to help the third incarnation of the O-star's spirit feel more welcomed. Again, skipping the lore."
"Thank you." Said Tim. The group chuckled. "As simple and good as the reveal is, thank you for skipping it this time."
"Maury had been sensed by the Four Symbols upon his conception, and when they were born, had split them into four Crowns, which they gave to the Guilds to present to the people of Thalassic Space for them to hide until the third incarnation of the O-star."
"Where was um, Mamaz…?"
"Mam-az-sir-h-az-cre. There's an apostrophe after the translated s, so there's a short breath."
"Mamazsr'azcre."
"Yeah, you got it!"
Dick said, "Mamazsr'azcre."
"Yep!"
"I don't even need to try." Tim said.
"Yeah, I don't doubt that." Faith said. The group laughed.
"I'm gonna skip on that, thanks." Stephanie said. Faith giggled. "Mamazsr'azcre was helping his cat anthro friends, Dohannar and Wysherah, free anthros and elves from the human traffickers that Magdalene and Malakai had wriggled into, thanks to their vampiric charisma, before they got frustrated with certain human traffickers for being fake radical right wingers and decided to find the Fool's Poem to put everyone under their boots."
"Right." Said Tim. "Faith, why don't you eat for a couple minutes, and I'll take it from here?"
"OK, yes, thank you." Faith sighed. The group chuckled.
"No problem. Magdalene and Malakai started a fire on the farm that Mamazsr'azcre, Dohannar and Wysherah sheltered people at."
"Uh-oh!" Said Dick.
"Malakai disembowelled Wysherah, who was nine months pregnant."
"Holy smokes! That's just evil!"
"Magdalene and Malakai won a mixed magic and melee duel against Dohannar and Mamazsr'azcre, and as Dohannar laid unconscious, Magdalene whispered into her brother's ear the Fool's Poem. Mamazsr'azcre tore off his jaw and gouged his eyes as Magdalene and Malakai had."
"Eugh!" Said Stephanie.
"That's what the Fool's Promise demands of the living to accept Nerobzal's as their God. Before the siblings returned to Italy to kill their parents, Mamazsr'azcre gifted Dohannar's soul to Nero Ba'al Berith, a demon whose name means Lord of the Covenant. Like Baalzebub, he's called the Lord of Flies. Ba'al Berith is a red-skinned soldier in red who rides a red horse and wears a crown."
Faith said, "It was literally the decisions of two awful people that began the First War for the O-star’s Spirit."
"Yep. She was first incarnated as Nith, the first daughter of Santa Claus, born September 4th, 1949."
"Oh, that's your birthday!" Said Stephanie to Faith.
"Nith was murdered by Magdalene, disguised as a Glacial Fairy, at two days old." Dick, Barbara and Stephanie clicked their tongues and made noises of pity. "The Snow Elves, Astral Elves, Santa and Mary Claus cast a spell at the catacomb chapel of Kaleido, directly hitting Magdalene. Malakai was doing his thing, which I can tell you about next, and Mamazsr'azcre worked with dark sorcerers to grow and improve the army of undead, vampires and werewolves that festered in the catacombs of the chapel until the end of the Third War. The elves and anthros came together to form the Guilds under the command of Father Dragon and Mother Mermaid and the Father Born and Mother Born, after the first war, and their human allies helped them. The O-star's spirit was quietly reincarnated twenty years later as Eal Volen, the first child and daughter of a mermaid mage named Eerie Glory and an astral elf mage named Lanech (ech is pronunced ehk, like echo) Volen who worked at the circus at the southern harbour of England, together."
"Hey, circus mentioned!" Dick said. The group laughed.
"Eerie had been stalked by Malakai since her early teenage years, but she had known Lanech for even longer, and she never faced Malakai alone, in the dreams where Malakai tormented and raped whoever he wanted." Barbara, Dick and Stephanie sounded disgruntled.
"Sorry," Faith said. "It was the most natural way for me to make Malakai a horrible person. Same with Magdalene."
"No no, it's fine, it works well for him."
"How was Magdalene a horrible person, besides killing a two-day old baby?" Dick asked.
"She got off on watching people get kidnapped and tortured by human traffickers."
"Oh, geez!"
Tim said, "She was a control freak, just like Malakai. Both were racist, sexist, and homophobic. Faith wrote Thalassic Space so everyone would feel safe and welcome, but some people learned about the awful things that happen on Earth through Nero Spirits who watched criminals from Earth that visited the Dream World on Paper. It's like how Ra's found out how to open a Door to Platonia, and all that's led to Faith being here, and the situation we're in."
"Ohhhh, OK."
"I hope it makes sense." Faith said. “Nero Spirits relaying information that wouldn’t have been otherwise available to people through the functions of the Soul Bridge.”
"Oh, it does, absolutely. You did a good job with that."
"Yeah, that's good writing, Faith."
"Thank you."
Tim said, "The Oracles were afraid of Malakai because he effortlessly and brutally manipulated Dreamer mages who were close to the power of the Oracles, many of them family members of the Oracles. Faith wrote a bit more about the crimes of Malakai, but we'll skip that for now. Eal was in the arms of Eerie after the circus had closed, Malakai having taken the disguise of a large black dog, and he leapt up with such force and speed to bite Eal's neck that neither Eerie or Lanech could react in time."
Barbara clicked her tongue. "Aw! No!"
"May I ask why the O-star's spirit died as a baby, twice?" Dick said.
"Yeah, yeah." Faith said. "Because babies are vulnerable. That's it."
"Oh OK, so it's a simple thing, this time."
"Yes."
Tim said, "Eerie and Lanech tore Malakai apart, each destroying a quarter of his spirit with their magic, but the other half of his spirit and his entire soul escaped to the Ninth Circle of Inferno, joining his sister and the demon they were actually giving souls to: Canon Lucifer."
Faith said, "If Ra's triggers either event, that's who the souls will be working to free from the ice."
"Oh shit." Said Stephanie.
"Yeah, that's bad." Dick said.
Faith said, "And why either has to be stopped as soon as possible."
"Right." Said Dick.
Tim said, "Specifically, the number of souls needed is 8^8 (eight to the power of eight), which is 16, 777, 216. In the First War for the O-star's Fate, 1, 809, 178 people were killed in the span of one month, two weeks and two days, though the ice barely melted, and the souls were freed to the afterlife of the 28 Mansions at its end."
"Oh OK, so it resets."
"Yes, it has a twenty-year cooldown, which coincides with how long it takes the O-star's spirit to reincarnate. In the Second War for the O-star's Fate, 2, 391, 955 people were killed over the course of two months and three days, and the ice melted a little more, but Lucifer still could not move, and the souls again were freed to the 28 Mansions. This won't be an issue, if he triggers Red Storm Earth or the Invitation of Nerobzal."
"Scary." Said Barbara. The others nodded.
"The third and current incarnation of the O-star's spirit—"
"That's you, right?" Said Dick, looking and pointing at Faith. She and Tim shook their heads. "Oh."
"It's Faina Laward, one of my Soul Fragments. She's autumn, I'm winter, Solas, my Fairy Persona, is spring, and Ønske is summer."
Dick said, "Oh, OK wait. So, your memories have like, fragments, and that's how your Personas are connected to you, and how you have the O-star as your right eye?"
"Yes."
"Ohhh-kay. Cool."
Barbara asked, "Why are you winter, and not autumn, if you're the Canon Persona?"
"I'm winter because of my depression and mental health, and that my physical disability means I can't enjoy the outdoors. Faina is autumn because she's my memories of having a working body and my hopes of having a happy mind."
"Ohhhh." Said Barbara, Dick and Stephanie. Tim nodded.
"Solas and Ønske are both seasonal expressions of the joys I associate with each season. Solas is my lesbianism, and Ønske is my desire to have adventure." Faith said. Stephanie giggled. "Faina was born on Earth because the Four Symbols realised she would be killed again if born on Yotutrnaeyl. She's summoned by Dohannar to the Dream World on Paper instead of to the throne of Nero Ba'al Berith, who is one of her possible love interests, as Dohannar and the Demon Hunters who patrol the Perimeter of the Circles finally met after eighty-three years of trying to free Dohannar so the O-star could fight for the people again instead of for evil. That dream is the first chapter of the novel, and in the second chapter, Faina settles in to CIMA, meets the Cloud Casters, and falls in love with Karma Brestin, who, major spoiler alert,"
"Ohp!" Dick covered his ears, then laughed and lowered them. The others laughed.
"Karma is the youngest of Bartholomew's triplets."
"Oh, she's an Astral and Ebony Giant Elf?"
"Yes, an Ebony Giant Elf, like Bartholomew is. Krampus is an Ebony Giant Elf, too. Santa is the only Astral Giant Elf, of Nerobzal's sons. Bartholomew's triplets and Krampus' twins are mixed race. Karma is a dark mage, not to be mistaken for a dark sorcerer,"
"Ah, OK."
"And it's olive green to signify that she's not evil. Earth tones are always a good sign. It's the neon colours you have to be scared of."
"Right, OK."
"Karma is also a vampire, and the companion star of the O-star."
"Huh?"
Tim said, "O-type stars have smaller, companion O-stars that orbit until eventually merging with the larger star, creating a bigger and brighter star."
"Ooh, OK. Does that happen when they meet, or later?"
"Later, when they hook up." Faith laughed. The others joined. "The Third War starts because Mamazsr'azcre is commanded to lead an attack on CIMA by Nero Ba'al Berith, but it goes too far, and a lot of students and teachers die. Sorry, spoilers."
"Sheesh, woman!" Dick said. The group giggled.
"And, uh, I think that's all the lore you need to know, regarding every branch of the main topic? Whatever it was."
"We started when Stephanie asked what At'fom Lawbzal was." Said Tim.
"Ohhh, right!"
"It was more 'the main topic and its family relatives'."
"Yeah." Faith said. They all laughed.
Dick said, "Well, thanks for all of that! Always fun to learn more."
"Oh yeah." Barbara said, nodding.
"And I get to eat the ass of this creative genius!" Stephanie said, the others laughing loudly. "Lucky me!"
"Real. Real." Faith said. The laughter quieted down. In the next two minutes, everyone had finished eating and washing their food down, and wiping their hands on napkins or getting up to use the kitchen sink.
"Well, you going to sleep right away, Faith?" Barbara asked, as Tim and Dick began washing the dishes.
"I think so." Faith said, yawning.
""Sleep", in quotation marks." Stephanie said with a smile, coming up behind Faith and squeezing her left ass cheek.
"Aa!" Faith exclaimed, and laughed with the girls. "Are you that spicy, baby gorl?"
"Mm, yuh," Stephanie replied. Faith and Barbara laughed, Tim choking out a laugh from the kitchen. "Yuh, I'm real spicy righ' now, gorl. Mm, le'go."
"Le'go." Faith echoed. "Goodnight, everyone!" She and Stephanie began towards the stairs.
"Goodni-ight." Said Barbara, walking towards the computer.
"Goodnight, Faith!" Said Dick.
"Don't worry about the noise, OK?" Said Tim. Faith giggled.
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possum-quesadilla · 4 months ago
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Whoop. Oops. I got too excited to write the next chapter…
Chapter 5 of Lonely Remnants, “Now you remember where you came from, Now you remember where you’re going, You’ve got to keep it flowing” is here!
I promise I’ll work on the next chapter of Time’s Arrow after this besties.
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. THIS CHAPTER IS PARTICULARLY ROUGH.
Here are the extras!
- The lyrics for this chapter’s title are from “Spiral of Ants” by Lemon Demon! I’m sure the meaning is obvious, especially by the end of the chapter. :)
- “The lights were off within, and she could hear a faint, familiar humming resounding throughout.” - The Shoggoth doesn’t need to turn the lights on because it can see in the dark better than in the light.
- “It had changed into some sort of D.A.R.E. hoodie that used to be Lawrence’s, the left sleeve having yet to be tied off.” - I wonder why Lawrence has a D.A.R.E. hoodie?
- “She jolted in surprise when a tail swished anxiously behind the Shoggoth. It was long and thin, reaching down to his ankles, covered in black fur with a large tuft at the end.” - based on a medieval unicorn’s tail! Mostly for funsies with the design. And, y’know, thematic reasons. Like all the other features. ;)
- Car games - thank you to my mutuals in the discord server for the help picking them this time!! <33
- “ “What type of name would you like?” Barbara asked, glancing back at the demon. “Masculine? Feminine? Something ambiguous?” The demon blinked at her, furrowing his brows. “… huh?” ” - the Shoggoth has no concept of gender, hence why it uses it/its pronouns right now! (Eventually, it will shift to it/they.)
- “It seemed them pulling in past the sign that welcomed them to the town of ‘Hatchet Springs’ made something click in it’s mind.” - The name of the town is a mixture of two of my favorite fictional towns, both of which are thematically relevant! Hatchetfield from the Hatchetfield trilogy and Possum Springs from “Night in the Woods”.
- “ “… it looks so dorky.” The Shoggoth shrinked in on itself a bit, and the preteen held her hands up. “In a good way! I would totally not suspect you’re a demon. You fly under the radar.” ” - the Shoggoth really, really cares what Lydia things.
- “It kept insisting in a hissed whisper that someone was following them, but every time Lydia looked where the demon had indicated, there was nobody there.” - It wasn’t Juno! :)
- Collette - The last name has a specific thematic purpose beyond being a reference to Justin Collette!
- Thank you again to my homies for helping with the math on the poster!! Math is hard!!
- “Hair long and wild, unstyled and dyed with streaks of purple.” - Juno never taught him how to brush his hair or care for it, hence why it was wild here and when he first came to the haunted house. Emily and Charles taught him how to properly care for it!
- “Hhh- th-that explains the bits.” - The Shoggoth noticed a difference between the body and the way people referred to Lawrence, but just went along with it. It’s starting to understand what it all means here. (Imagine discovering transphobia for the first time…)
- “Lydia caught sight of dark green scales on his nose, glistening in the sunlight.” - Hmm! Weird. Perhaps thematic. (Definitely.)
- “Barbara and Adam exchanged a Look, and the Shoggoth let out a soft whimper.” - The Shoggoth understood the Look this time.
- “He ha-… has a heart condition.” - Adam was trying not to give away that Lawrence was dead, since it seemed like Juno didn’t know. Also, I will probably make a post about Lawrence’s first date with the Maitlands where he first brought up his heart condition!
- “Lydia strained to hear them, reaching up to adjust her hearing aid- ” - Hearing aids don’t actually work like that. You can’t just turn it up to hear better at a distance. Lydia was just a wee bit desperate and confused.
Tag list: @raineisinkless @c0zmo-writes @musical-fiend @katslitterbox
(Want to be tagged in future updates for CorpseJuice / LoopJuice? Let me know!)
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tonystarkbingo · 2 months ago
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TSB Round 8 - Week 5-14 (whoops)!
Another fantastic set of fills, for your reading (or viewing) pleasure!
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: K2 - AU: Teachers Title: Full Circle Link: AO3 Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony StarkJames "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Word Count: 11049 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: In the aftermath of his breakup with Steve, Tony convinces Bruce to accompany him to an island beach party weekend that Tony is convinced is exactly what he needs to forget about the man that he still can't find it in himself to get over. Struggling with the idea of letting go of what he and Steve had together, Tony tries to pretend he's doing great, wanting to return to his hedonistic former self and find a hookup to make him forget everything he'd left behind. However, Tony's night doesn't go exactly as planned when memories and the mood leads him to longing for what he wants but cannot have until he runs into a sexy stranger on the beach that turns Tony's world around in ways he's entirely unprepared for.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: R1 - IMAGE: 616 New Haircut Title: New Century, New Steve Link: Tumblr Pairings: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Word Count: N/A - Art Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Implied Swearing (Shirt Text), Humor, Queer Steve Rogers Summary: Steve decides to update his appearance to fit in with the 21st century. Tony isn't a fan.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: S5 - Crack Title: Kitchen Unicorn Link: Tumblr Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: N/A - Art Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Swearing, Fluff, Crack, Tony Stark is So Done Summary: Tony just wanted his morning coffee… Not a unicorn baking cookies in the Avengers Kitchen.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: T3 - IMAGE: Focused Tony with a toothpick in his mouth Title: Find Out, Tony! Link: Tumblr Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: N/A - Art Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Humor, Pre-Relationship, Aggressive Flirting, Pet Names Summary: Steve's been acting differently lately. Tony is a little conflicted and confused about what Steve is trying to say.
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: S4 - Kink: Armor Kink Title: Full Circle (Chapter 2) Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Word Count: 7566 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: Tony's chance encounter leads to a passionate night with a sexy stranger who changes everything for him moving forward.
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Card Number: 8044 Collaborator: starkparade Square Filled: S1 - "Please Let Me In" Title: Making the Right Call Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 6100 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Civil War Fix-It, Serious Injuries, Near Death, Hospitalization, Hurt Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Tony and Steve have not spoken to each other since that fateful day in Siberia. However, when Steve gets gravely injured in a fight and thinks he is going to die, he goes to find Tony in his workshop so he can see him one last time.
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: T4 - Defiance Title: Full Circle (Chapter 4) Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers Word Count: 13252 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: Tony's wild weekend with James comes to an end and after he's returned to the real world he reflects on that time out on the island before an explosive reunion with Steve changes everything moving forward!
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Card Number: 8022 Collaborator: fohatic Square Filled: K5 - weakness Title: Human Link: Tumblr Pairings: n/a Word Count: 0 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: none Summary: Tony Stark fanvid set to the song "Human" by Daughter
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: S2 - AU: College Title: Love and Lunch Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Thor Word Count: N/A - Moodboard Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Modern: No Powers AU, College/University AU, Professors AU, Mutual Pining, Human Thor Summary: Professors Steve and Thor share a table in the campus cafe every lunch. Each tries to work up the courage to talk to the other, their mutual crushes making it difficult.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: T4 - AU: Canon Divergence Title: Patient Confidentiality Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Thor Word Count: N/A - Moodboard Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Injury, Implied/Referenced Surgery, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn Summary: Thor decides to stay on Earth, deciding it needs him more than Asgard for now. He becomes a doctor with SHIELD under the alias Dr Donald Blake, specializing in the odd ailments that come from beyond Earth’s borders.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: K3 - AU: Urban Fantasy Title: Community Garden Witch Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Thor Word Count: N/A - Moodboard Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Urban Fantasy AU, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Gardens & Gardening, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers Summary: Steve is a witch who runs a community garden. The God of Thunder drops by, in need of a specific herb. Then, he keeps coming back again and again. Not that Steve is complaining.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: T2 - AU: Historic Title: Picnic on the Grounds Link: AO3 Pairings: Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers Word Count: N/A - Moodboard Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Regency AU, Romance Summary: Pepper Potts has worked for Tony Stark's household for years. Her Boss, Mr Stark, hires a soldier to protect him and his property. She falls for Captain Rogers, looking forward to their picnics on the Stark land.
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: A3 - Free Square Title: Full Circle Chapter 5 Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony/Steve, Tony/Bucky, Steve/Tony/Bucky Word Count: 12183 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58713529/chapters/150957634
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Card Number: 8033 Collaborator: airas_story Square Filled: T3 - Robots Title: Up for the Challenge Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Word Count: 2402 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: “I’m charming,” Stephen said, keeping his voice light. “People can’t resist me. Apparently that includes U.” Tony rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “I hope you mean her and not me,” he said. “Because the jury’s still out on my ability to resist you.” Stephen hoped that by the end of today, that wouldn’t be in question any longer. “Of course I meant her,” Stephen said. “What do you take me for?”
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Card Number: 8044 Collaborator: starkparade Square Filled: R4 - picture prompt (Iron Man armor) Title: with you (in never-ending twilight) Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: 5100 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Dystopia, Referenced Past Torture, Growing Old, Loss of Body Parts, Prosthetic Suit, Body Dysmorphia, Angst and Feels, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Smut, Hand Jobs, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending Summary: In the dystopian future of Avengers: Twilight, Steve found out that Tony had survived the devastating H-Day that had claimed the lives of many heroes and led to the rise of a totalitarian government twenty years ago. After Steve rescues Tony from captivity, they must face their feelings for each other. The problem is, Tony's body is now reduced to his disembodied head. How could he ever be good enough for Steve like this?
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: Adopted - Ghosts Title: There in Spirit Link: Tumblr Pairings: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Word Count: N/a - Art Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Explicit Sexual Content, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Being Walked In On, Top Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers Summary: Tony hosts a Halloween party for the Avengers. He tries inviting Steve…
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: T5 - Together Title: Calling Love Fate Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky/Tony, Bucky & Steve Word Count: 1239 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Post CA:WS canon divergent; Tower fic, Soulmate AU Summary: Bucky and Steve discover something that Tony has known for a very long time - that he and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes are supposed to be soulmates.
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: A2 - Bucky Barnes Title: Love is like a muscle (and you make me want to flex) - Chapter One Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky/Tony Word Count: 1200 Rating: Mature Major Tags/Triggers: Tony Stark’s Workshop, Pining, Massage, Body Worship, Summary: Bucky takes Tony up on his offer for a massage, not realizing just how good it will feel.
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ & Faustess Square Filled: A5 - Excessive Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - August Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Bruce & Tony Word Count: 347 (my part) 1381 total Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Avengers Tower, Birthday Party, Kidfic, Q&A Summary: Tony goes a little overboard to celebrate Bruce's birthday - including inviting a group of inquisitive kids to meet their heroes.
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: R4 - Bartender Title: Some Other Beginning’s End Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky/Brock, Tony & Bucky Word Count: 1170 Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: No Powers AU, Bar/Pub AU, Bartenders, Alcohol, Breakup, Developing Friendships Summary: Public break-ups are always an ugly thing, and Tony isn't about to let a gymbro asshole make matters worse. Besides, his newly-ex boyfriend seems like a good guy.
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: K2 - Miscommunication Title: Operation Sea and Surf Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony & Avengers Word Count: 835 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Post-Avengers (2012) canon compatible, Team as Family, Miscommunication, A touch of angst, but overall happy ending Summary: Tony rents a beach house in hopes of getting the Avengers together for a bit of team bonding; things don’t quite go as planned.
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: K3 - Pepper Potts Title: A Little Bit Carried Away - Chapter Seven Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony/Bucky, Tony & Pepper Word Count: 1029 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: No Powers AU, Omegaverse, Omega!Tony, Alpha!Bucky, Travel Mishaps, Scents, Protective Pepper Potts, Matchmaking, Love Confessions. Summary: Pepper learns about the impulsive offer Tony made to Bucky after they spent the night together; she insists on talking to them both before bringing in her secret weapon.
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Card Number: 8001 Collaborator: rebelmeg Square Filled: T4 - Pepper Potts Title: Pepper Bingo Link: Tumblr Pairings: n/a Word Count: n/a Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: bingo card, image editing Summary: A bingo card for our girl!
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: K3 - Rescue Title: Full Circle (Chapter 7) Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers Word Count: 8056 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: Things get increasingly more complicated as Tony soon discovers that despite his earlier beliefs three's a crowd in Tony's shower. It doesn't take long for things to get heated, but what happens next is the last thing Tony anticipates after Steve's explosive arrival.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: T5 - Happy Hogan Title: Learning Experience Link: Tumblr Pairings: Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers, Clint Barton & Steve Rogers Word Count: N/a - Art Rating: Teen Major Tags/Triggers: Censored Swearing, Guns, Humor, Prank Wars Summary: Captain America is nothing like the news reels. As it turns out, he’s just a regular guy. It’s taking some time to get used to. That, and he’s super competitive and very much winning Hawkeye’s Prank War.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: R5 - Journey Title: Dropped Link: Tumblr Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Word Count: N/a - Art Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Humor, Steve Rogers Being a Little Shit Summary: Tony is too tired right now for Steve’s jokes…
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Card Number: 8017 Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Square Filled: T5 - anger issues Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VIII - September Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Word Count: 360 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Saving the World, anger issues, Tony Stark-centric, Time Travel, Hand-wavy technology Summary: A strange pile of what looks like ashes has mysteriously appeared in Tony's suite -- leading to time travel, saving the world and an undeserved punch in the nose.
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: S3 - Stuckony Title: Full Circle (Chapter 9) Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Word Count: 18857 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Armor Kink, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alcohol, Swearing, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Science Bros | Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Tony Stark-centric, Flirting, Threesome - M/M/M Summary: Tony and Steve discuss what it is they need to make things work moving forward together acknowledging what they've been missing without Bucky in their lives. Later that night Tony reaches out to Bucky ready to turn a new page on a passionate beginning for all three of them.
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Card Number: 8029 Collaborator: Jimothy Square Filled: A3 - Rejection Title: The Parents That Stepped Up Link: Tumblr Pairings: Tony Stark & Peggy Carter, Tony Stark & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter Word Count: 972 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Neglectful Howard Stark, Howard Stark Is A Bad Parent Summary: From the moment he was born, Howard Stark had despised his son. Born out of grief, Tony never knew his father’s love, but that’s where Steve and Peggy step in.
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Card Number: 8033 Collaborator: airas_story Square Filled: T2 - Science and Magic Title: Date Night: Haunted House Edition Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Word Count: 4863 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Ghosts, Fluff Summary: “You’re cleansing a haunted house,” Tony said. “And you’re not inviting me!?” Cleansing a haunted house? Best date night ever!
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Card Number: 8033 Collaborator: airas_story Square Filled: T4 - Playing Nice Title: Tony Stark Bingo Mark VIII - September Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Word Count: 405 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Time Travel Summary: A strange pile of what looks like ashes has mysteriously appeared in Tony's suite -- leading to time travel, saving the world and an undeserved punch in the nose.
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Card Number: 8036 Collaborator: scottxlogan Square Filled: A4 - Metallurgy Title: Iron Man Reflection Link: Tumblr Pairings: N/A Word Count: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: fan art, tony stark, doctor doom, comic book cover fan art Summary: It's a comic book cover vector fan art.
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Card Number: 8050 Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Square Filled: Adopted - Time Travel Title: Time Travel Research Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony Stark & Steve Rogers & Avengers Team Members Word Count: 100 / Drabble Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Humor, Press and Tabloids, Steve Rogers Being a Little Shit, Tony Stark is So Done Summary: Tony's asked a question about time travel at an Avengers press conference. Steve makes one of his 'jokes'... nearly causing an incident.
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Card Number: 8016 Collaborator: illogicalkat Square Filled: S5 - Secret Admirer Title: Secret Admirer Link: Tumblr Pairings: n/a Word Count: mood board with 5 images Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: moodboard Summary: Tony receives flowers and candy from a secret admirer
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Card Number: 8016 Collaborator: illogicalkat Square Filled: R2 - IronStrange Title: Farmers Market Link: Tumblr Pairings: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Word Count: n/a - moodboard, 6 images Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: moodboard Summary: Tony & Stephen shopping at the farmers market
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Card Number: 8017 Collaborator: SomeSortofItalianRoast Square Filled: T3 - Secret Relationship Title: Secret Relationships and Pumpkin Spice Lattes [Moodboard] Link: Tumblr Pairings: Clark Kent/Pepper Potts Word Count: 0 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: Secret relationship Summary: There was an adorably cute reporter who frequented the coffee shop where Pepper got her daily lattes. It didn’t take long before they were taking their breaks at the same time, taking the time to get to know each other. They were soon dating, and it seemed that the Man of Steel was spending far more time in New York City than he usually did. What an odd coincidence, right? Of course, it wasn’t. It never was, at least according to Tony. Which meant Clark Kent was Superman, because this was her life. What was it with Pepper falling for superheroes?
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Card Number: 8023 Collaborator: PoliZ Square Filled: Adopted - Resolve Title: A Sugar-Coated Pill - Chapter Nine Link: AO3 Pairings: Bucky/Tony Word Count: 1770 Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: Omegaverse, Sugar Daddy AU, Alpha!Bucky, Omega!Tony, Explicit Sexual Content, Secret Identities, Political Campaigns, Love Confessions, Wakes & Funerals, Summary: Bucky and Tony attend Howard Stark’s memorial service and meet his widow. They also learn that Obadiah Stane has some business to resolve with Tony.
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Card Number: 8031 Collaborator: deehellcat Square Filled: S2 - sober Title: how many sparks till you get a flame Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony and Steve and Bucky Word Count: 2112 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: mention of serious illness, mention of mental illness, mention of possible suicide, alcoholism, AU--no powers, small Steve Rogers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark’s canonically shitty self-esteem Summary: Tony is informed he must stop drinking to preserve his health. At an already low ebb emotionally, he has two encounters at a charitable event that might put his life on a whole new trajectory.
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Card Number: 8022 Collaborator: fohatic Square Filled: T1 - kink: sex magic Title: I don't eat human beings Link: AO3 Pairings: Steve/Tony Word Count: 12,777 (WIP) Rating: Explicit Major Tags/Triggers: choose not to warn (see author's note) Summary: Tired of luring the wicked to their deaths, a young incubus sets out to prove that he's powerful enough to capture a noble soul— despite all warnings against the foolhardy endeavor. When he sets his sights on the handsome and perplexingly honorable Steve Rogers, he unwittingly bites off more than he can chew.
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Card Number: 8001 Collaborator: rebelmeg Square Filled: T5 - crack Title: TSB Round 8 October Round Robin Link: AO3 Pairings: Tony & Sharon, various other friendships Word Count: 1801 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: science squad, bedtime story, found family, fluff and humor Summary: As the end of the world approaches, the entire Marvel Science Squad assembles to tackle the problem. And since a sleep-deprived genius is not at his best until he sleeps, Tony is hauled off to try and sleep by his interfering (affectionate) cousin Sharon. At the mention of a hobbit-flavored bedtime story, however, more than a couple others join him.
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Card Number: 8001 Collaborator: rebelmeg Square Filled: K5 - image of Pepperony hugging Title: Cozy Link: AO3 Pairings: Pepperony Word Count: 984 Rating: Gen Major Tags/Triggers: fluff, one-shot, autumn Summary: A Pepperony lakehouse one-shot crammed with as many cozy autumn prompts as possible.
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bilightningwhumper · 28 days ago
Text
Summary update rather than another rambling post, lol
-Changing "Secret Meeting" drabble/flashback piece (formally "A Silent Meeting", pending title tbh) to TBD for release rather than this weekend; basically there's not enough time for what I want to write; will be queuing this to go up at 5pm tomorrow for anyone expecting the piece
-Fixed the "Belonging to Nightmares" Masterlist because, uh, the summary was wrong and I didn't realize till an hour ago; whoops, lol; it is now the accurate one, not Draft 1's
-Also on the Masterlist: some sections modified for clarity; such as, Flashbacks is now a category with spoiler-free content (as everything is in the past in relation to "Present day"), while the Excerpts/drabbles section is for the most likely spoilers of future scenes; titles of future planned scenes added as well
-Behind the scenes, I'm working on calendars to keep track of the events spanning over the years 1384-1386 (see Character List/Lore bits for further context); I'll be updating certain things to have actual dates (like "The Year Before- ___" chapters) and they'll be important for Minna's diary entries
Basically, working on detail fixing until after the new year/holiday insanity is over with. Last thing I want is to burn out and I did already write two pieces for this week, so I don't count it as a total loss. And depending on how Febuwhump prompts list inspires me, I might be planning more than I thought.
Trying to keep the adhd in me happy, as well as the autistic me and the me that doesn't want a month-long migraine again. Bit hard, but trying.
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